#like I'm not allowed in on some fuckin secret

[blacksea2109]

RED HOOD'S WIFE

🦇🖤❤️👻🔫

DCXDP

Jason todd x danny Nightingale

Hii i hope you enjoy it , I am super crazy for this couple

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Jason and danny was married for so long but Jason don't bother to till his family because danny dear it is non of thier fuckin business, so imagine Danny's luck with the batfam tried to get him to join the family while his is already a part of it , Jason stop laughing it is not funny or you will sleep in the couch tonight!!

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Danny owns a cozy little coffee shop in crime alley , and of course, it becomes Tim's favorite shop because he is allowed to have an illegal amount of shots !! Plus the Barista is just so smart funny shorter than him and so cute sue him he will get him to work in the company one way or another, but if he just stop refuses tim offers uggh, but he won't stop

Tim whined: dannyyyy please i need someone like youuuu in the company, we really need youuuuu and your amazing Brian and ideas

Danny: nope uh huh , I'm happy here in my little coffee shop tim I won't change my mind and don't try the puppy eyes it won't work on me , I will only help you some times but I won't work there .

Tim talking to himself: Then I will just make you part of the family and then problem solving. hehehehehee! Either by adoption or married 🤔 I just need to steal one of bruce adoption papers, Cass will help me she always gets excited to have new family members .

Danny texted jason: please stop your brother from stalking and trying to make me work with him jay

Jason: tim ?! Pppfft good luck there babe you need it

Danny: ohh then I hope you have a good night , cuz y will sleep on the couch today . Love

Jason typing:........

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NEXT , danny just had to get kidnapped with bruce just his luck that the stupid kidnappers though that he was a wayne!!

( babe, you are a wayne remember! I just married one. i am not a wayne ok , sure thing, love)

Bastard 1: we are lucky not just the burce wayne but with one the brats too

Danny super annoyed and sassy: you poor bastard you really need to check your eyes because I am not a wayne fuck you

Bruce " i need to adopt all black haird blue-eyed sassy with anger issues kids " wayne: hnn when we get out of here, i will make him sign some paper 📃 ( adoption papers) for safety of course

Bastard 2: nah you have the looks so you are a wayne

Danny had have enough of this nonsense already get himself free the started hit the shit out of them by the time that nightwing and of fuck course red hood

( which has not stopped laughing for no reason! Jay i will kill you )

Red hood : pfft danny i can't 😂😂

Danny: Hood, i stand my point, not a wayne ok

Red hood: uh huh sure thing sugar i believe you

Danny : couch time for you mister

Bruce giving danny some paper: sign here 😊

Danny: what is this ?

Hood: no the fuckin hell old man you won't adopt him

Nightwing: why little wing, if he didn't , tim will 😂 of not damian

Hood : you fuckers stop try adopting my wife

Bruce: your

Nightwing: wife

The rest of the fam: wheeeennn did you get married!!

Mean while jason just took his short cute wife and ran away after dropping the bomb ��

Robin: Hood, get back here this instant, you insolant fool , Nightingale will be my new cat and teacher in animal languages , gets him back or i will shall stab you

Red Robin: You how dear you hood you know i waste too long stalking and trying to make him work with me while this whole time YOU WERE MARRIED TO HIM I WILL Destroy , you 🔪

Balck bat happy: new brother ❤️

Bruce crying in the corner: married my baby boy, and I wasn't invited to the wedding 😢 🤧

Nightwing: Gasp the betrayal. How can you do this to your poor older brother ? You better did not have kids in secret. jay gets back here . You don't have kids right RIGHT!!

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for damian part, he finds danny helping some stray kitten, and heard him prrrrrr and just: mine now , come here, kitty kitty 😺

Alfred already knows everything because come on, he is ALFRED. Of course, he knows : i must prepare a room for master danny hmm near master Jason room perfect 👌🏻 , and i need to inform him to bring his wife to dinner nights 🌙

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I imagine it better inside my head, but yeah, anyway, I will edit it or add more later on , i am not sure when . Feel free to take any anything i write here , it or add more to it, but please tag me or send me a link and credit me in your works , have a great night or day , my cute little spooks 👻 👻👻👻🦇🦇🦇🦇 don't let the blob ghosts bit you

[have-you-seen-my-sanity]

could you please write steven trying new positions with reader and she get sensitive and steven gets a ego boost

Hot topic

Steven Grant x fem!reader

Content: P in v sex, bit of cocky Steven, soft dom!Steven if you squint.

Summary: You and Steven wanted to try another position.

Steven and you had only done it in missionary since you two started dating, and now that you've been together for a while, both of you wanted to try a new position.

"Sooo, wanna try a new position?" you grinned.

Steven looked up at you with a dirty smirk. "You have one in mind?"

You shrugged. "No, that's why I asked you. I thought you would know some... spicy ones?"

Steven laughed. "Yeah but-" he paused. "Wait, did you just say spicy ones? You should ask Jake or Marc about those."

You snort. "Um, I thought since Jake and Marc are... drilling machines in that, I thought you'd be too?"

Steven's mouth went slack. "Holy fuckin' what?"

You shrugged it off as if you said the most normal thing in the world.

Steven grinned. "Okay, how about doggy?"

"Doggy? You mean–"

Steven cut you off. "Yeah, me bangin' you from behind."

You two agreed to do doggy, heading into the bedroom and stripped off your clothes.

You positioned yourself on your hands and knees on the bed, while Steven stood behind you.

"Err, you good luv?" He asked, looking over your shoulder as he gently placed his hands on your hips.

"Yeah," you confirmed "you know how it's done, right?"

"Oi." He squeezed your hips gently. "Of course I do, who do you think I am?" he chuckled.

You giggle. "You're Steven with a V."

Steven chuckled. "Yeah.. well, let's get to it."

He positioned himself behind you, holding you steady with one hand while moving his cock to your pussy with the other.

"I heard this position is more pleasurable because it allows for de– o-oohh fuck!"

Steven thrusts into you without warning, catching you by surprise as he sheathed himself inside you completely.

"Deeper?" Steven finished your word, setting a slow, deep pace. "Right, love?"

Your eyes rolled back, you arched your back to get more of him. "Fuck... that's definitely deeper!"

Steven bit his lip, feeling the difference too. But he was pleased with himself nontheless.

"Feels so good, Steven!" you moaned, bucking into him as he increased his movements.

Steven hummed in agreement. "Then we should do this one again." he chuckled, already feeling his orgasm build up.

The new position allowed him to hit the spot deep inside you repeadedly.

"I'm about to cum if you keep it like that!" You moaned, your pussy tightened around him in response.

Steven groaned. "Yeah, I can feel it. Me too."

Each thrust brought you closer and closer to orgasm, and with one last thrust, you you couldn't take it anymore and crashed down on him, coating his cock in your juices.

"Oh fuck!" Steven groaned, pushing himself to the hilt inside you and filled you up with his release.

He pulled out shortly after as you slowly turned onto your back to look at him.

"That was..." you pant, smiling softly at him.

"Good? Better? Great?" Steven chuckled, moving to sit on the edge of the bed.

"Yeah." You chuckled.

Steven grinned smugly. "So... wanna do it again? Or perhaps another position?"

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Tags:

@nekoyin @steven-grants-world @iolaussharpe-24 @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @buckyssugarchick

@krakenkitty @mochiitoby @xcherryxmilkx @silvernight-m @alexxavicry

@libblesdoodles @yeanika

Wanna get tagged?

[nottivagos]

Another one?! Welcome to Notti's "Not So Innocent" Notebook where I write some filth to make your Saturday a little bit better <3 || 18+ mdni pls and ty

an: Divorced Mechanic!Danny. that's the author's note.

You Give Love A Bad Name || DR3

“Do you know how fucking lucky you are, huh?” Daniel's words cut deep as he wrapped his large, calloused hand around your neck with ease, pushing your back into the wall of his office. “Huh?! Do you? Answer me.”

Your wide eyes welled with tears, gasping for the lack of oxygen in your lungs from Danny's death grip on your throat. “B-Boss—” your voice was croaky and breathy, “I— P-Please—,” you stuttered as you hopelessly tried to plead with the man.

Everyone in the garage knew you weren't the brightest of workers they'd had. To them, including Daniel himself, you were the pretty little receptionist that couldn't even do her job properly. What didn't help was the fact that you'd started to have an affair with your boss, a man freshly out of a divorce, and as a result sexually frustrated.

“You know you've never had it so good, right?” His words bit, each syllable harsh and horrible. “You're just a pretty face that everyone just seems to like havin’ around. Can't even do your fuckin’ job properly, can you, princess?”

Danny's breath fanned onto your face, the stagnant stench of his recently smoked cigarette mingling in his angry pants. His face was scrunched into a snarl, rage burning into his cheeks as his doe brown eyes pierced into your own.

“But I-I didn't do anything!” You squeaked, which just made Danny tighten his grip even more.

“Didn't do anything, you say?” He echoed through gritted teeth, “Then why the hell did I see you giggling with a client, huh?”

“H-He was being nice to me—!” You pleaded, tears now falling down your cheeks like a weeping little girl, lips formed into a frown, “I was just being nice back! I didn't mean any harm, D-Danny!” You continued to explain frantically, eyes widened in fear at the intensity of his anger.

In that moment, he took a step forward, his soft tummy pressing against your front ever so slightly. The distance between you was intoxicating as he inched closer to your ear. “Let me let you in on a little secret, pet…” His tone was tinged with warning, low and gravelly as he mumbled into your ear.

“I don't care if he was being nice to you,” he began, voice thick and surprisingly collected as his hot breath fanned against the shell of your ear, “you're mine. You got that? I don't care if he's the most charismatic guy in the world, you've just got to get it into that little dumb head of yours that I'm the best for you.”

He snorted a chuckle before he began again, “Hell, I'm pretty sure you already know that, don't you darlin’? You wouldn't even have this little job if it wasn't for me.” He wasn't wrong, and he knew that. That satisfaction is what he revelled in. Danny was typically the person who shielded you against the complaints not only his clients gave, but your coworkers too.

“I know that— I'm really grateful—!” You fumbled on your words, frantically trying to reason with the mechanic.

“How grateful?” He quickly challenged, direct gaze now back on you, the dark corners of his eyebrow raised.

“Really grateful! I-I'll do anything to prove it—!” You squeaked, blinking back tears as your bottom lip trembled.

Danny's lips formed a little smirk at that comment. “Anything, huh?” He questioned, a dark look forming in his eyes. “Oh sweetheart, aren't you a little people pleaser?”

You gulped in response, nose still snotty, noticing the fact that Danny had loosened his death grip on you, his hand leaving a bright red imprint on your neck that you'd most likely need to hide tomorrow.

His hands quickly went to his greasy overalls, pulling them down as fast as he could, allowing you to see the ever so tight white vest that hid underneath. It rode up his soft tummy ever so slightly, revealing the hairy happy trail as he reached for his belt buckle, sliding the belt from his trousers with ease.

“Kneel,” he commanded lowly with a snap of his fingers in front of him. Complying, you presented yourself in front of his knees, your wide eyes looking up at him ever so innocently.

In a quick moment, he unleashed his girthy length from its confining boxers, allowing it to spring against his clothed stomach. He gave the hardening shafts a few quick pumps, smearing the glistening pre-cum around its throbbing tip with his thumb, before pushing it deep into your throat.

Gagging, he looked down at you with dark eyes. “Suck,” he groaned, pushing himself in so deep that your nose tickled from his sensation of his unruly pubic hairs.

You complied, tongue swirling around his shaft as a large hand came to claw your hair tightly, guttural groans of pleasure following. “Fuck, take me all—” he said through gritted teeth, “yes. Just like that, princess, Jesus Christ,” he panted, head tilting back as his eyes squinted shut at the pleasure.

You moaned onto his cock, saliva coating the whole length as you twirled and lined the long shaft with your tongue ever so slowly in your mouth. It was torture for Daniel, the groans escaping his mouth a clear indicator. He was infatuated, hooked onto the pleasure of your soft lips wrapped around his cock like the dumb, little thing you were, always so eager to please your boss.

He hadn't felt this good since that bitch of a wife had left him, and he definitely wasn't going to let this feeling go away any time soon. His hips jerked forward, making you deep throat him even more, your eyes rolling back as a result, a gagging sound following his frantic movement. You could feel your lips becoming swollen as you nuzzled into his hairs, sucking as quickly as you could with his jerks.

Danny's orgasm hit him like a wave. Thick ropes of cum spilled into your mouth whilst his cock twitched desperately inside your mouth, the saltiness burning the back of your throat as you whimpered at the harsh taste. Saliva and foam oozed out of the corners of your mouth, congealed with some spilling cum as he removed his softening length from your sweet lips.

A line of drool connected you to his tip as he fully removed his cock from your reach. He panted, looked down at you with half-lidded eyes. “Fuckin’ hell, sweetheart, haven't cummed like that in years,” he chuckled, combing his large fingers through your messed up hair soothingly.

“If I'd known you could suck cock like that, I would've done this weeks ago,” he gruffly panted, cheeks flushed a harsh crimson.

“Now go get cleaned up, pet, can't have the boys thinking you're a slobbery whore now, can we?”

am i insane? maybe. will i continue to love this absolute brute of a man? abso-fucking-lutely. - notti <3

[ryuzakemo128]

Kintsugi: Chapter One: Red Flags, Why can't we see them?

Pairing: John Price x Female reader

Content Warnings: Female reader is the breadwinner, female reader is a sex worker, john price is an asshole to you, simon is there for you as a friend, John's secret affair mentioned, cheating suspicions, female reader has a secret apartment, pregnancy scare, arguement and yelling. Burned out female reader. Smut. Not the good kind sadly. Second warning for asshole john price. You will hate him. You are supposed to hate him.

