#it’s also like when she speaks on people being high/on drugs

[itspileofgoodthings]

actually my favorite thing is when Taylor low-key speaks on the apocalypse

[irndad]

i wish i knew you wanted me - s.r.

a/n: okay this ended up being so so long forgive me!!! i hope you like<3 summary: based loosely on 'bad habit'. spencer got asked out by reader 5 years ago, when he was recovering from his dilaudid addiction, and turned her down. now, he's in love with her, and pining for her. also, jealous!spencer. she fell first, he fell harder. wc: ~2k

She’s very pretty. It’s distracting. Right now, she’s staring intently at his hands, and he feels hot under her gaze. It’s been a while since he’s done this, the little rocket trick, but she’s visiting the office, and Garcia had mentioned he’s a magician. 

“That’s incredible!” She exclaims, a giggle in her laugh, and he feels the swoop of his stomach, the butterflies of it all, “You got them so high up!”

“It’s just physics,” he laughs, meeting her warm gaze. Her smile is one for the ages. 

She’s here dropping off a file. They’ve known eachother a really long time, actually. She was an expert witness for them, once, years ago. She spoke with ease, both on the stand and in person. Equal measure kind and measured, and Spencer had adored her on first glance. They’d met when he was just getting clean from Dilaudid, and Spencer’s been in love with her since not long after than first meeting. That’s pretty much the only thing about her he wishes he could take back. 

He still has a hard time thinking about it, the fact that he met her when he was barely himself. Still, she’d been kind, listened to him talk and let the others tell her that he was…going through something. It was on his two month sobriety date (which she’d had no way of knowing) that she’d asked him out. 

Sometimes, when he can’t sleep, he replays the memory in his head. How she works just south of their office, and how they’d meet at the café nearest, and chat for an hour before calling a cab home. 

On the other side of the veil, he can picture that night, years ago now. How she’d looked with the snow kissing her nose, dotting the edges of her faux-fur hood. She’d stuck out her tongue to catch a snowflake, and he’d almost combusted and the adorability of it. 

“You look nice,” she’d said, although at the time he’s pretty sure he looked gaunt. He’d only recently started to gain the weight back- but still, her praise felt like stardust. 

“You look nicer,” he’d said back, gently bumping her shoulder as a fond gesture. Her little grin is well-worth how awkward they both look on the street.

“Listen,” she had said, stuffing her hands into her pockets, the size of the coat causing her hands to disapear from sight entirely, “I asked JJ and Morgan, and they said you’re not seeing anyone.”

“Oh, yeah. They love reminding me of that. Not everyone can be like Morgan and have dated half the western hemsiphere.”

He felt embarrassed, her watching him. It’s nice, but sometimes feels like staring into the sun. 

Her chuckle was nervous, not fully reaching her eyes. 

“You okay? 

“Yeah,” she swallowed again, before speaking, “I was wondering, um, if you might want to grab a drink with me?”

“Sure,” he’d replied back, amenably. He couldn’t tell why she looked so nervous, “I can’t really do hard liquor, though. Maybe we can invite the team.”

“No, Spence, I was wondering if you and I could go on a um, a date.”

And he’s frozen. Because this might be the second time he’d ever been asked out, and second, this might be his dream girl. She’s gorgeous and kind and she’s in front of him, asking him out. 

“I um,” his mouth was dry. He’d be a bad boyfriend. He was a recovering drug addict who already was bad at talking to people, and she lit up a room whenever she walked in. She finds him easy to be with, easy to care for and he’s bound to fuck it up. He couldn’t imagine giving that up because he was too greedy to take what he got. “I don’t think that would be a good idea.”

He almost took it back with incredible speed, with that flash of disapointment on her lovely face, and the knowledge that it’s because she wanted him, before she quickly regained her speech.

“That’s totally alright! We’ll just be good friends, yeah?”

In the here and now, they are friends. Best of, really. And he made the right choice. He’d lashed out at Emily a month later in a withdrawl, and he knows that he’d have done the same to her, and now, she’s still in his life. 

The drawbacks of course, to being her friend, means she has dates. Boyfriends, as well, and he’s been a…friend, through it all. Good friend. She’s never suspeced him of anything more, of course, after he’d categorically rejected it. 

(Even though this rejection plays in his head all the fucking time, like a torturous groundhog day.)

She’s beautiful today, a blue blouse with a scarf lazily around her neck, and the way she’s leaning over his desk to see the  trick before she drops off her analysis. 

“Alright, Spence,” she says, her rose perfume wafting in the air prior to her hopping off the corner, “Did you need anything else? Today is my half-day, and Harry wanted to take me to Art Insititute.”

Harry, is the boy on rotation at the moment. Spencer has no impulse control and a super-computer expert best friend, so Spencer knows that Harry is 6’0 on his Driver’s License, and is a Financial Analyst. Spencer knows from her own mouth that this will be the third date, and that he’s a little boring but she’s attracted to the fact that he was direct and wanted to go out again. 

Low bar, but one Spencer couldn’t even clear. He doesn’t say any of that, though.

“That sounds fun,” he says, instead of saying that he’d love to walk her through the inscriptions on each art piece, love to kiss her in front of something thats’ beauty does not come close to her’s. “Are you thinking it might run long, or are we still doing the bookstore and TV at mine after?”

He’s been looking forward to this all week. He bought special marshmallows for her cocoa. He also htes to imagine her date running long. 

“Nah,” she smiles, “besides, he’s just some guy. You’re Spencer.”

Morgan doesn’t say anything when he looks down at his. paperwork, and scribbles instead of thinking, the best he can. 

________________________________

Don’t think about the fact she was on a date. Don’t think about how Harry might have got to kiss her. Just don’t bring it up. 

“How was the date?”

She shrugged, pulling at the spine of a hardcover novel. 

“It was fine. Like I said, he was kind of boring.”

“So why’d you go out with him again?”

“I dunno, Spence, I just… I want a boyfriend, you know? I want someone to want to be with me.”

She is so beautiful. She laughs with her whole chest, and she listens to his stories and chimes in with her own expertise. She has a voice that seems like it’s spun gold thread, and he’d give anything to kiss her. 

“I get that,” he says, instead of anything he’s thinking. She’s wearing brown lipstick, transfer proof. He’s in love with her. “There’s got to be guys lining up for a girl like you.”

“That’s a nice thought, Spence. Not the ones I’d like.”

___________________________

This thought haunts his evening, and when he parks and they start the walk-up to his apartment, a confession hammering at his throat, a physical urge. She’s giggling at some long physics joke he’d made, and he’s addicted to the soft bell of her laughter.

His apartment is small and lovely, and he enjoys having her in the small and dark of the night, the sun set over what he wishes were two lovers. 

“You are really pretty, you know,” he says, once she’s settled into his chest, a sick satisfaction of knowing Harry got a quick thank you text before she darted over to Spencer’s arms. 

“Thanks, Spencer. You’re a good friend.”

“Why do you always say that?”

“That you’re a good friend?”

“I’m not saying you’re pretty because I’m a good friend. I’m saying it because it’s true, and I enjoy saying true things.” 

“You don’t…I don’t know why you’re saying that, Spencer. We’re friends and I adore you and I’m here right now, but you don’t need to make it harder on me.”

She looks nervous, and a little disapointed. He wants her to know, that even if he’s missed his shot, she’s not going to be alone. He’s gonna spend the rest of his life hating whoever knew to take the best thing offered to him, but Spencer- he knows he is not going to be the last to love her. He grabs her hand without thinking, her doe eyes peering into his with some emotion he can’t pin down. 

“Hey, I’m not trying…to make anything hard for you. I don’t ever want to do that. I just… some day someone’s gonna see you and want to be with you and I’m going to watch it and know it was inevitable.” 

The words taste like barbed wire. 

Ask me again, he wants to beg, I’m ready now. I’ll do it right. 

Is that even true? Is it just that he wants her bad enough he’s willing to risk not doing it right?

“You’re so sweet,” she sobs, and oh, she’s crying. Just a little, but tears prick at the corners of her eyes. “You make it so hard to be your friend. And I know that’s my problem, that you’ve always been straight up with me. I asked you out and you said no, and I know that-“

“I know that I was too late, and freaked out about being with someone like you when I was still so fucked up.” they’re so close to eachother, he can smell her chapstick. His chest aches. “Sweetheart, that had nothing to do with you. It was all me. It’s a train I missed that I’m gonna spend the rest of my life wishing I’d caught.”

He feels uncomfortably bare, even in the oversized sweater that she’d gotten him last Christmas, and that he’d pretended had been from his lover all of that week. But it’s important that she knows.

“What do you mean, ‘too late’?”

Her voice is small, so quiet he barely hears it. She threads her nimble fingers into his slender ones, and his heart is hammering. 

“I-I was on Dilaudid, or just barely off, you know- you wouldn’t want to be with someone like me. You asked me out when you didn’t even know that.”

“I know you now. Years worth of knowing.”

“And you haven’t asked me since.” 

“Spencer,” her voice is warm, rich like silk and grainy old music, and he wants to drink this image in, her fingers stroking the side of his face like he’s holy. He wonders if he’s dreaming, with how good she feels to be so close to. 

Ask me again, he wants to beg. I’m ready, now. 

“Spencer Walter Reid,” she says, properly holding his hand, bringing her soft lips to his hand, kissing his knuckle. He feels anointed, blessed by a higher power. “Could I take you out on a date?”

“Yes,” he says, finally. Five years of waiting melts away as he kisses her, warmth and light seeping into existence, a dream brought to tangible life, to touch and reality, “Actually, wait,” he says, and finishes before her face can fall, “Would you be my girlfriend?”

It’s maybe playing his cards too much, but her wide, ear to ear splitting grin is everything he needs to see, everything he might need to see for the rest of his life. 

“Took you long enough, boy-genius.”

“All you had to do was ask again!”

If she has a complaint about that, it certainly couldn’t be heard by the many, many kisses that would follow. 

[obsessedwrhys]

Can we have a part 2 Deadpool reader with the boys and maybe soldier boy too❓❓ if you want to of course

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ The Boys x Deadpool!Reader

t/w: loooots of dark humour/jokes, reader's origin will be explained underneath, reader is still an asshole lol that comes with the character, mention about killing,death,gore, weed, drugs, Reader is gn!!!

ᯓ★ here's a version with the seven, kiss kiss <3

Origin:

Quick summary, when you were born, your parents had agreed with Vought to have you be pumped full of Compound V so you could grow up and be a hero working under them, but the problem was when you were around 7, they changed their mind so Vought ended up sending several people to come to your house to settle the matter.

Your whole family was massacred in the living room during thanksgiving and when they tried to capture you. You were able to run away. Homeless and living on the street, you grew up in a life of crime, depending on nobody but yourself. Make sense? No? Good! Let's start now.

BUTCHER

To him, you were like a fly that won't leave him alone.

How he knew you was through Mallory, she thought you were okay and fit for the job since you hated Vought just as much.

Obviously he didn't like you once you were introduced to him and the two (M.M and Frenchie)

"No way am I lettin' a supe join us"

":("

Though after what happened to Mallory's grandchildren, the gang pretty much dispersed but wherever Butcher went, you followed. Since he was the only person you trusted... and also enjoy annoying the shit out of.

He'd head inside a club, relieved he hadn't seen you for the past few days so he decided to grab a drink by the bar to unwind.

"Whiskey" He said with his eyes looking around, paranoia shown on his face.

Once his drink was served, he would look back to find your eyes smiling at him, you were wearing a bartender disguise over your red suit.

"Did you miss me?"

"Oh christ..."

When you heard word that he was gathering back the team, you had to be there. What kind of friend would you be if you didn't?

Undoubtedly he had to admit, there were times where he was grateful to have you on the team but there were also other times he regretted it.

For example, that time when you guys needed to sneak into a lab to get something and the goal was to stay quiet but even that simple rule was hard for you to follow.

"Room's up ahead. (Y/N) I need you to—"

"Heads up!" You said as you threw a bomb at the metal door.

The explosion causing the alarm to turn on and it had the whole lab now on high alert. You shrug innocently when Butcher glared at you like he wanted to tear you apart.

Also, you enjoy constantly pissing him off. You can't die so you don't really care if he'll kill you for it.

"Maybe, if you didn' press the fuckin' button, we wouldn't have to come bac' to save yer ass from the guards"

"OOH GOD SAVE THE QUEEEN!! Please, cry me a fucking river. I got us the target didn't I?"

"He's dead"

"Well you weren't being specific when you said to capture him"

But it's fine, all his frustration will be solved once he uses you as bait. He knows you can't die but hey, it makes him feel slightly better watching you get shot at.

Despite your ups and downs, he appreciates you. When the team would turn against him on his insane journey for revenge, he always found you the only one still standing by his side. You're loyal and he likes that.

Compatibility? 75%

HUGHIE

You treat him like a child.

No seriously you baby talk him sometimes and it annoys him

"Awwwww is little hughie angry?"

"Stop..."

"Does baby want his milky?"

Since he's pretty much the only person who isn't that exposed to crime as the others, he's terrified 100% everytime when he's paired up to do any dirty work with you.

"Now listen buddy, you better start talking or I'm gonna shoot" You said, gun raised at the man who seemed to be begging you to spare his life in a language you didn't speak.

"I don't think he speaks English"

"Ah shit... ENGLISH!! SPEAK!! ABCDEFG??!"

"How is shouting in English gonna make him understand?"

"Eh, you're right"

BANG

"WHY'D YOU SHOOT HIM??!"

"Well did you expect me to pull out Duolingo and start taking classes?!"

You had to admit, it was a pain in the ass each time he starts giving you the cold shoulder whenever he gets mad at you for doing something terrible. It was like his way of guilt tripping you so you always try to apologise in your own ways.

"Hey..." You said, handing him ice cream.

"...I uh... I don’t like Strawberry ice cream... I thought I told you that"

"God you're so ungrateful!!"

Since he was such a scaredy cat, you try to tone down your craziness a bit. For the sake of him not going into cardiac arrest.

"(Y/N) STOP!! She has nothing to do with this!! She was tricked" Hughie grabbed you by the arm to pull your gun away from the innocent woman.

You turn your head to look at him, then at the woman, then at him again, then the woman, then him again.

"Ugh finnnne... you're boring..."

However, he does appreciate you trying to be a better person. Even you had to admit, after you met him and became friends. You noticed yourself being less brutal than you used to be. The thought keeps you awake at night and it scares the shit out of you.

But oh well, how could you ever say no to those scared little puppy eyes?

Compatibility? 55%

FRENCHIE

He's like your hype man which is concerning.

Not because you're not afraid to get the job done but also because you always have his back.

"Well... I need some gunpowder but I've run out of them" Frenchie said, telling Butcher that the plan was most likely not gonna happen.

"Hold on" You said with the typical comical ☝🏻 gesture before heading into a different room. Everyone exchanging confused glances at what you could possibly be doing.

After a few minutes you'd return with a bag of gunpowder while struggling to zip up your pants with the other hand.

"Don't tell me how I got it. It almost tore me apart" You said, rubbing your ass.

On stressful nights, you guys would enjoy smoking weed together by the sofa and share stories of your traumatic childhood. It's how you guys bond and it's oddly wholesome.

Also when he needs a shoulder to cry on, you were always there for him. You two shared a type of relationship that even Romeo and Juliet couldn't compete with. To be fair they're dead so they actually can't fight.

"Hey reader!! If you're gonna keep reading then you might as well give the post a like or a repost. C'mon, pleassssseeee pleasepleaseplease"

"Ma cerise, who are you talking to?"

Although he doesn't mind your behaviour sometimes but he won't tolerate it if you ever cross the line on something. He's like the owner who sprays water at his pet cat when they don't listen.

"What are you mad at me for?!?!"

"You damn near tried to get us killed!!"

"Hey! You're the one who said it would be a suicide mission so I made sure it was a suicide mission!!"

"WHAT?"

There's no way he can deny how curious he is about where you get your guns and things. He once went in your room to find boxes of dynamite and a RPG just placed against the wall like furniture.

Like do you have a supplier or are you your own supplier?

Compatibility? 99.9%

M.M

Everybody deserves second chances.

He always tells him that to calm himself down everytime you managed to fuck up a thoroughly planned mission.

"What did I say about pressing buttons (Y/N)?"

"Honestly I stopped paying attention after you said 'Listen here'."

M.M has to be the only person you fear to the fact you try very hard to avoid him, this is because his long ass lectures are such a pain to deal with.

"How many times do I have to remind you? You can't just go around doing shit like that. You gotta consider the amount of danger you'll put everyone in..."

"(Blah blah blah... he's still going... uggggh... make it stop...!)"

Unable to handle the lecture any longer, you ended up shooting yourself in the head.

"(Y/N)!" His tone more disappointed than concern since this wasn't the first time you did this to escape his talks.

You know that russian dollhouse he tries to build in season 2? Well you'd constantly be found standing or sitting near him when he's trying to finish the set.

Since you're aware of his OCD, you like to edge him on by sometimes rearranging the parts or stealing some of it so he ends up searching high and low for the missing parts.

You had to admit it was entertaining to watch him accuse other people for touching his stuff when it was you behind all the schemes.

I'd like to think that after every mission when you happen to die, he'd be the one in charge of collecting your remains so you'd grow back.

That's why it comes naturally that his job is to make sure you don't do anything extreme.

"Where are my bombs??!?!" You'd shout, storming around the place looking for them.

"I sold them. Thought it'd do us more good knowing you won’t accidentally blow us up"

"WHAT?! GOD! It's like the writers of the show couldn't afford another explosion for this season so they had to use this DUMB of an excuse!!"

Though he does see some good in you through the messed up parts, he once saw you give his daughter a cute teddy bear when they've been burned by Vought.

She still has the bear and M.M likes to think that maybe you have a soft spot for kids since you never had a proper childhood. That's why he chooses to understand you rather than just being ignorant about your behaviour.

Compatibility? 80%

KIMIKO

She finds you a little odd but she doesn't mind once she realises how everyone is used to you being like that.

Whenever you're bored, you'd come to see what she was up to. Just imagine you sitting on the sofa like a curious kid as you watch her write alphabets on the book.

She also tries to communicate with you since she thought maybe your fucked up mind would understand her better in a way. Like how in season 2 she was repeatedly writing 'boy' to Frenchie but he didn't understand, so she came to you.

"Woow... watching you try to talk to me is like watching a baby take it's first breath..."

"😐"

"It's beautiful..."

Turns out her theory was wrong, you had a harder time understanding her compared to the rest.

Since you're the only two people in the group with powers, most of the time you two are sent on dangerous missions together. It's a nightmare for her because everybody knows communication is key but one is mute and the other doesn't listen.

"(Be quiet! There's people in the other room!)" She'd sign to you but you were busy humming a song while throwing around the enemies equipment.

"Oooh, what's this?" You held up a Homelander figurine which made you laugh as you show it to her.

"Hey look! 'I'm Homelander, I'm God's favourite. I play golf with Jesus every Sunday."

"(Can you please take this seriously?)"

"You're right, you gotta stop messing around Kimiko! We have a target to kill here" You said and you threw the figurine away which apparently clashes into a stack of boxes that came crashing down. The sound making everyone inside the building grab their weapons and began cornering you two in the room.

"😡"

"Okay that wasn't me that was gravity"

For the boys, you were plan A and she was plan B. That's because you always end up rushing into a fight first which most of the time resulted in you getting dismembered, which she later comes in to save you.

For example when Stormfront had stopped you guys, your bright ass thought it was a good idea to charge at her even though everyone was signalling you to stop. Next thing you know you were just a head being carried by M.M, you ended up watching as Kimiko fought Stormfront with the help of Starlight and Queen Maeve.

"That's my girl!! Now can anyone lend me a hand? I think I lost mine"

Compatibility? 97%

Bonus +

SOLDIER BOY

You know the scene where he walks out of his containment with the gas surrounding him? You swore when you watched him step out butt naked, you could hear angels singing and trumpets playing inside your head.

