#it's all so. idk if to say out of place. but it kinda is?

[wayneskluv]

summary: Your mom—Wonder Woman—just dropped you off at Wayne Manor like a kid because she apparently couldn’t find a “suitable babysitter.” Never mind that you’re a fully grown adult and more than capable of taking care of yourself. Now you’re stuck in a mansion full of brooding vigilantes, chaotic adopted siblings, and a butler who’s already silently judging your life choices.

You survived battles, monsters, and Olympian family drama—but can you survive living with the Batfamily?

word count: ???

pairing/s: platonic!damian x reader (definite, set in stone) and then i’m not sure maybe dick x reader or jason x reader idk atm

warnings: basically none at the moment. damian being a bit of a demon brat. demigod!user.

authors note: um so hi. i’m back! probably. this might be a new sort of fic if anyone is interested.. like just chaos and perhaps a romantic pairing.. i will actually work on the peraltiago fic at some point but life has been HECTIC.

WAYNE Manor looms ahead, all gothic spires and looming stone, like something out of a horror novel rather than a billionaire’s estate. You shift the strap of your duffel bag, inhaling deeply. The air here is thick with old books, expensive wood polish, and—oddly enough—gunpowder. Fitting, considering the people inside.

The massive doors swing open before you can knock, revealing Alfred, ever the picture of poise. His expression is unreadable, but there’s warmth in his voice. “Miss. Welcome to Wayne Manor.”

You nod. “Thanks.”

Inside, the house is even grander. High ceilings, walls lined with paintings older than some civilizations, and a staircase that looks like it was built for dramatic entrances.

Bruce is already there, waiting near the banister like some brooding gargoyle. Arms crossed. Stance firm. His usual intimidation tactics, but you’ve faced literal gods.

“You’ll be staying in the east wing,” he says. “Alfred will show you to your room.”

You raise a brow. “No speech? No ‘my house, my rules’?”

He exhales sharply. “You already know the rules. You’re not a guest—you’re an ally.”

Which is Bat-speak for I trust you, but I’ll still be watching you like a hawk.

Then, Chaos.

Dick is the first to approach, all bright smiles and easy warmth. “Hey! Glad you’re here.” He pulls you into a quick one-armed hug before you can react. “Don’t let the gloom and doom fool you—this place is kinda fun once you settle in.”

Jason, leaning against the staircase railing, snorts. “Fun? Sure. If you like near-death experiences and questioning your mortality on a daily basis.”

Tim, slouched on the couch with a coffee in hand, barely looks up. “Give it a few days. You’ll either love it or start reconsidering your life choices.”

“Tt.” The noise comes from Damian, standing stiffly at the bottom of the stairs, arms crossed like a tiny warlord. His eyes flick over you, assessing, calculating. “You may be the daughter of an Amazon, but that does not mean you are above scrutiny.”

You smirk. “And you must be the infamous Damian. I’ve heard so much about you.”

His scowl deepens. “I highly doubt that.”

Dick slings an arm around your shoulders, grinning. “You’ll fit right in.”

You glance around at the absolute mess of personalities—grumpy billionaires, reckless vigilantes, over-caffeinated detectives, and a pint-sized assassin with a superiority complex.

Oh, this is going to be fun.

[whore-ibly-hot]

Tw: Dubcon, coercion, orgasm denial, general guys being icky and manipulative.

(Its kinda ass idk)

Thinking about...

A couple of guys, not really delinquents bit certainly not 'upstanding' citizens just using you for some relief. It's probably after some event, maybe a rock show at some shithole downtown, or maybe you were just getting some snacks with guys you thought were your friends. Not thought, they are your friends, but you couldn't have imagined this.

The first fidgets with the lever of the backseats, trying to get them folded back into the trunk while number twos tugging at your skirt, your tits pressed harshly into the leather of his car. "Cmon, find the fucking lever!" He growls and number one, who raises his hands in defense. "What do you want me to do, its probably your fucking car that let this happen. This shit-bucket probably doesn't even have a lever for the seats anymore."

Number three is driving, slowly finding some small lot with minimal lights in the back of some old building, shifting into park. While the two in back continue to bicker, he makes his way to the front of you. "Are you two sure about this? Seems like going to far." He says, one hand gripping at his pants sleeve with tension.

"You're bricked up too, bro. You aren't exactly the virgin Mary here." Number two pauses, then chuckles. "But, maybe virgin does fit." One cackles too, prompting three to smack the shoulder of two. "You're not scared, are you? You want this plenty, right?" Two asks, squishing your cheeks together in a 'fishy' face with a free hand.

"Don't know." You're scared, tired from the the fun night, unsure why three guys you've always been platonic with are doing this, but you can't deny the aching in your gut, the way your thighs are rubbing a bit against the leather seams of the middle seat and the far right seat. "I'm not sure, you guys-" You yelp, a hard open-palm grazing across the sliver of exposed ass poking from under your slightly ridden up skirt.

"Fuck is wrong with you?" Three asks, suddenly the seat jolts down, making you gasp. "Easy, easy."

"Get that skirt off, I just know she's got a good ass." One's hands push up, grabbing a cheek each amd kneading them as he groans. "Fucking mint, look at this, baby!" One leans so he's over you a bit, hard clothed cock pressing against your ass as he whispers in your ear. "Why'd you hide this thing from us?" He asks.

"I wasn't hiding it-"

"Obviously." Two snarks. "We barely even had to lift this skirt up, you were practically flaunting it."

God, you're aching. Maybe it's half stress, half arousal making you run on adrenaline, but the lack of care they seem to have for how you feel about this is having a primal effect on you.

"Pussy's fat too..." One comments, yanking down the thin panties keeping your soaked lips from him.

"Careful!" You squeak, causing them all to actually pause for a moment. "Its... been a bit."

Two breaks out into a grin, realizing this should mean dwindling protests from you about the way they plan to use you.

"She's not saying yes." Three protests, hand coming to hover over your cunt, effectively blocking his eager friends wandering fingers.

"She said maybe, and look at her!" One tries to get his hands past threes hand. "She's dripping on his leather seats, she's wetter than a bitch in heat.