Masterlist - Chapter List

Summary: “I am tired of being someone else’s last choice instead of someone’s first. It’s always what have you done for me? Instead of how was your day? I can’t take more of this. I knew what I was getting into. But I didn’t agree to any of this.”

I get what you're sayin' I just really don't wanna hear it right now Can you shut up for like once in your life? Listen to me, I took your nice words of advice

“I am tired of being someone else’s last choice instead of someone’s first. It’s always what have you done for me? Instead of how was your day? I can’t take more of this. I knew what I was getting into. But I didn’t agree to any of this.” You remarked into your cassette tape, another diary entry you keep from his prying eyes and another way to keep Price from using your own hurt against you. You don’t know what you did to earn it.

You mentioned your ex-boyfriend off handedly once and he blew up in your face. You waited for hours for him to come back home. You were crying your eyes out when he stormed out the door. It wasn’t like you were mentioning him to make him jealous either. You didn’t know what you did wrong.

He never told you why he was upset with you sometimes. He would always leave after a huge argument saying he needs ‘space’ and that you made things worse when all you wanted to do is to make things better. Nothing ever seemed to work for him at all. Nothing at all. You called Gaz and he would say he didn’t see him. But your hunch that Gaz was covering for him.

About how you think I'm gonna die lucky if I turn thirty-three Ok, so yeah, I smoke like a chimney I'm not skinny and I pull a Britney every other week But cut me some slack, who do you want me to be?

You didn’t want to turn to Simon for advice but john left you without a choice. What wer5e going to do next? He wasn’t content with just small insults at your appearance it seems. It was going to a different level like stepping out of your relationship. The one thing you thought was going well for you.

'Cause I'm too messy and then I'm too fucking clean You told me get a job then you ask where the hell I've been And I'm too perfect 'til I open my big mouth I want to be me, is that not allowed? And I'm too clever and then I'm too fucking dumb You hate it when I cry unless it's that time of the month And I'm too perfect 'til I show you that I'm not A thousand people I could be for you and you hate the fucking lot

“I don’t know what I did wrong, whenever I ask it’s like I’m talking to a brick wall. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.” You felt awful about talking to your ex. But he knew you better than your current boyfriend it seemed.

You had tried everything to make it work with Price but it felt like you were just going around in circles. You felt like you couldn’t breathe anymore. It’s like every move you made was wrong. You decided to give him the space he wanted, hoping that when he returned he would realise what he had and that he didn’t need to treat you this way.

“I don’t think I can do this anymore.” You stated. “I need to find a new place of my own if he’s gonna keep actin like this. I don’t know what he wants from me and he just won’t use his fuckin words to say it either.”

You wonder where you went wrong in your life to get THIS kind of treatment. You never spoke back, never complained nor insulted him or looked elsewhere for comfort outside of your relationship. You pulled out of the apartment slowly enough to make sure he never caught on, last thing you wanted him to do is to catch on to what you were trying to leave him.

You hate the fucking lot You hate the fucking lot

You made rain checks whenever he ‘tried’ to have sex with you. You knew what he was trying to do and you weren’t going to fall for it this time. You didn’t want to feel like you were slowly losing your mind.

You don’t still don’t know what you did wrong to deser5ve John’s cold shoulder as of late. You still tried asking about it. But he always says, “Nothin for you to worry about.” No ‘babe’ or ‘love’ like he used to speak to you.

You slowly started to miss those moments more as the days went on. It made you worry more so you stopped mentioning his hours away from home and you silently continue to seek out a new place to move into.

You didn’t tell Price about the new place you managed to find. You stopped telling him much of anything related to you or your work. You didn’t want another lecture on how you were ‘wasting’ money. Even though you out earned him in your chosen profession. Money remained a sore topic for the two of you.

Staring to move your things into it while he would be deployed. Piece by piece, you didn’t move any of you old furniture it would make things far too ‘obvious’ to him. It would alert him far too quickly.

That’s if he even noticed anything about you anymore. Or if there was anything wrong to begin with. The selfish cunt. No guarantee that he hasn’t noticed either. He wasn’t completely stupid sometimes. Might get suspicious about what you’re planning to do or planning to go. You would have to come up with a convincing enough lie to get him off your back.

Though if he already knows? He may try something drastic enough to keep you there. You just hoped you had enough time to give yourself space between him and the man you used to love. That you used to adore and cherish. Before whatever cause this….monster, this fiend to come out of him.

You showed Simon the new place you bought, it had two bedrooms, the master bedroom had an ensuite attached and a walk-in closet. The kitchen had a stainless-steel dishwasher, and the apartment building had laundry machines on the ground floor. You can always buy new furniture, and any old furniture will be sold when you get comfortable with living somewhere he doesn’t know of.

You didn’t want to hire a private detective on your own boyfriend, but you can’t help but feel suspicious of what he was doing in those long hours far away from you. You pitied anyone who had the misfortune of dealing with him. Even the people inside the same task force as him. The need to control everything won all the time.

You worked in your office like you normally done. Giving him his own branded silent treatment into his face. You weren’t going to give the right to hurt you more than he had done tonight. You were so tired of his shit.

You weren’t perfect far from it too. But whenever he was around you it was clear it was what he wanted from you. You continued to play dumb and you didn’t give him anything he ‘wanted’ from you.

“No. Do it yourself.” You remarked one morning.

John raised his eyebrow, looking at you like you had grown a second head. “What the fuck did you just say to me?” He spat, his words dripping with venom.

“You heard me. Do it yourself. Clearly you don’t need my help. So, go on, do it yourself.” You stated as you walked upstairs to your office to continue your sewing on your dress.

John looked at you, his eyes wide with shock, “Is this what it’s come to? You’re just going to ignore me like that?”

“W-what’s the matter dear? Can’t handle your own portion of your responsibilities? Does he need his mother to write up a chore list?” you taunted from upstairs. “You know one thing a man can do that proves he’s a real man? Admit when he’s fucking wrong. You can’t seem to even do that anyway.”

'Cause I'm too messy and then I'm too fucking clean You told me get a job then you ask where the hell I've been And I'm too perfect 'til I open my big mouth I want to be me, is that not allowed? And I'm too clever and then I'm too fucking dumb You hate it when I cry unless it's that time of the month And I'm too perfect 'til I show you that I'm not A thousand people I could be for you and you hate the fucking lot

As you finished the dress’s skirt velvet inlay for the next video, the amount of work you put into your pornographic content is both immense and taxing at times. As you didn’t want it to look like it was a cheap Halloween cosplay or cheap in general.

The main reason you earned so much is because of the level of care put into your craft. Your fans knew that and appreciated it. It was a stark contrast to the apathy John showed for your well-being. You had a loyal fan base and they were eager to support you. But that didn't matter to him.

Especially when he looked at the content you posted both behind the paywalls and the free teasers. He said it wasn’t real money. But you also pointed out that you sold pottery once a month online. You paid the bills, and you weren’t above reminding who earned more to be able to let him spend his income his own way.

Petty? Sure. But petty with a reason attached.

By the time most of your most expensive work gear is moved to the apartment, you were only living there now and cleaning up to a meticulous degree in total silence. As you cleaned the living room carpet with the deep cleaning machine you bought for the occasion. You were dressed in a pair of shorts and a tank top, showing off the tattoos that danced along your arms and your stomach.

You had dinner in the slow cooker since seven in the morning. You didn’t bother to set the table since it was just you and your thoughts. You weren’t expecting him to come home early tonight. You hoped he’d stay out for as long as possible.

When he finally decided to come back home. You had placed his dinner into separate containers. You were already asleep on the couch. The plush pink eye mask over your eyes, the matching pink silk pyjama set. The chunky, thick blue-grey crocheted blanket you made last year keeping you warm. As the unicorn shaped nightlight provided enough light in case you needed to use the bathroom.

You had a doctor’s appointment coming up sometime in the next month or two. You don’t exactly remember if it was next month or the month after that. A full body check up to make sure things were in working order. You had done one every three months. The job demanded that you were healthy physically and mentally.

You paid for these yourself, despite living inside a country with healthcare. You paid for medical insurance anyway. It was one of those private healthcare insurance things you paid a good chunk of your money for. You decided to go for the best of the best, and with John’s current mood swings? You weren’t going to take any chances with your health.

What if you were pregnant would he finally be excited that it had finally happened? Would he confess to his affair to another man or woman? All of these thoughts spun around your heard like ballerinas. You didn’t quite understand where his hostile started and if it would ever end.

You felt like it was your fault for not being strong enough to put your foot down. To demand what you did wrong. Why did he seem so fine with it if he felt otherwise? What made him feel this way? If he wanted to break-up why did he wait so fucking long?

You always felt like he was rushing things in this relationship. Especially when he found out about your career, your little side hustles which contributed to your cushy amount of money. But you weren’t perfect, you weren’t even close. From far away the illusion of perfection is there. But once you peak through the cracks they’ll see how many imperfections you got.

What were you supposed to be?

What are you supposed to be?

Everything is spinning out of control. Cliché advice doesn’t work when he doesn’t want to fix himself.

You were either too messy or too fucking clean. Either way he hated how you’ve been. You could be keeping the house clean, but he’ll comb through just point out a spot where you have ‘missed’. Like he knew what to do to make you so pissed at him.

Pushing all the buttons built inside you in the right order, the right way to get you annoyed with him., It was like he had some kind of sick satisfaction when you broke down in tears. Not because you were sad or even upset. You just had so much anger built up inside you that you couldn’t contain it all.

“I feel so fucking disgusting that I even still want the guy that way. It’s like he knows that about me.” You confessed to Simon during one of John’s solo operations. He knew he would have freaked if he knew Simon was inside his home while he wasn’t there.

“Its not nearly as weird as you might think, humans are supposed to be complicated. You’re not a simple creature, love. And neither is he.” Simon remarked. He didn’t have to say much to get his point across.

“He wasn’t so closed up before. He used to be so open minded about these kinds of things.” You remembered, talking about how John Price used to be before things went to shit after almost eleven months dating him.

Simon nodded his head, “Looks like you’re going to have to make a decision soon, love. You can’t keep living like this forever, hiding and tiptoeing around him.”

“I have a doctor’s appointment coming up, if he hasn’t spoken up by then, or by the time most of the house is back to how it was when I first moved in. I’m breaking up with the guy.” You remarked.

Simon raised an eyebrow at how you were putting the house back to how it was before you moved into it. The only difference is that you wouldn’t leave things unrepaired or maintained.

“Why bother with the appointment if you’re just going to leave him?” Simon questioned, his arms crossed over his broad chest.

“Full body check up remember? I still get one every three months. Four times a year.” You answered taking a sip of your earl grey with lemon and ginger tea.

The last thing you want is to drag some poor child into this whole mess. You don’t know how he would react to the news of it.

To think months ago you couldn’t wait for it to happen.

Only for your relationship to sour this quickly.

Over the weeks Price was deployed, you got the plumping fixed, the light switch and plug covers replaced by an electrician, the toilet and shower head replaced. You didn’t care if price wouldn’t appreciate the thought going into his house.

This was done selfishly not selflessly. Though your definition of what made someone hopelessly selfish was always different from his. Not that you cared anymore.

You replaced his couches and threw out his old, ruined ones into the large tip you rented one morning. Price barely recognised his own home when he came back home from deployment again.

From the old grey ones to dark crimson red ones, with charcoal grey cushions on them. A new cow’s skin rug on the floor. New light switches and plug covers. Painted the living rooms a deep blue-grey shade that made everything else pop. The kitchen had new cabinets and new appliances. It was a stark difference from what it used to be.

Price walked upstairs to the bathroom to see how you changed that too, the tiles were changed to a beige on the walls with black on the floor. The shower was now a glass cube instead of a shower curtain. The sink was no longer a pedestal sink, but a modern vanity with lights around the mirror. The bathtub was replaced with a walk-in shower that had a bench and rain shower head.

Other changes he took notice of where all his things were in the master bedroom, organised, hung up, ironed, folded, washed and put away. Everything was clean and in its place. The bed was made with freshly washed linens, and you had even gone so far as replace the mattress. It was a new king-sized memory foam one with a fancy cooling system that would be heavenly to sleep on.

As you fucked yourself on his thick cock for behaving so well? His rough hands on your hips. You continued to ride him with your luscious hips. Wide-eyed, rock hard and stunned. Your mind was elsewhere about hoping he didn’t do anything other than put a condom on. You didn’t know if you still wanted to have his children when he was treating you this way.

Your body betrayed your every thought, every moan you made were made from your lips. You felt your pussy tightening around him. He had to be feeling it too, his grip on you tightened and his thrusts became more erratic. Enjoying letting out his most primal nature into you. Feral and unabated. \

Only you knew he wouldn’t provide aftercare when he was done with you and you always had to finish yourself off in the bathroom as he passed out in his bed. You don’t know if you could stand him anymore. You didn’t know whether you could wait any longer.

Tags: @night-girl-301 , @evans-dejong , @persephone-kore-law

If you want to be tagged in the next chapter please let me know!

[lanadelnegan]

My Past, My Future - Part 1

Negan x Reader x Daryl (love triangle)

Part 2 here

Summary: Daryl is in love with you, but you're in love with Negan.

Warnings: 18+, smut, love triangle, p in v, romantic negan, angst, breeding

Note: this was requested from an anon (Negan saying goodbye to Lucille and confessing his love to y/n.) I decided to spice it up and throw Daryl in there. &lt;3

"Lucille, baby. If you were here, you'd be so fuckin' disappointed in me.... But hell, if you were still here, things probably never would have made it to this point to begin with... Turned into a fuckin' monster when the world took you from me. Hope wherever the hell you are, you weren't watchin'. Truth is? I couldn't stand seeing anyone fuckin' happy because you took all my happiness with you when you left. But baby... I think I've found happiness again... "

Negan sighs heavily as he traces the wood grain of his beloved bat.

