#not even ''he put an old man in the hospital'' etc etc etc etc etc-- but because of the BEST stuff?!?!

[kaiba-fangirl]

Oh dear 😳

Well, I've looked, and-

*pops back over to Yu-Gi-Oh*

Ahhh... I don't know how we made it through the growing pains, but we did. Hopefully other fandoms will someday, too.

[sweetcollywobbles]

more leon headcanons

i miss him i miss him i miss him i miss him i miss him i miss him

i miss my wife, tails.

so lets talk about him.

⟢ leon was 6 years old when his family was murdered. there was a time when he could remember all of their faces. yet as he gets older, their faces have become a lot more blurry. sometimes he catches himself staring into the mirror. did nonno have the same nose as he did? was he the same blonde as his nonna? does he have his moms' smile? were his dad's eyes just as blue as his? when they looked at him, did they see themselves in him as he's so desperatley trying to remember them in him?

⟢ leon is the italian version of a "no sabo" kid. he knows the language, yet doesn't seem to be able to put the words together himself. he just kinda stands there nodding his head with a blank stare. then when he has to respond he's just kinda like "uuuhhhh tbh idk". he knows how to correctly pronounce some words and phrases, but that's about it.

⟡HOWEVER, he will call his lover with italian terms of endearment, i.e., amore mio, cucciolotta, cuore mio, piccola, etc. he might even say some phrases that he does know in italian, i.e., Io e te per sempre (you and me forever), sei la mia vita (you are my life), ti amo tanto (i love you so much), etc.

+p.s. sorry for any misinterpretations, i'm not italian but i am mexican so spanish and italian are not too different (???) but please correct me if i'm wrong!

⟢ leon has always been a dinosuar guy. he's watched probably every dino documentary thats ever been made and rewatches them whenever they're on. so, naturally, whenever he travels for work, he'll try his best to visit every museum he possibly can to see their dino exhibit and nothing else. of course, as het gets older (probably DI to RE6) he'll explore the other exhibits but for rn he'll just stick to the dino exhibits. and if you must ask him what his favorite dinosuar is, he'll say the answer he said as a kid, a spinosaurus. it's common enough for people to know and not give him a strange look of confusion. but really, his heart belongs to the pachycephalosaurus.

⟡ of course, in its natural progression, leon will also delve into a fascination of raptors and reptiles. he'll go to zoos and spend his time in the reptile exhibit. he'll also go bird watching for any avian raptors he can find. this also does mean that he has nice pair binoculars and will buy a native bird identify guide when he travels. his documentary options have now expanded with his two new interests which really excites him.

⟢ whether you believe it or not, leon is actually more of a fruity cocktail kinda guy. he doesn't mind beer or hard liquor, especially when he needs something strong and to the point. something to help him drink away the bad memories and all too realistic nightmares. but if he's just in the mood to enjoy himself, leon will cook up a salty dog or a cranberry vodka.

⟢ leon oh so terribly wants kids. but before he forces you into his life, he never thought that to be possible. so in his off time, he would volunteer for the NICU at the local hospital to be a baby cuddler. he got into it after he tried it with rebecca. it gave him the sense that everything will be okay, that even if he can't have a few of his own, at least he can be there for little ones that need someone, even if its for a moment.

⟡ TRUST, that once you do have a baby with this man, he's all over them. that baby will never not be in his arms or in the proximity of him. he's on spit up and diaper duty. baby wakes up late at night crying? no worries, he's already in the room (he was sleeping on the nursery floor). you will almost have to battle this man to hold YOUR baby.

⟢ leon is actually a really big fan of romcoms and time pieces. in fact, his favorite time piece movie is pride and prejudice. oh he absolutely adores romantic pieces like that especially because he's a hopeless romantic at heart. he's fallen in love with the idea of falling in love with a girl he's just met and having soft intimate moments with them. his guilty pleasure romcom is 13 going on 30, especially since after the whole plagas incident, the movie was just released and he binged that movie on repeat.

⟡ BUT, just because he likes time pieces and romcoms doesn't mean he doesn't like action or thriller movies. leon's a really big fan of the matrix series and star wars series. also the fast and furious franchise is actually where his love of fast cars and motorcycles stem from. he just can't do any horror movies because baby has trauma :(

₊˚⊹ ᥫ᭡. 𓂃

it's not much, but i thought these were silly and gave him a little more character. please let me know what you think or if you have any headcanons of your own!!!

xxox

[lani-heart]

|| series masterlist || next // previously ||

genre(s) -> angst, fluff, smut, non-idol, hybrid au, poly au paring(s) -> ( eventually ) ATEEZ x reader warning(s) -> mentions of violence, mention of putting down / death, etc. words -> 2.4K

abstract -> “I hope we can get along” 

y/n's perspective

San has been spending more time with me to try to remember. He’s refused to actually spend time alone in his room but also refused to go out with me. I had to go to the hospital for a change in my bandages but recently Yeosang and Wooyoung have been very adamant on bringing one of them with me. I couldn’t do that however, since I needed someone to look over San. 

I saw this as an opportunity to patch things up with Hongjoong. He’s been trying to find his place here but when he tries, he ultimately fails. 

He was firstly banned from the kitchen and Seonghwa refuses to have him help him clean saying he’s clumsy. Yeosang and San never really assigned themselves roles except when Yeosang chose what I wear. 

Hongjoong felt that he was out of place even though he had been helping… quite a lot with San. He couldn’t match his strength but did help hold him down when he turned… aggressive. San has been having night terrors of his past in the fighters ring, luckily however he hasn’t turned aggressive on any of us. 

I’ll mostly however just have San with me as I write my novel revamped like old times. 

“I don’t want you to go,” he said as he gripped my waist firmly and I sighed. “Sannie, I have to but I'll be back soon okay? Do… you want me to bring you anything?” I asked and he shook his head. 

“Just come back” he muttered and I smiled. “I always do,” I said and he nodded. “I know, '' he muttered and I knew his memories were there… they just confused him. He says that he knows that he attacked me, he remembers it clearly and he’s starting to remember his time in the kennel and meeting Wooyoung.

I left my room in hopes of getting to see Hongjoong. 

“y/n… are you leaving already?” Wooyoung asked? I nod as I notice his worried look. “Yeah, but it should be fine, don’t worry–” “You should take Wooyoung with you” Yeosang cut me off and I smiled softly. “You know he doesn’t like places like that… besides the doctor doesn’t allow hybrids inside and I’d rather not trigger an attack or episode,” I said while smiling at Wooyoung. He looked upset but I didn’t want to jeopardize his mental health. 

“I’ll go with you,” Yeosang said and I shook my head. “I need you to help with San,” I said and he sighed. “Can I go?” I heard and I saw Seonghwa. “He’s scared of hospitals… especially doctors,” Hongjoong said while getting hit by Seonghwa for catching his lie. 

“Then why don’t you come with me?” I asked Hongjoong and he looked at me confused and shocked. “He’s the one who–” “Yeosang… second chances remember?” I asked and his eyes widened slightly before looking away. “I’m ready when you are Hongjoong!” 

hongjoong’s perspective

I don't understand why she wanted me to go? I get that she needed the canine hybrids to help with San and his disturbed memory. However, I couldn’t let Seonghwa go knowing he had a fear of doctors and hospitals… he would’ve been panicked and upset. 

But why would she trust me?

The walk was silent… I made sure to keep an eye on her and she only walked with a smile on her face. Why? When we made it to the hospital I was glared at by the paramedic who saved her… he was her friend I believe. 

“y/n!” he said happily and I saw that her face had a smile to see the man. 

“I can see you chose to trust the tiger that caused these wounds,” he said while pointing at her bandaged jaw… I didn’t want to show him how I felt but I also couldn’t help but look at the ground. Why was I even here?

“This is Hongjoong… and it's okay, everything was a misunderstanding on both our parts,” she said and I sighed, "How was she so forgiving? “Well maybe you should have Kun do special training with him like he did with Yeosang '' he suggested… 

Yeosang did special training?

“Here, just sign in and I'll tell the doctor you’ve arrived,” he said as he left and she started answering some questionnaire he gave her… I didn’t notice how lost in my thoughts I was when I heard her ask me

“Are you okay?” she asked while I nodded not wanting to worry her. “I noticed you aren’t bad with others… you just have a lot of mistrust,” she said and I sighed. 

“You don’t have to be scared of anyone,” she assured and I didn’t want to accept that. 

“What did he mean?” I asked and she looked at me confused. “Yeosang? He did training?” I asked and she nodded. “He had many behaviors that he had trouble with stopping. It was mainly because of his training by his old owner it was hard to override it,” she said and I understood what she meant. 

“Would it help me?” I asked and she shook her head with a comforting smile. “It's the same reason why San isn’t doing any training… you can’t be around strangers and Kun won’t risk that” she said and I knew that it was a reasonable explanation. 

“Hongjoong I know you’re sorry… you don’t have to try so hard you know? I didn’t give you any reason to trust me and you were a hybrid who just escaped hell. We both didn’t make an effort.” she said and I shook my head. That was my fault… I made her doubt herself. 

“Do you know what you ripped that day?” She asked and I felt my body freeze… I knew it was some draft of a book she was writing… all I read was that it was named Circus. It angered me to think I inspired some fictional story for others to enjoy… based on my life of suffering.

“There's this character named Jum… he’s a lion hybrid. I first started with circus being a hybrid story of two hybrids who were mistreated and how they’d end up dead because of the hands of their ring leader–” she explained and it did remind me of the actual circus 

“–but then I added another hybrid and now it's gone. It originally was gonna end sadly. I restarted my story however, I added two more hybrids wanting to make almost a rebellion-type story” she explained…

A rebellion?

“The hybrids will end up escaping and defying society. Government laws will purge themselves and ultimately become an apocalypse-type end” she spoiled and I almost liked the sound of that. 

“Jum is inspired by you,” she said and I was shocked… just how did she see me? “He’s a lion hybrid… star of the show. He’s gonna lead the other hybrids to escape,” she said with a smile and I was shocked she’d give me such a big role in her book. 

“You’re the protagonist… it used to be San in my other version. But you naturally lead so I thought it was better to be inspired by you” she said and I smiled softly… It made me feel happy that she saw me that way and not in a bad way.

“y/n?” I heard as I saw the nurse call her. “They don’t let hybrids in so you can wait. Here and don’t rip it to shreds this time” she joked as he handed me a draft…

Hybrids, an experiment gone wrong. Human hybrids of animal counterparts. Animals but also humans. Considered disgusting creatures morally disgraceful.  Below Humans… until they decided to embrace their animalistic counterparts. Seen as pets, attractions, objects.  Standing in front of a stadium of people doing dangerous tricks that a normal person would never dream of doing… only to be cheered for almost dying.  To do degrading acts against our will… “Jum!” I heard as I saw the ringleader command me to behind the curtains… where I'd be stuck in a cage rotting for the rest of my life…  “You’ll be sharing a cage from now on,” a clown said as he pushed me into the cage where I saw the leopard hybrid. “Hello… I'm Si-woo” he introduced. He looked scared… confused as to what was happening.  “Where do you come from?” I asked curious as to who I would be performing with from now on and sharing a cage with. “My owner sold me. She decided I was too old to keep so she sold me to the man in charge,” he explained making me scoff.  Age, Species, and Appearance were important for humans when it came to hybrid collecting. “How long have you been here?” he asked softly. “All my life” I answered. “HEY! WATCH IT!!” I heard as I saw them now put a black and tabby cat hybrid in a cage. The black hybrid thrashing around in protective equipment. “Make sure that black cat gets punished later” I heard and I sighed. New recruits… I wonder how long they’ll last.  “Yong calm down! They’ll kill you if you continue behaving this way” the tabby cat softly said. “Tch! Don’t you get it Kyong! We’re gonna die here!” he yelled.  “What?” Si-woo said and the cats now looked at us.  “What? Did you assume you're here to learn tricks? They’ll use us until we’re dead.” Yong said and I agreed. “We can’t stay here! I-I don’t wanna die!” Si-woo yelled and I sighed. “As long as you behave, you won’t die” I heard a familiar voice.  Yeong was the only hybrid allowed outside. He was one of the popular acts with the magician… and is considered the best-behaved hybrid here.  “HEY! You can get us out!” Kyong exclaimed… how naive was he? “And risk my life for you? No way” he said and the hybrids physically deflated.  “Jum, you know the rules” the rabbit warned and I rolled my eyes. “Don’t you wanna leave?” Si-woo asked and the hybrid scoffed. “Where would I go? I would be adopted just to get mistreated there? I’d rather be here and play human than out there” he said and the cats glared.  Outside wasn’t safe… not until hybrid laws were outlawed. “So we live here? Until we die?” Si-woo muttered. “It’ll only last a few years if you're lucky,” Yeong said while looking at the ground. He was a hybrid in charge of the rules… played human but I could see the guilt in his eyes when a hybrid died. “If you’re lucky it’ll be painless,” I said and I knew this wasn’t right… but what could I possibly do? It's not like I could start a movem– 

“All done!” I heard as I looked up to see y/n. She had a change of bandages but otherwise looked fine. “Do you think it’s okay for now?” she asked and I couldn’t help but feel shocked. 

How did I judge her so wrong?

“Hongjoong?” she said and I smiled softly while handing her the story with shaky hands. “I’d love to read it some more,” I said and she smiled brightly. “Maybe you can help me!” she said as we started walking out of the hospital when I saw a boy probably her age maybe even younger?

“y/n!” he said happily while smiling almost like a samoyed dog hybrid would… “Jeno! How are you? I hope Johnny isn’t working you too hard” she said and he chuckled. “No… not yet anyway. And you?” he asked and she smiled. “Working but so far everything is okay,” she said and he nodded while staring at me cautiously… 

I knew they all looked at me as a threat… they also looked at the panther the same way as well as even the Doberman

“Make sure to be safe. There's been pickpockets… a lot of people have lost their wallets,” he said and I scoffed… pathetic.

“Huh?! I lost cash, probably two hundred dollars worth” she said and I was shocked… usually someone was with her so how did they manage to steal from her?

“Most people lost their entire wallets,” he said and I scoffed… I wouldn’t allow them to steal from her again.

“I will, I have Hongjoong with me! He’s probably the most intimidating besides San” she said and the boy nodded. “Be careful… and no more emergency room visits” he scolded as they said their goodbyes.

“Don’t go too far” I said as I grabbed the back of her shirt to be closer and she chuckled. “Don’t worry too much! The only times I've lost money were when I was alone” she said and I nodded. “I need to protect you” I confessed and she smiled. 

“No you don't–” “I do… it's the least I can do for you. I’m not good at other things. I can’t cook like Wooyoung or Seonghwa, I just end up making more of a mess when I try to clean–” “You don’t have to be… just as long as you're happy” she said cutting me off with a genuine smile and I felt my tail wag slowly… something it hasn’t done I think ever. 

“I will protect you… no matter what you say” I vowed and she smiled. “Thank you, Hongjoong,” she said and I nodded. That would be my purpose… protect her. 

We walked in a peaceful silence when I noticed a tall man looking at her… he smelt like a dog hybrid. He looked at me as he panicked and hid…

A hybrid was the pickpocket.

I soon saw another big hybrid come out and point at her but before I could growl at them��

“Hongjoong… I hope you’re happy by the way. I don’t want you to hate me… not hate anyone from the apartment even if you don’t consider it your home” she said and I sighed. I didn't at first… I hated you, thought you were another hybrid collector, another consumer who’d enjoy the stupid two-hour show of the circus. 

“I really do… I like my new home and I’ll do anything to protect it even if that means going against my own species” I said while looking up at the two hybrids… though I knew it wouldn’t make sense to her. 

“I just hope you don’t feel like the beginning where you hated me” she said softly and I smiled. 

“I don’t think I could hate you… I was wrong about you so let’s just go home”

@wonuangel @danirael @angelsaway @krissroo @minkysmilk @mayonnaise-on-toast @robertsbbygirl @superbbananananana @hyukssunflower @kitty4hwa @justconniez @senpai-of-doom @kibs-and-bits @caityelise99 @ilovekinny @ateezennie23 @wooahaelemons @purplelady85 @watamotee33@chidess97 @littlelostdemonofthelight @maliamaiden @burntarm1n @spooo00oky @eastleighsblog @momo-peachy @kitstar1117 @quartzpirate @sunnyhokyu @iwishiwasrichasfuck @theginger543210 @pandolinka @ddaeing @kpopnightingale @slid3er @kekdo-520 @puppyminnnie @sparklinghwa222 @calicanbeevil @itsvxlentine @atinism @loumin908 @smally97 @rxnexxi @acetruepunk @majesticbeluga @namjooncrabs @tashizxy @itstheghostofmypast @smilefordongil @teeziny @totallynotlyntv @kyeos4ng @prodsh00ky @acescavern

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[mydear-corinthian]

love potion no. 9

sypnosis - attempting to make doctor jonathan crane be in love with you using your love potion

pairing - jonathan crane x reader (pharmacist!)

warnings - SMUT +18, p in v, fingering, creampie, jealousy, reader attempting to poison crane

notes - rushed & based of my fav song, divider by cafekitsune

main masterlist | cillian murphy masterlist

You've been working as the hospital's pharmacist for a while now. The experience was a fifty-fifty. How strange to work under the walls where high-profile criminals are admitted in the city of Gotham.

One day, while you were working on your regular evening shift, a tall man wearing rectangular glasses and a black suit let out a small cough as he approached the window of the pharmacy's counter. Setting your pen down, you looked at this man. Your gaze met his blue eyes. You noticed how his hair was neatly styled.

There was a moment of silence before you brushed up your thoughts. "Can I help you with anything, sir?"

"I'm here to get the prescription I need."

"And what's your name, sir?"

"Doctor Jonathan Crane."

Your eyes widened, and the pen in your fingers dropped as you heard the name.

That's Jonathan fucking Crane?

He looked younger than you expected to be. You thought that the head psychologist was old so he's the only psychologist in the asylum allowed to prescribe medication.

"I— Please give me a few seconds to find it, Doctor Crane," you stuttered, immediately standing up and wengoing the back of the cashier to where all the anti-depressants and anti-psychotic medicines were stored.

"Hurry up. I don't have enough time to wait," he replied, rolling his eyes out of irritation.

After a few minutes, you finally saw a brown paper bag with his name on it. You immediately grabbed it and then stapled it to ensure that the medicines were safely secured. You walked up to the desk, placing the paper box on top of it in front of Jonathan.

"Thank you," he said, looking at the metallic nameplate on your uniform. "Miss (L/n)."

After that first interaction, he has been meeting you up again in the pharmacy. Taking his usual prescription medicines. After a few more visits, he started to make a few more chats rather than greetings. Asking you how you were, when's your schedule, etc.,

During those visits, you cannot help but feel something. The way you blush every time he compliments you. The way his delicate fingers meet yours when you give him the medicines. Or the way how he just looks fucking good.

One day, you waited for Jonathan to grab his prescription, so you waited. It's been a few hours and no Doctor Crane appeared. Taking a deep sigh, you continued to do your inventory as you waited for him to come.

After a few hours of waiting, a woman knocks on the glass of the pharmacy's counter. You greeted, letting out a soft smile despite being sad for not seeing the psychologist yet.

"May I help you, ma'am?" you asked.

"I'm here to get Doctor Crane's prescription."

Your ears perked up as you heard his name. Your back stiffens as your eyes widen. Why is she here? Why isn't Jonathan here?

"I'm sorry, ma'am; who are you?" you asked in confusion. "I'm sure Doctor Crane doesn't want his prescription medicines to be taken."