"Its not like we're holding her down in some alley or something!" Two adds, placing a kiss on your sweaty forehead. "This is loving compared to that. Vanilla stuff." He snips.

Three seems conflicted, eyes downcast as he reluctantly pulls a hand away, moving it to gently rub your back up and down, as if trying to soothe a cat.

"Finally. Glad you decided to knock off the cockblocking." Spreading the lips of your labia, one whistles lowly, dragging a digital from your hole to aroused bud from behind, gently circling once, then twice.

"Shit-" You whisper out, gripping the seat edges with slick hands. You can feel threes hand clench slightly, but you lay your cheek on his knee, casting a flushed and low-lidded glance up at him. This reassures him a little, but your head near his oh-so sensitive inner thigh makes this action also go right to his dick.

"Fingers, how many you want?" One whispers. You just mewl at the feeling of friction on your clit, whining when it suddenly stops. "Wait, wait, okay, two, two!" You exclaim. You jolt forward a bit at the slight intrusion, the digits working you towards a finish, but not at the pace you'd like.

"You're sucking him in like crazy, shit." Two chuckles, leaning to glance behind you. "Makes me wonder what kinda suction you'd have elsewhere." He fidgets with his belt, the sound of a zipper and belt clasp coming undone sounds out, and a snap of boxers being pulled slightly lower. Three looks disgusted as two just winks, taking his own cock in his hand and running his hand over it once, then twice before pressing it forward.

Your lips wet with the slightly sticky red tip he presses to them, prodding once or twice like he's seeking entrance. "You wanna out in? Just give it a taste, I promise I'm not gonna make you take it all the way, baby." Two chuckles as you awkwardly kiss the tip. "That's nice, but I'm not asking you to give it's first kiss." Gripping your hair, he guides it in a bit, groaning. "Yeah, there we go. Right around my cock, use your tongue." You let out a moan as one hits a spot with the tips of his fingers, curled inside. It reverberates around Two's cock, causing him to buck. He keeps his promise, you have to admit, he only bucks forward a bit before pulling his length back out. "You're taking it so fucking good, not gonna bruise your mouth though, she's taking it like a fucking champ, man." He glances at One. "You think she's close?"

"Her pussy's twitching like she's gonna pop any second." The bragging first member slows his pace, causing you to whine and pull your mouth off Two's cock. "Why'd you stop, wait- wait-" You're panting, on the verge of overstimulation and seeking that release rather than focus on all your conflicting feelings.

"Shh, calm down. You'll get your pussy rocked, calm down." Two elbows Three, nodding his head towards the man. He's been stoic since you out your head on his leg, conflicted and sickened, while simultaneously being sickening aroused. "Last chance to jump this, man. I know you want to.." Three just pushes him back, but moves to have you sit up, now facing him. His hands on your cheek. "Breathe. S' okay, you want to stop, or you want to finish this?" He asks.

"Finish it, baby. We'll stroke it over yo-" Three smacks off one, scolding him before turning back to you. "Your choice. Your decision. Don't listen to them." Three reassures you, arms on blocking you in and leaning over you slightly to keep the other two from interfering.

"Finish. I wanna cum, m' aching and-" You buck forward just a bit, and he gets the memo. "Okay, okay. Lay on your back, spread your legs, I'm gonna do the work."

You don't have to be asked twice; laying on the cool leather, this time back down, chest rising. Two hands get your feet tucked around Threes waist, and he lowers down on you. You're so hyper focused on how sensitive you are, and your 'friend'leaning over you you can barely register one and two jerking off, hoping to climax around the time you do.

Three gets himself lined up, but not before placing a few soft kisses on your neck. "I got you. Just forget about those idiots, okay? You and me, I'm taking care of you. I'll let you finish and make em' take you right back home."

You just nod, eyes squeezing tight as he enters. "Ah-" You groan. "You're big, fuck-"

He's not moving. "Too big?"

You shake your head, and he resumes several slow repitions. Eventually, he's fully sheathed, balls smacking against your ass as he thrusts. "Amazing, you feel so good, so good." He grunts. His hands brace on either side of you, but don't grip you harshly like one and two. "Is it good for you?" He asks.

"Up..." is all you can mumble. He gets the hint, angling his cock slightly. Soon, his bulbous tip is hammering that spongy place deep inside you, and you can feel your release finally hitting. "Yes, cumming, I'm finishing-" You start to yell, then gasp at a hot rush of fluids that's aren't your own.

"Holy shit!" Two cackles along with one, as three halts in his movements. "Mister 'i don't wanna, it's not right' might've just knocked you up!"

Your still riding out your orgasm, but three has immediately snapped out of ir. "I didn't mean to, sorry, I didn't-" he's pulling out, immediately smacking two who finished a bit ago. "Its your car, drive. Fucking drive, go to the pharmacy." Two puts his hands up, but obeys.

"M' so sorry." Three says as he sits you up. "I promise I'm clean and stuff, and we're gonna grab plan b, get you some water too-"

"Its okay." You blurt. "Its okay, I know you didn't mean to." Biting your lip, you think about what happened. Of any other guys did this, it'd be horrifying, and you admit it was scary. But... it also wouldn't feel nearly as hot with anyone else. "It was good."

"Hell yeah it was." Both of you were so caught up, you didn't realize One stayed in the back of the car. "Wait till you get a ride on me, baby. I promise I'll be even more of a gentleman. Shit, I'll tell you before it shoot my load in you."

You should go out for late night drives more.

