#me: what about a motor cycle !

[hyolks]

does he even have his license ???? idk..

[symbiomancy]

scientific curiosity —frankenstein's monster

—summary: You created him. You patched him together from pieces of humans and beasts - lost your license to practice medicine and your PhD for that. He should not look at you and lust. But he does. | 1.8k | AO3 | monster masterlist

—warnings: monster x human, monsterfucking, handjob, implied mating cycle/heat, thigh fucking, rutting.

The creature has an affinity for music. That fact is not even near the most fascinating thing you’ve discovered about him, but it is a very pleasant one. He taps the keys of the piano with grace, despite his size. Mozart today, huh?

“Your motor skills are improving at an incredible rate,” you say more to yourself as you scribble furiously into your notebook. The creature voices a grunt of approval as he stares at the sheet music propped up in front of him. Mentally, you pat yourself on the back for selecting such a fine brain.

You cannot deny his improvement at everything, really. He’d graduated from picture books to children’s books within two days, to classical novels and medical books within a week. Getting him acclimated to his size had been a challenge at first but it has been leaps and bounds from those days. Writing, string instruments, key instruments, all of it, a truly incredible progress. There’s only a handful of things you’ve yet to ask.

“Any sexual desire?”

His fingers stumble on the keys.

You whip around, one arm slung over the back of the chair and push so the legs screech loudly against the wooden floor. There’s a grin on your face, pen in a death grip in your hand. “Care to elaborate?” You blindly reach for the notebook still on the table, eyes fixed on his large frame, at the way he hunches over, staring firmly at the sheet music.

“No.”

“Well, it is fall,” you muse, raise your elbow to lean it against the chair backrest, pen tapping against your bottom lip. “And I did have to supplement some parts for beast parts.”

“Hadn’t even noticed.” He thumps a foot against the ground. Griffin’s hind legs. Could’ve used the wings but taking too much from one body would’ve created too much suspicion.

“I really thought a vampire’s hand would, y’know react to warm blood — a mistake on my part, I’ll admit it. But,” your grin widens even further, “fascinating how a werewolf’s knot is still a knot even if you cut it off. Does the full moon affect it in any way?”

Your creation glares at you from across the room.

“What? Scientific curiosity.”

“You had your PhD and medical license revoked for…” he takes a deep breath and takes his hands from the piano keys to motion to himself, “me.” There’s a hint of something in his tone, something that borders on disgust. You file that away to discuss at a later time. “It’s why we’re out here. Hiding.”

“There are worse reasons to lose a doctorate for. And I was a scientist while creating you. So, scientist. Now, answer my question, please?”

The creature gently pulls down the key lid on the piano, stands, and wordlessly leaves the room.

He doesn’t come down for dinner.

You stare at the vacant seat on the other side of the dinner table with a frown. His plating is untouched, steam rising from the potato stew where he usually sits. There is no creaking in the house, nothing to signal he’s coming down. You eat alone and place his meal into the still-warm oven.

His door is closed. You stand there for a while, mulling over your words, trying to string together an apology. Should you wax something long together? An explanation? Run-on sentences to try to justify your innate curiosity at your creation’s physiological state? Nothing sounds right. Nothing sounds like enough.

“I’m sorry… for asking like that. I got carried away. It wasn’t proper of me. There’s um,” you clear your throat, “I left your plate in the oven. Heat it up if you get hungry. Good night.”

You stand at the door for another prolonged moment, trying to catch any sound on the other side of the door. It’s faint, barely there, but you can make out his breathing, slow and steady. At least he’s still here. But you decide not to test your luck any further tonight and retreat to your own room, leaving the door slightly ajar. It doesn’t fit into the frame quite correctly, anyway.

Maybe he’ll at least go downstairs for dinner later.

He stands in front of your door, staring at the small sliver of moonlight that pours into the dark hallway. There are too many loud thoughts in his head, racing and colliding. His skin feels ill-fitting, a heat simmering underneath it. You ask too many questions, he thinks — has thought since he left you in the study alone to hide away in his room with the blinds drawn and his cock in hand — too many questions that prod all the right places.

It’s in your nature. You were a scientist. And a doctor with an intricate web of knowledge about the human (and creature) body. He shouldn’t fault you for asking.

While you were downstairs eating dinner alone, he had his cock in hand — not a wholly new experience but a new-ish one — stroking it over the low bathroom sink. He’d tried, tried thinking of other things but nearly all of his experiences are tied to you and your presence. So he keeps coming back to you. Your pretty face, your smile, the light in your eyes when you ask him about his body, his psyche to scribble into your umpteenth notebook all about him.

Even now with his pants undone, cock hanging out, already (or still) hard, he thinks of you. He stares at you through the crack in the door, soundly asleep in your bed. The covers are tucked tightly over your body but legs exposed to the fall chill. It’s not right, he thinks, he should at least tuck you in before you get a cold.

He pushes the door open slowly. It creaks a short, aborted squeak and you shift in bed, pull the blanket tighter against yourself. The creature steps forward, carefully placed footfalls dancing around the one creaking floorboard right at the entrance, long slow strides taking him to the foot of your bed. You shuffle again, and for a moment he thinks this is it, you’re awake, but you turn onto your back, kick at the blanket with one foot.

You are… enticing like this, he finds. He thinks that’s what this feeling is. All he has to compare it to is the novels he’s read over and over and over again.

He grabs onto your ankles with his warm hand, touch featherlight, and gently, slowly, pulls you forward. The end of your nightgown catches against the sheets, drags further up the closer you get to him. He has the anatomical knowledge of the human body — he’s read every book in the house several times over no matter if fiction or an anatomy book, he’s effectively memorized all the illustrations, if not the texts themselves.

His fingers trace the expanse of your skin, gently knead into the flesh. He can name the muscles and the tendons, the nerves at the crook of your knee. He’s spent countless hours staring at the illustrations, even the more… explicit ones. He’s curious — you’ve rubbed off on him — but it’s dark. Instead, he stares at the gap between your thighs. It’s inviting, just perfect for him to slip his cock through. It jerks at the thought, precum dribbling from the tip.

You blink slowly. The room is dark, save for the moonlight filtering in through the window above your head. In front of you, right at the foot of the bed stands a tall figure, hand wrapped around your ankles, resting against his shoulder. Your brain jogs the existence of your creation before you startle involuntarily. He startles too, nearly dropping his grip on your ankles.

“Everything alright?” You ask. The fall chill bites at your thighs and oh.

“I’m sorry,” he says, pressing his body against the back of your legs. Something hot and heavy, wet presses between your thighs. The tip of his cock presses between your thighs, forward and backward. Slowly, like he’s testing the waters. You stare at it for a moment, then press your thighs together.

The creature groans and thrusts forward, hips assuming a sloppy pace. He’s tall and wide and big and that’s how you built him. The bed rocks with his thrusts, the headboard banging against the wall, scraping at the paint. His cock plunges between your things, smears precum onto your skin, slick and wet and loud. The sound of his cock plunging between your slick thighs is nearly deafening in the silent house. Your own arousal curls under your skin but you file it away to stare at him.

This… this is not what you had in mind when you first came up with this (quite possibly very stupid, very illegal, medically and scientifically (not to mention ethically) dubious) idea. It cost you your license and your reputation, sent you into exile. You don’t regret it on the worst of days but especially not right now.

His cold hand wraps nearly wholly around your thigh and you clench around his cock involuntarily. Your muscles jerk from the sudden chill. He groans and his hips stutter for a moment, stumble in their sloppy rhythm before he regains whatever shred of his composure is left and continues thrusting. The bulb at the bottom of his shaft is engorged, knocking against your clit with every thrust. You can’t even focus on that, just on the beads of precum dribbling from the tip of his cock, smearing against your thighs as he pulls nearly all the way back. When he thrusts towards you, pearly droplets fly, splatter against your wrinkled nightgown.

He pulls you into him, hips slamming against your thighs. The metal bed frame screeches at something, you can’t even react as he thrusts forward one last time. He cums with a guttural growl that reverberates in your own chest, thighs pressing against yours, hips jerking forward. Ropes of hot cum shoot from his cock, land on your torso. You reach out, wrap a hand around the enormous cock to jerk him off, prolong his orgasm, milk him for everything he has to offer. There’s a hiss from the back of his throat as you work him empty, splattering onto your stomach and chest, even your chin. It’s warm and sticky and it sinks into your cotton nightgown, clings to your skin.

His breathing is erratic once his large frame stops shaking. His chest expands and constricts against your legs, nails digging small crescents into your ankles. Your toes are cold from the forced position.

You reach down to the puddle of cum pooling on your stomach and draw a heart into it with a small giggle.

The creature looks up from his mess tentatively, brow furrowed and lips jutted into a hopeful smile.

“You’re not mad?”

“I’ll have you know I picked out every part of you according to my personal preferences.”

banners/dividers by @/cafekitsune

[shushmal]

Okay a season 4 au Eddie’s full name is Benjamin Edward Munson and everyone finds out about this from the radio while driving the RV, some local news update. Everyone turns and stares at him. Steve slams on the breaks.

Eddie: … what?

Lucas: Your first name is Benjamin?

Eddie, scowling: and if you ever call me that, I’ll—

Everyone: OH GOD

And that’s how Eddie gets man handled into a bullet proof vest and a motor cycle helmet, and any other protective tactical great they find.

[anomaliex]

Collection of headcanons not elaborate enough for own word vomit post:

- I don't think Kristen can swim. She has the vibes of someone who never learned as a kid and now it's too late to bring up without being embarrassed. (Also I thought about what would happen if she fell in water — mechanically she's wearing heavy armor, would Brennan just let her swim since she's in universe only in a tracksuit or would she sink without a sufficient strength check? Idk, but that's how I got to the no swimming conclusion.)

- insanely weird hc to have but i think Fabian shaves his arm hair. Also like legs and arm pits i guess but the way more unusual and therefore notable thing is arms. This guy kills any body and facial hair on sight. Like no one has ever seen him with as much as stubble outside of Cathilda or the Bad Kids when they were sleeping over. Why? Idk he just prefers that, no deeper reason. I do think elves generally have less body hair but here his human genes come through so he has to shave. Or get it lasered away I guess. You can do that right?? He's rich. Maybe he'd do it.

- also Fabian's depth perception is dog shit. Using his crossbow is less impressive because Fandrangor is simply a better weapon and his flourishes and manoeuvres rely on melee combat, I know, but to me it's also just that he's better at hitting things real close to him.

- Riz is the kinda guy to have chronic migraines and think it's fine. "Everyone has headaches sometimes and I do sleep a lot less than I should ahaha" (the amount of coffee he drinks is barely saving him from the horrors.)

- Adaine also gets a lot of migraines in what I think are more. Passive non specific visions? Like a gut feeling that's always correct and also makes her body hate her. The proper visions are comparable to absence seizures I think? Like I don't wanna say it's that because it's magic but the process is kind of the same in the sense that she's out for like ten to thirty seconds and it can really suck

- I also think Adaine has synaesthesia! I can't really put this into words well so I'm not even gonna try, but she perceives certain sounds and/or colours at times where there shouldn't be sounds and/or colours. I think those associations also to an extend help in drawing connections between less specific visions and real life.

- we know Gorgug has a drumset in his room I think it's electronic. But like not in a normal way like we have them irl it's some insane artificer shit that would justify so much more noise complaints than a regular one and also could probably have its own pyrotechnics idfk. It's fully a safety hazard but it doesn't even rank on the top 10 of worst things to have in your house that is a TREE that the Thistlesprings casually own.

