#no fucking way that would be possible without all-out fighting in the street. the job of the police is among other things to keep

[purple-is-great]

Finnish media: a police officer on horseback rode into someone when breaking up a protest so that the person fell down. that was fucked up and probably not allowed

People in the comment section: well it's their own fault for not moving out of the way. the police told the people to move so anything that happened after that was their own fault.

[dilfstar]

daddy dearest

realdad!leon x daughter!reader 3k words. warnings ! incest, forced ddlg, infantilization, slight coercion, drugging, fingering, oral (f), piv, daddy kink, loss of virginity, creampie notes ! mega super awesome thank you 2 @localkiss for the idea and so much of this... wouldn't be able 2 do it without U i love u 🙏 ignore how fast the pills kicked in... just go w it ☹️

You were old enough to move out, get a job, live on your own, be an adult. But he had other plans. What kind of father would he be if he let his sweet, innocent daughter out into the cruel, harsh world? Where people could get you, men could grope you, ruin you! Just the thought of it made his skin crawl…

Leon made sure you stayed home, safe, and tucked away in your childhood bedroom. The walls were still painted in a light pink. Though, the decor was more reminiscent of a 5-year-old's room. Toys and coloring books were everywhere, with stuffed animals watching your every move. Yikes.

All of your old clothes were thrown out, too mature for his liking. What? Was he supposed to let his little girl wear next to nothing around the house? What if he had company over! His friends would eye-fuck you into the next century!

It wasn't like you didn't try to fight it or leave. You just couldn't. He put stuff in your food. You know he does. But how are you supposed to stop him when you can barely walk long enough to get to the bathroom on time? Your legs were turned into useless sticks from all the pills he snuck into your food!

He lived in some kind of delusion. Some made-up world where what he's doing to you was good for you, saving you. Fucking freak! You're his daughter! Not some random girl he met on the street, not some fucked-out whore he picked up from a bar. His child, his own flesh and blood. What kind of dad fucks their own daughter?

A good one! At least according to his definition of the term. A good dad should fuck his daughter’s brains out, leave her full of cum and barely conscious. It's his right. He deserves this after all the years taking care of you!

He didn't really care how you felt about the situation. Why would you be thinking about it in the first place? You're just his dumb little baby, too high to even eat on your own. You needed Daddy for everything. You needed him to feed you, change you into your cute little outfits, bathe you, fuck you until your body gave out. 

He ruined you. Leon took and took and took until you were nothing, just a doll for him to use and abuse with his twisted fantasies. He was a sick, sick man. A sick, twisted man you still loved. More than anything in the world. How could you possibly hate him? He's your daddy! He's just looking out for you.

It all happened so fast. Starting from a simple movie night with your dad. A few too many beers making you a little too needy, clinging to him like you did when you were little. The way you rested on him, used him as a pillow. Oh, it made his heart squeeze!

Your voice was so soft as you cuddled up to him, mumbling Daddy over and over. Leon raked his hands through your hair as you laid your head on his lap, so, so close to his dick. The way you wiggled around so much made it so difficult for him to keep it together. Such a tease, just like your mother.

Maybe that's why he loved you so much. You looked just like her, after all. Same hair, same nose, same lips… He needed you. He needed you so badly that it hurt. His cock ached, craving something warm around it. Something tight. Something perfect, like you.

You would be the best thing, right? I mean, you’re literally made just for him. Meant to be used as his personal fleshlight. The thought of any other guy touching you made him sick to his stomach. He deserved to be the only one! That's when it all clicked inside his head—the perfect plan coming together.

Leon carried you up to your old room, setting you down on the twin-sized bed like a princess, tucking you in with a gentle kiss on the lips. You tasted so sweet, like the strawberry chapstick you always put on. “My beautiful angel… All mine…”

He planted another kiss on your forehead before leaving, running down the stairs to the garage to get some boxes of your old toys and clothes. He had to get everything set up while you were asleep, so you could wake up to your (his) dream!

Your head was pounding the next morning, the sunlight coming in through the window not helping. The sudden attack of pink woke you up instantly. Every single inch of the room you were in looked like a little girl's dream come true. The number of stuffed animals and dolls around you made your eyes burn.

You looked down at the outfit you were wearing, a shocked gasp falling from your lips. What could've possibly happened last night for you to be wearing something straight out of a Justice catalog? In what world would you willingly put on something this childish? 

The door opened, revealing a smiling Leon carrying a tiny cup in his hand, a few pills in the other. “Hey, sweetheart… ’m glad you're awake. Was starting to get worried! Here, I brought you some medicine. Should help with your headache…” 

He handed them over to you, sitting on the edge of the bed as he watched you swallow the pills. His stare was focused directly on your body, as if he wanted to pounce on you and attack. It all felt so off, so nauseating. Why was your dad staring at you like a piece of meat? Why did you wake up to all of this?

The room started to spin, your vision blurring as your head hit the pillow behind you. Everything felt so hazy, like a fog rolled into the room, blocking all of it from your view. “Dad… Daddy… What’s happenin’...?”

Leon crawled over to you, pulling back the fluffy comforter, revealing your bare legs underneath. He had to bite back a groan; the sight of you, his daughter, so vulnerable made him feel crazy. His hands moved up your legs slowly, inching towards your inner thighs, pulling them apart to reveal the pink and white polka-dot panties covering your core. He leaned in, inhaling your scent like it was the antidote to an illness he'd been suffering from forever.

“Shh… Just rest… “Daddy's here.” He mumbled, his breathing shallow and fast. His fingers looped underneath the waistband of your panties, gently pulling them off and pocketing them. He needed something for later!

He poked and prodded at your cunt, smiling like a perv at how perfect you looked. The light touches, mixed with his soft breaths sent chills down your spine. Your hips bucked as he brushed against your clit, disgust immediately washing over you. Why was he touching you like this? Why did you like it?

“Need t’see if my girl is a virgin… Make sure she saved herself for me…” He placed his thumb on your clit, pressing down gently, groaning at the way you shuddered from the slight contact. This shouldn't be turning you on. He's your dad, for crying out loud!

He spit on your pussy, eyes twinkling as the glob of saliva dripped down your slit. His fingers moved down to your hole, mixing the spit with your juices as he pushed a digit in. He started with slow, simple movements, soon adding another finger, and then another. 

They moved inside of you so painfully slowly that you wanted to scream at him to move faster! But whatever he gave you earlier made your tongue feel so heavy, your arms and legs felt like 40-pound weights were tied to them. All you could do was let your dad tease you like some jerk.

“Seems like you did… You did so well… I think you deserve a reward, yeah?” He pulled his hand away, causing a small whimper to escape from you. He stared up at you so sweetly, as if you were a princess awakening from a years long slumber. 

Leon leaned down, immediately diving into you. His nose bumped against your clit as he ate you like a starved man at a buffet. His tongue thrust inside of you, lapping at your wetness like an animal. He groaned into your cunt, loving the way you tasted. If he was on death row and got offered his last meal? It would be you.

“‘m close… So close…” You whined, desperately trying to squeeze your legs around his head, still feeling too fuzzy to move a muscle. All you could do was squeeze your eyes shut and move your head, your body feeling too much like it was encased in cement. How were you already so sensitive? It’d barely been 5 minutes, and you were this close? 

The room felt like it was spinning again; all of your nerves felt like they were on fire. Pleasure shot up your spine, exploding in your head like a fireworks display. The word Daddy fell from your soft lips like a mantra. Your mouth could only form the one word, your brain filled with thoughts of him. Your breath hitched in your throat as you came, eyes shooting open and rolling to the back of your head. “S’too much… Too much! No more…”

He sat you on his lap like usual, grabbing a spoonful of whatever mushed-up food was on the pink plate in front of you, bringing it to your mouth while making airplane noises. Your mouth fell open like usual, allowing him to shove the head of the spoon in. He wasn’t a bad cook, no. He was just weird. Weird for making you act like a little girl at your age, weird for turning you into a toy.

You just wanted your old life back, when you had friends and other people to talk to. Acting like a kid wasn’t exactly the most fun thing a girl could do. Though you didn’t necessarily hate some of the attention he gave you. How fucked up is that? Liking the way your own dad touches you? What kind of sick freak acts like- Oh. I guess the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.

He frowned at the way you denied the food, the dull look in your eyes. Why couldn't you just be good for him and eat it? Why did you always have to fight him on this? 

The plastic spoon hit the plate, food flying off it onto the table. His hand moved to your face impossibly fast, fingers digging into your cheeks, squeezing them together as he turned you to face him. “What did I say about acting bratty, hm? No treats for disobedient little girls.”

His grip on you was bruising, his nails digging into your skin, sure to leave crescent-shaped marks. The way he stared into your eyes terrified you. Anger hiding behind his blue irises. He was pissed. He was beyond pissed. Why couldn't you just listen?

“I told you not to do this again. Remember what happened last time? Y’wanna do that again? Sure seems like you do…” Your eyes widened as memories of that night flashed through your mind. The bruises he left all over, the red marks on your ass—how you couldn't sit properly for a week! The threat made you curl into yourself on his lap like a small child being yelled at for stealing from the cookie jar.

He released his grip on you, patting your cheek lightly with a sickly grin. Leon pulled down on your chin, opening your mouth enough to shove the spoon in again, making sure you swallowed the food. “Now, there's a good girl… So good for Daddy, yeah?”

He held onto your jaw as you ate, making sure you couldn't refuse him more. What kind of daughter disobeys their dad? Bad ones. What happens to bad daughters? They get punished.

His punishments were cruel, just meant to be pleasurable only to him. Spanking you with his belt, tying you to your bed, taking away your toys. His favorite was fucking you until you passed out! The way your eyes fluttered shut, how you went limp in his arms. God, he loved it. He loved how scared you were of him, the look of pure fear in your eyes was enough jack-off material to last for weeks!

His fingers curled inside of you, squeezing against the spot that made you see stars. Your head was spinning. Every inch of your body was on fire. “Daddy… I can't do any more… Please!!” You squealed, crushing his wrist between your thighs.

Your hands gripped the pink sheets beneath you for dear life, holding on as if you were about to fall off the side of a building. Bliss shot up your spine, filling you with a feeling of delight and pure disgust. All because of your dear, sweet father.

He smirked down at you, the sight of you writhing underneath him sent all the blood to his cock, the pajama pants he was wearing suddenly feeling a little too tight. “That's it… There's my girl… Y’think you're big enough to take me yet? Think you're ready for me, baby?”

Yes, God, yes! You wanted to scream it, let the world know you wanted to get fucked by your dad! But sadly, all you could do was nod. You looked like a stupid bobblehead toy, silently begging him to rail you into the next universe. None of it mattered when you had him, though. 

He chuckled at how enthusiastic you were, leaning forward to place a tender kiss on your lips, tongue rubbing against your bottom one, asking to be let in. You deepened the kiss, arms wrapping tightly around his neck, pulling him in close. His hand left your soaked cunt, wiping itself on his pants before moving to the back of your head. He slotted himself between your legs, rutting against your heat as he made out with you. 

His free hand snuck down to his pants, pushing them and his boxers down just enough to pull his dick out. Leon pulled back from the kiss to look down, smirking at how wet you were. He looked up at you for a moment, a sympathetic look in his blue eyes. “This is gonna hurt for sec… Promise I'll be as gentle as I can…” And with that, he slowly pushed in. His head fell at how wonderful you felt around him, like you were already shaped perfectly for his cock.

“S’okay… I’ve got you.” The stretch absolutely burned. It felt like you were in some medieval torture device. At least the drugs he had you doped up on dulled some of the pain…

He moved his hand back to your clit, thumb moving in small circles, trying to make it at least a little more pleasurable for you. He pushed and pushed, inching in slowly until he was buried to the hilt inside of you. His chest heaved as he caught his breath for a moment, the whole situation now overwhelming him. “I’m gonna move now, ‘kay?”

With a small, comforting smile, he pulled back, shoving into you all at once. His thrusts started slow as you adjusted to his size, trying to be careful with you, terrified to hurt you. How could he live with himself if he hurt you without meaning to? Punishments were one thing… But actually harming you? It’d kill him!

Once he fell into a nice rhythm, all rational thoughts flew out the window. The fear of hurting you was gone, he couldn't care less about it now. It was like a switch flipped inside his head. Your walls just squeezed him too perfectly, clamping down on him like a vice.

It all felt so perfect, like it finally made sense. The disgust that was in you melted away at the feeling of him pounding away at you, just using you for what he wanted. It sent your heart into overdrive, the organ beating against your ribcage. Your head dropped back onto the mountain of pillows behind you, cushioning it while you let your father take advantage of you.

He felt like a teenager again, like he did before he met your mother. She was a good fuck, sure, and he did love her, but it just never felt as good as this. Nothing could ever compare to you, to how you felt around him. The way your velvety walls hugged him so wonderfully made his heart flutter in his chest. 

“Daddy… Daddy! S’too much… Can't do it… I-I can't!” You whined, shaking your head from side to side like you were throwing a tantrum. You felt too sensitive, his touches too much for your body to handle. The coil inside of you felt like it was about to snap, like it was about to explode! You didn't know if you could last much longer, and neither did he. His pace got sloppy the closer he got, hips stuttering inside of you.

He finally stilled as thick, hot spurts of cum coated your walls, painting them in a milky white. You squeezed around him, cunt refusing to let him go. Your orgasm hit you like a wave, legs twitching around his waist, accidentally pulling him in impossibly closer. You whined involuntarily as he pulled out, feeling too empty inside without him. He almost came again at the sight of his cum dripping out of you, staining the sheet below. 