[smosh-fessions]

this is kind of a hateful ask so feel free to just delete, but i watched guts (angela's short film) and some of the comments kinda disappointed me. it was such a well written, well acted, well directed short film and it was emotional and meaningful! media about eating disorders that's really honest and emotional isn't super triggering is so rare and greatly appreciated! i just hated that there were so many comments just about angela. granted, there's a lot of thoughtful comments and people saying the same thing as i am right now- but there are also a few comments of people being incapable of doing anything but talk about angela and her being on smosh. and it was enough upon initial release for me to notice and be frustrated by.

art is so difficult and this film was a team effort, why do certain fans want everyone to know that they're there mostly for angela and nobody else? does that not feel disrespectful to them? i felt similarly when patrick's short film came out- he and amanda have incredible chemistry and acted off each other with such natural tension and patrick was so menacing, towing the line between kooky and an actual threat. but all some people talked about in the comments and social media was amangela- which was only in the film for like. 5 minutes. yes, it's sweet and kinda gay that amanda wanted angela to be her wife for the film but that's literally such a small part of the film. there were other things going on.

it just frustrates me that when people like angela who are members of really popular groups make art outside that group, the fans of said group can't engage with the art that they're a part of without appreciating all the other people involved or the story being told. i 100% totally understand it- i would not have been served either short film had i not been a fan of smosh in the first place and i'm excited to see the cast members and patrick outside of smosh and especially for them to be so serious and good. but oh my god where is the decorum?

this rant was spurred on by seeing the fact that dan and phil fans (of which i am one) in the youtube comments section did not appreciate the other simmers on the sims anniversary livestream and just spammed dan and phil things the whole time. im begging some of u thst if ur gonna engage with media, pls for the love of god, show some love to everybody involved! it's cute that smosh appreciates the crew as much as they do- so let's keep that same energy for outside projects!! also this isn't critique of angela- she did incredible in both guts and i live in your house! i love her! i am angela giarratanamaxxing as we speak (idk what i mean by that but i am), but more a critique on how certain people engage with media. pls have some decorum, divas!

I agree a million percent. It's fine to leave a comment that you're happy to see more of Angela's talent, but as you said, people act like she (or whoever) is the ONLY person who made it.

It's not done in malice most of the time, I don't think, but that doesn't change the impact it has. I would be disappointed to see no comments on the rest of my film and only comments about one of the actors if I were Margeaux.

The film was wonderful and hit home for me more than I expected it to, and I wish more people took the time to look at these things for what they are as opposed to just a vehicle for more Angela.

This was very well said.

[sukugo]

there's something terribly soft about sukugo, which i think is very interesting when put beside the conception that exists of their characters, or really, what their characters actually are and stand for.

bc sukuna and gojo are the strongest. they represent jujutsu in its entirety and carry the true essence of it in their selves. they are jujutsu personified.

and the world of jujutsu is not easy, it's cold and ruthless and destructive. and they are the pinnacle of this endlessly cruel world, drenched in death and everything that jujutsu entails, capable of so much destruction and horror (are even considered to be inhuman)

but then, their relationship with each other, is not so.

it's... the opposite. their relationship is one of joy, of fulfillment, and love. it's not destructive, it's not cold or ruthless. it's warm and loving and constructive. there's a thread of tenderness that laces all their interactions, from the very first till the very last.

and you can really see it in the entirety of their confrontation. it's joyous, they're ecstatic. even in the end, when sukuna finally kills gojo. it's all warmth. it's all love. gojo's death isn't sad. it's joyful. he dies with a smile on his face. sukuna smiles back at him. they give each other, not take from each other. gojo gives love and sukuna gives love back. and that's what ultimately leads to the culmination of their battle. gojo dies for that love, by that love.

[babacontainsmultitudes]

Ough guys I'm hopping on the train in less than 2 days to move to a new city this is sooo fucked up what do you meannnn

[someartistsammy]

Genesis's childhood award, the basis of pasteurization, and the supposed fragility of Banora Whites.

A take on it from a farm kid that actually specializes in growing apples.

Was talking with a good friend of mine last night about various takes in the fandom last night and was reminded of one I had seen semi-recently about Genesis's childhood genius in supposedly inventing pasteurization.

I want to believe this is a take that comes from being uninformed as to what pasteurization actually is, considering him being the first to invent it around the time of 1990 would show a stunning lack of technological advancements in the world of FF7. Let me explain.

Shinra has had a lot of technological advancements, and we can see those constantly portrayed clear as day throughout the world of FF7. However even in the time before Shinra, during the time of the Republic of Junon, it can also be assumed that they would have pasteurization, a process that in the real world was invented in the 1800s. Exploration of the world in Rebirth also reveals multiple areas that have shipment docks from the time of the Republic. This would include the assumption that this is how people both traveled as well as transported and exchanged goods.

Pasteurization is an incredibly important technological advancement as it's allowed for the easier shipment and trade of food on a global level. The definition can be found below.

In food processing, pasteurization is a process of food preservation in which packaged and unpacked foods (e.g., milk and fruit juices) are treated with mild heat, usually to less than 100 °C (212 °F), to eliminate pathogens and extend shelf life. Pasteurization either destroys or deactivates microorganisms and enzymes that contribute to food spoilage or the risk of disease, … (continued on Wikipedia)

There are different methods such as Low-temperature long time (LTLT), High temperature/short time (HTST) and Ultrahigh temperature (UHT) (also called Ultraheat treated) however that isn't super important to this, just know that HTST is the standard for apple juice.

The point in this being that if Genesis were to have invented pasteurization ~1990, the rest of the world would have been taking incredibly risky measures in transporting food and risking spoiling for decades, as well as various things being unsafe for consumption such as milk. With the advancements the world already had by this time such as phones, war artillery, windmills, and mako reactors, I find it highly unlikely that he would've been the one to invent pasteurization.

I feel as though it is important to mention that Genesis's award was first place in the National Agriculture Awards, but more specifically, an award in the processed food category. The processed category in these awards directly gives it away in the fact that food was already processed enough to have its own category for awards. Presentation on this is in relation to the presentation of a processed product, and not a form of processing itself. In the assumption that these reflect actual reward categories, there are different categories for scientific invention as well as processing systems.

Reference page for the names/categories presented. This is not the description document.

Agricultural Proficiency Award Area Descriptions.

Although there is the argument that they likely didn't use this same style categorizing, its important to note that they did use categories within the national agricultural awards, and they specifically made the choice of processed food, instead of any of the other choices. If he really made such an important invention, why wouldn't it be stated anywhere as clearly being pasteurization, something that would revolutionize the world, or for that matter why wouldn't it be awarded in the name of development of food science?