Shockingly enough, he was the only person who appreciated your humour. Could be a generation thing. He's just relieved not everyone has gone soft over the years.

In a way, you feel like you've become his babysitter. Everytime Butcher and Hughie left to do some business, you were in charge of making sure he doesn't blow up anyone. You kept him entertained so he didn't mind. That's why on the hunt for his former team members, he immediately chose you to be by his side.

"I'll take red with me"

"Red as in the american flag or the russians?" You asked which had him do the typical boomer laugh.

"I like you, you're funny" He said with a strong pat on your shoulder.

Butcher doesn't mind you with him cause he trusts that you can keep him under control. Hughie on the other hand isn't sure if you can even keep yourself under control.

"Shhh... wait... do you hear that?"

"Ah shit, did I accidentally said my dirty thoughts out loud? It's just you look breedable in that suit"

Another thing he likes about you is that you're okay with killing pretty much anyone, just try not to overstep cause that could potentially piss him off.

"I told you he's mine" He said as he had you pinned against one of the trees, apparently you had shot Mindstorm in the head when he literally made it clear to you minutes ago that was his kill.

"Quite possessive aren't you? I can recommended a therapist I know. Her names Martha—"

"You shut your mouth before I shove my shield up your ass"

"Gasp don't you DARE threaten me with a good time!!"

At the end of Season 3, you would obviously side with Butcher when everyone started to turn against Soldier Boy. He had to admit he was kinda hurt though, he expected you to be on his side.

"So what? You're crawling back to him now? After what we've been through?"

"Sorry big daddy, but Butcher has been my day one and I also happen to love him veryvery much"

Cue Butcher rolling his eyes out of disgust.

Compatibility? 100% but after the betrayal? 0% 😔

[frankieunscripted]

My reasons to hate Drake

First things first, I'm the reales- wait, wrong theme. First of all, I would like to say this is NOT an unbiased recap, this is literally just me listing things I've hated about Drake for years. You might as well join in on the hate train. Go watch some YouTube video essays on this if you wanna know more!!! You'll find plentyyyy

Certified Pedophile ("allegedly"): Texting teen girls until they're of age and then go and date them. ew.

Cosplay Gangsta: disrespecting the culture as a whole, but especially what hiphop is about. Flexing money, cars, girls, drugs, clothes bc he never understood hiphop was never about flexing, but about being heard bc you're oppressed, about revolution. Now we got his die-hard fans running around acting like this is true rap. no. "You don't know nun bout dat!"

Culture Vulture: jumping from trend to trend in order to make it "his own", faking accents that he has no business playing with and dropping them as soon as he's done with this specific type of genre bc it's not trendy anymore. Adapting whole "personas" around this, instead of just merely collabing with other artists. Jamaican and African accents are just 2 examples here.

Blackness: Drake never really got out of his acting career. Back on DeGrassi he was acting as a high school jock. Now he's acting like a tough black guy who's from the streets and knows what it's like to be down bad, when this was never his life. Lil Wayne warned him to never change and act tough just bc he would sign to Weezy's label where the rappers were predominantly "gangsta type dudes". And what did Drizzy do? He's acting all tough and "outta dem streets". He's clearly overcompensating for not feeling black enough (I've already reblogged 2 posts about this, pls see these for further context). Drake's mad for not being referred to as a rapper who speaks on being black, when in reality the black experience was never of topic in any of his songs. He also doesn't give back to the community.

Lil Wayne: Drake had relations with fellow rapper Lil Wayne's gf (she actually was of age, ayoooo!) while Wayne was away in prison. Wayne got word of the fact his gf was cheating on him with the young guy he signed under his label and was pissed. Drake, in an effort to smooth out the situation, got Wayne's face tattooed on his arm. Say what you will about portrait tattoos, but this story is just so fucking typical Drake. How the fuck do you think this is gonna help anyone?

Validation: Drake donates money in the music video for God's Plan, only to earn more money with that video/song than he donated in the first place. He felt good about donating and then never did that shit again.

Numbers: As a great man once said: "Crack fiends bought 10 million rocks, that don't mean it's good. It don't mean nothing." (As you can imagine, that man was 2Pac). And with that I say that proving your worth in the industry by numbers don't mean a lot. It means you and your team figured out the market and started producing stupid, vapid, but terribly long albums to maximize streaming numbers, automatically bumping up your place in the industry. This is about quantity, not quality - good rap/ hiphop was never about that. Drake actively validates his music and status with his fame, money and streams and neither him nor his fans seem to get that says nothing about the artistic value of his music. "Numbers lie too, fuck your pride, too!" (I mean really, Baby Shark has 14 Billion views on YouTube - you think that's REAL artistry, Mister Aubrey?)

Cocky Ass Bitch: I would be okay with a lot of his music if Drake just knew his fucking place. He went pop ages ago, but still people (including himself) refer to him as a rapper - no even, as THE rapper, placing him in the Top 3. Sometimes I feel like y'all do this, just to piss me off personally. Apart from everything else wrong with Drake, there's nothing wrong with liking music like his persé. Not everyone likes conscious/ deep stuff and sometimes, when you with the homies, you just wanna chill and listen to something "mindless" - MIND you, I'm not looking down on "non-conscious" rap, I'm just saying not every artist has to be woke/ deep all the time and some "empty" party anthem about girls, fashion, cars and alcoholism is fun at times. These party anthems deserve their place. And a child actor turned rapper turned POP STAR is valid in my books - just not if it's Drake. Apropos cockiness: The dude compares himself multiple times to Michael Jackson and while that got a few good lines out of him, I believe it's close to fucking blasphemy. Drake and MJ on the same pedastal. I mean sure, questionable stuff happening with kids, both of them wildly successful in their industry (mind you, streaming like today wasn't around back then and many of the numbers cannot be compared), but one of them a real talent and the other one some guy who more or less made it as an industry plant. "I can dance like Michael Jackson? / I'd argue your skills really lack, son!" (okay sorry, I know, that was corny as fuck xD) Dude is flexing with numbers instead of poetic abilities -

About the art itself:

Ghostwriters: "What poetic abilities?", I hear you ask - Yeah, don't think I forgot! Best believe I been cooking this one. There's evidence for Drake having ghostwriters - which on its own is fine, don't believe every star writes every single bar on their own. My problem with this is, that Drake keeps his cocky attitude, even though many of his hits aren't really Aubrey-written and also many ghostwriters never get their credit (this is why they're called "ghostwriters", I know that this is not something specific to Drake, but slapping one more name on the credits ain't that hard, when you're worth a billion bucks already). This is the rap equivalent of flexing your homework when you know DAMN WELL copied it off of your best friend and did nothing for that success. I guess his song Right Hand wasn't about a romantic interested after all, but the dudes who been writing it!

STOLEN SHIT: Why in hell is no one mentioning this on here? Drake is KNOWN for stealing other artists' verse metres (referred to as "flows", y'all tumblr, idk how much you guys do know, okay?), melodies, whole beats, samples or verses in general. In no other studio would you see mentions of a "reference track" concerning songwriting. They take a song as reference and build around it as they construct a beat. There's PLENTY of evidence for this happening, one story really had me baffled, where a young indie-rapper met Drake in the early 2010s, gave him his CD to listen to and a whopping 5 years later the indie-rapper realizes Drake just fucking stole his entire song (a really personal one at that) on his latest album back then. Being indie, of course the guy had little to no means of fighting back with lawyers or anything, man's was working a 9to5 job and had other stuff going on. Before you wanna argue with me though: YES. There is a difference between stealing and paying hommage. One famous example is Drake biting Eminem's Superman flow on Chicago Freestyle: "But I do know one thing though/ Bitches, they come, they go/ Saturday through Sunday, Monday / Monday through Sunday, yo/ Maybe I'll love you one day/ Maybe we'll someday grow". The only good thing Drake ever did was changing Em's "Bitches" to "Women" on his song. Other than that: exact same few bars. This is a hommage. Why? Because Eminem, that's why. You can pay hommage to great, well-known artists with good bars. It takes a common ground of knowledge from artist to audience to make a hommage like this work. That can go well. Kendrick copies the flow of a Kanye West song on HiiiPower and it works just fine because you listen to either of the song and think: "Ah yeah exactly, that one part, okay, I see you." You don't pay hommage to a small, unknown, indie-rapper by copying his whole verse about his Mom, when you would never say stuff like that on your records before. You don't, because it wouldn't work. None of your listeners would understand the innuendo at all, because no one ever heard of the "great guy you'd be paying hommage to". So shut up.

Music: It's just not that good. Like yeah, he had a few bangers, but let's not exaggerate. Artistically Drake does not offer anything. If he ever did, he probably left all of that on the first few albums he still rapped on. His delivery sucks, his singing voice sounds like he's tryna be The Weeknd at times but isn't. The lyrics aren't special. What the fuck?

Euphoria: Even before getting deeper into hiphop, I've always hated the way Drake presents himself. When Kendrick said: "I hate the way that you walk, talk, dress" I felt that. I hate the way he "raps", the way he drags his words, the way he laughs, the way he "sings". Just a whole lotta shit I dislike about the guy.

Sneak Dissing: If you want beef then get in line, don't just kinda allude to it, you weak ass bitch

SENSITIVE ASS BITCH: I love a man who's in tune with his feelings but Drake being the cosplaying gangsta clown he is, acts like he's all tough when in reality, you can't really say shit to him, cause he "can't let this shit slide, ay".

Kendrick's Control Verse drops - a verse calling out multiple rappers saying Kendrick will come for them in friendly competition for the crown of being the best. Drake was mentioned. Everyone thinks it's kinda cool and goes along. Drake is mad. In an interview he basically said he found it fake because the next time he saw Kendrick "it was all love" and that he wanted it "to be real. Let it be real then". Okay crodie, next time you get called out in a fair rap competition, best believe I'll sock you in your fucking throat, I gotchu.

The Weeknd doesn't sign to Drake's label OVO after working with Drake for a while. Drake is mad again and feels betrayed. Why you gotta be like this?

Kendrick says that he doesn't wanna collab with Drake because their music is too different, not because of anything personal. He just doesn't see it happen in the near future because it would not match artistically. Drake gets mad.

Drake stopped beefing with Pusha T back in the day. Probably because he exposed his son. But still, if you want beef, then clean up your plate, bc you eat what you order and dont't just start to "let this shit slide, ay"

("allegedly") being involved in XXXTentacion's passing back in 2018 over beef. This beef started because of the flow of X's popular song Look at Me!, which Drake stole shortly after letting X know his management would contact him about a possible collab. As you can imagine, X was never contacted by Drake's people. The kid was 20 years old, man. He said some outrageous shit at times, but no one deserves to go out like he did.

Also, the famous DMX ("Y'all gon make me lose my mind!") once said in an interview that he'd like to punch Drake in the face and I support that. Kendrick and his homies laughed at the clip - as did everybody else, cause it's hilarious if a beast and a legend of hiphop hates Drake. Drake was mad at Kendrick laughing about it and not taking it seriously. What did he expect? Should Kendrick have went after DMX and made him apologize for what he said about lil Aubrey? How old are you? 5?

Drake gets mad at a lot of shit - bottom line. I could go on and on, but I've been writing this for hours, it's half past 3 am and I wanna sleep after uni and work, y'all.

DURING THE DISS-ERTATION: this section is about shit Drake did during the beef with Kendrick.

Saying Kendrick's Like That verse was weak af. That's your core response? Someone flames you and people are already throwing ass to the mere sound of it and you think: "Huh, that sucked anyway." Pathetic.

Calling Kendrick short (over and over and over again) as if his height is under his control/ his fault? - as if that takes way from Kendrick's skill, Kendrick's allegations againt Drake! - as if that means ANYTHING AT ALL to people over the age of like... 12?

Going after anybody's family in the first place. I know nothing is really "off-limits" in a rap battle like this, but please have the fucking decency. Don't mention my Momma, my kids, my dog, my fam, my friends who ain't got nothing to do with the fact that I hate you. I will say I am not proud of Kendrick for getting down on that level himself - but I would be lying if I said I didn't enjoy Meet The Grahams and the sheer panic it induced. And sometimes I gotta be a little childish and yell "But Aubrey started ittt!"

Hitting on Whitney in The Heart Part 6. Don't go for another man's treasure, you absolute dog. Accusing Whitney of being unfaithful. My friend, this beef is about us (the Culture) hating you and the things you do. Stop trying to shift this into something it is not.

Reacting to diss tracks via instagram stories and memes, like he's that one popular girl in 7th grade who's gotta clap back to something someone said in school on her IG. Shut up.

Calling The Weeknd and his manager gay. Are we not over homophobia yet? Being queer is not an insult. Also falsely "accusing" people of being gay is uncool as fuck - but oh "You don't know nun bout dat!" bc false accusations are basically everything you do - and also possibly outing someone like that is fucking hurtful as shit. I know the people involved are probably not queer at all, but if they were - period.

Using AI in a song at all. Drake, you already proved you suck. Don't force it down our throats. What part of you thought it would make you look good? What part said it would be good to do in a diss track, when the world knows diss tracks are even more a show of capability than other songs. Nah, you go and use AI. Idc about your "mind games": Using AI Snoop Dogg is just weird as fuck cause the Doggy is still well and alive - if you want him to feature on your song, call the legend and ask hi- oh wait, you knew he woulda said "Aww hell nah!" cause everyone hates you? Huh. Snoop probably woke up one day, hit a blunt and asked "When the FUCK did I collab with Drake?". Anyway, using AI 2Pac is straight up disrespectful, when you know damn well the guy would've hated you if he knew who you'd become. Just doing this because it's 2Pac, because you can and not even asking for permission of Pac's people is crazy. Glad the shit was taken down anyways.

The 8 Mile "Airing Out Your Dirty Laundry"-Trick before the big battle does NOT invalidate future claims on you diddling kids. No. Not even if 2Pac says it first. Nah.

His Damage Control Effort in post to make it seem like/make us believe that he's in control, when Kendrick has been bodying him is hilariously embarrassing. Anyone can claim the mole was fake "all along" after it happened.

Making fun of Kendrick for his verse on Taylor Swift's Bad Blood is just stupid. Look at all the features Drake does. Rihanna, BadBunny, DJ Khaled, Future, PartyNextDoor, Lil Wayne, Diddy, Nicki Minaj, Wizkid, ..... the list is so fucking long (I'm just picking at random songs at this point, cause I do not want my browser/spotify history to be associated with Drake's music. I don't wanna go out of my way to say he NEEDS these people to stay relevant but let's face it: His discography and his success would be different if it weren't for them

Acting like he's so great for "finally making Kendrick rap again" - Sir, you don't write your shit on your own, stfu. You don't invest time and effort into your vapid albums. YOU should be thankful for Kendrick destryoing you, giving us the best few lines out of you in a long time.

Not addressing important shit. We been over the allegations, I will not repeat them in this post cause this is already long enough. BUT y'all on the same page as me, aight? Instead of addressing EVERYTHING, he just responds with diss tracks that aren't terrible but really not THAT good, yk? Not going into the shit that we want to se addressed.

Acting like disstracks need replay value. Idk if this is a Drake or a fanbase problem, but people really act like Drake's tracks were better, bc you can listen to them more casually. "Kendrick basically made a whole song about Drake" - THIS IS WHAT A DISS TRACK SHOULD BE! Notice how we don't call every song containing a diss immediately a "diss track"? That's why. Diss tracks were meant to hit your opponent in the stomach with witty bars, double entendres, nice delivery and good production. Diss tracks weren't meant to be club bangers - bonus if they do end up being some though, looking at you, Like That and Not Like Us.

Not reading into stuff properly or just not listening. This is a small one, but ngl I hate the fact they got the Mother I Sober reference wrong (The song is NOT about Kendrick being abused, BUT about Kendrick not being abused and his Mom NOT believing him and passing her sa trauma onto him, even though he didn't experience that). Also Kendrick explicitly says "DOT, the money, power, respect / The last one is better" on Like That and Drakes response (again) is "Huh, I have way more money than you and in the industry, I'm way more powerful than you. Also, you so short tihhihi." BITCH he SAID respect was the most important of the three and you disrespect him, not by calling him out by his wrong doings but by picking on physical features the man cannot change like a 5th grade bully.

Anyways. phew. If you made it this far... wow. I'm impressed. I'll keep updating this. Thanks for coming to my beef talk.

EDIT: Thank y'all for the positive reactions on this post. If you seek more info/ want me to further explain stuff/ have even more dirt on Drake, let me know and we can work something out. -Frankie out

[scoops-aboy86]

Secret Admirer

Steddie Week 2024, July 1: Mystery / secret relationship / One Night Alone by Vixen

wc: 2131 / rated: T / set between seasons 2 and 3 / also on ao3

cw: negative self talk (steve), allusions to unhealthy use of drugs and alcohol (eddie), and one horny paragraph

In the first few letters, Eddie had tried to disguise his handwriting. It occurred to him after a while, though, that there would be no reason for someone like Steve Harrington to recognize it, so he stopped. And he was right, nothing happened. 

Steve hasn’t figured out the secret admirer letters he kept answering were written by none other than the official Freak of Hawkins High. Hell, Steve hasn’t even worked out that he’s a he. Though a few vaguely worded sentences every now and then suggest that Steve might not be assuming she either, which is…interesting. Possibly nothing, but interesting all the same. And Eddie knows he’s probably just stringing himself along by doing this, but he’s about to repeat his senior year of high school for the third goddamn time and this is a better option than drinking or dipping into the harder stuff that Reefer Rick expects him to sell. Broken heart likely, but at least he doesn’t wake up with a headache or the shakes.

Now it’s well into summer, and the PO Box he’d had since he was sixteen (for Blueboys and other mags that would get him equally tarred and feathered if anyone finds out) gets mail every damn day.

Eddie looks down at the most recent letter, rereading it for the hundredth time with a joint in one hand, several empty beer cans littering the bedspread and floor of his room around him. 

Dear Secret Admirer, Hey, I’m sorry if I came on too strong in my last couple of letters. I get why you don’t want to tell me who you are. We probably went to high school together, right? You don’t write like a middle schooler and no one who graduates sticks around in this stupid town besides me. I guess that makes me stupid means you probably knew me when I was still a douchebag. Sorry about that. I hope I never said anything to you or let Tommy push you around. Except I don’t know why you would’ve started writing to me in the first place if I had? It’s not like I would’ve written back if I was still that popular guy who everyone talked to and thought was so cool. Yeah, I admit it, I thought I was hot shit back then too! But it turns out, they only give you the spotlight as long as you don’t put a toe out of line. Don’t point out when they’re being assholes. You wouldn’t believe the kind of shit some people will say when they think you already agree with them about everything.  Anyway, I’m trying to be better now. Genuinely, if I’m not, if I’ve been an asshole in these letters at all, please tell me. And it’s not like I’m tired of writing to you, I just. Wouldn’t getting to talk in person be even better? Or we don’t even have to talk, if you don’t want to, that’s okay! You can come by Scoops and tell me it’s you and I’ll give you a free ice cream cone or something, whatever you want. Because actions speak louder than words, right? You keep sending me all these nice letters, and I’m not the best with words so I want to give you something too. (I don’t mean that like That wasn’t a come-on, I swear. Shit, I should rewrite this again but this is already the fifth draft, it’s not getting any better than this. Sorry.) — Steve PS, I don’t know if you have been to Scoops already, but if you’ve seen my coworker’s whiteboard I swear I’m not interested just because I keep striking out. Turns out I don’t actually know how to talk to girls without being weird. It’s weird being done with high school and not have that stuff in common to talk about, and I used to be this cool guy that I’m really not anymore so I panic and all this bullshit (who am I kidding) bullshit comes out my mouth and it’s EMBARRASSING. Anyway. I really like your letters, it’s been great having someone to talk to even if it’s not really talking a face to face thing, and I’m not just saying that because I’m kind of a loser now. Anyway, have a nice day! Fuck, Robin is right, I SUCK

The first bullshit in the postscript is crossed out so hard there’s a tear in the paper. All the scribbled out bits are borderline illegible, like Steve really tried, but Eddie can still make out most of it and can guess the rest from context. The very last word, for example, is totally obscured, but he has seen the You Rule / You Suck board, so. Yeah.