“You okay, baby? Are you hurtin’ anywhere?” He checked over you frantically, looking into your eyes like a madman. All you could do in return was give him a sloppy, fucked out smile. A smile that made all the worry in him dissolve. He crawled off the bed, snaking his arms around you bridal style, carrying you off to the bathroom. “Let’s get you cleaned up, yeah?”

[thefourthwifeoftengenuzui]

some headcanons about dating timeskip!Kenma please!!

thank you Anon, I would absolutely love to share some stuff about this beautiful boy~ As always, feel free to send any other requests you got, I’ll be more than happy to share my thoughts~

status: unedited

word count: 1.4k (damn that’s the most I’ve written in a hot minute)

warnings: cursing, pure fluff, mentions of weed, crackfick a little suggestive? Idk man I’m sleepy

wrote this instead of studying for my physics final exam😋

🩵Aged Up Kenma Headcannons🩵~

Ok first off we gotta get the basic facts down. This boy may be sweet as sugar, but he’s also one lazy mother fucker. And For the most part, I’d say that he really doesn’t change much from when he was a kid. The most I can say about him, is he definitely is a lot more confident being in front of people, ( I mean that’s kinda his job now, but bear with me) and has become less awkward around people. Very different from when he first met Hinata, he can actually hold a good and relaxed conversation now. That’s not to say he isn’t introverted anymore, (he definitely still would rather be at home) but he is more confident in himself to be able to actually be able to engage with someone. Is he gonna go out of his way to talk to someone? Hell no, but he can at least handle being approached without overthinking and triggering his anxiety.

This definitely also translates to his relationship with you. You still will have be the one who makes the first move, or at least initiating conversations.

But one things for sure, once he likes you, he loves you. Like wanting to wife you up regardless of gender. And I feel like, (later on in the relationship ofc) if you ever had kids, he would be the best most present dad ever. Like he wouldn’t be a house husband, (his YouTube gig is completely paying for your mortgage) but because the majority of what he does has him, stream for like an hour, go on call for a few minutes, or just edit his videos for a bit, he would be able to make a lot of time for any and all children he has. But that’s way later on in the relationship.

Once he’s comfortable in the relationship with you, I can definitely see him involving you in his content. Not like a whole boyfriend and girlfriend couples channel, but like a once a year “reacting to fucked up shit with my girl” type beat.

And since we’re on the subject of content, <<<<<<<<

Like imagine having the most shitty day possible and you come home to your boyfriend streaming COD or some shit. You just face-plant into the bed next to him and he snaps his head towards you.

”shit baby you good?” he asks as he raises an eyebrow, looking at you concerned as you mumble angrily. He recognizes the nonverbal gestures and just pats his lap with a quick, “c’mere baby,” and hugs you, letting you muzzle your face into his neck away from the camera, and wrapping a fluffy blanket around you, before he kisses you head and say, “gimme ten more minutes to finish this and we’ll order some takeout k?”. He gives you the most sincere and adorable smile ever sending butterflies not only to you, but all his fans watching, as he smiles and goes back to playing like nothing happened, the chat going wilddddddd. (My gay ass heart go brrrrrr)

I know for a fact that somewhere out there in haikyuu internet, there is a corny ass edit of y’all doing that shit, trust. (I need to keep my slang outta here man 😭)

ok, getting off the sidetrack, kenma is still like rlly introverted. Like his ideal date is just sitting at home watching some cheesy studio ghibi movie (His favorite is the boy and the heron, fight me on that, it’s the hill I’m willing to die on.)

If not some cute Disney movie, I also feel like he’d be into like some mystery or like not quite horoscope stuff. Like I feel like he would really be into Wednesday. If he had to watch an actual horror movie, I feel like I’d be like some of the older ones like scream or Nightmare on elm street type shit.

Speaking of scream, I feel like at least once yall would have to do the ghostface couples costume thing. Like I feel like this would just suit him so well. Idk my brains just going feral on it right now. (This was supposed to have a link attached, but it kept fuckin up and I’m to lazy to deal with it so just look it up, the couples version, it’s hot af)

aside from the specific stuff that I know people hate reading, the next thing you gotta know about this version of kenma is he is a TEASE. Like not even like an NSFW type tease. Just like a “he’s an ass but I love him.” Like when he was younger I feel like he was too nervous and flustered to point that kinda stuff out. But now? Man is a menace and a half. The type of dude to be like, “I have no idea how your ass fits in those shorts. Oh no, you’re not taken them off now~” or like the most basic annoying shit like bro fuck off and let me cuddle you in peace without being annoying. Like, he’d be like, “ damn someone’s neady today~ you tryna fuck me in front of everyone?” Like bro stfu I’m just tryna cuddle. Either that or he’d call you clingy for returning the affection he initiated. Like bro, quit being a lil bitch and let me be happy you butt muffin.

Man is putting full pussy into annoying you. He’s the type of guy to call you the most vile, disgusting, cringe ass nicknames, specifically to piss you off. You need him to take out the trash? “Yes my Pookie Wookie McSmoo Moo bear~” *gags while writing this* You’re yelling at him for some stupid thing, “I sorry my sugar booger~.”

Yeah this part is real OOC, and I was gonna write more but I physically cannot bring myself to do it so anyway, his other 3 favorite things to annoy you by calling you is, Cutesie Poopsie, Shnookums, and side piece #2. (Bro I just gave myself the ick)

Beige flags aside, he does have some green ones . For example, he’s a fabulous listener. Like, you just wanna rant and yell about your day? C’mere babes, he already got fluffy blankets, stuffies, and fluffy socks at the ready. You just wanna cry in piece? Looks like his lap has a vacant spot, he can play games and scratch your head at the same time. #bbgtreatment (regardless of gender. If tumblr has taught me anything it’s that nobody is to thug to be bbg, can I get an amen?🙏 )

The more comfortable he is with you, the more he will make jokes, but in the most monotone voice ever. Like you could be ranting to your bestie on the phone like, “I forgot my umbrella at work… yeah I’m soaked,” and you just hear him from his corner calmly shouting “that’s what she said,” not even turning away from his game, as if it was natural to him. It’s always so easy to talk with him, unless it’s about his problems, but we ain’t gon talk about that rn, I’m feeling too fluffy.

There is one thing that I absolutely have to address for this man though. The average female height in my country is 5’4. And Kenma is only 5’6. Chances are, he’s not gonna be towering over you or nothing. Especially if you a tall specimen like me. (AFAB but gender is a construct yolo on those hoes). So chances are, this mf is for a fact, stealing your clothes. No article of clothing is safe. Hoodie? Sorry boo he got cold streaming. T-shirt? None of his were clean. Miniskirt? Onlyfans- He was pulling a Gojo sorry 😋

Tbh I don’t see him ever really having a wedding, or really ever getting married. Too much social interaction and attention on him. Gross. The most I can see him doing is, one night while y’all smoking pot or something, being like “yo wanna get married?” He wants to be with you forever without the government getting involved, but hey, times are tough, and marriage helps with tax returns. So y’all just kinda go to the courthouse, get it done, then fly off to some place to elope.

in all Kenma is just a great loyal guy, who is the biggest pain in your ass, but the biggest cutie patootie this side of the nuthouse.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ hope y’all enjoyed, this was so fun to write, if you liked this and want more content like this make sure to request and check out my other stuff. Love y’all bastards, Thots and Enby Hots🩵

[buryustogether]

fucked

viktor vektor x f!reader

word count: 2k

warnings/tags: pining, age gap, some descriptions of masturbation and sex, blood, street fighting, vik’s down bad

summary: while watching you in a street fight, viktor thinks about what’s holding him back from you.

author’s note: wrote this in class so it sucks

Viktor knew he was fucked the first time he saw you, in tow behind Jackie with a broken arm and a bloody smile that made his stomach clench in the best way possible. He knew he was fucked when you started coming around more often, bringing dinner and gossip from your latest jobs. He knew he was fucked the times you used his gym to train, and he would pretend to work while watching sweat drip down the back of your neck and imagine licking it off with the flat of his tongue.

Yeah, he was fucked.

And it was all on you.

Viktor exhaled a sigh as he locked the clinic door, then tread back down the dim stairwell and back into his cave - at least, that was what you called it. He’d shut up the place early in anticipation of the fight preparing to happen at this moment.

But this wasn’t one of his matches he watched on the network. This was a match taking place in a Kabuki back parking lot, filmed on a cellphone, streamed on an app that forced him to connect his tablet to his television so he could watch it without squinting. This was a winner takes all, loser gets shamed and maybe dies of a brain bleed later kind of fight.

And you were participating in it.

Grabbing the screwdriver he often fiddled with on his mechanical fingers, he dropped into his rolling chair so that he sat backwards and raised his arms to rest on the backrest. Absentmindedly, he began to tinker with his cyber appendages and trained his eyes on the screen.

When you’d come into the clinic last week and told you about this fight, he was wary, to say the least. You would be going up against Simon Shredder - an infamous street fighter known for pulling mantis blades on his opponents when the match wasn’t going his way. You had assured Viktor you’d be fine. You had Jackie there with you.

Viktor had snorted at that. “Like two of you is going to be a match for a half-crazed backstabber and his dozens of fans.”

“You’re always free to come along,” you had told him while you steadied the punching bag. He hadn’t been able to stop himself from glancing at the tops of your sweaty breasts, hidden behind your sports bra. “That is, if you can keep your eyes on the fight.”

Viktor twisted the screwdriver a little too hard and grimaced before shaking his hand out and flexing his fingers.

It was always something with you - wether it was flirtatious comments like that, or giving him a kiss on the cheek in thanks for a repair that lasted a little too long, or making yourself far too comfortable around him to be considered a friend and nothing more. He couldn’t count on his hands the number of times you’d stayed late to watch a fight and propped your feet up in his lap - dangerously close to his crotch, which he’d shifted to try and avoid your foot with. The last thing he needed was you realizing such a simple act could make him hard as granite.

Besides, what would a pretty little thing like you do with an old man like him? You had other young people chasing after you left and right. Like you’d ever think of him like he thought of you.

Shoving tongues down throats until neither of you could breathe. Grinding against hips. Gripping thighs and releasing small, desperate moans…

Fuck, he was a goddamn pervert. He needed to get a serious fucking grip.

Viktor turned his attention back to the screen. An official - more likely the one who arranged the fight and profited from either outcome - was speaking to both you and Shredder in the middle of the lot. Surrounding you pair were a few dozen onlookers, passing bets back and forth and pointing and assessing.

He didn’t focus on any of them. He was staring at you. Flexible trousers and a tank top, low enough to catch glimpses of the tight pink bra wrapped around your torso. Bandages wrapped around your pretty little knuckles, ones he’d wrapped himself time and time again. Eyes that were stern and intelligent, hard and steely and the most beautiful things he’d ever seen.

The official wasn’t audible over the excited chatter of the crowd, but it wasn’t hard to figure out what he was saying. No hits above the waist. No enhancements, cybernetic advancements, or anything of the sort. Fight until mercy or… well, the alternative.

Viktor’s hand had stilled, his attention focused on your opponent. Simon Shredder was a big guy, bigger than Jackie, even. Muscles the width of tires, a height that would trump even the Animals bodyguards, eyes that had been replaced with cheap optical units that made it seem like his pupils were a bloody red. He dwarfed you in every sense of the word.

He could easily kill you if the desire arose within him.

Viktor found a deep, anxious sensation swirling about his belly. He continued with his tinkering. He’d worked with you for hours just for this fight, learning how to use an opponent’s weight and momentum against them. When Jackie was down for it, he’d watch you kids spar, commenting on techniques and offering critique, and it wasn’t uncommon to end the matches with Jackie lying beneath you, arm twisted behind him and tapping for mercy.

Sometimes, after you and Jackie left, he would drag himself to his apartment upstairs and stroke his aching cock to the thought of you pinning him beneath him like you did. He’d think of you rolling your hips against his, knees digging into the floor at his sides, your fingers curled around his jaw to keep his eyes on you while you raised and lowered yourself on him.

Viktor shifted in his seat as, on screen, the official moved to the sidelines. The fight was about to begin. A sense of pride swirled in his chest when you spoke and stuck out your hand for a shake - something he’d taught you himself to do before and after every match.

“To show you’re a good sport,” he had said.

“Good sport?” you’d asked and leaned back against his shoulder. “There’s winners and losers these days, old man. No more participation trophies, I’m afraid.”

And yet, after that piece of advice, you’d began to shake the hand of every opponent you went against.

Viktor snorted with distaste when Shredder glanced at your outstretched hand, then spat at your feet and readied himself into a fighting stance. Rolling your shoulders, you followed suit.

The crowd reared, shouting their praises and insults as you pair readied to fight. Part of him wished he had accepted your invite so he could be there himself to watch as you handed this guy’s ass to him. Or so he could be there to keep you from getting your ribs caved in.

There came the deafening shot of a blank fired into the air - because no one would be able to hear if the official yelled start - and the hollers of excitement multiplied.

You and Shredder slowly circled one another, footwork placed delicately and confidently all at once. You darted forward first. With a small leap to reach his level, you barreled your fist forward - only to miss as he ducked out of your way. You didn’t even have a moment to land before he landed a blow to your upper spine, sending you staggering forward for balance.

Viktor frowned deeply. Strike to the thoracic vertebrae. Discomfort later. Possible seize-ups and pulled muscles.

