#that or banshee. honestly sounded like a banshee

[tarantula-pop]

Need to see another Gene Loves Jezebel fan who loves and appreciates Michael Aston like I do 😔

[jillianallen14]

Dear Baby Bats - Goth Band Recommendations

As a middle sibling goth (I’ve been in the subculture for 10 years now, so not a baby bat but not an elder goth either), let me turn you on to some bands because we do not gatekeep in this house!! Also, if you want consistently good lesser-known & brand new goth band recs, go follow Awfully Sinister on TikTok and Instagram. He’s a DJ & has great recs. I've found so much music through him because it's really hard to keep up with all the new bands cropping up every year. You want to avoid the goth subreddit because they are extremely gatekeeper-y and argue over labels constantly. It’ll just confuse you, and they are not nice over there.

If you’re very new to the subculture, and you haven’t yet listened to all of Bauhaus, Siouxsie and the Banshees, The Cure, Sisters of Mercy, Christian Death, Cocteau Twins, Clan of Xymox, Joy Division, and Depeche Mode, go do so now. You'll want to know which of them you really enjoy the most because it will help you know which sub-subgenre(s) of goth you want to watch out for, and it'll tell you what to look for to find it. For example, Sisters of Mercy is the gothic rock subgenre, Christian Death is deathrock, Cocteau Twins is ethereal wave, Clan of Xymox is like the original darkwave, Joy Division is classic post-punk, etc. I haven’t included industrial, despite its proximity to the goth subculture, just because I actually don’t really know that many industrial bands beyond Skippy Puppy, Ministry, and Throbbing Gristle. Some other goth/goth-adjacent staple bands (that are very popular and very influential) that you should listen to if you haven’t already are The Damned, Killing Joke, The Cult, and Adam and the Ants/Adam Ant). I didn't know where to put She Wants Revenge or London After Midnight either, but they're also great.

I’ve bolded some of my absolute must-listen to goth bands, and I've put monthly Spotify listeners for each band so you know which ones deserve WAY more love. And in my pre-list ramblings for each OG band, I've given you some key terms to look up so you can more easily find music that's similar to what you enjoy. Okay, here we go:

If you like Bauhaus:

Bauhaus is a hard one because honestly, nobody really sounds like them, and they aren't really that closely associated with a specific sub-subgenre of goth. They were post-punk, they were art rock, they were experimental, they were sometimes very punk and at other times very gothic rock. They liked to call themselves “dark glam rock” (all four members are massive Bowie, T-Rex, and Iggy Pop fans), but you’re gonna have a hard time finding bands that sound like them if you look that term up. They probably have one of the most unique sounds of all-time. They’re my favorite band (I even have a tattoo for them, like I am devoted lol), but even I have a difficult time finding other bands that scratch their particular itch for me. These bands I’ve listed are as close as you’re gonna get to Bauhaus’ general vibe imo.

Virgin Prunes (80’s band that is technically deathrock but has the same absolutely unhinged, danceable sound that Bauhaus has, so they’re going here; one of my favorites; no one else does it like them and no one else ever will; I would actually give my left foot to see them live); 13.2k monthly listeners (this is actually physically painful to me, how is it this low!!! don't walk, RUN to go listen to them)

Alien Sex Fiend (80’s classic unhinged goth); 77k monthly listeners

Sextile (modern band that has some very Bauhaus-sounding guitar work at times but with heavy industrial influences); 147k listeners

The Danse Society (80’s unhinged goth; has similar experimental vibes to Bauhaus imo; one of my fave goth groups); 36k listeners

Sex Beat (80’s); not even really on Spotify

Ritual Howls (modern band; I don’t know why it gives Bauhaus, but it does; one of the few modern bands that scratches that particular itch for me); 45k listeners

The Agnes Circle (modern band; one of my favorites; they have the right Bauhaus-like atmosphere for me); 52k listeners

Traitrs (I can’t explain why they remind me of Bauhaus, but they do; another one of my fave modern bands; they make me want to start levitating and doing the Ian Curtis dance in the same way Bauhaus does lol); 239k listeners

Paralisis Permanente (underrated 80’s; they have a lot in common with Bauhaus’s sound actually, def give them a try!); 54k monthly listeners