- I think either Fig or Kristen would be the shortest medium creature type Bad Kid. Like obviously Riz is four feet tall max but he's in a whole different category lmao

- Fig sometimes puts little braids in Jawbone's fur and he happily lets her. He only properly adopted Adaine and Fig has more than enough dads, but he does still act as sort of a paternal figure to her (and every other kid ((which in this case includes Ragh but maybe not Aelwyn)) in mordred manor because he's just a caring guy and it's hard not to grow attached) so that's their pseudo daddy-daughter bonding

- Fabian doesn't like, hate Gilear as much as he used to? Like he still has his moments but overall he thinks he's a good guy and absolutely has the "well I can shit on him but I'm gonna kill this other guy who did. How dare you make fun of my Mama's beloved??" mindset. But uhm he tries to make Gilear work out with him so he can "stop being death fodder". Gilear is a commoner and everyone else in Seacaster Manor absolutely is not and like he likes it and he loves these people but he does kind of live in hell. His wife? Could kill him. His step son? Could kill him. The maid? Could kill him. The dog slash motor cycle?? Could kill him. One hit. Also the entire current Seacaster household are dexterity based fighters they're all so graceful and skilled he's fully just a guy that spills every drink ever on himself

- I think the Hangman loves Cathilda because she gives good chin scritchies (hound form obviously lol) Generally he tends to mirror Fabian's attitude towards people anyway so he's always liked her, but once he started being a hound more she started petting him and giving him treats and he is smitten

- Gorgug (and sometimes Ragh or Ayda) play extreme fetch with the Hangman. Like I need to stress that he's not just a big dog he's large enough to be a mount, which means he'd have to be the size of a horse. Maybe a small horse sure but that's still a horse-sized dog. I think his mini looks fairly big but in my heart he's bigger. So yeah fetch with him (which they mainly do because they want him to feel comfortable in both forms because he's so good) is really big sticks. Like not logs or anything but sticks the average person can't huck all that far. Fabian casts enhance ability on himself so he can also do it, lol. The wonders of multiclassing into bard.

- I think the only Bad Kids who never use makeup are Riz and Kristen. Gorgug doesn't do it every day and not that much but he uses eyeliner sometimes. Fig's makeup is the most noticeable and usually very fun.

- Gorgug has kissed Ragh at least twice. So at least one time after the prom thing. I don't mean this in a ship way I mean this in I look at Gorgug and then I look at Ragh and I go yeah these guys have shared at least one tender bro kiss. I mean I think Gorgug is the kinda guy that would kiss all of his friends if they wanted to because it's not that big of a deal to him and he loves them but not everyone is comfortable w/ that lol. He and Kristen kiss each other on the cheek though, I think (this does not mean he wants to see her naked in public please put your clothes back on Kristen??)

[tweedlydumbtweedlydoo]

You're a Dead Man (Part 2) | JJ Maybank x Routledge!reader

Summary: After JJ has a run in with his father, he begins to spiral and doubt his abilities to be a father, leaving you wondering if you're going to be a single mom.

A/N: A couple people requested part 2 and a great anon gave me this idea! Hope you like it. Link for part 1 is down below, but this could probably be read as a stand alone too!

|||| Part 1 ||||

Tag list is at the end. Let me know if you want to be added xx

Go follow my fic rec blog! ---> @imaginationgonewild0912

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“What do you know about being a dad? You’re gonna fuck that kid up just like I fucked you up.”

JJ replays the conversation with is dad over and over in his head. The anxiety growing even more intense. His hand shakes as he presses it into his heart.

He didn’t know anything about being a dad. His dad was right with that one. JJ had the bad genes; Alcoholics, drug addicts. The reoccurring jail time. The dead beat dads. It all ran in his family. A never ending vicious cycle that he was going to be continuing.

You recently had your scan, finding out you and JJ would be welcoming a baby boy into the world 20 weeks from now. A mini JJ. After needing to get back to work, both you and JJ split ways and headed back to work.

He was working on a boat motor in the local shop when his boss came to him, “Maybank, you got a visitor.” He threw his thumb over his shoulder.

JJ glanced up, expecting you or one of the pogues but didn’t expect to see his dad there, taking a drag of his cigarette, a subtle sway in his posture.

JJ mentally cursed, not wanting to deal with this.

“Take it out back. I can’t have customers walking up on his bullshit today.” His boss instructs, knowing Luke enough.

JJ wipes his greasy hands on his rag and jumps down from the ladder of the boat, heading toward his dad. “What the hell do you want?” He motions over to the right with his head, walking toward the side of the shop, Luke following with a stumble.

“Jesus Christ.” JJ mutters, smelling the alcohol on his breath.

“Heard you’re gonna be a dad.” Luke says with a slur.

JJ places his hands on his hips and nods, replying with a nonchalant, “yup.”

Luke sniffs, wiping his hand against his nose, “What do you know about being a dad? You’re gonna fuck that kid up just like I fucked you up.”

JJ couldn't believe his ears, “Did you seriously come all the way down here just to say this? I got work to do.” JJ begins to walk away but Luke roughly grabs him by the arm, “I’m not done talking to you, boy! Don’t you walk away from me.”

“You know it’s true. Do the kid a favor and stay away from him. We don’t need another fucked up Maybank in the world. Look at you, working at the local boat shop. You’ll never make it at anything else. You’ll never be able to give the kid a good life. Face it," Luke takes a step toward JJ, pointing an accusing finger in his face, "you’ll end up just like me, drunk trying to make it by in life wondering where it all went to shit.”

JJ rips his arm from Luke’s tight grasp, a red mark left behind, “you have no idea of what kind of dad I’ll be. As far as I’m concerned I know exactly what kind of dad not to be.” He starts to walk away, Luke continuing to slur and insult him.

“JJ you’re going to be a shit of a father! Don't say I didn't warn you. You'll be a sorry son of a bitch bringing a kid into this world!"

~

JJ's thoughts were running rampant. His mind slowly convincing itself his dad was right. He would never be a good father. He didn't know how to be a father. You and the baby deserved better than what he could offer you.

The old rock music thumping in his ears as he opened the wooden door. It smelled like cigarette smoke. The place started to get full as everyone begins to get off work.

"What can I get you?" The barkeep asks, cleaning the bar top in front of him.

JJ has his chance to back out of this. He glances down at his watch, you'd probably just be getting off of work and heading home. You told him at the doctor's appointment you would fix his favorite tonight. It was you and JJ's turn to fix dinner for the Pogues.

He knew he needed to leave and go home but his mind pushed his legs forward, taking a seat at the bar. He knew addiction ran in his family and this was bound to happen to him. His dad was right. Might as well speed things along.

"Whisky."

~

As you came close to finishing dinner, you glanced at your phone again, nothing from JJ. He should have been home by now. You'd called and texted but no response, you began to worry.

"Hey sis," John B greeted coming through the front door, Sarah following behind.

"How did your appointment go?" Sarah asks with a smile, pushing past John B to greet you. She was just as excited as you to find out the gender. Sarah had a bet with Kie - it was gonna be a girl. She just knew it and even placed a bet on it. She immediately frowns at your worried appearance, "What's wrong?"

"JJ should be home by now and I can't get in touch with him."

"Maybe he got stuck working late? I know he said he had to finish building that motor and wanted to get it done today." John B shrugs it off, popping one of the veggie pieces in his mouth, "I wouldn't worry too much about it."

"Yeah but," you shake your head, "He usually would at least send me a text to let me know. He knew I was cooking his favorite tonight and he said he wouldn't miss it. Somethings wrong, I can feel it." You place a hand on your growing bump, a sense of uneasiness flooding over you.

"Have you tried calling him?" Sarah asks, leaning against the counter with her arms crossed, "Like John B said maybe he's busy."

"I've called and texted." You look between your brother and Sarah, "Something's wrong, John B."

He sighs with a nod. He didn't need to hear anything else from you, he can see it was truly bothering you. "I'll find him."

"Thank you." You say softly.

He nods and kisses your head, "Anything for you."

~

JJ couldn't remember which drink he was on. 8? maybe 9? He was slurring his words, swaying. He'd become the center of attention at the bar, talking with a few people, laughing it up. He could feel his phone buzz and checked it, blinking his eyes to try and focus. The thinks it says John B but he can't be for sure.

One of the guys he'd been talking to slapped him on the shoulder, pulling him from his thoughts, he slid the phone back in his pocket.

"Another drink," JJ slaps the bar top.

"You sure? I think you've had enough," The bartender states.

"Oh come on, man, give him what he wants!" One of the guys says, "The fun is just getting started."

JJ saw the little baggie and the guys crazy eyes. JJ raised his eyebrows, "I don't know man." Even in his drunken state, you flash across his mind.

The guy places a hand on JJ's shoulder, "Live a little. You deserve it." And so JJ follows the guy and a few buddies out back.

~

John B went by his work to find the shop closed and moved on to a couple places to check. It was the 4th place, Blackbeards Bar, that he finally had someone say they saw JJ, but when he went to check out behind the bar, JJ and those guys were no where to be found. John B filled with dread.

He drove the Twinkie through town, looking left and right for any sign of JJ but didn't see him. He reluctantly returned back to the chateau where you and Sarah sat around the table. He dreaded having to return without JJ and explain where he was last seen. The bar was known to be occupied by the drunks and druggies. Luke was a frequent customer.

He could tell you'd been crying. You stood when he opened the door, "Did you find him?"

John B shook his head and saw your hopes get crushed, your body physically showing the signs. Your shoulders dropped, "he has to be out there somewhere, John B. Maybe you didn't look hard enough-" You snatched your keys off the table, storming past him, but he steps in front of you, "I looked everywhere. Y/n he was last seen at Blackbeards."

"he wouldn't-" you shook your head, "It had to be a mistake."

"He was seen with Luke's crowd, y/n."

And your world came crushing down.

~

JJ didn't know how he'd done it and made it all the way to the chateau but he did. He stumbled up the front stairs. The lights, indoor and out were on. He hoped he hadn't missed dinner. You'd cooked his favorite and he was starving. He belched as he kicked his shoes off, stumbling into the nearby shelf, something came crashing down. He giggled to himself, "Oh fuck."

The door swung open, there you stood in your gown and robe. He closed one eye, squinting to focus in on you and gives you a drunk grin, "there's my baby."

He's taken aback as you lunge at him, hands hitting his chest. it sends him flying back into the porch post. You probably could have just done it with your finger and knocked him over at how drunk and high he was.

"What the fuck?!" He manages to catch himself, "What the fuck was that for?!"

"You stupid son of a bitch! Do you know how worried I've been? It's 4 o clock in the morning! I was about to call the police!"

John B and the other Pogues stood at the door, watching this scene unfold. They committed to staying up with you, hoping to keep you company and keep you calm. You were only a few minutes from having another breakdown.

"Oh shit," JJ laughs, "It's 4 am? Time flies when you're having fun then." He straightens himself up, but stays with his back pressed against the post to keep himself from swaying. It didn't stop the room from spinning.

You didn't know whether to cry or scream. You were beyond angry; heartbroken that JJ had put you through something like this. Pregnancy hormones only made it worse. It was only in the light, you could see the white powder on his nostrils.

"Is that coke?" You ask in disbelief, pointing to his nose.

He quickly wipes it away with his sleeve, "no-"

You cry out, absolutely frustrated, "JJ, what the fuck is wrong with you! This isn't you. You're out late, drinking and now doing drugs with some of your dad's buddies? We're going to have a baby in 4 months. You can't do shit like this. You can't spiral. You have responsibilities!"

JJ could feel his anger boiling, threatening to blow. His entire body going hot, his face growing red, as he points an accusing finger in your face, "You don't get to tell me what to do."

You'd seen JJ get angry before, but had never had it directed at you. You couldn't believe you were about to say this, but he looked like Luke staring back. You could feel John B's presence beside you, ready to defend his sister. He didn't like the crazy look in JJ's eyes or how he threatened you.

You straighten your back, showing JJ you weren't afraid of him. You were pissed he'd done something like this, but when you thought more about it, there had to have been something that set JJ off. He was so happy at the appointment. Nervous, but excited to find out he was having a boy. He even made the comment, "My son will never feel the way I did."

From the time you departed to back to work, something had changed and the only thing that could have set JJ off would be his dad. You knew his anger wasn't meant for you.

JJ surrenders, "Go ahead, yell at me. Tell me how horrible of a dad I'm gonna be. How I'm gonna fuck that kid up just like I'm fucked up." He holds his arms out at his side, "The kid doesn't need me. If anything he's better off without me. You're better off without me." His eyes fill with tears, "I don't deserve this. I don't deserve a happy ending." JJ is defeated and emotional.