The crowd reacted with mixed reactions as you spun around, keeping yourself straight. It would take more than that to put you down. Digging your heels into the tarmac, you surged forward and raised your fist -

Only for your hand to be caught just inches from Shredder’s face. People groaned. People cheered. Viktor stilled. Though the feed was rather shaky, he could make out Shredder’s lips moving, his mouth close to your ear as he murmured something to you. Then he twisted your arm, causing you to bend to prevent it from snapping, and delivered a vicious blow to your face.

Viktor’s heart skipped a beat and he leaned forward, lips parted in shock. Your smaller figure collided with the ground hard, and you flailed slightly, struggling to roll onto your hands and knees. The person streaming the fight moved in the crowd to get a better angle. From there, the camera zoomed in on your face.

Blood trickled steadily from your nose. Your left eye was squeezed shut. Scarlet dripped from your lips as you shakily pawed at your mouth.

Viktor’s breath was stuck in his throat. Possible broken nose. Bitten tongue? Black eye? Bad enough he needed to prepare a replacement?

Fuck, he never should have let you do this. Never should have agreed to help you, never should have let you walk out the door this morning and wished you good luck. He should have kept you here, where he could look after you. Keep you safe. Make you feel good. So fucking good you couldn’t stand it.

Shredder stalked across the lot and towered over you, then crouched so that he could be closer to again murmur something to you. The official was already preparing to call it off.

But then it happened - just like it always did.

You pulled through. You surprised them all. Even Viktor, where he sat in his clinic miles away.

As Shredder leaned down to be at your level, you suddenly turned and cracked him across the face with your fist. He fell back onto his ass, stunned by your abrupt blow, and you took the opportunity to straddle his chest and deliver a series of whiplash-inducing strikes to his startled expression. Blood spattered on the tarmac. The crowd erupted.

“That’s it, kid,” Viktor said. “Fuck him up.”

It wasn’t more than thirty seconds of your incessant beating that Shredder tapped the ground blindly - mercy. The official appeared in view, dragged you off the hulking man, and raised your fist to the crowd.

Winner.

They cheered. They booed.

But you stood there, a smug and satisfied smile painted across your bloody expression, basking in the glow. Viktor knew that feeling; when it seemed like the world was at your feet and nothing, fucking nothing, could take it away from you.

He sighed and leaned back slightly, then glanced at the wrought iron doors that led to the stairwell. He was still for a long, long time.

“It’s bad luck to sit on these kinds of things,” Misty had told him one night, when he’d been drunk and let her do an aura cleansing and he’d blurted about his little perverted crush on you. “The fates are going to take this opportunity away from you if you wait too long, you know.”

He’d brushed her off at the time. You’d never go after an old timer like him. But yet… how was he to know if he never asked?

Viktor swore, then brought up his vision screen and called you up. It rang only once before you picked up.

“Hey, Vik!” you greeted on the other end. He watched your face, bloody and bruised, light up with a grin when you saw him. It made his heart melt and his cock ache all at once.

“Hey, kid,” he said and leaned forward. “Great fight tonight. Really. Knew you would pull through.”

“Hah! You don’t have to lie to me, old man. I know it didn’t look good.” Somewhere on the other end, he heard Jackie’s voice. “Sure, Jack. I-“

“Listen, kid.” Viktor paused, took a breath, and let it out. “Feel like swinging by the clinic? I can check out the damage, if you want. And I’ve got a few cold ones with your name on them.”

You smiled. “I’d love to, Vik.”

After you hung up, Viktor caught a glimpse of himself in the reflection of a mirror.

Oh, yeah.

He was so fucked.

[howlinchickhowl]

It's coffeeshop day! I couldn't possibly miss coffeeshop day. I want you to know I am absolutely working on the next full chapter of Ristretto, but for today's a.u.gust prompt I thought it would be fun to do a little switcheroo, so here is a little Ristretto Mickey POV for while you wait. @gallavichthings as always, thank you :)

edited to add a link for Ristretto, if you have no idea what I'm talking about, this is my coffeeshop au I am already writing! So if you like this little sojourn, you can go read that as well.

Thank you for the extra foam eleven - coffeeshop

Fucking Iggy. Mickey thinks to himself as he barrels down the street, uncaring about the slow moving pedestrians he bumps on the way. Stupid fucking idiot.

They talked about this shit. Last week they talked about this shit. Him and Ig and Mandy they’d sat down at the shitty kitchen table they’d rescued from a dumpster and talked about how things were gonna be. They’d laid it all out, they’d all agreed, they were done with it, the life they’d been raised to lead, drugs and guns and fights and prison and parole and dying shitty violent deaths at the hand of shitty violent assholes who claimed they were your friends.

They were done with it. All three of them. Colin too when he gets out of jail if he wants. They were supposed to be going straight. So why the fuck was he now spending his afternoon scrambling around everywhere he can think of to put together fucking bail money? Because Iggy was a stupid fucking idiot. That much has always been true and Mickey was just as much of an idiot to think that that might have changed.

He’s been to Sandy’s and hit up his buddy Greg at the home, but he’s still a hundred and fifty bucks short and Mandy’s not answering her phone, so now he’s about to do something he and Iggy both had been expressly forbidden to do and visit her at work.

He’s so worked up he pushes the door so hard that it almost bounces off its hinges, and he locks eyes with Mandy almost immediately. Her face is like thunder and she storms over to him like she’s about to pitch a fit. Well she’s not the only fucking one.

“What?” She demands when she reaches him, not quite a whisper but definitely not the volume that he knows she’d be using if they weren’t at her job right now. She looks back over her shoulder at her co-worker, a tall red-head who is clearly watching them and clearly trying not to look like he’s watching them. Mandy grabs him and shoves him out of the way of the door, a little further from the counter, and he gets that she’s not happy to see him but none of this is his fucking fault and he doesn’t appreciate being manhandled.

“You’re not supposed to come here.” She says through gritted teeth, like he doesn’t already know she doesn’t want their family anywhere near her first real on the level employment.

“Yeah no shit Mandy, I look like I wanna be here? Answer your fuckin’ phone in future.”

“I’m not supposed to have my phone out here shitbrain, what the fuck is so important?”

They’ve gotten a bit louder, the heat of their words burning away at their control, but shooting a look back towards the counter he makes a conscious effort to lower his voice again. He’s got to be here but he doesn’t have to let everyone know they got jailbirds in the family.

“Iggy got himself a fuckin’ assault charge and I ain’t got enough for bail.”

“What the fuck Mick?!” Mandy casts furtive glances all around her and leans in closer to him, “Who’d he assault?”

“I don’t fuckin’ know, just some bar fight or somethin’, it’s not serious, but because of his record and his last name they’re holdin’ him.”

“Fucking assholes. How much you need?”

It’s a lot, and he hates that he couldn’t put it together. A year ago, he could’ve, easy. That’s barely a morning’s worth of hand-jobs at the rub and tug and even without the actual jobs he could’ve just asked Sasha for a quick loan. Now they’ve gone straight it’s a lot harder to find any serious amount of ready money. He winces.

“Another one-fifty-two.”

“What am I, a stripper? I don’t carry that much cash Mickey!”

“I don’t know what you do, just give me whatever you’ve got and don’t be a fucking bitch about it alright? This is ruining my day just as much as it is yours.”

She heaves a huge great sigh and stomps off behind the counter into whatever staff room they have back there and Mickey is just stood there like a spare prick at a picnic waiting for her to come back.

He locks eyes with the redhead, who is watching him anxiously from his spot behind the counter. Mickey’s not stupid, he knows what people’s first impression of him usually is, he worked hard for that first impression when he was growing up, doing his best to intimidate anyone he ever came into contact with.

It bothers him sometimes, that he worked so hard on it that now he freaks people out without even trying, but today he’s got other shit on his mind and he doesn’t much care if some guy Mandy shills coffee with thinks he’s bad news. He crosses his arms across his chest and stares the guy down, daring him to say something, knowing that he never will.

He’s kind of hot, Mickey realizes while he’s standing there, even if he is a pussy. There’s the hair, for one thing, Mickey’s always kind of had a thing for a redhead, plus he’s built, in a lean kind of way, and his face is like, not unpleasant to look at. And because he learned growing up that if you find something pleasant to look at you shouldn’t look at it for too long, he cuts eye contact and looks away.

Mandy marches back out into the store with a wad of cash and her ratty Sun Times tote bag that she shoves in his hands with a pissed off,

“There.”

The cash he gets, he’s grateful for, it looks like maybe sixty bucks,  the tote bag though, he doesn’t know what to do with. He shakes it at her for emphasis.

“What’s this for?”

“My card wallet is in there, get whatever cash there is out of the ATM, I don’t even know what I’ve got in there right now. And there’s a MAC palette I’m selling to Scheana, you know Scheana with the pinkeye?” Yeah, he fuckin’ knows Scheana, dirty fuckin’ skank always trying to come on to him and eating all his pizza rolls.  “She lives on Harper, you’ll get forty for that.”

“The fuck’s a MAC palette?”

“It’s fucking eyeshadow dickwad.”

She shoves him, hard in the shoulder, and he stumbles, resents the fuck out of his whole family.

“Take it easy bitchface, I don’t fuckin’ know!”

“Just get out of here, and tell Iggy I’m gonna kick his ass when I see him.”

She’s gone already, heading back to the counter, not even looking at him when he says,

“Yeah yeah, later.”

And he’s gone, out the door and on his way to the ATM, cursing the day any of his siblings were born, and already trying not to think too hard about dark freckles on pale skin and a head of shocking red hair.

He lasts three weeks.

It’s into October when he finally caves and engineers his route to work to take him past Tamp & Grind. And, well, his sister is working, it would be weird not to stop in and say hey, or whatever.

It’s stupid, he’s aware. He’s only seen the guy once, doesn’t even know if he’s gay, doesn’t even know if he’s working. Plus Mandy will probably tear him a new one when she gets home later. All very real and good reasons not to go there.

And yet.

He shoulders open the door, it’s warm inside, the air smells sweet and rich, he’d been in such a frenzy last time he was here he hadn’t really noticed anything about it. Apart from Ian.

That’s his name, Ian. Mandy’s co-worker who has been occupying most of Mickey’s idle thoughts for the last few weeks. He’s tried, surreptitiously, to learn anything about him from Mandy when they’ve both been home at the same time. According to Mandy he’s ‘cool’ and ‘funny’ and ‘doesn’t suck ass’ like some of her other co-workers. She’s not exactly easy to get information out of but he knows she likes coming to work more on days when Ian will be there, so when she breezed out the door this afternoon with half a smile on her face he’d taken a chance on it being a day Ian was working too.

He was right. Mandy is sat up on one of the counters, can’t be fucking sanitary, and Ian is stood just by her, messing with something under the counter.

“Could I be a sexy latte?” He hears Mandy ask, smiling over at Ian, and what a weird and disturbing image.

“What the fuck?” Mickey finds himself asking, getting the attention of the two of them and oh. He’d kind of convinced himself the last couple of weeks that his brain had amplified how good looking Ian was, that he was actually just a regular looking guy and it was just the fantasy of him that Mickey was powerlessly focused on. Boy had he been wrong.

If anything he’s more good looking than Mickey remembers, sculpted face and long lashes and deep green eyes the shade of pondweed, but in like a hot way. Shit.

“What are you doing here?” Mandy asks like he’s a fucking bug she flicked off of her windscreen this morning come back for a second go.

“Was in the neighborhood.” It’s not a good answer, suspicious as fuck, really. Mandy scrunches her nose up at him and raises one eyebrow.

“Why?” She asks. He can’t think of a single good reason.

“None o’your fuckin’ business, that’s why.”

She rings him through a coffee and they bicker back and forth about the price for a minute or two, four bucks for a black coffee seems like daylight fucking robbery to him, maybe they should open a fucking coffee shop, seems like that’s where all the money is these days. Fuck the coke, give ‘em caffeine.

He looks around the shop a little while he waits for his drink, reading the flyers stuck up on the noticeboard, fiddling with the little packets of Splenda and wooden stirrers and shit, all while chancing little glimpses of Ian behind the espresso machine. Not too obvious. Mandy already knows something’s up, she’s not giving him enough shit about being here, she’s definitely gonna get into him later, so he’s not trying to hide his interest from her, exactly. But he doesn’t want to let onto Ian just now, doesn’t want to make the guy uncomfortable if he’s not gay, or if he’s just not into Mickey. He’s shooting his own discreet glances Mickey’s way though so he feels like maybe it’s not a totally one-sided thing.

Mandy calls him over when his drink’s ready and he takes a sip right when he grabs it, suddenly itching for something to do, some purpose after he’s been stood around for five minutes just waiting. They’ve given him a fucking hazelnut latte.

Sometimes he can’t fucking stand his sister.

He always orders black coffee. Everywhere he goes, black coffee. Sure he’s got a bit of a thing for sugar, who in the world doesn’t like something sweet? And when Mandy shows up sometimes with some sort of flavored monstrosity he’ll take a sip or two, it’s no big deal. But now she’s made it seem to Ian like he’s some sort of pussy who not only likes caffeinated syrup drinks like a fourteen year old girl, but also is too much of a pussy to admit he likes them.

She’s a fucking bitch, and he tells her as much, and Ian. Well. Ian doesn’t like that.

Mandy’s probably been called a bitch a thousand times in her life, and no one has ever jumped to her defense before now. But Ian, fucking, knight in shining green apron is right there, hand on Mandy’s back, telling Mickey not to talk to her that way, and what the fuck? Mandy gives as good as she gets and if Ian hasn’t learned that yet he will, and probably soon.