The Birthday Party (80s band, totally unhinged; they’re less dark and atmospheric than Bauhaus, but if you take one listen to their album Junkyard, you’ll know exactly why I put them under this category haha; Nick Cave is the vocalist, which is amazing); 54k listeners

Tones on Tail (80s; Daniel Ash & Kevin Haskins of Bauhaus formed this group; I’d put Love and Rockets as well, which is all of Bauhaus’s members except Peter Murphy, but Love and Rockets weirdly bears little resemblance to Bauhaus’s music; but if you just generally want more of Bauhaus members' work, Love and Rockets is great, too); 81k listeners

Dalis Car (80s; collaboration between Peter Murphy and Japan's bassist; their music is extremely weird, so only listen if you really love the batshit insane Bauhaus songs or if you really live and breathe Peter Murphy like I do lol; their description on Spotify is so fucking funny); 7k listeners

I'd also recommend listening to Daniel Ash, David J, and Peter Murphy's solo work. They're all great!! Peter also did some amazing collaborations with Trent Reznor (Nine Inch Nails); the version of Reptile that they did together is better than Nine Inch Nail's original version imo, and you can find that entire session on Youtube!

If you like Siouxsie and the Banshees:

Siouxsie is another one that's hard to pin down sound-wise because again, they don't really fit into one specific sub-subgenre, so all of these recs are just goth bands with female vocalists who have the same kind of powerful vocals that Siouxsie does.

Second Still (modern band, one of my faves; singer sounds a lot like Siouxsie to me at times); 69k listeners

Skeletal Family (80’s band; has the same “women in punk” vibes that Siouxsie has); 55k listeners

Xmal Deutschland (80’s band; has the same powerful vocals that Siouxsie has; makes you wanna go stupid go crazy the way the Banshees do); 73k listeners

Secret Shame (modern band w/ woman singer; has the same rage that Siouxsie songs have to me, especially early Siouxsie); 6k listeners (let's get those numbers up, folks!!!)

Rosegarden Funeral Party (modern band w/ a woman vocalist); 57k listeners

Mephisto Walz (90s & 2000s; sounds so much like the Banshees at times); 56k listeners

The Creatures (80s; a Siouxsie Sioux & Budgie side project); 34k listeners

Madhouse (listen to Repulsion! 80s group that’s technically deathrock, but I put them under this category because the singer has Siouxsie-like qualities); not really on Spotify

Strange Boutique (90s; vocalist is Monica Richards of Faith and the Muse & Madhouse; this is probably my favorite project of hers); 112k listeners

If you like Depeche Mode:

For Depeche Mode enjoyers (which DM is kind of on the fringes of what’s considered “goth,” but they’re so entrenched in the subculture that I included them anyway), you’re gonna want to delve into goth playlists and modern goth that leans towards synthpop/synthwave. So those are the kinds of playlists you’ll want to search up for similar sounds to DM.

Nuovo Testamento (modern band; combines post-punk and pop elements in a way that’s very similar to Depeche Mode; lots of fun live, and they have a good sound); 25k listeners

Boy Harsher (modern band; relies heavily on synth; feels like it should be playing at every goth club); 558k listeners

ULTRA SUNN (modern band; singer sounds like Dave Gahan); 217k listeners (they just blew up on tiktok recently, which explains why this just skyrocketed since the last time I was on their Spotify page lol; good for them, good for them, they deserve it)

Ministry's first album (called With Sympathy), which was synthwave/synthpop before they went industrial (this is one of my all-time favorite albums)

French Police (modern band); 252k listeners

Closed Tear (modern band); 152k listeners

Night Sins (modern band); 33k listeners

Panic Priest (modern band; vocals sound decently similar to Dave Gahan & there is a lot of reliance on synth; In All Severity is a gorgeous song); 5k listeners

Fad Gadget (underrated 80’s; I just feel like if you like DM, you’re also gonna like Fad Gadget); 58k listeners

Martin Dupont (underrated 80s cold wave/synth pop; Inside Out is one of my favorite 80s songs); 26k listeners

If you like The Cure:

You'll be hard-pressed to find a goth band that wasn't influenced by The Cure, so I really can't give you any key terms for what to look up lol. They also changed their sound so frequently that it entirely depends on what era of The Cure's music you're looking to find similar music for.