It makes his heart ache, the way Steve talks about himself sometimes. The way his insecurities bleed through artlessly on the page like coffee stains. Eddie alternates between wanting to wrap him up in soft things to protect him from whatever sharpness left him so cut open, and wanting to smother him with kisses for the bravery in being so genuine with a nameless, faceless stranger. 

Except Steve isn’t his. Steve is straight, for all he’s apparently being kind enough not to make assumptions, and could never want Eddie in the same way. And it’s not fair, the hanging back that Eddie’s been doing, holding out now that Steve has come to look forward to his letters just because of a little (huge, massive, life-threatening) fear of rejection. 

He’s been dragging his heels so long that Steve is feeling rejected, and that just won’t do. 

Sighing, Eddie takes another long drag before stubbing the remaining nub of the joint out. Scrubs his hands across his face and considers getting another beer. Or maybe forgetting the corner he’s backed himself into, with Steve wanting to meet—not only to satisfy the curiosity of knowing who his secret admirer is, but because he actually seems to like the person writing to him. (Actually wrote that they didn’t have to talk if Eddie didn’t want to, Jesus H. Christ, why did he have to be such a fucking sweetheart about that?) 

It’s late, and he’s already stripped restlessly down to just his boxers for bed. He could push it all aside, push his hands down the front of his underwear and get lost in different thoughts about Steve for a while, for the trillionth time. God knows that always works to clear his head, sometimes twice if he’s ambitious about it, enough for sleep to take him. 

Instead, Eddie drops the letter on his bed and hunts around on his desk for a notebook he can stand to tear a few more pages out of. Once he has what he needs, he chews on the end of his pen for several minutes  before putting it to the paper.

Steve, my beloved, It has been some time since I’ve replied. My deepest apologies for that, as it seems like you’ve taken that to mean something I absolutely did not intend. I received all of your letters, and “too strong” is not how I would describe them. They were lovely, sweetheart. I have reread them many times, I have slept with them under my pillow, I have cried happy tears over them for the thought that you might actually share my affection enough to want so badly to know who I am.  Very quickly, to address some of your questions and concerns: One, we did share some years in high school, yes, and I’m pleased to read that you think my writing is at a level appropriate to someone approximately our age. (I wish more of my teachers shared that view, but alas, I’m pretty sure that most of them hate me. Except for the drama teacher, who would let me get away with murder as long as I didn’t stain or break any of his props with the act.) Two, Hagan was a dick, but more to my friends than me directly, and the worst you ever did was laugh when I dropped my books a few times, that sort of thing. Water under the bridge, fuck high school, etc. etc.. Three, you have not engaged in any assholery in your writing, or in any of your actions that I’ve seen in a long time.  And four… you should’ve left the double entendre (i.e. the “I want to give you something too”); I wouldn’t have minded.  Obviously I think of you as prime boyfriend material—thoughtful, good sense of humor and humility, and whenever those younger kids swing by to pester you at the mall you put up a good front of being exasperated and annoyed, but through all that I can tell you care about them. (They say never trust someone who would hurt an animal, it works for kids too.)  But you’re also a total smoke show, baby. The effortless way you moved around the basketball court, same as in the water when you were still on the swim team, and in those indecently tiny shorts. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve thought about running my fingers up the inside of those thighs. Or my mouth. Whichever you think you’d like best, baby, I’m not picky. And while I do like ice cream, particularly strawberry with rainbow sprinkles in a cone, I can think of something else I’d love to wrap my hand around and run my tongue over before any drips can escape. You just think about that, hmm? Maybe share some of those thoughts in your reply, if I haven’t scared you off with this paragraph.  It was a relief to write that, to be honest. I am not without my fantasies, you see; in a lot of ways, they’re all I have. The real reason I’ve been hesitant to respond to all of your heartfelt entreaties to meet, sweetheart, is that I’m afraid. I’ve been head over heels for you for so long—for your looks before anything else, I’ll admit, but the douchebag boy from high school that you mentioned is long gone. A man stands in his place, and what a man you are. In writing to you, I wanted to make clear first and foremost how ardently I admire and love you, lest my feelings be mistaken for mere tawdry teen lust.  And hopefully I’ve succeeded. If so, can you see now how actions can be carved in with the words? It is the intent that shines through, and I can read in between the lines, Steve, that you are being genuinely honest with yours. All those disparaging remarks you made about yourself in your last letter, both crossed out and not, are probably you being too hard on yourself, but they speak to the fact that you both understand you’ve made mistakes in the past and are trying to pay penance for them. That, along with your fantastic hair and magnificent ass, are just a few of the reasons I remain, as always— Your Secret Admirer P.S. I don’t mind weird. Like it, even. Bring it on, big boy.  P.P.S.  If all I could ever have with you is one night alone, I’d take it and be grateful.

Eddie’s letter is almost twice as long as Steve’s, but whatever. That’s par for the course; he never expected Steve to be much of a wordsmith, even though the guy is clearly putting in a lot of effort. Writes drafts, apparently. Unlike Eddie, who bangs all that out in pretty much one go and merely skims it before sliding it in an envelope, sealing it in, slapping on a stamp and address, and throwing it off the bed. 

Then he falls into bed and strips his dick to the thought of Steve reading the letter and thinking about his mouth, half in a hot anonymous way and half in some imaginary reality where Steve knows it’s him and wants this just as badly. Of Steve groaning out how good it feels and maybe wanting to hold him after, fall asleep together, like they’re…

The next morning (or afternoon, whatever, it’s summer vacation), Eddie reviews his slightly fuzzy memory of the letter after stepping on the envelope and realizing, oh, right. Overly verbose and dramatic, the way he always is but even more so when tipsy. And… fuck it. One horny paragraph, he decides, won’t be the end of the world. Maybe it will scare Steve off; maybe he’ll enjoy it. Let fate decide, just like at the dnd table. 

Eddie shoves the envelope into the mail drop box just outside the trailer park gate on his way into town and sends a prayer out to no god in particular that he hasn’t just rolled a nat one.

~

Permanent tag list: @hotluncheddie @lawrencebshoggoth @sofadofax @tangerinesteve

Tagging some folks who expressed interest about this story in my Wiggly Wednesday post last week, let me know if you don't want to be tagged going forward: @steviewashere @cryingglightningg @theresebelivett @sleepy-steve

@rozzieroos @lunaraindrop @just-my-latest-hyperfixation

[sillyandquiteawkward]

sillys (not so) lil info dump about how to be a human being. smiles

htbahb is an album from glass animals, of which notably, all the songs align with different people's lives, perspectives, and feelings, also of which are shown on the (various) album covers. so the easiest way to go thru the story is song by song. but i will show you the album art so you can get a gist of things before we go into details.

these are just some of the various album covers for htbahb, theres a bunch of them, but we dont need to see all of them to see the different lives of our characters.

1, Life Itself

this is our main character for life itself. you can call him a bit of a nerd if youd like. apparently his name is chuck rogers. they dont all have names.

hes an inventor, loves ray guns and strange technology, but as noted in his song, feels like he was raised with expectations hell never be able to achieve. his father as a child said he would be a superstar, but nowadays, he cant get a job and he lives with his mom. hes struggling with finding himself and his place in society and hes doing drugs and feeling like hes absolute rock bottom with everyone being against him. he feels alone and attacked and retreats back into his car or grandmothers basement and keeps folding back into himself.

in the music video for life itself, hes only seen in a few scenes, leading the charge against [popular st] with a smoke bomb as [mamas gun] watches knowingly from the sidelines as perhaps the real leader behind the assault. they seems to be accomplices with each other, as they ride in the car together and seem to be specifically looking for [youth].

2. Youth

now the main character for youth is tricky, it seems like we have two characters for youth, the small child, and assumedly, his mother the waitress. i think i like the interpretation that the mother is the main character for this song, and the child represents the album as a whole. alternatively i also like the idea that the child is youth, and his mother represents [premade sandwiches]. but for the most part, they are just both the characters for youth.

youth is a mother talking about her child, and to her child, almost in a detached sort of way as if they arent able to see each other. a mother speaking her hopes and dreams to her child. somehow these two have been separated when the child was young, perhaps through giving up to adoption, or hinted in the music video, abduction. she wishes best for the child, urges them to feel their mother at their side, and notes that theyve got her eyes. she lists off her wishes for them to be happy and have friends, and be silly. this perhaps is for the best, that they can be happy even without her. i particularly like in this song, the wordplay makes it sound like the singer is counting one, two, three, four, five, when they are singing other words like boy, to, free, funny, and fly respectively.

in the music video for youth, the child is seen almost haunting the mother as she works as a waiter, appearing in several locations playing and running around as she remains dutiful to her job. they briefly sit looking at each other in the same hotel room he had been taken to in life itself's music video.

3. Season 2 Episode 3

this is the main character for season 2 ep 3 and i think one of the cool changes between album covers, as we see a fully done up girl all put together with her make up on, and in the other, someone a bit more silly with her makeup removed. this might be the way she sees herself vs how other people see her.

the song is the lament of a boyfriend to his girlfriend, who seems to be glued to the couch, watching shows, getting high, not changing her clothes, and eating day old leftover food and most notably, mayonnaise straight from the jar. at the beginning of the song, the two of them are high together, however he soon sobers and realizes she refuses to get sober along with him. he tries to convince her that their relationship wont work if she keeps being like this and doesnt try, but she wants him back the way he was (high as well) and views him as a nag. she still makes him happy, but sometimes she makes him sad to see how she lives. even after an acceptance from the boyfriend that she wont change and will never be vertical and golden like he wants and that the relationship will never work out, the song ends hinting that hes picked up getting high with her again due to her calling him a killjoy and wearing him down.

in the music video we watch the girl splay out on the sofa, surrounded by her mess watching tv and doing nothing. halfway into the video, we are brought into the game she plays, as she battles [life itself] [cane shuga] and [the other side of paradise], all of which are men who could possibly be the boyfriend figure.

4. Pork Soda

this is our main character for everyones favorite pork soda. hes an older man, who for the most part seems pretty happy. wonder if hes harboring some long lost feelings or something.

the song opens with a street performance unintelligible to a normal listener, its like passing by a conversation, you are only able to hear bits and pieces of the spoken words. once the song starts you hear a story about this guy's girl who used to be fun and adventurous and would take him along with her. in the same breathe hes begging to go back to the days they were happy together. it seems like they fell out of love, or are in a struggling relationship bereft of communication or the passion it once had. shes only happy when theyre having sex together, and just looking at each other causes him heartache. the song talks about pineapples in my head, and being brain dead, as well as other references to diminishing mental facilities, that perhaps in their age, theyd forgotten about each other.

the music video gives us probably the most clear story line, as we see the wife prepare a meal before sending it through a dumbwaiter into the basement for the husband. there he sits alone, watching tv. up above the wife plays with their dog, imagining the dog is the younger version of her husband. all of her time is dedicated to the dog, and all of his time is dedicated to the tv. they have forgotten they love each other and live in the same house, but live in separate worlds. only after the dog destroys his tv and the husband destroys the floor above him and under her feet, do they finally get back together as he catches her as she falls, surprised and exhilarated for the first time in forever. and things seem to be better as they finally occupy the same room together again.

5. Mama's Gun

This is the main character for mamas gun. shes a victim of the perception of her mental illness. i think this is my fav song of the album.

during the song, the woman initially admits that she took her gun and made her husband go to neverland. however she also says she loved him a lot and he was perfect. through bits and pieces of the lyrics you can come to the conclusion that she has some sort of psychosis, or perhaps schizophrenia in particular as she notes many different voices and figures talking to her. the song references dr swango, a doctor who killed his patients, however he insists to her that him and all the other voices in her head are too from neverland, and that she was a murderer just like him. is she really guilty of murder? what really happened? the flute played during various instrumental parts of the song is a sample from the carpenter's mr. guder, a song about a man who does what hes supposed to in society and his job and gets nothing from it. karen carpenter herself was a victim of her own mental illness and they say that theres a specific purpose for the sample chosen. once the lyrics pick back up, the voices again pipe up and tell her she was a murderer, even the voice who had never spoken says so, so he must be telling the truth right? during the final bit of the song, it seems like her husbands voice joins into her collection of voices, as he bears a cheshire smile and asks her to lay with him once again, and that hes waiting for her. in the end, its unclear what happened with her and her husband, as she goes back and forth saying she was violent, she was doing nothing. this song was inspired by a story they heard of a woman going into a drug induced black out for a month and reappearing in another state with no memory, and the lingering fear that shes done something terrible wrong, and never being able to have the closure of knowing what happened.

theres no music video for this song, but we see her appear in life itself. she and [life itself] drive to the hotel where [poplar st] is holding [youth] captive and attempt to break into the room hes in.

6. Cane Shuga

this is our main character for cane shuga. hes exactly how he seems, a rich white guy who is, of course, using that cane shuga all day everyday.

cane shuga presents a dialogue from two parties, two people in a relationship. the singer promises he wont do coke anymore, that he wont be a john doe in the hospital. the chorus however is the high he rides on, where he thinks hes hot shit, hes 007 james bond, hes as powerful as kim jong, with a popped collar as he looks into the glare of the mirror and hypes himself up after using in the bathroom at work. hes untouchable. the second chorus is his partner, giving up on him, their love has burned up, just like his drugs. theres a humorous line of putting their foot down saying ive had quite enough, but corrects themself and sarcastically says or lack there of, that they arent being given anything anymore by him. regardless, their verses and conversation is short. the chorus of his high is the main focus of the song, and repeat over and over as the days continue.

[cane shuga] appears in season 2 ep 3's music video as [season 2 episode 3]'s potential lover. their stories do seem to entangle, they both are drug users dealing with partners who want to stop using. some people say that he is her partner, that he stops using for her, but falls back into the habit. however this doesnt exactly line up with her song, as she doesnt want him to stop. i think its part of that unreliable narrator theme weve seen in previous songs. people have different experiences with each other and get different messages due to the issue of communication. im not exactly on board with these two being together, but i do understand where people are coming from with this take.

7. [Premade Sandwiches]

this is a spoken word interlude, sped up and pitched down. there doesnt seem to be a character paired with this song, and on cd this song is simply a bonus track hidden behind cane shuga. on first listening its very difficult to catch what is being said, but over and over the speaker is talking about standing in line for various things. this song discusses mindless over consumption of drugs, of buzz words, of natural foods for your dog, watches, new clothes made to look old, the junk drawer filled with phones you dont use, with pens that dont work, with random shit you never needed just piling up. people stand in line and they dont even know why.

8. The Other Side Of Paradise

this is our main character for the other side. hes gonna be a basketball player and make it big babyeee.

so its a bit unclear and vague in the lyrics, but it seems our narrator and the basketball player used to be close friends. he even seems to be in love with the basketball player, calling him my love. but the basketball player leaves their home in new orleans to go chase his dreams out west and make it big, leaving our narrator's side. he told the narrator not to worry but after phone calls, it seems like basketball boy got a girlfriend. hes gloating to the narrator, hes got a girlfriend now, hes got a gold camaro, hes made it big, meanwhile our narrator is at the payphone hearing all this and his world turns in slow motion. no longer is the basketball player his baby blue anymore. hes moved on, hell never have another chance to love his friend. hes so angry and hurt, but he balls up his fist almost in a fight or flight reaction, and settles for the ghost of his love. hed always hoped for a paradise where they could be together but it seems like fate had other plans. he laments the basketball player for ditching them, saying here in new orleans people dont leave and ditch their lady (him). he wants to be loved and pampered by him, not her. heres where the vagueness comes back, the narrator seems to be so distraught that he rather kills himself, or finds that his body looks wrong, perhaps that hes not a girl that couldve been loved by the basketball player.

he only ever appears in the music video for season 2 ep 3 as one of the bosses [season 2 episode 3] defeats, claiming ball is life. there is a music video that was recently released for this song, however it does not depict the basketball player.

9. Take a Slice

this is our main character for take a slice, hes a bit of a slut but he makes it work :) the spoken intro to this song is the real recording the band took while talking to a male fortune teller, so the sausage candle is rather real or a lie from the fortune teller.

take a slice regales the story of a young man who finds pleasures in the sultry sexual aspects of life. hes sucking on cigarettes in a way freud would roll in his grave, hes painted his nails dark, has piercings, hes asking for another slice of cherry pie, cherries being a symbol for all things sex and lust. hes smitten with the idea of being a prize to be sought after, and after trying sex work for the first time, realizes this is the job for him. hes going to fuck his way through college, and sleep during class dreaming of you. wink. hes rolling in the dough, hes got a gold car, hes maybe dabbling in drugs too, and hes filthy and he loves it.

10. Poplar St

ms moore is the main character of poplar st, and shes a cougar, and not the good kind.

a young boy lives a typical suburban life. hes got bandaids on his knees and hes climbing trees. but one day, he sees mrs moore and mr keats have sex. immediately this drags him out of his childhood, hes such a man now that he knows what sex is. this is the first step of her grasp around him. as he gets a bit older, his mother calls her prosti-tits and looks down upon her. but the boy looks up to ms moore, despite his mothers words. mrs moore sees his desperation and pulls him into her clutches. theres a very specific voice crack when her teeth sink in deep and the note hes singing falls flat. this bit of pain expressed is highly contrasted with the chorus coming back in, the boy once again considers himself a real man, a true romantic, this is what all men dream of, isnt it? but there are dead flowers in the sand, hinting that these roses arent just romantic. the next bridge plays and interesting word switch up. it starts out with her begging him for more as she sits in her underwear, and then switches to him begging her for more in his underwear. theyve both wasted their days, but when it comes to his youth and her age, the only one wasting their childhood is him. the song concludes with mrs moore calling him up collect (so he has to pay for the phone call, not her) one day and breaking up with him. and then it all gets pulled out from under him and hes just a boy again. this tells the sad tale of how men and boys' sexual assault and grooming often is pushed to the side because they think this is how things are supposed to go, that they are supposed to have sex and to be used and abused from a woman is supposed to be an achievement. but really all it is, is abuse that leaves him feeling terrible.

11. Agnes

this is agnes :) i think it was mentioned at some point that he takes pictures of people when they arent looking, so to me, i like to think hes the one capturing everyone pictured in this album. bear witness to other humans.

the song starts out where the singer is appearing to try and comfort agnes. how did it get this bad, agnes used to just take pills and smoke a little, somethings changed perhaps. the singer notes agnes is just going through the motions every day, numb, and nervous, but hes swelling with emotion all the same. here the singer laments he wants to hold agnes like hes mine. theres a longing sadness in the lyrics. the next verse confirms the worst, while agnes was perhaps a genius when it came to the romantic, he was a deeply depressed and lonely person. he started to rely on the drugs and the alcohol he used to use recreationally, just to live a normal life. and he ultimately commited suicide. the singer wonders where the agnes he used to know went. however the singer reconsiders, and accepts that agnes did his best, life must feel so unbearably long when its soaked in sadness, living a false life filled with depression. so it goes, the singer thinks, but cant help but to feel lost. the only thing he can think of is agnes, perhaps considering all the art agnes made, all the photos he took of other people, perhaps just thinking about his friend in any aspect. grief is funny like that. on the vinyl record, this song's last seconds repeat over and over until you stop the machine from playing, like a lingering memory you cant stop thinking about.

the agnes music video is much different than the others, as it focuses on the singer, dave bayley as he sits in a centrifuge and attempts to sing the song. this causes a very physical reaction and he struggles to even lift his hand, by the end of it hes sweating profusely and unable to catch his breath, but he persists and continues singing. he mentions this was a mere fraction of what someone going through depression could feel like. during the music video as well, he appears to be looking across from a mannequin, perhaps the stand in for himself once hes put himself in agnes' shoes.

thanks for reading if you did i love being insane. all of these are my personal thoughts on the album, and might not exactly match up with your interpretation, but i have tried to keep to what we believe is what glass animals had in mind for the album and these characters.