The women laughed at your question and your eyebrows met together.

"Oh, I'm his assistant, silly. Maybe his soon-to-be girlfriend? Not sure yet."

What?

Your stomach churned. A mix of sadness and anger rolled up your mind. You didn't know that Jonathan was interested in anyone. You thought that you would have a chance with him. You felt ill.

You stormed out right away, grabbing the papaer box with his name on it. Putting it in front of her harshly.

Forcing on a smile, you said, "Here's the prescription, ma'am."

"Thank you." the woman replied, grabbing the paper box before walking away.

Jealousy is buried all over your body. Bur you cannot help but feel insecure. She was indeed pretty. For sure Jonathan likes her too.

But you also felt mostly anger and jealousy.

As soon as your shift ended, you hurriedly grabbed your bag and went straight to your small apartment. Turning the doorknob, you entered your apartment and removed your shoe. Grabbing a pen and paper from your cabinet, you wrote different formulas for making something for him.

A love potion.

It does sound silly but you were so obsessed with him and you want him that badly. You felt like he was yours and you were his.

The remaining days stayed the same. The same woman grabbed Jonathan's medicines. The same anger and jealousy never left you. You continued in your potion, grabbing all the hallucinogens that you needed from the rmaprimacyou will spend your night making it.

After a week, you finally finished creating the spray. You choose to make the smell the same as your perfume; to let him know that he is yours.

Arriving at the Asylum, you set your bag behind your chair as you start to do your work. There were a lot of customers that day so you kept yourself occupied.

Finally, his assistant arrived.

She approached the glass with the same cheeky smile. "Jonathan's prescription, please."

Fuck, are they in the first-name business now?

Straightening your back, you said, "I think I'll give it to Doctor Crane myself."

The assistant's head turned to your direction with a face in disbelief. She placed her phone down.

"Why?" she asked.

"Doctor Crane requested a new medicine and it contains rare chemicals and it needs to be taken care of properly. This is the last medicine in our inventory so I suggest I'll be the one to give it to him." you lied.

"Fine. I don't care with whatever medicine he wants anyway. Your pharmacists can take catfish that. I'll just go take a quick dinner break, anyways." she replied, rolling her eyes before she walked away while busy typing on her phone.

As she walked away, you let out a sigh of relief. You grabbed the paper box at the back and then the spray you placed on a small glass sprayer in your bag, hiding it in your pocket.

"Hey, Adeline, I'll just give this medicine to Doctor Crane; he requested it," you said, showing him the paper box with his name.

"Yeah sure, no problem. I'll cover the cashier for you." your friend replied.

Letting out a 'thank you', you exited the pharmacy. You didn't know where his clinic was so you tried finding his name on the big board on the entrance of the hospital that was filled with all the doctors and their clinic rooms in the Asylum. You got up the elevator and pressed the buttons. You're confident with this. You checked the formula all over again and gave you the same result but you cannot help but feel how your heartbeat thumped aggressively.

It will work.

You went out as soon as the elevator doors opened. The whole floor was quiet and there were only a few people there, mainly janitors cleaning up. You walked while looking at the small paper in your hand where you wrote his room number.

You stopped your tracks as soon as you saw his name on a sign on a black door.

Dr. Jonathan Crane, M.D, Psy.D, J. Crim. Psychol.

Letting out a deep breath, your fingers opened the door. The entrance was small. A long cushion was on the right while the assistant/secretary's table was on the left— which was empty. There was another door in front of you, which you think is his office.

You knocked three times on the door, fixing your uniform and your hair. You gripped your pocket tightly, securing it.

Your eyes met him as he opened the door. His outfit looked the same. His hairstyles led properly. His rectangular glasses shined. Jonathan's eyes then met yours.

"(Y/n)? What are you doing here?" he asked, not closing the door.

Fuck, he looks hot.

"I— I'm here for the prescription you needed, Doctor Crane," you replied, handing out the paper box with his name on your hand. "Your.. secretary said that she was busy so I decided to just give it to you instead of myself."

Jonathan's eyes still locking yours. "Oh. Well, thank you, (Y/n). Do you want to come inside?" he offered, taking the prescription in your hands gently, his fingers touching yours.

You felt a strike on your spine at the sudden short touch. Jonathan's touch was gentle and his hands felt soft.

"O-Okay.." you replied.

Jonathan opened his door widely, letting you come inside first and then him. His office was twice as big as the outside. His certificates hanging on the wall. A small scarecrow figure is displayed on the black shelves.

"Please, sit." Jonathan offered.

Nodding, you sat down. Your hand still clutching tightly to your pockets.

"How have you been?" he asked, leaning against his wooden table while you sat in front of him.

"I'm fine, Doctor Cra—"

"Jonathan. Jonathan is alright." he interrupted.

"Oh, right.." you nodded. "I'm fine, Jonathan. Lots of customers but still doing great. And you?"

"Same way either," he replied, removing his glasses as he looked at you and fuck, you find it so hot.

"So, your secretary.." you brought up the topic. "Is she your.. girlfriend?"

Your question made him laugh. Putting his glasses on he replied, "What makes you think that?"

"Well, she told me that she's your soon-to-be girlfriend so you know.." your hands never leaving your pocket.

Jonathan notices how your hands never leave your pocket. His eyes trying to know what you're hiding inside it.

"What's in your pocket?" he asked, changing the topic.

Fuck.

You sighed, giving up. You stood up and grabbed the spray in your pocket, spraying on his face a couple of puffs. You let out a relief.

His eyes squinted, attempting to rub the liquid off his face.

"How are you feeling, Jonathan?" you asked, walking towards him closely; your face getting closer to his as you trickled your fingers onto his soft face before letting your lips meet his. His hands gripped your waist softly as he kissed back, savoring each other's taste.

He finally opened his eyes and let out another laugh. You let go of him immediately, you were confused. It didn't work? But you were sure that the formula was right. You had the right chemicals. You had the best hallucinogenic chemicals in the city.

Unless..

"Let me guess.. love potion?" he asked, his lips painting a smirk on his face as he looked at you.

You panicked. "I— Why isn't it working?"

Your heels stepped backward while he moved forward. Your heart started to thump aggressively; you were panicking.

"Why isn't it working indeed." Jonathan's eyes grow wide as his lips curve into a smirk. "Well, there are only two options. Either your little experience was an absolute fail or I'm already in love with you."

The words coming out of your mouth left you gasping. He's right. There were only two options.

"But how about your secretary?" you asked.

Jonathan began walking much closer to you until both of your faces were inches apart; your waist hitting his desk. You can be sure that he can hear how loud your heartbeat is. You can smell his strong men's perfume from his neck and his wrists. You can see how ravishing his blue eyes really are.

"It's you. It's always been you." Jonathan confessed, his eyes getting soft as he looked at you.

After a few visits from the pharmacy, Jonathan started to take an interest in you. He observes how you tilt a strand of your hair to the back of your ear whenever he compliments you. How your things are always the same color which he thinks is your favorite. How your ears perked up whenever he brings small conversations about your expertise— medicines.

Jonathan's soft hands found their way to your hips, securing them; tthemknowow you were his. Your lower body sat on top of his black wooden table. His, then, lips crashed into yours again but delicately. You were shocked by the sudden confession and the kiss but you ignored it anyway; you kissed him back, gripping a fistful of his hair as the kiss deepened. The way his tongue met yours made you wet. He explored your lips and tongue, allowing him to savor your taste leaving a trail of kisses down your neck before sucking it, making you suddenly moan in pleasure.

"Ah yes," you moaned but immediately covered your mouth when you noticed how loud it was.

"Don't worry, love," he said in between kisses, continuing to mark your neck. "The whole room is soundproof. Scream all you want, doll."

The wetness in your panties became worse. Your breath hitched as he sucked that spot in your neck. His hands began to trail down to your thighs, his fingers tracing it. The tent in his pants began to be visible.

"Please— touch me, Jonathan.."

Jonathan's fingers now trailed in between your thighs, toying with your clothed clit under your skirt. The touch sends shivers down your spine. He can feel how wet you are and your white lacey panties.

His lips began to paint another sluggish smirk. "So wet for me already?" he teased.

"Please, Johnny. I need you," you cried in pleasure as his fingers started to massage your clit from your panties.

Jonathan removed your panties before throwing them off the floor. The cold air touching your sensitive cunt made you shiver. His thumb began to rub it slowly and then his pace fastened making you bob your head backward, your eyes closing as you felt the pleasure down there. The wet noise echoed all over the room. He then started to insert two of his fingers with no warning making you moaaloudud.

"Fuck!— Yes, Jonathan!"

You moaned as his finger hit that spongy spot there. Your toyed pussy clenching around his fingers. His thumb circling figure eights on your clit. Back arching, your legs squirmed.

Jonathan's fast pace made you feel the knot in your stomach tighten, feeling more wet. Your moans were getting louder and louder.

"Jon.." you moaned. "I'm close."

"Go on," he whispered, you can feel his hot breath on your neck. "Cum on my fingers."

Jonathan's pace quickened until your orgasm flowed. His fingers were coated with your white juices. Jonathan brought up his fingers to his tongue, licking it clean as he tasted your juice.

"Mhm, sweet," he smirked.

Even though you just came from your orgasm, you still have that desire for more. You want him to take you. You want to feel him.

Jonathan gave you a small sweet kiss before his hands found their way to his black trousers, unzipping them; his erection can be clear through his boxers.

"You want me that bad, huh?" he teased. "I think you're the one who drank that potion of yours."

His voice was deep, husky, and raspy which made you want him more. He removed his black blazer, leaving him with his white long-sleeved polo and a tie. You began to unzip your skirt as well, tossing it on the floor. He kisses you again deeply.

As soon as he removed his boxers, his cock sprung out. He was bigger than you expected and veiny. Jonathan began to align his cock to your dripping and aching hole and then inserted himself fully.

"Fuuuckkk—" he groaned as he felt your tight walls take him. "You're so tight."

You gasped as you felt his length take you; a loud hiss escaped from your lips.

"Are you okay? Does it hurt?" he genuinely asked as he noticed you hissed.

Shaking your head, you gripped his broad shoulders. "No— I'm fine. Just keep going."

Jonathan started to slowly thrust inside you, taking no rush which you appreciated. He was gentle. Your legs locked his hips as you embraced his shoulders with your arms.

"I've been dreaming about this since—" he let out a low groan as his hips moved closer to you . "..the day I saw you. Fuck, you're beautiful."

His thrust quickened, making you moan. Your tits were bouncing at every move he makes. Your eyes were completely shut, your head rolling back as you savored the pleasure Jonathan gave you. The way his tip hit your G-spot made you scream a series of the most pornographic moans you've ever done.

"Oh my god! Yes yes yes!"

A smirk on his face was formed when he heard your lovely moans in his ears. Your moans are probably his favorite note. His baby blue eyes met yours when you looked at him. The way he was still wearing his sexy glasses made you blush more.

"You feel so good, my love," he said in between his thrusts. "Fuck— you're mine, okay?"

"Yes, Johnny! I'm—fuck— yours!"

All you felt was nothing but love and ecstasy. Every thrust, every moan, every kiss, and every touch coming from him makes you feel weak and pleasurable.

The table you guys were fucking on aggressively moves at every movement the both of you do. His files, ball pens, and other items fell from the table but none of you minded as your business was focused somewhere else.

A feeling of wetness and and closeless throb in your stomach. Jonathan abusing your sensitive spot with his fat cock didn't help. Your moans and his grunts synchronize together as the both of you feel close.

"I'm gonna cum, love. Where do you want it?"

"Inside, please! Fuck! Fill me up, please please please!"

"My princess wants me to fill her up, yeah? Alright then."

After a few more aggressive thrusts, you felt your orgasm came. His cock was now stained with your cum as he continued.

"Gonna cum now, doll. Take it, baby. Yes yes yes!" Jonathan groaned as he finally came inside you. His dick spurts out his hot white cum inside your walls. Jonathan, then, pulled out; a mix of his load spilled out in your hole.

"Fuck, look at that," he said, watching it dripped to his black table.

Jonathan gave you another kiss but this time, it was passionate. His lips let out a series of compliments which made you flustered and blush at the same time.

"I guess I'll be the one who'll give you your medicines now," you teased.

"I look forward to that, my love."

After dressing up again, Jonathan guided you to the door, not wanting you to be late for your shift. As soon as he opened the door, the both of you were greeted by his assistant who just came in.

"Doctor Crane and... Miss (L/n)... Didn't expect you to visit here." the female assistant said, clearly not expecting you at all.

"Natalia, clear out my schedule this Friday. I'm going on a date with Miss (L/n) here." Jonathan said, making you blush at the sudden invitation.

His assistant's face turned into a frown and anger but tried to let out a fake smile before you and Jonathan left his clinic.

"Your assistant must be sad that I'm going out with you, Doctor Crane."

"Oh, baby... I'm only yours."

[reiderwriter]

My Love Is Mine All Mine

Week 2 of my Playlist series 🎧💕

Summary: Spencer Reid always liked broken things, but you didn't think you could be fixed. Maybe all you needed was understanding and companionship.

Warnings: slight angst, case details mentioned - misogyny, kidnapping, etc, but no graphic/ explicit details. Hurt/Comfort.

A/N: Tumblr, please let me post haha I've been good, I promise 🙏 This fic is so late because I've been having some technical issues with tumblr and it has greatly annoyed me, so hopefully if you're seeing this it's been fixed? Who knows... Thank you to everyone who has sent in songs so far for the Playlist series, I'll be cresting the playlist today and posting it for everyone to see and use!

Masterlist || Series Playlist

Falling for Spencer Reid wasn't in your plan for the new year, but looking back, it was probably something that was just bound to happen. 

He'd been the first person to show you any kindness after everything you went through, the first person who hadn't put their own rigid horror at your past before their attempts at sympathy. 

You watched the way people recoiled from you as you told them - bluntly, you had to be blunt - what the man in the cabin had done to you. 

He listened to your words, didn't interrupt, didn't quietly shake in anger, and refuse to meet your eyes like your father did, didn't weep for her baby like your mother did. He took your hand as it shook. He held your gaze. 

It was his job to ask questions, but there weren't many left to answer. 

The only reason you were alive was because his team had tracked the string of bodies to your kidnappers home. You were alive because one of his coworkers had put a bullet through his head, ending your nightmare. 

The very idea of love was repulsive to you as you emerged from that basement in the first days of the next year, and you remembered thinking the snow looked fresh and soft. You remembered wanting to lay in it, to wrap it around yourself like a warm blanket and drift into sleep. The cold ground would be as much comfort as you would allow yourself. 

Because after everything, you knew you didn't deserve love. 

You accepted understanding from him, though. 

When the shock wore off, you were awash in all the misery inflicted upon you. You raged, kicked, screamed, broke things, and made people uncomfortable. Nothing would numb the pain of being trapped inside your head, your head still trapped inside that basement, that cage. 

He came to visit you at the hospital. The nurses had given up on you, were content you were physically healing, and that they had technically done their job but not bothered by your deteriorating mental state. Some days, you swore that they pierced your skin in the wrong places purposefully, not even searching for your vein. 

But then he was there, with a book and a chess board, and he'd asked you if you'd ever played before. 

“No. Chess always seemed too…” You swallowed the bile that drowned your lungs and tried again. “Before, it was boring. An old person game, too many rules. Now… He said we shouldn't do things like this. Said we shouldn't cultivate our minds.” 

It was a confession again, but one that took a weight off your shoulders, and not one that pushed it further down. 

“Would you like to learn?” His tone was so soft and awkward, like a teenage boy asking a girl out on a first date, that you almost giggled. 

“I'll be honest and say you'll never beat me, I've played through most board combinations, including a large proportion of the 10^80 theorised checkmate positions, so if you'd rather do something else, that's fine, or I can leave, too, if… you'd… prefer?” 

You had laughed then, a thing that bubbled up from the pit of your stomach and left your shoulders shaking as you gasped for breath doubled over. 

You'd been in hell for six months, and he'd drawn you out of it for a few moments by rambling about chess. 

“Are you a patient person, Doctor Reid?” 

“I think so.”

“Then set up the board and let's play.” 

He beat you every time, obviously, but you enjoyed his small explanations of the moves, and you did improve slightly. 

More than that, you enjoyed his company. It wasn't that you talked extensively In your hospital room, oscillating between your lowest point and somewhere just a rung above that where the snow was falling and the air was fresh, but that he never looked at you the way others did. 

You were discharged and were sad to lose that small glimmer of normality. He'd come twice a week throughout January, and now you were back in your usual shape. You were being discharged, and so that would end. 

You were surprised that he came to pick you up from the hospital the day you left. 

The parents who had looked everywhere for you for half a year hadn't wanted to, and the close friends from before hadn't spared you a thought since reposting your missing poster on their social media pages. 

But the man you played chess with twice a week, the man who'd carried you out of hell himself was there. 

“Ready to go?” You nodded, dumbstruck, and followed as he grabbed your bag. 

You weren't exactly sure where it was you were going, but you followed the man anyway, only a small part of your brain shouting in protest considering the last time you'd been blindly trusting.

He led you back to an apartment with some bare furnishings but a large window and a warm soft blanket covering the bed. It wasn't his, but yours. 

“Your parents are paying for it. They're taking the city to court due to the circumstances. Apparently, there were numerous phone calls to law enforcement that went unnoticed, but the city is looking to settle, so you don't have to worry about rent for a while, maybe ever again. The WiFi is all set up, hot water is working, and so is the heating. The locks are triple enforced, and I'm right down the hall, so if you need-” 

“What?” 

He blinked at you and suddenly, looking sheepish, as if becoming aware that he'd presumed a friendship between the two of you without consulting you first. 

“I live down the hall.” 

You stared at each other for a few moments as you processed his words. He lived down the hall. He'd driven you to your new home, set everything up for you, and he lived down the hall. 

“You're a good man, Spencer Reid.” You whispered, turning away to not let the moment linger anymore than it already had. 

Chess nights became routine. You'd set up the board and play for an hour or two or until you were sick of losing. 

Gradually, though, the nights got longer. He'd arrive just as you were eating a meal, and you'd invite him to join you, or he'd bring along takeaway and you'd eat quietly together, talking about everything and nothing.  

One day, you'd mentioned a film. A popular one, one you'd loved as a child and still rewatched to this day. 

“I've never seen it, is it good?” He'd said. And in your shock, you jumped up and sent half the chessboard flying. 

“Well, it seems that now our game is over, that we have time to give you an education, Doctor Reid.” 

“I have three PhD's-” 

“And still you haven't seen Clueless?” 

You'd pulled him over to the couch he'd picked out for you, loaded up the movie and then invented a new tradition. 

Chess nights and film nights were separate days of the week. So he could always promise to be around for one of them even if he had to miss the other because of work. 

You didn't ask him about his job anymore. He saved people like you, and you didn't need to be thinking about people like you too much.

What they went through, if they survived physically. If they survived in other ways. 

He always visited you first when he returned, though. There would be a knock on your door at some point in the day or night, and he'd let you know he was home safe. 

Another tradition. You'd opened the door to let him in the first time he'd returned from a case after you moved in, and he'd leaned down and wrapped his arms around you. 

You heard the breath of relief, loud and emotional, and hadn't quite realised it had come from you until a few minutes later. Some part of you had thought he wouldn't come back. 

Now, every time he came home, you ran to the door and quietly comforted each other, reminding the other that no matter what happened, you were both there for each other. 

You weren't sure when traditions and movies turned into love or if it had lingered over you the entire time. You didn't think you could love someone right then, your heart broken into small pieces with the torment you'd suffered. 