Vision Video (modern band; combines post-punk and pop elements like The Cure does; one of my fave modern goth bands; they are INCREDIBLE live); 52k listeners (I'm gonna need y'all to get a song or two of theirs to blow up on tiktok expeditiously lol)

Urban Heat (modern band; great live); 36k listeners

The Chameleons (80’s band; very underrated; they are also very good live); 167k listeners

House of Harm (modern band, very new; also very good live; has pop elements); 44k listeners

Deceits (modern band, another very new one); 28k listeners (it's crazy how much this number has grown the past two months because it was in the single thousands not that long ago; everyone say thank you, tiktok)

Drab Majesty (modern band; their instrumentals remind me of The Cure); 172k listeners

Double Echo (modern band, one of my faves; their instrumentals also remind me of The Cure); 15k listeners (let's get these numbers up!!!)

The Bolshoi (underrated 80’s band that combines new wave and goth elements in a similar way to The Cure); 114k listeners

The Essence (underrated 80s band that sounds so much like The Cure it’s actually insane, but they’ve got their own sound too; they’re like a perfect blend of all of The Cure’s different sounds); 25k monthly listeners

The Glove (80s; a Robert Smith side project with Steven Severin from Siouxsie and the Banshees); 25k listeners

Crimson Ivy (80s band; singer sounds so a lot like a more yelly version of Robert Smith sometimes); not on Spotify

Miss Teen America (brand new band from NYC! They only have one single out right now, and it’s well worth listening to); 940 monthly listeners (y’all know what to do!!! Let’s get those numbers up, up, up!) link to their single: https://open.spotify.com/album/4nvdZeUVLLrMv3tEziCqm7?si=2WVS7-eYQLGR7Id3wLiKhg

If you like Clan of Xymox:

Most of these bands will be modern ones because Clan of Xymox was honestly way ahead of their time. (They are also amazing live, so go see them before they eventually call it quits!) For playlists that are full of their vibe, you’re gonna want to look up “darkwave�� playlists. Clan of Xymox pioneered darkwave, so any darkwave band you listen to is gonna be influenced by their sound in some way or another.

Harsh Symmetry (modern, very new; very heavily relies on synth); 29k listeners

Ssleeping Desiress (modern band; instrumentals similar to Xymox); 55k listeners

Twin Tribes (probably my favorite modern goth band; they are fucking incredible and so good live!); 276k listeners

ACTORS (modern band; heavily relies on synth); 86k listeners

Mareux (modern; heavily relies on synth); 4.8 million listeners (this is wild!!!! everyone say thank you, tiktok)

Sixth June (modern); 23k listeners

Plastique Noir (modern); 40k listeners

Rendez Vous (modern); 160k listeners

Minuit Machine (modern); 97k listeners

The Frozen Autumn (90s & 2000s); 31k listeners

If you like Christian Death:

All of these recs will be deathrock recs or goth bands that heavily leaned on punk sounds. So if CD is the OG goth band you’re most fond of, you’re gonna want to delve into deathrock playlists for similar sounds.

Asylum Party (80’s band); not on spotify

45 Grave (80’s band); 47k listeners

Voodoo Church (80’s band; probably my favorite out of this bunch; I actually like them more than Christian Death); 7k listeners (let's get these numbers up immediately!!!!)

Ausgang (80’s band); 2k listeners (WHAT; they deserve so much more, damn)

Corpus Delicti (90’s band; they are very good; they sound the least like Christian Death on this list imo); 26k listeners

13th Chime (80’s band; very underrated); 6k listeners

UK Decay (you know, I actually don’t know what era they’re from; unhinged sound); 1k listeners (omg)

Super Heroines (underrated 80’s band; Eva O formed it); 2k listeners (you see what I meant about underrated?)