It’s not not hot, him squaring up to Mickey, though the fact that it’s over Mandy’s honor gives him some pause for thought, makes him wonder if he’s got it wrong, if Ian’s actually into Mandy, actually not interested in Mickey at all, actually just a straight guy who Mickey’s been projecting onto. But when he licks his lips and calls him tough guy he can see Ian’s eyes flicker like it did something for him.

He takes off with his sugary drink and spends the rest of his walk to work trying to figure out what exactly is the deal with Ian, and when’s the next time he can go back. Preferably on a day when Mandy isn’t working.

[chamotate]

klaus please

YAYAYAY THE DUMB FUCKING NAZI anyway i will not be defending him, but there are obviously reasons for why he became... him..

theres a lot of lore for him so this will probably be very rambly and make little sense, but then again it is also late.

Klaus from a very young age was quite neglected. His mother went out drinking a lot, trying to cope with the death of his father, so Klaus had to grow up fast. And what better way to grow up!!! the goddamn hj!!!! (sarcasm obviously) Obviously at this point it was not a big thing, as it was before moustache man came into power, but Klaus' first lessons were hate. So he grew up hating. A lot.

He would spit at people who he deemed "undesirable" in the streets. Like genuinely. He spat a lot. Obviously at this point, he was punished very frequently for it. Doesn't mean he stopped though.

1933, the moustache man is in power (im terrified of what is and isnt allowed on tumblr), Klaus is OVERJOYED. This boy has read his little book cover to cover and probably knew it by heart. His mother couldn't care less. As long as he was out the house and not bothering her. Klaus had no idea how to care for himself however. He relied on Erik's family to feed him, as at this point he was VERY malnourished.

The HJ was... unfortunately... very good for Klaus. He learnt to stand up for himself, how to fight, etc. But at what cost?

Erik was more left leaning than Klaus. Sure he "believed" what he was told, but that didn't mean he followed it. He would befriend Jews, kiss boys (without Klaus' knowledge of course), but Klaus did know of his "weird sleeptalking". Erik seemed to spill all his secrets this way, but was always able to brush it off as a weird dream, so Klaus thought nothing of it.

Erik had deep feelings for Klaus. Hate, love, lust, who knows? Passion would be the best word. He was passionate, but unsure in what way. Sometimes he would give Klaus small pecks during their hugs, just to see what would happen, if he would ever notice. And when he did... holy shit... it was hell on Earth. Klaus started screaming, hitting, almost beating him to death, before realising... that was his ONLY friend. Would he really kill his only friend over something like that? Surely he was just confused. That must've been it.

Ever since that day, Klaus would try "convert" Erik, back to "normal". Erik gave up, he lost all interest in Klaus, so he said he was cured. Klaus felt like he was the chosen one. He was a narcissist, especially because he was the "ideal". White, blonde, blue-eyed, Aryan.

At the age of 15, he killed for the first time. He saw a young Jewish boy while on a walk with Erik and immediately beat him to the ground, he meant to step on his chest to threaten him and laugh about it later, but he missed and snapped his neck. He's not been the same since. He knew it was right (in his eyes), but he couldn't help but feel guilt. He felt like a fake. He had nightmares every night, replaying the sound of that kid's neck snapping.

1935, 4 years before the war, a poet (Sergei) stumbles upon Klaus studying under a tree. Little did Klaus know he was talking to his worst nightmare. A Russian. Communist. Gay. Jew. He lived on in ignorant bliss, a new friend, he looked funny, he SOUNDED funny, but he was probably just paranoid with propaganda, right?

Meanwhile, he's dating Ida, still paranoid that Erik will try date him or something, he decided he better keep himself taken. He takes her on dates, he even got himself a job to buy her gifts and earn her love. She doesn't feel much for him, but she enjoys the company, so she sticks around.

1939, Klaus is pissed the fuck off. He realises the truth about Sergei from Ida (who Sergei trusted way more than any other German) and he wants to kill him. As soon as possible. The next time Sergei went for a visit to Germany, Klaus grabbed his dagger, ready and eyes burning with hate, before Sergei dropped to his knees infront of him and started crying. LITERALLY CRYING TO A NAZI???? Klaus assumes Sergei is a self hating Jew or something along those lines and decides to tolerate him a little longer, hoping to use him as an ally.

Ida starts to develop stronger feelings for Klaus as she sees him "care" for Sergei. THERE IS A MASSIVE MISUNDERSTANDING HERE. Sergei believes Klaus heard the news about Sergei's loss and was comforting him, Klaus believes Sergei hates his own identity and wants his validation and Ida thinks Klaus has become a better person and they are finally bonding.

Not long after, Klaus and Ida marry.

Sergei is somewhat upset at this BUT THATS A STORY FOR A DIFFERENT TIME!!!! THIS IS ABOUT KLAUS!!!

Klaus finds out a few months later that Sergei was crying about his dead fiance this whole time and goes back to hating him, buuuutttt.... he has other ideas this time. He manipulates Sergei, abuses him, uses him, whatever he feels like. He makes Sergei feel guilt for existing.

1942, Klaus and Ida have their first child Heike(at this point she's like 2 but this is a key date and a key thing), who from FUCKING BIRTH is taught this propaganda. Klaus plans to make his children into his own sort of minions almost.

Sergei, however, whenever he gets the chance, he tries to teach the kid to be a good person. Even though he knows it won't do anything.

Klaus is still a fucking monster. He gets off on the fact that he can make Sergei do anything. Because Sergei knows, one wrong move, the Gestapo will be involved. He's given up on making Sergei "useful" and now just humiliates him and uses him for entertainment. (DUDE FUCKING KYS LEAVE MY BOY ALONE.)

anyway yada yada he continues the same shit. he never gets sent to war bc hes a loser and that makes him feel not valued. (good)

1945. The war is over. Klaus is SOBBING. FULL ON CRYING. His beloved moustache man is gone. He burns any documents that relate him to the regime and hides his uniforms (which he only ever takes out afterwards to see his kids wearing them). He's proven innocent (the ugly bastard) and goes back to indoctrinating his kids (who he now has two of)

He still believes in all the values and tells Ida that their kids need to bring back the glory of Germany. She doesn't fully agree, but she also doesn't understand much politics and lets him do all the political business.

Sergei has cut him off at this point and Klaus is very bitter.

1959, The last time Klaus and Sergei ever meet. Sergei shoots a bullet right through his Nazi skull and leaves. Simple. No witnesses.

:3

that bit would be further explained with Sergei's perspective but from Klaus' lore perspective, there is no clear reason.

most of his lore relies on Sergei + Ida so this was difficult but i accepted the challenge and it was a fun ride

[lightwing-s]

𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐰𝐚𝐥𝐤𝐬 | 𝐭. 𝐝.

pairing: tim drake x female!reader warnings: some swearing, canon usual violence, needles word count: 2,6k summary: nobody in their sane mind goes out to a park in gotham at fucking midnight, nobody except you.

a/n: so, I'm not used to writing for tim, so I hope this comes out okay for my tim girlies and that I do him any justice ^^ also, if anyone is interested in the playlist mentioned, you can check it out here and listen to it while reading this piece.

⌜masterlist⌟ ⌜requests⌟

The night was a mess. Break ins, shooting, explosions, man-bats running around, and it was only midnight. Tim was already exhausted by that point, but there was still work to be done.

Bruce had members of the family scattered around town to get each and every single one of their problems tackled as quickly as possible. Thus, Tim was now chasing down a small group of man-bats that escaped from the attack on the financial district of Gotham and were now heading up towards the East End.

He struggled to keep them out of the crowded areas. It was friday night, so there were extra people out on the streets even with all the chaos going on around town. Some people just didn’t care. So, doing as best as he could, he managed to guide the creatures through a dark alley and send them to a probably empty park, a place where he could fight them without risking anybody’s safety along the way.

Far from defeating evil monsters, you, on the other hand, had great plans for you Friday night: laying in bed and watching silly 2000s rom coms with your roommate and best friend. Having to overstay at work once again, the only thing between you and your bed right now was a five kilometer walk through the streets and a dark park that would have scared you if you did not take this route every night of the week. Guess you’re used to it.

Putting on your headphones and setting the volume to the max, your mind shut off from your surroundings and allowed you to walk the path in peace. Chumbawama’s Tubthumping was playing loud in your ears as you dance-walked your way home. 

Music had that power over you. The power to take your mind away from anything. Every time you had an anxiety attack, or when things just started getting complicated in life, be it with school, work or your family, hiding behind a beat was your favorite solution to send the worries away. That’s why, the day you first walked your path home from your new job, playing your favorite childhood movie soundtrack, HSM, and singing it word by word, you managed to get home without crumbling to anxiety. So, it became your ritual, and like that you ended your week nights.

Behind you on your walk, though, things were not so simple.

Fighting off the man-bats with a single syringe of the antidote was not a clever idea, but it would have to do. At least, he only had three more to fight. With his grappling gun, he aimed at one of their wings, hitting it at first try and pulling it down with much strength. Now, standing on top of it, he stapled its wings down while worrying about the two others who were now giving him their undisputed attention. Fending them off with, basically, one hand, he turned to the trapped one and injected five milliliters of the solution, seeing it agonize in pain, but in no time it was back to being human.

One of the other two, without patience, grabbed at the arm he held the syringe, almost managing to make Tim drop it, but he was quick to change hands and, with his free one, injected it on the leg, making it fall from the sky immediately, carrying him along the way. He fell with a thud, already feeling the pain streaming from his shoulder. Laying there on the floor, he tried to catch his breath, but there was no time for rest. He needed to get the last one.

Stooding up, Tim looked at the syringe still safe in his hand, telling him there was around ten milliliters left of the antidote, enough to knock it down. However, looking up in search of the last survivor, he couldn’t find it anywhere. Where had it gone to? The man-bats were a boisterous bunch, screeching all the time and with heavy wings that announced their incoming from a mile radius. So how did this one escape without Tim noticing?

Being alone in the park, a silence soon took over. But that was short lived. In his search for the damned creature, Tim found out he wasn’t as alone in the park as he thought. 

Just further away from him, bouncing its heads and skipping down the stone road, was a girl. Headphones on, she didn’t seem to notice the commotion going on behind her, and for some reason, that had Tim infuriated. People’s carelessness these days were doing that to him, as if they acted like they really wanted to die. What the fuck!

Then, that’s when he found it. Bright red eyes hiding inside a bush right in front where the girl was walking through, ready to catch flight in her direction. Tim’s legs were already burning, but the way he sped up and ran to try and stop the thing from doing whatever it was in its mind, made the sensation go away with the built up adrenaline. He reached the monster before it could move too close, jumping at its back, grabbing it and dropping to the floor. Tim had his arm locked on its neck, giving it a rear naked choke, taking its breath slowly and making it lose its strength. Now, with ease, he inserted the syringe on its neck, injecting all that was left of the antidote. 

“Every time that I get the feeling. You give me something to believe in. Every time that I got you near me…” he listened to the words of Atomic Kitten coming out of her mouth, while he waited for the effects of the antidote to show up.

Were they fucking singing? Tim thought, incredulous. How on Earth did they not hear them fighting RIGHT. BEHIND. HER BACK?   

The man-bat’s body started quivering, and soon his bat claws were replaced with human fingers and, like a real sized doll, fell onto Tim’s body like jelly. Releasing his arm from its neck and bending sideways to let the man drop beside him, Tim finally could take a break. There on the ground, he pretended to not feel any pain, or any burn, and allowed himself a few moments of rest. But the sound of the steps wouldn’t let him.

Getting up on his knees, Tim took a moment to catch his breath before angrily staring at the person still unbothered walking away from him. 

You didn’t need much to get lost in the music, easily accomplishing it within a few seconds of any of your favorite songs. In those few seconds, everything around you seemed to disappear little by little, as you soon immersed yourself into a dream world, much like a music video, and all that was around you could not be listened to. But when an angry looking boy wearing a costume you’d easily recognize under a normal state of mind, jumps in front of you, it’s kind of hard to ignore.

“You gotta be fucking kidding me that you didn’t hear a single thing going on behind you!” he screamed at you, frustration apparent in each word. 

Startled, you could only reply with a scream, not recognizing Gotham's vigilante, and your favorite of all of them. You tried to run, but tripping on your own legs, you fell to the ground on your butt, loud music still blasting through your headphones but they now laid on your lap.

When he realized what he had done, he walked to you and extended his hand for you to grab, and with ease he lift you up from where you were. This time, while standing there in front of you, he was able to really see your face. Like, every single detail. You were stunning. So now, he felt the warmth climbing up his neck and cheeks out of the embarrassment of scaring you — and also from staring for too long. The adrenaline was still too high in his system at that point, forcing him to do things with thinking twice.

“Are you alright?” he asks, concerned. With a shake of your head and the sight of your opened hands showing him no bruises, he sights in relief.

“I guess I’ll just have a really sore butt tomorrow.” you joke, whilst still telling the truth. Your butt was definitely going to hurt tomorrow. With your answer, you took a smile from the masked boy, the apples of his cheeks rising with the action, and the bruise on his right one becoming evident. “You’re hurt.” you point out, putting your finger on your own cheek for him to find the bruise on his, taking out of it a bit of blood.

“Man-bats. I can’t think of anything worse.” he replies with a grunt. You finally look around, to where he had come from earlier and where you assumed his battle had happened. There was a man passed out a couple meters from where you stood, and you could see others further back. Your stomach fell, sensing the disaster that could have happened to you if it wasn’t for Red Robin.