Your heart aches at the fact JJ would ever think that way about himself. He'd already proven to be a better dad than Luke would ever be and your son wasn't even in this world yet. "Is that what Luke told you? That you're going to be a horrible dad?"

JJ wouldn't meet your eyes. You step forward, hands cupping his jawline, willing him to look at you, "JJ Maybank, you've already proven you will be an amazing dad and our baby isn't even earth side yet. Me and him both will never be better without you because you complete us, you make this family whole." Tears fill in your eyes, seeing his doing the same, "You never felt a father's love and that has been your encouragement from the beginning. You know exactly how to be a father because you have first hand of what not to do. You've stepped up and become more than a father than your own will ever be."

JJ relinquishes into you, sobs racked his body as he held onto you as if you were his lifeline.

"shhh..." You ran your fingers through his hair in a calming manner, holding him. You stayed like that for a while, holding each other before you were able to lead him into the house where he passes out on the couch.

~

JJ sulks onto the front porch, his head pounding and body feeling like he was hit by a bus. You're leaned against railing, gazing out to the water. It was a calm morning.

"Morning," His voice is husky and he smells clean as he approaches you.

You glance at him, his hair is wet and he's in clean clothes. At least he showered. He reeked last night. "Morning."

"about last night-" He scratches the back of his neck. It had come back to him in pieces but he knew enough to know what happened last night - or well this morning.

"I'm only going to say this once." You're stern as you face him, "If you ever pull the shit you did last night, you won't have anyone to come home to. I'm here for you JJ, always. And you can't spiral like that ever again." You rub a hand over your bump, "Are we in an understanding?"

He nods, "I can't even begin to apologize or have the words. I should have come home to you two." He places an uneasy hand on your belly, "I'm not him. I never will be."

"I know you aren't." You loop your arms around his middle, laying your head against his chest, "You're more than he will ever be."

~

I hope you all enjoyed this part two and I hope I did it justice for those who asked for it! I feel like I'm still a little rusty as I get back into writing here and there, so please be nice and be patient.

Likes, comments and reblogs are always greatly appreciated!

[bootleg-nessie]

Predatory Bananas: an Evolutionary Horror

(Pls read, I literally spent HOURS on this <3)

A friend sent me the following video about the various potential methods of banana locomotion. It got me thinking. How would a banana move? Naturally, as an autist with a special interest in evolutionary biology, I took the joke a little too far and wrote a whole piece on the matter, analyzing the feasibility of each method and the changes they’d need to evolve in order to achieve them.

(Video courtesy of Burning Onion Animation on TikTok, they make great content, go check them out)

The first and most likely way bananas would move is if banana trees evolved to spread their seeds through their fruits rolling down hills like the morphology of #1 suggests. The only major mutations that need to happen are a more pronounced curve and increased rigidity to facilitate rolling and absorb the impact from falling from the tree. Overall, evolving to this point is relatively straightforward. #1 is the most feasible and realistic answer.

For bananas to develop motility like in #4 is theoretically possible with the right environmental pressures and with enough time, though much more difficult. I see this working in one of two ways. First, they could evolve rigid structures that change shape depending on moisture content, using natural dry/wet cycles to move a little more each time it rains, much like the seeds of Erodium Cicutarium (pictured below). The fruits of the banana tree would most likely evolve to have hooks on the end of said structures, contracting and pulling themselves forward a little each time they dry out, and relaxing and resetting their grip on the soil each time they get wet.

The second way I could see this happening is if they evolved true locomotion. True locomotion in bananas would take at least a few million years to evolve (probably more like tens of millions), and even then, movement would be incredibly slow. There exists a plant called the “walking palm” (socratea exorrhiza, pictured below) that’s capable of “walking” using its roots, but it can only travel about 20 meters per year in ideal conditions, and has the resources of the entire tree at its disposal, not just that of a single fruit.

While this is the more likely explanation as to how #4 might happen, it’s not what the video depicts. The video clearly shows a banana dragging itself along like an inchworm, indicating motor cells such as those present in Dionaea Muscipula (venus flytrap, pictured below). Whenever this type of movement in plants occurs, it takes an extreme amount of energy and is generally rather inefficient and slow. In addition to this, the banana is moving its entire mass every time, so it’ll have to move much more slowly to compensate. This means that the banana would probably only be able to travel a few centimeters before decomposing beyond the point of functionality. After a few million more years it’s possible that bananas could evolve to travel as far as several meters after falling off the tree, but the further they go, the more fit each individual fruit needs to be, and the more energy and resources they need. Eventually, it’ll reach a point where the energy expenditure will outweigh the benefit and the fruits will stop evolving to travel any further, which I imagine would plateau somewhere in the 0.5 to 3 meter range. However, the fruits still require a significantly higher amount of energy at this point because they’ve evolved to move autonomously, so trees would likely evolve to produce fewer, but more developed fruits as a result. Overall this is the second most likely way bananas would evolve to move, but the video depicts a time lapse, not footage taken in real time.

The next most likely option is #2, which is where things start to get much more interesting. At this point we are quickly beginning to leave the territory of the banana being a fruit and stepping closer towards the realm of the banana being its own independent organism. Whether the banana is still a single fruit from a larger tree depends on if the video is stabilized or not. First, let’s assume that the video has automatically stabilized the banana within the frame. This means that the banana is moving erratically and aimlessly, with the goal of simply moving as far from its origin as it can. The most simple form of this would be a ballistic dispersal method in which the banana grows curved and under tension, falling off the tree when ripe. Upon impact, the tension is released and banana extends, springing itself upward and outward with a single bounce. But this isn’t what the video shows either, it depicts clear and repeated movement, again suggesting the presence of motor cells much like those likely found in banana #4. In this case it probably evolved in roughly the same way as banana #4, but works less effectively due to having a less stable method of traveling.

But what if the video ISN’T stabilized, and the banana’s staying upright all on its own? In the video, the banana isn’t just moving along a single plane with one set of motor cells like the Venus flytrap. It’s full on galloping. This requires multiple groups of motor cells working together in a coordinated effort. This banana has real-time sensory input to orient and stabilize itself. This means that the banana has evolved some sort of internal gyroscope, much like our inner ear that helps it determine what up and down is, and more importantly, angular rotation. While plants have been observed reacting to and even predicting stimuli in ways that still baffle scientists to this day, this is far more complex than any plant every discovered throughout human history. Everything here points to something more, perhaps rudimentary intelligence, dare I even say sentience.

This begs the question: is it even a plant anymore? At this stage it’s evolved sensory organs and can move independently. But why? Organisms don’t evolve the ability to move without reason. This could mean one of three things. First, it could have evolved the ability to run as a means of spreading its seeds further. But this can’t be the answer. Moving more slowly would be way more efficient for a banana in terms of energy expenditure, and spreading seeds the old fashioned way is still perfectly viable, so it wouldn’t have evolved that way due to lack of necessity. This brings us to the first legitimate possibility: the banana is prey. If the banana were prey, then the ability to gallop most likely evolved as a means of escaping predators and to avoid being eaten. This is further evidence that the banana has evolved beyond being a humble plant as this goes completely against the purpose of fruits, which evolved to be eaten on purpose. Now, the banana’s goal isn’t to be eaten so that its seeds may be deposited elsewhere, its primary objective is to survive. At this point it’s relatively safe to assume that the banana no longer comes from a tree, and now reproduces through fragmentation, or perhaps even live birth. Its lack of leaves suggest that it’s evolved beyond being an autotroph and relying on photosynthesis. But if it no longer gets nutrients from a tree, how does it subsist? It must be getting its energy from somewhere. The most likely answer to this is that banana is a herbivore, and gets its energy from plant matter, which contains a lot of the same nutrients that the banana recently used to get by growing on a tree. Overall, this is the third most likely way the banana would evolve locomotion.

But what if it isn’t an herbivore? This brings us to the other possibility: the banana is a predator. The banana that concerns me the most is banana #3. While all the other bananas have undergone major changes to their morphology, banana #3 appears to be identical to any regular banana, yet it still moves. The only way that such movement could be possible is if the banana had some sort of internal mechanism that moves its center of mass around rather quickly within its outer shell, which also requires an internal gyroscope for balance. I know what you’re thinking; “but this is an incredibly complex mechanism, wouldn’t it be easier to evolve one of the other ways?” To which the answer is yes, it would. But this raises another question with an even more alarming answer: why didn’t it? The answer lies in the banana’s identical appearance to that of a typical Cavendish. Clearly, looking like an ordinary banana is central to its survival strategy. At this point, it’s evolved well past the point of being a fruit and has become the first of an entirely new kingdom of sentient creatures descended from plants.

According to my estimates from the video, banana #3 is only able to move at a pace of around a tenth of a meter per second, maybe a quarter or half of a meter at the most. This means that it probably didn’t evolve the ability to move as a means of running from predators. Based on the physics in the video, my best guess as to how the banana moves is through the use of mostly hollow internal chambers with a central mass (probably a calcified seed) suspended by tendons that can move in any direction, accelerating the banana in that direction. Here I’ve collaborated with the massively talented @pholidia to bring my ideas to light.

Picture it. You’re a lone banana farmer in South America. You’re out harvesting your crops when you see a single banana on the ground. It looks a little weird and bruised, but still totally edible. “No good in letting perfectly good produce go to waste” you think to yourself as you pick up the banana. You go to peel it when suddenly, you feel a sharp shooting pain through your hand. You drop the banana, then fall to your knees. You look around for the wasp or whatever it was that stung you, but you can’t find anything. You collapse in a heap on the ground, unable to control your body. It’s at this point you notice the banana start to move. “Are… are those teeth?” you think to yourself. At this point the venom has taken full effect. You are alone and completely paralyzed, unable to do anything besides observe the banana as it starts moving towards you. Sharp teeth and beady black eyes are fully visible now. It ambles towards you clumsily, moving almost as if it were being controlled by invisible strings like a marionette. It reaches you and starts to chew. It is at this moment that you discover, much to your horror, that the venom is merely a paralytic, and not an anesthetic. Helpless to the venom, you can do nothing but watch as your blood slowly drains out onto the ground as the creature consumes you. Slowly, your vision begins to fade to black. You pass out, either from the pain or the blood loss, you’re not really too sure. You take one last look at the creature, then you’re gone forever.

[unspeakable-imagination]

Cigar Smoke and Sleepless Nights | Part Five

Logan Howlett/Wolverine x reader

Reposts and likes are appreciated

Cw: Cigars and smoke, drinking, reader has ptsd. Logan has ptsd, canon-typical violence, references to abuse, other mature or explicit things

Parts One Two Three Four

I'm begging, people send in asks I wanna make more content.

Your circadian rhythm had to have been fucked, but your were unsure. You resorted to wearing sunglasses to combat the pain and migraine daylight brought you and winced at any light that was brighter than one or two house lights. The sun, the windows, every light in the damn school- it was overwhelming. The snow had melted in a few hours.

It was a new day, and you still hadn't slept. You were anxious, regularly itching behind your ears every fifteen minutes till they were raw and blood was beading under your nails. The cent of copper and iron made you go in overdrive, as the smell of your own blood consistently followed you.

Figuring since it wasn't as cold, now would be a great time to go buy cigarettes and a new lighter. It was easy to skit around the crowd of students on the stairs and out the door as quick as you could. You weren't sure where the nearest gas station was, but you figured if you just followed the road, you'd find it.

Your off-brand canvas jacket piled ontop of the other four layers you were wearing were keeping your arms warm- but your legs were freezing and your boots weren't built for this weather. You didn't have much eles, and figured maybe you should buy more with what you'd earned from charles, after your cigarettes, of course. Addiction was a hell of a money drainer.

You were already off the drive and a quarter of a mile down the road when your ears picked up the sound of a motor cycle. The wolverine? Maybe it was Scott finally getting his bike back? You just kept walking- but it only took a few minutes for you roaring engine of the bike to considerable slow behind you. You could smell the tabacco and the liquor.

"Why are you walking in the cold," He said, tip-toeing the bike next to you since he was going to slow to ride. You glaced over. He was in his traditional jacket, a flannel buttoned up underneath. His jeans were dirty and his hair was a bit longer that you thought you'd remeber, granted you'd hardly seen in.