But it was stitched back together with pieces of him still lodged inside. He was in the very fabric of your being as you became whole again. 

The truth was that you most likely couldn't find love again because there was no room in your heart for anyone else. And you'd never be able to reschedule chess nights to go on dates anyway. 

You weren't sure if Spencer ever figured out how much of hum you carried around with him, how your eyes followed his lips as he ran through decades of memories to give you the fact he thought would please you the most. You weren't sure if he loved you as much as you did him until you were.

You'd agreed to watch one of his movies for a change, agreeing to stop the streak of 80s brat pack classics to watch a black and white war film from Russia with no subtitles. You'd sat together on that couch under blankets you'd bought together months earlier, and he'd pulled you in closer.

“I want to watch the movie and translate at the same time. You should sit here.” He'd pulled you into his lap, letting your back fall against his chest as his lips fell to your ears, and he began to whisper. 

Sitting there so closely, so intimately, was almost torture. Unconsciously, your head tipped back with his words, displaying your neck and shoulders, silently willing his lips to drift even once. His arms wrapped around your waist, and you did your best not to squirm the entire movie, but with your heart beating out of your chest, it was a hopeless cause. 

“Did you enjoy it?” He whispered as the credits rolled, but you hadn't even noticed the movie had ended. It wasn't until the silence that followed his question stretched out notably that you came back to reality. You couldn't answer, in fact. You gaped for a few short moments, hoping something vague but accurate enough would just pop into your mind. 

As you attempted to negotiate yourself out of distraction, you turned your face to his, but he was closer than you thought.

Your noses touched, and your breaths mingled. His arms still wrapped around your waist, and your blankets still anchored you to one another. 

“I wasn't paying attention to the movie, Spencer. I'm sorry.” The words came out of you so fast, yet so quietly that you were surprised yourself how honest you had chosen to be. 

“Why not?” He asked, eyes having drifted sleepily down to gaze at your lips. 

You didn't answer his question but felt your cheeks flush red. You thought about pulling away, moving back, or at least laughing everything off, but you didn't. You stayed there, still like a deer in headlights. 

“Your voice was too distracting,” You forced some of the tension out of your body and let your head fall against his shoulder again, hoping this moment wouldn't end anytime soon. 

“Distracting?” He sounded concerned and shifted in his seat, lifting you up from your happy place in his arms until you were again face to face. “Did I make you uncomfortable?” 

The look on his face was so concerned and focused that you had to pause for a second to catch your breath. He cared about your comfort so much and paid attention to each word that came out of your mouth. He wanted your happiness more than anything in the world. 

“No. I'm never uncomfortable with you, Spencer.” You were back to whispering now, hands floating up to grab his own, fidgeting by his sides. You bought them up to your face and guided his hands to your cheeks, needing to show him just how comfortable you were with him in actions, not just words. Words could be dishonest. Actions were honest. 

His concern melted away as he began stroking your cheek with his thumb, smiling sweetly at you. 

Though you were both content, you'd never been quite this intimate before. So when his thumb swiped over the corner of your lips, your eyes both caught on each other. You could see him weighing up the outcomes in his head, going back and forth between pulling away and pushing in closer.

Slowly and softly, as though he were trying not to startle you, his head moved closer until his lips were on yours. 

It was a quiet kiss. You wouldn't describe it as fireworks, or butterflies, or anything loud and grand and passionate. It was quiet, and it was right. 

He pulled away seconds later, trying to gauge your reaction, but you followed him away and kissed him again. 

When you finally pulled away, it took you a few seconds to realise you'd climbed back into his lap, unconsciously having moved closer to him. You guiltily looked up, waiting to see any discomfort on his features, but to your surprise, he was busy straightening out your hair. 

“I love you, Spencer,” you whispered as he took care of you. He smiled, looking down at you once again, pulling his arms around you to gently lower both of you down to a laying position on your couch. 

“I love you, too,” he said as you held each other and drifted into contented sleep.

[light-the-spark-of-dawn]

Bruce Wayne being the owner of the Daily Planet is just about the only reason I can believe Clark Kent would still have a career as a news reporter. And to be clear, this isn't a joke about his salary (which would probably be decent anyway since he's a senior reporter), but rather a commentary on the compromised integrity of American journalism.

Consider the news surrounding the United Healthcare shooting. The murder of a healthcare company CEO was immediately met with universal public support for the killer. Pretty much everyone in America despises the predatory healthcare system so much that they celebrated Brian Thompson's getting gunned down in the streets of Manhattan as being well-deserved, in spite of major news media trying to paint the bastard as an innocent victim and family man

Literally, the best defense of Thompson's character that they could come up with was that he was a father, husband, and a successful CEO who expanded the company. None of the articles mention that he had been separated from his wife for years. They conveniently leave out that under his leadership, UHC was criticized by the American Hospital Association and used AI to automate claim denials, forcing thousands of people to go without medical care.

The dead are lionized all the time. But this was a man whose life's work was built off the suffering of others and had virtually no good deeds to speak of. And yet the narrative that news reporting is trying to push is that the public joy at his murder is "disturbing" and "ghoulish" and even "un-American" (genuinely the most tone-deaf take I've seen thus far).

And now that Luigi Mangione has been arrested as a suspect in the case, the news have shifted to dissecting his whole life and laying it bare for people to see. He's a well-read and intelligent guy who graduated from an Ivy League college. He's a 26 year old tech bro from a wealthy family and was the valedictorian of his private school. He wrote a review of the Unabomber's book and gave it 4 stars. He had a traumatic back surgery and afterward became depressed and withdrawn. He wrote a manifesto condemning corporate America. He played Among Us (the fact that a major news company published a whole ass article about this is both hilarious and depressing).

Whether Mangione was the killer or not, the media is airing out any and all details of his personal history. But most of the articles I've seen aren't trying to analyze what would have led to an otherwise normal guy to assassinate a healthcare CEO. Because it's obvious to anyone who knows anything about American healthcare. Instead it's all talk about how he was "yelling at the press" and not about what he was yelling ("This is completely unjust and an insult to the intelligence of the American people and their lived experience").

90% of American media is owned by 6 conglomerates. It's in their best interest to diminish sympathy for someone like Mangione, who spoke out against the corporate robber barons. It's in their best interest to make people think he's a radical nutjob, a privileged college snob, a violent right-winger- anything that makes him less relatable to the people who are supporting him. And it's working.

Already we're seeing people across the political spectrum getting hung up on whether Mangione is a hero or not because his cousin is a Republican, his family was wealthy, he was college-educated, he's a cis straight white male, etc. It's worth noting that he hasn't even been extradited from Pennsylvania to New York yet, much less been put on trial or found guilty. And even if he was, his identity is not the point.

We must stop looking at the trees and take a step back to see that the entire forest was planted to prevent us from seeing the palace behind it.

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

Black Metal and Bourbon (III)

AU MASTERLIST || THE FINAL PART

PAIRING: Biker/Mechanic!Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Bartender!Reader

WORDCOUNT: 7.9k

WARNINGS: Depictions of injuries, blood, gore, abductions, death, talks about bike crashes, violence, guns, intended harm, past toxic relationship, murder, protective!Simon, suggestive content, (1) dirty joke, etc. (18+ mini-series)

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

You remember the long nights when you would sit in the empty bar and wonder why you’d never left. Why you couldn’t up and disappear like you wanted to—a bird taking flight and choosing any direction at all to travel, just as long as you didn’t stay on this branch. It wouldn’t have been hard. There wasn’t anything here that mattered to you. 

This invisible string was holding you back, waiting; tying you to something that you would never understand for as long as you lived. You had dreams and aspirations. 

So why hadn’t you grabbed them by the throat and dragged them along with you?

Maybe there were larger powers in that old town, a mischievous spirit that played a game of chess with the lives of its inhabitants. It certainly felt like it.

Especially when you’re flying through the air, the rain falling in slow motion as hands slash past wind to grab at your body. You recall flashes of that day. Snippets. 

Even now, you feel like you see it in the third person, your form getting tossed by the momentum of the flipping motorcycle and cutting the storm—Simon’s hands reaching out and grasping you. He had dragged you into his chest, his back taking the force of the ground as you slid along the wet streets, pained grunts echoing into your soul as your panic resulted in a shocked muteness. His hands had been gripping you so tight that veins had burst, the view of the sky above you as your back conformed to his chest. 

And then you’d both tumbled, rolled over and over as the screech of metal grated your ringing eardrums and pain flared like fire. Your head slammed into the front of the helmet with a smack, and nothing else is recalled. 

Until now, of course. 

You try to move your fingers, the tight hold of a cast over the entirety of your left forearm—the action brings a wave of weakness with it, making you grit your teeth. You’d woken up in the hospital with black dots in your vision, your body so unresponsive your mind had panicked thinking you wouldn’t be able to move at all. 

And Simon? 

Where was Simon? You’d been so loud with your hoarse calling that the nurses had rushed in and had to put you back under, letting you drift and brushing their hands over your head as you babbled on failing breath. Never once had your brain left you void of the mechanic’s brown eyes—his hands grabbing you, keeping you safe at the risk of his own flesh. 

He hadn’t been wearing a helmet.

But now…now you were fully conscious. 

“Where is he?” Your face is perhaps one of the few parts of you that was unscathed. Your legs were skinned—wrapped so tightly you couldn’t move them. While Simon’s leather jacket had saved your arms, they were still battered and bulging with blisters as big as your hand. Your forearm was broken.

The nurse shushed you, and your voice snapped. “Loralie, I’ve known you since middle school,” she pauses, lips thinning as she messes with your IV drip. “You’re going to tell me where the hell he is, or I’m going to scream that you made Braylan Holt forge your high school diploma.”

Sizzling eyes meet yours, but not even that will deter you—your heart is heard, rapid on the screen to your left.

“You’re a damn horror, Bartender.”

“You’re acting like I give a shit,” you growl and the nurse slightly moves back, never hearing that venom from you before to such a degree. “Where the fuck is Simon before I get up myself.”

It’s like a dog with fear aggression—you can’t comprehend the man you’d formed such a bond with hurt, much less here in this hospital with you and…and…

Your heart rate increases even more. 

He wasn’t wearing a helmet.

“That’s not gonna happen, Sweetheart,” Loralie grits out. “You won’t be walkin’ for another week, at least. Not with all that damage—your legs were so bloody the EMTs couldn’t tell where the hell the blood was even comin’ from.”

Your working hand curls into a tight fist, teeth snapping together as you restrain a flinch. You don’t want to think about that right now. 

“Simon,” you grunt, shaking. 

The woman stares for a moment before sighing. 

“You’re something strange, Girl. How the hell you managed to be stuck here is some mystery I can’t fathom. Fine,” she glares before a fast whisper. “But you best forget about that stint with Holt, alright? You never mention that again—”

“Already forgotten,” you grind out, impatient. Even the muddled agony from under the sheen of the pain meds couldn’t stop you. “Speak.”

“The man’s in rough shape. Hasn’t woken up yet.” Your jaw clenches tight, blood pumping like a river. A finger is leveled at you, moving in an accusing motion. “He’s lucky he didn’t die, by all accounts the shape he was in he should have. Had to go into surgery to get the bike shrapnel out of his legs.”

“Surgery?” Your eyes go wide, your voice frantic. “W-what about his head—did he hit it, or…or is he—”

“His brain waves are active.” The nurse tidies the blankets at the end of your bed. “Can’t say that about his body.” 

Your throat sinches violently, and you have to look away to hide your tears. Moments later, the woman lets out an aggressive sigh, her hands moving to cross over her chest. 

“That man must fucking love you,” you blank, blinking quickly as you sniffle and try to shift your expression back to fake anger.

“What…?” You ask, your tone defeated.

Loralie stares, her eyes moving to the IV only to waft back when she can gather her thoughts. 

“If he hadn’t grabbed you, you would have gone right off the edge of the road into the rocks.” In the bed, your body goes as still as possible, your ears twitching at the confession. “In the middle of getting road-burned to all hell, he still grabbed you. If you would have gone over, we’d only be having one of our intensive care rooms filled up…you hear?”

You can’t say anything, only watch as the nurse finishes up her work and exits with one last look of exasperation. 

Alone, your brain finally tries to comprehend what you’d just been told. 

“...Simon,” you whisper to dead air long minutes later, the machines all around you beeping. 

The tears come easily.

—

When your legs finally started working again, it didn’t bring you any comfort. Only Simon could do that, and seeing the looks from the other staff, they knew it as well. You couldn’t keep your full weight on your limbs, only bend the toes and knees in small intervals. 

The doctor said it was a fantastic start, but you felt helpless. 

You wanted to see him, yet first came the interview with the Sheriff to explain what had happened. After the details started coming back, a larger picture was formed, and when you had been able to get ahold of a phone—your own shattered and little more than a box—you’d heard a case had already been opened. 

Simon’s bike had been tampered with. 

After you’d given your statement, you had been surprised to find three mechanics at your door, walking in quickly and throwing over concerned looks at your busted forearm and hidden legs. 

“Christ,” Soap says, a flash of anger crossing like lightning over his eyes. “You don’t hurt much, do you?”

“No,” you lie easily. “Could be worse,” your words were whispered. 

John sends you an indiserable look as Gaz sips off his hat and keeps it in his grip as he frowns. 

“We’re happy you’re alright, Love. Scared us half to death when we heard the news—thought the worst,” Kyle commented, the Brit’s hand running over his neck slowly. 

They could all tell that you weren’t in the right mindset. 

“He’s alive,” you look over to Price sharply. Those blue eyes don’t waver. “That’s all that matters. He’s alive.”

“Aye,” Johnny agrees, nodding his head and crossing his arms. A stubborn expression was on his face. “Never known someone like Simon. The man’ll push through without a doubt—just needs time to rest up.”

“I shouldn’t have agreed to go out,” you mutter, rubbing at your cheek, thinking about a man with a mangled body and skinned bones. Jesus, he needed to be alright. He had to be. 

“No one could have thought that would happen,” Kyle comes over and puts a firm hand on your shoulder. “Hey, c’mon,” you look at him with a guilty face; fear under your tiny pupils. The man smiles, but it’s shaky at best. “We all know who to blame for this, yeah? Don’t go taking that from the person who needs to carry it.”

“We’ve been keeping up with it,” Soap adds, frowning. “Still no trace.”

“They haven't found him yet?” Your brows turn in with concern, a sudden paranoia entering your head—if they hadn’t found Graham, what’s to stop him from doing something like this again? Hell, if he was unhinged enough to commit attempted murder, what was stopping him from pushing those boundaries now that he’s already gone through with the former?  

“We’re not going anywhere,” John seems to sense this. You look at him quickly. The man grunts, lips moving as he speaks. “Not until he’s found.”

A piece of your heart eases at that, thankfulness flooding your veins.

“...Do,” your voice pauses, and you swallow down saliva slowly before you continue. “Do you know when they’ll let me see him?”

Soap and Gaz share a glance, the Scot going to ease into the chair on the other side of the room with a low sigh. 

“They’re not letting anyone in,” Kyle utters. “Not until his condition improves a bit. We tried.” 

“Two weeks,” John nods to you. “They’re only giving estimates.” 

Fingers twitching, you look down at your lap, the hospital bed hard under you. The words come out, and you find they’re met with a hard certainty from the men around you.

“What if they don’t find Graham?”

“...Then we will.”

—

The mechanics had all looked over their bikes for any tampering and had found none when they reported back to you—the bolts had been loosened only on Simon’s. Soap was the one who had mentioned that you might have never been the target at all, and that Graham had been a spiteful man who just wanted to make a point about his past relationships’ new attraction. The thought didn’t settle you.

All of them were undeniably worried about their friend.

You’d tried to get what you could out of the other nurses—any signs of waking or getting better, but there were only stiff looks as if it was taboo to talk about him. Like an inside joke with the devil. 

The staff had finally said they would tell you themselves if there was any change in Simon’s health. It didn’t stop you from asking, though. It currently didn’t stop you from sneaking out in the middle of the night after visiting hours, either. 

Your legs were still weak, sometimes going numb entirely as you dragged them over the floor. Inside your eyes, black dots swirled as you effectively dodged the front desk by taking the far back hallway; the lights above your head were too bright and too loud. 

Your arm burned something awful.

Eyes blinking rapidly, you pant as you go from room to room, not stopping even to breathe before room fourteen makes your soul pull in on itself like a crow holding a bell. The bit of metal jingles, attached to a red string that flutters in the wind—reaching back to the wreath it was stolen from. 

Not understanding the instinctual feeling, you grasp the handle and push open the door with more force than you’re able to push out of you; your working arm quivering violently. 

But the sight behind the door is something you would cross mountains for. 

Simon lies still on the bed, attached to so many machines he seems more like a cyborg than a man. Over his face, an oxygen mask takes the place of a balaclava, and the right side of flesh is patched with so many bandages the bulk makes your stomach drop. 

“Simon,” you whisper, stuttering as your blood falls internally to pool at your feet. 

Walking over as quickly as you’re able, you pause at the side of his bed, nearly falling over as your knees buckle. You lean your weight on the frame and take a deep breath. 

This man saved your life. 

You look at him, unable to say anything—unable to utter a sarcastic quip. Your hand stutters in its course through the sterile air, but at the very end of it, your skin settles over Simon’s hand; the limb on his chest. 

“Simon,” you say again, licking your lips, fingers squeezing his tattoos as if to bring the images to life. “Can you hear me, Brown-Eyes?” 

You needed him to wake up—needed to speak to him, see that October gaze lock so numbly with yours. Dead eyes had never meant so much to you than when the man that wore them wasn’t blinking so softly. Where had he gone?

“Simon,” you plead, getting choked up when nothing happens beyond the flicking of the light on the ceiling. The beeping of his pulse didn’t change, not even when you intertwined your fingers together to lock them like a knot—a promise. “I need you to be okay,” your voice stutters. 

“We have to get through this together…I…” Tears splatter his tattoos, his lovely, beautiful, tattoos, you hiccup. “We need each other.”

Maybe it was cliche, two people who relied on one another in a town of nobodies, but it didn’t make it untrue. And maybe it was a partial lie—after all, you didn’t know what Simon thought of you exactly, but the way he looked at you, how he cast his shadow above yours, was a well enough guess in the right direction. But you needed to say it, and your heart ached to see him like this.

Simon doesn’t move, his hand is cold and his lashes stuck to his cheeks.

“Simon,” you hiss, sniffling. 

The hours pass, and you stay there for as long as you’re able before your body is about to give out on you. You reluctantly kiss his forehead and leave with a crushing weight on your shoulders, so much so that the flashes of broken metal and rain don’t even bother you at this point.

A rage grows in your breast.

But when you sneak back to your room, you don’t go to bed. You can’t. The smell in the space is something that leaves your eyes stuck wide until your legs actually do buckle. Your eyes stare at the far wall blankly.

Cigarette smoke lingers in the air.

—

“He woke up last night.” Your blank eyes stare, expression stuck firm. Loralie gives you your lunch, setting it down on the bed tray. “Around three. Said your name and then passed out again.” 

“Why didn’t you get me?” You’re already pushing off the bed, your lips letting loose a grunt. The boys had to be at work today—a Thursday—so that left you alone and bored until they took a break and walked over to keep an eye on things. 

Wincing when your feet touch down, you’re quickly, and very easily, pushed back into bed with a scoff. 

“Loralie,” you growl, venom in your throat like a rampaging bull. 