“Here!” you fished inside your bag for that first aid kid your friend always insisted you have with you, taking out of it, and expecting to be embarrassed as soon as you show it to him, a Robin edition band-aid, tainted in green, red and yellow, and with a large R drawn into it. You show it to him, waiting for him to put it on. However, he leans his face closer to you, telling you silently to put it yourself. Not knowing how to react, your hands start to shake and you can barely take off the plastic protecting the bandage. 

His cheek was warm, but wet at the touch. It must be sweat from all the fighting, you thought. Looking up, his hair was also all wet, small droplets falling down his sides. Placing the band-aid carefully, you find yourself awkwardly close to your favorite vigilante. His masked eye didn’t show you its real color, but never left your, making your cheeks grow as red as his. Unknowingly, your fingers lingered in his face for longer than needed, caressing the place where his wound was now hidden. Finally paying attention to your actions, you retract your hands to your sides.

Now, facing each other with a much more comfortable distance, you get to admire his face, even if partially hidden, and his pretty smile spread once more on his lips. The themed band-aid actually complemented well his outfit, and the funny way he stood there with his arms on his hips. Tim also analyzed everything about you, from your smile you didn’t allow out but decorated your face either way, the way you looked everywhere but him once your eyes met again, and the curious phone case you had in your hand. It was a Robin one.

“I’m sorry.” he finally apologizes, messing up the hair at the nape of his neck. You want to tell him not to worry, but he cuts you to say: “It’s just been pretty… Busy night.” 

“So I’ve heard.”

“And you still decided to walk alone through an empty park at… eight past midnight?” he questioned, but his tone was light, not judgemental, almost a joke. 

“It’s my only way home. I have to take it every day. With time you grow used to it.” you informed him with a laugh, 

“And you’re not afraid?” he asked you one more time. With your shrug, you tried to tell him you were okay with that, when in fact, deep down, you knew with everyday before the clock ticked for your shift to end, the anxiety and the fear consumed your body and only wore out when you got to your street and Mr. Johnson could be seen in your building’s front door. Noticing your expression of uncertainty, he read between your lines and understood you perfectly.

“I can walk you home.” he offered.

“I don’t want to cause you any trouble.” you shook your head. “Besides, I think Batman might need your help.”

And as if the world could sense his desire, Oracle’s voice sounded in his ear telling him Superman was strolling around and decided to give the city some help.

“It’s been taken care off.” he told you, and signaled you to show him the way.

Walking side by side, you didn’t say anything for a while, until he curiously asked you what it was you were listening to that stopped you from hearing the lousy men-bats and all that fight.

“It’s a random playlist I found on YouTube, but I fucking love it. I can’t stop listening to it for days.” 

“Can I hear it too?”

“I only have one headphone, but…” you took it from where you had placed it in your bag and put it around your neck. Taking your phone and opening it again on that same playlist, you set the volume to the highest. “We can listen to it like this?”

Throwing him an awkward smile, he leans in closer. Your shoulders are touching and you swear you can feel his breath on your neck.

“Are you an Atomic Kitten fan?”

“Not really, but I like expanding my horizons.”

“Then I think you’d really like Vicenzo. He owns a small store, where he sells old records. He recommends some of the best music, you should check it out.”

“You should take me there sometime.” you tell him. 

If only I could, he thinks, regretting ever coming to you as Robin, and not simply Tim.

“I’m kind of busy a lot.” he tries to explain, and you notice the mistake you’ve made.

“I-I know. That was stupid. I know you’re busy.” letting your hair hide your face from him, you want to bury yourself down in a hole and never come out. Only you to think Robin himself would want to take you out in his off duty hours.

“At what time do you leave work?” Tim asks.

“Around 11h30. Why?” you reply, confused.

“I’ll bring you a disk tomorrow.”

“What?”

“I’m walking you home again, if you don’t mind.” he asks, begging to say yes and letting him see you again.

“I’d love it.” you whisper.

The rest of the way, you two talked about your music taste, the concerts you attended. You asked him about his costume, was it really as tight as it looked? Nightwing’s looked like it could rip at any moment. His was actually fine, it dressed him well, you told him, getting red once more.

By the end of the walk, Tim didn’t want to leave when you told him you had reached your street.

“So, this is it for me.” you told him, as you arrived at a crosswalk. Just across the street from where you stood was a man apparently  guarding the door.

“Oh.” was all he managed to say. Looking down, he hadn’t paid attention to it, but your hands were awfully close, so he touched your finger with his, playing with them, and, eventually, lacing them together. “See you tomorrow?”

“See you.” you went to kiss him goodbye. Just a peck on his cheek, you had just met him. But just as you, he went for the cheek kiss as well, and so your lips met. You two pulled away, but the magnetic field that seemed to bring you together all night was too strong to resist, and he leaned down to you, holding your neck, and kissing you again.

His lips were wet, and his tongue graciously slid into your mouth, playing with yours. Your eyes were closed, and just like a song, he took you away from your reality, inserting you into your own, where only you two existed. 

Stepping away for breath, still with his hands on your neck, he says.

“See you at 11h.”

“How can I pay you for this? Not the kiss I mean.” you correct yourself. With a laugh he replies, already running off to wherever it is Batman may need him next.

“Bring me some coffee.”

[code31-onthedancefloor]

totally agree with your tags on that post about jean. i try to stay out of jean discourse because i have mutuals who say that he’s their fav character, but…i just don’t get it tbh. also yes kimjean makes absolutely no sense to me. i feel like it’s more like playing with dolls than anything else. like if your headcanons deviate from the source material that much, what’s the point? why is it fun?

thank you for your ask! and i agree!

part of it is falling into the trap of 'colouring in the blanks' vis-a-vis harry's memory loss, i think. but as you said - at some nebulous point, you're just making an OC.

my mutuals range from indifferent-to-utter hatred when it comes to jean, so i have no problem writing a few more of my thoughts. this is mainly about the failures of capitalist institutions in general to keep people alive. bit of a sprawling rant under cut:

personally, jean (and the rest of the Precinct 41 cops) struck me as a mouthpiece for one of the clusters of problems that institutions like the police fall into: using 'personal' bias under the guise of 'for the good of the institution/society' to cut off a member/member of the public in need. looking out from the institution's windows, one might liken it to pruning dead flowerheads off a tree. from the outside in, it is tantamount to manslaughter.

that might sound like a large step to make - however, if you think about how it is, in many cases, legal for a landlord to suddenly evict one of their tenants and make them homeless in the middle of winter (for them to go on and die of cold on the street) - what is that, if not manslaughter with extra, authorised steps?

with that, i think what jean is capable of doing in the bad ending... harry, possibly going through withdrawal, disabled, healing from recent GUNSHOT WOUNDS, destitute, mentally ill, suicidal, amnesia-ridden and isolated, is left in the fishing village by jean to fend for himself. not even 'here are your house keys and a few rèal for a train fare. go home, you're fired'. he is just Left There. and there is nothing there for harry. unless he joins the fucking hardie boys or some shit, there's no way he's getting a job again. that's it - harry's dead to us now; which means he is dead, or will be very soon. the only thing that would keep him alive at that point would by the kindness of isobel and lilienne and the other residents of martinaise, which proves my point that the RCM itself is a failed, bigoted institution. when even the hotshot lieutenant double-yefreitor is ejected for being 'more trouble than he's worth' without the disability/pension pay that he honestly rightfully deserves, the place is fucked. jean knows that nothing harry can do or say can prevent this. harry can't afford a fucking lawyer to fight for his case.

as soon as harry purposefully drove him away while imploding in a suicidal mania, that was apparently reason enough for him to 'fuck off'... for him to just sit there doing fuck all while harry wakes up not knowing who he is, gets shot, and actually solves the fucking murder for him. and then jean sees the detritus of harry's many, many attempts at ending his own life, and all he can see is wasted assets; wasted budget; wasted time. and to rub salt in the wound: the only reason he brings Trant along is to 'see if harry's lying'. WHICH. jean KNOWS that harry's had amnesia blackouts before. judit knows that harry's had amnesia blackouts before. jean just wants to see if he can leverage enough over harry to get rid of him for good.

when it comes to jean in particular, i think people can project their own ideas about what he is 'meant to be' onto him. hell, i'm doing it now. but to some people, jean is meant to represent the 'long-suffering addict handler' who has been at the Mercy of the Big Bad Addict, just trying to do his job but inevitably dragged down by him. i don't want to disregard anyone who has tried for years to do damage control with friends and relatives who are addicts - however, i just don't think that the writers intended for this reading of his character. harry, historically, used drugs and alcohol as a method to solve cases more efficiently and probably self-medicate for mental illness and post-polio syndrome. he has a massive caseload which he shouldered for years, grinding his spirit against the murders of revachol. it sounds like he only became a 'non-functional addict' relatively recently (don't quote me on that). and as soon as he starts inevitably imploding, jean - the guy who was basically only playing second fiddle in that caseload - is already right there to kick him onto the street.

because that's what cops view mentally ill addicts as, right? it doesn't matter if they're prestigious in their own goddamn precinct. as soon as they've outlived their usefulness; their cost-effectiveness, they're gone. and That is what jean was there to carry out - in the bad ending. it doesn't matter that jean is clinically depressed. they both can't afford therapy, but only jean can continue working because his mental illness apparently isn't severe enough to the point that he's driving his car into the ocean in a desperate attempt to end his own life. because he is 'functional'.

and the worst part is - they're both miserable! they're both suffering! jean wants to kick harry out because he's sick of dealing with him. what makes jean sitting around the whirling-in-rags in a wig being useless Funny is that HARRY IS DOING HIS JOB FOR HIM! while not even knowing what money is or who he is or where he lives! and then jean can kick him out the RCM and leave him to die for not being 'functional' enough.

now there's more to say about the different endings. how the 'kim *truly* trusts you' check and make or break an ending and the variety of ways in which you can play harry and how your actions 'mid-game' can impact how the world interprets 'pre-amnesia harry'. different shit. you can play harry as a racist, fascist asshole. and as much as i would like for every racist, fascist asshole TO die in a ditch - safety nets such as universal healthcare/basic income & unconditional housing should be there to benefit Everyone. even racist, fascist assholes. otherwise, the point is defeated: like jean the RCM denying harry his past and a stable future because of illness and poverty. jean raging about 'the liberals' and the horrific ableist shit he said in regards to harry's disabilities should have sent alarm bells ringing in the minds of people who want to woobify him. (plus judit's 'well-meaning' infantilisation, and trant's poverty-tourism schtick. ew.)

failure of institutions and different rules for different groups of society based on bigotry aside, jean is ultimately only there for like 5 minutes. if you want an asshole with a mushy core, why not titus? if you want a guy with a lot of 'fill in the blanks' potential, why not goraçy kubrek?

why not tiago? why not mañana? why not ruby? why not lilienne? why not cunoesse? why not the dicemaker? why not the ravers? why not the student communists? why not lizzie? why not cindy? hell, the guy who gives you a slice of salami showed more humanity than jean did in the entire game and the only reason he's there is to give you a slice of salami! why jean?

it's a little detached from what i've said here, but social institutions & contracts and ignoring/bending the law for the purposes of third parties are talked a lot about in this great video by philosphytube!

[foolsocracy]

As the one who can't stop sending you long-winded overly poetic asks, I personally love your long responses back. STORIES WITH THEMES, SYMBOLISMS EVEN!! WHEN THE ANALYSIS?? Y'KNOW?

I'll read over the post again a bit later and try to come up with a more thoughtful response, but, ough. So ready to die honorably, just like everyone else, you've already dug your grave beside your family's. And then, by your joints and limbs, you're unearthed again. Some poor, bedraggled marrionette. Fuck.

HAHA thank you! THE THEMES.. THE MOTIFS.. its all right there and free for the picking! And ive got all your other asks in my inbox and i want to answer them as timely as possible, i do, but alas---i'm slow. thanks for ur patience <3

and im jumping on this too. we're like a tag team, you and i.

being put to rest (however violently) and being pulled back into being alive has to be horrific for anyone. But because im the #1 jewish peter parker fan, i kinda want to comment on this with a bit of a jewish lens as well.

In Judaism, there isn't really a heaven/hell/etc. It's described as a type of oblivion that is as far from heaven as possible. The dead exist there without knowledge or feeling. There is a total disconnect and inability to communicate with god. I wanted to mention this because imagine the surprise of not being disconnected from god at death, but instead being forcibly man-handled into resurrection. Peter very well could have thought he'd be free of his curse once he died. Sorry pete but life has more in store for you.

In jewish tradition, it is customary for someone to be buried within 24 hours of dying. Today, this concept is translated to 'as soon as possible' and is a bit more lenient. It is the family's job to bury their dead, but if they are unable to do so it is up for the community to take up the task. There are no exceptions to the burial rule; "even criminals who have been put to death, the unclaimed slain, suicides, and strangers to the community" would be buried. It is a tradition created from compassion. "To be denied burial was the most humiliating indignity that could be inflicted on the deceased, for it meant 'to become food for beasts of prey.'" Prior to burial, it is also customary to have someone, typically family, accompany the body of the deceased out of respect, as they are seen as defenseless, and as a comfort to the soul that rests within it.

I wonder if he would have ever thought about that aspect of dying alone. Was there any kind of debate, whether it'd be worth it to die as Peter Parker, a boy with a name to his face and an aunt at home, or to die as The Spider-Man, fighting for whats right, but a stranger to everyone, alone? And what of when he wakes up again, after death, knowing he was unburied, left to rot. If that isn't a signifier of just how alone he is, I don't know what is.