Specimen (80s band; this one could have just as easily gone under Bauhaus tbh, but the vocals are generally higher pitched than Peter Murphy’s, so I put them under this category); 102k listeners

Sex Gang Children (80’s band; just so unhinged & I love them for it); 27k listeners

Suspiria (90s, I think? I don’t actually know); barely on Spotify but 27k listeners

Theatre of Hate (80s); 7k listeners

Bloody Dead and Sexy (2000s, I think); 44k listeners

Mescaline Babies (2000s); 3k listeners

Acid Bats (2000s; Mexican band with Spanish lyrics); 2k listeners

Altar de Fey (80s band; formed in San Francisco!!); 23k listeners

Twisted Nerve (80s band; classified as “gothic punk,” so I felt this was the best category for them; they’re great; their sound also reminds me of early Siouxsie and the Banshees and Killing Joke); 2.5k listeners

Play Dead (80s); 8k listeners

Limbo (underrated 80s; if you like Bauhaus & Virgin Prunes as well, you’re gonna like this band); 413 listeners

If you like Cocteau Twins:

Cocteau Twins’ early sound is usually categorized as “ethereal wave” goth, so those are the playlists you’ll want to look up if you enjoy their early sound. If you like their later sound, you’re gonna want to lean more towards shoegaze for similar vibes. Admittedly, ethereal wave is one of the goth subgenres that I know the least about, so I’m not gonna be much help here.

Dead Can Dance (80’s band; NO one, and I mean NO ONE, was doing it like Dead Can Dance; so fun to dance to in the goth club); 332k listeners

Lycia (90’s band; their music is very transcendent); 20k listeners

Linea Aspera (modern band; gorgeous woman vocals; honestly, their music is just very beautiful); 67k listeners

This Mortal Coil (formed in the 80s; some songs feature Elizabeth Fraser & Robin Guthrie from Cocteau Twins, but even the ones that don’t still have an ethereal vibe similar to CT; Sixteen Days/Gathering Dust is just like the best song ever); 310k listeners

Autumn's Grey Solace (2000s); 62k listeners

Faith and the Muse; (90s); 22k listeners

This Ascension (90s); 4k listeners

Strawberry Switchblade (80s); 400k listeners

If you like Joy Division:

All of these bands will be ones that sound very classically post-punk, so those are the playlists to search out; emphasis on "classic" because post-punk is a very broad term that gets applied to a lot of music. I would argue that Joy Division has had the most influence out of all the OG goth bands on the current goth sound/goth renaissance we're going through right now, so there are a LOT of bands out there for you if you’re a JD fan.

Molchat Doma (modern band); 2.5 million listeners (wow lol, they've grown so much over the past two years, it's actually insane; good for them)

Soviet Soviet (modern band); 152k listeners

Fearing (modern band; very good live); 30k listeners

Ploho (modern band); 146k listeners

Pink Turns Blue (criminally underrated 80’s band; they are SO good live); 98k listeners (this is an actual travesty, this band is way too good to not even be in the hundred thousands)

The Sound (another incredibly underrated 80’s band); 119k listeners

This Cold Night (modern; has the deep vocals of Joy Division and the driving bass but more stripped back than JD); 150k listeners

Bleib Modern (modern; has very similar vocals to Red Lorry Yellow Lorry, which is a band listed under the Sisters of Mercy section of this post, so if you end up liking this band, you should also listen to Red Lorry Yellow Lorry & vice versa); 36k listeners

Lebanon Hanover (modern; has the existential angst that Joy Division always ignites in me but more stripped back); 936k listeners (this is crazy, holy shit!!!!!! go, Lebanon Hanover, go!!)

She Past Away (modern; deep vocals); 226k listeners

Belgrado (modern; woman vocals!); 18k listeners (they deserve better than this!!)

Leonora Post Punk (modern; Mexican goth band w/ Spanish vocals! They’re amazing! They have those deep vocals you want when you’re looking for a similar sound to Joy Division); 56k listeners

O. Children (modern; has the deep vocals & interesting bass lines that Joy Division was known for; great band); 29k listeners

If you like Sisters of Mercy:

This is one of my least favorite goth subcategories, which is odd because I actually love Sisters. But if you’re looking for a lot of music that sounds like SoM, I’d suggest delving into the 90’s and early 2000’s goth music scene. Search out those playlists. A lot of the 90s and 2000s goth bands were very derivative of Sisters of Mercy.