“Sit down and let me finish.” The both of you glare before she rolls her eyes and points to the food. “Acting like a damn teenager. Eat.” She doesn’t start until you pick up the fork just to shove a single piece of the lunch into your mouth to spite her, slowly chewing it with a scowl. Loralie rubs at her temple. “He’s getting better, but it’s still a long road. Activity’s peaking every now and again—fingers been twitching, too. Some of the bandages have been able to come off.”

“Thank the fucking lord,” you breathe, running both hands over your face as you sigh out slowly. “Any estimate on when he might fully wake up.”

“God knows,” the nurse huffs. “He had brain bleed. Man was all kinds of messed-up.”

Your chest tightens, but you say nothing. You’d suddenly lost your appetite. 

As the afternoon rolls around, you take down your pain medicine and fight the blurriness of your eyes. Healing was a very long and very tiring process—it seemed like no matter how much sleep you got you still woke up tired. And you suppose that was why you fell into an uncomfortable nap and woke up to the window still open, the moonlight rays like sheer fabric cascading down to the tile floors. 

Groaning, your head lifts from the pillow; your first thoughts are always of Simon and how he’s doing. It was time to see him again. 

Your TV-static mind reruns how he looks over and over again—the bloody bandages, the wrappings around his face. Even the machines now seemed to sneer at you as your guilt grew harder to ignore. He’d saved you at the cost of himself…without even hesitating. 

Why would he do that?

“You really had to go and make me love you, huh?” You ask into the cold air, a breeze shifting through as you slowly sit up on one arm. “Simon, if I’d known you would have gone and done this, I would have never looked at that sold sign. At least then you’d be okay.”

“You love him?” Your body twists up, large patches of gauze pulling at dried blood and mixed plasma as your body keeps itself upright. The shadow in the corner of the room moves as your fatigued brain wakes itself back up in no time at all. 

Graham. 

Eyes stuck to the far corner, the phantom of your Ex stands tall—his eyes beady. Your entire being freezes as your lips part in horror, yet, you can’t make a sound. 

He’s disheveled looking, but those eyes of his have never been more rageful. Like walking through the hospital and coming face-to-face with a grizzly bear of all things. It’s strange, but your thoughts immediately go to Simon as he steps forward, sneering at you. 

“The first man that comes into town and you love him? I didn’t think you were so easy, but I guess I was wrong.”

“What are you doing here?” Your voice is hushed, panicked—adrenaline spikes in your veins. 

If you screamed, who’s to say he wouldn’t just pounce on you? 

Graham runs a hand over his hair, his scent taking up your nostrils until you feel the need to nearly gag at ash and tobacco. “I needed to see you—explain,” he stutters, emotions swiftly flicking from anger to fake remorse. 

Your hand slowly inches to the nurse-call button attached to the wall near the bed, the cord leaking out like a snake as your fingertip catches against it. 

“You weren’t supposed to be on that bike, okay? Celina fucking messed it up—she was supposed to keep you workin’ until he went out on his own.” He’s coming closer, and you push back up the mattress in distress. 

He doesn’t stop.

“What the fuck, Graham,” your voice rises slightly, cracking in the middle. 

The man growls. “It wasn’t my fault! J-just forget about it, okay? You’re fine now, it all worked out.”

“You tried to kill us!” You shout, and Graham’s instant hiss makes you flinch back and scamper as you slam the wall behind you. 

“Don’t do that,” he snaps. “Do not…do that. Keep your damn voice down!” 

“And if I scream?” You tilt your head, shaking violently. “What then, huh? You lousy son of a bitch.” 

“You’re lucky I don’t pay that Simon of yours a visit, yeah?” Your lungs tighten, a wheezing inhale stuck in your throat. 

“You wouldn’t, Graham,” you whisper hastily. “Not with all of this shit you’ve gotten yourself into—turn yourself in and fix this.” 

The man spays his hands and your hand shifts to the bulk of the nurse’s button, running over the top until you find the correct one to press. 

It moves in with a slight pop of plastic, the darkness of the room giving you extra coverage as you slowly drop it back down. 

“It’s too late for that.” Graham shakes his head, and his stench overtakes you as you gag lightly, casted hand coming up to hide your nose. He pauses near the side of the bed, and you push to the opposite side and hear your feet slap the ground. The size of your makeshift barrier doesn’t fill you with confidence. “You need to come with me.”

“What,” you laugh in exasperation; fear coating the hoarse noise. “No! Leave!”

It was obvious that your usual sarcastic tone had slipped to a fearful one, your heart making your voice palpitate with every thump of the veins in your neck. 

The door opens and Graham’s hand darts to the back of his pants. 

Loralie’s body comes into view. “What’s happened now—”

A great ear-shattering boom leaves you screaming as blood splatters into the air.

—

Simon woke up to the world spinning. 

He grunts heavily, the oxygen mask over his face tight before he can slap a weak hand to the plastic and pull it back. The man coughs, spine curling before a bone-deep pain makes him stop with a firm inhale. 

Blinking sluggishly, he grinds his teeth together and lets the mask slip to his cheek. Movement at his slide makes Simon pause—trying to gather his bearings.

What was going on?

“Simon, easy with it.” Scottish. Johnny. “Christ…how am I going to explain this?” More shuffling and fast feet over to the side of the bed. 

“Johnny,” Simon grunts, vocal cords tight. He needed water. 

“One second, just wait. Let me…” A pause before a sloshing of water. Above the man in the bed, the ceiling moves and swirls—dancing. Simon remembers water…the bike…

“Can you hold it, then?” He doesn’t answer the Scot, instead slapping out a hand to curl the body of the glass, bringing it to his lips and downing the liquid as it slips from the side and dribbles down the side of his face. 

Johnny grumbles, “Alright.”

You. 

Simon choked on the drink, moving it back before his arms slammed to the bed, the glass bouncing off and shattering against the floor. 

“Fucking hell!” Johnny shouts, rushing forward to put a stiff hand on Simon’s chest, trying to push him back down and avoid the glass that now litters the tile. “Stop it, you’ll destroy all the damn work they did, ya idiot!”

“Where is she?” Simon garbles out, glaring forward even as his body screams and peels back healed flesh. 

“Stay the fuck down and I will!” Blue eyes sear downward, meeting brown as they battle for a moment. 

Simon clenches his hands, but compiles, top half moving back to collapse to the pillows once more. Not once do his eyes stray from the Scot, ordering him mutely to continue as his heart pounds in his breast. He remembers grabbing you and then nothing else—the scream of sirens in his ears like a distant call from a dream. But his body ached far too much for this to be a dream. 

“Where,” Simon forces out through his accent, throat like gravel. His chest was filled with dread at the nervous sheen over Johnny’s face.

“Ah…” The Scot begins. “She’s fine, Simon. She’s alive.”

That didn’t give him any reassurance. 

Simon hisses, quickly trying to get back up again and succeeding in straining his body enough to sit halfway upward. All of the wires and cords attached to him rip and pop off, frantic beeping emanating from the room. 

“Take me to ‘er. Now.”

“I can’t do that!” Johnny hisses, hands out and failing to keep him stationary. “Would you just calm down?” 

The man doesn’t answer, not until the nurses rush into the room due to the noise and tell him false words to try and get him to lay back down. Simon knew something was wrong—instincts going haywire. 

Were you…dead? No, you couldn’t be. That wouldn't be possible. Johnny knew better than to lie to him. 

“Johnny!” Simon shouts as loud as he’s able; raw authority in his mouth. Even the nurses freeze at that. 

The mohawked man’s twisted face is wracked with guilt, and there calls to the fact that Gaz and Price are nowhere to be seen. 

Simon says it slowly, wounds bleeding and his face opening the long scrapes of road-burn on his left side. It burns like a fire—itching like no other. But it’s secondary to the pure adrenaline keeping him awake. 

“Where.”

Even Johnny can’t fight that tone. 

“Graham has ‘er.”

—

This was a hunting shed, you knew. One out in the middle of the trees—about three miles from town with its rot-infected walls and a chipping wood fireplace. The floor is nearly covered in cigarette butts. 

You stay stuck in the far corner—hands and feet zip-tied together. Your head had been covered by a bag that you had grabbed and ripped off when the world stopped jostling from the trunk of a car. From then, you had been dragged at gunpoint through the hell portal of the front door. 

Graham is watching from the single chair across the room, itching at his scalp with the barrel of a .44 Magnum and using his other hand to rub along his thigh. 

“Shit,” he mutters as you watch, silent and as still as a stake in the ground. “Shit, shit, shit.” Loralie’s blood is still splattered along your face. 

He’d shot her through the stomach. You’d seen her body drop: dead in an instant.

“I didn’t mean to do that,” Graham stands suddenly, and your body recoils with a slam of your shoulder into the wall. The frame shakes. The man quivers as he glares at you. “It wasn’t my fault she came in through the fucking door!” 

You only nod tinily in frantic agreement, looking around the room in search of anything that might help you. But there’s only so much you can do against a man holding a gun—a man who finds himself wanted for a slough of crimes which now just got incredibly long.

You had heard the sirens bouncing over the hills hours prior, but no one knew you were out here unless they happened to be the best-trained tracker of all time.

It should be morning now, but the threat of rain outside obscures the tiny slivers of light that try to pierce the leaves of the forest. 

“Fuck!” Graham screams, foot kicking out to connect with the chair and sending it flying backward before it splinters and clatters—all termite-eaten legs and cracked seat. 

Your mouth releases a squeak, panting breath a sharp gasp. 

You needed to figure something out. Quickly. 

The single window is smashed in, glass sprinkling the ground in large shards, and you don’t care if it’s the result of some teenagers smashing property or anything else for that matter—you had to snap these bonds. 

It wasn’t like the termites could help. 

“Graham.” You’d never call yourself stupid, and heaven help anyone else who tried to. You didn’t work at a bar without learning more and more about the human psyche than all the years in school and adult life combined. Everyone had games they played inside of their head, a series of tic-tac-toe boards or grandiose plots of fanatical sagas; it just so happened that Graham fashioned himself the hero of every single one of them. Every line was his chicken scratch signature. 

“Graham,” you raise your voice and say again, forcing past the quiver in your tone to a lake’s calm waters.

The man’s panicking—restless as he paces the front door, guarding it from you. It wasn’t too far-fetched to believe he could kill you now to put an end to this shit-show. He’d always taken the easy way out, after all. 

But his eyes snap to yours regardless, and you have to not scream at him as he does. 

“What?” He hisses, motioning to you with the gun with a limp arm. “You wanna weigh in, then? I did this for you and you went and ruined it!” 

“I know I did, baby,” you breathe, alarm bells blaring. “I’m sorry—I just wasn’t thinking. I wanted you to fight for me.”

Your throat simmers with bile.

What were you saying? You had no idea, but it played into Graham’s weaknesses. Maybe Simon had rubbed his casual strength over to subjugate your brash sarcasm and brutish aggression. 

Simon.

God, thinking about him made you want to cry. 

“What are you talkin’ about?” Graham intently listens, the gun shaking. “Don’t….Don’t fucking play with me right now,” he warns, growling. 

“I’m not playing,” you raise your hands up, the cast protecting one wrist, but the other had the harsh plastic suffocating your veins like it was a supple neck under a cougar’s jaw. “I’m not. I got with Simon because I wanted to make you jealous—at that party?” You suck down a fast breath. “I wanted you to swing on him, yeah? I know you could have made an example out of him.”

“Course I would have,” Graham mutters, pushing his hand up over his face to clear it of the sweat and crimson droplets. “Lousy no good mechanic with a shitty bike.” 

“Graham, can you cut off the zip-ties, please?” He laughs and shakes his head immediately.

“I’m not that stupid there, Sweetness.” Your jaw clenches, anger spiking. 

“I never said that you were,” you snapped desperately, hospital gown all dirty and your bandages hanging off of you like you were a mummy trapped in a tomb. It didn’t sound that far out of place. “You’re hurting me.”

The floors creak as you shuffle, moving your body forward trying to stand on bound ankles. It doesn’t work. Your ears twitch above the rumble from the clouds far above, past the hole-filled roof, to the sound of an exasperated scoff. 

“You’ll live. Now be quiet and let me think—you’ve made a mess of everything.” Adrenaline gives everyone a high like no other. It happens fast and can start up from the adrenal glands in mere moments when under stress or danger; when it leaves, it can result in lightheadedness, and trembling. Go long enough to where you can get it out of you entirely, it can even lead to tiredness. 

Three hours pass, and it’s storming outside as Graham is sleeping near the door. Curled like a wolf, the silver glint of the magnum is still clutched in his hand, fingers loose like worms as his face twitches. You had waited the past hour to see if he would wake up. 

Now it was time to act.

As you slowly hobble to your elbows and knees, dragging yourself along the cigarette-coated floor, you collect dust like the knick-knacks in your home. Taking small and quick breaths, your eyes lock with a sharp piece of glass as your agonizing injuries pull and break open. Blood is so heavy in the air that it’s able to be tasted on your tongue—coated so thick even the deluge of rain can’t get rid of the stain. 

Graham mutters in his sleep, and your heart beats far into your mouth; body locking up as your gaze flashes over to the twitching shadow. Lightning flashes outside as you slowly start back up again—one eye always to the side and the pupils smaller than a spec of dirt. 

You lick your lips, creeping onward until you can reach out your fingers and slice them on the side of the glass. Your lips hold tight a whine of pain, hand clenched over the material as you twist it around and line the edge up with the zip-tie. 

Your breath is all you can hear—loud inside of your head before the sawing motion makes the cuts over your hands grow deeper the more you press into the plastic. Welts had burst by now, puss seeping to the ground as the zip-tie around your wrists popped with a snap of hard material. 

A yell of achievement is kept inside of your sputtering chest as you shove your leaking palms to the wood, rolling to your back and bending your knees to bring your ankles upward. 

The second tie snaps just like the last, and your limbs roll themselves in circles to get the circulation back as quickly as possible, gaze jerking back and forth to Graham as your pulse roars. 

Run. Run. Run. 

Every rush of your blood sings the same order. 

Lose him in the storm. 

Your legs wobble as you shove yourself up, the glass still held in your hand—an infectious thought entering your body as you stare at the magnum. Stumbling, your bare feet steady themselves as your shoulder knocks the back wall, face contorted inwards. 

How hard would it be to steal it? He was sleeping. 

Blinking away the black fireworks in your vision, you look from the broken window to the door, remembering the bike crash as the rain seeps in from the roof. Water splashes as the minutes spread like crimson pools. 

Graham’s troubled face shifts as he groans, and you’re already out of the window with a slide of glass and a slap of wet grass. 

You’re running through the forest as if a deer, crashing through undergrowth and slipping down ravines. The gown and the trailing bandages have long been soaked, heavy in their own right—a second skin hanging off as your blood gets washed away by the rain. You don’t know when you started crying, but the sky’s tears bled with your own exceptionally well. 

There were multiple times when you swore there were footsteps behind you—right on your tail as your blurry vision finds phantoms in the bushes and the leaves as they fly up behind you at a kick of your mud-covered feet. 

You didn’t have a destination, and as far as you cared, you could die in these woods happily as long as Graham never had the chance to make a decision. In the end, his own ability to fuck himself over never had the chance to change—thank God.

A hand slams on your shoulder. 

Half a scream is stifled, as another is leveled to your mouth—your body is yanked to the side. Dragged behind the bark of a tree, lightning flares overhead as if as shocked as you were, arms and legs kicking out. 

There’s a stiff grunt, and large biceps that curl your waist. Words are about to be uttered into your ear canal before your teeth chomp down on the thick material of padded gloves, eyes wide with blurry panic. 

“Sunshine!” You don’t listen over your muffled curses, nails clawing into a forearm as your casted limb aches. 

Whirled around, your spine finds a trunk, and you snarl before, once more, “Bloody hell, Sunshine, it’s me!” 

Finally able to see who was keeping you hostage, your struggling halts with a knee halfway up and ready to send full force into a crotch. You blink multiple times, panting into the palm before the hand drops entirely and you can take down fragmented breaths.

A skeleton-painted balaclava is only a glimpse before those October eyes suck you in. 

Simon and you stare at one another as the storm rages on.

He was in all black—straps and holsters clipped onto his thighs and chest above a combat vest that you’d seen in military documentaries on TV; a compression shirt under a water-resistant covering rolled up to his elbows. And guns.

Guns at his thighs, a rifle at his chest, a knife at his belt. 

Simon Riley was dressed for war. 

You stutter, eyes beady as you open and close your mouth. 

Wasn’t he supposed to be in the hospital? How did he find you?

“How…” You blink as the man’s concerned eyes scan you over, rage shimmering in his expression as water saturates his mask. His gloved hands settle at your shoulders and squeeze before they move once more. “How did you…?”

“Let me look,” he mutters, touching your wrist and bringing it up. Your mouth shuts tight, flinching. Simon halts and quickly glances back up with a simmering gaze. He doesn’t move, and when he blinks, whatever anger that was mounting is re-hidden back behind the void of his irises. You stare as his browns melt. 

“Can I touch you, Love?” Water slaps your head but the barrier of trees helps slightly. The question was one of the most important he could have asked. 

You nod, but he still waits. 

“Yes,” your voice pushes out. Simon’s large hand recaptures your flesh like a precious object, twisting it around. 

He tenses at the blood, and, just like the realization outside of the vandalized shop, he tells you quietly, “You’re shaking.”

“Simon,” your lips wobble, sniffling. 

Your body is shielded in an instant. 

“It’s alright.” He breathes into your scalp—you feel his pulse, his hard surety; this wasn’t a hold that was quick to leave. “I’m ‘ere, I’ve got you. We’ll be alright. Focus on me, Sunshine. Focus.” 

It wasn’t soon after that those arms separated for a moment, the velcro of a vest in your ears before a rain jacket is carefully, yet quickly, pulled through your arms and zipped up. The rifle is leaning against a rock as the hood is pulled to protect your visage from the downpour. But the rain is the last thing on your mind. 

Screaming echoes out over the night and you gasp, head jerking up to the trees as the yowls vaguely take the incorporeal shape of your name on the battling wind. 

Simon growls, hand coming up to rest beside your skull on the trunk as he leans over you, gazing off into the night. 

“Stay still,” he utters into your ear, the compression shirt tight enough to make the bulk of bandages easily visible all along his arms and shoulders. A pistol is held loosely from his free hand—his fingers twitching around it as numb eyes move along the open spaces of forest. 

Not about to muster a response, your fatigued and addled mind begins to blank of all else but the scent of muddled oil and metal; tattoo ink. 

Simon grips you closer to his chest as the wrathful calls bounce on air-waves like arrows right to his building fury. The man’s jaw clenched tightly—body shaking not from the chill but from restraint. 

He’d broken out of the hospital with one goal: track you down and get you back. Anything else was an added pleasure that the veteran had mulled over as he busted out his old gear and strapped himself with whatever he might need. 

Everyone’s only concern was with how he was still shaky on his feet after the crash, but in reality, Simon barely noticed. The minute he’d heard you were gone, all bets were off. 

No one had clung to military life more than him, not even Price. 

No one messed with someone he cared about and got off scot-free, even if it ended in a life sentence in jail. Eating a meal was too good for Graham Whitaker—breathing was too good.

But before all of that dark work, first came you. 

Nothing else was touching you. Ever. 

So the rushing feet weren’t much of a concern to the man, truth be told. Simon clocked the fool a mile before his huffing was etching like a point through the storm, cheek to your scalp as you shiver and shake, fingers curled into his shirt as your eyelids flutter.

He needed to get you medical attention—clean those wounds. 

But Graham. 