"I need to get cigaretts. And clothes, I think." He simply blinked at you, one of his thick eyebrows raising.

"It's like.... a four hour walk?" His head tilted to the side. "And it's forty degrees. Get on the bike." He wasn't really asking, atleast it didn't sound like it. He sounded- and smelled annoyed. With the fact he'd saved you the day before- you figured you'd be best not to look a gift horse in the mouth.

You nodded and both you and the bike stilled. He leaned it to a side as you shifted over and swung your leg over the seat behind him. The moment you were on the bike, he pushed it off the tilt and walked it a little bit. "Put your arms around me or you'll fall, kid."

Your heart beat faster, not at the nickname- but the idea of touching him. "Okay," you said quietly, meekly. Your arms snaked around his waist over his jacket and he grumbled, revving the engine and getting the bite going. You winced a little, the sound hurting your ears. It only took a few moment to get used to it to. If logan noticed, he didn't say anything, but your arms got tighter around him.

It seemed like Logan broke more traffic laws than what existed, and it make you grimace. He took you to the gas station, a safe bet for your cigarettes, but he was giving his own thick carton of Cigars. It was easy to calm your nerves, making you feel like you weren't taking advantage of the ride, since he was doing his own thing.

After the gas station, you were expecting to go home, but when he pulled into the shabby parking lot of a local, run down department store with a cheap-ish clothing section, you smiled. He mumbled something about staying here when you slid off the back of the bike, but you were too preoccupied with looking through the windows to notice.

The little bell above the glass door jingled and you beeline past the snacks and register to the clothes and bags. A think, canvas-type backpack that was black hung on the rack. It was perfect to carry your things in. You grabbed that, and poked your head around until you found a suitable pair of boots, another hoodie, another set of jeans, and some other amenities like underwear and even a few loose shirts and a single pair of sweats you'd be able to work out in easier.

After buying everything and stuffing it into the backpack, you left the store, logan was leaving again the wall, watching the bike on his kickstand while smoking one of his fresh Cigars. When he saw your shoes peak out of the doorway, you heard him say something like 'that was quick,' and then walk to the bike, putting his cigar out on his hand like you'd seen before.

"Doesn't that hurt," you asked, meeting him at the bike.

"Not for long," he said, showing you his hand. "I don't want to get it dirty. Cigars are expensive." You knew that, constantly looking at the price of whatever cigarettes were cheapest wherever you were.

He got on and you followed suit, and on the way back to the mansion you went. The smell of tabacco relaxed you a little. Not as much as if you were actively smoking, but maybe- just maybe. You laid your head against his back and took a deep breath, focusing on the smoke smell more than the metal. You relaxed even more, your arms going slack. Tuning out the noise of the bike, the rumble of Logans breathing, and the bite if the cold against you hands, it was easy to say you fell into your own little world.

Logan found it stange. He listened to your heart relax and ut piqued his curiosity. What type of mutant were you, anyways? Why were you so skiddish? So quiet? So traumatized?

All he said yesterday was that you were using his mug. It was like you went into an intense trace, and it acctually worried him. Not a single soul in the school acted like you did- and everybody had their own shit to deal with- but you acted so special.

Did it have to do with your mutation? It wasn't something he could think on long, he had to focus more on driving than on you.

The time passed like a blur, and before you knew what was happening, the bike was slowing on the gravelly road of the mansions driveway. When the bike stopped completely you muttered thanks under your breath, slid off the bike, and beeline towards the door, not even looking at Logan. You felt his eyes burn holes in the back of your jacket, but you ignored it. You were itching to get to the back of the mansion, craving to get to a safe spot from prying eyes of children to suck down a cancer stick. You didn't even bother to take off your bag or weave. Just straight through the front door, through the hallways, and out another, more discreet door.

Finally leaning against the brick, you mumbled the fresh pack out of you pockets, tearing off the plastic and putting the garbage in your pocket. You felt the cool metal of the zippo and quickly tugged it to bring the flame to the cigarette you had already unconsciously put between your lips.

The first inhale felt like euphoria, like a drink of fresh water after walking in a desert for two days. It made every bit of tension melt away and made the pit in your stomach feel a little fuller. You quickly sucked it down, finishing down to the filter in record time. Maybe. You could take a nap and awake at dusk like your body needed.

[just-mary-ann]

Sneak peek of my newest showtime fanfic about TADC Harlequin AU.

Sequel to my other work on ao3 "Purple"

TADC Harlequin AU BY @tadc-harlequin-au

Lilac

⚠️WARNING ⚠️ A liiiiiiitle suggestive talk between two personalities.

____________________________________

Caine and Pomni were cuddling in the Puppetmaster's bedroom. Since Pomni's mind had short-circuited, causing her to behave like the Performer Harlequin for a while, they had grown closer. However, Pomni still struggled to accept her feminine side. And now, she was dreaming of her dark subconscious.

"This... is Caine's office." Harlequin looked around.

"It's comfortable here. And there's something to read." The voice from the sofa reached Pomni's ears.

Harlequin drew her sword and pointed it at the source of the sound. Performer Pomni lay on the sofa, reading a book.

"You? B-but how? I killed you!" Pomni shook her head in denial.

"You dispelled me, yes." Pomni closed the book and stood up. "But no matter how you look at it, I'm a part of you. From now on and forever. So..." She awkwardly spread her arms and smiled.

Combat Pomni's right eye twitched, and a yellow light flared up in it.

"GO TO HELL!" She lunged at the second personality with her sword. Performer Pomni easily and gracefully dodged. "What? How did you dodge?"

"We share skills and motor memory." Pomni began examining her left hand. "So predicting your moves isn't hard. Plus, I have access to your memories."

"I already know that last part," Combat Pomni sheathed her sword. "You showed me a memory of a battle in the smoke back then."

"Yup. I love playing with the past." Performer Pomni placed her hands on her red cheeks and wiggled her hips. "And I have a special fondness for how gently Caine hugs us."

Combat Pomni blushed, trembling with rage.

"WHY THE HELL ARE YOU DIGGING THROUGH MY MEMORIES?"

"Oh, cut me some slack." Performer Harlequin put one hand on her hip and waved the other dismissively. "You won't let me enjoy his touches. Let me at least drool over them."

Combat Harlequin cooled down a bit. The angry grimace left her face.

"So if I give you access to the body, you'll stop rifling through my memory card?"

A purple eye sparkled. Performer Pomni playfully ran her hand through her hair, letting it flutter.

"Oh. Is a deal in the making?"

"I haven't promised you anything!" Combat Harlequin pointed a finger in Performer Harlequin's face. "But I'm willing to listen to you. By the way," Combat Pomni crossed her arms. "what should I call you? Just 'slut' isn't an option."

"WHY DID YOU GIVE ME SUCH A NICKNAME?!" Performer Pomni's turn to get angry came. But she took a deep breath and exhaled, pressing a finger to her cheek. "How about Lilac? A shade of purple, like my eye."

Pomni nodded.

"Alright, Lilac, I'm listening."

"Okay. For starters," Lilac thought, her cheeks burning bright red. "I want to spend hot nights with Mr. Puppetmaster."

"Go to hell. Any other requests?" Pomni said absolutely neutrally.

"Oh, come on. It's the same body! He won't notice the switch!" Lilac stomped her foot in frustration. "Well. Either you let me have fun with him once in a while, or I'll keep digging through your shared memories and enjoying the view." She haughtily raised her nose.

"Argh. Fine. One night in one lunar cycle." Pomni showed one finger.

"Not fair. That's too little. I want once a phase." Lilac showed four fingers.

"Deal." Pomni agreed through gritted teeth. The two personalities shook hands. "Then sit tight and don't bother me until the new phase starts."

"Actually," Lilac covered her mouth with her fingers, "tonight is the new moon."

Pomni's mind short-circuited. Right. How could she forget?

"Well, it's already started, so it doesn't count. Wait until the end of the first quarter." Pomni felt something between fear and awkwardness for the first time.

"Nuh-uh." Lilac wagged her finger side to side. "Don't you dare refuse me. We agreed. So tonight, I'll be enjoying the Puppetmaster's warm and pleasant touches."

Silence hung between Pomni and Lilac.

"Fucking nympho." Pomni broke the silence.

"Look who's talking!" Lilac retorted indignantly.

to be continued

[oil-rigging]

Thinking about Helmut and how I feel like his character was influenced by isolation experiments but also how surprisingly well adjusted to those isolation experiments he was.

Maybe I’m still on my Psychic Six (Seven) kick (I totally am) but it’s honestly extremely important to me that Helmut didn’t remember exactly what any of his friends and husband looked like to the point where he mentally replaced their faces with things that he did have knowledge of at the time, which are his senses. Also, his perception of time slowing (or hastening?).

The sensorium only really came about after he’d inhabited the body of Nick Johnsmith from the Mail Room, and had suddenly been thrust into a new body with no preparation for how different the world is from his own little quiet place. I’m sure that between the time Raz first placed his brain in Nick’s body and when he actually formed the sensorium, Helmut figured a couple things out. Yes, the things in his face show him the world, the things on the side of his head give him sound, we see him licking things, etc. He even asserts, before we dive in once again, that he remembers the proper equipment used to dampen those senses; ‘A blindfold? Earplugs?’

I suppose that sort of comes with being a powerful and practiced psychic who has probably broken his mind countless times with the help of his buddies, that he becomes much more aware, much quicker than previous experiments simulating similar circumstances.

Like Michel Siffre, who isolated himself in a cave for, like, 180 days and came out in such a bad state that he was hallucinating, not speaking right, and had developed a permanent squint. His memories and sense of self, also, deteriorated. Sound familiar? The fact that Helmut had such a grasp on his motor functions after 20 years is frankly astounding.

I know it’s fictional but I’m allowed to tie real life findings into analysis of a game I like and no one can stop me. We’re coming back to Siffre in a moment.

It’s impressive to me that Helmut’s memories of his friends, husband, and even himself stayed somewhat intact in some points but not others. Like— he knew Bob liked plants. He gave Bob a hat with a potted plant on it. He knew what clothes his friends tended to wear. He knew Cassie’s hairstyle, and Ford’s. He just forgot their faces (which, historically, tend to be hard to remember), and his mind went; ‘well, these people are as integral to me as my ability to navigate the world around me, so I might as well represent them as one and the same’.

Back to Siffre. His study displayed that, without the ability to keep track of time passing, his body adjusted to a 25-hour cycle rather than a 24-hour one. Siffre said that five minutes felt like two minutes when he counted to 120 seconds, and thought that he had spent one less month underground.

Once again— sound familiar? Time means nothing to a man who was trapped in his own head for 20 years? Wasn’t he certain that he was left alone for a lot longer than he actually was? Maybe this is like Siffre counting to 120. Five minutes feels like two minutes. Longer stints of smaller time feels shorter, shorter stints of larger time feel longer. That last bit wasn’t actually proven or anything, I’m just trying to relate it to the concrete stuff I found.

I also think it’s really cool that the body’s internal clock is typically free running rather than set— between 24 and 25 rather than a strict 24, and some known mutations wherein some humans have a 23-hour cycle. One of the main influences of this is light, which Helmut wasn’t seeing, as he wasn’t seeing anything.

Anyways, sorry if all this is disjointed in any way, I just think it’s really cool that Helmut’s character and abilities might have been influenced by someone’s past studies on Michel Siffre or something like that. I have a quiz today anyway, which is unfortunately not about the body’s internal rhythms or the effects of Michel Siffre’s studies on space exploration and psychological communities, because I am an engineer, not a psychologist, and therefore any time I spend doing things I actually like (i.e. researching for this post) is time I spent not studying. But worry not, dear friends, I enjoy this infinitely more than I enjoy what I’m being quizzed on. Oiler, out!