"She reminds me of you. So carefree and down-to-earth. If you met her, you'd understand... You'd want me to be happy, right? Hell, I've done enough suffering.. even though I probably deserved it. Anyways.."

Negan brings Lucille to his lips, pressing softly as his eyes squeeze shut.

"What I'm trying to say is.. you taught me how to love, Lucille. I'm forever grateful for that. And you'll always have a part of me. You're my past. But y/n... she's my future."

He tosses the bat into the fire, watching the wood burn bittersweetly as it concludes that chapter of his life.

----------------------------------------------------------

"Hey, where've you been?" Carol asks, jogging up to Negan as he arrives back at Alexandria.

"Had to take care of something." Negan shrugs. "You seen y/n around?"

"On a run with Daryl.. They should be back soon... Why?" Carol scrunches her brows at Negan and his jaw twitches at the mention of Daryl's name.

Daryl has been there for y/n since the very beginning, which is partly why Negan spared Daryl and let him live. Y/n begged Negan to let Daryl come back to Alexandria after Negan took him to the sanctuary, and he allowed it because even then, he had a soft spot for her.

Negan grunts. "No reason."

-----------------------------------------------------------

You and Daryl have been gone for a few hours now and you managed to find some canned goods on your run, weighing down your backpack. The sun is starting to go down just as you see the gates of Alexandria in the near distance and you grunt, adjusting the heavy bag on your shoulder.

Daryl notices your struggling and doesn't hesitate to grab your bag off your shoulder, throwing it over his.

He's been there by your side since the beginning and saved your lives more times than you can count.. helped you when you needed it. Even during the smallest inconveniences, like right now.

"You don't have to carry that."

"I know." Daryl grunts, adjusting your backpack next to his own on his back.

The rest of your walk is silent as the guilt from the secret you've kept for weeks now eats at you.

You started visiting Negan a couple weeks after he got locked up in Alexandria. The first time you did it was to curse him out.. Tell him how you wish he were dead and how your friends didn't deserve what he did to them.

The second time you visited was out of pure boredom. Carol and Daryl had gone on a run without you, and you snuck in to see him out of curiosity.

The third time was because you found that he intrigued you. The conversations you had with Negan had become like no other conversations you'd ever had. You felt like he was the only person who understood you.

Monthly visits to his cell became weekly visits. And weekly visits turned into daily visits. You'd bring him books to keep him company, sneak him snacks, and eventually, one thing led to another.

And now he's your secret boyfriend. You've been sneaking around with him for weeks now, like teenagers scared to get caught by their parents. And while it's thrilling, your feelings for Negan have grown into something much bigger that you ever expected.

"Daryl.. there's something I need to get off my chest."

If there's anyone who hates Negan, it's Daryl. But he's also the one person you trust the most, and he's going to find out eventually. So you decide it might as well come from you.

"Hm?" Daryl grunts, scuffing his feet in the gravel as he walks.

"Promise it won't make anything... different between us?"

He slows down, looking at you suspiciously. "Nah, ain't promisin' nothin'. But now ya gotta tell me."

You sigh, hoping you're not about to make a terrible decision.

"There's... someone I have feelings for..."

His brows scrunch together as he glances at you. When he doesn't answer, you hesitantly continue.

"I... I think I might even love him."

Daryl looks at you again, a softer look in his eyes this time as you continue on rambling.

"I haven't told anyone else. I don't want anyone getting upset with me... Or... judging me."

"Who is it?" Daryl quickly cuts you off as the Alexandrian gates open for the two of you.

"It's.. um.." You sigh as Negan's name stops on the tip of your tongue.

"Y/n.. hey, there you are. We need to talk." Negan is already on the other side of gate as you enter. Daryl stops beside you, refusing to leave your side as he glares at Negan.

"Uh, yeah.. let's go talk over there." You say, widening your eyes at Negan, confused that he's talking to you like this in front of Daryl. You've both done a decent job of keeping your interactions with each other private, so this is out of the ordinary.

"No..." Negan cuts you off. "I'm done hiding. I'm gonna talk and you're gonna listen."

"Negan.." You warn him, noticing the death glare that Daryl is giving him.

"I love you, y/n."

Your mouth drops open slightly at his confession. You want to say it back, because... you do love him. But something stops you.

Negan brings his hand up to rest against your cheek. "That's okay, baby. You don't have to say it back right now. I've waited for you for this long, I've got all the time in the world.. I just.. I needed you to know."

He takes you in his arms, hugging you tightly and resting his chin on top of your head.

"You can't be fuckin' serious." Daryl finally interrupts. "Him?" He asks, looking at you with hurt in his eyes.

You nod, the side of your head pressing into Negan's chest as your arms wrap around his waist. "Daryl... I was gonna tell you sooner. I-"

"Doesn't matter." Daryl grunts, spitting at the ground in front of him. "Whadaya want me to say, y/n? Congrats?" Daryl glares at Negan before angrily walking off.

You glance around, noticing others watching the scene before them. "Negan.. we need to take this somewhere else."

"Okay.. yeah, I know." He drops his head. "I just - I'm so tired of hiding from everyone. I want them to know you're my girl. I fuckin' love you, y/n. More than anything... Why is that so wrong? Why should I have to hide that?"

You search his eyes as a single tear falls from yours. You know you shouldn't want him. You know all of the awful things he's done, but you've grown to know him on such a deeper level over the past few months and you can't help but feel so strongly for him.

If being with him means the rest of the world is against you, then so be it.

You wrap your arms around him and slam your lips to his, kissing him desperately. You're too caught up in the moment to notice the shock on everyone's face around you. You deepen this kiss, savoring the taste of him as your tongues mingle together.

"Negan.. I need you." You say in between breaths as he lifts you up into his arms by your thighs and your legs wrap around his waist.

You can't take your lips off of him as he leads you into your house nearby, not paying attention to the hateful glares around you.

Negan kicks your front door open with you still in his arms and you slam it shut as he presses your back into the living room wall. His lips travel from your lips to your neck as he presses his erection into you. You whine, frustrated at the material separating both of you.

"Negan.. please, I need you.. now."

He carefully lets you down as both of you tear away at each other's clothes until you're naked and he's left in just his black boxers.

He picks you back up, leading you to the couch and sitting down with you straddling his lap. You pull away from his lips long enough to look into his hazel eyes, letting your hands cup his face before running your fingers through his graying hair.

You can't deny that you're head over heels in love with this man, as wrong as it may be. He's changed so much since he was leader of the Saviors, mentally and physically. He's a perfect example that people can change, and you hope that the others and Daryl can finally see that one day too.

"You're so fuckin' beautiful, baby." His cock springs free from the hole in his boxers as he takes your hard nipple into his mouth, sucking lightly.

You hover over him, lining his tip up with your entrance. You slide down slowly, inch by inch until he fills you completely and you feel the tip of him pressing against your cervix. You moan out at the satisfying pain as his fingers dig into your hips.

"That's it, sweetheart. God you feel so fuckin' good." He praises you.

You wrap your arms around his neck to support yourself as you bounce up and down on him and he groans out, looking up at you through his lust-filled eyes. You press your forehead and nose against his own as you continue riding him slow and hard, making sure he hits as deep as possible each time you come down on him.

"I love you too, Negan. So much."

"Yeah? Fuck. Say it again." He says, his breathing unsteady.

"I love you Negan... I'm in love with you."

"Fuck, baby. I'm so fuckin' crazy about you."

You crash your lips to his again as a tear falls from your cheek.

"Baby, don't cry. It's okay, we're gonna figure this out. Fuck everyone else." He wipes your tear away with his thumb as you continue grinding on him softly.

You nod. "I know.. I just.. want them to accept you."

Negan gets up suddenly, laying you down on your back before positioning himself between your legs.

"Only one I need acceptance from is you, darlin'." He says before sliding inside you in one quick motion. He fucks you fast and deep, interchangeably moaning filthy sounds in your ear and sucking at your neck.

After moments of thrusting, he pulls back, settling on his knees as he lifts your leg, placing it on his shoulder. From this new angle, he hits your g-spot perfectly over and over.

"Negan.." You breathe heavily. "I'm -"

"I know baby. Just fuckin' let go."

You come apart at the sound of his words, moaning out his name as your juices rush out of you. Negan looks down between the two of you, watching you soak his cock.

"Goddamn baby, look at that." His voice is low and raspy when he leans over you again. "So fuckin' wet." The sound of his voice right in your ear sends a chill through your body.

"Want you to cum in me.." You breathe out.

"Yeah? You sure, baby?"

You've never let him before, but now that your relationship is public and you've both confessed your feelings to each other, you crave him on a deeper level.

You nod desperately and he kisses you hard, spilling deep inside of you as his hips stop abruptly. He groans into your mouth as his dick pulses over and over and you feel his warm liquid paint your walls.

After a few minutes of snuggling and kissing, he finally pulls out of you and the two of you get dressed.

"Did you mean it?" He asks, pulling his pants up.

"Mean what? That I love you?"

He looks to you, waiting for your answer as you pull your shirt over your head.

Your eyebrows scrunch. "Of course I meant it. Why would I say it if I didn't mean it?"

He shrugs. "Dunno. You coulda been caught up in the moment."

You laugh, walking over to him and sliding your hands around his waist, pulling him in for a long hug. You look up at him to find him grinning down at you.

"Nope... Still love you." You reassure him.

He nods towards the door. "You ready to tell the world that?"

"Fuck this world. It doesn't care about us. Why should we care about it?"

Negan chuckles, kissing your forehead.

Your face grows serious at the thought of Daryl's reaction earlier. "Actually.. I need to find Daryl. Make things right.. He seemed really upset."

Negan nods disappointedly, dropping his head.

"Oh, stop. Don't be like that... You know his opinion is important to me."

"He'll never give us his blessing if that's what you're after, y/n."

"I don't need his blessing, Negan. I just don't want him to hate me. He's been there with me since the beginning. If we want a future together, I need to make things right."

Negan's brows come together as he lets go of you. "If we want a future together? ... So, if he's not okay with us being together, that's it? You're just gonna kick me to the fuckin' curb?"

"Negan.. I didn't say that."

"... but you did." He says.

"Negan, please just.. I didn't mean it like that." You say frustrated, reaching for him again. Your heart drops when he pulls away.

He nods, sliding his hands into his pockets as he waits for your explanation.

"I care about him, too. What he thinks.. matters to me. That doesn't mean I'm going to let it dictate our future. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have worded it that way."

"Okay." He whispers, but the hurt is still clear in his voice.

"Stay here, okay? I want you to sleep here tonight. I'll talk to them.. get them to agree to it. Just give me some time and.. don't leave the house, okay?"

Negan nods as you reach to hold his hands, standing on your tip toes to kiss him. "I love you Negan. This is going to work, I promise."

Part 2 here

[a-writer-on-elm-street]

hello :3 i was wondering if i could request a lil fic with either daryl dixon or thomas hewitt about a hyper-feminine, juicy couture and lip gloss wearing, victoria secret perfume having, reader? maybe where the family is judgemental over the reader for their looks, but one of the boys stands up for the reader? (maybe end with them showing much they like how the reader dresses ¬‿¬)

and sorry if this is incoherent my ambien kickin in lolz

a/n: omg this is such a good idea. thank you so much for the request i hope you like it! <3 also i apologise for it taking so long

also, i'm not sure how in character any of this is because it's been a while since i watched any of the tcm movies so i hope this is okay <3

pairing: thomas hewitt x fem!reader

warnings: hoyt, fluff (neither of which are directly related)

word count: 659

You were wearing a yellow sundress you'd found a while back, glittery lip gloss coating your lips. You felt pretty, until you'd walked down the stairs to find Hoyt in the armchair, a snide look on his face as he looked you up and down.

"The fuck are you all dressed up for?" He scoffed, picking at the already broken leather of the chair, a bone chewed between his teeth.

You shrugged. "Nothin' wrong with wantin' to look nice from time to time."

You'd been with the Hewitts for a long time, ever since Thomas had taken a liking to you years ago. You were used to putting up with Hoyt's shit by now, choosing to simply shrug off his mocking comments and wildly inappropriate humour. He was an asshole, you knew that.

You were just here for Thomas.

Hoyt laughed, waving a hand at you. "You know there ain't nobody gonna fuck you just 'cuz you're all dressed up in some fancy fuckin' frock."

You folded your arms across your chest, glaring at him. Again, he was an asshole. And as much as you wanted to put a knife through the bastard's eye socket, he was still family.

"You think Tommy's gonna fuck you? Is that it?" He carried on, sitting forward in the chair now. "Hey, Tommy! Come on in here, boy!"

It was silent for a moment, and then you heard heavy footsteps thudding against wood, Thomas walking in from the kitchen.

Hoyt smirked, pointing a finger in your direction. "Look at your little lady friend over there. Ain't she pretty? Huh, boy?"

Thomas stayed silent, watching you from across the room.

"So?" Hoyt carried on, turning to look at Thomas. "You wanna fuck this bitch?"

You were about to say something, cuss him out, except Thomas moved first, crossing the room in seconds, forcefully pushing a large palm into Hoyt's chest. The chair rocked backwards when Hoyt's back hit the leather, Thomas towering over him, silently threatening.

You didn't know what to do as you stood there, your dress still floating around your ankles, hair standing up on your arms.

You half expected Hoyt to fight back, scold him in angry retaliation, but when Thomas withdrew his hand, Hoyt remained where he was, glaring up at Thomas.

And Thomas didn't say anything as he turned and walked towards you, roughly gripping your hand in his and leading you down to his room.

You remained silent as he stood with his back to you a moment, his shoulders gently rising and falling from taking steady breaths.

He'd stood up for you, fought back against his family in your defense. It made you giddy just thinking about it. You took a few steps towards him, cautiously brushing your fingers down his back.