“No!” His screaming continues, stumbling through about ten feet away—the glint of a gun at the fool’s thigh unmistakable. “No! I was asleep for five minutes!” 

Brown eyes don’t blink as they watch, feeling you tense and tighten even at the phonics of the man’s speech. 

“Don’t look, then, yeah?” Simon utters softly. The sound of the safety being flipped off on his gun was drowned out. Your mind barely comprehends the words, all of it slurring together as Simon’s hand curls your skull and covers your ear above the hood. An oil painting smeared by blood-coated fingers that hold you so sweetly. “Easy. It’ll be over soon.”

You get drunk on it as you nuzzle your face into his neck. Simon’s focus threatens to give way before he blinks at the scene ahead of him.

Graham twists in a circle, nearly sobbing as he yells even more and grips one hand into his hair, pulling harshly. It was like watching a toddler having a tantrum, though this was far more serious. And deadly.  

But all of that searching wasn't for nothing.

Simon lets his eyes lock with Graham Whitaker only once, and even then it was a mere glance. A Ghost deserves nothing more before it disappears back into smoke. 

Panicked widening, an arm seizing up. 

It had been for more of the mechanic’s benefit than anything else—torture in its own right as a rabbit stares down a wolf and its foaming maw. Simon was never reckless; never eager to kill even back then. It had been his job, and he’d done it tactfully—resourcefully. A dance of instinct and sheer nuance to get the ques down that had taken him decades to perfect. Training like that didn’t just go away.

People only saw him coming if he wanted them to.

And Simon desperately wanted this man to look into his eyes as he pulled that trigger. Not even the maggots would want the body he gives to them.

—

You both lay in bed, silent. 

The sheets are warm with body heat, and the cast around your arm had only come off two days ago—the flesh sore and the muscles weak. Around you, hard limbs are anchoring you to a chest filled with scars; scars you’d memorized easily as you traced over them like a painter with her favorite brush. 

He wouldn’t tell you the stories behind them, and you have to admit you were relieved about that. It was the past, after all. 

This moment was for the future.

“Want you to work with me in the shop,” Simon mutters as he stares into your eyes. You blink, brows lightly furrowing before his hand comes up and his digits brush your cheek softly. Your lashes flutter at the scrape of calluses as he continues in a low grumble. “Custom detailing.”

“...And will I be paid for this?” You ask him, teasingly—delicately. 

“As much as you want.” Simon isn’t joking. “More than what the fuckin’ bar can give you,” his breath moves over your pulse, making you shiver.

Your half-lidded eyes stay locked into those endless voids, his slow blinking waiting for an answer as the bulk of his belongings sits in the corner of your room. 

“Haven’t even finished the mural yet,” you huff. “Eager to get me next to you?”

“Yes.” Simon moves forward, and, without the need to hide himself from you, presses his lips to your chin, head dipping to tilt your face and allow him access to your neck. You hear him nearly purr when your fingers card his hair, nails set into his flesh.

“I make pretty good tips, Brown-Eyes.” Fingers pulse at your hips, slipping over flesh. 

There’s no reason to keep talking about this—your answer is already obvious—but the both of you enjoy this endless chase. 

Something new and, for you, something to make your feet stationary.  

Simon had taken out his CB1000R for the first time for your date yesterday, his eyes avoiding yours as you’d asked why he’d been five minutes late. He’d said it was because he’d been checking the motorcycle over all day—re-checking it once before coming over with a knot in his intestines. 

There was the very obvious change of two helmets, as well. You had thought you’d be hesitant to get on a bike again, but the feeling of Simon’s body in front of yours was more of a comfort than anything that came before. The wind at your sides as he’d driven far slower than ever—glancing back nearly every minute to make sure you were alright. 

Big teddy bear, you thought affectionately.

“Can give you a better one,” Simon jokes crudely in your bed, grunting like a beast. Your lips let loose a snort, head flopping down to rest on the top of the man’s skull. At his back, your fingers play with the brunt of his old scars as well as the new ones that are still and an angry red; barely closed.

“That was horrible.” Simon shivers under your study when your lips mutter your amusement.

“A bit.” He smirks. “You givin’ me an answer, Sunshine?”

This would be the last chance to get out of this town—say no and disappear, never to be seen again just like the hundreds before you. What life could you have out there? What could you build differently—build like a pack of wooden blocks and poke at before they fall down?

What could you nurture what you already had blooming?

You sigh, arm moving back to perch under Simon’s neck. Pulling him back, you tilt his head to meet yours as he hums, kissing him on the lips and taking his freedom as your own. Simon’s hand spans your spine as his fingers spread; the stretch of his tattoos corrupting your soul one atom at a time as he opens his eyes to watch.

A loyal sin had never tasted better. 

You ease back and whisper over his open mouth, “Yes.” 

October eyes consume you whole.

—

This town is small—it talks. Everyone knew what happened to Graham Whitaker; everyone knew who killed him. 

But small towns always have big secrets that no one ever discusses. 

They never found his body, and the boys had all made sure they never would. So, to this day, the bastard is still listed as he should be:

MISSING: GRAHAM WHITAKER

Dangerous individual believed armed and dangerous. Do not attempt to approach.

Information? Contact your local police force at the provided number below. 

Celina and the rest of Graham’s goons never showed their faces again, and even then, there was no evidence to directly tie them to anything beyond the loose connection to the vandalism.

Of course, the bar was always bustling, eager to speak about it even when ivy had crept over the telephone post flyers and hidden them from any eyes. That one cold case that was ingrained into its history until something else came along—told on long nights to ease the bored atmosphere of passing folk and crumbling buildings. Grumbled over the raw scent of black metal and grunted at the rim of a Neat Kentucky Bourbon.

The twitched smirk over those lips is always a staple, though, and so is the brown-eyed look passed your way as you sit content under the stretch of his arm, art journal open to yet another page as the appointments piled up. 

You haven’t shown him yet, but all of your sketches are of him.

TAGS:

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[batboyblog]

I just wanted to thank you so much for all of your reporting on Biden. When I first voted for him, I was mostly voting against Trump, but over time he really won me over by delivering so much more than I could have imagined. I just read your post thanking him and it's making me tear up. He was the best, most progressive president we've had and I'm so heartbroken to see him go. Even if we win again one day and manage to get another president who delivers this much, I still think I'll always be a Biden Democrat at heart. He came from humble beginnings and dedicated his entire life to this country--a country who needed him but didn't want him or appreciate him. He did what he could for people whose identities he doesn't share, and he did it simply because he wanted to and it was the right thing to do. He did it even though they hated him. It makes me think of all the normal every day people who do their best to make the world better in whatever way they can and who get no recognition for it. Your posts would give me hope and they didn't mean "very little" to me. Thank you for doing your part. I'm wishing you strength and hope. 🤎

My grandfather and I talked politics all the time, he'd catch my eye across the room and wave me over and he and I would talk. I'm really glad he's not around to see this because he'd hate it, but I'd give just about anything to talk to him about it.

The last time I saw him in person and we talked shortly before he died in late 2019 he told me "It has to be Biden, he's the only one" and I didn't believe him, I didn't see it. I thought Harris, or maybe Gillibrand. The old man always saw more clearly than I did.

I was a lot like you, not being Trump was good enough, I didn't have high expectations, but to be clear not being Trump was enough and should have ALWAYS been more than enough.

Particularly after January 6th being the guy who saved us from Fascism, a coup, and oh yeah being a basically good person after the worst living American was President were all amazing! great!

But like you said he didn't stop at just putting everything back, he moved. Here was this old white guy, but really believed in diversity, in an idea of America I could be proud of, of not just paying lip service to diversity but really lifting up voices that don't get heard. A guy who reached the top but wasn't jealous and lifted up voices, Harris, Buttigieg, Deb Haaland, etc and let them be stars in their own right.

and the agenda, I'd basically given up that we'd really fight climate change, and yeah it was the 11th hour but he came in fighting like it was the 11th hour, like we really were gonna go to the moon. And high speed rail? and and and etc

There's a line in the Speech Hillary Clinton gave when she had to end her 2008 campaign for President, "And, when you stumble, keep faith. And, when you're knocked down, get right back up and never listen to anyone who says you can't or shouldn't go on." And I think that sums up Joe Biden.

A working class boy from the wrong side of the tracks in Scranton Pennsylvania with a stutter was never ever supposed to run for office. A kid from a state school who was too young to even be sworn into the Senate on Election Day was never supposed to win a Senate seat on his first try. And no one could have blamed him if after his wife and youngest child died leaving him a single dad of two little boy's in a hospital he'd given up on politics and stepped away. But he didn't he was sworn in in the hospital with his kids. He took the train every day to be back home with them at night.

Time and time again life tried to knock Joe down, but it never ever knocked him out.

I think the lesson is to really LOOK! at our leaders, really see them. There's so much cynicism that all politicians are rotten, that you shouldn't "idealize" them or whatever. I'm not saying to, but I'm saying see them for who they really are, who's a basically decent person working hard to make people's lives better, and understand the difference between that and something like Trump.

And its not up to them to save us, or... its that old joke? about the flood and the man who thinks God will save him? we got to pitch in to help save ourselves, great leaders are great but if a whole propaganda system tells everyone they suck they're not gonna be able to do much, we got to do the counter messaging, we got to talk to the real people in our lives and fight back and on-line and we have to go help us be cringe and give a shit and be earnest

[lilithdeparis]

A little help.

I swear to you guys

I've been having meaningless thoughts lately

l have to write it down, even tho l requsted it to someone.

If you don't like anything from here or don't feel comfortable reading about it, please don't read.

Forewarning: It will definitely be smut, the reader is a single mom, breastfeeding, etc.

Summry: The reader is a single mother who is having trouble breastfeeding her baby, but Simon wants to make it easy for her and helps her with it.

After six years in the army, you suddenly had to take a break, and that break was probably because you were pregnant out of nowhere.

Well of course you knew exactly who the father of the child was, but after talking with him about the pregnancy, you once again realized that sleeping with him that night was the biggest mistake of your life.

It was not easy for you to leave the army, probably because you had many friends there, and not only that, but you also loved your job very much.

You already talked about the problem with your Captain, you wanted to tell others the reason why you had to leave, but somehow you were embarrassed ? It's as if you imagined yourself as that stupid girl you always said you won't be,

"How can I have fun with a man for one night and get pregnant."

You used to say always and the love of a idle man really dragged your life to end, as if, as they say, God was laughing at you.

You left Task Force 141 and left all your friends behind, and the most painful thing was to see those disappointed eyes through the skull masked merciless Lieutenant, who once valued you so much, but now thought you betrayed him.

The pregnancy was the most difficult for you, you had no one by your side, no one at all, went to the doctor alone, took care of yourself alone, you didn't have a man who would run to the end of the world for you in the middle of the night to find strawberries in the middle of winter.

But you were a strong woman, you survived the worst, and you knew that the day you found out the gender of your baby, you would go through anything for your little girl.

And that's what happened, you walked to the hospital alone because you spilled too much water and left the hospital in a five days with a small, healthy and beautiful girl in your arms.

When you hold little Vivienne in your arms first, you felt as if all the problems around you were gone, after that day everything seemed to be going better and better, you had enough money because of your old job, you had a house, and now you had a beautiful daughter.

You continued living with your daughter, waking up with her in the morning, feeding her, taking care of her, enjoying her and you didn't want anything else until one New Year's day, you heard a knock on the door of your house.

Your six-month-old girl, who was still wrapped in cute deer pajamas, you immediately took her in your arms because when you left her at such a time, she cried, that's why you immediately went to the door with your girl in your hands.

As you open the door, met those familiar cold eyes and skull mask.

The man fastly turned his blue eyes to you and then looked at the little girl, he looked a little surprised. "Did you start working as a nanny ?"

"What ?! Of course not, this is my daughter."

It was the only thing that came out of your mouth in protest and that surprised Simon even more.

"And when did you have time to have a baby ?"

Simon asked directly and didn't even think before you closed the door, he put his foot between the door and opened it strongly, he was strong then and still is.

"Listen, I don't have time for you, I have to feed Vivi."

You said and the man didn't even listen, he entered the house with his muddy boots and closed the door behind him.

In ten minutes, both of you were in the living room, you were still holding Vivienne, Simon sitting on the couch, was looking at you still, he didn't seem to know what to do, should he be angry with you ? Should he be happy or should he just reached for your waist and kissed you hard because of longing ?

"Tell me why you hid from me ? you know that I would understand you, for you I would be the Simon that I was not with anyone else."

The man looked at you and said, then looked at the little girl, and as if there was sadness somewhere in his words, which was the most unusual for a lieutenant you knew.

As if you didn't need much to open up, just a little push which Simon happend to do, you immediately sat next to Simon with the baby in your arms and told him everything that happened to you, everything what you went through without him.

"I didn't want to leave you, but I had no choice, I was ashamed to tell you about my pregnancy."

Those were your last words, and after that tears started to fall from your eyes, you couldn't hold them back.

The man laughed suddenly, his big scarred hands immediately went to your face and the man wiped the tears from your eyes.

"Damn, what a fool you are."

He said and gently grabbed your chin, then lifted your head up and you couldn't see through his mask but you were sure he was smiling.

Before it could turn into something more romantic, Vivienne suddenly burst into tears and that because she was hungry.

You immediately started to calm her down, while Simon's big hands now went towards your angel's small hands.

"It's amazing how small and innocent ."

The man muttered to himself, you hear it too, perhaps life was amazing, the hands of an man with lots of human blood on it and the hands of a little angel who has never felt anything other than her mother's breast.

"Listen, can l hold her in my hands ?" Simon seemed to have the courage and asked and you didn't even need a few minutes to think because Simon was the only guy you trusted with your little girl.

The man took the little child in his hands, the hands with which he mercilessly suffocated and chocked men, so gently, he was so careful that even you were surprised and smiled.

In a few seconds, Vivienne started to look at Simon's mask and even touched it with her little hands, In one part, I think she even wanted to drool over the mask, which made the man laugh.

"Soo is this your little troublemaker ?"

Simon said and looked at the little girl who was smiling, maybe if there was someone else in her place, she would have broken her hand for holding on to his mask, but Vivienne, like you, already had the right.

"I think I better feed her or she might really drool over your mask."

You smiled and said, looking back at Simon, who nodded and gently hand the baby to you.

You watched him for the next minute, hoping he would figure out what to do, but then, when he didn't understand anything, you tell him.

"I have to breastfeed her Simon, could you... ?"

Simon looked at you and then when he understood, he shook his head, realized that it wouldn't be entirely comfortable for you to be watched by him, so he turned away.

When you fed Vivienne, the girl's stomach was so full that she fell asleep in seconds and you immediately put her to bed.

Although you had problems because you always had more milk left, full breast.

When you put the little one to bed, you tiredly went out to the living room where Simon was still sitting on the couch waiting for you and sat next to him.

"Vivi will probably be asleep for a long time."

You sighed and continued talking, but you didn't realize that Simon was busy with something else, he was probably already dying to see your big tits naked, In his hands or his cock right between them.

"Simon, are you listening?"

You spoke and the man immediately looked down at your chest, seeing the leaked milk coming from your breasts on your T-shirt.

"Listen, I think you have a problem with your chest right there."

Simon said it as sarcastic as he used to be with you most of the time, while you immediately looked down at your chest.

"Damn it's leaking, I need a drainer."

You spoke and before you got up, the man immediately put his hand on your waist, gently pushed you back on your sit.

"Listen, I can help you."

The man said in all seriousness and you raised an eyebrow, immediately asking. "And How ?"

The man immediately put his arm around your waist and placed you on his laps, so that he was now looking directly at your breast.

"Shhh, don't ask questions, I know you want my help."

The man spoke and then lifted his mask just up his nose, slowly moved his hand under your T-shirt to your stomach, and soon your T-shirt was nowhere to be seen, so that now you were in a white bra only.

"Damn it, how I missed them."

The man spoke and placed his lips on your stomach and kissed it gently, then slowly moved up.

"Hmmm Simon a bit fast."

Upon hearing your complaint, the man immediately take off your bra and almost started drooling when he saw your breasts so full and round because of milk.

"What a good girl you are, damn it."

The man cupped both of your breasts with his big hands and then bent his head so that he kissed one and then the other.

Before you could say anything, the man pressed his lips to your breast at full speed and then sucked hard with his tongue around nipple, squeezing it with all his might, more milk started to leak.

The man this time took both your breasts firmly in his hands and squeezed one harder to make the milk come out, when he pulled his head out, he looked at you, who had both hands covering your mouth.

"Honey, this is the best milk I've ever tasted."

You can ask me anything you want guys, l will try to write it, because l have no brain to think about it much, thank you for reading it ☆

[lazlolullaby]

"Nurse" Terry AU

i mean a reboot of Terry Mcginnis being a home medical assistant for elder care.

Not the grimdark cop out twist, "lol Bruce was Crazy the whole time, the doctors were his rogues gallery" but. Mundane elder care for the man who fought too hard for this city to even consider he would live to old age. + Bonus medical support for the future Batfamily.

TL:Dr Terry as Alfred's successor. Caring of people that have made/continually make dangerous choices, dry wit, checkered past, willing to kill, etc. He just needs time to grow into it.

More details under the cut, accidentally evolved into a not fic:

Bruce already has a partial caretaker in Alfred, and he's not going to live forever, despite all of the fandom jokes otherwise.

I'm thinking Bruce is 70, so Dick and Barbara would be 50s, Jason and Cass 45, Tim, Duke, and Stephanie 40s, and Damian is 35. Titus was replaced with a few other service dogs before Ace.

Maybe it's like Batman Beyond where Bruce drove everyone away. Maybe the Golden Age of Heroes wound down, with his contemporaries either dying or leaving him alone to stand vigil.

Maybe it's not. When his kids are grown with their lives and vigilantes or not, they can't be there 24/7 for Bruce.

I prefer the Batfamily is around, just that they have their own lives. Someone is always in the Manor in the mornings, but when Vigilante things happen, someone has to be home to make sure Bruce doesn't go out as well.

Bruce, thanks to his vigilante history, has heart issues, bone and joint issues, canon Childhood PTSD compounding with complex Vigilante PTSD, and bad reactions to drugs and medications thanks to all of the Chemical Attacks.

Bruce is still good at his ADLs (Activities of Daily Life). Things like walking without assistance, eating, showering, putting on clothes, and going to the bathroom.

He's gotten denture implants and is doing physical therapy enough to walk with a cane. He can't open jars, but he can still zip and button.

He's retired but still runs the Cave. He's mostly fine, but sometimes the Bats see him struggle. Someone finds him at the bottom of the stairs, unable to get up and refusing to say when he fell. Dick puts his foot down when Bruce has a heart attack.

The batfamily makes up a rotation sheet, but it's not enough. Vigilante first aid is different from elderly medical aid. Not to mention the mental and emotional toll that it's taking, seeing their parent/leader disabled and crabby as hell.

(also. Untrained family members who care for Alzheimer's patients by themselves have a severe risk of cutting their life short due to stress. Use the insurance. Get help.)

So they get Bruce a fully trained nurse assistant to check in every other day for the midmorning and a first aid assistant for the night time. And they'll keep rotation at "vigilante time" 9-9. It's flexible, he doesn't need them all of the time.

So about Terry. Despite everything, it's still Gotham. His family was held up at gunpoint after a trip to the movies. The gun does go off.

But it's also a Gotham with several active vigilantes.

The response was quick enough that only Warren was hit, and the gun was knocked on the ground fast enough so Mary was physically fine. They get taken to the hospital. Mary might remember which vigilante. Terry might need to see pictures.