[answer2jeff]

fixer-upper. // lip gallagher

lip x biker-girl!OC

warnings : public sex, oral (m!receiving), praise kink, light to rough hair-pulling, unestablished relationship, intense and obvious flirting, porn with plot and detail, mentions of smoking (tobacco), cursing, OC is just as full of herself as Lip, knows she's a bitch, kinda has a weird sense of possessiveness over him?? clunky and overly detailed writing with a journaling/diary style.

authors note : trying something a little different! using the first person POV with an original character. first time writing this way—still getting the hang of it <3 this is REALLY long...sorry.

song : beauty school.

disclaimer : you can picture the OC however you like! her name is really just used for aesthetic purposes. there isn't much description on her appearance other than the fact that her hair is long enough to put it in a ponytail. enjoy!

Great. Fucking great.

One of my tires is punctured. The visor in my helmet is cracked. My elbows are etched with surface level scratches and dried blood. And the engine cover of my bike has finally snapped off. I had it coming. It was an old piece of rusty junk from my cousins garage sale from 2012, anyway. But it had charm. I knew I was gonna miss that bike for the good couple of hours, possibly days, I would reluctantly end up leaving it in a repair shop down the street from my apartment.

I can hear the squelch of skin, the seal between my hot breath and sweaty skin breaking as lift my helmet from my head. I hope to feel a rush of cool air, but the humidity tells me to go fuck myself. I'm pulled over onto the curb. I can't totally remember how I got there; being in the middle of the street on a scorching summer day wearing denim shorts that chafe up my inner thighs and rub my skin until it is raw and red and unbearably itchy, was not my vision for today. My handlebars are loose. That would explain it.

If I just take it to Born Free Cycles, leave it overnight, and come back in the morning, I can act like this whole thing never happened, and I'm not horribly irresponsible.

40th West View Ave.

Oh. I'm close actually. Barely a block away. I should go there now. I can call Mikey and have him drop me and the bike off at the garage. I'll see that kid with the grown out buzz-cut and black motor grease on his knuckles that somehow always transfers and blots on his face. Specifically on his strong jaw and right before the peak of his hairline. I wonder if he notices. Maybe he doesn't clean it off because it gives him edge that he doesn't need. Like the nickname on his name tag on a black uniform hadn't given his thirst for trouble away already. And the circles under his eyes are almost the same shade of smudged charcoal grey.

I wonder if he notices.

—

"So the engine cover popped? Just—" he shrugs, looking up at me as if I can't understand him "clean off?"

The sunlight bleeds in through the open garage door. It shines behind Lip, casting a shadow that makes his face hard to see perfectly. But I know the look he's conveying. His eyebrows are raised but drawn slightly closer together, his teeth are gnawing at the inside of his cheek so he can stifle a smile and the laugh that will follow soon after, and his blinks remain slow. I try not to smile too. But I fail.

I've only been here about 3 times, really. The first time was to get handlebar grips from Eddie. That was when I saw Lip. I chose not to make any kind of move, but it ate at my insides until the second time. That time was with Mikey. I was preoccupied with the blue-eyed kid, propped up on a workbench and throwing mindless flirty implications at him while he took long drags from a cigarette, to remember why Mikey was even doing there and why he dragged me along with him. His laugh, the playful eye-roll after I complimented his sweat-laden blonde curls weighed down by heat humidity, told me he was on board.

But I wasn't done.

I knew this time I'd pounce for what was mine.

"Yeah," I breathe out, crossing my arms and peering down at him, "And I mighta' been redlining the RPM a little too much. Probably fried the fucking thing."

Lip nods, the corner of his mouth curling up just a bit. He beckons his hand toward himself, telling me to kneel down beside him to inspect the bike. "This things kinda old, huh?" He teases, turning his head to me and finally letting a real smile break. It warms something in me. I shrug. He glances at my white tank-top, covered in black stains of dirt and oil.

"It's not great, no. It's a piece of shit. But it's cute!" I play along with him, taking the hairband on my wrist and twisting my hair into a high ponytail. Lip huffs though his nose, shaking his head and laughing again.

The next couple of minutes are filled with him telling me things I already know. Things I was too exhausted to manage on my own, defeating the whole purpose of why I was here. Fuck the bike. I know what's wrong with the bike. I know it's an old piece of junk and it's barely salvageable. You should know why I'm here. And maybe you do. But you should do something about it.

Lip has this way of speaking to me that feels ridiculously sweet and overly 'cool.' I know it's just his cadence and his cockiness, but I like it. I like that he thinks it makes me swoon. Partially because he's right, but mostly because I've mastered hiding it. He doesn't see my heart pound or the rising heat in my abdomen when he cracks his knuckles or puts a hand on my shoulder and let's it travel down to the small of my back when I crouch down beside him to look at another motorcycle he's trying to save. I'm almost certain he convinces himself that my gestures are nothing more than a meaningless flirt. I simply find him attractive, as does everyone. Nothing more.

But he's got it all wrong.

He knows my intentions somewhat well enough to the point where he can't not flirt back, though. He knows I haven't stopped him from letting his eyes travel from mine to my lips whenever I speak. He likes that I let him light my cigarettes for me. But he doesn't know this isn't just for fun. I'm so hyper-aware that it isn't out of the kindness of his heart. And neither are his compliments and lame jokes he makes to impress me. He treats my attraction to him as fact, but my genuine interest as a possibility.

Again, he's wrong.

I can't wrap my head around how he could reciprocate my efforts without ever pushing the envelope and asking to exchange numbers, or if I had a boyfriend, or maybe he had one of his own. No, no. He'd tell me if he had a girlfriend. He is, above all else, loyal.

Lip's what I want. I meant when I said his hair looked nice. I meant when I gave him a 20-dollar gratuity and a peck on his cheek just for giving me a repair cost estimate on my shattered headlight. I smile any time he says my name: Maeve.

Hey Maeve, back so soon, huh?

Hand me that box, Maeve.

Y'alright, Maeve?

Yo, Maeve, wanna bum one?

Maeve, Maeve, Maeve.

—

"Think you'll be back tomorrow to pick it up? No rush, though. I can keep it 'till you're ready," Lip asks me, leaning against the wooden workbench littered with microfiber towels and tools. His swell arms are crossed to his chest. I nod, coating my fingertips with a thin film of spin while I fish out some cash from my beat up faux leather wallet.

"A-huh. Thanks," I hand him 6 twenties before glancing at the opening of his button-down uniform.

The corner of my mouth lifts itself into a knowing smirk, my hand on my hip as I shift my weight to it, making my chest stick out and my spine bend correspondingly. My lips hang open a measly centimeter apart before I draw the bottom one between my teeth. I watch him sort through the cash, biting down harder on the flesh of my lip when he freezes.

"Looks like you're a good 15 short," he barely mumbles, looking up at me through his eyelashes. His brows narrow down to me again. I click my tongue coyly. I step closer to him, my hand, with fingernails painted black, pushing the cash in his palms down and his arms down with it.

"About that..." I pause, tilting my head with a look of naivety and not bothering to push away the strand of hair that has fallen from my ponytail and over my eye. Instead, I wait and let Lip set the pile of cash down and draw the curtain of my hair open to reveal my face. My stomach twists on itself, and I can practically feel his chest rising and falling with every anxious breath in my own lungs.

I beg to whatever higher power lies above us in this garage that a kiss will work. Not that it usually doesn't, but my form isn't as confident as it typically would be. The guys I wrap around my finger aren't as driven as Lip is. And God, none of them are part of my tantalizing daydreams nearly as often as he is. I picture his rough hands exploring me, squeezing and rubbing over the valleys of my skin. I imagine his breath is hot with the taste of mint and cigarettes. Every part of me wants to know if my predictions are accurate. If he's the type to sink his teeth into my neck and shoulder blades just to apologize to the reddening skin with open-mouthed kisses. The anticipation kills me. It's enough to swallow me whole.

"...Maybe I can pay you back a different way?"

I barely whisper and Lip scoffs, glancing away from my gaze, scanning the area just for it to be completely empty. He comes back to me. His eyes go a little wider than before. Almost to say, 'oh shit, you're serious?' I stick my tongue between my teeth and tug on his uniform, feeling the fabric rub between my sweaty fingertips. My eyes watch Lip's adam's apple bob as he swallows a breath.

"Yeah?" He thumbs my bottom lip and pulls it down, his free hand traveling down to my hip and pulling me closer to him, "what were y'thinking, Maeve?"

"Mmmm," I hum while pressing my hand against his chest while the other cups his cheek, and I let the pad of my thumb graze over the grove of his defined cheekbones. "Dunno yet."

My teasing is much to Lip's dismay, but he handles it quite well. It's sobering to see a guy as seemingly self-involved and easily impressed play into my mind games. It only pushes me further, and he knows it. I crash my lips into his, my hands anchoring themselves on his shoulders for support. He sighs into me, a hand reaching down to hook a finger through the belt loop of my shorts and drag me closer to him. His hand cups my cheek and pulls me into his mouth to let his tongue slip past my own. And he tastes just as I expected. Minty, smoky, and mine. I practically grind my self onto him in complete desperation, feeling him harden under me. Every roll of his hips threatens to send me over the edge. And fuck, his muffled groans of pleasure against my mouth that ring in my ears are hypnotic. But even with his sturdy, growing buldge forcing the fabric of my shorts to press roughly on my clit, I need this to last.

Blissfully and ever so slowly.

I finally pull away to catch my breath, the buck of our waists slowing down. My head feels fuzzy and heat rises in my cheeks when I open my eyes to see how flushed Lip's face is. Even the tips of his ears have turned a little red. I smile, giggling like a teenager who just kissed her crush in a closet at a house party as a dare. He laughs back in a way that asks 'what are we even doing?'

"Thought you had a boyfriend."

I pause, my eyebrows knitted. I try to think of who he could possibly be referring to.

Ah.

"Who? Mikey?" I try not to laugh, looking around to the imaginary audience to check if they're really hearing this nonsense too, "ew, no. He's like my brother."

Lip lets out a breath of relief he almost didn't realize he'd been holding. It surprises me. Probably a lot more than it should. But hey, for the other 3 times I've been here, I kept asking myself why his flirting was just as intense as mine, but he never asked for my number or made a true move on me. To think that my friend had been unintentionally cockblocking me with his ridiculous height and horrid American traditional tattoos all over his arms, and it wasn't because the guy had a girlfriend...it's almost funny.

"Oh," he replies, his eyebrows raising. Now both of his hands rest at my hips.

"What? Is that why you left me hangin' when I did this?" I press a kiss against his cheek, my palm rubbing over his shoulder to pull a chuckle out of him.

"I guess so, yeah. Just didn't want him to kill me for getting to close t'you," he kisses my cheek, smiling again.

"Geez. Mikey wouldn't hurt a fucking fly. He just...looks scary. Plus, nobody tells me what to do."

"Noted. Glad to hear that, actually."

"Mikey is—" I pause, biting the inside of my cheek "a sweet guy."

"Uh-huh."

"Too sweet. And I hate the aftershave he uses. He's—he's entirely too much."

"Mm."

"Whatever. Shut up."

"Didn't say anything," he shrugs, trying and failing to act clueless.

Fuck. He's fucking glad. He's glad I don't have a stupid-waste-of-my-time-cockblocking-boyfriend on my hip who's constantly watching my every move and stopping me from giving all of myself to Lip. Hell, I'm glad too. Very glad. With one swift movement, I take matters into my own hands again. I undo every last plastic button on his uniform, snaking down his chest and abdomen. I latch onto his neck, biting the skin and sucking a bruising hickey. He shivers beneath me and wraps his hand around my ponytail, huffing breathless chuckles and slowly getting more and more frustrated with my agonizingly slow, torturing pace for foreplay.

I bend my knees to begin my descend to the ground, kissing down his torso. My hands travel down his sides. Lip gently lets go of my hair to lean back into the workbench, never letting his head reel back so he can carefully watch me tenderly adhere to his needs while anchoring his hands behind him for support. I giggle to myself, relishing in the affect I have on him.

Shit. This is risky. Screw it. Pretty girl without a boyfriend who tips in 20 dollar bills and blowjobs? How could I say no? No part of me wants to back out, Lip's mind races, his grip tightening on the wooden slab as he clenches his jaw.