I believe its also worth mentioning that the Crisis Core Complete Guide says "Because the fruit can only be harvested in this region, it sells for a high price on the market, but the village children don't seem to know this, …" This would be due to the fact that the Banora Whites are common-place in Banora. In a similar way to how wagyu in Japan is significantly cheaper than it is in the United States, due to export; Genesis would have an easier and cheaper time attempting experimentation methods, if there even needs to be any variation for them, resulting in juice with correct pasteurization due to his being local to Banora. (Market price on them in Banora would be naturally lower due to supply likely being higher than demand, as well as not having to worry about import and export fees. Not to mention being the place where it is naturally grown).

*In the above example I used wagyu as a comparison, however this could just as easily be any other exported food that becomes considered rare when exported, another example which is actually more rare would be the black diamond apple.

While mentioning this, I also want to say that his invention is specifically upon Banora White Juice, not apple juice in its entirety of existence. In similarity to pasteurization, this feels like an over-exaggeration of what Genesis actually accomplished.

While branching through this topic, I also want to bring attention to a take I was sent a while back on the supposed fragility of Banora Whites. While going through the Ultimanias with assistance of a friend, nothing could be found on sources hinting towards Banora Whites being fragile. My next assumption is that this conclusion was likely reached on the basis of Banora Whites being mentioned to be region exclusive, and a high-price market item.

Banora Whites are called just that because of their area of growth being only that of Banora in the Mideel region. The growth of Banora Whites is actually tied to the amount of lifestream that flows through the Banora Underground, this gives Banora a very unique type of soil that allows for the growth of Banora Whites. Since Banora is the only place where the crop grows, giving it a very limited area of growth, and since it cannot be grown globally, gives it a very high market value.

Now into the technicality of things, it could also be assumed that the sale of the Banora White was likely tied to its aesthetics, similar to the way that the pink pineapple is in the real world. The difference here being that when juiced, the pink pineapple loses most of what it has going for it in terms of its aesthetic appearance and thus reducing its marketability and price. Meanwhile, Banora whites, while although losing what would make them have a unique aesthetic appearance, could possibly have a specific flavor to them that translates into the juice.

You see, I believe Genesis's intelligence on the matter comes from not creating some life changing way of preserving things, but rather from preventing waste. Although I do not find any info on Banora Whites being fragile, it can be argued that all apples are fragile in a sense, or at least majority of them. They're truly one of those fruits where sometimes you can chuck them at a tree and only see a bruise or dent, and other times you look at them wrong and they'll split wide open.

When thinking of an apple in general, chances are fragile is not the first word that comes to mind, as many other fruits would be considered fragile long before them, and that'd be correct. However, the harvest and transportation of apples, as well as their general growth, can be littered with complications. When moving apples in a commercial wooden apple bin, when you have hundreds of them stacked together, driving faster than even 2MPH by tractor can cause shaking and damage to the fruit by rubbing damage which can create bruising.

Banora is a remote island location, and import and export of items is likely expensive, which would contribute to the income that Banora Whites would bring in (see earlier mention of wagyu and Japan vs US price) Due to being an island, the methods of exporting would have to be either by air, which would be incredibly expensive and fuel taxing, or by ocean. I mentioned earlier that FF7 Rebirth shows multiple docks and ports that would hint towards ocean being the likely way of transportation of food and people. This would require a boat to leave from down by Banora and travel all the way up the coast through the Meridian Ocean. Constant swaying of the ocean and anything unsecured likely leads to aesthetic damages which allow for even less of the Banora Whites to reach market in aesthetically acceptable shelf conditions.

Banora and in general the Mideel Region is a very coastal region that by flora alone also appears to be a very warm and tropical one. By this assumption not only would Banora Whites possibly be prone to sunburn, a reason they likely developed their darker appearance to survive, but also being internally cooked by the heat of the sun. Also being coastal could lead to strong storms brought in by the ocean leaving damage from heavy winds, pelting rain, hail, and similar damaging weather factors. Excessive rain also typically leads to apples suffering growth cracks, which also takes them off the table for being sold to market as-is.

In the assumption that the Banora Whites would survive possibly brutal conditions that are located down in that area, due to any damage caused by going across the sea, they would likely need to be packaged first while in Banora (hence the warehouse) which would also bring up the pricing on them. However, where does this leave the fruit that's been damaged? Just because it has a crack it it or an aesthetic-only scar across the skin does not mean that the fruit is ruined or inedible. This is fruit that can be used for many different things, including juicing. Juicing is a method that ignores damages that are purely aesthetic, and allows for profit where there would otherwise be none given. Genesis's invention is that of one that prevents waste, and allows for another source of income to the area.

Juicing of apples that wouldn't make it to market would keep the price of the pure solid apples that do make it to market still profitable, while also giving use to those that wouldn't be allowed onto the shelves. While its nothing groundbreaking for the world, like pasteurization would have been, it does allow for Banora to be able to sustain itself via income more, and just overall prevent the waste of more food.

Although to some its not as glamorous if he didn't do something that fundamentally changed the world as a kid, that doesn't mean that what Genesis did isn't still something that he was worth awarding for, especially as a youth. Not only did his creation prevent the waste of food, which earned him his award, but Banora White Juice also did become a famous global hit.

[seventh-district]

Dying Star

In the back of your mind, you recall something you once heard, something about light, and time, and distance. Space. Something about... how you can still see a star that's already burnt out, because its light hasn't reached earth yet. The ghost of a star that's already died. Only still perceptible thanks to time, and distance.

You remember Sam's words, once whispered to you on this very roof.

"Whatever your choice is... I'm not gonna live forever. I made that decision a long time ago."

You think about dead stars.

You think about time.

- - - - - - -

Sam’s words have been weighing heavy on your mind ever since you discussed your shared future and the various forms it could take. You didn’t realize just how heavy they were until it all came spilling out of your tired mind on a late night spent together beneath the stars.