Warren's insurance plan with Wayne-Powers is pretty great, he's off on disability for a few months. And Mary is pregnant, so as she was progressing she can't lift or help with heavy things. Terry tries to help. He's getting well versed in getting snacks, waters, basic house chores done, but he's only 8. There's no grandparents or extended family to call.

So they apply for help. The insurance sends a home medical assistant to come around a few days a week. And Terry sees how much it helps. How much of a burden that it lifts, how everyone in the house can breathe a little easier. That sticks with him.

When the insurance runs out and they still need help, Mary calls the support card that the Vigilantes gave her. They get a second volunteer (maybe a cousin of his highschool group? Chelsea or Dana?) that also helps.

The worst is over, Warren is safely back to work + working from home to help out, Mary is fully recovered, and baby Matt is perfectly healthy.

And Terry is restless. Energy spent worrying about his family and taking care of them is churning in him. He's lost some time with his friends and is feeling isolated.

The cracks become apparent in the parents marriage, it gets tense at home.

The second volunteer comes around sometimes to babysit him and Matt while Mary and Warren are "working their relationship out". They tell him about the community center that sets people up with job training and temp healthcare jobs like this. Activities for the neighborhood kids after school.

Luckily and unluckily, that's where Terry gets recruited into the Red Hood gang.

Jason isn't really using kids for gang things. Well. Keeping them as look outs, making them deliver care packages to the homeless/protected witnesses, maybe ferrying a little naloxone here and there to his addiction rehab centers. They know what they're doing is illegal, but it also helps the community. Terry is pretty content with that most of the time. Most of the time.

And then Charlie had to get it in his head he's going "Big Time", riles Terry up, and make them go off plan.

Terry and Charlie get caught, they get booked in Juvenile hall. They don't say anything, don't reveal about Red Hood's movements. (Not that Jason would tell any kids anything like that.)

Terry got out, his parents officially split, he went with his Dad, his Mom took his younger brother. Now that he doesn’t have Matt, he can’t go back to his gang friends, his parents don’t trust him, people are hesitant to trust him, he’s getting frustrated again.

The Bats are also...more focused on the Gotham villainy side of things, not the company. Dick never got a business degree so he can't really do anything, not that he was interested, Jason is dead + his civilian alias is handling Crime Ally, Tim is burnt out of CEO duties and recovering in R&D, and Damian tried, but he was frustrated in following his father's footsteps, so that was stopped.

Derek Powers is still a thing but not all "glowy". Warren brought up the weapons file + discrepancy to Tim, so Terry's dad is safe (for now).

So Jason sees this kid who wants to help but just needs to be mentored and his act cleaned up. And Bruce, who's a little bit listless and needs a project that won't be too taxing.

So the Batfamily talks and throws them together.

BUT ALSO - fun storylines:

Derek Powers tries to kill Bruce through his medical assistants. He's a manipulator, also trying to get Terry for cheap, but Terry isn't biting. Terry checking the medicine before giving it to Bruce and finding it wasn't the usual. (Bruce knew, but he also wanted to make sure no one was slacking.) IDK if the day nurse/pharmacy tech got turned by Powers but Terry was planned to take the fall.

Bruce subtly training him in stealth tactics and strategy. The rest of the Batfamily getting in on it too.

Terry was able to clock that "Father Peterson", a pillar of the Crime Alley Community, was a civilian alias of Red Hood. (Peterson checked in on him in juvie. His foot stance is similar to Red Hood, the cadence when he's talking with his goons slips, their morals don't directly align but do intersect, people thought they were grudging allies, but if they're the same person it tracks.) Terry does further digging and connects the deceased Jason Todd-Wayne's old photos to Peterson, but realizes, "oh. There's reasons why he doesn't involve his rich family", and decides not to bring it up.

Maybe finding an actual CEO replacement for Wayne-Powers? Stephanie could pull a Cinderella rags to riches story. Or have the Fox family come back? Tam or Luke?

Terry following Bruce down to the Batcave a couple months in. "Sure. A nerd Collection." But not actually believing that it's the Batfamily base until he sees the collection of suits. When the family shows up after patrol he just shrugs, "you told me stick by him."

[otissbluebearshirt]

hii can i request “I’m not scared.” “Your face says otherwise.” from the autumn prompt list with mike dodds?🥺 yk like it's halloween season and the precinct gets a lead to some house but when they get there it's decorated like a haunted house (with jumpscares and stuff) so reader is jumpy and mike laughs at her at the time but afterwards he's worried and hugs her and they have a moment and there's fluff etc

Haunted House - [ Mike Dodds ]

Prompt: “I’m not scared.” “Your face says otherwise.”

Word Count: 4654

Warnings: female!reader, use of y/n, mentions of jump scares, brief mentions of dismembered limbs

A/N: this is my first Mike work so please be nice lol

Masterlist | Mike Masterlist

Ever since it fell abandoned back in the late 1800’s, the old Sunnydale Asylum had easily grown legend to many a spooky tale.

From sightings of disoriented patients still clad in their dirty, white gowns, and left to wander halls forever as ghostly apparitions seeking peace. To the spine tingling story of the doctor who once ran the hospital still eager to lobotomise anyone he deemed fit, the asylum had grown to be quite the destination for those with a thrill for scares.

In fact, it became so popular for tourists and city dwellers alike that on every Halloween since before you were born the owners would set up the most intense haunted house inside, leading those who were brave enough to enter on a terrifying, bloodcurdling journey throughout history.

“God, there is nothing sunny about this place,” You muttered, feeling easily unsettled as your eyes landed on the moulding, degrading sign of the asylum.  The very sight of the smiling sun above the name, sent a fierce shiver rippling down your spine and you ran your hands up and down your arms, following Mike reluctantly, yet quickly, down the path before he ended up too far away for comfort. 

You never would have come here willingly. You hated anything even remotely scary and a haunted asylum, filled with actors waiting to pop out on you, was the very last place you ever could have wished to spend your Halloween. You’d wanted to spend it at home, watching something light and fun, but unfortunately for you duty had called in the shape of a case and for some reason…For some, the universe hates me, what did I do to deserve this? Reason, it had led you straight to the very asylum that you never wanted to see with your own two eyes. 

“I hate this already,” You complained, tailing Mike towards the ticket booth that had a line way too long for your liking as who would ever put themselves in such a situation as this if not under threat of immediate death? “Why is this place even allowed to be open? I thought some guy died in it last year.” 

“He fell down the stairs,” Mike replied casually, glancing briefly towards you. “He wasn’t murdered by a ghost.” 

You scoffed, “Yeah, that you know of. But who’s to say a ghost didn’t push him?” 

Mike couldn’t help but chuckle at your dramatic nature as the two of you weaved your way through the crowds of people waiting for their turn inside, many of whom were actually dressed as asylum patients and had the hairs on the back of your neck sticking up already. 

Why, oh why, hadn’t you just gone to the landfill site with Carisi? 

“Excuse me,” Mike said as you approached the ticket counter, gaining the attention of the rather young looking man, dressed as an orderly, who sat behind it. “I’m Sergeant Dodds, this is Detective Y/L/N of the NYPD. We’re looking for a James Santos, we were told he works here.” 

With his mouth hanging open, the ticket guy said nothing for a split second before his reddened eyes widened in realisation and he nodded, “Oh, you mean Jimmy.” 

Okay, so he was high. Great. 

“Yeah, he works here,” The guy continued, yet he didn’t bother to elaborate further until Mike snapped him back into reality with a click of his fingers, startling the kid terribly and causing him to shuffle in his seat. “But, uh, he’s inside. He's one of the actors down in the South Wing… Look for the guy in the straight jacket and the muzzle.” 

“Muzzle?” Mike repeated, curious.

“Yeah, you know… Like Hannibal Lecter,” The guy said, watching as Mike narrowed his eyes a little before shaking his head and the whole thing off entirely. 

It was too late, too cold, and he was far too eager to close this case to bother dumbing himself down anymore by talking to a stoned twenty-something year old. 

“Is there any way you can get Jimmy out here?” Mike asked, yet to you it seemed more like an order than a question. Something you were extremely thankful for as you did not want to go inside there and have to look for a guy impersonating a cannibal.

“Sorry, dude, I wish I could help. But once they’re inside and in costume they’re off the grid as cellphones kinda ruin the vibe.” 

“Well, is there any other way for us to get inside?” You asked hopefully, as you were already twitching minutely at the faint screams you could hear from inside the asylum, therefore you didn’t even want to imagine what you might look like should you be forced to walk through them. “Maybe an unlocked fire exit somewhere?” 

“No, we keep all the fire exits locked from the outside to stop kids from sneaking in,” The ticket guy replied plainly, only tightening the thick rope building in your stomach as if kids weren’t allowed inside…then what the hell kind of horrors lay beyond those doors?

“What about a back door?” You questioned toughly, finding yourself in sudden interrogation mode from the fear you had over venturing inside. “This is an old asylum, there’s bound to be other entrances.” 

“Look, lady…”

“It’s detective,” Mike corrected harshly, his teeth gritted together so hard you were surprised he had any left. 

“Detective,” The ticket guy corrected nervously, his attitude easily shifting as he became all but sober under the weight of Mike’s heavy glare. Even you were taken aback by his sudden harshness, and if it hadn’t been for the gentle, yet brave, pat on the arm you gave him to help him relax, you were afraid he might have launched himself over the counter and supplied the haunted attraction with an extra body to display. “The only other door is all the way around back.” 

“Great,” You said happily, tapping the desk with your knuckles before stepping back. “We’ll go that way then, you mind showing us?”

“It’s a fifteen minute walk through the forest,” The guy added, his eyebrow raised questionably. “Are you sure you want to? I mean… I don’t know if you know this but there’s stories of those woods being haunted…” 

“We’re not walking through the woods,” Mike stated, causing the guy to snap his mouth shut instantly and look away. You did the opposite though, in that you twisted your neck so quickly to look up at him you could have starred as a special performance of Regan from The Exorcist. He saw you easily from the corner of his eye, your mouth gaped like a fish and your eyes hard. “What?” 

“I’m not going in there.” 

“Why?” Mike asked, puzzlement sitting deep in his features until they slowly began to loosen. You, yourself, stiffened, as a smile etched its way onto his face at the sudden realisation of exactly why you would rather walk around through woods than use the front door. “Wait a minute… Are you scared to go inside?” 

“What?” You chuckled delusionally, your tone an octave higher than usual as Mike studied you, nothing but an annoying doubt plastering his otherwise handsome face as he saw right through your facade. You drew your tongue awkwardly over your back teeth as you added, unconfidently, “I’m not scared.” 

“Really? Because your face says otherwise,” Mike replied bluntly, humorously, causing your aforementioned fear riddled face to shift instantly into a frown that he couldn’t help but find ridiculously adorable. He always loved seeing you get all riled up like this. 

“Fine, you wanna go in?” You asked, a newfound wave of bravery coursing through your veins at his obvious smugness. He nodded, his hands on his hips as you stared up at him, your arms folded and your stance firm. “Then let’s go in, sergeant.” 

“Happy to,” Mike said wittily, knowing damn well you did not want to go in and that you weren’t happy with him knowing it either…otherwise, you wouldn’t have called him sergeant. He stepped aside, dropping his hands and motioning for you to go first as a smug smirk rose to his lips, “After you, detective.” 

A disgruntled huff left your nose as you strolled past him, keeping your shoulders high as you put on a brave face in hopes that he couldn’t tell how truly scared you were to go inside. Which wasn’t much, you know, your bones just practically shook beneath your skin as you ascended the steps. Each flickering light that caught your eye or ear piercing scream that met your ears caused your stomach to lurch inside you and if you weren’t careful, it was likely going to force its way up and land in front of you, but other than that you were just peachy. 

“Well, good luck,” The ticket guy called cheerfully after you, causing you to almost spin back around and arrest him. 

However, luckily for him and tragically for you, Mike’s large frame following behind you easily stopped you from turning around, meaning you had no choice but to carry on towards the building. You already felt uneasy. From the mere sight alone of the large double doors that were peeling away and rusty, you knew that what lay beyond was going to be ten times worse than what was outside.

Nevertheless you carried on, reaching the top of the steps far quicker than you’d have liked. You lifted your shaking hand reluctantly, curling it around the handle and sucking in a sickly breath as you mustered up all the courage you had in you to push it open. You could feel Mike lingering behind you, the heat of his body so close to your own yet it didn’t allow you to feel nearly as much comfort as it might have done, not with the horror that stood beyond the door you still hadn’t opened. 

“Oh, you are so scared,” Mike laughed, nudging you playfully with his elbow and finding even more amusement when you shoved him away to the other side of the step. “Do you want me to open it?” 

“No,” You replied, your word a little choked that it caused you to clear your throat roughly. “No. I can do it.” 

You heard Mike hum sceptically as he retreated back to you, yet he did nothing. He just lingered beside you patiently, watching as your focus grew distant and you forced the fear to momentarily leave your mind just long enough to allow you to power through. You took a deep breath, pushing open the heavy door as the air left your lungs in a shudder. 

God, you were already regretting this. From the eerily wailing sound of the hinges creaking open, and the pitch black darkness that engulfed you from the second you stepped across the threshold, you knew this was a bad idea that you wouldn’t be able to handle. But at the same time, you were also stubborn. You didn’t want Mike to win…whatever game it was that you two were playing and even if you hadn’t you still wouldn’t have been able to turn around, not when Mike had already closed the door behind him and was now hidden…somewhere amongst the shadows around you.

You couldn’t sense him. You couldn’t hear him, not with how hard your heart was pounding inside your chest and all the way up to your ears. You couldn’t even feel his usual presence around you either and that worried you. It terrified you, rather, as if there was one thing worse than being in a haunted asylum…it was being in one alone after Mike decided to be a dick and stay outside. 

“Dodds?” You whispered, swallowing thickly at the echo of creepy laughter that swept through the room around you. 

Against your better judgement you then stepped further into the foyer, hoping that at least hearing Mike’s footsteps follow you in would give you a general sense as to his position. But when you heard nothing, not a single peep besides distant screams of those further inside, you began to sweat…Both from your body, and from your eyes.

“Mike, I’m serious,” You said…seriously, and both of you could tell you were as you’d never once had you called him by his first name. “Where are you? This isn’t funny.” 

At the moment a hand clasped onto your shoulder and made you jump so hard you might have cried had Mike not appeared from within the darkness, a knowing, amused, smile tugging at his lips, “Come on, it’s a little funny.” 

“God, you’re such a dick sometimes,” You muttered bluntly, a very real anger towards him building inside you as you shrugged out from under his hand. 

Only, when you went to walk away from him to emphasise that you were huffing with him and would rather go alone, a skeleton swung down from the ceiling right in front of you. You screamed, your heart leaping in your chest as you stumbled back, feeling the firmness of Mike’s chest behind you as he caught you, his hands holding your outer arms gently before you ended up tripping over your own eagerness to run.  

“So, you’re not scared, huh?” He whispered tauntingly into your ear, causing an entirely different sensation to tingle down your spine. You shrugged out from within his grasp again and stepped away, hearing a pleased chuckle leaving his lips as he followed suit and placed his hand back on your shoulder. Only this time, as a way of comfort. “Come on, I promise I’ll keep you safe.” 

With a reluctant, heavy sigh you nodded and allowed him to lead the way as you mumbled, “Great, just a fun trip into an asylum to get killed.” 

Mike laughed, “We’re not gonna get killed.” 

“Maimed.” 

“Y/N/N.”

“Stabbed.” 

“Y/N.” 

“Beaten.” 

“Y/N.” 

“Burned.” 

“Y/N.” 

“What?” You said innocently, watching as Mike struggled to hide his smile at your incessant rambles of the danger that would likely never succumb to you in here. He kept quiet though, as no matter what he said to you about you being perfectly safe with him, he knew it wouldn’t sink into your stubborn mind until you were back in the true safety of the precinct. 

Instead, he simply continued to lead you further into the asylum, constantly checking to make sure you hadn’t passed out behind him each time an actor jumped out to try and startle you both. He was fine with it, a small twitch of his shoulders every now and then but you… You hated every single minute of it. 

It didn’t matter that Mike was at the front and was the primary target of the scare, you still seemed to take the full brunt of it and each time a disturbing, how did he even manage to make himself look like that? actor would pop out from within a locker or lunge out from behind a door, you would scream like a little kid and lurch forward to cling to Mike’s arm. Not that he minded, though. He kind of liked having you this close to him, and each time he’d feel your face press against his bicep as you hid it from view, his heart would literally skip a beat. 

However, as the two of you delved further into the asylum and had yet to come across another jumpscare actor in the last five minutes, you grew uneasy and on edge, and because of that, you did something Mike wasn’t the least bit prepared for… Nor did he even know how to react when you did. 

“Y/N,” Mike said quietly, almost nervously. He heard you hum from next to him, your pitch a lot higher than it should be as he came to a slow stop. You glanced up at him questionably, your eyebrow raised where his was dipped and the way he kept dropping his gaze between your bodies only heightened your sense of intrigue, and so with a partial widened of your eyes you urged him to speak his words. Something you’d regret the second they slipped past his lips. “You’re uh… You’re holding my hand.” 

With your face dropping, you instantly snatched your hand back and looked away from him, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks as your stomach began to flutter furiously. Oh God, you hadn’t meant to do that. You hadn’t meant to… Shit. You’d only meant to take a subtle hold of the cuff of his jacket with your fingers just to make sure you didn’t get separated, but you were literally so scared of something popping out in front of you that you held his hand.  

“Sorry,” You mumbled, tugging your sleeves down over your hands as you sucked in a shaky breath and tried to force yourself to look back at him. 

You didn’t want to, not by a long shot. You didn’t want to see the cringed look in his eyes over having you hold his hand but you knew you had to. Not only did you want to keep what remaining dignity you had left but you had a job to do and you literally couldn’t stomach where your eyes were facing now… as there was a concerningly realistic decapitated head sitting in a pool of blood next to you and it was making you want to reach out and take Mike’s damn hand again.

“Don’t worry about it,” Mike replied as casually as he could, watching as you turned around and smiled at him…a proper, genuine smile that could strike a man smitten had he not been so already. He could have kissed you. Hell, he was going to, had he not spotted the opportunity of a lifetime sitting just off to his right. “I get that these things can be scary and if you really want a hand to hold, I’d be more than happy to provide you with my own.” 

With your heart literally skipping beats inside your chest, you were about to happily take him up on the offer before he slowly raised a severed hand, wiping your smile away far quicker than it had formed. 

“Or if you’d rather… I can offer you this one instead,” Mike said, rolling his lips as he struggled to not laugh at his own cheesy joke. 

You simply deadpanned him, folding your arms across your chest and refusing to even acknowledge the hand he held out towards you.

“Oh come on, lighten up…” Mike chuckled, wiggling the hand a little to gain your attention — which failed. “It’s funny.” 

“You and I have very different definitions of the word funny,” You muttered, spinning on your heels and deciding to venture further into the asylum by yourself. 

You made it a few steps before you heard a soft thud from behind you, no doubt from Mike tossing the hand aside as it was quickly followed by his hurried footsteps as he caught up to you. He fell in line with you easily, continuously peering at you out of the corner of his eye and when you kept glancing around you anxiously with one hand placed firmly on your churning stomach and the other hanging loosely by your side, he reached out his own and slipped it back into yours without so much as saying a word. 

The two of you stayed like that, with your hands clasped firmly together and your chests fluttering furiously beneath your skin, until you finally reached the room you needed to be in — the operating room. It was basic. As stereotypical as any hospital room in any horror movie could be but there was something about the lonely hand trolley that stood in the middle of the room, with a single man dressed like Hannibal Lecter strapped to it, that very deeply unsettled you.