There are two ways he could have been honored, i suppose. The traditional sense, through his family's and community's customs. Being laid to rest beneath the ground with others at his side. Or on the streets of the city, alone but dying for everything his family believed in. Finding solace in following in their footsteps. He gets neither, of course.

[rebuildeds]

chimera, hydra, minotaur, sphinx ( for clem ! )

mythical creature headcanon meme !

chimera: does your muse tend to be aggressive ?

as an adult, no, and she's incredibly grateful for that. it felt more like a cowardice as a teenager & in her twenties, when so much depended on working with a hairline trigger, and there's still a decent amount of guilt that comes alongside that : with a whole host of what-ifs about who may or may not have been saved had she been more proactive & aggressive.

that said, she is outspoken & won't avoid confrontation if she feels it's needed. this has, in itself, toned down as she's grown and the fights that she does choose are fewer and farther between. she was much much more brusque as a teenager in a way that could have been considered aggressive, but i don't think she would have seen it in that way.

hydra: does your muse have a reoccurring problem ?

this is such a broad question so i'm going with my first instinct for my answer to it : yes, of course, and it's a type of fear. clementine left healing because slowly and surely the weight of everything that happened during the second war caught up to her, though it wasn't until judith's disappearance that the cracks really started to show. she clung to it for a long, long time, determined that there was nothing wrong & that all was fine and was halfway out the door when henry was murdered.

her philosophy at work, though the progress was slow, seemed to clem to go quite sharply from you can't save everyone / but i have to try to fuck, i can't save anyone.

so the fear is many-pronged : was this the right decision? how many people could she have saved if she had just stuck at it? but more than that, it's also encased with an acknowledgement of the sheer amount of blood on her hands ( and it doesn't matter that she didn't cause that blood. that her job was to try and alleviate pain & save people, the blood is still blood and it won't wash out ).

minotaur: what secret does your muse keep hidden ?

the aforementioned guilt & fear is an easy answer to this, but maybe a more fun answer if the secret clem wishes desperately she could keep more hidden : of course there's still love there for ned, that's inevitable, but what's truly mortifying is how sexy she still finds him ! odds are not in her favour for keeping that one hidden, though.

sphinx: how does your muse value loyalty ?

oh, it's as close to the most important thing as it's possible to be. loyalty, to clem, is a two-way street & will always be. she doesn't expect it from anyone she wouldn't give it to, but equally it goes without saying, for her, that it would be reciprocated.

[denimbex1986]

'Every great actor understands how to harness the tools they've been given. For Christopher Walken, it's his pinball-esque grasp of cadence. For Jack Nicholson, it's the Play-Doh structure of his face. Then there's Cillian Murphy. Some may say it's the eyes, those piercing almost-translucent blue orbs that help him oscillate from warm to terrifying in a split second. But no, sorry, they're wrong. Nothing but love to those pearly peepers, but the real magic of Murphy's face is that razor-sharp set of blades hugging the side of his head.

Those cheekbones, so sharp you could probably run his face up a bottle of champagne and the cork would fly off. So cutting you could make sushi with them. You would probably have to baby-proof his face for fear of toddlers happening across those dangerous corners. But beyond just how they look (very good), Murphy understands the power they have in his performances. They can transform him from menacing to ghoulish to inviting, sometimes in the space of one role. With Oppenheimer on the horizon, we've ranked Murphy's cheekbone-iest roles to date.

6. Batman Begins (2008)

As the Kens of Barbie are defined by their jobs, the style and mood of a movie will dictate how the Cillian Murphy cheekbones operate on screen: in Oppenheimer, they remind us of the deathly, apocalyptic stakes of the A-bomb. In 28 Days Later, they make everything a little more scary. In Red Eye, they’re serving. Which brings us to Batman Begins, in which Murphy portrays the DC series’ central purveyor of spook, Jonathan Crane, AKA the Scarecrow, ooooh. It’s most appropriate, then, that the tautness of Murphy’s face gives him a hot, skeletal allure, which is also kinda spooky. He can dose us with a demonic hallucinogen any day. JK

5. Red Eye (2005)

We're about to say something Cillian Murphy will, at worst, hate, or, at best, be utterly baffled by thanks to his refusal to exist in the age of the internet. But those cheekbones? In the 2005 Wes Craven underrated film Red Eye? They're serving cunt. Slicey McGee's second consecutive villain role after Batman Begins traded the burlap sack for an eye mask in this thriller where he plays a seemingly nice hot man who turns out to be a terrorist. Modern dating, amirite? The cheekbones do some transformative heavy lifting in this, getting more hollow the more menacing he needs to be. He's essentially Wolverine but the retractable knives are on his face. And, just in case it needed to be confirmed, yes, the cheekbones still hold up under airplane bathroom lighting. The jammy sod. LF

4. Sunshine (2007)

After 28 Days Later, Danny Boyle's second Murphy team-up upped the ante in a fashion any good sequel should: they took the cheekbones all the way to space. If we learned anything about those staggering face cliffs over the course of Murphy’s early career, it’s that they always, always deserve the best lighting possible. Nay, they demand it. Which is presumably why Boyle took Murphy to the surface of a dying star, because fuck a ring light when you’ve got cheeks like these. Chris Nolan would essentially do the same years later with Oppenheimer, though substituting the sun for an atomic explosion. Do NOT turn down the brightness. JK

3. Peaky Blinders (2013-2022)

Has the term peaky blinders been used as slang for cheekbones yet? If not, it should. Think about it, “That boy Cillian's got a cracking set of peaky blinders on him”. It just works. Murphy's almost decade-long tenure as gang leader Tommy Shelby did so much for the landscape of men's fashion – You could barely walk down the street without seeing at least a handful of lads sporting his drastic undercut. And while we're not here to yuck anyone's yum, the real secret sauce of that haircut that so many failed to recognise is that it was following the severe line of his 90-degree, razor-sharp cheekbones. They were simply two parallel lines fighting for supremacy on one man's head, but we know who came out on top in the end. LF

2. 28 Days Later (2002)

Like Watergate, the Moon landing and 9/11, most people can remember where they were when they first saw 28 Days Later, because it was the day that Danny Boyle introduced the Cillibones to the world. Lives were changed, the planet shook, something shifted: here was the most archetypal Man to Be Shot in Close-Up ever seen on screen, unleashing upon the world a cheekbone fever stronger and all the more unhinged than a rage-inducing virus. People literally died. Good movie, too. JK

Oppenheimer (2023)

Christopher Nolan loves Cillian Murphy's face so much he shoots it in pretty much every way he can in Oppenheimer – Colour, black and white, extremely close-up, lit by the fire of 100 tons of plutonium. Not to mention the IMAX cameras! The man just wants to see his guy look glorious on the biggest screen possible, and the result is blinding. Hand us the welder's glass, Oppy, we're about to lose our retinas here. Murphy shed weight to play the emaciated father of the atomic bomb, which give the Cillibones™ a chance to pop even more than usual. He ends up looking like a besuited Grim Reaper which, for someone who utters the iconic phrase “I am become death, destroyer of worlds”, tracks. When the time comes for Murphy to inevitably win an Oscar for this role, we hope there's enough room on the plaque to engrave a co-winner in the shape of his own bone structure. LF'

[writingamarie]

Hello! The Spotify thing but unnecessarily complicated

A little story with…..

Pairing: Rosekiller

And as inspiration……

Song for the plot: #78

Song for the mood: #91

Song for the ending: #22

(No pressure to answer this if you don’t want to <3)

Pairing: Rosekiller (Barty/Evan)

Plot: seventeen (heathers)

Mood: dear maria count me in -not gonna lie not sure how to make this a mood...

Ending: the eulogy of you and me

Word Count: 975

Chapter Warnings: magical violence, MCD, toxic/dangerous behaviors, canon compliant

“You know I don’t think this is meant to be fun,” Evan laughed over the noises of the battle around them. 

Barty was more than happy to shoot off spells and revel in the chaos around them. Evan followed like he always did where Barty was concerned. There was something strong beneath the mania that Evan couldn’t ignore. It had seemed harmless when they were children but Evan wouldn’t deny that as Barty’s mania grew so did his love for him. It was an odd thing to connect but Evan figured there had to be a reason. Maybe he was a little fucked in the head himself. It was possible, anything seemed possible while he was fighting by Barty’s side. The Order was strong but their side had sheer force to support them. Dumbledore’s little group didn’t stand a chance just on numbers alone.

They were still just kids. Barty had been eighteen for a while but Evan would still be seventeen for another two weeks. August 31st. Barty was closer to nineteen than anything else and had spent plenty of their school years teasing Evan for being the youngest. The teasing stopped once they had finished Hogwarts in June -or more accurately it stopped when words spread of Regulus’ death. He’d been the one that convinced Barty to join the Death Eaters in the first place and then he went and got himself killed -or at least that was what everyone said. 

Evan shot off a spell that sliced through a man’s chest and couldn’t help but smile at the way Barty laughed as he saw the damage. It was all exactly what he wanted. The fight, the excitement, Barty… it was all he could dream of.

Until it wasn’t.

They had been graduated for an entire year. Evan had finally turned eighteen and had a few months to let the age sit on him and wise him up. Barty was the same. Evan loved that there was something consistent in his life, but Barty’s mania was a dangerous thing. Regulus’ death had eventually settled over Evan and calmed him. He’d seen how his best friend had died because of the war they were starting but Barty only saw the fun. He never properly mourned the loss of Regulus, he never let himself admit what it meant. Instead, he enjoyed the chaos, enjoyed the kill, enjoyed the absolute destruction he caused. 

“What if we run away together?” Evan asked while they were on a stake out in Diagon Alley one night.

“Shove off, we have a job to do.”

“I don’t mean right this minute. Just… Barty don’t you think we could still have fun together without all this? Isn’t it frightening to you at all? I mean Regulus got killed, we weren't supposed to be the ones dying -that’s not what we signed up for.”

Barty seemed to scoff at the idea and sent a small tripping jinx to a woman walking through the street. She wasn’t able to see where it came from but Barty laughed within the shadows where she couldn’t see. He was still the boy Evan had fallen in love with. He’d do anything Barty wanted, but if he could talk him off a ledge he would.

“What if we just, be kids. Do you think that’s possible? Can we just go back to seventeen and do whatever it is that normal kids do?”

“This is what I want to be doing, Evan. This is what Regulus wanted for us.”

“Reg is dead, Barty. He’s gone -and it hurts but we have to move on from thinking about what he wanted. You’re the person I care about. You’re who I chose.”

“And I chose you, but we have a job.”

Barty sent another jinx -a stinging one and Evan knew there wouldn’t be any arguing with him. That they would live in chaos together. To keep Barty he would have to swallow it all down and accept what they were doing. He’d need to enjoy it the way Barty did.

And he tried.

Evan reveled in it the best he could as time passed. He would take a drink from a bottle and join Barty with just as much enthusiasm as he wanted. They were destruction, they were the end. Barty was quick and able to fire off so many spells at once that the Order couldn’t tell what was headed their way. But where Barty was quick Evan was deadly. So when they found themselves in a large standoff with a group from the Order the two of them fought side by side, assisting each other when needed.

It all seemed fine. They were a duo of unstoppable power. Barty turned his attention to one of the younger Order members while Evan dueled against Moody. Everyone knew the auror -he was horrible and strict in a gruff way. Even as a child the man had seemed like a frightening figure. But fighting across the battlefield was entirely different. Evan smiled as he got a strong shot in, right at Moody’s face. The man doubled over and Evan couldn’t help but turn to Barty in a type of celebration. He lunged forward and caught Barty’s lips in an aggressive kiss. Perhaps he was finally starting to understand the mania, perhaps he was finally starting to-

Barty was the one that saw it coming. There wasn’t enough time to do anything. The light wasn’t visible until it was a moment away. Evan got backlit with green and then his face seemed to freeze in the same joy he had been feeling just after he pulled away from the kiss. Barty felt the way his body sagged as life drained out of it. He’d been there just a moment before. They’d been happy. And then it was over. Just like that.

[cometconmain]

An addition, if I may, because I don't track with the idea that people shouldn't be expected to think about what they put out in the world at all just because it isn't their job to teach people morality, especially when people do try to teach their way of viewing the world (no author can possibly avoid putting their opinions and perspectives into their work, actually; the difference is that Online Purity Culture really loves to decide what exactly those are without exercising basic media literacy and it shows) and not always in a way that is actually helpful to a progressive society:

I find shit that is definitely peddling shitty ideas all the fucking time, largely in kids shows but very prominently in adult-aimed comics too, where socially privileged assholes decided their opinions on the world and depiction of morality was the best and most important and highest one of all, regardless of the numerous perspectives and realities they miss on the daily because they straight up never have to consider or include them in their narrow-minded world view.

Is this a problem, that they constantly put this out in the world and it does in fact ultimately contribute to the type of brain rot that feeds things in the real world like people excusing the literal genocide of an entire group of people?

Yes.

Does it mean the content shouldn't be allowed to exist?

NO.

People do need to be able to put their perspectives in the world. If they didn't we wouldn't be able to identify where we are going wrong as a society to criticize and refine our societal attitudes. This applies to stupid takes as much as it does actually helpful ones, and even helpful ones will be flawed and need to be addressed without deciding people are inherently bad for those flaws, nor should they be harrassed out of creating over it.

This is NOT the same as platforming a bigot, actually, as much as people intentionally misusing social justice terms and buzzwords love to insist it is.