[munsonsmixtapes]

Saw you had requests! And this may be a trigger warning but it’s a fix I’ve thought about for months.

Eddie, bestie female reader. You are newer to Hawkins and go to a party with Eddie robin and Steve. Not big into drugs or drinking to stick with punch.

While Eddie is off making some money you’re not paying attention to your cup. And someone slips in something.

Soon you start to feel weird… and scared. Someone finds Eddie who is by your side in a second. Friends freak out your crying and scared possible culprit is found and Eddie wants to kick his ass but he is taking care of you. And then from there where ever you think it could lead? Ed’s taking you home but staying and helping you through your high/trip so sweet doesn’t even need to be secretly in love or it could be but nothing happens because… well after a scary thing like that… no thanks.

Idk it’s been stuck in my head and again don’t write if you’re not comfortable.

Im not going to anon because I’m afraid I may miss if you do write. But again if not that’s totally okay!

Hey, thanks so much for your request!

Word count: 1,723

CW: reader gets roofied, let me know if there’s anything I missed!

Eddie x bestie!fem!reader

You looked around Steve’s house which was filled a bunch of people you didn’t know. You hadn’t really liked parties, but Eddie had begged you to go and you found yourself unable to say no to him. He was just so cool and pretty that you wanted to do whatever he asked when he flashed you those doe brown eyes.

You were still new to town and in no position to pass up friends so that meant hanging around people you didn’t like just so full your social circles. People like Brad were who you despised the most. He had been trying to sleep with you for months only to be met by rejection. He wouldn’t take no for an answer, approaching you every chance he got and that night hadn’t been an exception.

“Hey,” he smiled, leaning over the back of the couch. Eddie was always quick to jump to your defense, but of course he was nowhere to be found, taking an opportunity to sell, it being a huge party and all.

You ignored him, looking down at the red plastic cup in your hand. Eddie had given you some punch that had just been a bunch of different types of alcohol mixed with some juice. You didn’t drink much so it was perfect, the juice completely covering up the bitter alcohol taste that you weren’t a fan of.

You thought that not speaking to Brad would help him get the hint, but that only made him speak again. He took your silence as playing hard to get and goddamn was he determined to get you.

To Brad, you were just another body to use. He loved that you were innocent, having never slept with anyone. He just wanted to add yet another notch to his bedpost, wanting your name to be on the list of virgins he had fucked.

You had felt bad for the girls who had been desperate enough to sleep with Brad and you definitely weren’t going to be one of them. He was gross and you had eyes for only one man. That man being nowhere to be found when you needed him.

You hadn’t been paying attention and Brad had slipped something into your drink, quickly moving away before anyone could catch him. If you wouldn’t say yes, he was going to take matters into his own hands.

But Robin had caught him and hurried over to you to stop you from drinking the now contaminated juice. You had already taken a sip before she was able to get to you. She watched in horror as you swallowed the liquid and quickly took the cup from you. She pulled you in the kitchen to keep an eye on you and poured the juice down the sink.

She then grabbed onto Steve who just so happened to also be in the kitchen and turned him around to face her, panic in her eyes.

“Hey, what’s going on?” He could see the look on her face and started to worry. Robin was known to freak out on a regular basis, but this was different. He could feel it. Something was wrong.

“Y/n was roofied.” He felt his knees go weak at her words and looked at you for any signs of sickness, but you seemed fine. It was only a matter of time before the symptoms took over.

“I’m gonna go get Eddie. Take her to your room,” she told him, looking around the house for the curly head of hair.

Robin was quick to run from the kitchen, pushing through all of the partygoers to find the metal head. She didn’t have much time and it didn’t help that Steve’s house was packed and there was no trace of Eddie anywhere.

Steve took you to his room so you could have some quiet. You already felt dizzy, having trouble walking, feeling like the place was spinning. Everything was distorted and didn’t look right.

You continued you to try to walk but fell to the floor, the drugs in your system quickly taking over. You fell face first in the foyer and people were quick to part like the Red Sea as you laid there in the middle of them.

Everyone just stared at you while Steve was picked. He looked down at your face to see that your nose was red from where it hit the floor. He carried you up the stairs and to his room, hoping that Eddie was going to be there soon. You were fading fast and you looked so scared, it was terrifying to him. He didn’t know you as well as Eddie, but you were his friend and he hated seeing you like that. So scared and helpless.

Steve opened the door and closed it behind him with his foot before carefully laying you on his bed. His heart was racing and he was wondering where the fuck Eddie was. It didn’t take long to get to his room no matter when in the house you were coming from.

Steve sat you up against his headboard, making sure you didn’t fall asleep. He laid next to you awkwardly, not taking his eyes off of you.

“I need Eddie,” you slurred. Steve wanted Eddie too. He was the only one who always knew what you needed. Steve was going to try his best, but he was terrified for you. He couldn’t imagine going through something so scary.

“Eddie’s coming sweetheart. He’ll be here in a second.” Steve wasn’t sure how sure his statement was true, but he was going to believe it anyway.

The door burst open and Eddie and Robin rushed into the room. She sat on the bed next to Steve while Eddie made a beeline for you. He took you into his arms and the two of you slowly lowered yourselves to the floor. You cried into his chest and he let you, knowing how scared you were. You needed to let it out and he was going to let you talk about it if you wanted to.

Robin and Steve made themselves scarce, wanting to give to two of you some space. Eddie pulled you onto the bed and you cuddled up into his side, feeling nothing but dizzy. Everything was doubled and you had to close your eyes so it would go away, but it didn’t. It only got worse when you closed your eyes.

“I’m so fucking sorry, sweetheart. I should have been there with you.” Eddie was going to blame himself for the rest of his life. Sure, if he had been with you, you wouldn’t have been drugged, but it wasn’t his fault. It was just horrible incident and the only person to blame was Brad.

“Eddie, it’s okay,” you slurred. “It’s not your fault. It’s mine. I should’ve been paying more attention.” He was getting angry that you were blaming yourself. It wasn’t your fault at all. You should have been able to have a drink without worrying whether there were drugs in it or not.

“No,” he said a bit too harshly, sitting up he so could look you in the eyes. “None of this is your fault, y/n. It’s Brad’s.”

“Exactly,” you opened your eyes. “So you shouldn’t be blaming yourself. You should be allowed to leave me for a few minutes without worrying about me.”

“I always worry about you. You’re my best friend. That’s my job. And I didn’t do my job for one night and something horrifying happened to you, y/n. You were assaulted.” That word made it sound so much worse. You knew that was what happened to you, but didn’t really have time to think about it until Eddie had said it.

Just because Brad hadn’t done anything to you physically didn’t mean that you weren’t a victim. Eddie wanted you to know the severity of what had happened and wanted to you to know that you had every right to feel scared.

You fell silent after that, the words heavy between the two of you. Your heart rate quickened as everything set it. You didn’t want to believe it, very much in denial of the severity of the situation. In your mind, if you didn’t acknowledge it, it wasn’t actually happening.

You slowly drifted to sleep and Eddie kept an eye on you to make sure you were okay. He felt sick seeing you like that. You hadn’t been acting like yourself and even after your discussion, he was still blaming himself for what had happened to you. He’d get over it eventually, but for now, he was going to let himself drown in his guilt.

You woke up the next morning from the sun shining through the window. You felt so much better, but you were still a little groggy. You sat up and panicked when Eddie wasn’t by your side but let out a sigh of relief when you saw him sitting at Steve’s desk. He had some toilet paper in his nose and a bag of frozen peas was sitting onto top of one of his hands, his other hand of top of the bag.

He smiled when he looked at you and you returned it, his smile always infections. You eyed the peas once more and wondered what had happened while you were asleep. It seemed like Eddie was always up to trouble.

“What did you do this time?”

“I punched Brad.” He said the words so proudly and for once, you didn’t feel like scolding him. If anyone deserved to have the shit punched out of them, it was him. He deserved a lot more, but you were going to take what you could get as far as his ass kickings went.

“Steve helped. We went to his house this morning and taught him a lesson about dragging women before calling the cops. They arrested him an hour later so he’s definitely not to be bothering you anymore.”

You didn’t think anyone had done something so nice for you. Unbeknownst to you, Eddie would have done anything for you. He would have even left Brad alone if you asked.

“You didn’t have to do that.” You walked over to him and planted yourself in his lap. He wasn’t caught off guard at first, but arm quickly wrapped around your waist while you rested your head on his shoulder.

“I know,” he nodded. “But I wanted to. And that was the least that fucking dick deserved.” It was true, and even though you would probably never to get over what had happened to you, knowing that Brad was behind bars made you feel a whole lot better.

[mixelation]

wait here's something weird and kind of niche i wrote a while ago

sakura's POV, meant to be a build up to itasaku but barely contains a hint of itachi

From Sakura’s point of view, it goes like this. 

She takes a call from the Office of Public Health, which is located in the Fire Country capital and is a civilian institution. They theoretically have no power over anything Konoha does, but occasionally Sakura has to field angry calls about Konoha shinobi spreading diseases long distance, or putting things in public wells, or that one time some idiot chunin squad caused a landside that wiped out a major delivery of medicines to a rural province. 

“Konoha Hospital, Haruno speaking,” Sakura says, plastering a fake smile across her face even alone in her office. 

“Ah, yes, is this the…” The voice on the other end pauses, and Sakura hears the shuffling of papers. “Lead Medical Jounin?”

The woman says this like she can’t believe it’s a real title. But as of two months ago, it’s Sakura official, very important, and extremely high ranking title. It’s come with more annoying phone calls than she anticipated. 

“That’s me,” Sakura tells her. “To whom do I have the pleasure of speaking?”

The woman on the other side is head of Fire Country’s tuberculosis response team. She’s calling because of several very worrisome cases of TB across the Western provinces. 

“Multi-drug resistance is common in Water Country,” Sakura replies airily. She would rather people not be getting MDR-TB in general, but also, this is not her job unless this lady is about to tell her they tracked it to Konoha shinobi. 

Just to be sure, Sakura continues, “As you should know, Konoha includes an annual TB screen for all active shinobi, and a full course of antibiotics for any infected shinobi. Is this, perhaps, a courtesy call that we should be on the lookout for resistant strains?”

“It’s not coming from Water Country,” the woman tells her hotly. “We don’t know where it’s coming from. Contact-tracing hasn’t worked. These towns aren’t even on normal trade routes.”

Sakura’s cheeks are starting to hurt as her fake smile broadens. “Ah, well, if you require Konoha’s assistance, the more appropriate office is Mission Requests–”

“No traceable contacts paired with no obvious source,” the woman interrupts, “is almost always shinobi, Haruno-san.”

Sakura purses her lips, smile failing her. She just said they made sure anyone catching TB on the job was screened for and treated. She knows years ago that Tsunade had to handle some fiasco where a select few Konoha-nin were spreading an STI all over the place, but this situation is different. 

“What exactly do you want?” Sakura asks, voice hardening. 

“We’re auditing you,” the woman says. “I have an order signed by the Daimyo.”

Fuck, Sakura thinks. 

Sakura attempts to dump the audit on Tsunade. Tsunade laughs in her face. Sakura does manage to get approval for funding more overtime for medical ninja and staff to deal with it; Tsunade rarely argues against dumping money into the hospital or Medical Corps. 

Several thousand TB tests later, and many hours of Sakura organizing and photocopying records to prove they really were screening everyone, and she is royally pissed. Also, tired and probably malnourished from resorting to cup ramen for dinner too many nights. The audit is time consuming, and it doesn’t excuse her dealing with numerous other crises the hospital has just by virtue of being a hospital, on top of all her usual duties. 

Ms. TB Response Team deigns to make the trip down to Konoha to go through their audit. She looks exactly how Sakura imagined her on the phone: chin-length graying hair gelled into place, thick-rimmed glasses, a lab coat over a blouse and pencil skirt. It takes her and two other team members three days to go through the documents Sakura offers, and then another day to tour the labs to make sure they’re adequate. 

Ms. TB Response Team seems disappointed when they find nothing. Sakura doesn’t not want to harm a civilian woman just for doing her job, as annoying as it is. But she does sort of want to throw her desk through a window and yell I TOLD YOU SO. 

“This is good news,” Ms. TB Response Team says eventually, seated across from Sakura’s desk, “although inconvenient.”

Inconvenient? Sakura wonders, struggling to keep her smile in place. Yes, from the capital’s perspective, it would be a really convenient explanation if it were just Konoha ninja spreading TB around. They’d have their source and then also the ability to demand Konoha do something about it. 

But also: Tsunade’s Konoha doesn’t do this shit. Not with something as easily detectable as TB. 

“I’m glad we could assist in your investigation,” Sakura replies, surprising herself at how smooth her voice sounds. “Will that be all?”

“Mm, no,” Ms. TB Response Team responds, pushing up her glasses on her nose. “Perhaps the parameters of the audit were unclear. We’d also like to see your records on missing-nin movement.”

Shit, Sakura thinks. 

This one she really does get to dump on Tsunade. She’s positive of it as she opens the office door and gestures Ms. TB Response Team inside. 

Usually a small group like a disease response team wouldn’t be able to convince Konoha to share highly classified information like this. Another Kage probably wouldn’t let them at it, end of story. But Tsunde is a doctor first and Hokage second. She looks at the reports on MDR-TB, leans back in her chair, groans, and mashes the palms of her hands into her eyes. 

Multi-drug resistance means the bacteria do not respond to two or more of the available anti-TB drugs. This makes them difficult to treat, and untreated TB has a high mortality. They can’t let this spread. 

“Fine,” Tsunade eventually says. Ms. TB Response Team perks up. “No, I’m not letting you at our records. But I’ll let you have Sakura.”

Sakura immediately tenses, and the floorboard cracks underneath her as she shifts her position.

“Shishou,” she starts. 

“Sakura can go through the documentation and report back relevant findings,” Tsunade continues. “I assure you she’s highly competent.”

“Shishou,” Sakura repeats. “I have other important duties. Surely another shinobi is more suited to–”

She just got this position, and four out of the six months she’s been doing it have been this stupid audit. She doesn’t even have her feet under herself properly.

Tsunade eyes her levelly. “Learn to delegate,” she says. 

Several more floorboards crack when Sakura stomps out of her office ten minutes later.

[mesywelch]

Don't Cry, Baby | College AU | Chapter 1

Paring: Rafe Cameron X Reader

Summary: Growing up in a sheltered family, safe and secure amongst people you could trust was, according to you, heaven, despite how some tend to doubt its consequences. But you did not expect your safe bubble to pop so suddenly when you entered college - the atmosphere so dazzlingly stark, that it was proving to be a difficult challenge to navigate around. Especially when one of the students gets painfully curious about the new girl.

Warnings: Talks about sex, swearing, drugs, possible smut.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

"So you've never had sex." 

My jaw hung open at his bluntness, eyes gauging him from my position on the rough bed as I looked up at his tall frame. I quickly shook away my telling expression, however, loosening the grip on my ankles; the surprise I felt was immense but Rafe didn't have to know that. 

How the conversation slid its way onto the topic of sex wasn't clear to me. I suppose Rafe was the first to impose the subject, something about Kelce and his new girlfriend, but then the questions were being thrown at me, while I unsuspectingly debated which outfit to wear, my limited selection sprawled across my bed. 

My attempts to answer them euphemistically, I had to admit, were a bit suspicious, and it was no time before Rafe began to catch on to the implications of my tone. Now that the truth was out in the open, something shifted in his eyes, and his speech transformed entirely. I had only known Rafe for a few days, having met him in the hallway of our dorms, but he was never so daring in our increasingly longer interactions, nor so friendly like he was and continued to be in our current one. 

I certainly did not expect us to get close enough to talk about sex (something I had only shyly whispered about with girl friends in high school) but everything in this new college environment was taking me aback—especially their…. openness, I guess, was the appropriate word. I was also familiar with their weird fascination with virgins, which is why…..

Shrugging in false casualty, I squeaked out uneasily, "Yes." 

Rafe paced up and down my humble room, his body comically large in its small confines, and looked at me with narrowed eyes, hand running through his blonde hair that shone alluringly under the window's sunlight. Even though he tried his hardest not to show it, behind his look of suspicion, I could sense a whole lot of amusement. And the smirk gracing his lips when I interrupted his attempt to speak just made it plain obvious.  

"You promised." I warned, referring to his words that assured me of no mockery after I answered his question, or rather, observation. 

"I wasn't gonna tease." 

I scoffed, disbelieving. "You were!" 

"No, actually. I was simply going to ask," He paused, building up the tension that only I was feeling, as he walked closer to where I sat on the bed. With a mischievous grin, he continued, "if you'd ever watched porn." 

"Why are we having this conversation again?" I groaned, falling back on the bed. The evening was visibly disappearing behind the window, and instead of heading out for a friend's birthday party, as we were supposed to, I was stuck in my dorm with Rafe for some reason. I didn't even remember why he was in here in the first place instead of getting ready too. Just a comment about how he 'didn't need to'.  

"Answer the question." 

"Can't we do this after Ruby's party?" My words came out whiny and childish, and I mentally slapped myself for acting like this in front of a practical stranger and so hurriedly sat up straight. Ruby was another friend I made, our meeting occurring at the end of my first ever lecture. Approaching me with a dazzling smile, she was sensitive enough to my anxiety and bought me a cup of coffee, in her own words, as a peace treaty. A few days later, an e-invite to her birthday was sitting in my unread messages. Gazing at Rafe's uncharacteristically curious face, I was reminded of something he had said earlier when I asked him for a ride to the party to which he apparently was also invited. "Weren't you gonna ask her out?" 

"What?" 

"Ruby. You said you were gonna ask her out." I quickly checked the clock on my bedside table for the time and hustled out of bed with a gasp, mind half on settling with a dress choice and half on the memory of Rafe leaning against his doorframe a few hours ago, chest puffed out, and voice breezy as he announced his intentions to woo Ruby. It felt odd in the moment but then led to an uncomfortable train of thought that if Rafe, who had been established as The Man on campus by everyone I talked to, was interested in Ruby, then she must have been The Woman of the campus. The queen bee, if you will. The uncomfortable factor lent itself to my ultimate insignificance in the grand scheme of things, but that was a heavy topic to uncover. 

Rafe remained silent for a bit, seemingly just as contemplative as I was, blankly watching me run around the room as I struggled to assemble a pretty outfit. I was confused about how Rafe, a guy who always looks like he has somewhere more important to be, could stand so stubbornly in my dorm, of all things. There was something off about that image. 

I heard him draw a sharp breath before repeating, "Have you or have you not watched porn?" 

Baffled at his ignorance, I gave him the harshest look I could muster, but it ended up infused with hesitance. His lips curled into that familiar, teasing smirk he had begun to give me these days when I passed him on my way to lectures, saw him at restaurants, or, most commonly, bumped into him in the dormitory hallways. My friendly wave was only ever reciprocated through a smirk or a grin, his friends chuckling mockingly at my small display. But none was as cunning as it was today, as he eagerly dug to learn more intimate details about my life.  

"Rafe, seriously, Is-it-really-that-big-of-a-deal-if-I-haven't? And can you stop pacing? It's making me anxious..."

He did stop, but I didn't think it was because I said so.  

"No… fucking way. Are you kidding?" 

"See, this is why I don't say this sort of stuff! Because you- all of you react like this!" Having been done with this interaction, I walked over to the attached bathroom, a random blue outfit in my hands.  

Behind me, I could still sense Rafe drenched in confusion. I turned on the bedside lamp. 

"But…. why?" 

"'Why' what?" 

"You haven't fucked anyone, you haven't watched porn, and you flinch at the topic of it as if it physically fucking hurts you…. You're not a prude, are you?" He spit the word like it was poison, and my head snapped to him, feeling a rush of offence flow through me, even though the label might have been accurate. I did not appreciate the connotations it held. "I don't think I've ever heard you swear either." 