Pairing: Sam x Darlin' / Reader

Word Count: 4,053

Contains: [angst] [a dash of humor] [a hint of chubby!Sam bc i like 'em strong and soft] [crying] [cuddling (dub-con cuddles with Quinn in the past & consensual ones with Sam in the present)] [emotional hurt/comfort] [implied/referenced dub-con sex (nothing graphic) (in the past between Darlin' and Quinn to be specific) (refer to my Ao3 notes for further explanation)] [mentioned Quinn] [not quite Dissociation i guess but Darlin' does zone-out/get lost in thought more than once] [pet names (Darlin' (obvs.) and honey)] [Reader is Darlin'] [Sam wears a cowboy hat bc i said so] [some passive suicidality from Sam if you squint (hell, maybe you don't even have to squint)]

A/Ns: Well, well, well, here I am, the person who said they wouldn't write any Redactedverse fanfic. I recently felt a mighty need to expand upon the blurb I wrote in this post, and I'm braving my fandom anxiety by sharing it here. pls be nice 2 me abt it

Timeline-wise, this fic takes place sometime after the ‘Talking About the Future With Your Vampire Mate’ audio but sometime before their presumed eventual departure from the house that William gave Sam, given that they've already had the 'turning' discussion but are still on the same roof in this fic.

This is a songfic, inspired by and quoting verses from 3 songs. Those being:

‘Dying Star’ by Ashnikko feat. Ethel Cain

‘Fix What You Didn’t Break’ by Nate Smith

‘No Plan’ by Hozier

The roof of Sam’s house is far from a ‘cushy’ place to relax. But as you lie here next to him under the stars, a knowledge settles within you that you wouldn’t trade the rough shingles beneath you for the softest mattress in the world. Not if it meant there’d be anyone other than him lying next to you.

Some people might counter that it’s an easy thing for you to say, given the number of nights you’ve thrown a balled-up shirt onto one end of a worn-out couch and called it a bed. But some people don’t know you as well as they think they do.

You’ve known luxury. Quinn might’ve been just as content taking his fill on a seedy motel bed as he was wrapped in silks at a Hilton, but he knew how to play up the luxe when it served him to do so. And in the early days as he worked to lure you in, it did. Plush sheets and expensive drinks helped to soften the preordained blows and dull the imminent pain that your nights with him held.

Once you’d latched onto the bait though, he let the act drop one piece at a time, like props collapsing on a stage. After all, what was the point in all of those frivolities when you both knew what you really came to him for? It wasn’t to be wined and dined, it wasn’t to be dressed up and shown off, and it wasn’t even to be slowly stripped of it all, laid out across the rolling clouds of a pillowy mattress.

It was to be used. Tranced. Restrained. Bitten. Drank from. Choked. Hit. Edged. Denied. Made to writhe and whine and bleed and plead. Plead for more, for less, for nothing, for anything. Anything to quiet your mind and fill the ever-expanding void inside you where you suspect love was supposed to live.

That’s what you both really wanted.

At least, that’s what you told him you wanted.

That’s what you told yourself.

You only got what you asked for.

To your right, Sam stirs, stretching gently with a yawn. The soft noise he releases as he does so reminds you of where you are, and you trace back through your thoughts to find how you got so lost.

…Right. Luxury.

While your relationship with Quinn certainly changed over time, you never forgot what it felt like in the beginning. 

You remember nights laid next to him, body sore, mind quiet. Quinn’s idea of aftercare was lacking to say the least, but you had nothing better to compare it to at the time, and you’d take what you could get. At least your head felt empty, and the bed was soft. Exhaustion would pull you under soon enough.

The mattress, sheets, and pillows enveloping you were likely worth more than you even made that past month. ...Or several. You found that display of luxury hard to be impressed by though, when it wasn’t the type of comfort you’d been seeking.

As Quinn shifted in his presumed sleep, pulling you in tighter, you didn’t fight it. You found yourself unwilling to fight anything he did, like his mere presence was enough to drain the fight right out of you. You told yourself that you were okay with that. Because you wanted it.

Lying there with your head on his bare chest, you took a deep breath and told yourself that you liked the stench of cheap cologne, poorly masking the cigarettes and alcohol on his breath. You silently told yourself that you liked everything. You liked the pain that he chased with hints of pleasure. You liked the loss of power, the way you couldn’t fight back if you wanted to once he looked you in the eyes. You liked all the things he said, no matter how much the truth might hurt.

He was right, you supposed. Your desires, the things you craved, the depravity that you so enjoyed, wasn’t normal. It was uncommon, unusual, and in the eyes of some, unfathomable. To possess such dark desires, there must be something truly broken inside you.

How lucky you were, to have found someone willing to indulge you. Someone that could give you everything you wanted, and be so kind as to keep it a secret too. He promised that word of the things he did to you, the things you let him do, would never get out. You remember the way he held your hand as he told you, falling for the guise of sincerity in his eyes. You remember his warm smile, and his razor sharp teeth.

You remember seeing that exact same smile on his face through one-way glass as he sat across from Sam and told him everything.

You stood in that room and thought back to those nights of luxury. To the feeling of his nails ghosting over the freshly healed punctures in your neck. To the way he held you against him. You remember laying there, lifeless, feeling like prey playing dead. Afraid to move, afraid to disturb him. But why? He hadn’t threatened you. He never told you that you had to stay. He never said that you couldn’t move, or pull away. So why did you feel that way?

As you stood, helplessly witnessing hours of his slander in that interrogation room, you understood. Your rose-tinted glasses had long since shattered, and you saw that smile for what it was. It was the smile of a man playing a dangerous game, brimming with satisfaction, thinking he’d won.

The radio near you begins to crackle, static obscuring the hosts voice as they announce the upcoming song. Sam doesn’t even open his eyes, just raises a hand and reaches out, blindly adjusting the antenna of the old device.

You’ve teased him for holding onto it for so long, as he is wont to do with damn near all of his possessions. But as you watch him deftly extend and angle the antenna with practiced care, the response he once gave you proves itself true once again.

“I don’t wanna replace it, Darlin’. It’s not broken. It just needs someone who knows how to make it sing again.”