Rosetta Stone (90’s band); 54k listeners

Miazma (modern); 10k listeners

Red Lorry Yellow Lorry (another criminally underrated 80’s band; one of my fave goth bands); 40k listeners (THEY!! DESERVE!! BETTER!!)

Dreamtime (modern); 65 listeners (ouch lol, please go show them some love)

Fields of the Nephilim (80’s, I think; if you’re a metalhead, you’ll probably appreciate this band); 95k listeners

The Merry Thoughts (80s); 19k listeners

The March Violets (underrated 80s; might be a controversial opinion to put them under SoM, but I’m standing by it); 69k listeners

Horror Vacui (modern; it’s kind of a stretch putting them here tbh, but I couldn’t figure out what other category to put them under); 44k listeners

The Sisterhood (spin-off Sisters of Mercy group that was formed by goth king Andrew Eldritch himself); 3k listeners

The Mission (formed by former Sisters of Mercy members; Wasteland by them was actually one of the first songs to get me into goth music); 180k listeners

Eyes of the Nightmare Jungle (late 80s & 90s; every time a song by them comes on, I’m convinced it’s a Sisters song until the singer starts singing lol); 13k listeners

Ex-Voto (formed in 1982, but most of their albums on Spotify came out in the 2000s; this band is like if Fields of Nephilim had a baby with Clan of Xymox & then sprinkled some industrial techniques in); 6k listeners

Also, if you want a 1500-song, 105-hour goth playlist that’s constantly growing, here you go. The name of it is a dig at my ex lol: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6jCV530pMmOEmDHj4CLNka?si=cEVKiyAwQpaieGiV2pMyqw

[hrrtshape]

⠀⠀⠀⠀hogwarts sex ed 101 . . . there wasn't one ,

ok so. sex ed at hogwarts. 1977. marauders era. the year god said 'what if i put all the bisexuals in one school and didn't teach them a single thing about genitals, boundaries, or the consequences of dry humping in a cupboard.' he did. welcome to the british wizarding education system. funded by divorce, powered by unresolved tension. narrated by emma. you're welcome for this very necessary and useful piece of information.

so. no. there wasn't sex ed at hogwarts. like. not even the ghost of it. not even a euphemism. not even a pamphlet. there was one stained copy of magical maturity and you in the infirmary and it was locked in a drawer under madam pomfrey's shame. it had illustrations. they moved. someone cursed it in '62 so now it plays low moaning sounds when you turn the pages. sirius black used to check it out "for research" and then giggle in the common room like a french exchange student who just learned the word "thrust."

you've got to understand. this was a school that thought putting a werewolf in an abandoned manor once a month and praying no one opens it was a viable health plan. sex ed??? no. they had banshee management for beginners. they had magical menses: a guide to not hexing your classmates when you're bleeding. they had one seminar on unwanted transformations during puberty but it was mostly about not turning into a beetle when you get horny. which. relatable.

the only people who talked about sex were the portraits. and they were weird about it. sir cadogan once tried to explain contraception using a metaphor involving dragon intestines and a chastity spell invented by merlin's ex. it did not clear things up. students got all their info from older cousins, contraband witch weekly issues, and the backs of chocolate frog cards where someone had scribbled "you can't get pregnant if you're on top" in green ink. wrong. so wrong.

the boys' dorm smelled like socks, and something evil. every time someone mentioned "wand length," james potter made a joke and remus lupin visibly aged five years. lily evans read the female eunuch under her duvet with a stolen wandlight and had a moral crisis every thursday. mary macdonald was the only person in the entire school who knew what a clitoris was. so she became god. people asked her questions like she was the oracle of delphi but for genitals. "mary, can you get pregnant from a bubble-head charm?" "mary, what's foreplay?" "mary, why do my pants feel weird when snape talks about potions?" (and he talked a looooot about them. subtle foreshadowing). my girl was busy. marlene was up there too but she never spoke out so she never got her own hotline.

sex was happening. everywhere. god knows it, i know it, you now know it too. in greenhouses, in empty classrooms, in the astronomy tower. it was a budget rom-com with trauma. there was a rumour that if you made out under the whomping willow at the exact moment it smacked a bird out of the air, you'd lose your virginity by osmosis. again, wrong. someone tried it. got concussed.