Overwhelmed at his examination, my breathing quickened. Why did he say all of it like it was a bad thing? Was it a bad thing? 

My eyes unconsciously trained onto Rafe's lips when he stepped forward; they were a striking shade of pink, complementary to his blue eyes, as they moved, forming condescending strings of words that went through one ear and out the other. I couldn't get myself to focus when put under his bright flashlight, and I began to wonder if this was really how friends spoke to each other in this place. 

"Get out." 

He looked pleasantly surprised at the authority in my tone. To be honest, I was surprised too. "You're telling me to 'get out'?" 

Sparing him an apprehensive glance, I repeated. "G-get out." 

When silence followed, I thought he'd finally listen to me for the first time in his life. But then a hand placed itself on my bare shoulder, and I shuddered, attempting to shrug it off immediately. He didn't budge, firmly digging his fingers into my skin as he looked down on me. I persisted in my struggle to escape his grasp. 

"Stop moving. Why are you acting like a brat all of a sudden, hm?" 

I slowly tilted my head to look at him, my short-lived resolve crumbling at the intensity of his close proximity and eyes embarrassingly growing moist at his comments. Thankfully, Rafe didn't notice. 

"I-i'm not." 

Under the dim lighting, he reached behind me with his long arm towards the bed, the collar of his polo shirt brushing against my skin. I was practically trapped between him and the bed and looked sideways at the window instead, trying to control my discomfort. When he returned from his excursion, I saw him fingering the fabric of a white dress I purposefully chose to ignore earlier—the material a little too sheer for my liking, a little too thin. But it seemed to have caught Rafe's attention because he pushed it into my chest and snatched away the one in my hands. 

"Wear that one and meet me downstairs." 

"...I don't want to wear it, though." 

"Did I ask?" He said, annoyed, waving his arm at my small room, my mess of an outfit, my behaviour. When he put distance between us by taking two large backward steps, I thought he was finally leaving. And he did. For a second. Before I could wipe my glistening eyes, Rafe popped his head back through the door. "Also, a 19 year old who hasn't watched porn is rare as fuck." He nodded as if telling a universal truth. "Sure, there are plenty of virgins on campus, but no porn?" He whistled mockingly, and I wished he left me alone already, biting back words that I knew would worsen the situation. "That's a whole new league. Consider yourself lucky you've told me first, ‘cause people are gonna mess with you." 

"And you aren't?" 

Rafe chuckled, but I continued.

"...Sex—" I looked away, feeling the need to defend myself. "Sex is… scary, okay?" 

Rafe couldn't have looked more amused. 

"What did you just say?" He re-entered the room, pushing fallen strands of his hair back into its slick style, and I sighed. I just drew him back in.  

"Forget it." 

"Aw," He laughed boisterously, and I shook, startled at the low edge to his chuckles. He was enjoying this (?). "Does the idea of a good fuck scare you? Such a poor little girl…" 

I was mortified. How was this the same person I was talking to a couple hours ago? "Stop it." 

"Have you ever even seen a cock in your life?" His palm slid down to his shorts, and assuming—quite understandably, I would think—that it was to demonstrate his question, I covered my eyes with my palms, letting out a flustered 'Ah!'. 

"Oh my fucking god."

If I thought he was chuckling earlier, he was dying of laughter when I opened my eyes—hand clutching his stomach and everything. It turns out he was merely adjusting his shorts, but he didn't bother clarifying the unsaid question, preferring the alternative. It was infuriating. But I didn't understand how to let him know that when my very existence seemed to have become a piece of entertainment to him. 

"Okay, I've had enough of you." The sun was falling lower and lower out the window, the room darker and darker; I was clearly going to be late to the party and lose one of the only kind people I had met here— all because of Rafe- a name that was starting to sound more rough in my head, the 'r' more sinister. "Just get out of here and take me to the goddamn party. Or I'll just ask someone else." 

"Whoa, calm down baby." He replied, only barely recovering from his fit. 

"Don't talk like that." 

"Like what? Call you 'baby'? Do you prefer 'princess'? Little baby princess that can't handle a little dick-talk?" Rafe grinned wolfishly. "And who are you gonna ask anyway? You're not exactly flooded with options. Ruby is at the party, that small girl- what's her name- Maria something, I bet she isn't even invited— and oh my god, I'd rather kill myself than let you ask that new friend of yours. Heyward."  

His detailed knowledge of my only acquaintances was disturbing, but that feeling was suppressed by the fact that he was right. I didn't even have Pope's number. God, this man had just dropped too many things at once, and I needed to get myself alone if I wanted to form a single sensible thought. Not knowing what else to do, I decided to follow an impulse for the first time, a bold one too. 

I, uh, pushed Rafe out of my room and slammed the door in his face. 

"Hey!" He banged his fist on the wood. 

I said nothing. 

"....Be down in two. I'm gonna leave you here if you're any later!" I wanted to scream in his face that he was the reason why we were late, but I remained silent. "bitch." 

I knew he was only saying it to rile me up, but nevertheless, I wiped the tear that threatened to roll down my cheek, undressing to put on the dress Rafe chose. It was my sister's, one that she threw in my luggage as a joke. A mockery of what could be because she knew I would never wear it. 

I traced the shimmering jewels on its surface and scoffed. When I exited the room and locked it, I thought of my sister's disbelief if she was here, watching me walk out into public, uncomfortable in white.  

I quickly hurried down the staircase but stopped in my tracks when I saw Rafe conversing with a small portion of his usually massive friend group, the rest having already left for the party. 

Rafe hadn't changed except for a cap resting backwards on his head. Beside him, I recognised Topper and Kelce, but there were a few other guys that looked unfamiliar. A couple of girls huddled by him too, dressed in cute outfits, lips covered in pretty lip gloss, and hair done perfectly. 

Jealousy was a feeling I had harboured way too much during high school and I had vowed to quit that habit in college but as I walked towards Rafe, face slightly ducked down, I was ashamed that jealous was exactly what I was, insecure about my ill-fitting clothes, my highly fluctuating emotional state. Something that was sure to be a bother to everyone around me, if it bothered Rafe. 

It was perhaps stupid of me that I was still allowing said man to take me to the party despite his invasive behaviour from earlier, but it would be worse if I took back my request, surely sounding like an absolute coward who couldn't handle a little intensity. And this place was all about intensity, excess. 

When I reached the crowd, a silence fell over the atmosphere, and I cringed. Rafe glanced at me fleetingly before sharing loud, obnoxious goodbyes with his friends, who were subjecting him to questioning looks regarding my presence. But I hadn't noticed his second glance, which stayed on me comparatively longer. 

"C'mon, baby." 

Not wanting to embarrass myself further, I didn't reprimand him for his choice of nickname and hopped into his massive truck standing still under the young night.  Chapter 2

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ A/N: Editing this mess made me realise that I am an overthinker to such a degree that its seeping into every character I write. LIKE THIS WOMAN IS SWITCHING THOUGHTS EVERY TWO SECONDS. Anyways, do comment your thoughts! And any direction you would like this series to go (cuz i dont have a plan YIKES).

[anti-romantico]

[halloween fun] txt soobin

warnings: unprotected sex, fingering, blowjob, creampie, multiple orgasms, car sex

words: 1776

A/N: this was supposed to be a halloween special (duh) but yk your girl is a mess, so maybe you'll be reading this on christmas (happy holidays!!!)

The party was loud, just like you liked. The place wasn't packed but there were enough people to casually bump into each other while dancing.

You gave a goodbye kiss on the cheek to the guy you were dancing with before going back to Jaime. She was confused when she felt your touch on her back.

— Oh come on, he was cute! — She yelled in your ear.

— He is, but I'm still not ready to ruin my make-up!

You both laughed it off and kept dancing. But you couldn't help but notice a pair of eyes following every move you made. You tried to find them, failing every time.

You were dressed as a zombie fairy. Even your friend was uncertain about it, but you didn't believe the costume was striking for someone to stare at for so long.

— I'm gonna smoke, you coming? — Your friend asked over the music. You just nodded and followed her.

You made it to the restroom where she sat down in one of the sinks while you laid back against the wall. She lit up a cigarette and took a drag before handing it to you.

You took a long drag and exhaled slowly before taking another. You were feeling pretty good from all the drinks you'd been drinking.

— Uh, ladies? — A voice came out from the other side of the door beside you.

— Yeah? — You peaked your head and saw two guys standing.

— Do you mind if we use this restroom? The bartender said it was ok but we noticed you two walked in so... — You looked at your friend who was only enjoying her cigarette; she nodded.

You opened the door fully and let them in.

— It'll be fast. — The guy you talked with practically ran to one of the booths and locked himself in.

— Sorry, the men's restroom is being used for other things... — The second guy said. He was much taller than his friend.

It seemed like they were dressed as the penguin from Batman and Tate Langdon from American Horror Story.

— Drugs? — Jamie asked, as if it was the most common situation happening in that place. Because it was.

— One of them. — The tall guy said.

— Yeah, the owner got tired of asking people to stop bringing drugs in. He now asks everyone a certain amount and you don't get to buy alcohol if you bring any. — You explained.

— What about the cops? — The other guy said, raising his voice.

— It's a small town, handsome, and he knows the right people. — Jaime answered.

— Speaking of small towns. We've never seen you around. — You asked the tall guy. Your friend caught the change of tone.

— We came to visit a friend, he must be making out with someone already. — The tall guy's whole body language also changed, only paying attention to you.

Once his friend got out of the booth, he washed his hands and dried them in his clothes.

— Hey, how about we go for a drink? — Jaime asked, the guy looked at his friend and then you, and, thankfully, understood.

Finally alone, you noticed his stare was heavy.

— What good friends. — The guy said, making you giggle. — I'm Soobin.

After telling him your name, he continued: — I like your costume. I've never seen a zombie fairy before.

— God, thank you! You're the first one to guess correctly. — Your hands touched his abs over his clothes. His hands held them there, slightly pulling you close.

— I mean, you have wings, a mini dress, cute make-up and awesome fake wounds.

— So you pay attention to details. Nice. — And even though you were wearing high-heels, he was still much taller than you.

— How not to? You called my attention since you walked in. — His voice was low this time, but the closeness made it easy for you to hear.

— So are you the one that has been staring at me?

— I prefer the term "admiring". Because that's what's supposed to do with beautiful girls like you.

He pushed the right buttons with you, so when he leaned down to kiss you, you let him. Not caring he might ruin your and his make-up in the process. The kiss wasn't messy, though, he was conscious he had black paint in most of his face.

— Sorry, I don't want to get black paint on you. — His fingers brushed your waist.

— How sweet, but I was looking forward to taking this further... — You pouted, brushing the hair of his neck.

— I think I have baby wipes in my car.

He dragged you out of the place, and you shared a stare with your friend before stepping out to the cold weather.

His car wasn't far, but your heels were killing you. It was like heaven when he opened the passenger door for you. You literally kicked the shoes before he could get in.

— I think there are some in that backpack. — Soobin was about to get the backpack from the backseat, but you beat him.

You opened the zipper and wandered around with your hand until you felt a plastic package. You grabbed some and shamelessly straddled his lap. He was startled by your actions, but he let you clean him.

— I feel so bad removing the make-up, it was really well-done. — You grabbed a second wipe and cleaned only his mouth, not daring to touch his cheeks.

— My sister helped, she'll understand if I tell her it was to make out with the prettiest girl in the party. — You smiled and threw the plastic package back in the backpack.

— Did you take pictures?

— She did a whole photoshoot before letting me go. — He followed your moves while you threw the backpack to the backseat.

Once your attention was back with him, he grabbed you by the neck and kissed you, properly this time.

Your fingers held onto his back shirt and kissed him back, getting heated pretty fast.

You could feel your pussy getting wetter as he sucked on your tongue, and you reached down to grab his cock through his jeans. He moaned into your mouth and grabbed your ass, pulling you closer.

You could feel his hard cock throbbing against your hand, and you wanted it inside you so badly.

You broke the kiss and looked up at him, — I want you to fuck me.

He smiled and nodded. — You sure?

— Yes. — You replied.

— Then sit down there and suck my cock. — You did as you were told and unzipped his pants, pulling out his cock.

— Mmmm, that's what I like. — He said with a grin. You wrapped your hand around his cock and stroked it gently, looking up at him. His eyes were closed and his head was tilted back. — That feels nice. — He whispered.

You licked the tip of his cock, tasting his pre cum. You slid your lips over the head of his cock, taking more of him in. You bobbed your head up and down, sucking his cock slowly. — Oh yeah. — He moaned, grabbing your hair and pushing you down further.

You took all of him in your mouth and sucked harder, making him groan. You moved your head faster, wanting him to come.

— Oh yeah, that's it baby... suck my cock. Suck it! — You felt his cock twitch in your mouth, and he groaned loudly, shooting his cum in your mouth. You swallowed every drop, then licked his cock clean.

You sat down back in his lap, kissing again. His hands lifted your dress a little, but your stockings were on the way.

— Rip them. — You said, biting his lip.

— What? — Soobin wasn't sure if he heard you correctly.

— I'll buy new ones. Rip them.

And he obeyed, ripping apart your white stockings.

You slightly moaned when his fingers brushed your pussy over your panties. With his other hand, Soobin moved them and inserted one finger in you.

After a minute, he inserted a second finger, earning a loud moan from you. — Fuck... Keep doing that. — You said when Soobin started to fucking you with his fingers.

— Do you want me to make you cum with my fingers? — Soobin asked. But you couldn't speak, so you just nodded eagerly. With the help of his thumb, he massaged your clit. You kissed him when you felt like you were getting closer.

Your fingers pulled his hair while he was helping you ride your orgasm. He let you catch your breath. You kissed him again, giving his tongue a hard suck.

— Are you ready for another one? — You nodded, grabbing his dick and guiding it to your pussy.

Soobin grabbed you by your waist and pulled you down. He pushed his cock into you, and you let out a loud moan. He fucked you slowly, enjoying every inch of your tight pussy. — Oh god Soobin, fuck me.

— Yeah? You like riding my cock? — Soobin said, giving you a hard smack on your butt cheek. His lips flew to your neck and started kissing you. The make-up on his cheeks long-forgotten.

The windows were fogged up, and anyone passing by would know what was happening with the way the car was moving.

Soobin pulled you by your neck to kiss you again. He felt you clench around him, tightening his hand around your neck.

— Cum for me, baby. — He whispered, and you came hard, screaming Soobin's name. He kept going until you felt him cum inside you.

You rested your head on his shoulder while he rubbed your back. But you weren't done, once you had enough strength, you kissed him, moving your hips again.

— Fuck... Wait... — Soobin said, trying to stop you.

— No, no please, just another one. — You moaned. He was hesitant, but you convinced him by telling him how good it felt. He finally gave in and continued fucking you.

— Oh god, I'm gonna cum again! — You screamed, wrapping your arms around his neck. You came again, but this time Soobin didn't stop. He kept going, fucking you harder than before. You moaned louder and louder.

More cum painted your walls. You could feel how it was starting to spill out.

— Shit... — You said once you saw in what state his make-up was. You couldn't help but laugh.

— I think I need you to remove all my make-up.

You kept laughing while grabbing the backpack. While doing that, his cum spilled out of you to his thighs.

After cleaning his face and legs, and your neck, you fixed your dress and went back to the passenger seat.

— So you're visiting here? — You asked, checking yourself in the rearview mirror and cleaning any sign of black paint.

— I can always extend my stay.

[pinkv-0-dka]

Media and information about Guilherme Taucci

For those who don't speak Portuguese and want to know more about the Suzano massacre and Guilherme

About Guilherme

Guilherme Taucci Monteiro was born on 07/05/2001 in the city of Mogi das Cruzes, in the interior of São Paulo.

He moved to Suzano at a very young age to live with his grandparents in the Jardim Imperador neighborhood.

He came from a humble family. At the age of 6 months, he began to be raised by his maternal grandparents, Benedito Luiz Cardoso and Arlete Taucci, because his parents, Tatiana Taucci and Rogério Machado Monteiro, were drug addicts. His mother already had a son before him, Victor, who was raised by his father's family. Years later, she gave birth to two girls, who lived with Taucci and his grandparents. In 2015, she had Vitória, who lives with her father.

He was a quiet boy until his teenage years. In 2017, he dropped out of his second year of high school at Raul Brasil, claiming he had no friends. Some people remember that he was not bullied, while others claim that he was teased because of the acne on his face and back – one of his biggest insecurities. Benedito even paid for him to get acne treatment. “He studied until his second year of high school, last year. Then he dropped out of school. He complained that people were making fun of the pimples on his face and back. They gave him embarrassing nicknames. I even paid for his [acne] treatment,” he recalled. He worked with his maternal uncle, Jorge Antonio Moraes, but was fired in 2017.

Antonio was not the only family member with whom Taucci had disagreements. Benedito stated that Guilherme had never drunk or used drugs, at least not in front of him, and used to say that he “wanted to burn all drug users”, referring to his parents. Taucci and his mother didn’t get along and rarely saw each other. His grandfather, relatives and people who knew Taucci all had good things to say about him and said it was impossible to imagine he would do something like that. His grandfather said, “He was a good boy, he didn’t have any drug problems and he never gave me any trouble.” Loving, obedient, passionate about games, polite, careful with his sisters – a 9-year-old girl and a 7-year-old girl – quiet and shy, these are adjectives he likes to describe his grandson. “If someone told me that, I would say it was a lie. He was always very polite, very reserved and very respectful. He was very fond of his grandfather. I can’t understand what could have caused such an outburst,” says his aunt Karina Morais. “They were normal boys (Luiz and Taucci). They said good morning, good afternoon, good night. They didn’t do drugs,” says driver Cássio Nogueira, 39, a neighbor who saw them grow up. “He always liked Nazism, gothic clothes and that emo fringe. The boys have fun with these things, it wasn't just him. My poor son,” says his mother. Benedito claims that Taucci had plans for his life.

Months after the massacre, he would turn 18 and Luiz Henrique de Castro's father had promised Taucci a job in the same position as his friend, cleaning and preserving squares in São Paulo. According to Benedito, he would earn R$1,400 per month and would receive food vouchers. He told his grandfather that he would give him the voucher to help with household expenses, since Benedito has a minimum retirement income. He also said that Taucci used to accept short-term jobs to buy games or other items online. The last job he supposedly got was at a hot dog stand, earning R$600.00.

Taucci’s grandmother passed away in December 2018. Benedito recalls that Guilherme seemed indifferent at first, but when asked if he wasn’t suffering the loss, he replied: “Grandpa, I felt it on the way.” On the morning of the attack, Guilherme left a burned photo on the floor of his room, which his mother recognized as being of him with the teenager’s father. Benedito also talks about his grandson’s behavior the day before the massacre, “Yesterday, when he came home from the street at night, I heated up dinner for him. Everything was fine,” Guilherme ate rice, beans and a hamburger. “He loved hamburgers.”

We can’t pinpoint the exact reasons for him carrying out a school shooting, since Benedito always gave him what he wanted: his computer, TV, internet and, as he has said several times, he seemed “fine” with his life. No one would ever know what they planned to do.

translation: pinkv0dka

sources: https://blogfamigerados.wordpress.com/2020/08/23/infancia-e-adolescencia-de-guilherme-taucci/

[bats-and-birds-24]

Chapter 2:

Talia could hear the muffled sobs from behind the door.

Her father must have informed him then.

The two sentries standing guard before Jason's room acted as though they heard nothing. The result of intense disciplinary training from the league.

She dismissed them with a mere wave of the hand. Talia barely noticed their deep bows as they left their post.

She knocked twice. No answer. She cracked open the door to see a young man on his knees, eyes red and puffy from crying.

Talia lifted Jason's face up to hers. 

She found no trace of the bright young boy with a sharp tongue and sharper wit left in him. What she had before her was a young man broken by the burdens of life placed on him at too young an age.