The static clears, and music flows through the radio’s old speakers once more.

You watch Sam return his hand to its prior position beneath his head, acting as a makeshift pillow of his own. The way he’s lying has his hat pushed forward, and it’d be doing a damn good job of shielding his face from the sun if it weren’t somewhere around midnight at the moment. Still, it suits him somehow, despite its lack of any practicality. All he’s missing is a stalk of wheat between his teeth and a tree to lean against and he’d be the spitting image of the cowboy he swears he isn’t.

His other hand rests on the soft curve of his stomach, rising and falling again as he breathes. He’s the image of peace in moments like these, and you’re drawn to it like a moth to flame. Maybe one of these days you’ll find some of your own, but for now you’re more than content to bask in his.

As you admire him, he takes a slow, deep breath and you mirror it on instinct. The grounding practice helps you leave your mind and return to your body, if just for a moment. In doing so, you realize just how tense your ruminations have made you.

You relax your hands, releasing the blanket beneath you from your iron grip. You brush your palms over it, worried that you’ve torn the fabric once you realize that your nails had halfway shifted to claws. You don’t fret much over damage to your own possessions, but this blanket is Sam’s and you’d hate to ruin it. Though, you suppose he doesn’t prize it too much or he wouldn’t have laid it out here across the roof in the first place.

“If I buy somethin’ it’s because I wanna use it. Now quit frettin’ and get over here.” You recall what he told you earlier as he patted the blanket next to him in invitation, and you smile.

Doing a small stretch of your own, you release the tension in your shoulders, turning your attention back to the stars above you. For a while, you let the soft music wash over your tired mind.

“I asked him not to kill me politely. He drained my magic core, bottled up at the source. I washed up on the sea glass shores. I’m nobody's captive.”

In spite of your best efforts to relax, you’re still subconsciously futzing with the loose threads of the old blanket beneath you.

You’re made aware of it when Sam reaches a hand down, gently laying it over yours and effectively stilling your anxious motion.

“Burning like a dying star, invasive weeds rooted in my heart, set in a crooked trajectory. The journey here was hard, I was almost pulled apart. Trying to leave his orbit took what’s left of me.”

You flip your hand over beneath his so you can hold it properly, lacing your fingers together.

For reasons beyond your understanding, emotion tightens your throat, the threat of tears pooling in your eyes.

…You must be more tired than you thought.

As minutes pass and one song fades into another, your gaze dances across the blurry, scattered points of light in the dark sky.

“You were the star in the pitch black, shine the way on the way back. Out of nowhere, answered all my prayers.”

Sam’s always been so much better at identifying stars and finding constellations. But as the music plays, you begin to see one of your own.

“Picked up the towel that I threw in, took in a heart that was ruined. Showed me the past ain’t a tattoo, loved me even when you didn’t have to.”

“Sam.” You squeeze his hand to get his attention.

He squeezes back in acknowledgment. “Hm?”

“I want you to look at something.” You swallow back the emotion that tries to seep into your voice, but it catches his attention all the same.

He leans up and lifts his hat from his head, setting it aside near the radio. He then reaches to turn a dial back, lowering the music’s volume to give you his full attention.

You release his hand, raising yours up as he turns back to face you. You don’t say anything at first, nearly too lost in your own mind to realize you need to actually voice your developing thoughts.

"What—what're you pointin' at Darlin'?"

Your hazy focus is trained on the brightest star visible in your line of sight, arm stretched out to the sky above you. "That really bright one, to the... to the left."

Sam does his best to follow your less-than-specific directions of 'to the left', your pointed finger doing little to help given the difference in perspective. Luckily, after all these years, he knows this stretch of night sky like the back of his hand, so it isn't hard to locate the brightest one. Ghosting his fingers up along your exposed wrist where your sleeve had slipped back, he takes your hand in his again and brings it back down to earth. "Okay, yeah, I see it now. What about it though?"

"That's you." You say, matter-of-factly.

"That's me?" He questions, humor in his tone.

"Mhm." You nod with finality, blinking slow.

Sam considers the odd statement for a moment before gently correcting you. "I'm uh, I'm pretty sure that's Sirius, actually."

You scoff. "I am being serious."

Sam stifles a laugh. "No—no I mean—like... what's another name for it... Oh, it's also called the Dog Star."

"C'mon Sam, at least call it the Wolf Star if you're trying to turn this around on me..."

He shakes his head and readies himself to explain further, but you cut him off before he can start. "But no. No, this isn't about me. That's you."

He decides to play along, finding something endearing in your overtired nonsense. "Okay... then would'ja be so kind as to explain to this confused old man just how, or why that star is me?"

Your frown is audible in your voice as you latch onto the wrong part of his sentence. "You're not old, Sam. ...Do I need to tell Asher to kick the jokes down a notch?"

He smiles at your over-protectivity. "There'll be no need for that, now. Was just a joke, honey, I promise."

You huff, but begrudgingly shift focus back to the prior topic. "It's... I dunno. It's just you, Sam. It's... bright. Light. Something warm, out there in the cold dark. Standing out amongst all the rest. Calling to me, stealing my attention.”

Sam’s brow furrows as you continue to explain, realization setting in that you really are being serious.

“I... I didn't come out here looking for it, but there it is. ...And there you were. In the dark. The only bright thing I'd seen in... fuck, in years. Years of chasing fleeting warmth, tripping over myself in the pitch black, falling into... places and people that I shouldn't have. You were the light in that darkness. Even there, at Wonderworld, surrounded by the ghost of him. Your warmth, your presence, your aura—even with all of your walls up, you outshone it. Your warmth didn't hurt. I didn't have to squint when I looked at you. You weren't the blinding sun. You were the brightest star I'd ever seen. You guided me home."

In the back of your mind, you recall something you once heard, something about light, and time, and distance. Space. Something about... how you can still see a star that's already burnt out, because its light hasn't reached earth yet. The ghost of a star that's already died. Only still perceptible thanks to time, and distance.

You remember Sam's words, once whispered to you on this very roof.