teachers pretended none of it existed. mcgonagall's sex talk was "don't get caught." dumbledore's was just making intense eye contact with you over a lemon drop and saying "magic is a sacred bond." slughorn had absolutely hosted orgies in the '20s. sprout once gave a lecture on pollination that made half the class cry and the other half extremely confused about flowers.

if you asked filch where babies came from, he'd say "the ministry" and limp away. if you asked peeves, he'd mime something unspeakable and then chant "one-two buckle-my-shoe, syphilis is after you!" honestly not even the worst advice.

but. like. this wasn't unique to hogwarts. this was just. britain. the 70s. everyone was either having sex or terrified of it or convinced it could be cured with chamomile tea. sirius black had a whole phase where he thought wanking made you go blind. he wore sunglasses for three weeks. refused to explain.

anyways. do not confundus your girlfriend's uterus. do not confundus anything. read a book. read two books.

also let's talk shame. catholic levels of repression. protestant levels of awkwardness. dionysian levels of impulse control. no one knew what they were doing and everyone was pretending. people said stuff like "deflowering" and meant it. they thought it was romantic. they thought love looked like sneaking into the potions dungeon and dry-humping to the sound of dripping cauldrons. they thought "i want to feel your magic inside me" was a line. it was not. it was a red flag on fire.

⠀⠀⠀so. was there sex ed at hogwarts?

no. but there was sexual miseducation. there were bad metaphors. there were prefects giving unsolicited advice in the lav.

and if you're wondering where i was in all this . . . i was that girl. i saw everything. i judged everyone. i'm dating a slytherin boy and i'm never confessing anything, even if the lord shall taketh me away no. absolutely not. expelliarmus.

i'm not saying i saved hogwarts. but i did tape an illustrated anatomy chart to the wall of the girls' bathroom and label it in four languages. i did distribute cursed zines about safe sex that moaned when opened. i did hex someone's trousers off for saying "girls don't get horny." you're welcome, feminists.

sex ed at hogwarts was me. and mary. and trauma. and bad latin. and the slow, horrible realisation that magic doesn't replace literacy.

we learned. painfully. and now i'm sharing it.

⠀i do have a masterlist where you can catch all of my stories oh em gee.....

[lamentationsofalonelypotato]

Chapter 2: What A Great Freakin’ Way To Start The Day

Pairing: Soldier Boy x f!reader, Reader POV

Summary: When you decided to work with Butcher and his merry band of supe hunters to take down Homelander, you never expected to be saddled with a sullen, grumpy, jerk like Soldier Boy when the job was done. The more you’re around him the more you hate him, but you can’t help but wonder, is he really as big a jerk as you think? Reader is a supe with plant powers. This takes place in an AU about a month after the end of The Boys Season 3, in which Butcher has let Soldier Boy continue to work with him on his team. (I'm real bad at summaries, please forgive me!)

Tropes: Enemies to Lovers (Not in this chapter), Age Difference (Reader is in her 20s), Protective Ben/ Soldier Boy,

Word Count: 5.2K

Warnings: I'm going to label this 18+ because Soldier Boy (he's a warning and everyone knows it), swearing, mentions of sex, sexual innuendo, sexual tension. Ben/Soldier Boy might be a little bit OOC.

Note: This is told from Reader's perspective. Any references to the reader is made using you or your. There is minimal use of y/n. I tried my best to proofread, but nobody's perfect. If you don’t like, don’t read, but if you do like, you’re my favorite!

Internal monologue is in italics and is in first person.

Spotify Playlist 🪴

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

The morning begins the same way it always does, with your neighbor Mike blasting "I Will Always Love You" in his apartment at exactly 8 am just as he had each day since you met two years ago. It was the only constant in your life, but at least you didn't have to use an alarm clock anymore. The sound of Mike belting out the lyrics at the top of his lungs was enough to wake everyone in the whole building, including the people on the eighth floor, five stories above him.

But because Mike bought the super’s probably illegally made cologne and because the super was dating Mike’s mother, something that made you regret supe hearing very much, it never stopped despite the numerous complaints.