His body no longer had the scrawny build of a malnourished child. Now, he was a tall teenager with a fighter's lean build.

There was still time for him to grow and Talia knew that in time, her sons would surpass Bruce in both height and strength.

"How could he replace me?" Jason croaked out.

The question broke her stream of thought.

"He didn't replace you habibi, he most likely had to take on another Robin after your death. You know how Gotham is." Talia soothed him, wiping the tears from his eyes.

"I know how Gotham is, that's why I'm mad that he has a new Robin. He got lucky with Dick, and he should have learned a lesson about putting kids in spandex and having them jump off roofs and fight costumed asylum escapes when I died. Now there's another stupid kid who's following Batman around and will probably get himself killed as well." He raged.

Talia's heart hurt as she hurt her son speaking ill of her beloved, but she steeled herself.

He needed to know the truth.

"Jason, are you aware that the reason Bruce made you Robin, is because you were marked?"

"What's that mean?" Jason asked, confused as he collected himself.

Talia sat on the floor beside him and began to explain, "There's a curse in Gotham where a select group of people are marked with a symbol of the bat. They are destined to become vigilantes by choice or by circumstance."

His eyes widened, he got up and began to take off his clothes and turned his back to the mirror. 

"Why didn't he say anything?" His voice barely a whisper.

Talia sent a fond glance towards Jason, "He wanted you to have as normal a childhood as possible. Also, at the time, Bruce didn't have much proof aside from the matching marks. He needed to know more. You know Bruce, he never says anything, unless he has all the facts."

Jason staggered back to his bed, "I think I'm going to need a minute."

"Of course." Talia nodded.

She shut the door behind her.

The muffled sobs were now replaced with an eerie silence.

Her footsteps were the only sounds left to be heard.

Jason stared up at the ceiling, his entire worldview shattered for the third time in two months.

The first was when Bruce, his dad, failed to save him from the Joker. The second was when he realized that not even death was concrete in his life, as he clawed his way up from his own grave. The third, when he was told that he was marked, the choices he made, not really his.

The last one grated on him the most. He could live with Bruce not being as perfect as he once thought, he could live with coming back to life, but when faced with the prospect that the life you lived was already decided for you, that crossed the line.

It was as though he was a kid again, back in Crime Alley, where society already decided he was a criminal, and given the lack of opportunities, it really was the only viable path for him.

He grit his teeth. Everything he had gone through, nearly starving to death every winter in the Alley, watching his mother get high on drugs, becoming homeless after her death, to becoming Robin after a fateful encounter with Batman. It was all predetermined, his choices irrelevant.

He could live with the fact that he got blown up by the Joker thanks to his own mistakes, but if it was already meant to be, what was the point of doing anything? Was his life just to suffer for Gotham's sins? 

Jason contemplated offing himself with one of the many weapons at his disposal, but then decided against it. Odds are, his mark won't let him die that easily, at the very least Talia wouldn't. He'd probably get dunked in the Lazarus pit again and lose what little sanity he had left.

In thought, he glanced out the window, at the rows of assassins training.

He wondered what his replacement was up to. Feelings of resentment aside, he felt for the kid. Bruce probably didn't tell him about the mark either, out of concern for his childhood (Jason had to roll his eyes at that, if B was so concerned about their innocence, then he wouldn't have them beating up criminals in the streets) or fear that he'd run away.

Jason tamped down a surge of jealousy, it wasn't fair that some rich kid from Bristol was living his life.

He stretched and headed out to the training grounds. If his life was already destined to be a mess of vigilantes and criminals, preparing for it was the least he could do.

[3d-wifey]

NSFT Alphabet: Star (poly!lost boys + Michael) Edition

A/N: I needed to add my girl Star to the equation. It's been a WIP for ages, but I decided to finish it to give my brain a little break from writing Chapter 14 of the Finnick story---which should be the next thing I post. This is to be read in conjecture with the nsfw alphabet: poly!lost boys edition since it's all the same universe.

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

Out of all of your partners, you and Star are certainly the closest. Emotionally, at least. When it's just the two of you, it always ends in caressing skin, giggling, and whispering declarations of love to each other. All in all, it's very soft. You're very soft on each other. If you're with the other boys, she'd love for you to lay on her while the two of you watch them goof around.

B = Body Part (Their favorite body part of theirs and also their partners)

Her favorite body part of hers is her legs. She loves how it feels when you rub your hands up and down them. She especially loves wrapping them around your waist. She loves all of you, especially your hips. She's insatiable, standing behind you with her hands gripping your sides, always touching. She can't get enough of you.

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum, basically)

She loves it when you cum on her strap. That way she can fuck into your mouth while she makes you clean it off. She loves coming on your face the most. The pure joy in your eyes when she puts her full weight on your face is almost as gratifying as the orgasm.

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

This is a shared one between you and her. The boys will usually send you out together to lure them a meal or two in. I mean, the combined beauty and seductive power between you two is enough to make a nun break her vows. 

And whenever that happens, Star has the nifty idea to play up the flirting, so to speak. You could very well get the job done with fleeting touches and coy smiles, instead, Star hangs off of the arm of one guy and you play with the hair of another. Of course, in full view of the boys. The entire point is to make them jealous. And when David, because obviously, confronts you both about it with snippy little comments like "Have fun, girls?" or "You two were playing longer than expected." You just shrug with innocent smiles and hold hands. After all, they're the ones that told you to seduce the prey. They can't get too upset at their own idea, especially when it works so well (they can and they do). 

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

Star was turned in the 70s, the era of free love, so she's had her fair share of partners. That being said, she has more experience with girls than she does with boys. So you're in good hands.

F = Favorite Position (This goes without saying)

Need I say more? I will say more. She loves being on top of you as you grind your wet cunts together. What's not to love? From up there, she can dictate the pace and just how hard she wants to go. Watching you writher and whine under her, the sounds of your begging, and just how wet you both are. It makes her feel desperate to reach her high until she grinds faster and faster against you. 

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment? Are they humorous? etc.)

She might grace you with one of her angelic laughs every now and then. But honestly, it's almost always a very giggly affair. You're a couple of giggly girls in love. 

H = Hair (How well-groomed are they? Does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Picture this: you're at Woodstock, you're on crazy hard drugs, the guy on stage is on crazy hard drugs, the people you're having an orgy with are on crazy hard drugs. It's a time of peace and nature and free love, man. You don't need any of that consumer shit the Man says you do, like razors or scissors or basic hygiene. That kind of mindset has sorta stuck with Star even after she turned. But she does trim it before it can get too wild. So, think more of a shrub than a bush.

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment? The romantic aspect.)

Now, you're speaking her language. The only person who can rival her in this department is Dwayne, but why would you pit two queens against each other? Between the two of them, you're gonna be showered in so many romantic gestures you'll get a rash in the shape of a heart. 

J = Jack off (Masturbation Headcanon)

No need ;)

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

Enthusiastic consent: There’s something about the desperation of your begging, it’s a heady feeling knowing just how much you want her.

Mommy Kink: You may have awakened Michael's, but he awakened hers. Now, it's almost guaranteed that whenever you and Star have sex with the boys, they're getting dominated. You're a tag team, a dynamic dom duo. Everybody say “thank you” to Michael. You give up the reins to her whenever it's just you two. Good choice. 

Overestimation: To others, of course. Even if you think you can't cum anymore, she surprises you by coaxing another and another and—you get it. Doesn't stop until you and your pussy are crying (Paul loves to be a witness to this). The guys aren't exempt from it. When the dynamic dom duo is loose, the boys get to find out if that accelerated healing is fast enough to stop them from shooting blanks.

L = Location (Favorite places to do the do)

In her room, one of the surviving rooms of the sunken hotel the boys eventually cleared out for her and moved her bed into. 

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

Pain, but not her own. Odd, for how compassionate she is. She’s not getting horned up over Michael stubbing his toe or grievous harm done to her partners. There’s more nuance than that. Like, the first time you let her give you a piercing, she got alarmingly wet. That kind of pain. Regardless, you wanting her gets her going. Especially if you’re begging her even if you don’t have to considering she gives into you the easiest. 

N = No (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

No anal, that hole is off-limits. It's never interested her before, and it sure as shit doesn't now. Sorry, Marko. No period sex, for obvious reasons. If she thought resisting blood was hard before, boy was she in for a surprise. Your period is almost harder on her than it is on you! But she endures it because she loves her baby :(

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Prefers to give you head even though she enjoys your mouth very much, hence why your period is a tricky time of the month for her—for the tribe as a whole, honestly. The boys are especially greedy around that time, they make you feel like a damn capri-sun but at least they take care of your cramps. While the boys are enjoying breakfast in bed, Star and Michael learn the true meaning of restraint. 

Prefers to get head from the boys though. Queen shit.

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

Depends on many factors and what position. She's strapping you down from the back? Fast and deep strokes. Missionary? She's going slow and deep, making sure you feel every inch despite your begging for her to go faster. Tribbing? Fast and rough, she's usually just as desperate as you to cum. The pace with the boys depends on who she's with and if it's more than one person.

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Quickies for y'all involve either fingering or oral. The boys might like the thrill of doing it in public, but she prefers the cave where she can lay you out the way she likes. But, she will be taken by the urge to make you cum, and if it just so happens to be in public? Welp. Que her fingers honing in on your G-spot in a truly diabolical fashion. It feels like she knows the intricacies of your vagina better than you do. (Off-topic side note: it's a toss-up between her and Dwayne for who makes you squirt for the first time.)

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment? Do they take risks? etc.)

Like I said for the boys. Safe, sane, consensual—but, unlike them, she actually cares about the sane and safe part too. It's hard to consider much of anything a risk that isn't garlic, holy water, stakes, and the sun. If it's something all parties involved are okay with, then Star is too. (Still no anal).

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for? How long do they last?)

Supernatural stamina, even as a half-vampire. Goes for a loooooong time, especially with that overestimation kink. If it's just the two of you, you won't even remember how many rounds there's been. Truly insatiable, you'll need someone to tap in (likely Michael).

T = Toys (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

Strap-on, obviously. You actually go pick it out with her since, you know, you're the one she's using it on. Michael tags along. She mainly tops whenever y’all break the strap out. Even if you're wearing it, she's riding you.

U = Unfair (How much they like to tease)

She loves to tease. She’s not teasing you, you're her baby, and she can't deny you anything. Now, the boys are a different story. She much prefers to tease them with you. 

Something she likes to do with you when they’ve pissed her off, or pissed you off, or just because she wants to is to start making out and feeling each other up in the cave while the boys are distracted with wrestling or smoking or doing something other than doting on their pretty girlfriends. 

But the gag is, the boys aren't allowed to join in. It’s always so fun getting them desperate and seeing their reactions. You two usually make a bet about who’ll cave and approach the two of you first. They typically send in Michael or Dwayne since Michael typically isn’t the one pissing you off and Dwayne is, well…he’s Dwayne.

It’s even more fun to do it on the boardwalk because their pride won’t let them grovel like they need to in order for you and Star to let them in on the fun. So they’re forced to watch and not touch.

And if anyone is dumb enough to say anything in front of your five very protective/quick-to-anger boyfriends when they’re already frustrated, well, free meal, am I right?

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Ah, so pretty. Surprisingly raspy. Low tones and sweet moans. She really makes you feel her voice.

W = Wild Card (A random headcanon for the character)

This goes for the whole tribe actually, but she can smell when you’re ovulating. Yeah, and it affects her viciously. Especially when it falls a week after your period. She’s a weak woman, she’s already had to abstain from you for, like, a week. She needs her fix. Truly, as soon as you step foot into that cave when you’re ovulating, you’re getting accosted by seven ANIMALS (>)0o0)>

X = X-ray (Let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

A perky B cup with brown nipples that get hard even when it's not cold. A proud member of the FPS, Fat Pussy Society

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

Very high, and she is a fiend. But she’s also a lady, so she wears her horniess better than the guys.

Z = Zzz (How quickly they fall asleep afterward)

Like I said in the aftercare, you’re very soft together and then you pass out together. It’ll really happen between one blink and the next. Suddenly you’re kissing each other, and then, bam! You’re drooling and snoring together. The boys find it adorable, sans Michael who’s passed out with y'all. Makes their undead hearts skip a beat.

[bibiwrld]

Modern Anakin Skywalker!— Halloween Party!

Pairing: Possessive/Jealous best friend Anakin! x Black fem oc!

Author’s note: Sydnee from Nerdy loser Anakin!will be used for this fic. A totally different Anakin, not nerdy loser Anakin. Saw @queenie-official’s post about this idea.

Content warning: 18+ MINORS DNI. Jealousy, possessiveness, confessions, smut.

“He’s never on time.” Sydnee mumbled to herself as she looked into the bathroom mirror, applying lipgloss to her plump, two toned lips.

Anakin was supposed to be here 15 minutes ago. He was the one who wanted to go to this party and literally begged Sydnee to come along. She would rather stay in her dorm and watch horror movies with him that night. But no, he wanted to go to a Halloween costume party that had a couples costume contest, and Anakin was so damn competitive, he not only wanted to just party, but also win this contest. He brainstormed costume ideas for him and Sydnee for days until they decided on Hugh Hefner and a Playboy bunny.

There was a knock at her door, she knew it was Anakin.

“Come in, Ani!” She wiped the corners of her mouth from any extra gloss.

“Are you ready?!” He walked into her dorm with a fake pipe in his mouth and his hands stuffed into the pockets of his red and black velvet robe. “I already put our names down for this contest, we have to go.”

She rolled her eyes and fluffed her hair, turning around to walk out the bathroom, her heels clicking with every step.

“You’re the one who’s late and you’re rushing me?” She stood behind Anakin, whose back was turned to her.

He turned around and his eyes went wide. “It’s just 15 minu— wow.”

“Do I look weird?” She put her hands behind her back shyly.

He blinked, shaking his head. “N-no, you look amazing, Syd, very beautiful.”

His jaw clenched as he thought about all the guys who were gonna see her like this. It was so unfair, he should be the only one to see her like this.

She smiled brightly at his compliment. “Thanks Ani, you look cute.” She laughed, looking at his costume.

His captain hat slightly tilted on his head, a fake pipe in his hand, a red and black velvet robe with nothing underneath, his bare chest peaking out, black pants and shiny, black dress shoes to finish.

“Thank you, I feel very pimpish.” He smirked.

She chuckled at him. Anakin has always been goofy since they were kids, she doesn’t know how she’d get through elementary school, middle school, high school and now college without him putting a smile on her face.

“Are you ready, my lady?” He put his arm out for her.

She giggled, linking arms with him. “Ready I am, kind sir.”

💋

The place was packed. Sydnee wondered which spoiled rich kid is using their Daddy’s mansion to throw this party.

Everyone wore costumes—dancing, smoking, playing weird frat party games, doing some hard drugs, and others doing God knows what.

The music wasn’t too loud, making it easier for everyone to hear each other.

“Woah, Syd, you look fucking h—” One of Anakin’s buddies, dressed as Elvis, walked to the pair who were linked to each other ther by their arms.

Anakin stepped in front of Sydnee, unlinking their arms. “Move around.” His glare was enough for his friend to get the message and quickly shuffle away.

“Anakin.” She angrily pouted, being hidden behind his broad frame. “Stop scaring people, it’s a party.”

He turned around to her. “Yeah, well everyone is looking at you.” He placed a hand on her lower back, guiding her to a wall where some girls were dancing.

“Everyone’s looking at everyone, it’s a costume party.” She put a hand on her hip as she looked up at him.

She looked too cute, he couldn’t take her seriously when she was angry.

“No, everyone’s looking at you because they want to fu—” He bit his tongue, stopping himself from speaking any further. “I’m gonna get us some drinks, don’t move.”

“Yeah, Dad.” She rolled her eyes playfully.

He shook his head and smiled, walking into the swarm of people, the music getting louder with each step he took.

It wasn’t really a surprise that there was an actual bartender at this party, the guy who’s throwing the party is fucking loaded.

Making eye contact with the bartender, Anakin told him his order. “Two green apple vodkas.”

As Anakin waited for the drinks, where Sydnee was, the music was loud and she couldn’t help but to dance.

“Walk in that bih with that Louis V, she said she wish there two of me.” Blared loudly through speakers as Sydnee’s hips rocked side to side.

There must’ve been a professional DJ at the party, because they were playing hit after hit.

The girls that Sydnee stood by, hyped her up as she danced erotically, feeling all on herself, whipping her hair all over.

“H-Hey!” A guy dressed as Wybie from Coraline said over the music.

Sydnee stopped dancing, turning around to the guy. She smiled. “Uh hi, nice costume.” She backed up, looking at this costume. “Wybie?”

He smirked. “Yeah, Playboy bunny?”

Nodding with a smile she answered. “Yeah.”

“It looks really nice on you.” He took a sip from his cup, eyeing her down.

Anakin finally got 2 cans of green apple vodka. It felt like he spent forever at the bar.

“Anakin, my guy!” Another one of his friends, dressed up as Western Ken.

Anakin groaned, facing his friend. He wanted to hurry up and get back to Sydnee, he didn’t like leaving her alone for too long. “Hey, Tristan.”

“Sick costume, Sydnee’s the bunny right?”

“Yeah.” He replied dryly.

‘Dammit, has everyone seen her?!’

“Oh, I figured that was her, I just saw her talking to some guy dres—”

All Anakin heard was ‘talking to some guy’ and he was gone.

He spotted the pair by the wall where he left her, conversing. The guy was way too close and Sydnee was grinning from ear to ear at whatever he was saying to her.

“Oh, I’m Liam by the—”

Anakin grabbed Sydnee’s arm, switching places with her. “She doesn’t care.” He handed her the canned vodkas.

“Anakin.” She quietly warned him, looking at the cans, then back up at him.

“Oh..hi?” Liam greeted awkwardly. “I didn’t know you had a boyfriend.”

“I don’t.” Sydnee answered. “He’s my best friend.”

Anakin’s glare was enough to make the earth open up beneath them. But she was right, he was her best friend, always has been.

“Oh, nice to meet you, I’m Li—”

“I don’t care.” Anakin gritted harshly.

Liam was rather uncomfortable. “I think I’m gonna go now.”

“Anakin, why did you do that?” Sydnee watched Liam walk away, then turned back to Anakin with a look of disbelief.

“You didn’t have to smile so much in his face.” He spat, towering over her. “It looked like you almost enjoyed talking to him.”

Her brows furrowed. “I kinda did, he seemed nice.”

His jaw clenched, then unclenched as he opened his mouth. “You weren’t planning to hook up with him, right?”

Shocked at his question, she replied quickly. “Oh my God, no, no, no.”

He sighed in relief. She was better than that, he knew that, but jealousy made him such a nasty person.

“I should go apologize to him.”

He grabbed her arm. “No.”

She looked at where his arm held her, then averted her gaze up to his face. “What do you mean ‘no’ ?”

“Sydnee.” He breathed out, clearly frustrated.

“I don’t understand why you’re acting like this, like I really don’t get it!” Her hair bounced as she argued.

His nose flared, getting closer to her. “You wanna know why I’m acting like this?! It’s because I’m fucking in love with you, Sydnee!”

The music suddenly stopped, everyone stopped dancing, trying to figure out what happened to the music.

Her lips parted, looking at Anakin with wide eyes. “What?” Her voice was soft.

He released her arm and his body stiffened and his plump lips formed into a straight line as he realized what he just admitted. “I-I–didn’t—”

A bright, white light shone from the top of staircase, landing on Anakin and Sydnee, blinding them as they put their hands over their faces. Everyone looked at the pair.

“Anakin and Sydnee!” The guy who threw party said over a mic, standing at the top of the stairs. “Come on up!”

They both stayed silent, walking up the stairs side by side.

A few other names were called and they all lined up at the top of the stairs.

Both Anakin and Sydnee’s hearts were racing. What were they both gonna say to each other after this?