“This is not a good use of this room,” You whispered, hearing a brief, almost amused…maybe, breath leave Mike’s nose as he slipped his hand out from yours and approached the Hannibal wannabe. 

You stayed behind, not wanting to go anywhere near him just yet until it had been established that they were not there for the scares, and were in fact cops who were investigating a brutal double homicide…Otherwise you simply wouldn’t have been there in the first place. 

“What’s wrong?” You asked, as Mike came strolling back over to you with a deep look of guilt sitting heavy on his face. 

“That’s not him,” Mike said, swallowing thickly as he had no idea how you’d react to the news. You squinted questionably, prompting him to elaborate even further. “That uh, that’s not James.” 

“What do you mean? He’s the only guy in this whole place dressed like that!” You exclaimed, gesturing angrily towards the guy who had better turn into James before you got a hold of him. 

“They swapped shifts,” Mike explained, placing his hands on your shoulders to gain your attention and feeling as they rose rapidly beneath them. “James was never here.” 

With a frustrated groan, you shoved Mike’s hands away from you and made for the exit. He followed after you swiftly, jumping more at the way the door banged against the wall as you threw it open than he did at the countless horror actors who’d just spent the last twenty minutes popping out at him.  

“You’re telling me that I just went through all that…” You pointed furiously towards the asylum as your turned in the dirt with so much pressure put on your heels, that it made little dents in the dirt. “And the guy wasn’t even fucking in there!” 

“Wow, hey…” Mike exhaled, taken aback by your sudden swearing as he approached you carefully, your hands on your hips and your chest heaving with every breath you took. 

At first, he thought it was from nothing more than anger at the entire situation. Having your Halloween ruined by work… Having to drive here so late at night… Having to venture through a ridiculously cheesy haunted house set up in an otherwise creepy asylum, but the closer he got to you… the moment he saw the first glisten of the moonlight in the fresh tears that brewed in your eyes, the more he came to realise that you weren’t angry. 

No… You were scared. You were really, truly terrified that whole time and he had no idea. He thought… He thought you were just messing around. He thought it was all a game, but he literally couldn’t have been farther from the truth and honestly, it made him feel like such a dick for all but making fun of you for it. 

“I’m sorry, Y/N” Mike said softly, his lips pressing together regretfully as he closed the gap between you, his brow pinched together with worry. “I had no idea, I thought… I thought you were just messing around. I didn’t…”

“It’s okay,” You sniffled, feeling like such a pathetic child for almost crying over a stupid haunted house. “You didn’t know. You… It’s fine. Really, Mike, I’m okay now.” 

“Are you though?” Mike questioned doubtfully, watching as you nodded your head with uncertainty a few times… before shifting and immediately shaking it as you were not okay. Not by a long shot. He then raised his hands and cupped your face instantly, his heart warming at how easily you seemed to relax under such a small gesture. 

At that immense softness that shrouded your features as you smiled tearfully up at him, Mike couldn’t stop himself from dropping his hands and pulling you into the safety his arms, allowing you to feel as they wrapped around you so tightly…so comfortingly that the last twenty minutes became nothing but a distant thought in your mind. Your own slipped under the warmth of his jacket and around his waist, holding him equally as tight and as close to you as you could as you all but melted against him.

You weren’t aware of just how long he held you like that. Time seemed to tick idly by without you having so much as a care in the world, not when you were here in his arms where he allowed every ounce of fear and worry to leave you entirely. It was strange… Unrealistic almost, how one simple touch from one specific person could make you feel so much better than ever thought possible. But he did. Mike made you feel better. He made you feel safe…like nothing would ever happen to you again and it was because of that…because of that sudden realisation that kicked in in your mind that you did what you did next. 

When he inevitably pulled back from you, just enough for him to glance down at you, you slipped your hands out from around him and curled your fingers tightly around the lapels of his jacket, tugging him closer to your face so that you could do the one thing you’d been dying to do for weeks, and might never have found the courage to had he not hugged you. 

You kissed him. 

You pressed your lips so tenderly, so sweetly against his own that his knees almost gave out from under him even despite how quick the moment had come and gone. But it was slow enough to get Mike going and he steadied himself easily, his arm slipping securely around your waist as he brought you closer to him. You could already feel your heart racing as he placed one hand on the side of your neck and brought you towards him, his lips crashing against yours in a way that had you seeing stars, and not those that you could see in the sky just above him. 

You tightened your hold on the front of his jacket to keep him close to you, feeling the way his hand slid slowly round to the back of your head where his fingers began to weave their way through your hair as he cradled it. His tongue traced eagerly over your bottom lip as he did so, pushing them apart as it delved deep into your mouth, causing such sweet sounding hums to leave the back of your throat as he easily deepened the long, overdue kiss that the two of you never wanted to end.

“God,” Mike breathed out, when the two of you inevitably had to pull apart due to a stupid thing called oxygen, “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that.” 

“There was nothing stopping you, sergeant,” You said flirtatiously, dragging your bottom lip through your teeth as there was nothing causing you to be shy anymore. Not when he’d just stuck his tongue down your throat and answered all the lingering questions you could ever have about whether or not he’d have ever liked you back. “You could have kissed me like that any time you liked.” 

Mike chuckled, drawing his thumb down the softness of your kiss swollen lips, “I don’t think the guys would have liked seeing me kiss you like that in the middle of the squad room.” 

“Maybe not,” You murmured humorously, leaning up to press another gentle kiss to his lips. “But then again, we’ve all seen worse.” 

“True,” Mike replied, pecking another kiss to your mouth as it curled against him. “But I’d rather not have the whole team watching us as we did.” 

“You’d rather have an asylum full of freaks instead?” You questioned, your eyebrow raised playfully as Mike glanced towards the building and shrugged. 

“If that’s what it takes,” He said, drawing his eyes back to you and trailing his knuckles down the side of your face. “As after all…had it not been for that asylum full of freaks then I might have had to wait a whole other year for sometime to scare you badly enough to make you kiss me.”

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Ticci Toby Headcanons

PT.01

Toby Rogers past, upbringing, pre-proxy headcanons. See proxy era headcanons here ⬇️

CW: Slight mentions of animal abuse, domestic violence, psychosis, bullying, car crash, gore

<NOTE> Im a psychology nerd so I tried to make it as realistic as possible. This is my first time doing anything like this but I have a lot of thoughts about Tobys character. Its not proofread so ignore any typos or grammatical errors. Also… its very long… I have… so many thoughts…

BIOGRAPHY .

PATIENT NAME: Tobias (Toby) Erin Rogers

BIRTHDATE: April 28th, 1994

AGE: Currently 19 years old

HC/EC: Brown hair, brown eyes

ETHNICITY: White American

BIRTHPLACE: Denver, Colorado

FAMILY: Connie Rogers (mother), Dan Rogers (Father), Lyra Rogers (sister)

DIAGNOSIS: Congenital insensitivity to pain with anhidrosis (CIPA), Tourettes Syndrome, Attention-Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder (ADHD), Bipolar Disorder (Type 1, psychotic)

THE GURNEY .

Toby was in and out of hospitals from a very young age due to his wide range of physical and mental health concerns

His earliest memory was when, at age 4, he hit his head after falling onto cement and didn’t cry, scream, or even really acknowledge that he was hurt

After seeing the bloody mess her young child was in, Connie ran Toby to the hospital where tests were ran to determine what caused his lack of pain response

Finally at age 8, Toby was diagnosed with CIPA. This condition not only prevented his brain from generating a pain response but also responses to extreme temperatures (frostbite, heat burn, etc)

Due to these dangerous health issues, and his neurotic mother, Toby was put in homeschooling from a very early age. Connie was too protective of her son to allow him to go out on his own at his age

His earliest memories revolved around roaming hospital halls, his parents fighting over medical bills, being talked to by social workers and doctors, having tests done, minor surgeries, etc.

DEAR OLD DAD .

Dan Rogers was a difficult man. He never admitted he was wrong, he spent his evenings drinking on the couch, and always had something to complain about. The best words to describe this man was angry, bitter, and reckless

He wasn’t a father by any means. To Toby, the man was more of a nuisance than anything. An alcoholic manchild who stood in his way

The boy never got along with Dan. His father would see him as a burden, bringer of unnecessary medical costs. He severely emotionally and physically neglected his children from their birth. Dan never wanted to be a father.

Due to the costs of Tobys medical problems, Dan would continuously attempt to “prove he was faking” his CIPA, and yell at the boy for his strange twitches due to Tourettes. On one occasion, Dan put his sons hand in a pot of boiling water to try and elicit a pain response that never came.

As Toby got older and more independent from his mother, he would often mouth off to his father, talk back, or straight up ignore him. There was never a moment of peace between those two

Being the money maker in the house, Dan was usually very overworked and stressed. He turned to alcohol to relieve this, and his bad temper got worse when he drank. Often to the point his outbursts would lead to physical violence against his family

It was like walking in a minefield for Toby and his family. And since the supposed “man of the house” was a drunken mean old man, Toby took it upon himself to protect his family from his fathers wrath.

He would purposely act up to direct Dans fist towards him. The boy couldn’t feel it anyways, and being hit, pushed, grabbed, was better than having his sister or mother be hit or yelled at.

The young boy spent his childhood in a rage, he was powerless against his father.

MOTHER DEAREST .

Unlike her husband, Connie was a quiet woman who cared deeply for her children

She was well-mannered, motherly, and kept to herself. And while she was a good woman, she had her fair share of flaws

You would catch her dead before you ever caught her losing control over her emotions. Connie grew up quick and that stuck with her. From a young age she took care of her manchild of a husband

She couldn’t afford to lose herself to silly things like emotions. She had a family to care for, a house to clean, meals to cook. Her priorities lied on appearance over her health

This was one of the many reasons she couldn’t leave her husband despite the years of abuse

Despite all the violence, berating, assault. This life was her own and it was just another thing she had to live with

Toby loved his mother, he really did. He knew she did the best given the circumstances. Connie kept her children fed, clothed and housed. Thats all he could really ask for

But he despised from the depths of his soul how she could just sit by and let the abuse happen. How she never left Dan. How she never cared enough to leave despite not knowing what lied in store for them beyond that house

To her, Dan was a safety net. He provided money, insurance, he paid the bills, put food on the table. Connie quit her job in order to homeschool her son. There was no choice

To Toby, his mother was a coward who never stuck up for herself. And god forbid he ever turn into that

So Toby fought the battles his mother couldn’t. He said the words his mother didn’t dare to speak. He took the beatings and his mother did nothing but ask her husband to stop

SOUL SISTER .

In the chaos of that household, Lyra was something of fresh air for Toby

While the two did fight as any siblings do, they had a mutual care and understanding for each other

Lyra would keep a makeshift first aid kit under her bed for whenever Toby got into minor accidents or if their father went too far some nights

Like her little brother, Lyra had a lot of anger in her. She would always try to stop Dan from going too far and she was good at talking Toby and their father down from ripping each others throats out

She would channel this anger and frustration into sports like boxing, soccer, rugby. It was easier to express her feelings through physical means than ever talking about it. The girl was a perfect mix of her parents

When he was younger, Toby had a very bad and hostile relationship with Lyra. He was young and didn’t have any clue how to handle his emotions and would often threaten or physically hurt his sister

But as he grew up, and they bonded over the related abuse, and they would be there for each other, Toby developed tender care for his older sister. If she got a boyfriend, he would be ready to attack at any sign of disrespect. If she brought over friends, he would stay in his room not to embarrass her.

Just as he was with his mother, he was very protective over Lyra. She did so much for him, and he wanted to keep her safe. It was a tangled, messy relationship but they made it work despite her attitude and his anger

CONDUCT .

Toby grew up completely isolated from other kids, families, etc. The most socialization he got was going to family events or being dragged to the grocery store with his mother.

All he knew growing up was violence. And so when he was around other people, he would project everything he learnt from his father onto other kids

From a very early age he was made to feel small and insignificant in his own home by the people that were supposed to take care of him. And so whenever something challenged him out of the house, he would do whatever he needed to do to put them below him

Sometimes Toby would project this violence onto small animals, occasionally moving onto bigger animals such as cats. The feeling of killing something smaller than himself with his own hands gave him a sense of power and control he never had

Due to his untreated ADHD, the boy would often be loud, hyperactive and intrusive. He would have temper tantrums and outbursts as well, and his mother never knew how to handle it

He was a problem child from birth. Not only causing problems for himself, but for everyone around him

Toby would talk back, curse, say strange and vulgar things, refuse to apologize or admit he was wrong, and would run away from home occasionally.

But despite these behavioural issues, Toby always refused to touch alcohol. Despite all the anger, dread and frustration he felt he swore he’d never become the kind of man his father was

BULLY .

Around 12 years old, Toby’s parents decided it would be best for him to get properly socialized and placed him in a public school

He was now old enough to recognize that bleeding is bad and how to check for injuries despite his CIPA, which allowed Connie to calm down tremendously when it came to her anxiety surrounding her boys health and safety

Despite his mothers insistence that he would love public school, he’d make so many friends there, and that everything would be fine, Toby knew damn well he wouldn’t do well there. He was already bullied by his own father, imagine how other kids would react. He’s seen the movies.

And of course Toby was right. Due to his Tourettes, his tics would often confuse, scare and gross other kids out. They would either straight up treat him like a diseases rat or ruthlessly bully him

The boy was called every name in the book, from “twitchy freak” to “ticci Toby”

Alongside the ostracism and harassment from his peers, his tics and behavioural issues would cause him issues with his teachers. They would often scold him for being a disturbance in class

Making and keeping friends was near impossible for the boy. Talking to a “creepy loser” like him was practically social suicide. He was weird, strange, and given his history of fighting the other kids he was probably dangerous too. No kid wanted to be around that.

On occasion, the other boys would get physical with him and he would always hit back, leading him to get in more trouble with the school staff

Toby would be beat down at school and go home to have it done to him all again by his father

Eventually the school year came to an end and Toby was put back in homeschooling

Even though the torment in middle school came to an end, that didn’t mean the bullying stopped. He was now a known freak and the perfect target for kids who were a bit too much like him. They would harass him online until they got bored, and god forbid he saw any of them in public

It made the angry, powerless boy feel even worse in his own world. There wasn’t a night that went by where he didn’t think of going off and getting his revenge. Make them pay for ever fucking with him.

THE CRASH .

When Toby turned 17, he had finally got himself medicated for his recently diagnosed Bipolar Disorder which caused manic / depressive episodes

He was put on antipsychotics and stimulant medication for his ADHD

While he was being treated, his sister got a job and so did his mother. Outside of all the familiar instability and violence his father caused, life was good

Toby was going to be 18 soon and his sister promised that when he became a legal adult, she would take him to move out with her

He didn’t have any friends, he didn’t really have any plans for his life, but he had a life ahead of him regardless and that was enough

The boy was working through pain too great to imagine, he was carrying 17 years of fear and dread, he was so young holding on to so much

But he had a way out. He was going to get a job and move out with his dear older sister and maybe even go to college. He was going to overcome this

That was his views at least up until the crash

Lyra was driving Toby back home from a doctors appointment when it happened

His tics were acting up, it was rather distracting

He was so caught up in his own little world and trying to get through the frustrating twitches that he didn’t even have a second to process what happened

The next thing Toby knew, the car was swerving right into a lamppost and the air bags were deployed

And the next thing Toby saw was his sisters mangled, bloody body. The force of the steering wheel crushing her bones and shards of glass piercing her skin. The physical trauma near shattered her ribs

And the next thing Toby heard was the pained groans and wheezing from his dying sister

Thats the last thing he remembered before he woke up in a hospital bed with his broken arm being patched up. The doctors wouldn’t even let him see his sister who was under surgery in the emergency room

He didn’t get to be there by her side when she died

He didn’t get a goodbye

And while he was surrounded by family, his aunt Lori was even there to support his mother, Tobys father was nowhere to be seen

Dan was too drunk to drive, and too lazy to call a cab. He didn’t care about Toby and he didn’t care that his daughter just died. One less burden.

In one afternoon Tobys entire life slipped through the cracks of his hands

HIM .

The grief was sickening. It was heavier than the weight of the world. The silence that flooded his once loud house from his sister blaring her Beatles albums was deafening

These were the kinds of things that only happened in movies. People didn’t really lose their family members, and these things didn’t happen to people like him

It wasn’t fair

The one good thing in his miserable life, the moment things were finally getting better. There was no hope anymore, Toby was hopeless

He thought of ending his life every night as he stared at the ceiling, not getting a wink of sleep. But he couldn’t do that to his mom. She never showed it, but it showed clearly from the weight in her steps, the tired look in her eyes. He knew she was carrying a burden too great to bear

He couldn’t take away both of her children

So he would lie there night after night hoping to wake up from the gutwrenching dream just to hear her laugh, sing, blast her shitty music. He never really liked The Beatles, but she did. But she did.

It was all too much for him. From the moment Toby stepped out of the hospital he hadn’t felt real. The boy was living two steps away from reality like there was a sheet of plastic in between him and the world

Days would go by where he would forget to take his medication, or where he would simply just sleep the entire day away

On the days he was awake, Toby would feel like he was going insane. He wouldn’t feel real, he would see things out of the corner of his eye

Sometimes he’d swear he saw something outside his window at night

A strange creature standing under the streetlights

And it only got worse from here. Toby would almost always refuse to leave the house, he stopped sleeping, he felt like something was watching him

The boy would spend hours staring outside his bedroom window. The forest in his backyard had eyes and they were watching him

A wave of sickness overtook Toby. He would wake up with bloody noses sometime and no medicine would get rid of his strange cough. Sometimes he would sleepwalk and end up waking up on the edge of the forest behind his house, cold and alone in the dark of the night

It all added up. It was too much. The anger, the fear, the paranoia. The little voice in the back of his head telling him to just do it. Get revenge. Make him pay.

ABLAZE .

The years and years of abuse. Everything his father had done. He wasn’t there. He was never there.

Why should a man like that deserve to live? 17 fucking years of making Toby feel small and insignificant

Not today. And not anymore. The world was in the boys hands now, and so was a knife. And that night was the night Toby Rogers killed his own father.

No words could describe the feeling of adrenaline and rage that overtook the boy that night. There was no other option, this was the way it was always going to happen

Everything Toby has ever been through has led up to this. It was his own divine prophecy

And God showed no mercy that night

23 stab wounds drilled into his fathers chest, his face bloody, beaten and unrecognizable. Toby smashed his tiny bruised fists ruthlessly into his fathers now deceased body.

The only thing that stopped him was the scream of his mother. It was something primal, something deep from the pain in her gut.

Toby ran into the garage and grabbed two axes that belonged to his father, one old one new. Alongside that he grabbed gasoline and matches. He was going to do what he knew best. He was going to destroy everything.

And so the boy ran down the street of his neighborhood pouring the gasoline along his way and dousing the rest over the trees as he stood at the edge of the forest

Striking a match, the dry grass and trees caught on fire and immediately exploded into flames. The heat and blaze engulfed the boy and soon it began catching onto the rest of the forest

This was the end, he thought. Strangely enough, even though his heart was beating in his throat and his body was shaking, he felt calm. He had no regrets and he was fine with this being his ending.

His mind went blank, everything felt like a static screen, he could feel himself getting dizzy and there was a loud ringing in his ears

The last thing he saw was a tall, faceless creature in the midst of the smoke and fire as he collapsed to the ground.

And that was the death of Tobias Erin Rogers.