He tensed under your touch, and when he turned around, you could see the reserved look behind his eyes, like he was unsure of what to do next. So you stood there, completely still, allowing Thomas to do as he pleased in his own time.

You inhaled a shaky breath when he reached a hand out towards you, dragging his fingers up your body, stopping when he reached the curve of your breast, a quiet sigh leaving his lips as he took you in.

"Thomas," you whispered, your eyes fluttering shut as he moved his hand up to your collarbone, fingers curling around the back of your neck, tugging you closer.

He trailed up to touch your face, stroking his palm along your cheek, all the while you remained completely still, letting him do what he wanted.

No words would ever pass his lips, but as he touched you like this, you knew. You knew that he was admiring you, revelling in your body being this close, taking in the feel of your warm skin beneath his hands.

"Thank you for taking care of me," you spoke quietly, a smile pulling at your lips. "Thank you."

[Main Masterlist]

[cynicalrosebud]

Incorrect Quotes:

(Includes Y/n, shipping, and some poly!tf141)

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

Gaz: Okay, but what if we went to dinner not as friends this time?

Y/n: AS ENEMIES?!

Gaz:

Ghost: Is there something you would like to say, Y/n?

Y/n: Oh, there are SEVERAL things I would like to say.

Y/n, to the Squad: The real secret to immortality? Not dying. You want to be immortal? Okay, that’s easy. Just don’t die. That’s it. Refuse to die. There you go.

Gaz: But how-

Y/n, ignoring him: “But how”, you may ask. Well, easy. Just don’t do it. Refuse to. Say “no thanks”.

Soap: Can we go to a haunted house?

Ghost: What’s wrong with the one we live in?

Soap: Wh-what?

Ghost: G’night Soap.

Y/n: Okay, but if you’re not gay then why are you always holding my hand and kissing me and telling me I’m your boyfriend?

Ghost: Its satire!

Y/n: THAT'S NOT WHAT SATIRE MEANS!

Soap: Compliment me.

Gaz: You have eyes.

Soap: Yeah, that works.

Ghost: Y/n, I beg of you. Please, PLEASE go to the doctor.

Y/n: Hey, I'm sorry. Is this OUR stab wound?

Soap: *makes Price a cup of tea but puts salt in it*

Price: *sips tea*

Soap:

Price: *finishes tea*

Soap: Didn't it taste bad?

Price: Yeah, but I didn't want to hurt your feelings so I drank it all.

Soap, tearing up: Oh, okay.

Ghost: So, what’s Y/n's type?

Soap: Brown eyes, kind, oblivious, good sense of humor, massive dick…

Ghost: Sounds kind of like me. Too bad we’re just friends.

Soap: Did I mention oblivious?

Ghost: Yeah, why?

Soap: Okay, just making sure.

Soap: Oh, fiddlesticks.

Y/n: Look, I understand this is a tense situation, but let's watch the fuckin’ language.

Gaz: In the past year you have managed to piss off the LAPD, ATF, CIA, FBI-

Soap: NBA.

Gaz: …?

Soap: Snuck into a Cliffords game.

Price: I will send my army to attack!

Price: *releases a dumpster of raccoons*

Gaz: We either die free, or die trying!

Y/n: Are those the only choices?

Y/n: Gaz isn’t answering my messages.

Soap: Allow me.

Y/n: I tried 6 times, what makes you thi-

Gaz: *replying to message* Hello.

Gaz: Hey, wanna take a shower with me?

Soap: I have a gun in that nightstand beside the bed. If I ever say no to that question, I want you to take it out and shoot me because I’ve obviously gone crazy.

[thesleepyfable]

~ SWTD: Still Here AU Part 6 ~

Rennick's Comeuppance:

And here we are. The last chapter to wrap up this 'Lifting the Fog' Arc. Yes, I'll keep writing more in the future but I have art to post and I want to focus on my own writing. Thank you to everyone who's continued to read these chapters, and I hope you enjoy!

TW: Blood.

Part 7:

'Oi, McLeary!' Muir called. 'Give Rennick a good kick up the arse.'

Caz wasn't going to give Rennick a good kick up the arse.

Along with Brodie, he hid behind a filing cabinet and waited for Rennick to pass. When they arrived into Administration, Caz could feel something. It didn't cause a splitting headache or his vision to blur, but he assumed it to be The Shape trying its best to tempt him. Neither saw Rennick turn. As far as they were concerned, the old fud was happily tucked away in his office before trying to get to the helipad. That must have been his point of infection. They had noticed The Shape reaching over the handrail, but not much. Rennick must have touched it by accident then fell when the rig began to shake. In a twisted way, turning saved his life, and that wasn't in Caz and Brodie's plan.

They just wanted to find Rennick, drag him to Accommodation and get a verbal beat down by everyone there. Gregor was gone, Davros was missing and even if they didn't like Rennick, they had to try. Caz had brought Trots back from the brink. Douglas found Gibbo and Innes with Muir. Unknown to them, O'Connor had a role to play with Addair. Now, it was Rennick's turn. There was just one problem. No one knew anything about him, nor did anyone like him. Could the reflection trick be enough? Apparently not, because they either heard a mirror or a glass door shatter and Rennick scream in frustration which bled into disgust. He gagged and began to hyperventilate. The pair almost felt bad for him, until he turned back to blind rage and broke into the wall.

They left their hiding spots, awkwardly clambered over the collapsed door that kept them safe and followed the destruction Rennick left in his wake. The further apart they were, the less Caz could sense him.

'The state of this place...'

The men's eyes constantly moved in all directions. Caz looked over his shoulders at the slightest noise. Brodie stared at the floor for any glass they could avoid. Both awkwardly shuffled pass a piece of the discoloured Shape in single-file. It was eerily quiet. Had Rennick gone into the under rig? Or was he lying in wait?

Caz turned his head. He could sense Rennick to the left. Looking through a giant hole in the wall revealed the site manager, standing in a crumbling office, where its outerwall had been bulldozed, allowing the cold yet crisp air in. He grabbed Brodie's shoulder and nodded in the direction. A shiver ran up their spines. They watched Rennick stare out to the sea with a distant look in his eyes. Seemed he's tired himself out.

'Stay here.' It was no secret that Brodie was someone Rennick respected to some degree. He never had been called to the office in the six years he's been stationed at The Beria for the insults. The only time he has was to introduce Raffs and make sure he signed the correct paperwork. If anyone had a chance to talk to him how Douglas did for Gibbo, it was Brodie. Or Finlay, but she wasn't here.

'Rennick?' The older man instantly turned and stared at the diver who held his hands up to show he wasn't going to hurt him. Not like he could. 'It's okay. But, can you move away from the edge? This place is falling apart.' Right on cue, a piece of the ceiling landed between them. Rennick stared. 'It's me. It's Brodie.'

'Yes, I know it's you, you pillock. Stop talking me to like I'm some fuckin' wild animal!'

Well, that was unexpected. The fog had already been lifted from Rennick. His voice hadn't been tainted by The Shape trying to copy him. He showed chronic pain, but all of the infected did during and after being brought back from the brink. Brodie began to relax, or as best as he could when your boss could literally eat you alive.

'Okay, that's good. Look, everyone's meeting up in Accommodation. Archie and Roper are taking care of the rescue.'

'As they fucking well should.' He huffed and noticed Caz poking his head around the corner. Anger quickly boiled to the surface as Rennick pushed pass Brodie in the most gentle way he could. 'You have some fuckin' nerve still being here, McLeary.'

'Well, I wasn't gonna swim back to Scotland now, was I?'

Brodie game him a look. It basically said 'Please shut up and let me handle this,' but Caz didn't notice.

'I still expect you to fuck off when we get back to shore. Do you underst-'

'What the fuck is your problem?!' And there goes any little progress Brodie made. 'We practically keep this rig afloat day and night, whilst you stay nice and cosy in your little cabin. The only time you see us is to give us lip. And look us now. Even after we hit whatever the fuck that is out there, you're still hiding away whilst we do all the work. You told me you had more hairs on your fat crack that can bring more positive contributions, so fuckin' prove it!'

Silence.

All the colour in Brodie's face vanished. Rennick glared. Caz glared back. Even the sea fell quiet.

'...I told you to go, McLeary.' Rennick's voice twisted. He began to snarl between his words and contorted his face.

'Rennick, don't!' Brodie's words fell on deaf ears.

Caz took a quick glance in the direction of the door. If this was going to get Rennick outside, then so be it.

'I'LL MAKE YOU FUCKIN' GO!'

Caz didn't wait to hear the end of Rennick's sentence. He turned and ran. With a roar, Rennick followed. Brodie ducked and held his head as more ceiling tiles fell around him. He watched the pair leave. 'Rennick, stop. Rennick!'

You could say this was a bad idea. Why bring Caz along when Rennick was rightfully pissed he had used The Beria to hide from the police since August? Well, in all honesty, no one wanted to go. Plus, Caz had hoped whatever was happening would be enough of a distraction. What Caz didn't take into consideration was the fact he used The Beria to hide from the police since August.

Rennick followed Caz with little thought. He didn't stop to think that he was luring him outside. He crashed into walls at tight turns, smashed the interior windows and trampled chairs. A tendril set off the fire extinguisher that bounced off the walls and nearly hit Brodie, who was falling behind as he had to navigate the floors to not fall through.

The double doors were in view. Caz picked up the pace. Rennick's screams of frustration could be heard outside. Archie and his crew, Roper and the rest of Marine Control and Engineering, everyone on Deck and some in Accommodation turned in the general direction. They all knew and nearly everyone's face turned as white as a ghost. The last thing they needed was for Rennick to be infected. They screamed for Caz as he appeared, nearly falling as he made a sharp turn along the catwalk to his right. His body got low as he turned with a slide. Rennick, still with tunnel vision, smashed into the railing that caused his infection. The railing bent under his weight and he nearly fell with it, but he regained hit 'footing' and followed. Brodie still had the long corridor to get through. Every step had to be perfectly calculated.

Caz could feel Rennick practically breathing down his neck. He was too close. The old man was fast. Getting down the ladder, let alone to it impossible. In a sudden act of desperation, he grabbed the railing and jumped. He didn't think how high the fall would be, just as long as he gained some distance. A tendril from Rennick reached out to pull Caz back, but another caught him first. A tendril from Muir wrapped around Caz's waist and pulled him to safety, landing between the group. It all happened so fast, when he touched the ground, the leccy fell to his knees as he tried to catch his breath. 'Let's not do that again,' he told himself.

Innes patted his shoulder and with O'Connor, pulled the man up.

There wasn't anytime to talk. Caz didn't have time to register Addair before they all felt a bang. Rennick jumped onto the Deck and stared at Caz with a wild look in his eyes, also catching his breath. He didn't show it, but he realised how he'd been tricked to come out of hiding. He glanced at everyone he could see. A part of him was relieved he wasn't the only infected. Compared to Addair and Muir, he started to feel less disguisted with himself. At least he still had his head and his organs weren't exposed.

'Not bad, McLeary.' Brodie watched from the catwalk. 'Not bad.' He felt all eyes on him. There was no reaction. No one going to comfort him or even ask if he was alright. Just staring with empty or angry eyes. Rennick remained strong, but he could tell this was a losing battle. 'What?!' He snapped and turned to his left where O'Connor and his group stood with Roper above. He turned to the right. 'Don't you dare look at me like that. I'm not the one who got us into this shit. I'm not the one who activated the drill. If you want someone to blame, then you should all be looking at Gibbo, or Roper. They're the ones who decided to drill through this stuff.' Everyone stared. They could tell Rennick was grasping at straws. Anger bubbled. Trots and Gibbo made their way down to the Deck. 'I'm the one giving you all a roof over your heads. The one who makes sure you have money to pay your bills or send back to your families. And this is how you thank me? By turning me into this thing?! I should fire each and every one of you-'

A tendril slapped Rennick across the face, with such force his head jerked to the side, leaving a deep cut. With one of his 'arms' he touched it and noticed his blood dripping. He turned. It was Gibbo. The man had a both a hurt and angered look in his eye. He was trying to hold back his tears.

'Because of you...' He tried to be strong, but he began to cry. The chain was still wrapped around a tendril. 'My boy has to see his father look like this for the rest of his life!' Rennick gritted his teeth.

'Get to fuck, Gibson! It's your fault that oil got on y-' Another slap from Gibbo. This time, it cut above Rennick's eyebrow and this time Rennick didn't fight back. He felt everyone's eyes on him. His usual tactics of verbally abusing his crew into making themselves carry the blame wasn't working. A sense of anxiety spread across his body. It tensed and Rennick couldn't bring himself to look away from the floor. He kept one eye covered from Gibbo's cut. His lips tightened and turned in on themselves. His breath became shaky. Rennick wanted to be sick. There was no convincing. The King had lost his followers and his Empire was in ruins.

'Stop looking at me! Stop it. Don't you dare look at me like that. Go away. Go away!' The words flooded his mind. He didn't know who it was, but hearing footsteps was enough. He turned and dashed across the Deck, before climbing back to Administration, nearly hitting Brodie as he vanished over the building.

Silence.

There was no cheers. No one said anything. To answers your question, it was Roper's footstep that caused Rennick to leave. Trots placed a hand on Gibbo, who didn't feel guilty at all for slapping his boss twice. In fact, he felt relieved. It felt good. Still didn't stop his tears. Caz shared a glance up to Brodie who gave a thumbs up before climbing down the ladder. Archie and Roper exchanged a look. The pilot nodded and moved back to the helipad, ready to fly back to the mainland to enforce an emergency rescue. Finlay turned and noticed.

'Oi, you lot. Is it supposed to be doing that?'

The Shape had now gone completely grey. It's pulse stopped. Then it began to crumble. Slowly flakes chipped away, before pieces no bigger than a finger nail followed at a much faster pace. Everyone on The Beria. D Oil Rig watched The Shape disintegrate into a dust cloud. The wind carried it back to sea, leaving only the dust inside to be swept up by someone later.