Then again it was Annie's favorite thing about sleeping over, she liked to scream the lyrics back at the wall and jump on your bed like a crazy banshee. Honestly you hoped that it would stop after Ben had pretended to be your boyfriend, that Mike would finally figure it out and give up.

Guess not.

You sit up in your bed, stretching your hands over your head while humming the chorus under your breath, but you were more of an ABBA fan. If Mike had decided to serenade you with "Take A Chance On Me" or even Aretha Franklin's "You're All I Need to Get By," you might have looked at him differently.

The memory of the dream of his mullet smothering you in your sleep momentarily passes over your mind, causing a shudder to travel down your spine. Or maybe not.

Your bedroom was similar to your living room, covered in plants. Trailing jasmine and bougainvillea blanketed the wall behind your bed in deep red and white, budding lavender, lilac, and honeysuckle sat in pots along the top of your dresser, and a blush colored rose bush, that never went out of bloom, stood proudly in the corner. The only difference was that there were two large piles of books almost as tall as your ceiling, some old some new, braced beside the rose bush like Roman columns. You kept trying to remember to buy a bookshelf, but each time you thought about going to pick one up, Butcher usually called and asked you to help out. Both piles were covered almost completely in pothos and more hung from the brick walls above your only window, that opened the floor length pale yellow curtains with a flick of your hand.

An annoyed purring sound greets your ears as the honeyed light from the now open window wisps over your covers. Bean, your cat, stalks up from the end of the bed, his yellowed eyes narrowed with annoyance at being woken up so early while his charcoal gray coat turns lighter in the brilliant sunlight. Last night he had been in your bedroom when you got home, which meant that he hadn't been around Ben when he came in.

A good thing, because Bean hated just about everyone except Butcher, which you thought was weird. But whenever Butcher dropped by to talk to you Bean always came over to look for rubs, while hissing at anyone who tried to interrupt them. Hughie was actually afraid of Bean, and because Bean was a cat he immediately picked up on this and purposely would jump on the couch next to Annie so Hughie couldn't sit there, Bean also followed after Hughie to the bathroom and waited outside the door to swipe at his ankles whenever he would come out.

But you didn't love him any less.

He puts his paw on your thigh lightly extending his claws to get your attention.

"Oh are you talking to me now?" You smile, rubbing him behind the ears. "I thought you were angry because I woke you up?"

He purrs and pushes his chunky gray head against your hand, but startles when the song switches to "My Heart Will Go On" which causes Mike's mother to join in to his karaoke session.

I'd move if my apartment wasn't so damn cheap.

"Maybe they should take the show on the road. Huh buddy?"

Bean purrs his response while pushing his head further into your hand.

His mom wasn't that bad of a singer, in fact, you thought that you remembered eavesdropping on a conversation between her and the super when she talked about a career as a cabaret singer a while ago.

"Come on, let's see if Gramps killed any of my plants." You smile down at your cat. "If he did I'm going to turn him into a tree."

Bean purrs in agreement.

You get out of bed, adjusting your shirt back down over your shorts before walking to the door with Bean following behind you. You step out into the cool hallway, with more enthusiasm than usual as you try to escape the butchering of the Titanic's soundtrack and collide into something warm and wet.

It takes you exactly seven seconds to realize that the warm, wet, thing that your face is currently stuck to, is in-fact Ben's chest, his shirtless chest. Why he's standing in the hallway outside your door, soaking wet and wearing a towel you have no idea. All you know is that your face is physically laying against the warm flesh of his pectoral muscles.

"Why are you NAKED?" You scream as you peel yourself off of him and turn your gaze away. Your face felt so warm that it was like you'd been standing in front of a volcano for too long and you were sure that you had blushed to the roots of your hair.

You'd only seen him without his shirt on once, when the door to his bedroom was cracked at the apartment he shared with the rest of the group. But it was from the back and you had been walking by to go to the bathroom, and you hadn't looked…

Well, you may have stopped for a second to admire the powerful muscles on his muscular back and maybe thought about waiting for him to turn around so you could see if the front was as good as the back… but you hadn't.