At the end of the day, we can identify really harmful things that have no business being peddled with a microphone on the streets while neo-nazis salute in the background, vs some idiot pushing the same tired narrative yet again of marginalised demographics fighting back somehow always making them as bad as their oppressors regardless of what exactly they're doing/who they're targeting/how small the groups of actually unhelpful ones are compared to the larger movement etc. with said idiot thinking he's somehow being so insightful and wise in the ways of a fucked up world he's never even remotely experienced the worst of. (This is not singling anything or anyone out here I'm just waffling out my frustrations with a massive pile of numerous things wrong with both the real world and how a number of more privileged creators tend to write about topics they have little to no personal experience with or broader understanding of when basing it off actual current day real world problems.)

As infuriating as the latter is, they aren't the same thing. But that doesn't mean we don't call the idiot out and expect better of future creative endeavours from that creator and other creators aware of the discussion. But calling it out and having that discussion is also not the same as INTERNET DOG PILING ANGRY MOB WITH TORCHES AND PITCHFORKS RUNNING PEOPLE WHO DARED TO MAKE MISTAKES OFF THE INTERNET FOREVER AND BURN THEIR LIVES TO THE GROUND RAAAAAAAAAAA THIS IS ACCOUNTABILITY SEEKING!!!!

No, it isn't. And I really wish people would take a breath and step back and practice media literacy and critical thought long enough to learn that difference.

Sorry about the very specific kind of focus here; this does apply to other things where people actually did fuck up and should have done better actually too and I think we should expect better of ourselves and each other. I just don't think deciding that writing anything bad in fiction at all makes someone a bad person especially if the framing is done a specific way and if they do fuck up the framing and you have concerns about damage you believe that could cause, then there are actually much more productive ways of talking about the problem, contrary to popular online purity culture belief, than slapping paedophile/incest/whatever-else labels on the thing and spreading that around because idk maybe you think it's the only way to make anyone listen to you instead of just putting together an actually well-thought critique to open a dialogue about to teach others what you think needs to be done better. Then again, I tend to see that happen more from people who just cannot accept that personal disgust is not immediately the same thing as morally wrong, leaving them high and dry when it comes to trying to get people on their this-is-totally-morally-wrong bandwagon because they genuinely don't have anything to open an actual educational dialogue about, so they resort to grabbing the most outraging things they can to use the kneejerk emotional reaction it will cause in people to validate themselves and attack the perceived threat.

I'm not talking about actually bad things here. I'm talking about things that the purity culture person wants to portray as an actually bad thing by finding a way to twist a just-weird thing they didn't like into somehow being the actually bad thing they've chosen to portray it as, so they can use understandable outrage at the actually bad thing and direct it toward the just-weird thing they didn't like. That's Online Purity Culture in a nutshell.

Come to think of it, in writing this something has just started to sink in for me about this whole mess:

This whole thread is useless for teaching these kinds of people anything, because it's never actually been about expecting writers to constantly be teaching people morality in everything, basic or complex or otherwise. It's about online purity culture police making it impossible for anything they don't like seeing to exist. End of story.

Writing about a child rapist did not make Vladimir Nabokov a child rapist.

Writing about an authoritarian theocracy did not make Margaret Atwood an authoritarian theocrat.

Writing about adultery did not make Leo Tolstoy an adulterer.

Writing about a ghost did not make Toni Morrison a ghost.

Writing about a murderer did not make Fyodor Dostoevsky a murderer.

Writing about a teenage addict did not make Isabel Allende a teenage addict.

Writing about dragons and ice zombies did not make George R.R. Martin either of those things.

Writing about rich heiresses, socially awkward bachelors, and cougar widows did not make Jane Austen any of those things.

Writing about people who can control earthquakes did not make N.K. Jemisin able to control earthquakes.

Writing about your favorite characters and/or ships in situations that you choose does not make you a bad person.

It’s a shame that in this day and age these things need to be said.

[the-unseen1]

3. Love will change the world

The Seeker and the mysterious Stranger (Part 3 of 7)

3. Love will change the world

“Listen man, I want to be honest with you,” the Seeker says to the mysterious stranger. Both are sitting on their bench, deep in a forest.

“You know... I am tired... Utterly exhausted. Everyday, is a day of struggle. After every achievement, reality kicks in and I am crushed by Life. One challenge after the other. So many problems to fix, so many battles to win. Everything just seems... so shallow... so meaningless.

First you go to school, then perhaps higher education, get a job, get married, raise your children, climb the career ladder, then your children move out, then retirement and after couple of years you die lonely in a nursery home... And I ask myself, is that all that there is to Life? A constant struggle to fit in with the expectations of society? Why do I still get out of bed everyday?

Life has let me down, humanity has let me down. Whenever I read the news, I just get sad, angry or disgusted. Everyone knows how fucked up the world is... We are all aware of what's going on. All these terrible things happening... And I am just tired with it, that's all. Disappointed with life itself. And Yet, all I ever wanted is to be happy...”

The mysterious stranger looks at the Seeker with empathetic eyes.

“Let me ask you Seeker, if you had the power to change the world, what kind of world would you envision?”

“I don't know,” answers the Seeker, yawning. “Perhaps a world, that is peaceful, without any wars. Perhaps a world, free of environmental pollution. A world free of prejudices and biases of any kind. A world of joy and laughter. A world of bliss. A world of Freedom and unity. Where we share our food, instead of fighting over oil. I just want a world, where I can be myself without being judged or taken advantage of. A world, that allows me to be happy.”

“Let me tell you a secret,” the mysterious stranger grins. “Everyone dreams of such a world. Doesn't matter where they live, doesn't matter what they do. On the deepest level, this is what all of us actually want. Even those who are fully consumed by hatred... Even they long deep within, for such a world.”

The Seeker scratches their forehead:

“But... If everyone supposedly dreams of such a society, then explain to me, why we are unable to change it.”

“That is a very long story,” the mysterious stranger smirks.

“I will tell it to you, when you visit my hut. But for a short answer: We don't change the world because we don't believe, that we can. We think it's impossible... Because this is all we ever knew. But what if I tell you, that there is a way? What if I tell you, that it is in fact possible. Close your eyes and imagine it. Can you see it? A world, where people are dancing on the street, singing a song of liberation. A world, where old enemies drink together as friends. Can you hear the song, that resounds deep within the heart of every human being? Can you feel it? The wind of change blowing into your face.”

The Seeker blows some air from their nose. “Tss... And how do you suppose, we achieve this? Through a revolution? We all know how well this worked out in the past... Or do you propose a reformation, a couple of social programs... You think, this will change the world?”

The mysterious stranger burst out in laughter:

“Certainly, this won't change anything. You can't fight violence with violence. You can't fight separation through further separation. No, you can't change the world through any ideologies or political action.

Now what is it in ourselves, that is needed most in these times? What is it, that can wipe away all of our tears, all of our suffering, our anguish and our hate... What is it, that can break the cycle of destruction? What is it, that can free us from the prison, that we ourselves have created?

The answer, my friend, is LOVE. LOVE will change this world. LOVE is a force that cannot be stopped. All shadows vanish, when you shine the light of love on it. You can't grasp it, it is neither yours or mine. LOVE is there for everyone and anyone. ”

“Love?!” The Seeker asks in disbelief. “This is like the most stereotypical answer you can give. How should love itself transform the world?”

“Well,” admits the mysterious stranger. “It's not that simple. You see, throughout the Ages, the meaning behind the word 'Love' was corrupted. Wrongly defined by many. We have lost it a long time ago. I say, it's about time, that we find it again. Love in its purest form. Once you have found it, you will understand. And you will see the power in it. You will see, the ripples that it sends out, from person to person.”

The Seeker shakes their head, laughing. “You are spouting nonsense. I have never before heard such bullshit in my life. It won't make any difference if a single person changes. The world will remain fucked up.”

The face of the mysterious stranger lights up in excitement:

“Don't you see it, my friend? Your influence on the collective is so much greater, than you can even imagine. Your thoughts, emotions, words and actions affect your entire sphere of influence, which is interconnected with the rest of the world. One light flaring up can suffice, to illuminate an entire room. LOVE may be hard to find, hard to see, as we are all so caught up in our prisons and illusions. But it just needs one person, to find true, unconditional Love... If one person changes their outlook on life; this will reflect on the collective consciousness. Change yourself and you change the world. For you are the world and the world is you.”

“Utter bullshit,” the Seeker spouts.

“If I behave compassionate, someone else will take advantage of me. If I don't take what I want, someone else will take it. If I show weakness, I will lose. So why should I give up my sense of self, if this leads to regrets? Even if I were to 'transform' myself, there is always someone out there to hurt me. I have been hurt enough in my life to know, what humans are capable of.”

“Please tell me, dear Seeker,” the mysterious stranger asks in a serious tone. “Why are you so afraid of love?”

TO BE CONTINUED

Find previous post here:

[starshipsofstarlord]

All mine

liam dunbar x reader / masterlist

summary; alec, scott’s new beta has a thing for liam’s girl, and sufficed to say, liam is anything but happy about the predicament / warnings; jealousy, smut, some choking, fucking in a playground, daddy kink, mentions of masturbation, mentions of phone sex, mentions of exhibitionism, oral sex (fem receiving).

the boy with anger issues was feeling a rage boil in his veins; they were in scott’s home, he had came back from college for a break, and thus, alec had joined in meeting with their alpha, though, not all his attention was reprised upon said pack leader.

there was a movie flashing upon the screen, you sat cross legged on the couch, whilst liam had been sent to the kitchen to grab a bowl of popcorn. he could feel his hand putting amble pressure on the plastic bowl, as he watched you explain every dumb thing occurring in the motion picture film.

alec was acting clueless on purpose, he could tell, more so since when he had first joined the pack, he had made such moves on you. and spoiler, eventually they had been successful. you were the same age as scott, meaning that you too had returned to beacon hills for your half term clause in the higher education, and liam wanted you to spend every moment with him, not this stray.

it took all his supernatural strength to restrain the growl threatening to rumble from his chest, his claws bent into the flesh of his palms, drawing a pooling of blood to the tether down from the self inflicted wound. scott smelt the blood, and wrinkled his nose at the scent that invaded his nostrils; he thought liam had his issues under control, but supposedly not entirely.

he couldn’t help himself, alec was trying his best, slyly glancing down your top, and he got he was only a hormonal teenage boy, same as him, but you were his girl. a rumble, resembling the natural force of thunder echoed around the living space, drawing all eyes, human and otherwise, in his direction.

the growl that had erupted from his chest had been possessive, a warning to the young, adopted beta, who quickly adjourned his arm away from the back of the couch, and shuffled from right beside you.

“li, are you good?” in an instant you removed yourself from where you were sat, walking towards him, and smoothing his shoulders over with your palms, watching as he heavily breathed. amber eyes flickered up to you, making you gulp; you now understood what had him so relentless and blunt with his aggression.

“i want to leave.” it wasn’t a question, it was a defiant statement. in turn, you nodded, grasping anything you needed, such as you jacket, and pulling it over your arms, liam quickly heading out, without bidding either of the boys a goodbye.

“see ya.” you waved at the pair, you would apologise for liam’s behaviour later to scott, he of course understood the situation nevertheless, he had been his alpha for a long time now. a hand grasped you as soon as you exited, pillowing roughly into your skin as he dragged you down the street, his pace quick and daring.

“you think i didn’t notice that beta’s eyes drifting down to your cleavage or him practically pawing for your attention.” he had stopped the two of you outside of a playground, you gulped, listening to him with an adjacent inclination.

“liam, there’s no need to be jealous.” your words had the priority of calming his angered exterior, though it happened that you had done rather the opposite. there was a firm line deposited between his dark brows, a frown that was aimed towards you directly.

“me, jealous? oh no, i know that you’re mine, but it comes to the question, do you?” he bit his lip, tensing the bridge of his nose as he moved his face closer to your own. “for all i know, at college, you don’t even let anyone know that you’re in a relationship, it could be your little secret, so you can fuck whomever you want.”

“that’s something i’d never do, you know that!” his accusations were flimsy, that much was liable, though although knowing that all his words came out of a place of secluded insecurity, you still felt the necessity to defend yourself. if you played his game, it would make him subconsciously doubt himself, and possibly believe the things that he was saying were true.

“do i?” the beta pried. liam made directories closer towards you, taking steps to discern your defence, letting his hand ravel up, and close around the front of your neck. your breath instantly hitched, as he wordlessly stated the power he had over you; not to mention, he was stronger, and he was irked, meaning that he would go to any lengths to prove his point, or lack of one.

“liam.” your hands came up to scratch at the exterior of his, worried that he would do some prominent damage, but rather than releasing his grip, he tightened his fist, triggering a hitch in your breath, and a uncoordinated, surprising moan to fly from your lips, as though your body was inherently howling at him for more.