A sensation came over Caz. He held his head, but passed it off as him removing his hard-hat to run a hand through his hair. Since being rescued by Brodie and Douglas, he had a splitting headache and blurred vision whenever he got close to The Shape and the infected. He could faintly hear Suze calling for him like a song, but since the rig began to shake, it all seemed to stop. All he could feel was the presence of the infected. What he just felt was The Shape finally being put to rest. He was free from its grasp.

'It's...dead.'

For a brief moment, the infected waited to be turned back into their human form, but to no avail. A crushing blow. On the bright side, seeing whatever The Shape was dissappear was a huge weight off everyone's shoulder.

'...What now?' Trots asked. Caz shrugged and put his hard-hat back on.

'Well, we do have a darts tournament to finish.'

[autumnmobile12]

My Hero Academia: Otheon Headcanons

So I'm having fun speculating on the culture, history, and geography of Otheon and Klayd. Because it was 2am when I started writing this and I had nothing better to do, so here's an analysis no one asked for.

Otheon and Klayd are two nations that share an island located between Ireland and the Iberian Peninsula of Europe. The island is slightly bigger than Ireland and based on its location...well, anybody who's looked at a map knows there's no land mass that big there. Everything else in the series indicates My Hero is our world if people spontaneously started getting superpowers set in the near future of early to mid-2100s.

The simplest explanation available is we're just looking at an alternate universe where there is a large island in the Celtic Sea.

Or!

New islands are created naturally a variety of ways.

Volcanic activity

Glacial retreat

Growth from ocean sandbars

Sediment from river deltas

But these processes take longer than a hundred years, and sometimes new islands aren't even permanent. Hawaii was formed via volcanic activity over the course of millions of years. Ireland (formed by tectonic plate movement) is also four times the size of Hawaii, so it's highly unlikely the larger Otheon/Klayd island formed and grew to its size naturally.

...

My headcanon is in the early days of Quirks, a bunch of guys with lava-Quirks and other geology-related powers got high and created it for no reason other than just to see if they could do it. Because humans are really determined to do pointless shit sometimes.

"Yo, what if we just created a fuckin' island, bro! Let's gooo!"

Alternatively, a villain with a similar Quirk could have created the island for the purposes of having a really conspicuous lair.

"How did you discover my secret lair?"

"It's the size of Ireland, dumbass!"

Assuming the Otheon/Klayd island is manmade (and created by one or more persons acting independently of any existing nation), it's location makes things interesting.

Here's Otheon/Klayd's location.

And here's an approximate map of the maritime waters of western Europe. (Approximate because I pulled this off of Google images and have no idea how accurate it is.) As you can see, Otheon/Klayd could be just far enough away from everyone else or just enough in everyone's space that there can be no obvious claim.

Because you know Spain, Portugal, the UK, Ireland, and France all probably did what nations do best: Took one look and the new spit of land and said, "Hey. That's ours."

If we do an overlay of the map, and allow some liberty under the assumption the animation team did not draw the European map 100% perfectly accurate or the boundary was changed by My Hero's 22nd Century, Otheon and Klayd's shared border could be an extension of the Irish/UK maritime border.

Since we know the Trigger bomb was in Rody's home city, we can tell the larger northwestern country is Klayd and the smaller southeast one is Otheon. Taking into account the maritime border, it'd be interesting if Klayd was or still is an Irish territory.

So who claimed Otheon?

Otheon's main city seems to be based on Lisbon, so I guess Portugal won that debate on who got Otheon? And built an identical bridge? I don't know. Admittedly the bridge is not concrete evidence, but based on the architecture, there is definitely a Spanish/Portuguese/general Mediterranean influence. And French. So one of those nations could claimed Otheon based on proximity.

But Otheon and Klayd appear to be independent nations, not part of anyone else. So now I'm imagining some country colonized an uninhabited new island only for those colonists to say, "Nope," and declared independence in under a hundred years.

But setting everything I've written above aside because it all is just wild speculation, the headcanon that I like the most regarding Otheon is the island was created by some hero or group of heroes during the early days of Quirks and it started off as a refuge/ceasefire zone for civilians hoping to escape the chaos of the new reality. Especially since Quirkless people were more common in those days, seeking shelter in a world where people are starting to have powers that can range from a minor inconvenience to god-like destruction would have been a dire need. As a result, the Quirkless population of Otheon and Klayd is much higher compared to other nations.

After society got itself re-stabilized, the island was officially established as a new territory with its two independent nations.

Also, Deku and Rody are probably speaking English with each other, but headcanon that Rody is bilingual or trilingual and was consistently muttering irritably in Portuguese or something whenever Deku did something to annoy him.

[littlestartemis]

This is like THE thing I'm most annoying millennial about, but I've decided I'm going to make a guide about this instead of just venting to my friends about it for the Nth time. I am not a fan of spotify. On the surface I already didn't like it, the idea of paying a monthly subscription for a media player that requires an internet connection was abjectly backwards imo. Then I actually used it recently, and I'm even more frustrated, because searching for songs doesn't give you any clear indication on if it's the Actual Song you wanted, or just some rando's remix or something. Not to mention the queue and playlist functions just not working 1/3 of the time, and... yeah.

"Man I wish this artist would release on spotify so I could listen to this song."

"Hey are you gonna put this thing on spotify? I'd really like to listen to it away from my computer/off youtube."

Allow me my one snarky comment here because I feel strongly about this and then the rest of the post will be a polite and detailed guide.

I'm gonna let you all in on a secret, you'll never believe this. There's a method, inside your computer (and phone!), where you can listen to music, any music you want... without the internet. Fuckin wild, right? (Making a break because this ended up being longer than I thought it would)

On your computer, even up to Windows 11, you have a thing called "Windows Media Player" that's just automatically on your computer. And if it's not, for whatever reason, lemme make things even easier for you with a link to install it.

You open it up, and you're greeted with this. (yours obviously won't be filled with FFXIV clips and songs by default, just work with me)

Now, I think everything here is perfectly self explanatory, but I've heard as time's worn on that the younger generations are becoming increasingly poorly taught when it comes to navigating computer programs.

Home is just the first thing you get when you open it. Shows all your recently viewed media on your computer

Music Library is your entire collection of songs in your music folder (we'll get there)

Video Library is the same thing but for video files

Play queue is what you have queued up to play in a list Right Now

Playlists is... the list of playlists you've made

So! Good first step, we have a media player. This thing doesn't need an internet connection, it can make playlists, it can shuffle, it's got it all. But like, how do you actually get songs on it, right? Well, we've got a few methods.

If you're a fan of contemporary/pop music, you've got the easiest time of things. If you're already someone who's ok with paying spotify once a month for their service (which is just a media player with always on internet), you shouldn't have a problem with giving that money directly to the artists you already like the work of instead. Not to mention, on streaming services music can be added and removed at the whim of... really any number of people. Whereas if you get yourself the mp3 file, you own that shit forever.

Most every artist offers a way to buy their music from them directly in album form. For shows, movies, and video games, that can be a little more up in the air, but it's nothing a quick google search of "[media name] original soundtrack download" can't direct you to. My first port of call would be to recommend this site here. Despite the name, it carries an absolutely stupid titanic repository of music downloads, the vast majority of which being for things that either no longer have legal means of purchase, or never had one to begin with. You'll have to download them one at a time if you don't/can't make an account and donate to them, but... that's literally just a time investment. Lil bit of elbow grease.

Now, let's say you're willing to put in that elbow grease, but what you wanted isn't here. Well, you've got an ancient, tried and true method to follow suit on next; youtube conversion. It couldn't be simpler. Copy/paste the url (the funny string of letters numbers and characters in the bar at the top of your browser window) into the thing that says "please paste youtube url here", and press the convert button. You've even got options to change the quality (if you need a smaller file size) and trim a length of time off the beginning or end of it! Again, you'll need to do this one at a time, and via this method you won't get premade names (beyond whatever the yt video's name was) or special album art or whatever. But if all you're after is listening to your music of choice without fucking spotify, that shouldn't be a problem.

And I'm not done yet! Circling back to my earlier comment about "some kids just don't know how to work their computers", some of you may genuinely be asking "what am I supposed to do with these mp3 files after they're on my computer?" We'll start with "where even are they" to begin with. You have something baked into your computer called a "file explorer". I keep mine pinned to my taskbar, but you aughta be able to find it and open it up by searching that name in your start menu

This is what the left side of that File Explorer window aughta look like, more or less. You only need to worry about two of these things here for our purposes; Downloads, with the arrow pointing down at the line, and Music, with the music note in the green circle. By default, anything you download, be it from a converter, more illicit sources, or 100% legal "I bought this from the band's website", is going to go into your Downloads first. (side note, if your computer ever tells you you're running out of space and you're like "what the fuck how??", check your downloads, might need to clear that shit out into the recycle bin) You're gonna move those files from Downloads to Music (I only recently learned that file explorer supports additional tabs now, like browsers! That rules). The simplest method of moving them over though would be to click once on the file, then right click, you'll see a row of pictures at the top of the right click menu, you want the scissors (this is called Cutting). Once you click those scissors, you head over to your Music tab, and in the empty white space, you right click, and at the bottom of the menu you'll see a clipboard with a piece of paper, (that's Paste) click that, and it'll remove that file from Downloads, and move it over to Music.

Your media player program is automatically designed to detect mp3 files inside that Music folder. So, from here, you just need to work the media player!

Open up that Music Library tab in your Media Player, and everything will automatically be grouped Alphabetically, you can change that with "Sort by:" in the top right. Know what else? If you do buy an album (or download one otherwise), it'll recognize that on its own too! You can sift through your collection by Albums at the very top there! So you just wanna listen to an album, you can pop over there, click an album, and...

Play all, right at the top, the red button.

You wanna make a playlist? Right click any song, and in the right click menu you'll see "Add to+", check that, and you'll be prompted to just add it to the now paying queue of songs, or to make a new playlist. Do that, you name it what you want, and now you can just right click-> add any songs you want to that playlist.

Now when it comes to phones, I know most people have iphones, and in that realm... yeah I can't help you sorry. But if you're not, we're in another "this should be on your phone already, and if it's not you can install it". Samsung Music. Open that bad boy up, and

Damn doesn't this look familiar. On my Samsung phone at least, nearly EVERYTHING I just laid out applies to making this all happen just on your phone with no computer. But, if you only download on the computer, and still want this shit on your phone, there's a VERY easy method there too!

Get a USB-C cord, hook up your phone to your computer, and you remember the method I told you for moving those files over from Downloads to Music? Works the exact same for moving things from your computer to your phone. Hell, your phone even has a Music folder of its own! Works the same.

This has been my very long and hopefully helpful PSA about listening to music via methods that don't involve God Damn Spotify. Go enjoy yourselves. Don't pay for shit you don't need to pay for.

[hellfirecvnt]

You're Just Drunk

Benson x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Alcoholism, drinking, angst? MILD fluff? Some secret third thing? High-key OOC Benson. Mentions of suicide and attempting. Y/N is unwell. Bad advice.

Summary: A story about hidden feelings, bad brains, and probably blossoming alcoholism.

It's nearly 2 AM when Benson wakes up to the sound of his phone ringing loudly across the room. Initially, he jumps, leaping awake and forcing himself to be as aware as possible. A symptom of his poorly medicated paranoia and mania. His heart races as he emotionlessly crosses the room, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "Hello?" He speaks groggily, never minding to check who was calling in the first place.

"Hey, man. You gotta get down here."

"What the fuck, man? You know what time it is?" His anger is calm and quiet; covert. "I'm trying to sleep."

"You gotta come get this bitch, dude. She's losing her fuckin' mind." Benson's peer whines into the phone.

"Call the cops." He replies flatly. He's seconds away from slamming the flip-phone closed when he hears a name.

"No, man. It's Y/N!" Your name silences the line for just a few seconds.

"Alright. Give me five." He closes his phone and tosses it on the dresser, raking impatient hands through his hair as he frustratedly searches for a T-shirt and a pair of jeans. Dressed and heading out the door, he opens his phone and checks the time. What could have you out so late, at the local bar, acting so wildly that they've called and outsourced your own ride home, ready or not? The last he heard from you, months and months ago, you were supposed to be doing better. So much so, in fact, that you cut everyone off, including him.

When he pulls into the parking lot, he immediately spots your car. He's expressionless as he stalks toward the entrance. The woman and security guard working the door allow him past, recognizing him as an old regular. You both were. He nods at them as he passes, stepping through a wide doorway into the bar. He carefully scans the room when a loud commotion draws his attention. It's you and a man twice your size, both belligerent, both yelling. He strains to hear what's being said from so far away.

"Don't fucking touch me!" You wave your finger in the man's face.

"For the last time, drop it and shut the fuck up, bitch!" The man yells, towering over you in an attempt to intimidate you. You meet his gaze, too drunk for your own good.

"Fuck you," you hiss, and the man can't hold back; he shoves you harshly, and you drunkenly stumble backward into a table, spilling everything on top. You're just about to return the energy, letting a lifetime of pent-up rage loose on a man who couldn't mind his own personal space, but someone cuts you off, putting themself between you and the tall, violent drunkard.

Benson starts swinging, and he doesn't stop. With each devastating blow, the sickening sound of blood squelching fills the air. It's all you can hear over the screams and prying arms. You're staring in awe, too drunk to process what's happening until you feel yourself being lifted and escorted toward the exit by your arms. "Hey, what the fuck?" You kick and thrash in protest, but you're useless in this condition.

Benson's rage is vile and deafening, and by the time sound reaches his eardrums again, he's bloodied the man unrecognizable and torn his own hand to shreds in the process. "God damn it, Benson. I just wanted you to take her back home." His friend sighs, shoving him out the door with friendly discipline. Tough love. Outside, Benson is annoyed with his own behavior. Who the fuck was he putting his ass on the line for? He flexes his sore, bloody hand and groans.