I wonder if he's nervous. Or maybe he's done this time and time again: fucking a girl right in this garage. Possibly bent over this very work bench. Those girls must've been so easy. I can bet on my life that they were never as fun, never as wet, never as needy as me. This would be different. I wouldn't give him everything he wanted and more that quickly. A girl deserves to have her fun. She deserves to watch the overly confident guy she's fancied for weeks, who continues to play hard to get, squirm and writhe with every slight of hand she gives him.

And that's exactly what I'm doing.

"Y'having fun down there?" Lip chastises me, chuckling lightly to himself as he tilts his head down to get a better look at my face.

My kisses stop right above the waistband of his jogger pants. I look up at him pleadingly through my lashes, my eyes big with lust and cunning seduction. I pull the middle of the waistband down just so I can drag my tongue across the exposed skin just centimeters away from his cock. The curls of his happy trail tickle my chin, but the full body shiver and the shaky exhale of "fuck," as he tries to keep his composure, makes it so worth it. He finally shuts his eyes, head reeling back. I lick my lips and smile, cupping his groin before he can even think about looking back down and feeling the blood rush to his cock again. His twitching dick underneath my palm sends me sitting on my heel, ready to slowly rock my hips down into it to fill my desperate need for friction. My cotton panties are definitely soaked.

I can't waste any more time.

I remove my hand from his crotch and quickly pull his pants and his boxers down with them. They pool at his ankles, and his cock strains hard and leaking sticky, crystal clear pre-cum from the thick and aching tip. My mouth nearly drops. I admire every vein, letting my hand wrap around the base of his cock once I've spit into it as makeshift lubricant. I'm so lost that I don't even register Lip peering down at me, swallowing impatiently.

"My, you're so worked up, Lip. And I haven't even started." I don't bother to look up at him as I rub my hand up and down his shaft, worried his pretty face will distract me. But I can picture him perfectly.

"Fuck you," he huffs through a struggled laugh, covering his mouth as he groans in pleasure at the feeling of my hand squeezing his cock every once and a while as I slowly pump him up and down.

"Later," I retort. I bite down on my bottom lip, looking up at him again for permission. He nods, almost as if he's able to read my mind. My eyes shut and my stomach flutters. Soft lips cover the head, swirling my tongue over the slit. His tip leaves my mouth with a loud pop, and I lick a bold stripe along the thickets vein I can find.

"Jesus, fuck, Maeve!" He writhes, his breath hitched in his throat by me hollowing out my cheeks and taking nearly 3/4 of his total length into my mouth. Moans of pure bliss at the feeling of his cock enveloped by the wet warmth of my mouth echo through the garage. I fear he's too loud, but I decide not to care. Not now.

My hand pumps the rest of his cock that I don't fit into my mouth at the moment, while my free hand reaches for his. My eyes remain closed and my sucking maintains a steady pace as I bob my head up and down his cock. I grab his hand and set it on the top of my head, but he hesitates.

"W—you sure, Maeve? I don't wanna hurt you," he swallows, accidentally bucking his hips into my mouth and running his unoccupied hand through his sweaty curls. I detach myself from him, wiping the mixture of pre and spit from the corner of my mouth and finally looking up at him.

"You won't," I take a deep breath, "I won't let you. I'll tell you if 's too much, kay?"

"Okay. Maybe just—" he clears his throat "tap my leg 3 times? And I'll...uh—I'll let go? Yeah?" He looks beautiful. Flushed, bare, and oh so needy for my touch. I wish I could keep him like this forever. He's so compliant, so understanding. But part of me knows that once I let him do this, it'll show me the side of him I've really been praying to see.

I nod, smiling contently and feeling myself blush when he twirls his fingers around my ponytail again. He bends over just the smallest bit to cup my chin and smile back. The pad of his thumb grazes over my skin before he lets go. I take it as my sign to go back, pressing my hands against either of his thighs and feeling clit jump with excitement when Lip tugs at my hair the moment I take his cock into my mouth again. I bob my head up and down, my eyes rolling back when his tip hits the back of my throat. Tears prick at my waterline as I struggle not to cough.

I grow even more desperate. My hand dives into my shorts and I slide two of my fingers inside of me, unfortunately never living up to the potential size and feeling of Lip's. The continuous ram into my gummy and tender spot causes me to fall apart, whining with his dick occupying the space in my mouth.

"Oh my God," Lip nearly whines, his grip tightening as he guides my head up and down his dick, but it's so gentle it never startles me, "so fuckin' good, baby. Jesus, fu—ah..keep doin' that. Yes, fuck.."

My tongue swishes over and under his cock in mind-numbing patterns, and I can't help but let little muffled moans escape my throat and vibrate against him. He almost can't contain himself: bucking his hips and practically fucking my throat. I do my best to cancel out the occasional gag so quickly he won't feel guilty and possibly stop.

Use me, I think.

Usually, I'd take the lead, never letting a head pusher take the role. But not this time. Lip's so pent up, so stressed with the complexities of his life. This is a kind gesture. One that involves tears of struggle spilling out of my eyes and streaming down ky cheeks. But fuck, I love it. It's filthy. It's nasty the way I nearly suck him dry. I can't remember the last time a blowjob was this fun.

"Such a good girl. Y'know that?" He looks down at me, biting his lip as his eyebrows knit in pleasure and desperate need to cum down my pretty little throat, "how'd you get so fuckin...so fuckin' good at this, baby? Shit—feels so good."

He babbles over and over again, and I'm taking strategic breaths through my nose and speeding the pace of my fingers as they thrust in and out of me so I don't stop him from releasing the way he absolutely deserves. Finally, he pulls my ponytail tighter than he ever has, warning me that he's about to cum, but by the time he tells me, it sends down my throat. He groans out, releasing my hair and going limp. I swallow the salty substance, blinking out the last few tears in my eyes and sliding my fingers out of me.

—

Lip: 1 message.

Hey. 11:47pm

Hey. Miss me already? 11:52pm

Something like that, yeah. 11:56pm

What's up 11:58pm

I get off early tomorrow. Just wondering if you wanted to come by the shop and hang out for a bit? 11:59pm

Sure. See you then. xoxo 12:03am.

—

current taglist : @lemmejustpulloutmylightsaber @sexyyounglatinoboy @febris-amatoria

[putaposyinyourhair]

Slowly but Also Like All at Once

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6 | part 7

noah diaz x mirage (cause i love them, your honor)

warnings: none except that it’s a little angsty and noah’s got a lot of feelings and he throws around some f-bombs

just a little angst-to-fluff reunion between the boyz

A static crackling fills the air for a moment.

“Yo, Sonic?”

Noah sighs softly as the incandescent lighting above flickers, carefully setting down his soldering gun before he reaches across the work table to grab the walkie-talkie.

“What’s goin’ on, Tails?”

One of the alley cats that usually hangs outside between the garage and the next building makes a noise that’s halfway between a hiss and a yowl, and when Noah looks over to the open window, his brows arch as he realizes it’s dark out already.

“Any sign of Knuckles?”

Noah frowns, pulling his gaze away from the window and over to the empty spot in the corner of the garage— the spot with the motor oil stain on the ground that Noah can never bring himself to clean up.

Even though it’s definitely high time. It’s been months.

He huffs out a soft breath of air, mentally cycling through the answers that are starting to feel almost programmed by this point.

Kris, he ain’t coming back.

Kris, he’s gone, man.

Kris, stop asking me shit I don’t have the answers to, dude.

Instead he goes with something a little more sensitive.

“Negative.”

Kris sighs loudly over the air and Noah almost smiles. Kris gets increasingly more frustrated the more he asks about it. But every couple of days, without fail, he asks.

And every time he does Noah has to look over at that spot of engine oil on the ground and feel his chest do a weird twisting thing that he really doesn’t like.

“Ma wants to know if you’re coming home for dinner tonight.”

Noah rips his gaze away from the empty corner and glances down at his watch.

Fuck, it’s late.

And he had promised to be there for dinner.

“Yeah, I’ma be there.”

He gets up, gathers the things he doesn’t like to leave in the garage overnight— his more expensive tools and some of the gadgets he’s working on fixing for people— into a cardboard box. He tosses the walkie-talkie into his backpack and throws it over one shoulder before he pulls his keys from one of the drawers and starts heading for the door. He’s almost there when the alley cat outside yowls again.

Noah pauses, the sound reminding him to shut the window before he goes.

He crosses the garage, picking up the pencil he’d forgotten behind on the table as he goes. He shoves the yellow No. 2 pencil between his lips and balances the box in his hands with one hand so he can reach up to shut the window and lock it. He sees a dark little shadow scurrying back and forth down in the alley and rolls his eyes as he turns to head for the exit.

Crazy fuckin’ fur ball.

He steps outside then sets the box down right next to him so he can lock up after himself, still rolling the pencil between his lips and digging his top teeth into the shaft, making little indents as he hums softly— probably some tune he’d heard on the radio earlier.

When the door is locked, he shoves the keys into his pocket and turns, bending slightly at the waist so he can reach down and pick up his cardboard box. Only, he stops short— still kind of bent over— when he’s suddenly swathed in a beam of light and he realizes there’s a car parked not four feet from both him and the garage’s doors. Which is strange because almost everyone in the neighborhood knows Noah’s garage has got those old-fashioned swinging doors instead of the sliding ones.

Noah straightens and shields his eyes from the bright headlights keeping him from being able to see if he can recognize the car.

What kind of fucking dumbass leaves his car parked halfway into the street anyway?

The headlights blink off, almost as quickly as they’d come on, and it takes Noah’s eyes a second to adjust.

Wait…

He knows that car. He knows that silver paint and he knows those blue stripes.

That’s not a car at all.

“Miss me, baby boy?” a sly voice rings out from inside the cabin after a brief crackle of radio static.

Noah’s lips part in surprise and the pencil drops silently to the ground, rolling away a few feet before coming to a slow stop.

“Mirage—” Noah gasps out softly, utterly stunned. “You’re…”

He trails off, not sure what to say.

Last time he’d seen the autobot, Mirage had been deathly silent, still stuck in the form of the suit of armor he’d transformed himself into in order to protect Noah during the battle in Peru.

Now?

Now the cybertronian looks completely restored. Shiny and sleek, sporting a fresh coat of paint and looking exactly like he did the first time they’d met— when Noah had tried to boost him from that garage.

“Here? Back for my boy? The sexiest bot on the block?” Mirage lists off and before Noah can even think to reply, the mech goes on. “Yes to all but especially that last one.”

And Noah, he’s not usually the type of person to give into his emotions so quickly— being ex-military, it was just kind of always ingrained into him to shove emotions aside and focus on the task at hand— but something about seeing Mirage again, hearing the bot speak in that energetic little drawl of his, it does something to Noah.

His chest does that twisting motion again.

But it doesn’t necessarily feel like a bad thing this time around.

“Fuck, man,” the words are exhaled shakily. “I…”

Noah’s not sure why his thighs are suddenly feeling kind of numb or why his knees are threatening to buckle but they must be doing some kind of trembling because Mirage takes note.

“Whoa, hey,” the words ring out clearly from the radio as the mech’s altmode inches forward so the Porsche’s front bumper can steady Noah’s unstable legs. “Didn’t think I’d have you swooning over me this fast.”

Noah is still in a well enough frame of mind that the joke registers and he puffs out a short breathy laugh even as he reaches out to place both hands on the warm surface of Mirage’s hood, to not only help stabilize himself but also to kind of prove to himself that this is real, that it’s really happening.

That Mirage is back.

That Mirage hadn’t just forgotten about him.

That the last time he’d seen Mirage get taken away by Arcee and Bumblebee hadn’t been the last time he’d ever see his friend.

That Optimus Prime’s parting words weren’t true.

“Optimus, please,” Noah begs, completely unashamed, his eyes full of tears as Bumblebee carries Mirage away, followed by a sullen Arcee who keeps glancing over her shoulderpad at Noah. “Please, just let me try, man! I can fix him.”

“I am sorry, Noah,” the gruff leader of the autobots tells him, a new sympathy that hadn’t been there in any previous words spoken between them present in the tone of his voice. “But Mirage is in a state you cannot help him out of.”