"Whatever your choice is... I'm not gonna live forever. I made that decision a long time ago."

You think about dead stars.

You think about time.

"...-lin'? Darlin'?" Sam's calloused hand squeezes yours tight, his urgent tone pulling you out of your thoughts. "There you are. Think I lost ya' for a minute there... you good?"

You look up at Sam, concern creasing his features, faint shadows cast across his face from the light of the dying stars above him.

You reach out, pulling him down into you. He falters for a moment at the sudden proximity, but quickly embraces you in turn. Burying your face into his collar, Sam's concern grows when he feels it saturate with tears. A human might struggle to hear your words, muffled against the thick flannel, but his hearing catches them just fine.

"Don't burn out too quickly. Please. I still need you here. I don't—I don't wanna be left in the dark again. Please, please Sam. Don't leave me here. I'm not selfish enough to ask you for forever, but please. Not yet. Not yet. Not yet."

The words feel like a weight being lifted from your shoulders, but with it comes a flood of emotion they’d been holding back. You cry harder into him, and as much as it pains Sam to witness, he lets you feel it, for as long as you need.

Your fear of losing him manifests itself physically, nails curling and sharpening again. When he feels them prick his skin through the fabric of his shirt, he calls your name but doesn’t pull away. Instead, he leans further down into you, letting his weight ground you. “Darlin’, I am right here. I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

As you eventually cry yourself out, enough wherewithal returns to you to realize that you should probably release the poor man from your grasp, and the awkward position you pulled him into. When he pulls away enough to see your face, you notice a string of snot running from your nose to his shirt collar. Quickly batting it away out of embarrassment, you cringe, voice thick as you apologize. “Eugh, gross. Uh… sorry. About that.”

He shakes his head, laughing good-naturedly as you wipe at your nose with your jacket sleeve. “It’s completely fine, honey. After all, I’ve been covered in plenty of your, uh… various fluids before. When you come from my line of work, this is child’s play.”

He leans to his right, reaching back and pulling—of all things—a handkerchief from his jeans’ left back pocket. You laugh at his words, and at the sight, but with how congested you are it turns into more of a hacking cough than anything. Accepting his offering, you blow your nose into the black patterned fabric.

As soon as you can speak somewhat clearly, you can’t stop the teasing remark that slips out of you, gesturing with the wad of fabric in your hand. “You know, you really aren’t beating the cowboy allegations with stuff like this.”

He rolls his eyes but his soft smile remains. “It’s a practical thing to have on me, ‘allegations’ be damned.”

You shake your head with a smile of your own, but don’t disagree. As you’re visibly unsure what to do with the dirtied fabric, he takes it from you, setting it aside. “I’ll toss it in the wash when we go back inside. Along with my shirt, and…” He eyes you for a moment. “…that jacket of yours too, given how long you’ve probably been wearin’ it.”

Normally you’d argue that it hasn’t been that long, but come to think of it, you actually can’t recall when you last washed the thing.

Reaching up and rubbing your temples, you already regret your crying fit as a headache begins to set in. “Fuck, Sam... I’m sorry for… whatever that just was. I don’t know what came over me.”

His expression falls into something serious again. “You never need to apologize for feeling. And it certainly seems like… you needed to feel that.”

You nod quietly, but don’t elaborate, prompting him to question you gently. “Darlin’. What was that about? The—the askin’ me not to leave. Are you… afraid that I’m gonna leave you?”

You close your eyes, weighing out your response. “…Not in the sense that you’ll break up with me or something, no.”

His gaze narrows and his head tilts as he rolls your answer over in his mind. “If it ain’t that, then—” He remembers how you mentioned ‘forever’ and cuts himself off as the puzzle pieces start coming together. “Oh. …Oh, Darlin’, no.”

You open your eyes to watch as he shifts from leaning next to you, moving to sit up beside you. “Is this about what I told you, when we sat up here and had our uh… turning discussion?”

You hate to admit it, but you nod in confirmation. “…It’s your choice, Sam, and I never want to take that away from you. I shouldn’t have said what I just did, I—I don’t want to make you feel guilty, or like you have to stick around for my sake. But I’d be lying to you if I said it hasn’t been playing on my mind. The thought of you… leaving. Like that.”

He reaches up, running a hand through his hair. “I… think I maybe should’ve been a bit more clear, when I said that. Because I wasn’t talking about any time soon. I didn’t want to give you the false impression that I plan on sticking around for centuries, but… I also wasn’t trying to imply that I’ve got plans to do it next week either.”

You bolt upright, voice cracking. “Next week?! I sure as shit hope not!” You grab your head, pain flaring and suddenly dizzy from the quick shift in position.

He places a hand on your shoulder to steady you. ���I’m not, honey, I’m not. Did you catch the rest of my sentence? I’ve got no plans to leave this world any time soon. I promise.”

You groan, head pounding. “I heard you, I did, I just—fuck, I don’t even wanna think about you leaving so soon. Here I am, stressing, thinking I’ve only got—I don’t know—some odd years left with you, and…” You sigh, trailing off.

Sam stays quiet for a minute, letting the crickets sing.

Eventually, he interrupts their chorus. “…Can I get closer to you?”

You nod. “…Please.”

He closes the gap between you, carefully wrapping a strong arm around your curled shoulders. “You’ve got way more than a couple years. I promise you that.” Your tension begins to ease a bit as he clarifies. “You… you’ve helped me find a life that I actually feel like livin’ again, for the first time in a long time. And I want to experience it with you for as long as I can.”

“…Really?” Your voice sounds so small, so unsure, so… unlike you when you question him that he wants to kick himself in his own ass for the role he unintentionally played in making you feel this way.

“Yes. Really. I mean—” His voice takes on an edge of humor. “If you decide to set your sights on the year 3,000…” He shakes his head. “I don’t know about that. But as far as the 21st century is concerned? …I think I’d like to see it through. For as long as you’re there to see it with me.”

His words cause fresh tears to well up in your eyes, and you sniff in an attempt to hold them back. The sound catches his attention, and he leans forward, thumbing across your warm cheek. “…I’m makin’ you cry again…”

You shake your head, clearing your throat. “No—No, it’s okay. It’s good. They’re… they’re good. It’s… relief.”