"Fuck," his attention is drawn in your direction. You're fumbling with your keys, trying to get into your car.

"Hey! Y/N," he calls to you, jogging over to stop your attempted escape. "You can't drive like this. Give me your keys."

"I'm not gonna fucking drive, I just want to sleep. Fuck!" You snap, fighting back the sharp prickle of shameful tears prodding at your eyes. You may stifle the tears, but your flushed face and pursed lips meant to hide the tremble give you away. Benson's face remains flat. Nothing. He scans your face and notes every little tell. He always could.

"Let me take you home," he says, snatching your keys from you once and for all.

"How am I supposed to get my car back?"

"I'll come back to your place and drive you in the morning. Just get in my God damn car." You stare at him. "Please." He finally adds. You silently accept defeat. The drive home starts out quiet and tense. You could slice through the air with a knife. "Long time, no see." He finally breaks the silence.

"Yeah, I... Left town for a while." You furrow your brow, unsure of how much you're willing to share with him right now. When just about a year ago, the two of you were closer than anyone in the entire group of friends you managed to make it through high school with all those years ago. Well known in your small, unimportant town for being misfits and "bad kids." It was common knowledge that Benson would do anything he put his mind to if he was mad enough, and often you wondered what that meant. You've seen him in plenty of fights before, but the way he laid into that man tonight was new. "You really fucked that guy up."

"You didn't have it-" he hesitates, searching for a word. "Under control."

"I didn't think I did."

"Eric called me. He told me to come get you. I didn't show up to play hero." He's driving, but still his refusal to look at you feels intentional.

"Yeah, I guess I was a lot tonight. I don't... I can't really remember anymore." You sigh, settling back in the seat. The smell of his car is nostalgic-feeling to you. The interior is stained with the smell of cigarettes and weed, no doubt causing trouble for him every time he's pulled over.

"You drinking like this a lot?" Benson's eyes narrow in that way that tells you he's bracing a subject that makes him uncomfortable.

"It's just- dont- Look, I'm working through some shit, okay? I don't need a lecture from-"

"From someone who knows you better than you do." He huffs. You don't respond. Instead, you lie your head back against the seat and let your eyes fall closed. You'd always tried to emulate Benson's stoic nature, but you were never as good as he was. Tears always found their way to you the way anger found its way to Benson. The car slows down as the tires crackle the loose gravel against the solid concrete of your driveway. It's silent for a while, and then he speaks again. "You need help gettin' inside?" His words startle you awake, and your reaction is shockingly similar to his when his phone rang only about an hour ago.

"No," you mumble, stumbling out of his car and up to your porch. He's pulled out of your driveway and headed to the culdesac to turn around. The same quickness he arrived with. It'd be a cold day in hell if he made you think tonight meant anything to him. That the fact that he's who Eric called meant anything. That you were in his passenger seat again. Emotionless as always, his mind races until a shining object in his cup holder grabs his eye. Your keys.

"Fuck," he curses, frustrated and ultimately unbelievably tired. He quickly whips the car back into your driveway as he emerges from the turnaround. At first, he doesn't see you, but as he steps closer, hoping to leave your keys on your porch, he spots you. You're curled up in an uncomfortably cold-looking situation, sitting on your stairs, leaning against the railing. You're out cold. "Hey," nothing. "Y/N, come on. Just get to your couch or something." He lightly shakes you, closing the awkward gap between you. "Hey..." he notices your dramatic makeup streaking down your cheeks with fresh tears, but still you remain unconscious.

Benson unlocks your door and for a moment, takes in the subtle differences of your house. The small way it's changed over the months apart. The way it's changed after you moved and came back. At least your family held off on selling the place. That totally didn't feel like a giant I-told-you-so or anything like that, by the way. He carries you to your bedroom and lays you on the bed. Annoyed, he pries your shoes off and tosses a small throw blanket over you before heading to your bathroom to wash his throbbing hand. The cool water runs over his open wounds and the soap burns like needles, but his face displays no more than the slightest twitch of his lip. With his hands clean and dry, he makes his way out of your room, reaching for the light switch when he hears your voice.

"Benson?" You question, unsure if running into your old friend was a dream or not.

"Yeah," he says after debating for a moment. He almost just leaves after that, hopeful that you'll fall asleep and he can help you figure your shit out with your car tomorrow.

"I'm sorry."

"Go to sleep," Benson speaks with a low, quiet voice, reaching again for the light switch only to be interrupted.

"Don't go." Your words sound pathetic to your own ears, but you just don't care.

"Y/N."

"Just- don't- just don't go. Stay here for a minute." You say all of this with your head still buried in your pillows, eyes closed, tears falling. Benson leans in the doorway. He tosses up a hand as if he's torn, and taps at the knit on his brow as he thinks. Already knowing he's about to give in, he sighs.

"Alright. Just... Go the fuck to sleep." He finally flips the light off and disappears down the hall, headed for the living room. You always had a large, comfortable couch, so it's not putting him out to crash here for a night. All he wants is to sleep. He didn't ask for any of this. He grabs a blanket from the recliner and flops onto the sofa, settling in with a quickness. Shoes off and cardigan tossed aside, he bundles himself in the soft covers and closes his eyes. Over and over, he tries to force himself into long-awaited sleep, but all he can see are the tears slipping from under your closed eyes, muddied with eyeliner and mascara. Benson eventually manages to sleep for at least an hour before his body wakes him up, stirring his mind with worry and paranoid thoughts.

Without giving it much consideration, Benson makes his way down the hall, just to check in on you. The little episode he'd let out at the bar has his brain running on high. When he pokes his head in, you've seemed to have gotten up and changed into pajamas at some point while he slept. He wonders if you even knew he was out there, staying like you asked. It pisses him off at himself how badly he wants you to remember he stayed because you asked. Your face is washed too, clear of the dragged markings left behind from dried tears, but still, they fall, just a little less visible. Benson can't imagine and doesn't really want to know anything about your time away from home, not unless you want to share it. All he knows is you got knocked down further than you needed. Much further. It's uncomfortable for him to see you so vulnerable. He's seen you drunkenly cry a plethora of times, but this feels different. Heavier.

After a few seconds of watching your breathing shudder as you sniffled, he left the room. He snatches the blanket from the couch and returns to you, climbing into your bed. There's a respectable gap; after all, he's not about to come cuddle you while you cry. He knows you're better than that. Yet his gesture feels intimate enough, even as he rolls over, and faces his back toward you. It's like coming home. It reminds you of when you two were teens and you kissed one time at a concert and never talked about it again, but thought about it almost every day. Benson did too. Albeit a little more strangely obsessive, hence the grudge he held when you left.

"I'm sorry," you mumble and he's unsure if you're awake at all.

"Shh, go to sleep." He closes his eyes, sleep finding him peacefully quickly compared to the distant couch.

"I wasn't trying to cause an episode tonight." You speak through a hiccup. "I just needed a drink."

"Y/N, go to sleep." He insists, already aware of the way you'll regret this vulnerable behavior in the morning. Your levels of hangxiety could be studied by scholars.

"I've always done this to you." All of this being said with your eyes sealed shut and a small semblance of drool pooling by your mouth on the pillows.

"You're just drunk," he whispers, truthfully just desperate to get some shut-eye. He gives your arm a reassuring squeeze before turning on his side. You both lie back to back, close enough to feel each other's body heat.

"I didn't come home because I couldn't make it on my own," you're suddenly very spry. You prop yourself up on an elbow and speak into the dark room, still not facing him. Benson releases another heavy sigh, knowing you're just getting started with this monologuing behavior. But he can't lie, his interest is piqued. He's been wondering about you this whole time.

"No one thought that," he responds flatly, his voice is hoarse with exhaustion. You steady yourself, still blackout drunk.

"When I left, my new life was everything I dreamed of," you start. Immediately, Benson raises an eyebrow, listening. "But I kept... I don't know how to explain it. Things would go so good, and I'd keep fucking it up." He listens silently the entire time you drone on, misusing words in your drunken confession of what all went wrong. The way an unchecked rage boiled inside you and it spilled over at the smallest inconveniences. You even venture as far as to say you came so close to hurting others physically, that it made you want to take your own life to prevent any sort of irreversible damage. You couldn't keep a job, forget any kind of relationship. It became a Hell you put yourself in. Benson stifles a scoff.

He wonders why you feel so ashamed of the emotions that other people cause. In a perfect world, there'd be no need to hurt anyone. But war exists, and death exists, and murder exists. You didn't invent it, why would you punish yourself for the way it fills your veins when someone gets in your face? He shakes the emotions and hopes from his mind and flattens his face in an eerie ritual of cracking his neck.

"After the overdose, my aunt and uncle said I could just keep living here if I came back home. C-Closer to everyone." Now all he can imagine is your unconscious body on a bathroom floor, miles and miles away from him. And he never knew a thing. All those adolescent years together, figuring out life, and he would've had to hear about your death in the obits. It enrages him to imagine. Like he's incapable of any other emotion. They all just come out as blood-simmering lividity.

"Please, get some goddamn rest, okay?" He speaks through gritted teeth and you let your elbow down, collapsing onto the mattress and falling into silence. Benson isn't tired anymore; he's wide awake, and he lies there with his brows arched, staring directly at the wall. How could he not know this about you, of all people? How had you successfully masked such an important part of yourself? And then he realizes he's been doing the exact same thing. None of your friends know Benson keeps a shotgun in the back of his car solely for the off chance that he might snap. It looms over him the way it slips out of you. Being away from home must've made it harder to keep bottled. Amateur, he thinks.

The next morning, you pry your eyes open against the harsh morning light, emitting a pitiful groan as you do. You sit up, rubbing your head and looking around your bedroom, confused. You notice a brunette head of hair facing away from you, lying peacefully on the other side of your bed. You scrunch your face, afraid of what kind of weirdo came home with you. You're about to draw back and kick him out of the bed, but then you notice your two separate blankets. You look down, and you're wearing normal sleepwear, not "fuck me" pajamas. When you glance back over to the man in your bed, you instantly recognize everything about his outline.

"Benson?"

"Morning."

"You're in my house," you say, suddenly embarrassed by the half-unpacked moving boxes scattered about your home. Though few and far between.

"Yeah. I'm in your house." He rises from the bed and sits right across from you, one leg hanging off the side, like a symbolic foot out the door. Slowly your memories return to you bit by bit, with large empty gaps in-between. But you remember why he stayed.

"I asked you to stay, I didn't think you would." You'd never be able to notice the light behind Benson's eyes as you say this, but it's there nonetheless.

"Well, you weren't having a great night." He stands from the bed, stretches, and sits back down, reaching for his shoes. "We can go get your car whenever you're ready." He's tying his laces as you stare into nothing, gathering your memories amidst the worst headache of your life.

"Yeah. Thanks." You slip into the master bathroom to get ready for the day, washing your face and staring at the dark circles below your eyes. With a sigh, you splash water in your face. After your morning ritual, you're looking a little brighter, but no less hungover. Benson's waiting in the living room when you return to your bedroom. You get dressed quickly and throw a pair of sunglasses over your darkened eyes.

In the car, more and more memories from last night resurfaced. You place a tense hand on your forehead, leaning against the window as you recall the way you cried to your estranged friend. A friend who didn't want to be there in the first place. "Um, Benson. About last night-"

"Forget about it."

"I was just drunk, and-"

"Would you just drop it, Y/N?" He chuckles, never averting his eyes from the road. "Whatever you've got going on," he pauses for a moment. "Stop crying about it."

"I wasn't gonna cry! I was gonna beat that guy's ass and sleep in my car." You argue.

"Oh, you were gonna beat his ass?" Benson asks, fully laughing now.

"Of course I wasn't! You know what I was doing. Fuck." You resign.

"Yeah, getting your face beaten in as an act of self-destruction doesn't really cut it at our age anymore." His voice is cold and factual. He's reeling in his guffawing laughter, trying to regain a sense of seriousness. "You hate how angry you are, but you don't care if it gets you killed."

"Oh, my fucking god. He wasn't going to kill me. Please don't choose now to do one of your mellow dramatic monologues." You pinch the bridge of your nose. "You're worse than me after too many shots."

"Am I wrong?" He asks, suddenly much more intense than before. His voice is rough and his eyes have widened. You narrow your eyes at him, clocking this switch right off the bat. It's familiar. "Am I wrong, Y/N?" He asks again, truly wondering if you think he's wrong about your passive death wish. He pulls the car into the other lane, driving into oncoming traffic. Luckily, the road is nearly never busy.

"What the fuck is wrong with you, dude?" You exclaim, hoping he'll have time to swerve if someone were to appear around a corner. He's driving fast and recklessly. Your pulse begins to race. "Benson, okay! I get the point, stop the car!" You cloak your panic in anger, as always. Laying into him so hard, a stranger would think you're enemies.

As he rounds a wide turn, a semi-truck comes into view. It blows a billowing horn, begging even harder than you, for Benson to get out of the way. "Fuck," you mumble, squeezing your eyes shut and accepting what's to come. Never thinking to wonder why, only accepting an early fate the best way you can. Just as the truck's horn became unbearably loud, Benson jerks the car to the side, missing the large 18 wheeler by what felt like mere inches.

"Nothing's worse than you after too many shots." He cuts, and for some reason, it does sting a little. A reminder of your already self-perceived burdensome existence, even with your veins pumping full of adrenaline. You're shaken up, but you recall that kind of strange behavior from your youth together. Though, it was usually less horrifying from the sidelines.

"What the fuck was that, man? Fuck." You breathe heavily.