“I can try!” Noah argues, stomping his foot like a child as the speed of his beating heart continually increases the further Mirage is carried away from him— it kind of feels like the organ is trying to rip itself out of his chest, almost as if he’s going to have a panic attack. “Man, please—! Please, let me help him. I… I owe him that much.”

“You have my gratitude for all you have done to aid us, Noah,” Optimus tells him with an air of finality that clearly means none of this was ever up for any debate. “Primus willing, we will not meet again.”

Noah shakes his head violently, wishing he could physically beat the memory away with a baseball bat.

Mirage’s radio emits a quiet, inquisitive whizzing sound.

Noah’s entire body shudders in response.

“Shit, I missed you, man,” he confesses finally, as Mirage’s engine purrs underneath the palms of his hands. “I thought… fuck.”

He’d thought he wasn’t ever going to see Mirage again.

He’d thought Mirage was dead.

He’d thought…

The Porsche’s driver-side door swings open with a soft click.

“Wanna ride?”

Noah honestly doesn’t think he’ll ever say no to that question.

[not-my-final-account]

I flew back into the cave with my backpack and stepped out of a shadow, it made Robin flinch and that was worth it “Don’t be sad B, you’re nearly as good as him and you don’t have powers.” Red Hood said

“Do you eat human food?” Nightwing asked

“I can.” I said, Nightwing considered that and I realised it might look like I take blood just because I can. “We’ll let me show you to your room,” Nightwing started walking so I followed him.

-

“I know you hate magic users but he’s definitely something supernatural.” I said

“I know.” B grumbled

“He easily followed Dick and Dick clearly was not going easy on him.” Damian said

“Besides.” Tim cut it “He has that walk, like what he’s doing is too slow for him and there would be an easier way to do this, like with Superman and Clark Kent?”

“How long do you think he’s been alive?” I asked, “You know, if he’s a vampire?”

“Old as heck, he was experienced enough to know B wasn’t a vampire and he’s seen Demons.” Tim said

“That is ridiculous.” Damian scoffed

“Murder child is right, demons are rare and living after you’ve seen one is pretty much zero. Their like ghosts but way more common!” I said

“What if he’s not a vampire?” B asked. Silence.

“He was drinking blood.” I said

“And did you see the way he looked in the first few seconds?” Damian asked

“He is better and phasing from shadow to shadow than you! Better at the night than the Batman!” Tim said, B seemed to sulk a little more and I smiled behind my mask “He switched sides of the room without being seen by us!”

“That would take either years of practice- as in hundreds of years or powers. He probably has both.” Damian said

“Just considering all possibilities.” B replied

-

“Thank you!” I said. Nightwing closed the door and I fell down onto the bed in a belly flop, I changed back to my human form then switched back in a few seconds, now that I could do it for ages and even keep it up while knocked out I figured I should. Gotham was a dangerous city (seriously, both new and old ghosts keep coming to me and I have to let them use me to get to the ghost zone) and I should have my powers ready, also I have a whole vampire thing to keep up now.

What else do vampires do? Vlad certainly looks like one, in ghost form at least, that thought made me sigh. Vampires were hated and distrusted but not hunted down on sight like ghosts were, somehow I doubted Gotham would be any different. Besides even if ghosts were kept safe what would people think about a halfa? I was sent here to live not worry! I can’t wait until I can see Sam and Tucker though, oh well. I yawned, you’d think being a halfa meant needing less sleep because ghosts have this weird relatioinship with sleep, but in reality it just meant I got twice as tired because I use both human and ghost things almost constantly.

-

I drank from my thermos and sat on a high outcropping, I watched as a motor cycle roared in and a delicious Red Hood stumbled off. I wasn’t going to go close when I realised the smell was stronger and his eyes were glowing green. He had too much ecto in his system for a human!

I flew down quickly but Jason jumped me, I held him down and bit his neck cleaning his blood from the ecto. Jason thrashed in my grip then calmed down. I know personally that big changes in ecto levels can have effects so I stopped drinking, this was a slowly take more each time kinda thing.

“P-Phantom?” Jason asked, he slumped down and any human would’ve had trouble carrying him. “The pit rage.” Jason said, I’m going to look into this pit

“Don’t worry, you need rest, ecto- pit stuff can be dangerous.” I said, I cleaned the last ecto off my teeth and Red Robin and Nightwing came running

“Jaso- Did You Bite Him!?” Red Robin yelled

“… no.” I said, Nightwing gave me a look and I remembered the news report about which robins were the most violent, the one which showed him beating up some super villain, and handed him his brother.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

[itsduckinghard]

INTERVIEW

James May: ‘I don’t think you realise quite what a catch I am’

The TV presenter, 61, talks about motoring, middle age and the perils of running a pub

Friday December 20 2024

James May thinks he was slightly drunk when the words came tumbling out of his mouth. “Possibly also a bit aggrieved and feeling a bit pompous,” he adds with a shrug. That’s when he told his long-term partner Sarah Frater: “I don’t think you realise quite what a catch I am.”

May is sitting in the study of his west London home. He shows me a home-made cushion with those words beautifully cross-stitched into it. “Sarah thought it was so funny she went away and immortalised it for me,” he says. “Whenever I sit on it I feel I’m the man I always wanted to be.”

May is about to turn 62. He looks ruddy-cheeked and happy having just enjoyed a weekend of playing music (piano and flute), cooking, cycling and “making things”. Of course, he’s best known as one of the larking uber-bloke presenters of the BBC’s Top Gear and latterly Amazon’s The Grand Tour, but it sounds like he’s ready to take himself a bit more seriously.

“Maybe it’s just reaching the age where you don’t care so much what others think,” he says. “My resolution for 2025 is: be a bloke. Don’t be ashamed of it. I think blokes are having a bit of a hard time at the moment. That’s not to say women are not too, but there is a small but vocal group who hold middle-aged men in contempt. We are supposedly boomers who had it too easy but I don’t believe that. I think most men are OK and need to stand up for themselves a bit more. Our job is to be practical, dependable, philosophical and, yes, poets to some extent.”

May was always the thoughtful, practical, dependable one in his long-running partnership with Richard Hammond and Jeremy Clarkson, and was christened Captain Slow by the latter for his efforts. The trio announced their retirement from The Grand Tour earlier this year. Last month May started a new Discovery+ series called James May and the Dull Men, on which he lugubriously talked us through his collection of Japanese chisels. Is he basically in mourning?

“No. I think Jeremy, Richard and I gave the format a really good thrashing and now it’s time to let a younger generation have a go,” he says generously. “The idea was to land the car show format safely and not fly it into a cliff. We only cleared the cliff by a few feet but I think it will survive. I do my best to be a contemporary human being and embrace new ideas, but we were very much rooted in an Eighties and Nineties view of what motoring is about. It needs a fresh take because the subject has never been more interesting.”

On paper it’s been a tough year. May was paid a reputed £7 million a season for The Grand Tour and his travelogue series (also on Amazon) Our Man in … was also cancelled this year. “But I’m not one to sit around in an easy chair farting and thinking about what’s for dinner,” he says. “There is still so much I’m interested in — things I’ve neglected while rolling my eyes at Jeremy in exotic locations.”

Despite their obvious differences (May has previously called Clarkson “an arse”), the two men share similar interests. Clarkson opened a Cotswolds pub, the Farmer’s Dog, in August, four years after May bought a share of the Royal Oak in Swallowcliffe, Wiltshire, near where he has a second home. Clarkson also co-owns a brewery, while May has launched his own line of gin with the help of a Wiltshire microbrewery.

He insists this isn’t a simple branding exercise. He actually sat down with a local distiller and they came up with a rather esoteric range of botanicals that includes Asian Parsnip, which fuses “the dampness of England” with his love of Asia, and London Drizzle, which was inspired by “the smell of rain on hot London pavements”.

That sounds like a joke, but don’t say that to May lest you unshackle the nerd within. “No, no, no, it’s a real thing,” he insists. “After rain in the capital the water re-enlivens decaying organic herbaceous matter and their spores give rise to the distinct petrichor smell. With exactly the right type of beetroot, juniper and other ingredients you can create that flavour. It’s wonderful.”

If May is excited by his venture (it seems odd there isn’t a Captain Sloe Gin), he is having a tougher time with his pub. He was approached by a TV company to make a series about his struggles similar to Clarkson’s hit show about running a farm, but said no. “I declined because it’s a brutally hard business, and who wants to watch a man throwing his savings down the toilet?” he asks. We run through some of the landlordly hardships. Prawns are now so expensive they’ve had to remove them from the menu. The septic tank needs attention. The 18th-century building needs constant repair. “Basically there’s an endless list of countryside bollocks to attend to,” he sighs.

But you can tell May knows what he’s doing because Clarkson, despite having barred both May and the prime minister Keir Starmer from the Farmer’s Dog on the day it opened, has actually been in contact asking for advice on how to run it.

“Jeremy Zoom-called me to ask whether it was a worthwhile project and I told him, ‘Do it for your community, but don’t expect to make money.’ Even a really, really good pub will only break even. Most fail and the budget has only made things harder.”

May insists he is a terrible businessman and will not make any money from his pub or gin ventures. However, booze is clearly central to his life. While away filming The Grand Tour, he and Hammond formed James & Richard’s Drunk Philosophical Debating Society, in which they’d get sloshed and discuss conundrums such as: “How do you know a dog is a dog?”

“I have yet to hear a satisfactory theory,” he says. “The variety of shapes and sizes is much broader than with cats, so how do you define it?”

What with the gin, the pub and being a vintage wine connoisseur, I know a lot of people who’d think … “Yes, I know, I know,” he says before I can finish. “People assume you are a raging alcoholic.”

Do you drink every day? “Yes, it’s fairly unusual for me to go an evening without a drink. I have a very strict six o’clock rule, though sometimes I’m watching the clock at half-five. Of an evening I will often have a gin and tonic, some wine and a few beers in the pub. I don’t think it’s harmful. I think it’s good. I recommend it wholeheartedly because even though it’s cliché to say, ‘It’s a social lubricant,’ it’s true. Drinking makes it easier for shy people to have sex, which means more children and therefore a bigger workforce.” May and his partner never had children. In the past he has said it was too late for them (they met when he was in his late thirties), even that older parents raising children was “unfair”.

“Maybe ‘unfair’ was a bit strong,” he says. “But when I was at school there was a boy whose dad was the same age as my granddad and it felt weird. And that actor who recently had a child with a much younger woman? [He means Al Pacino, who became a father again at 83 with his 29-year-old partner.] He’s not going to be around very much is he? Then again, you can be young and still not be around much, so who knows?”

May would be a great dad, I say. All that practical knowledge. What child wouldn’t want to see their father attempt to cook dinner in a washing machine (one of May’s recent experiments in the Dull Men series)? “I have a ready audience of nieces and nephews,” he says. “But listen, if anyone wants their child to learn how to fix a puncture, send them to me.”

He and Sarah will spend Christmas at home with family in London and then head to the Royal Oak for new year celebrations. May says they do a very good feast which includes wines and his gin. He has even got over the fact they removed his signature fish pie from the menu without telling him.

“It was there for about three days but then quietly withdrawn,” he says. “Sometimes in life you have to accept that people know better than you. That might sound like something I saw cross-stitched on to a cushion too, but it’s also true.”

James May’s perfect weekend

Wine or spirits? Both

Car or bike? Bicycle because it is one of the greatest inventions of all time

Piano or flute? Piano

Gammon or woke? Even with all its problems, woke

Bar queue or bar scrum? Scrum

I couldn’t get through my weekend without … … a gin and tonic

[yugsly]

What’s your ethnicity? (I hope this isn’t a weird question)

You know, I actually had no idea until last year because I'm adopted. So, I took a test to find out, and...

LOL, but the answer was Polish & French lineage mainly, and a little British too. I've been told I "look Polish" in the past by randos so I guess that tracks. Something about my gray eyes?

I've also got vampire in me, though. My birth mother was a goth vampire model... that's what I do know about her. Never got to meet her. Birth father is a total mystery. Only seen one pic of him on a motor cycle- don't even know his name. Lotsa stuff I'll never know!