“And the winners for the couples costume contest are…ANAKIN AND SYDNEE!”

Everyone cheered, clapping and smiling at the two.

Neither Anakin or Sydnee could crack a smile, as their minds raced.

“Here you go man, 2 thousand.” The guy with the mic put a rolled up paper bag with money in Anakin’s hand and walked off. “The other competitors get nothing, there’s no room for second or third, only winners!”

The crowd made noise, but was soon drowned out by the music that turned back on.

Anakin hurriedly walked down the stairs, still thinking about how he completely embarrassed himself by what he admitted to Sydnee.

Sydnee followed after him, abandoning the canned vodkas on a random table. “Anakin!”

He ignored her calls, walking out the house and to his car.

“Anakin!” She grabbed onto him, making him face her. “Anakin, did you..did you mean it? And don’t lie to me, I know when you’re lying.”

There was a long silence before he could answer. “Yes.”

“When?” She let go of him, wrapping her arms around herself. “When did you start liking me?”

“Sydnee, I don’t want to do this—”

“Please.”

He released a breath. “8th grade.” He leaned back on his car and took off his captain hat and rested the bag of money on top of his car. “I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to ruin our friendship, you get that, don’t you?”

“Y-yeah.” Her voice softly replied. “I didn’t want to ruin our friendship either.”

“What?” He perked up, lifting his head to look at her.

“I loved you since 9th grade.” Her voice trembled. “I-I was so scared.”

His arms wrapped around her as she sniffled. “Oh, Syd.” His voice softened.

“I just suppressed my feelings, all because I was scared.” She balled up his robe in her fists. “I–”

Anakin leaned down and closed to gap between them. That caught Sydnee off guard, but it didn’t take long for her to kiss back, her hands tangling in his hair.

“An-Anakin.” She pulled away. “Not here.”

He pulled her right back in. “Yes here. I’ve wanted…this..so so long.” He mumbled in between kisses, his hands traveling to her waist, holding it firmly.

“Me too.” She agreed breathlessly.

💋

The car windows were all winded up, coated with a thick fog.

“Don’t stop, sweetheart.” Anakin moaned, smacking Sydnee’s ass as she rode him in the driver’s seat. “Keep bouncing on my dick like the slutty little bunny you are.”

His voice sent shivers down her spine, encouraging her to keep moving those hips against him.

“I’m cumming again, Ani.” She held her breasts, hips stuttering as she neared her orgasm.

“Fuck, yes, cum.” He gave her body a quick scan before wrapping a slanted arm across her back to her shoulder, and his hand squeezing her ass, clawing at the already ripped pantyhose that he destroy earlier in missionary. “You’re so fucking wet, shit!”

“Anakin!” She slowed her movements, her body quivering.

“Uh uh, who told you that you could stop?” He snapped his hips up to hers and slammed her ass down, making her swallow his entire dick.

She cried out, flopping onto his chest, making him take control.

He squeezed his eyes shut, feeling himself being sucked into her throbbing core. “No one else, this pussy is for no one else.”

She nodded with her buried in the crook of his neck. “Yes, Ani. J-just for you!”

“Who knew you would’ve saved your virgin pussy for me, hm?” He teased with a crooked smile.

“Y-you’re a virgin..t-too.” Her voice trembled.

“Well not anymore, baby, saved mine just for you too.” He pecked her cheek and went right back to abusing her hole. “Do you kn-know– how it feels…w-watch—fuck!— watching you t-talk to other guys, hm?” He whispered directly into her ear, quickening his pace. “It pisses me the fuck off.”

Sydnee only made nosies, clenching around his thickness.

“Say sorry, say sorry for talking to other guys.” He drilled into her, getting closer to his own orgasm.

Sydnee only groaned out, not being able to form words.

He chuckled lowly. “How cute, you’re so cock dumb you can’t even answer. What an idiot, just taking my dick and moaning lik–like a whore, so fucking hot.”

He was right there. “I’m gonna cum!” His thrusts got shorter and harsher, holding onto Sydnee for dear life.

With a few more nasty thrusts, he snapped, emptying his throbbing balls inside of her warm hole.

“Oh fuck!” His nails dug into the sides of her hips, drool running down the corner of his mouth.

“A-Ani, so much.” She felt so full of him. She tried getting up, but his arms stayed securely around her.

“D-don’t move, let’s just st-stay like this for a minute.” He strained out with closed eyes.

She smiled gently and rested her head on his shoulder. “Okay, Ani.”

💋

[preciouslandmermaid]

from below, gotham rots (battinson x f!reader)

Note: This takes place pre-movie and is a spiritual successor/sequel to the first fic "from high above" which you can find in this series. (Part 1 here)

Safety notes/Warnings: The Kinktober prompt included "drunk/stoned/under the influence." I used some creative liberty with this one and the Reader becomes affected by a drug that heightens her senses/physical senses (think like ecstasy, I guess?) but also it makes u horny lmao. HOWEVER. Reader is also 100% into Batman so it's not like she's manipulated or anything into sleeping with him.

Additional notes: No use of Y/N. established childhood friends with Bruce. cursing/explicit language. enthusiastic consent during sexual content. no physical descriptors are used for the reader. (and yes, dr. crane is absolutely cillian murphy/nolanverse dr. crane sue me)

prompt: size kink, dirty talk, drunk/stoned/under the influence | pairing: battison/f!reader | warnings: explicit sexual content/above notes.

( read on ao3 ) || kinktober list

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dr. Crane looks up from his notepad. His blue eyes are sharp and inquisitive behind his square frameless glasses. His light brown hair frames his face in soft moussed waves.

“I’m afraid I can’t be of much use to you. I’ve started working at Arkham only recently.”

You press your tongue to the ridged roof of your mouth. That explains why Dr. Crane was willing to speak to you. He likely hadn’t heard of your prior snooping around. No one warned him. Either he was disliked or not remarkable enough to warrant a heads-up from his colleagues. You decide to play polite and dumb. He thinks you’re a true-crime fanatic with a podcast. Besides, you need him if you’re going to reestablish your story and expose Arkham’s corruption.

“And they treat you well?” You ask with a tilt of your head. Your pen is poised above your notebook and your expression is open and earnest.

Dr. Crane smiles. It disarms you—this sudden charm that radiates from the thin, sharp-eyed doctor.

“They do.” He replies.

Your next question lies heavy on your tongue. He’ll either get defensive, you think, or he’ll play stupid. Dr. Crane is handsome and intelligent, but you’ve spent enough time around shady people to know when someone is hiding something. Dr. Crane doesn’t fidget, cover his mouth when speaking, or avoid your eye-contact. But he does keep glancing at the file cabinet in the left corner. Oh, he is careful about it. You’ll give him that credit. But you’ve caught him enough times to be suspicious.

And being suspicious is healthy in this line of work.

“And the patients?” you finally ask after a weighted pause.

“If you’re concerned,” he begins and his smile doesn’t reach his eyes, “I can give you a tour.”

Avoidance. An interesting tactic. It’s your turn to smile placidly and shake your head. You close your notebook. The universal sign of ‘we are done’.

“I’m sorry I have other appointments today,” you say.

“Another time then.” He says and now you are both lying. The way he looks at you suggests he knows it too. You zip your coat and tuck your notebook and phone away into your over-the-shoulder bag.

“I really do appreciate that you took the time to meet with me today, Dr. Crane.” You say as he walks you to the door. He opens it for you. It feels as if you haven’t learned the steps to this dance while Crane memorized the whole choreography.

“Here,” he offers you a thin, stocky business card from his wallet, “in case you think of anything else.” The text on the card is simple. The font is black and thin. It’s his name, his role, his work email address, and his telephone number. You already have all this. You take the card and slide it into your back pocket.

“Have a good afternoon, Dr. Crane.”

He says your name and farewell and shuts the office door once you step from the threshold. Your shoulders relax and you sigh. Your meeting with Crane - it’s not exactly an open door into Arkham, but it’s a cracked window. It’s a start. It’s something. You fish your keys out of your bag and walk toward the exit.

Thankfully, these hallways are brightly lit and warm-paneled with wood. It's decorated with cushioned chairs, coffee tables with magazines, and thin dark-green carpets. These offices are for families and caregivers. And – in this instance – a nosy ex-journalist with an important story to write.

You text Bruce: did you still want to get dinner tonight?

He’s been in a weird mood ever since you left a few days ago (once you had clearance from the doctors). He sulked when you told him. He kept giving you sorrowful, pleading looks shadowed by sleep deprivation. However, you’re on his payroll and can’t justify living with him on top of his generous paychecks. Besides, you want to pursue a relationship with Bruce and it’s too soon to move in together. You have to take it slow. You want to take it slow.

His response arrives when you’re getting into your car. A simple and reserved: yes.

A fluttery and giddy feeling enters your chest.

*************

Bruce stares at the screen containing the analysis of your blood samples. Whatever was inside you—it’s not on the market. There are traces of hallucinogenic compounds. There are traces of medication that’s used to treat patients with Alzheimer’s and dementia. And stimulants, too. It’s a jigsaw puzzle of enzymes and chemicals.

He rubs at his bloodshot eyes with his forefinger and thumb.

“You ought to eat something, sir,” Alfred says while setting down a tray of tea and toast.

Bruce replies with a brusque tone, “I’m fine.” He realizes his mistake and corrects himself, “I’m having dinner later with a friend.”

Alfred releases a thoughtful hum. Bruce already knows what he’s thinking. His list of friends is woefully short. And there’s only one person he could go out with.

Alfred asks, “shall I iron your suit? Select some cufflinks?”

Bruce snorts, “It’s not that kind of dinner, Alfred.”

“Then a gift for the lady then?” He begins pouring tea. “You shouldn’t arrive at a date empty-handed. It’s impolite and shows a lack of forethought. Does she like flowers? I could have a bouquet arrangement made of – ah – let’s see.” Alfred mutters various flowers to himself. Bruce catches some of them. Gladiolus, red camellia, tulips. He half-listens and munches on a corner of toast while scrolling through pages upon pages of analysis.

************* 

The little Mediterranean restaurant has an ordering counter, a drink cooler, and three plastic tables. The white and blue bordered walls are plastered with framed photos of beaches in Greece. Your feet stick to the tiles when you stand in front of the drink cooler and grab a beverage.

You flip through your notepad. Dr. Mercer is dead-end. Literally. Despite being only forty-one, he died of a heart attack about two weeks after you were fired. You don’t believe in coincidences anymore. Everything in Gotham is connected. You just have to find the right thread to pull. You start at the beginning.

Dr. Mercer: Gotham University graduate. He wrote his thesis on the behavioral side effects of long-term alcohol addiction. You remember he was a soft-spoken man who genuinely believed in rehabilitation.

Dr. Mercer was your lynchpin. He was the first to express distaste about how Arkham was being run. He confessed that he was providing a substantial amount of pain medication for several of Gotham’s police without a prescription. He suspected they were selling it on the streets, but he couldn’t cut them off.

The police didn’t threaten Dr. Mercer outright, but they did sit outside his house, or remind him that his son was only 12. When Dr. Mercer went to Arkham’s administration, they told him to keep his mouth shut and provide for ‘the brave folks who protect the city’. You recall your last conversation with him and your mouth twists into a frown.

“The guilt,” Dr. Mercer said to you, his expression pained, “I think it might eat me alive, Silver. I can feel it’s teeth in my heart.”

They must have killed him. Whether it was Falcone, someone higher in the pyramid, or someone at the PD—you didn’t know for sure—but you knew Mercer’s death wasn’t accidental. Maybe Dr. Mercer was offered hush money and he couldn’t take the guilt anymore…and rather than protect himself, protect his family, he tried to do the right thing. Maybe he said no. Maybe he said he’d go and talk to the press himself. But before the whistle could blow someone took care of him. A gentle burn prickles at the back of your throat.

“Do you want to order?” The server cuts through your reverie and you blink.

“Oh – um…” You check the time. Bruce is nearly fifteen minutes late. “Uh, sure. Yeah. Please.” You figure he won’t mind if you order before him. As you wait for your food, you return to your notebook and your theories.

*************

Batman drew his fist back and his knuckles connected to the thug’s jaw with a sickening, sharp crack.

“Who does Falcone work with?” He growls. “I need a name.” “I don’t know!” The thug pleads. His voice is thick and congested due to his broken nose. “I swear!”

Annoyed, frustrated, and tired of stonewalling into dead-ends, Batman tosses the injured thug onto the wet concrete. His palms slap against the stone, and he scrambles away from Vengeance toward the mouth of the alley. Batman lets him go. His stomach coiled tight like a loaded spring. He stalks back to the Batmobile like a towering shadow.

There is a text illuminated on his phone. His stomach drops.

It reads: Ouch. I waited over an hour for you, but the restaurant is about to kick me out. I’m heading home. I have work to do and then I’m getting up early to meet a contact. Talk later.

He leans his forehead against the steering wheel. He should’ve suspected this would happen. His duties as Vengeance would overlap his desires to be with you and when it came down to it—he’d choose Gotham. He had to choose Gotham. He is the only person capable of keeping the city safe. He’s the only person who can find the root of corruption and dig it out.

You deserve better than being stood up and ignored. He should’ve texted you. He should’ve sent flowers like Alfred suggested. How is that he can be a good partner to you as Batman but can’t manage it as Bruce Wayne? He slams his foot on the accelerator with more force than necessary. His thoughts whirl inside his mind in a maelstrom. His jaw clenches tight. His fingers flex on the steering wheel.

If only you had stayed at his penthouse then he wouldn’t need to worry about date nights. He wouldn’t need to worry about your safety. You would have been right down the hall. Close, safe, bringing light to the shadows of his home.

The tires screech as he takes a corner too hard, too fast. His eyes reflectively look up to the windows of the building. The colorful lights on your balcony illuminate the glass. You have news for him, a lead, and some tension loosens inside him.

(line break)

When you get home, there is a package at your front door, and it finally felt like something was going right.

It took 3 phone calls. One involved copious begging. It took all the money if your saving account. And a shady alleyway meeting with a Gotham University college drop-out. You have everything you need to tinker with your drugged-up blood samples.

You glance at the stack of manila folders on your coffee table. Your life is a proverbial juggling act. You balance coffee and energy drinks, personal interviews and internet sleuthing, and frequent trips to the library archives. You haven’t seen Vengeance in a week. This isn’t unusual, but how your abdomen clenches, whenever you think of him, is.

It feels treacherous to have a physiological reaction when you’re trying to pursue a relationship with Bruce. Although. You bite the inside of your cheek. Bruce doesn’t seem to be giving your relationship as much care and attention as you’d like. It was one date and he bailed. You’d rather have an awkward phone call with Alfred explaining his lateness than empty silence from your potential boyfriend.

In your distracted state, you misjudge the liquid component meant to react with your white blood cells and pour too much into the glass beaker.

You cough, stumbling backward as the fumes assault your nostrils, and your eyes smart with pain and fill with tears. Once the sensation of vertigo passes, you’re overwhelmed by the texture of the clothes on your skin. It’s too tight. It’s going to block your airway. You tug your shirt over your head and wrestle your bra off. You stand in your kitchen, topless, chest heaving, your skin pebbling with goosebumps from the cold. You wish your shitty fucking landlord would fix the heat.

But it’s your fault for playing Chemistry 101 in your abysmally small kitchen. You flick the switch that turns the fan on over the oven to clear away the thin, serpentine wisps of smoke.

“Ah, fuck.” You scrub both hands over your face. Your skin fizzes. It’s not a hot sensation or a cold one, but it’s as if every hair follicle on your body is alert and vibrating. You press your spine into the cool and softly textured wall. Should you call 911? And how would you explain yourself? You’re certain some of these materials are illegal. Questions would be asked. The PD might search your apartment. They could find your notes. You can’t risk it. You try closing your eyes and breathing steadily through your nostrils.

Your balcony door opens. A cool gust of air trails into the hazy kitchen before it shuts off. There’s only one person who can reach your balcony. Your body tenses with anticipation. Of course, he’d come now. Fuck Vengeance and his shitty timing. “What happened?” Batman’s voice enters through your ears and your thighs instinctively clench. A low, pulsing thrum of pure need vibrates down your spine. Oh, fuck. You’re so fucked. You’re so outrageously screwed.

“The drug.” You press one arm over your exposed breasts to cover them, though it hardly matters. He’s been inside you. You stifle a moan in the back of your throat. Nope. Do not think about it. “I was trying to neutralize it. I did something else.”

Batman’s cool, assertive gaze crawls across your throat and chest. “You’re sweating.” He observes.

“No shit.” You deadpan.

“Talk to me.” Batman steps closer and you recoil, not out of fear, but out of sheer desire mixed with embarrassment. Every neuron in your brain is firing and demanding that you crawl onto him, feel the cold, hard press of his armor against your hot skin, feel his gloved fingers in your mouth or in between your legs.

He glances at the equipment on your counter. “I didn’t realize you had experience in biochemistry.”

You laugh a high and wavering laugh, but the giddiness dissipates. You aren’t experienced in biochemistry at all. However, You have the notes of a biochemist and the tenacity of a warrior.

“I’m not hallucinating.” You manage thickly, “but I don’t think you should be here.”

His jaw clenches. “Why not?”

“Because I might do something stupid.”

“Like what?”

Like a thousand things, you want to say. Your mind flashes with about a dozen images of Batman fucking you. You stare at the plush shape of his lips.

The truth tumbles out of your mouth, “like kiss you.”

He cups your jaw firmly and your mouth opens, breath wheezing from your lungs, as you imagine him sliding his warm tongue between your teeth.

“Your pupils are dilated.”

You grab his wrist for the sake of touching him, “so are yours.”

“What do you need?” Batman’s gravelly voice is a demand. “Tell me so I can help.”

Your semi-rational thoughts of doctor’s offices or pharmacies fade like smoke. Every muscle in your body aches. Your nipples are tight and hard. Your inner walls keep gripping at thin air and your abdomen clenches at the lack of physical sensory input. You want to touch yourself. You want him to touch you.

“T-touch me. I need you to touch me.” You gasp out as if the words themselves are being ripped from your throat.

Batman releases your jaw and slides both hands down your arms. The rough texture of his gloves is sharp and deliciously grating across your sensitive skin.

“Like this?” He asks.

You shake your head.

“N-no, more.” It’s hard to string sentences together. The word is jagged and blurry. At your guidance, he drags both palms to your chest, and you stumble back into the wall when his hands squeeze your breasts. Your nipples prickle beneath his gloves, and you whimper—your eyes fluttering closed. He squeezes and pushes your breasts together with your hands laid on top his, urging and guiding, every single motion eliciting a sweet, whimpered cry from you.

“Do you want me to stop?” He asks, but you press his hands harder down against your breasts. He regards you seriously behind his dark, smudged makeup and cowl.

“No. Don’t stop. I think I might die if you stop.”

His lips twitch into a smirk.

“I’ve never heard that before.” He sounds earnest and you chuckle weakly. Batman’s thumb and forefingers encircle your hard nipples and lightly pinch. You hiss and throw your head back into the wall. The slight pain barely registers. His warm lips touch the angled tilt of your jaw. You cry out and tremble against him. Every sensation is magnified by a thousand. Batman’s lips suckle along your neck. He hums to himself when you moan out loud.

“Whatever you did to the sample,” he says while pulling away, “affects your sensitivity to physical stimulation.”

“Yeah, yeah, no shit.” You say, squeezing your fingers between his, and pushing his hand toward the waistband of your pajama shorts.

“Are you sure?” He asks and you manage a short nod. He cups your pussy with a large, gloved hand. Your eyes roll back into your skull. You need his fingers inside you. You need to clench and cum around his hand. Nothing else matters but the desire you have for him. Nothing.

“Fuck,” he hisses and elongates the word, “you’re already so fucking wet for me. So goddamn soaked.” He begins rubbing the outside of your pussy in concentric motions. He presses his body into yours. The sensation of his cold, hard planes of armor draws another breathy moan from your lips.