"You're not fearless. And you're not indestructible." He lights a cigarette and cracks his window about an inch. The smoke flies out into the wind as he exhales. "Get your kicks without getting your teeth knocked out." He laughs through a cloud. "Or stop holding yourself back. Either way, don't get yourself killed." There's a certain amount of weight on that "don't."

Finally, he pulls his car into the parking lot of the bar, and you confidently mask any embarrassment that might still remain after your little outburst last night. He pulls up next to your car and you step out, stopping to respond as you stand outside the passenger side door.

"Thanks, Benson. A game of chicken with a semi is a pretty crazy way to start the day." You laugh, something that always comforts him. His inability to run you off until you did, in fact, run off.

"I'm a visual teacher." He grins. "Aren't you happy to be alive?" He asks, cockily. You pause for a moment before answering.

"No," you say, flat out. "Come to my house for a drink sometime, I'm probably not allowed back here anymore." You smirk, closing the door before he can make a fake excuse about how it'll never happen, all the while knowing full well that he'll be at your place by tomorrow.

[chaisshitposts]

Write A Letter To Yourself To Find The Answers You Want. || 'Dear Subconscious...'

have ya ever had a problem at hand that ya just couldn't figure out a solution to? it's such a deeply perplexing problem that ya just decide to shrug it off and maybe 'sleep it off.' and so, ya do just that... and maybe in the middle of the night, or as soon as ya wake up, or maybe even two days later in the middle of a totally unrelated task, ya get a random idea, a random thought, or perhaps a random solution that was the answer. that was yer subconscious, answerin' that problem ya were so stumped on.

which got me thinkin'... why haven't i considered askin' my subconscious a direct question? ive seen this happen in movies before, usually with— people who have DID or MPD, or perhaps someone who sleep walks, or suffers black outs. I've seen people leave notes and messages to themselves.

why haven't I just written a letter addressed to my subconscious and let it solve everything for me? why haven't I asked my subconscious to show me the answer or give me the answers I need to tap into being in the state of pure consciousness? the letter is personal to me, and my subconscious knows me best, so why the fuck wouldn't I trust what it has to say? i already do muscle testin' to get my yes/no answers, I already do fuckin' tarot readin's on myself— so... why not do this? can't believe I haven't done this yet.

and with that thought, I got my handy notebook, sat down at my dining room table, and got to writin', starting the letter off by saying 'dear subconscious...' I spilled my most vulnerable guts afterwards and the rest was history.

I'm gonna tell ya right now, full transparency, I wrote to my subconscious about how much I want to enter the void state/I Am State and asked it for clear signs in my letter, I told it to give me the answers I want in a way that only I could understand. an experiment worth while... originally, i wasn't gonna post this but then i got my answers and i wanted to share this with ya lovely folks of this lil' dandy community.

I bet you're wonderin' what was the answer I got from my subconscious. I got multiple answers, as terrifying as that is, and I cannot even fathom how I can explain them properly. All I know is that I feel unwavering peace in all aspects of my life. but if yer really curious, I got a message in a tarot readin' video and through the spinoff of adventure time that just came out, not too long ago on max. Fiona and Cake. the shit they say in the show is... I can't even explain how it made me feel, just finished watchin' the entire series today. it was everything I needed to know, I asked my subconscious for an answer that only I would understand and what would ya know... i love musicals and animated shows/movies, and behold, i gotta damn combo. i definitely recommend it to my fellow manifesters!!! they literally talk about how easy it is to create yer own REALITIES in the damn show... that's what we fuckin' do!!!!

how do I write a letter to myself?

address yourself a letter as 'dear subconscious' and then get to writin'. you're literally sendin' yerself a letter, say whatever ya want in it, write yer secrets, write yer fears, write yer dreams. ask yer subconscious whatcha need to do to get yer dream life guaranteed and ya shall receive. some people may not like the idea of this but, what's the harm in a lil' conversation with yerself and findin' out the answers ya need. It can especially help ya if you've been strugglin' for a while, 'specially with all ya folks out there who've been on yer void journey for multiple years. what better way to get yer answers than to speak to yerself through yer own mind... wah, that sounds fuckin' coconuts but I stand by it.

essentially, this is just a combo of commandin' yer subconscious and scriptin', that's not hard at all. and who said ya gotta handwrite it? ya can type it out on yer phone or even yer computer if ya want, do whatever feels good and allows ya to write out yer guts and frustration. after that, ya can relax and see what happens next. that's all in this post! thanks for readin' and I hope ya get the answers ya seek! until next time!~

p.s. this ain't a challenge, it's just another way to get to know what you need to do to accomplish your dreams as the individual creator of yer reality. you'll know when yer answers come. hell, might even come to ya in the middle of the night or even in a random movie in the form of a quote that is far too relatable to yer situation ya decided to sit down and watch one day. kinda like what happened with me... hehe.

[darkstrawberrytimetravel]

Why don't you just give in? Pt.2

Fem reader

Pt.1

You

He's looking skinny, or as skinny as a man who's resembled a brick shithouse for the last two decades can be, less toned I suppose more lean. I watch as he turns away, the t-shirt he's wearing allowing for more creases, bagginess. He's forgone his mask, not that he needs it. He needs a shave instead, he almost resembles his Captain with that growth. His dirty blonde hair now sun bleached in parts and his tan somewhat deeper.

You know you want to run your fingers through it, feel the short hairs against the pads of your fingers as your hand moves against the grain. The last time you did that his hands were- My thoughts are both rudely and thankfully interrupted.

“Ohhh blimey you see the lads? Who's that with the scraggly face? The tall one?” I hear Laura beside me. Instantly the table I'm seated at falls into hushed gossip, as they always do when they see the task force. The SAS lads are a common sight around here, but the more specialist unit within it still garners mystique, enthusiastic and borderline obsessive gossip whenever they grace us with their presence.

“Ghost… you really don't recognise him without that rag on his face?” I murmur as I look down and bring my mug of coffee to my lips. Ghost... I still hate that callsign. Nickname. The lore. I mean I know how fucking vicious and brutal he can be. It's not learnt or adaptive behaviour since joining the military. As usual the table descends into the usual gossip, the girls wanting to follow them to the pub they'll inevitably end up at later on. Such is the routine when they land back on home turf, especially since they've clearly been gone a while. Eat, drink, fuck, repeat.

I zone out, leaving the others to continue their usual shite when they talk about the lads. Finishing up, I stand with my tray and head to the tray return carts, Laura shouts and tells me I will be joining them tonight and that it's final. Fuckin’ a! Wherever the lads will be, so will we, the sodding groupies they are. Though it won't take much to be out the way, they're only headed to a pub. No need to dress to impress.

Walking away from my table I steel myself, walking past Riley and his lot. I resist the urge to gob in his food, as usual. I would have done it years ago, but I've risen above that version of myself. I do however afford a quick glance down and I'm met with ochre orbs, his ochre eyes. This time I yield and look away, not wanting to walk into someone with a tray full leftover dinner.

Later I find myself freshly showered, the weather keeps flip-flopping so I decide on shorts with a tank and a hoodie with my favourite trainers. It's still warm and humid enough to warrant the summer gear, but as August stretches through to September there's a chill in the air. I look at myself in the mirror, my hair tousled and low key smokey eyes. I almost feel like I should scrub the makeup off, I'm in my mid thirties, why am I dressing like I'm fifteen years younger.

We all bundle in the taxi for fifteen minutes it takes for us to get to the town centre in Hereford. I listen as the others plan and scheme where the lads are, I give the usual non committal noises they'd expect but eventually I put my proverbial foot down. “Look, I don't want to spend all night with you lot drooling over them. We'll get pre-drinks at The Queen's Arms, some of you will get a quickie I'm sure, and then we should go somewhere better to spend our time.”

I'm met with eye rolls and smirks, it's no secret I'm not enthralled by the lads on the task force, and even under duress when plied with copious drinks I've still not spilt the beans. Finally the taxi pulls over and we hop out, the fare being prepaid since it was a group booking. I stay behind to organise a return journey later before following the girls into the pub. We're met with a wall of sound, almost raucous, as we filter in and find a table. I see Riley actually enjoying himself around the pool table for once.

Pt.3

[jasonsiceberglounge]

THE HILLS HAVE EYES pt. 3

warnings. cursing, descriptions of pain.

roughly a week of barely interacting with the tin can and i was starting to go insane. my limb still bruised as if something had tried to eat it, still unable to walk on my own. my less than talkative roommate made (im presuming stole due to the fluffy pink dolphin that was wrapped around the armrest of the crutch) me try to walk occasionally, the pain shooting unbearably through my nerves. i tried to bare the face of strength but even he hesitated at times to allow me to take another step.

the fresh sting of metal after being buried under blankets was a wake up call consistently. his palm clutching my bicep as i hobbled trying to take another step. i huffed in frustration, at the pitiful way my body moved. i felt like my wings had been clipped preemptively.

"you're doing fine." a mechanical whirr sighed, i couldn't tell his tone due to him using autotune 24/7 but this song was kind of nice. i winced, pity was the last thing i wanted from him.

"i don't need your sympathy robo-lante." he only cracked his neck in response, his words being bit back out of whatever feelings he may or may not have.

i could feel his peering eyes buried deep beneath wiring i couldnt even fathom comprised in that small space of helmet, wiring similar to my brain, similar to gotham. chaotic, he was so calm, but chaos exudes from his silence. i struggled to take another step attempting to distract myself from the excruciating sensation reaching my teeth.

"so-" i hobbled, his head tilted as if leaning closer to hear me. "why do you walk like you're trained, some secret government project i dont know about? any fun NDA's ya signed?" i tried to bite out a laugh, but the sound choked between the hiss of pain as he carried me into another step.

"the point of an NDA is to not speak about it." he said so matter of factly i almost wanted to smack him, unfortunately he's holding my dominant arm and also the only thing between me and splinters from this rotted wood floor.

i sighed, expecting an inch at the bare minimum, i was curious don't get me wrong, but in our line of work curiosity kills the bat.

he continued to hold me for a few more steps before i panted in agony, my throat tight from forgetting to breathe, i couldn't bare this anymore. "i'm fuckin' hopeless" i wanted to cry, scream, i cannot believe that stupid goon got me so good.

he seemed to deflate a bit at the admission, scooping his arm under my shoulders, he handled my weight towards the couch, back where i belong, back to the start.

his suit hissed as he sat down on the floor in front of me, legs at an awkward angle like he's not used to it. a comforting silence enveloped us, but he looked as if he had something to comment on, to leave with me.

my nose scrunched, i wasn't particularly comfortable with him analyzing me so gently. "if you have something to say, say it. i'm not in a generous mood tonight tin-can."

he seems to almost jolt in response, my tone not settling well. he hesitates, "i- well, fuck it... once was in your shoes, now i'm helping you walk in your own. it'll come to you. i once read a quote that said 'words have no power to impress the mind without the exquisite horror of their reality,' i believe to an extent that only you can fix you if you want to, even if fixing isn't particularly what you want it to be, what someone else wants it to be." he trailed off almost harshly, recalling a memory, a direct antonym of fond. his mask turns slightly away from my gaze, i was amazed he said more than 4 words to me, none being sarcastic.

"thank you." i whispered, thanking him genuinely bringing me more pain than my leg. his foot swayed back and forth, almost like a nervous tic. he nods silently, slowly beginning to get up. a slight groan leaves his body as he stands. his hand reaches towards me, i snap and grab his wrist instinctively. maybe he was trying to kill me finally, maybe.

his mask angles almost in surprise.

"i was-" he says with a pitiful voice "jus' wanted to fix your blanket." more hoarse this time. my eyes widen slowly, i release my grip on his brace.

"i'm sorry i tho-" he turns to walk away, not with sass but genuine disappointment.

"don't worry about it, peg-leg." he trudges off into his room as i stare in genuine disbelief

'i just wanted to fix your blanket."

something struck within me, deep, unsettling. i felt sick to my stomach, the mere gesture of chivalry being something i haven't experienced since the loss of jason. i sunk deeper into the couch, leaving the blanket unmoved in hopes maybe he'd fix it later for me, at least i'll give him the chance this time.

his stupid fucking toenails kept scratching me, it was hot, stuffy, disgusting, and cute under this huge blanket. jason todd had the brilliant idea of reading some of bruce's files and believed that the world would never find out underneath the protection of this inhuman sized blanket.

a flashlight lodged into his mouth as the pages crinkled when he turned, i didn't necessarily care for the actual words, but something about being under this blanket with him, in private, brought heat to my entire body.

"this is about corruption in gotham pd." his lips attempted to say, however stopped by the obviously shoved in his mouth light emitter, jason forgot that key part. i watched his fingers slowly scan the papers, my mind drifting many places but the current one im in.

jason was a certified yapper, but only particularly around certain individuals. i liked to think he felt comfortable enough to allow me to ride his train of thought. i enjoyed traveling through gotham more that way.

"are you paying attention?" he snapped, a bright toothy smile on his face as the flashlight slipped out of his mouth, once again the idiot forgetting it was there in the first place.

i jumped at him shaking me out of my trance, i didn't particularly want to leave it. "sorry, i, fuck- no i wasn't listenin'." i sighed, looking off sheepishly.

he only frowned in response, flinging the blanket off of our faces, the brisk air smacking me immediately. the look on his face bringing the heat all the way back, tenfold.

"what is it?" he said softer, voice tainted with concern.

i stuttered, not ready for the sudden gentle tone.

"i'm jus thinkin'." not able to look him in the eye.

he scooted closer, curls coating his forehead so beautifully, "'bout what?"

i felt as if i were about to combust into flames.

"just things." i prayed god would end his curious streak before he found out what truly killed the bat.