Not a weird question really though!

[the1entirecircus]

The Batfam’s Pokémon Teams

Considering that I’ve already done the Justice League’s Pokémon teams and their enemies’ Pokémon teams, I thought to might as well give the batfam their teams. But since I already did Batman on the Justice League list, he will not be on the list.

---

Alfred Pennyworth

Indeedee (Male)- Alfred is most famously known as Batman's Butler, so giving him a butler pokemon would be both useful and helpful.

Leavanny- His day-to-day duties as the butler of Batman, Alfred is always repairing some type of clothing for the Batfam.

Drampa- It is commonly joked around in the community that Alfred is the one person in the batfam you do no want to mess around with. Drampa are known for their kind nature that comes with a destructive outcome if enraged or needing to protect the children it cares for which reflects Alfred a great deal.

Blissey- Another representative of Alfred's caring side.

Polteagheist- He's british and likes tea.

Inteleon- Alfred has a history in the military and being one of the few batfamily members to actually utilize a gun. Him having an Inteleon seemed like a No-Brainer to me.

Many of Alfred's pokemon were chosen simply because they could be found in Galar, which is the Pokemon equivalent of England. The exception of course being Leavanny, but it is still a fitting pokemon for him to have.

---

Nightwing

Hitmontop- This is a reference to Dick's beginnings as an acrobat in Haley's Circus. I can see this pokemon being one of Dick's first as he was given it when it was still a tyrogue.

Marowak- Both a nod to the fact that Dick is an orphan and how he covered for Batman.

Swellow- Visually speaking, Swellow slightly resembles Nightwing, especially if we're talking about his DCAU adaptation with the Mullet/Long Hair.

Rockruff- Yes, Haley is a shiny Rockruff with one leg.

Cyclizar- This was the last pokemon I had to come up with, and so my brain suddenly reminded me of Motor Cycle Monday from Teen Titans Go. Considering that Nightwing does use a motorcycle sometimes, this makes sense for him.

Greninja- A stealthy pokemon that relates to espionage in some way. Seems fitting for Nightwing during his time with Spyral during the New 52

I wanted to pay homage to everything well-known about Dick Grayson/Nightwing. With the exception of his bubble butt, his team references his time Haley's Circus, the fact he's an orphan and became batman, being Nightwing in General, and others.

---

Oracle/Batgirl

Swoobat- Considering her history of being used as just a love interest and not being regarded as an actual character, Barbara having a Swoobat felt like a decent choice.

Rotom- As Oracle, Barbara can hack and mess with enemy technology like how Rotom can infiltrate different machines.

Gardevoir- The reason I gave Barbara a gardevoir is sort of an edgy reason. Gardevoir's whole thing is that they are fiercely loyal to their trainers and will protect them at all cost. Now, what happened in the Killing Joke still happens in this universe, so that means that Bab's Gardevoir couldn't protect Babs. This would lead her Gardevour to become very depressed but overall determined to help her trainer more.

Mienshao- Barbara knows martial arts

Magnezone- Barbara is one of the most well-known (Idk if she was the first) person in the chair. So, her having a pokemon that can receive signals seems useful.

Venusaur- If you saw my Legion of Doom post, then you can recall that I gave Joker Toxicroak because of his adaptation in The Batman tv series. My choice in giving Babs a Venusaur is based on her relationship with Poison Ivy in that series. Not saying thats exactly the case in my HC universe however.

While some of the choices felt off even for me, overall I'm satisfied with what I did for Batgirl's pokemon team.

---

Red Hood

Old Team

Primeape- Many who think of Jason as Robin remember him as being angry and very impulsive, and while that isn't entirely true, this pokemon does reflect that side of him.

Fletchinder- The evolved form of the robin pokemon to represent Jason's intimidating side.

Snicket- Jason's Post-Crisis reintroduction showed him as a car tire thief of crime alley.

Cubone- A nod to how Jason was initially just a clone of Dick Grayson (in terms of character, not a literal genetic clone) and how it was his desire for his mother's love that got him killed.

Zorua- Although reflective of Jason's older-self, Zorua's tricky nature of disguising itself to hide from others is a good way to show what Jason would end up like.

Snubbul- Another representative of Jason's personality, many see him as a tough guy, but really he's just a sweet guy with attachment issues.

New Team

Annihilape- After the accident, Jason's Primeape would evolve into Annihilape. Annihilape reflects how the lazarus pit drove Jason mad upon his own revival.

Staraptor- An edgy bird pokemon that likes to be alone it does reflect Jason's isolating tendencies whenever he gets into fights with bruce.

Alolan Marowak- Since Batman and Nightwing both have Marowak, Jason holding having his Marowak post-accident is reflective of this. While his "Alolan" Marowak only became this way due to the Lazarus Pit, it still has the reasons for becoming one. Jason also possesses spiritual abilities thanks to his resurrection, and Alolan Marowak reflects that the best.

Hiusian Zoroark- According to the lore, Zoroark came back to life out of spite. While Jason had no choice in the matter, first being resurrected by one of Superboy Prime's reality-altering punches and then having his memories return thanks to the lazarus pit, if Jason could come back to life out of spite, he would.

Doublade- A reference to the All-Blades, Jason's Doublade is a meta-pokemon that has a new move Blight Slash and a new ability called All-Good. Blight Slash is a physical steel-type move that does super effective damage on dark type pokemon. All-Good resists the effects of any dark type move.

Hydreigon- For a while before the New 52, Jason was considered a complete villain against the batfam. Hydreigon's brutish nature is meant to reflect that.

The reason why I gave Jason two teams is because the explosion that killed him would also kill some of his pokemon.

---

Red Robin/Robin/Drake/whatever Tim goes by now

Talonflame- Talonflame is the most visually similar to Tim's uniform as Red Robin (I'm refering to the times he uses the Black and Red costumes of course)

Farfetch'd- A reference to the time he went by the Drake

Vikavolt- Tim is often regarding as the tech wizard Robin out of the five that have taken the title. This is also a reference to how Tim "died" by a bunch of drones firing at him.

Pancham- Given that Tim has many alternate versions of himself that are evil, Pancham reflects that given that it evolves into a dark type that needs the help of another dark type to evolve.

Komala- Tim is often given this headcanon that he is constantly sleep deprived and needs coffee. And while there is no coffee pokemon, there is a pokemon that is constantly tired.

Reuniclus- The time when Tim tried to clone Superboy to bring him back.

I will admit, I struggled with Tim's team. I wanted to give him a pokemon that represented his bisexuality, but none really fit.

---

Spoiler/Batgirl

Clodsire- You're going to look at me and tell me that Spoiler wouldn't own a Clodsire? It has her color scheme and everything (most of her color scheme anyways)

Swoobat- Steph was first introduced as a possible love interest for Tim Drake. She

Talonflame- A reference to her time as Robin.

Pikachu- This feels like a pokemon Steph would have

Espeon- Spoiler's whole gimmick is that she investigates a villain's scheme and then spoils it to the public. Espeon's ability to predict enemy attacks helps reflect this. Also gives her a counterpart to her bff, Cassandra Cain aka Orphan/Batgirl

Goodra- Goodras are silly and affectionate, and Steph is often portrayed so as well.

Most of these pokemon were easy to come up with.

---

Orphan/Batgirl

Banette- Banette is the most visually similar to Cassandra's costume

Noivern- Given that Noivern is the best looking Bat pokemon (fight me), it would be dumb not to give it to the best-looking batfam member

Sneasler- Given her ninja skills, Sneasler feels like a fitting option. And if you feel that isn't a good idea since Sneasler are probably extinct in the pokemon world, how do you know they're not in the shadows?

Umbreon- a representation of both Cassandra's nightly activities as well as her character arc.

Kommo-o- A representation of her time with the league of shadows.

Most of Cassandra's pokemon are reflections of herself like the other pokemon teams.

---

Robin (Damian)

Alolan Meowth- A reference to Alfred the Cat, Alolan Meowth was specifically chosen because of its...demanding nature and how it takes a close bond to make it stronger (or evolve it)

Noivern- A reference to Goliath, Damian's Noivern is a meta-pokemon with red fur and scales along with an extra set of wingless arms. It has the ability "Brutal Beast" which causes moves like Outrage to do 1.5x more damage.

Miltank- A reference to batcow.

Pawniard- Being that he was raised in the league of assassins, Damian would of course own a pokemon connected to

Fletchinder- He's Robin, of course he has a Robin Pokemon.

Lucario- A reference to Titus and how Damian grew close to him.

Damian's pokemon team was pretty simple given that he has his own collection of animals from his adventures of being Robin.

---

Batwoman

Gliscor- While a member of the bat family, Batwoman doesn't tend to follow the rules such as no-killing and no-guns. Yes I know Jason doesn't follow this rule either but still.

Bisharp- Given her military background, a Bisharp would reflect this. It would also hold an Eviolite.

Sawk- Batwoman has lots of martial artist training

I gave Kate a smaller team as she would rely on her guns more often. Also because I struggled to come up with anything else.

---

Catwoman

Meowscarada- While she is no magician, Catwoman is however quite elusive. Her having a Meowscarada as both her partner and starter pokemon felt fitting.

Persian- Selina Kyle in some continuities is the daughter of Carmine Falcone "The Roman". Persian is often seen by the side of the evil Giovanni, so the addition of this pokemon to Catwoman's roster felt fitting.

Sableye- Sableye reflects Catwoman's constant thievery of jewelry and such.

Lopunny- one of Catwoman's abilities is her athletic skill and she is often sexualized, so Lopunny is fitting for her.

Initially, I was going to give Selina a bunch of cat pokemon but then I felt that was too simple. She is more than just a Cat burglar after all.

---

The Signal

Midday Form Lycanroc- This pokemon was chosen because it prowls during the day just like Duke does.

Kilowattrel- Matches his color scheme

Gallade- One of Signal's power's is to see a little bit into the future by refracting light.

Same problem I had with Batwoman, couldn't come up with much.

---

Batman (Terry McGinnis)

Crobat- This one is obvious, but its because he's da Batman! (Or in this universe, he's Zubatman)

Toxtricity- This is why

Scrafty- Because of Terry's messy life, he picked pokemon that sort of reflect that attitude.

Gothamite Revavroom- In Neo Gotham City, a new species of Revavroom started to appear because of all the advanced technology. Now Steel/Electric, Neo Gotham City Revavroom races through the place as it hunts prey. It has the ability Surge Surfer to help boosts its already high speed so that foes can never gain the advantage. This choice was of course because of the flying batmobile Terry has.

Marowak- Terry lost his dad in the first episode.

Incineroar- Terry has to fight through a level of imposter syndrome in Batman Beyond: Return of the Joker. Incineroar reflects this through not being a fighting type but also having fighting type elements.

---

Up Next:

Titans' Pokemon Teams

Previously:

Justice League Pokemon Teams

Legion of Doom Pokemon Teams

[renard-dartigue]

I never realized its been 50 years since Goncharov came out. My dad handed me a rare vhs copy his cousin purchased in a dollar store in NYC many years ago. I saw this film back in 2009 when I was just a little fella, completely ignorant to what good cinema entailed until I was exposed to this greatness.

My mind was BLOWN.

I told my friends about it and after watching it together, they too were enamored.

We laughed, cried, and were cheering by the end of the film.

No longer were the playground filled with games of patty cake and freeze tag. NO. We only played mafia, exchanging gold and diamonds (rocks) for elicit substances (dry erase markers). If one of the kids ratted out our dealings to the authorities (teachers who were in on it) we would "kick him out of the family" (an iconic line the Boss uses when his favorite son betrayed him to the Russians) We tried bribing the authorities but they were "too clean for it".

But after a while, we stopped playing because we didn't really have any competition. How were we supposed get into cool action fights if we were the only gang on the block. We got bored.

Admittedly, I don't think any of us really understood what the film was about. We just thought the action was cool.

Oh, the scene when the weiner dog pulls up on the motor cycle to save the main character from a 50ft fall off a cliff was pretty rad.

Its a shame I no longer have a vhs player to watch this amazing film again. 😔

Happy 50th anniversary Goncharov.