His kiss is pure, vibrant desire. He suckles your lower lip into his mouth and groans when you whine. His tongue strokes along yours and you writhe and something inside you starts to coil. You shouldn’t be this close so soon, but you are.

You gasp, “fuck, fuck, fucking fuck.”

“Already?” His hand in your shorts moves quicker, “what a good girl you are…cumming for me so soon, so quickly, getting your pussy nice and wet and ready for me.”

You come so hard that your teeth clack together. You’re riding the throbbing aftershocks of your orgasm when Vengeance pushes your underwear aside and sinks his index finger into your cunt.

“Oh, god, please yes—please.” You babble and desperately rock your hips into his hand. His glove creates a ridged sensation that sends sparks of pleasure down to your toes. You clutch to his armor and hike your leg up and hook it around his waist. Batman touches you with a determined purpose. You messily kiss along his jaw. Even the texture of his stubble against your smooth lips is pleasurable. You wonder if you’ll have the courage to ask him to eat you out. You want to feel his stubble on your thighs.

“You’re gonna cum again, aren’t you?” Your eyes are closed but you can hear his smirk. “If you’re a good girl and cum for me again, I’ll give you my cock. Would you like that?”

“Y-yes.”

It takes only a few thrusts before he’s stoking that white, pulsing fire in your lower stomach. You latch your mouth onto his and kiss him with every ounce of strength you have. He responds with equal fervor. A single lucid thought crosses your mind—if you hadn’t experimented with the samples would Vengeance still kiss you like this? Desire you? The lucidity is short-lived. You cry out into Batman’s open, wet mouth.

He praises, “Good, you’re so good for me.”

You sway on unsteady feet and lean against Batman’s strong frame. He carefully tugs away your shorts and underwear. He places a tender kiss on your bare shoulder. His blue eyes cut to yours—inquisitive and darkened by lust.

“I want to hear you say it.” He says, “Tell me you want me if that’s what you really want.”

“I do.” You reach forward and palm the hard bulge straining against his gear. You hold eye contact with him. You catch your reflection in his dark pupils. Your chin and lips shine with salvia and your skin glistens with sweat.

You repeat yourself since Batman hasn’t moved yet, “I do. I mean it. I want you. I want you to fuck me.” Your heart threatens to escape your ribs. Batman doesn’t move or break eye contact with you as you find his zipper and release his cock. He hisses through clenched teeth when you touch him. You smile to yourself. There’s something heady and intoxicating that you can make Batman’s breath hitch. Your fingers slicken with his pre-cum.

He sharply pulls your hand away, “That’s enough.”

“No fair.” You pout, “You touched me.”

“Next time, Quicksilver. I’ll let you touch all you want.” He grabs you by the waist and lowers you to the floor. You open your mouth to object that your bedroom isn’t that far (small apartment after all), but Batman looks at you—dark and desperate—and his chest heaves.

He rubs the head of his cock against your folds, “I need to be inside you.”

You can’t argue with that. “Okay.” He plunges into you in one swift, slick stroke. Your pussy envelopes him. The world goes blurry-white and your muscles tremble with the delicious sensation of Batman’s cock filling you.

“You take me so well,” He rasps, “I love feeling your cunt stretch and squeeze around me.” He draws his cock out of you and the thigh-guards on his armor glisten with your arousal. Your eyes roll into the back of your skull. The linoleum tile is blessedly cool against your feverish skin. Batman holds your hips, lifting you, and sheathes himself once more.

“Fuck.” His pretty eyelashes flutter.

You whine.

“I wish you could see yourself right now.” His thrusts are deep and steady, hitting some apex part of you that makes your toes curl, and your moans hiccup in your chest. “Split open, begging for me, squeezing me,” His fingers dig into the meat of your thigh, “you’re so…fucking…unbelievable.”

He lifts your legs, pressing your knees into your chest, and your hips jerk upward with a gasp. “F-fuck!”

“Is that good?” He rocks in and out of you, teetering on the edge of losing his composure, you can see it in the hard lines of his jaw and the way he squeezes your hips.

“Y-yes.” You choke out, nodding, “don’t stop. Go faster.”

“Yeah?” He nods, panting, “I want to make you cum.” And it says it like a promise. He plants his hands against the tile. You’re nearly folded in-half, surrounded by him, encased by him, his imposing and large armor almost uncomfortable as it presses into your skin. His cock drags along the ridges of your inner walls and then he’s moving into you with confidence and purpose. Your ass smacks wetly against his armor. He grunts, bearing his teeth, pumping into you with feverish desire.

You awkwardly wiggle a hand between your legs. The first touch of your fingertip to your swollen, slick clit is electrifying. Your spine arches off the floor.

“Good girl.” He growls, punctuating his words with a hard and jolting thrust that makes you gasp and tears spring to the corners of your vision. You quickly drag your fingertips across your clit. A flush of goosebumps run down your arms. Your moans echo through your tiny kitchen and reverberate through your eardrums.

“I love—” He gasps, burying himself, “the noises you make for me.”

It feels so unbelievably good that you want to scream or start crying (or both). The combination of Batman towering over you, saying all these sweet words, and the jerky movement of your fingers on your clit is dizzying.

He continues, “Take it. Take all of it. I know you can, pretty girl.” The position makes it difficult to crane your neck upward to kiss him. You settle for gripping his forearms. “Does anyone else fuck you as I do?”

“N-no.” You admit. A wave of guilt threatens to overcast your blissed-out experience, but then Batman grunts and mutters, “good. You deserve this. You’re my perfect girl.”

Your guilt vanishes and you blossom under his praise. You and Bruce haven’t discussed sexual exclusivity. Maybe it’ll be a conversation for the future once Bruce apologizes for missing your date.

“There’s that smile,” he murmurs, “such a sweet and perfect smile. I can feel you getting closer, baby. I want you to cum all over my cock.” His eyes squeeze shut. He exhales your name over and over again. Batman is desperate and panting over you.

“Cum for me, please.” He arches his head back and you seek a peek of his flushed neck, “Please cum for me.”

You scream as you clench and rhythmically pulse beneath him. Your orgasm isn’t a firework. It’s a fucking freight train. Batman fucks you through it, relentless and pounding, his pace steady and controlled. Your pussy gushes and squeezes around him. Batman buries himself and raggedly cries out your name. Your limbs go limp and useless. You release the grip you had on his forearms and your arms flop onto the tile. It takes a full minute for you to come back to earth.

“Fuck,” Batman breathes. You hardly hear him.

*************

He gently moves your legs out from underneath him. Your knees and shins are irritated from where his armor dug in. Your eyelids flutter closed and panic clenches his heart. He presses his two fingers beneath your jaw and checks your pulse. It’s steady and strong. He bows his head with a relieved sigh. He hopes that whatever reaction caused by playing Walter White will wear off when you wake up.

He scoops you into his arms and carefully carries you into your bathroom. The bathwater runs weakly tepid, and Bruce mentally chastises your choice to leave his penthouse. He fills the bathtub enough to reach your waist. He removes his gloves and forearm guards. You barely stir and your head rests against the edge of the tub. He gently washes the cum from your inner thighs and the sweat from your skin.

His heart squeezes painfully. Bruce sighs a pitiful and low sound. He wants you so badly, wants to be with you, but how can he do that when he’s Vengeance? He is the only one able to keep Gotham safe. He can’t keep missing date nights or ignoring your calls. He can’t tell you who he is. He should’ve been smarter about this.

But…it’s you.

You were his first friend growing up. You are carved into him deeper than a tattoo. You’re like a transplanted organ that he needs to survive. He managed – before – without you during those cold, lonely years. He doesn’t want to do it again. He knows it’s selfish. He knows his first (and only) priority should be Gotham. Yet, a world emptied of you would be a world he couldn’t live in.

Bruce reaches over toward the towel hanging on the bar. He frowns at their plushness and strange familiarity. They look nicer than the others. Then he notices the embroidered “W” in gold at the edge of the towel.

Bruce chuckles to himself, “Thief.” He says affectionately.

He wraps you in the towel to carry you to bed. His swollen, aching heart swells with fondness. You stole a towel from Wayne Manor. He wonders if you took anything else—what other pieces of him, his home, that you brought into yours.

In the pitch dark of your bedroom, Bruce lays you on the bed and removes his cowl. His skin itches with vulnerability and fear. Bruce kneels beside your bed and cradles your hand against his face. He lightly kisses your palm and checks your pulse at the inside of your wrist.

“Sleep well, Quicksilver,” he murmurs.

*************

You awoke the next day feeling groggy and sore, but otherwise fine. You would’ve stayed asleep longer if not for the incessant knocking at your front door.

“Good morning!” greeted the delivery person holding flowers under one arm, “I need your signature for this package.”

Confused, yet curious you scribble your signature onto the digital pad held by the delivery person. They pass the bouquet of flowers and a decent-sized cardboard box to you. It takes a few minutes to find something suitable to put the flowers in. But the colorful arrangement definitely brightens your small apartment.

The cardboard box contains a swanky, expensive black laptop with a note taped to the keyboard.

‘For the sake of security – please use a different password.’ – BW

You spend the rest of your morning transferring your notes from your old laptop to your new one. You do pick a new password. It’s the date you and Bruce reunited. The hours blur by in a black-and-white swarm of scanned newspaper clippings and transcribing your interview notes with Dr. Crane.

A text comes through from Bruce a little before 12:00 PM. It reads: can we get coffee? Or lunch?

A petty, vindictive part of your brain wants to leave him on read. Let him stew in your silence and suffer your indifference. But then you remember the scrappy, scrawny boy of your youth. You remember a pair of soulful, sad blue eyes. His fingers tenderly caring for your wounds after Falcone. His soft smile when you agreed to date him. It won’t solve anything to stay quiet and ignore your hurt feelings.

You text him back: as long as you’re buying. Pick the place and I’ll meet you.

*************

Your stomach winds with anxiety as you walk into the little café. Bruce is already here. He’s at a corner table, back to the wall, his eyes on the entrance. You can tell he’s showered and cleaned up. Maybe even shaved. Although his dark sweater is wrinkled and his eyes are shadowed with sleep deprivation, Bruce somehow manages to look handsome. You try to not let your attraction to him fog your thoughts. You need to have a serious conversation. You square your shoulders and approach.

“Hey,” he greets with an uncomfortable shift in his chair. You know he doesn’t like leaving the penthouse. You have to give him some credit that he came out to meet you rather than asking you to come and meet him at home.

“I want to start with my apology before we get coffee,” he begins as you sit down, “I’m sorry. I got caught up in something. I know it’s not - it’s not an excuse.”

“It’s not.” You cross your arms.

He ducks into his shoulders, looking chastised, “Did you get your gift?”

“I did.” You glance around the café. There’s only one other patron inside and they’re busy wearing headphones and typing on their laptop. The employees are chatting amongst each other—barely audible over the café playlist. The journalist part of your brain wants you to dig deeper. You want to know what he was doing. You want to know why he was so ‘caught up’ that he couldn’t call or text you to reschedule. Your instincts buzz. A story is here. You can feel it. You can smell it as keenly as you smell the roasted coffee beans in the air. But you tamper down on those instincts. This is Bruce. He’s your childhood friend.

“Listen, Bruce. What you did was shitty, and it hurt my feelings and I deserve better than that.”

“You do,” he agrees.

“I understand if you don’t have time for a relationship.” You shrug, “maybe we jumped into this too quickly.”

“No.” Bruce leans forward in his seat. “I’m sorry, I should’ve called. You deserve better and I want to…I want to show you that I can be better than that.”

The awkward silence lays between you. You pick at a piece of lint on your pants. You avoid his imploring blue eyes. Your skin prickles. Batman was in your apartment last night. More than that—Batman was inside you. You’re raking Bruce over the coals for not calling when you were busy gushing over Batman’s knuckles. You rub your hands over your face.

“There’s something you should know if you want us to continue this relationship.”

“Okay.”

“I slept with someone last night.”

Your gaze flicks upward to catch Bruce’s expression. He doesn’t look as hurt as you expected. He nods. A small smirk tugs at his plush lips.

He says, “I wasn’t expecting sexual monogamy this early on.” Your shoulders relax. This is the best-case scenario: Bruce isn’t mad or hurt that you fucked someone else. Granted, you hadn’t slept with Vengeance because you were mad at him. It happened purely by accident. It was because of that drug. The back of your neck tingles with warmth. OK. Maybe that’s not entirely true. If Batman had shown interest…then…even without the drug…you might’ve still slept with him.

He asks, “Anyone I know?”

A laugh bubbled up inside your throat.

“You wouldn’t believe me even if I told you.”

Bruce raises an eyebrow, “and will you tell me?”

You shake your head, “absolutely not. I don’t kiss and tell.”

“Fair enough.”

Bruce orders a black coffee with two sugars. You split a fruit-filled pastry with him. In between bites, you tell him about your meeting with Dr. Crane and pass over your notes on Arkham and Dr. Mercer’s untimely death.

“I’m not sure how Dr. Mercer ties into Falcone, or if he does, but I’m sure Falcone has the network to murder someone.”

Bruce nods thoughtfully.

“I’ll see what Alfred and I can find.”

“We’re close, Bruce.” You admit. A tinge of excitement laces your tone and brightens it. “I can feel it. I think I can use Dr. Crane to re-interview some of Mercer’s patients. I could have my story complete within the next few weeks.”

His brow furrows, “You said you don’t trust Crane. You said he had something to hide.

“He does—but for all we know—he could have hidden dirty magazines in his filing cabinet.”

Bruce’s smile triggers an irregular heartbeat pattern in your chest.

*************

You lift the bouquet of flowers from the vase to change the water. A slim, lacquered white notecard slips out from between the stems.

In beautiful calligraphy, it reads: to my perfect girl.

**************************

Part Three >

[liquidorcard]

Hey fam we're gunna inact in some sinful behavior again and get real for a sec here on the shitposting blog so TW: Discussion of substance abuse, mental health issues, SA, etc.

You may have noticed I took a bit of a break from posting for a bit. It wasn't entirely due to Lily's "junkie" rant here, but it was partially responsible.

A lot about Lily high key cheeses my biscuits, I've made that pretty clear. Lily and I have a . . . Strange amount in common in some regards. I'm a trans person myself, I come from a similar, shall we say, "dysfunctional home environment" Lily does. We're even both Canadian, close enough in age I grew up with a lot of the exact same regional-specific media she did. We've had some other life experiences in common.

With that said, Lily's almost like the evil funhouse mirror version of my life. I was sexually assaulted for the first time at basically the exact same age Courtney was. Lily reminds me very much of my first partner, who physically, emotionally and sexually abused me. Unlike Lily, I am from an actual multi-racial family and have had the somewhat unique experiences and gotten the somewhat unique perspective of being a white person partially influenced and organically adopted into more predominantly POC culture. I've had to come to terms with my own white privilege and the ways Western colonialism has influenced me on a level far more personal than it would be for someone from a more monoracial and monocultural family than mine. While also coming to terms with and accepting the ways my family has been judged and discriminated against for being so blended.

There's also just the fact that Lily seems to (I wonder if, on some level, intentionally) act like the alt-right caricature of a progressive leftist in the most performative way imaginable, while also clearly not actually being left-wing at all. My pet theory is that the only thing stopping Lily from going full Blaire White MAGA butt monkey is that her pride can't take it. Being treated like a useful idiot for the right to "prove" they're not bigots while treating her with open hostility in every other regard. So she's as "leftist" as she needs to be to get the 12 year olds she's trying to court on her side because they don't know any better. While being profoundly anti-labor, pro-capitalist. Even though the only reason why the alt-right hyper focus on identity politic bullshit like that is becayse it's a wedge issue that allows them to skirt around talking about actual policy.

There's also just the fact that someone can be so, confidently, shit-eating levels of wrong and stupid about the most asinine things. I actually work professionally in the fields Lily has decided her opinions are worth vomiting out into the ether. Fields people in general are way too comfortable speaking with authority on shit they know absolutely nothing about-- but Lily is for sure a special case.

Point is: I'm very used to Lily making me go into turbo big upsetti spaghetti mode. I've been aware of her for YEARS. I'm over it . . . Until I'm not.

I've alluded to it a few times already: I'm a recovered drug user, though I've struggled with general substance abuse and impulse control issues for longer. Particularly because of untreated mental health issues like C-PTSD, a dissociative disorder, gender dysphoria and ADHD. Particularly because of untreated physical health issues that just a few years ago almost killed me. Issues that caused me significant pain, mental distress, and slowly worsening disability since I was 11 years old. Went totally untreated until they came close to taking my life. It's no coincidence that I started stealing my parent's booze when I was around 12 or 13 years old.

The worst, ugliest, most humiliating aspects of yourself? Addiction will put them front and center. It will cause you to do things, act in ways, find out things about yourself you're never going to be able to unknow. You have to live with for the rest of your life.

You're aware of it-- the whole time. What a fucking creature you've become. How you are hurting the people closest to you. It's not fun. The whole time, you want to stop. But you can't. You don't know why you just can't control yourself, what you're supposed to do. You're afraid of asking for help out of fear of judgement or punishment. Drugs are mostly decriminalized in Canada and still, if someone just took access away from my poison of choice and sent me on my way with no further help--- I would have just walked into traffic.

The worst of my issues happened due to some absolutely insane levels of medical irresponsibility that I won't fully get into because they're too long to explain. But I will tell you that, already aware I had substance abuse issues, I *explicitly warned* the doctor who prescribed me the medication that I didn't feel I could be responsible to be put on anything addictive. She assured me it was not. Spoiler altert: it was addictive. A lot of addicts descent into rock bottom beginning with something they were prescribed.

Drug companies will put in these "anti-abuse" measures into otherwise addictive substances that it takes half a brain cell to circumvent. Just take my word for it.

I overdosed at least once, maybe twice on the drug I was originally prescribed. Alone. By some insane luck I survived both times without getting further medical treatment. But as I built up a tolerance what I was originally prescribed wasn't the *only thing* I ended up abusing in that period of my life. I was going to die if I didn't do something soon, and I knew it.

I was lucky. My sister drove two cities over after a night shift to my rescue and quite literally set me on the road to saving my life. My doctor was compassionate enough to allow me to get off of what I was originally addicted to at my own pace, and correctly identified I needed a medication overhaul to do so. My older brother made sure I wasn't dying of dehydration or starvation during my detox period and made sure to do the daily tasks I didn't have the mental capacity to do at that time aswell. Without them I wouldn't be here today.

NOT EVERY DRUG USER IS AS FORTUNATE AS ME, HOWEVER. And even then, recovery is not a straight line, or as simple as having certain substances kept away. It's a demon you'll be fighting the rest of your life, in many instances. Mine included. Part of getting off the harmful substances I was was getting a prescription to Adderall, as I was partially self-medicating for. Something my doctor still monitors me with to ensure I'm not falling back into bad habits with. Something Lily is CURRENTLY bitching about not being able to get a prescription for-- I wonder why, Lily.

I have now gone through THREE surgeries without painkillers. And in one particularly awful incident, was treated rather cruelly by the medical staff over refusing to take them. To quote, of all things, fucking Crooked Kingdom by Leigh Bardugo, "if you live with pain long enough, you learn to enjoy the taste." But nothing is like the nightmare of chemical dependence. Pain is immaterial to that kind of hell.

I know Lily is saying this bullshit just to vaguepost about Courtney, but I don't care. Fuck her. Fuck her for daring to judge me, and those like me. That she was that comfortable being this vile about the matter publically should give you a good indication as to how comfortable even other people are to talking down to addicts.

She wouldn't have survived the shit I went through. I dare her to try. She's way too much of a little piss baby to crawl her way out of that kind of suffering.

I know this is a meme page, but I refuse to be ashamed of talking about it. If anyone would like some more information about my experience or has questions as to why Lily's opinion on the matter is dogshit and vile, feel free to dm me or send me an ask. I'll make it clear why Lily is fucking scum for having the balls to say this publically. I'll make her regret it.