"you thinkin' bout me doll?" he was injecting honey in my ears.

my eyes jolted widely, it's not a foreign nickname on his lips, just one he dangles above me with the same allure as a mistletoe.

it was not christmas but i felt like santa had given me another present. god gave me jason todd, but kris kringle gave me these little chocolate morsels of moments.

silence danced throughout the safehouse, not a peep escaped even the flooring. not that it made me uncomfortable, but the memories flooding my brain and the previous interaction with the arkham knight not quite allowing the dance to finish. something was bothering me, hell, everything was bothering me, including this god damn leg.

peering around the straw apartment again, i eyed my crutch. laid perfectly 5 feet away from me, next to the knight's door. he's left it there the past week so he can bring it to me every time we try to walk again, but now i'm cursing him for putting it so far away.

the gears in my brain began to turn, either i make it to his door to apologize without falling, and pray i don't pass out inbetween.

or i fall.

i've had worse odds before.

mustering as much strength as my shoulders can carry, i propel myself up on my left leg, the right shooting in pain at the tension in the thigh. tears well up in my eyes as i turn my way towards his door, i havent tried to walk alone yet but as he said. 'something something you have to fix yourself.'

yeah, i'm pretty damn sure the quote was exactly that.

my feet rub roughly against the wooden floor, slowly taking my first step. i grab my thigh in agony as the wound begins to pound, you'd think a week would alleviate some pain, but my god it felt like lava-hot irons were investigating my white blood cell count.

another step, and not for mankind.

the crutches slowly growing larger in my view, if only i could make it close enough to the door.

another step on my peg-leg, as we all figured, fucking awful.

another on the left.

at this point i was bawling my eyes out in pain, metal coating my lips as i bit down to drown out the screams behind my teeth.

2 feet from the door.

4 steps.

2 left, 2 right.

my vision, familiarly was clouding with black again. but i'll be damned if i dont apologize while i still have no pride.

one step on the right.

one step on the left. excruciating.

one more step on the right, the crutch coming into near reach. my left palm slams against the door unintentionally trying to balance myself before i collapsed. at this point sobs caked my shirt, my neck, my face. i figured i looked better than he did underneath that iron prison though.

i could hear shuffling from behind the door as it swung open, i lost my balance not expecting the sudden movement as he instinctively grabbed my arm holding me at an awkward teetering angle.

"what the fuck are you doing?!" anger coated all silence in the safe house. his chest rising and falling with concern.

"i just- i wanted to apologize." i bit out, the feeling of standing on one leg not enough to alleviate the pain.

"for what?! you dumb, dumb girl." he eased down my arm, allowing me to grab onto his forearm for balance. he dared not say anything else knowing my pride meter would fill up again soon, cup overfloweth.

"i didn't mean to make you go away. i was, i'm just scared."

he ponders for a moment before grabbing my arm rougher than before and yanking me closer to him, his other arm grabbing my left leg and pulling me up into some awkward form of a bridal hold. for once i am the one with few words to say as he brings me back to my place on the couch, setting me down gently, gentler than i think he's been with another human in a long time.

"can you stay still this time?" he pleads, a whine at the top of his tone. i nod quietly, a hiss sounds as he removes a glove, his hand littered with scars, deep, deep gashes.

he wanted me to trust him, this is as much as he can give. this is as much as i can take. the gesture screaming with unsaid, unkempt words. tangled, confused, just trust me. trust me. i will let you know a piece of me.

"will this suffice? will you let me at least let me trap you in this.. what did you call it? country bumpkin cloth?" he chuckled, a joke leaving the confines of the tension.

i didn't necessarily have a reply, all words had left me at the moment. what had transpired the last minute repeating itself over and over on a loop in my brain. heat rose to my ears as any quick response died in my heart.

"yes i'll stay put." i sighed out, defeat coming to me quickly.

he crouched down and slowly shoved the blanket around the length of my body, i hadn't been tucked in since mommy and daddy still cared about me. this was not the same feeling.

his hand inched near my face, hesitating, but wiping a tear off my ear, rubbing the tear inbetween his thumb and index finger.

he stood back up and all i could do is watch, any words i may have been able to line up in some formula to elicit a response died within the first proof.

"stay put, get some sleep." he sighed, staring at me for a moment to make sure i really didn't move. the sound of his boots heavy as he disappeared back into his room, flicking the lights off. my heart beating out of my chest into my throat as my body could not handle what just transpired.

as much as i thought i could face anything the world threw at me, i felt transported back to his grave once again. speechless, confused, breathless.

i am not dorothy on a yellow brick road, and he was not the tin-man leading himself to find a heart again.

[jabberwockprince]

SPINA VENATORES A small organization of mercenaries working for Manus Vindictae, tasked with erasing people from history as a way to call upon the "Storm". Their targets' names, families, influence and connections to this world will be dragged into oblivion.

Individual profiles and some more info/ramblings under the cut <3

The whole point of Spina Venatores is to be a parallel to Vertin's own independent group of Arcanists - the same way St. Pavlov's Foundation has her, Manus Vindictae has Venison and Spina. They're the mouth and teeth of Manus.

But whereas Vertin aims to create a safe, neutral space for Arcanists to thrive without human influence despite being tied to the Foundation, Venison is aiming to create a paradise for those they care about and no one else due to the heavy influence Arcana and Manus have on them.

Spinas Venatores is, at its core, a cult that was allowed to grow thanks to Venison's codependent and obsessive mindset - with them as the leader, all the troublesome and rebellious members of Manus Vindictae (that are much too powerful to get rid of or who are still clinging on to their former lives) will simply be assimilated into Spina or pressured to comply with Manus Vindictae as a whole. The third secret option is dying <3.

They also serve as a narrative device to remind everyone of the fact that, no matter how hard one may try, there's no way EVERYONE can be saved from the "Storm" - all five main members are related in some way or another to Arcanists that Vertin has met, they're people that weren't lucky enough to be taken in, who found themselves in the right time and place for Manus Vindictae to take advantage of their vulnerable state.

R1999 also portrays a LOT of oppression from various minorities that overlap with each other in very interesting ways, so I also wanted them to tackle similar things that mean so much to me - they're problematic queers is what I'm trying to say lmfao

The thing they share is that all of them are delusional to a degree, and that they're constantly haunted and defined by their relationships to others. The loss and discovery of the self through another, Ship of Theseus, cannibalism, body horror, being transgender as a really visceral and intimate experience, an obsession for love in all of its forms etc etc.

I don't have the FULL scope of their backstories, but I do know who they're tied to!

Venison was Pavia's coworker in a constant, obsessive loop of wanting to kill and save each other. Mutton was part of Schneider's mafia and romantically involved with one of her oldest sisters. Chevon was a regular visitor in Necrologist's museum and a friend of hers, she later went on to exhibit his many, many tombstones. Poultry is the "Lilian" mentioned in Darley Clatter's Stories. And Veal is a mystery even to me </3

Their uniforms are meant to look outrageous and outlandish, entirely out of place with the setting and their respective eras/times, inspired by fantasy - just BARELY reminiscent of Manus Vindictae by virtue of using a similar palette, as a way to drive that feeling of not belonging and delusion even harder.

Whereas everyone else is dealing with very real issues, all members of Spina Venatores live pretty much in their own heads (similar to Forget Me Not and how Manus Vindictae causes their recruits to become... YEAH.....THOSE MONSTERS....)

Venison gets the BIG COAT and the biggest silhouette because they're responsible for pretty much 80% of what happens within Spina Venatores! Veal gets the more simple design to allude to their whole unassuming, shapeshifter/Doppelganger thing.

They all have ribcage/bone motifs in one way or another, most of their jewels are meant to look like rosaries, they wear the Manus Vindictae silver cross and Arcana's blue color more often than regular members of Manus. Also! Hands!! Love the fuckin hands!! DID YOU GUYS SEE DIGGERS' MANUS VINDICTAE SKIN???? YEAH.

The naming convention being. types of different meats. is entirely because of Venison, you can ALSO blame that entirely on them <3

[kcyars99]

omg

[Verse 1]

Dear Adonis

I'm sorry that that man is your father, let me be honest

It takes a man to be a man, your dad is not responsive

I look at him and wish your grandpa woulda wore a condom

I'm sorry that you gotta grow up and then stand behind him

Life is hard, I know, the challenge is always gon' beat us home

Sometimes our parents make mistakes that affect us until we grown

And you're a good kid that need good leadership

Let me be your mentor since your daddy don't teach you shit

Never let a man piss on your leg, son

Either you die right there or pop that man in the head, son

Never fall in the escort business, that's bad religion

Please remember, you could be a bitch even if you got bitches

Never code-switch, whether right or wrong, you a Black man

Even if it don't benefit your goals, do some push-ups, get some discipline

Don't cut them corners like your daddy did, fuck what Ozempic did

Don't pay to play with them Brazilians, get a gym membership

Understand, no throwin' rocks and hidin' hands, that's law

Don't be ashamed 'bout who you wit', that's how he treat your moms

Don't have a kid to hide a kid to hide again, be sure

Five percent will comprehend, but ninety-five is lost

Be proud of who you are, your strength come from within

Lotta superstars that's real, but your daddy ain't one of them

And you nothing like him, you'll carry yourself as king

Can't understand me right now? Just play this when you eighteen

[Verse 2]

Dear Sandra

Your son got some habits, I hope you don't undermine them

Especially with all the girls that's hurt inside this climate

You a woman, so you know how it feels to be in alignment

With emotion, hopin' a man can see you and not be blinded

Dear Dennis, you gave birth to a master manipulator

Even usin' you to prove who he is is a huge favor

I think you should ask for more paper, and more paper

And more, uh, more paper

I'm blamin' you for all his gamblin' addictions

Psychopath intuition, the man that like to play victim

You raised a horrible fuckin' person, the nerve of you, Dennis

Sandra, sit down, what I'm about to say is heavy, now listen

Mm-mm, your son's a sick man with sick thoughts, I think niggas like him should die

Him and Weinstein should get fucked up in a cell for the rest they life

He hates Black women, hypersexualizes 'em with kinks of a nympho fetish

Grew facial hair because he understood bein' a beard just fit him better

He got sex offenders on ho-VO that he keep on a monthly allowance

A child should never be compromised and he keepin' his child around them

And we gotta raise our daughters knowin' there's predators like him lurkin'

Fuck a rap battle, he should die so all of these women can live with a purpose

I been in this industry twelve years, I'ma tell y'all one lil' secret

It's some weird shit goin' on and some of these artists be here to police it

They be streamlinin' victims all inside of they home and callin' 'em Tinder

Then leak videos of themselves to further push their agendas

To any woman that be playin' his music, know that you're playin' your sister

Or better, you're sellin' your niece, to the weirdos, not the good ones

Katt Williams said, "Get you the truth," so I'ma get mines

The Embassy 'bout to get raided, too, it's only a matter of time

Ayy, LeBron, keep the family away, hey, Curry, keep the family away

To anybody that embody the love for they kids, keep the family away

They lookin' at you too if you standin' by him, keep the family away

I'm lookin' to shoot through any pervert that lives, keep the family safe

[Verse 3]

Dear baby girl

I'm sorry that your father not active inside your world

He don't commit to much but his music, yeah, that's for sure

He a narcissist, misogynist, livin' inside his songs

Try destroy families rather than takin' care of his own

Should be teachin' you time tables or watchin' Frozen with you

Or at your eleventh birthday, singin' poems with you

Instead, he be in Turks, payin' for sex and poppin' Percs, examples that you don't deserve

I wanna tell you that you're loved, you're brave, you're kind

You got a gift to change the world, and could change your father's mind

'Cause our children is the future, but he lives inside confusion

Money's always been illusion, but that's the life he's used to

His father prolly didn't claim him neither

History do repeats itself, sometimes it don't need a reason

But I would like to say it's not your fault that he's hidin' another child

Give him grace, this the reason I made Mr. Morale

So our babies like you can cope later

Give you some confidence to go through somethin', it's hope later

I never wanna hear you chase a man 'cause his failed behavior

Sittin' in the club with sugar daddies for validation

You need to know that love is eternity and trumps all pain

I'll tell you who your father is, just play this song when it rains

Yes, he's a hitmaker, songwriter, superstar, right

And a fuckin' deadbeat that should never say "more life"

Meet the Grahams

[Verse 4]

Dear Aubrey

I know you probably thinkin' I wanted to crash your party

But truthfully, I don't have a hatin' bone in my body

This supposed to be a good exhibition within the game

But you fucked up the moment you called out my family's name

Why you had to stoop so low to discredit some decent people?

Guess integrity is lost when the metaphors doesn't reach you

And I like to understand 'cause your house was never a home

Thirty-seven, but you showin' up as a seven-year-old

You got gamblin' problems, drinkin' problems, pill-poppin' and spendin' problems

Bad with money, whorehouse

Solicitin' women problems, therapy's a lovely start

But I suggest some ayahuasca, strip the ego from the bottom

I try to empathize with you 'cause I know that you ain't been through nothin'

Crave entitlement, but wanna be liked so bad that it's puzzlin'

No dominance, let's recap moments when you didn't fit in

No secret handshakes with your friend

No cultural cachet to binge, just disrespectin' your mother

Identity's on the fence, don't know which family will love ya

The skin that you livin' in is compromised in personas

Can't channel your masculine even when standin' next to a woman

You a body shamer, you gon' hide them baby mamas, ain't ya?

You embarrassed of 'em, that's not right, that ain't how mama raised us

Take that mask off, I wanna see what's under them achievements

Why believe you? You never gave us nothin' to believe in

'Cause you lied about religious views, you lied about your surgery

You lied about your accent and your past tense, all is perjury

You lied about your ghostwriters, you lied about your crew members

They all pussy, you lied on 'em, I know they all got you in 'em

You lied about your son, you lied about your daughter, huh

You lied about them other kids that's out there hopin' that you come

You lied about the only artist that can offer you some help

Fuck a rap battle, this a long life battle with yourself

Yeah Drake is done ATP just hang it up dude you’re better off doing mainstream pop rap or something