“does my girlfriend like that? i think she likes daddy having his hand around her throat, don’t you baby? are you daddy’s dirty girl?” his slick words made your brain disintegrate into a contortion of confusion; more specifically, riddled with uncertainty, searching for a reason as to why his mature words were affecting you so.

there was no question about the matter, he was well adorned with the specifics of how it was affecting you. the reverberating of your heart thumped in his ears, like drums of a sacred matter, telling him how your hormones crazed, thundering with potential submission, that alternately had your knees quaking, fighting to remain standing.

then, there was the intoxicating aroma that scaled up to his nose from between your legs. that alone was a dead give away, he was lucky that it hadn’t killed him in the dead of night yet. being apart from you for so long had drove him borderline insane, one touch from you had him swooning, wanting nothing more for your hands to drift and intimately pet him.

phone calls, as erotic as some of them were, was just enough. the two of you were sectioned off for education in different counties, the distance pained him, in more ways than one. sometimes he’d wake up with a throbbing appendage between his thighs, begging for attention, more specifically, yours.

his hand got by, completing the job, but it wasn’t the same as the feeling of your sweet velvet walls encasing him likes an umbrella pouch, hugging his shaft tight as he rammed his length inside of you, preening moans of ecstasy out of your sinful mouth. the thought of such scenarios would have hun instantly hard in the school showers, leaving him frustrated for the rest of the day.

and though you had returned for a couple of weeks, he remained prominently stressed, never having enough contact with your skin that he had missed so much. he wished for nothing more than to spend it in a godforsaken rut, trapping you in the confines of his bed as he thrust in and out of you, but it so happened that isn’t how your return had panned out.

the luxury of the bed was not present, in its place was the soft breeze prickling at your skin, making every lingering, and restraining touch that he gave to it that more sensual. it was like nature was biting at your skin, plucking up the courage to adorn your flesh in small bumps, coercing your nipples into being erect, although, that was admittedly not all down to the wispy air.

your boyfriend had turned you on, his methods of doing so far different from anything that he had ever embraced before. whom would have ever thought that the once youngest member of the mccall pack would not forlorn in his youth, but instead want to demean his title as something as sexual as ‘daddy’? you sure as didn’t, but you couldn’t deny, it was kind of hot.

okay, more than hot, a lot more. “answer me y/n.” that’s right, you had gotten swept away with this whole new side to your partner, to say that you were drooling was an understatement, if he pointed it out, you’d blame it on him choking you. choking you! damn, he really had been reading up on some kinky shit whilst you were away.

“i do.” it was an honest answer, traded from you to him. though, it wasn’t entirely what he wanted to hear, you recognised that as he promptly squeezed your air way, causing your tongue to dip out of your mouth as you momentarily gasped for an ounce of breath. to spare you a second to respond, he pardoned his grip, stroking down the side of your face with the back of his stern hand.

“answer properly this time babe, else, i’ll fuck you over the swing set.” gulping, you locked eyes with liam, rubbing your thighs together at his prospect, inhaling heavily, as you felt him soothe his thumb rub upon the crevice of your chin, moisturising your own saliva into your skin.

“i love you choking me, daddy.” the word had a strange affect on your body as it rolled almost effortlessly off your tongue. instantly, verbalising the phrase had you feeling meek under the cold gaze of your boyfriend, a smirk ruling his face, as he clasped his knuckles into the dips of your waist, tugging you close.

“good girl.” he ushered the words into your ear as though he were a pro at doing so, lowering his palms to grab both your ass cheeks, a shocked squeal clawing out of the colander of your throat. “but i’m still going to fuck you over it, and i expect you to grasp onto the chains like you’re holding on for your life, and wail like a banshee that you are all mine.”

a slither of a sound, radiating utter betrothal escaped your withering lips, it was something between noise of a whimper, and a small moan. liam took that, and rightfully so, as approval to proceed with his intentions, and thus, he lead you through the gravel of the empty playground, directing his footsteps to the swings, and pushing you to be in front of him.

he bent your waist a little, so that you were hunched over, offering the perfect angle to generate pleasure for the both of you, as he began to tug your jeans down, letting the tight material meet with the croons of your ankles, and remain tethered around them.

“shit, you’ve already soaked through your panties baby.” liam soothed his fingers over the wet patch that opted through the thin material, brushing directly over your sensitive bundle of nerves, causing your mouth to wantonly drop open, in a silent beckon for more. “i can smell you too, you know, and damn, do you smell fucking divine.”

“daddy please.” the beg fell comfortably from you, there was no sudden recital to saying it once more. peculiarly, it felt natural, the dynamic between you and your partner being a stable structure to begin exploring further aspects that spectated in intimacy.

“sit on the seat, daddy will help you out darling.” trailing around the side of the metal structure, you carefully strode to do as liam has said, perching your ass on the swing, it lightly swaying from the impact of your weight upon the small dipped hammock. “there we go.”

liam knelt, scathing his covered knees upon the ground, as he ran his eager palms along the insides of your thighs, plucking at the band of your panties, before shuffling them down far enough so that he had all the access that he hungered for. the brisk whim that waded through the nighttime air had your pussy clenching, feeling the cold integrate against your folds, as liam puckered his lips.

he blew hot air upon your labia, enforcing your grip around the malleable metal chains to tighten, as you lightly shuffled the way that you were sat, spreading your legs a little wider, as your toes scratched relentlessly inside your socks, digging the front of your sneakers into the tarmac below.

your boyfriend leant forwards, swiping his tongue up your folds, causing you to press your head back, as you airily sighed from the contact, loving the way that his tongue delved around the area of your clit, swirling the bud in his mouth, as his teeth gently pinched the sensitive fumble of flesh.

“li- ah, daddy.” he had nipped at your outer lips, serving his actions as a form to correct how you had labelled him. “fuck, you’re so good with your tongue- shit.” his tongue slipped down into your entrance, thrusting the part of himself in and out of you, as you almost fell out of the swing seat.

“mmh.” your so called daddy hummed, sucking once more on your clit, before pulling his head away, as he stood, dragging you with him to force you to stand, delving his saturated tongue into the depths of your mouth, giving you no other option than to taste yourself on his buds. “what do you say baby?” his hand crawled into your hair as he bit his lip, staring with heavy lids at your flushed expression.

“thank you daddy.” a strong nod, he swiftly rotated you around, giving a light smack to your ass cheek, pinching the flesh, as he hurriedly undressed his bottom half, after fishing a loose packaged condom out of his back pocket. his tongue toyed with his top lip, as he ripped open the plastic square, rolling the condom onto his erect cock, giving himself a couple of jerks, as he steadied himself behind where you had hunched over once more.

he grasped his heavy cock, sliding his length through your smothered folds, teasing you as he tapped your clit, resting his hips flush against your own, as he pressed inside of you, causing an elongated string of obscene sounds to cast out of your mouth, playing a tune out of your melodically fawned lips.

a grunt tore itself out of his chest, as he clenched his fine jaw, digging his thumbs into your ass cheeks, as he began to move; delving deep within you, before pulling out of your tight walls, and rutting himself back inside of you. “fuck, feels so good da- ah!”

your natural sounds of pleasure drowned the surrounding area in an epitome of adulterated musings. adjoined with the sounds of liam’s skin slapping against your own, it was a surprise that no one had intervened, nor walked by. though, liam would have heard if they were in a nearby radius, with his supernatural hearing, that he had gotten through a set of canines digging urgently into his wrist, as he hung solemnly off the side of the hospital.

“you’re all mine, you hear that? those frat boys can keep their pervy gazes off of my girl, otherwise i guess i’ll just have to pay you a visit, and fuck you loud enough for anyone to hear.” he began panting, flowing his breath down upon your lower back. “yeah, you like that idea baby girl, how about i take over in the lecture hall and bend you over that desk, drilling into your tight cunt in front of every one so that they know that you belong to me?”

his half conceived promises, his taunting of you had you rolling closer to the edge, backing your hips backwards as you urgently met with his thrusts, forcing him to hip deeper into your cervix, a light growl prowling out of his chest, as he leant against you, angling his waist lower as he thrust upwards, his chest flat against your back.

“yes- fuck! please daddy, i wou- love that. love for you to fuck me for everyone to see, fill me with your cum, make me cu-um.” his heated breath strained against your skin, as your eyes fluttered, feeling succumbed to a white flush inside your veins, your body halting with it’s stability, resting helplessly over the swing seat, a she kept you steady.

“all mine.” your boyfriend stated, as he made you fall over the edge, ravenously thrusting into you to chase his own high. “gonna fucking cum.” a minor roar yelped out of his mouth, as his eyes strung shut, his shoulders relaxing as he emptied his seed into the condom, pulling out of your sopping cunt, as he removed the layer of protection, throwing it successfully in a bin a few feet away.

hazily, you went to stand, liam helping you pull your bottoms up, as he did so to himself too. he held you up, as he hoisted a passionate kiss onto your lips, a satisfied smile on his face once he pulled away. “i miss you so much when you’re away, i love you y/n/n.”

an appeased expression faulted your expression, as you reached up to entwine your hands together at the back of his neck. “i’m all yours li, or should i call you daddy?” you teased, causing a blush to fathom the apples of his cheeks. he looked down, an embarrassed poise covering his face.

“shut up.” he jokingly prompted, wrapping his arm around your shoulders as he began to walk you home, as you continued to tease him about his newly revealed kink, or multiple.

[skunkonascarecrow]

you just unlocked a beast in me dude omfg. so the music video DEFINITELY fits, like the bridge of nico & the niners beat for beat describes the music video. but wait, there’s more!

it was released in the transitional period between blurryface and trench (roughly a year before the hiatus began), and tyler wears a fucking jumpsuit in it, and like. occam’s razor, or whatever. the jumpsuit is orange, obviously the in between color of red (blurryface) and yellow (trench). and that could be entirely coincidental, i’ll admit, but the yellow lighting surrounding josh throughout and during the concert, and the yellow jacket tyler wears cannot possibly be coincidence. like that would be more insane than any of the lore itself i think.

we KNOW clancy had already tried escaping multiple times by the point of hds/jumpsuit, and in “i am clancy” he says he tricked nico into taking him outside of dema, as well as mentioning that his music/story became known in the city, which is what prompted the bishops to do the whole sai prison/propaganda thing. my interpretation of this is that they had imprisoned him after a previous escape attempt, but clancy allowed this to happen (as in, didn’t put up a huge fight) bc he had a different plan: start a prison riot, generally be a fucking thorn in their sides, and cause the bishops to take him outside themSELVES. at which point he blows up the car, and hds/jumpsuit ensues. (i also think torch was guiding him during this, but that’s like a whole other thing)

beyond just the video, though, its continued inclusion in setlists and the livestream at this point feels important; like i know it’s one of their biggest songs but it’s not the same as like, stressed out or ride. tyler said around the release of sai that it was hard to tell the story without the live shows and fan interactions, which is how and why we know certain imagery has lore implications, while not progressing the story itself.

i think the lyrics discuss a darker part of the reality in dema. the glimpses at day to day life we get are few and far between, but are mostly centered on the glorious gone, or the “quiet hum of wonder” that clancy notices among citizens, beneath the outward appearance. we know on a surface level, dema is very heavily structured and routine based, with assigned jobs meant to keep people busy and isolated. there are strict rules, enforcement varying based on district, and overall it’s a miserable place. i’ve always gotten another, more subtle vibe, though—one never shown, but present in the lyrics and i’ve also not seen talked about before (but i could easily have missed it! in fact, if you have seen this talked about please point me in that direction im dying to see other perspectives). this idea is that of drug use as a form of self medication, and even provided by the bishops themselves.

there are references to drug use throughout sai especially, but my biggest example is “with the bells and the whistles scaled back/like an isolated track/he feels trapped when he’s not inebriated/fair to say he’s fairly sedated most days of the week/he might’ve made it if he lived on a different street” from redecorate. mulberry street is also important to my point, specifically the lyrics “ain’t no sunny skies/til you finally realize/that everybody relies on synthetic highs/they find someone to prescribe” and “keep your pills, save your breath/and don’t ever forget.” now, i easily could be taking these WAY too literally, but given how easily addiction can fit into the themes, just walk with me on it for a minute.

i think heathens discusses this aspect of dema life—citizens are taught isolation, and with that comes resistance to newcomers and a sour relationship with those around you. the “friends” in the song are not friends at all, simply peers and people the singer (clancy most likely, but that’s a bit more open) knows and possibly grew up with. it’s an abusive environment, to say the least. their brains are “hand grenades,” even if there isn’t active violence occuring. they also have “rooms of people that they loved one day, docked away”—another thing we know about vialism and dema is that while it encourages isolation to urge citizens toward self destruction, they also want you to affect people as you go out. there are still people that you’ve loved or that have loved you—it’s inevitable as a human being, even if you “dock” them away. (or lock, i can hear both but the internet tells me it’s dock.) clancy also says “why’d you come? you knew you should have stayed/i tried to warn you just to stay away.” as well as saying trench is a world HE created in multiple songs, in “levitate,” he says “danger in the fabric of this thing i made/i probably shouldn’t show you but it’s way too late.” clancy has tried warning us, or whoever he’s speaking to, to stay away and out of the city, but we (or they) are here anyway, and have now joined the population of people on the path of self destruction.

my qualifications for having this opinion are being a fan since like 2019, hyperfixating HARD at the time and consuming theory videos, hyperfixating hard AGAIN this past month or so, and devoting most of the past 3 weeks to breaking down the lore and analyzing song lyrics in the context of the story (like i have a whole autism project documenting it. i had to use it for reference several times while writing this).

but i acknowledge that the “heathens” video is not in the official lore playlist, nor was it referenced in “i am clancy.” at the end of the day this is my opinion and personal interpretation. if you read this far thank you, you’re literally insane and i appreciate that, and godspeed to you.

Good afternoon, Skeleton Clique.

Fun question bc I'm curious about what everyone thinks, since I have seen both sides of this.

If yes, tell me why! Rb this & explain your answer. If no- same as yes, tell me why.

There are NO wrong answers!! I have my own opinion, which I'll share after this poll ends. Have fun c:

Do y'all think Heathens fits into the lore? If yes, why? If no, why?

Please don't fight or argue; there literally isn't a wrong or right answer.