[shegatsby]

The Bikerider and The Nurse

A/N: Hi guys! I'm here with a new fic. I wanted to keep the first chapter short but don't worry, it's gonna be a long ass fic with smut in the future! Let me know if you want to be tagged. Love you xxx

Words: 1.583K TAG LIST IS OPEN!

Warnings: Injury but not detailed so don't worry.

Chapter One

‘’It’s gonna be a long ass night.’’ Elena complained, they were wearing their uniforms for their night shift, Y/N loved the nights, she loved helping people and usually the nights were calm but this night was different. There was a bar fight, the rumor reached before the patients. She wore her white long dress uniform and white pumps, when she quickly tied her hair and placed the white cap she ran out of the lounge. She was the right hand of an old doctor, no one usually liked him because he was grumpy but Y/N admired him because he worked in the army during the WW2 and his knowledge of medicine was beyond anyone she had ever met. Dr. Smith didn’t like most of his colleges because they kept complaining but Y/N was different, she turned up out of nowhere one day and showed her determination for the job and that’s why the old man kept her by his side during any complicated surgeries or important cases. He kept mentioning that she should go back to school and become a doctor but Y/N kindly smiled and said she was happy being a  nurse, he knew she could do it, she had the capacity unlike these morons he had to see every day. Dr. Smith wasn’t a stupid man, whenever he asked her a personal question such as her hometown, her parents etc. she was perfectly giving diplomatic answers and then disappearing. No one knew where she was from or anything personal about Y/N but for Dr. Smith as long as she was useful he didn’t mind her back story.

Elena was her friend, over the months they had bounded but Y/N was smart enough to keep her distance, Elena kept inviting her to this bar she and her husband were regulars or the picnics they were having with their friends.. Y/N kept kindly declining the offers but Elena never felt sad or angry. She was few years older than Y/N and she knew that this young woman had a tragic past, she could feel it in her bones so Elena decided to be gentle and never take things personal.

As they were running to the emergency wing Dr. Smith called for Y/N, there was a patient from the bar fight and his condition was more severe than the others so she followed the old man.

‘’Caucasian male, in his late 20s, other than bruises he has a damaged ankle..’’ the other nurse was explaining the situation when Y/N was startled for a second. There was man laying on the hospital bed with his dirty clothes, his dirty blonde hair and mustache was the first details she had noticed, even though he was unconscious he had a stern look on his face, his jaw and high cheeks were sharp looking, he had this thick jacket that one of his ringed hands were holding tight, as she got closer she heard that he was mumbling something… Y/N  got closer and bend over the bed to hear him clearly,

‘’Don’t,’’ he was saying, ‘’Don’t take the jacket off.’’

Y/N looked at Dr. Smith, ‘’He doesn’t want us to take the jacket off.’’ She said calmly, ‘’I don’t care about the damn jacket, this man needs surgery right now or he is about to lose his foot!’’ he was right, Y/N knew that she would be in the surgery room assisting the doctor so they took him immediately in. Before the surgery Y/N took his jacket off and put it in her locker, she decided to give it to him once he wakes up.

After the surgery she had found out that the man was Elena’s husband’s friend from some motorcycle club. Elena thanked her for taking care of him and she said that four of them should hang out once he gets better, after Elena hugged her thankfully Y/N held her arm before she left, it was dawn and theit shift had ended, ‘’What’s..’’ she began and cleared her throat, ‘’What’s his name? I didn’t look at the papers so I don’t-‘’

Elena laughed with her signature laugh, she was a cheerful woman,

 ‘’His name is Benny, Benny Cross.’’

Before she left work she didn’t forget to get his jacket from the locker, she wanted to wash it at home and bring it to the hospital, she had another shift starting in the afternoon.

In the afternoon, the jacket was clean and dry, and she was marching to the hospital. After wearing her uniform she learned which room they took him and she directly walked there. Her plan was to put the jacket there and leave to her surprise he was awake. When she walked in they locked eyes, he was laying there, dark circles under his deep blue eyes, he looked tired. There was a white cast on his ankle and covering his foot. She brought the jacket and put it on the chair next to his bed, no words were exchanged. She gently smiled after that and turned to leave before she heard him.

‘’Thank you.’’ His raspy voice was low, she stopped at the threshold and turned to him, ‘’You’re welcome.’’ She replied shortly and walked out of the room. She loved helping people and it wasn’t the first time she did something for a patient but she felt strange. There was a heavy feeling on her chest, she had to ignore it and get to work. She had to ignore because the last time she had given in to those feelings she had to leave her home and family behind and start fresh. There was a reason why no one knew anything personal about her and she had to keep it that way.

Days passed, she woke up, went to work, did her best and got home. She was used to this routine but Elena had a problem with it. She kept begging to Y/N, inviting her everywhere. They were in the lounge when Elena cornered her, ‘’You only have morning shift right?’’ she questioned her with her deep eyes, ‘’Yes.’’ Was Y/N’s answer. ‘’Then you’re coming with us this evening.’’ There she was, inviting her again, this time Y/N was silent for a while, usually her immediate response was ‘’Sorry but I have other things to do.’’ But this time she considered her options. She was a young woman and she deserved to be sociable in life, she couldn’t always be scared and look back. Y/N said she would be there and she just needed the address, there was a bar Elena and her husband were regulars of. She laughed when she saw Elena’s eyes got bigger by shock, ‘’Really? You are coming?’’ her mouth was open. Y/N laughed again, ‘’Yes. I would love to hang out with you and your husband, he seems like a nice guy.’’ It was about time she faced her fears. She was safe now, no one could harm her, not anymore. Elena gave her the address of the bar.

During the day she helped Dr. Smith, attended small surgeries, she was usually at the Emergency wing. At 5pm her shift ended so she went home, ate and took a shower.

She found herself in front of her bedroom mirror, she wore a dark red blouse and beige jeans with flat shoes, her hair was loose and she did a light make up. She looked at her finished look, it had been while since she went out and she felt powerful, finally her life was stable and she was saving money, making new friends. She looked very happy. She got her back, even gave herself a wink on the mirror and locked her door. She took the bus to the bar.

There were so many bikes outside of the bar she was startled, Elena had mentioned that her husband belonged to a motorcycle club and they would hang out together, the wives and girlfriends, they would have Sunday picnics as well. The door of the bar was wide open and people were coming and going, mostly men. She approached slowly, like a cat. There were some men wearing the same jacket she washed and cleaned for her patient last week, he must be a member of this club. These men were laughing really hard and drinking, she could see shadows through the windows and she found herself taking a step back, should she go in? It would be rude not to, Elena would be very upset… but she could lie to Elena and make up an excuse.. as she was having a mental breakdown a tall man walked passed her, he was limping a bit. He had dirty blonde hair, he was walking slowly to the bar with one of his hands holding his cigarette. She could only see his back but he looked familiar. When he reached the threshold  he stopped and turned to look at her, and that’s when she realized who was this young man. He was her patient from last week, Benny Cross. His blue eyes found her, they shared a brief moment of acknowledging each other, she swore she saw a faint smile on his face and then he walked in.

She noticed that she had been standing there for almost 7 minutes, people started to notice so she looked back at the road and then looked at the bar, a sudden feeling of courage washed over her entire body and her feet took her to the open door.

Thank you for reading. :)

[fly-boy-in-the-sky]

Banana Fish & Films PART 1

Recommendations based on aesthetics, themes, decade etc…

These are just my personal recommendations for movies similar to Banana Fish. Most of these films from 1960-90s revolving around some sort of street culture gangs, prostitution, trafficking, drugs all that good stuff…also a few of these I haven’t watched in years so the description may be a little off LOL

TAXI DRIVER 1976

“All the animals come out at night. Whores, skunk-pussies, buggers, queens, fairies, dopers, junkies. Sick and venal.”

Taxi Driver follows a former Vietnam solider insomniac 26-year-old Travis (Robert De Niro) who takes night shifts as a cab driver in NYC. The story is mostly told through his inner monologue, where he talks about his his loneliness and depression along with telling stories of his interactions with his customers. He crosses paths with a 12-year-old prostitute Iris, (Jodie Foster) whom he tries rescuing from her situation.

This film was recommended by Yoshida.

THE WARRIORS 1979

“Since when the fuck are you a diplomat?”

After being blamed for the killing of a rival gang leader in the Bronx, the Warriors have dozens of New York City street gangs are out for revenge battling over turf that ranges from Bronx to Coney Island where the Warriors reside.

STREETWISE 1984

“No one to tell you where to go or what to do.”

A documentary on Street Kids in Seattle Washington 1984. Many of the teenagers do dangerous hustling gigs to survive on the streets.

There’s a story about a girl who is a prostitute with her mother’s knowledge, though her mother is against the idea she doesn’t stop her since it brings in money. Similar situation with Ash and his father..I have seen people say “I can’t believe his father would do that!” or that it’s totally unrealistic. Unfortunately these terrible things do happen, and even though Banana Fish is fictional and exaggerated, the crimes featured are really not far off for the time. Child exploitation human trafficking was huge, that’s one of the reasons how the milk carton missing persons started back in the eighties, especially through mafia/politicians in Europe.

PLATOON 1986

“Any way you cut it, Barnes is a fucking murderer.”

This movie was recommended by Yoshida.

Chris Taylor (Charlie Seen) leaves university to enlist in the Vietnam war. His experiences in combat fades his idealisms of what war is really about and what the troops are fighting this war for. His two Sargents, Barnes (Tom Berneger) and Elias (Williem Dafoe) are constantly arguing together over their morals. Barnes has violent approaches and believes the villagers are harboring Vietcong, while Elias has a more sympathetic view of the villagers and the war. Their disagreements began putting soldiers up against each other, as well as the enemies.

CRUISING 1980

“They told me that there was some... special assignment... and that I was right for it.”

Steve Burns (Al Pacino) is tasked to go undercover cop as a gay man infiltrating New York’s S&M clubs for a psychopath who’s been violently killing homosexuals. Steve begins immersing himself in the subculture and club hopping. While this is going down, he becomes increasingly distant with his girlfriend and the police forces homophobia becomes more apparent as the case goes on.

KING OF NEW YORK 1990

“ I spent half my life in prison. I never got away with anything, and I never killed anybody that didn't deserve it.”

The biggest Kingpin of the underground Frank White (Christopher Walken) just got released from prison. He’s different from most gangsters though. He shares his benefits with the poor, opening children’s hospitals and protecting the wellbeing of underprivileged citizens. Though the streets are much tougher than before. The mafia, Chinatown and Colombian gangs are running the streets partaking in child human trafficking and prostitution, unnecessary killings and racketeering. Frank’s not a fan of how they do business, and puts an end to it.

One of my favorites..the ending even ends similar to Banana Fish and there’s these two gay ass cop partners that the one kisses him towards the end (no spoilerrr) Frank is a super morally grey gangster and very similar to Ash in his beliefs. Film features many famous 90s actors. Must watch.

THE OUTSIDERS 1983

“I used to talk about killing myself all the time, man. But I don't wanna die now. It ain't long enough. Sixteen years ain't gonna be long enough.”

Based on the novel of the same name, an American classic most of us had to read in middle school.

A teenage gang in 1960s Oklahoma, the Greasers have constant clashes with another rival gang the Socs. When Ponyboy (C. Thomas Howell) and Johnny (Ralph Macchio) get into a brawl that leads to the death of a Soc member, they are forced to run away into hiding. With help from their friend Dally (Matt Dillon) he tells them a place out in the rural part of town they can hide until the situation dies down. They are eventually forced to return back to their town after a tragic incident with Johnny happens, and they’re subjected to the consequences of their violent lives once again.

[sonicasura]

Here's the next part to Nobody Like You Beast Tamer edition. This goes into more of Kafka and Soshiro's relationship over the years alongside the effect it has on those around them. Let's get started.

Kafka and Soshiro had to hide their true feelings around the rest of the latter's family. They knew the others wouldn't understand if their bond was actually more than just best friends. Especially when Kafka continued to grow bigger over the years.

Letting a 70 meter kaiju live was already insane to the older members of the clan and it felt like suicide once his fortitude had reached 9.8. It wasn't uncommon for them to make the kind hearted himbo's life harder whenever he's stuck with them. Especially through threats of killing, neutering, and spaying him. These old farts would even try to exile Soshiro if his love for Kafka ever became known.

Both were thankful the other clan members were more hospitable to the size shifting kaiju. The first few years of the deal were a bit rough for the two. Kafka had to settle in his role as the Hoshina family's protector and it meant more than just an education or etiquette lessons.

He often found himself learning to stay vigilante for long hours, evacuation procedures, etc. Luckily one of the lessons revolved around training beside Soshiro as his battle aid. Soichiro did give him extra free time to spend with the other boy.

Their schedules thankfully became less clustered over the years as both gained more of their own respective freedom. Soshiro's goal to become Vice Captain held another reason than standing beside Mina. His father made a deal that if he could make either captain role, then Kafka would be free from his Clan duties and be his responsibility again.

Something Soshiro couldn't pass up especially after working so hard to keep their love strong. Concocting a background for Kafka's human form, learning sign language, finding the right times to sneak him out, etc. His father even had a way to introduce the kaiju to the Defense Force without much drawback from the higher ups.

Soshiro was successfully promoted to Vice Captain and thus the man fulfilled his end of the deal. The cover story, Project Beast Tamer, is Kafka being an experiment in kaiju behavior. It's purpose was to see if a whelp could bond with a human similar to how early man tamed wolves i.e through mutual companionship.

The only truth to this being that Soshiro and Kafka's partnership had been unprecedented. It obviously got mixed reactions but the two knew when to put on a show. The kaiju following his human partner's instructions to the letter even performing a field test against captured Honju to prove their salt.

Kafka was officially cleared for his role with Soshiro although he had to wear a custom collar or band with the Defense Force 3rd Division seal on it. Similar to Mina, the duo got the attention of the public very quickly once this partnership was announced. A good thing as apparently Kafka has another unique quirk that became a boon to their image.

He had a knack for finding stranded civilians. No matter the mission, the kaiju always seems to find someone who hasn't managed to evacuate yet. Or that he had ways to make them feel at ease when found by the small(sometimes medium) scaled beast. Apparently acting like a complete harmless' goof is enough to drop whatever tension is present.

Thus Kafka found himself a side role as a Rescue Aid or 'Rescue Kaiju'. It didn't take much for him to be popular in the public eye. Some are still wary and untrusting of the kaiju even if his 'handler' Soshiro is present.

Children absolutely adore Kafka though as they are quick to swarm him. Sometimes they get to play games with the kaiju and Soshiro chuckles at how much of a loveable dork his lover is. Kaiju No. 8 merchandise was quick to sweep the market.

Soshiro and Kafka are quite the force of nature on the battlefield. Thanks to the latter's wings, the Vice Captain has less issues when facing large scale kaiju. Whether it be delivering attacks from above, dodge strikes that would've hit without Kafka's aerial skill, or scan for potential weak points.

Routine patrols now have a bird's eye view that saves quite a bit on drone usage. Sometimes Soshiro takes a few pictures if the night is exceptionally beautiful. Personal flights still happen as being so close to the sky feels comforting.

Recruits assigned to the Third Division definitely have some issues processing the fact their vice captain has his own kaiju. Or just how depraved Soshiro can get when it comes to punishments. Getting chased by a bus sized kaiju while running laps around the entire base is as frightening as it sounds.

They also never expected Soshiro to be married either. Yet it isn't uncommon for his mute husband Ai(Kafka's human alias) to visit. No one questions where Kafka is though during those times.

Unfortunately Soshiro and his kaiju partner are now targets for No. 9. The creepy mushroom man immediately became aware of the unique partnership. Not a very good thing as any interest from him is asking for disaster.

The Mushroom Man will also make it known. Expect kidnapping attempts on Ai than just kaiju attacks and No. 10's invasion. He'll be an even bigger creep once it becomes apparent that the vice captain's husband is Kafka in disguise.

A mated pair between human and kaiju is even more interesting in No.9's eyes.

For now, enjoy this song that I was listening to when writing this: Just Pretend by Bad Omens.

@noodlesbf-blog @kafkahibinomybeloved @giantgoblin @mechazushi @oxandthorn @omniithe-deer

[ravemetrotron]

Cybertronian Liminal spaces ideas: TFP

Tunnels (thru Mts, under cities, etc.)

Red Sand Deserts (Rust Sea Similarities)

Large Scale Industrial Sectors (Think big, automated assembly lines; Similar to their factories)

I also feel like truly gigantic cities (Lots of skyscrapers; similar to their cityscapes) would be similar enough to evoke a sense of nostalgia.

Cybertronian Specific Places:

OP - Libraries (the bigger the more nostalgic he gets) and Rome, b/c of the Collusium (I imagine it reminds him of Kaons Arena)

Megs - Rome (Same as OP), Empty Mines, and ruined Forts (even tho their forts 100% looked different, our ruins still give the same effect)

Ratch - Colleges (Academy Days, specifically the long, winding trails from one building to another), Hospital Corridors (If he has a holoform) and Oddly enough, Victorian Houses. Old and creaky, reminiscent of an old era.

Star - The Buj Kalifa (Vosian Remenicent). Sometimes Specific weather patterns, like Hailstorms or Freezing Rain, remind him of the stinging Acid rain of Cybertron. He hates Blizzards too.

Bulk - Construction sites get him. Rome as well (architecture in general, really).

Sounders - Rome, Government Buildings (specifically, the twisting hallways some important buildings have) and castles/forts.

Arcee - Tunnels, Ravines (I imagine she hid a lot on cybertron, cracks in cybs exoplates would be similar to ravines), and old houses (dilapidated buildings, slowly rotting away; similar to one specific spider incident.

KO - Raceways (obv), but also airports (hanger bays specifically) and large scale paint factories. Also, Buj Kalifa (HC that KO is a Grounded Seeker, explaining SS comment in TFP). Maybe medical tents as well? He was a front line medic after all.

Bee - Rocky mountain roads (scouting), ruins like Stonehenge, and ghost towns. Places where life has been destroyed. Also, war ravaged cities and mysterious old paths through the trees.

BD - Similar to Bulk, but add Mines and industrial buildings too.

Smokey - Libraries (not to the same extent as OP tho), old ruins, and abandoned junkyards (similar effect to the transport ship) I also HC that the escape pod made him pretty Claustrophobic. So small spaces are a no go.

Shockers - Labs, research buildings, but also government buildings (Senator days) and hospitals (too pristine/white a room; he slightly panics) HC that Shockers hates the color white with a dying passion.

Jackie - Labs as well, but also hanger bays and random bars get him too. (HC that he basically found Seaspray in a galactic bar.)

Dread/Quake - Old English/French architecture and Rome

Mags - Government buildings, Libraries (somewhat), but mainly offices and conference rooms get this guy.

Arachnid - Dug out Tunnels (insecticon hives), fancy buildings (Senete esch enough; similar to all her targets homes), and out-of-the-way villages (similar to other organic planets easiest targets)

I think that basically everyone (everyone important I think? Cliffs dead so I didn't include him lol).

HOOOOLY FUCK man you put a LOT of thought into this, this is so cool. The bit about lifeless or decayed places igniting that kinda nostalgia in Bee is actually really sad if you think about it.

Man now I wanna see an episode where a relic is found near the remains of the colosseum, and it has a lot of bots on edge.

I feel like the cities with big reflective or iridescent skyscrapers are spot on, especially in the flashbacks. To add to city scenes, in the flashbacks they had huge streets and ramps and freeways that looked a lot like ours too! (Unless I’m remembering wrong and I’m just nuts)