He breathes out a relieved sigh of his own. “Yeah?”

You nod, leaning into him. “Yeah.”

As you rest against each other, breathing in the cool night air, you nudge him with your shoulder. “Can we… lay back? For a bit?”

He squeezes your arm in gentle confirmation. “Of course.”

He twists and reaches back to straighten the wrinkled blanket beneath you, before laying out across it himself. The radio crackles as he turns the volume back up a bit. Watching him with tired eyes, you smile at the sight of him patting his chest in habitual invitation.

“Sit in and watch the sunlight fade. Honey, enjoy, it’s gettin’ late. There’s no plan. There’s no hand on the reign. As Mack explained, there will be darkness again.”

Curling up against his side and laying your head on his chest, you release a heavy sigh when his hand comes up to rest on your shoulder. As his fingers press rhythmically into the tense muscle beneath them, you breathe in his scent. Black coffee and wildflower honey… he smells like home.

“Your secret is safe with me, and if secrets were like seeds, when I’m lyin’ under marble, marvel at flowers you’ll have made.”

You reach your hand out across his broad chest, slipping beneath his open flannel and sliding down to rest on his waist. He sighs, relaxing further beneath your touch.

“My heart is thrilled by the still of your hand. That’s how I know now that you understand.”

Yeah, you’ll take this over ‘luxury’ any damn day.

“There’s no plan. There’s no race to be run.”

Laying there with him, listening to the low hum of the radio, the moment grows so comfortable that you almost hesitate to break it.

“The harder the pain, honey, the sweeter the song.”

“…Sam?” You whisper into the night.

His hand sweeps across your back before returning to your shoulder. “I’m here, Darlin’.”

“There’s no plan. There’s no kingdom to come.”

You smile. “I… I’d like to be there, to be here, to see it through with you, too.”

It takes him a moment to recall exactly what you’re referring to, but when it hits him he hums a low understanding tone, clearly pleased. “Then let’s see where it takes us, yeah?”

“But I’ll be your man if you got love to get done.”

He presses a soft kiss to your temple. “We’ve got plenty a’ time.”

A/N: Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed. You can find my extensive notes and commentary on this fic right here on Ao3. My Sam & Darlin' Playlist My Sam Playlist My Darlin' Playlist My Sam & Darlin' Moodboard My Sam Moodboard My Darlin' Moodboard Header Image Credit: Gage Smith on Unsplash

[b4kuch1n]

making of a feathered thing

[krispiecake]

tell me why i can hear another tenants fucking music from my flat. HE DOESNT EVEN LIVE IN MY BUILDING. HE LIVES IN A COMPLETELY SEPARATE BUILDING ON THE SECOND FLOOR AND I CAN HEAR HIS MUSIC FROM MY FLAT. MY FLAT WHICH IS IN A DIFFERENT SEPARATE BUILDING.

[shikai-the-storyteller]

AWH... I'm skipping through Roier's QSMP Day 1 VOD because I'm looking for a specific thing, and I just noticed that when Jaiden stands in front of the group to do her introduction and her mic isn't working, Mariana laughs (not in a mean way, I laughed too) and Roier immediately smacks him and tells him off for laughing.

[Timestamp ~36m 50s, volume warning for Quackity's awful mic]

It's such a little thing, but I think it's really sweet in retrospect, especially considering how Roier and Jaiden have become such good friends in recent weeks :')

[deus-ex-mona]

when the slowburn makes the ship extra cute~~~

[cleofast300]

.

[chiimeramanticore]

waow

[chimyku]

Listening to "Chain Girl" by Noboru (it's such a lovely song, especially the -Re Alive- version!) and I can't help thinking that it suits Jelsa so much lolol (I love relating everything to Jelsa). It could be like, a story of their journey before they met each other, you know?! Like, pre-coronation Elsa to fifth spirit, and pre-guardian Jack to guardian Jack.

Read under the cut if you want to see more Jelsa yapping lol

Elsa has been isolated in her room for so long, so this lyric suits her perfectly. I mean, she does know the reason why, but technically, she doesn't know why she had her powers at that point in time (pre-coronation), so I think it counts XD.

This lyric reminds me of Jack this time because I remember the scene where he was looking up at the moon, with him telling the Man in the Moon the least he could do is tell him why he's been brought back to life (correct me if I'm wrong, I could be misremembering XD). So technically, it's like his course has been set by the MIM.

And lastly, these lyrics could refer to them finally finding their callings?!?! (Elsa as the fifth spirit of the Enchanted forest and Jack as the Guardian of Fun).

Lol sorry for this random song analysis I just really love both Chain Girl and Jelsa 😭💖

Link to the song:

With subtitles:

[onesnoopyaday]

Snoopy #33

3/11/2024

[aashiqeddiediaz]

thinking about how buck ripped eddie's shirt open in 4x14, and thinking about how functionally (clinically) unnecessary that was because all he needed to do was put pressure on the wound right. that was the main point, he just needed to staunch the bleeding long enough to get eddie to the hospital alive.

but there's something about buck literally tearing the last barrier between him and eddie's bare skin, about him reaching for the proof that eddie's still alive under his hands, and there's something about him purposely staining his hands with eddie's blood to keep him alive, and of him making sure he's the one to do it. and there's something about seeing the raw gunshot wound, and feeling the edges of it under his palm even with gauze between them.

and then there's something about buck's other hand not even being able to touch eddie's face, even though it's completely poised as if he's about to cup the side of eddie's head. a little like feeling he doesn't deserve to touch eddie gently while he's causing him pain by pressing the wound, idk.

now an argument could be made that maybe he was trying to prevent the shirt from getting stuck in the wound, or he was using something sterile to put pressure, but this is tv, and immediately after eddie's taken into surgery, we see someone else that's been shot, putting pressure over her wound by herself, through the shirt.

anyway just thoughts about buck tearing eddie's shirt open, reaching for eddie's vitality and staining himself with it ◡̈