And he certainly hadn't been soaking wet then, and it made you hate him more now, because no one should look as good as he does soaking wet. You personally knew that you looked like a drowned poodle whenever you stepped out of the shower, but him? Soldier Boy looks like he just finished filming a shampoo commercial.

You could see it in your head, him standing under a crystal blue waterfall with the water splashing against weathered rocks before running through his soft brown hair, curving around his broad shoulders, down his toned stomach straight down to his-

NO. Not gonna go there. You could feel your skin heating in embarrassment, almost as if you thought he could read your mind.

"I'm not naked doll, I mean I could be if you wanted me to." He smirks as he hears your heartbeat begin to pick up and reaches for the end of his towel. The towel that was almost too small to wrap around his waist and left very little to the imagination.

"NO!" You shout holding up a hand to stop him, but again brush the front of his chest.

Fuck, you could zest a lemon on those abs.

"Are you sure?" Ben smiles wider, taking a step forward. He's so close that you can smell your grapefruit mint shampoo on him and feel the humidity and warmth of his body as he stands there. For some reason the fact that he used your shampoo, and smelled like your soap, made you feel warm and tingly. It was almost hypnotic. You hated how much you liked it. "Because you're turning that cute little red color you always do whenever I'm around, and your heartbeat is kinda fast."

"No. I don't." You grit your teeth together. "Why are you standing outside of my door naked?"

"Maybe I was waiting for you to come out." His hand presses against the doorway next to your head. "You know, I already took a shower, but if you wanted I'd be happy to get back in with you."

"No thanks. I don't need a shower and I wouldn't shower with you if it was the last shower on earth and I hadn't bathed in forty years." You purse your lips. "Oh right, that happened to you."

Ben frowns at your mention of his time in Russia. You didn't often tease him about being trapped in a lab, you knew that it was a sore spot for him. Plus you'd seen the footage of exactly what those doctors did to him and it was enough to make you want to book a one way ticket to Russia and personally show them what happened when a tree got shoved up your ass.

You open your mouth to apologize.

"I was going to ask if you have any other clothes here. Mine are still wet from last night." He raises an eyebrow, but the humor is gone from his eyes.

"Oh. Um. I can take a look." You turn and walk into your bedroom, trying not to feel awkward about bringing up the lab.

He was a jerk, but he didn't deserve a reminder of how shitty the last forty years have been.

Truthfully, you weren't sure if you had anything that would fit him. Ben was a lot bigger than you, taller and broader. You usually did wear things that were a little big for you, but you didn't think that Ben would fit in any of them.

Maybe I have something from when my brother was here last time.

Darren often dropped by when he was in the city visiting his friends or had a new "business" venture. The ones that never seemed to last and the friends that always seemed happy to spend the moan you "loaned" him for his "best idea yet" as he always phrased it. But he hadn't been by in at least a year.

"It's really green in here too." You hear Ben say under his breath.

You didn't think that he was going to follow you into your room, you thought he was going to stay in the hallway, but no, he had followed you. And he made the room feel even smaller than it was with his broad shoulders and over six foot stature.

The sunlight from the window glinted off his still wet chest and it made your throat uncomfortably tight. For the love of chocolate pudding, WHY does he look so good all the time?

"You can wait in the hall-"

"Wanted to see your bedroom." He smirks. "Though I think that you wanted to show it to me last night-"

You ignore him and turn back to your chest of drawers while Mike and his mother switch to "What Makes You Beautiful" by One Direction. You wince as they begin.

"Do they always do that?" Ben asks.

"Yep. Since I moved in." You sigh, shuffling through your t-shirts.

"He's really got it bad Sweetheart. Maybe you should throw him a bone. Kinda seems like the poor guy needs to get some ass-"

"If it's any of your business- which it's not- I do not like him that way."

"Well they're a little loud." You feel Ben take a step closer to you. "But I bet you and I could give them a run for their money. We are in your bedroom after all, might as well make the most of it."

"I didn't know that you liked Karaoke. I'll keep that in mind for you 105th birthday party."

"What? No I meant-"

Bean purrs loudly from his position on your bed and you wait for the telltale sound of Ben shooing him away when Bean tries to puncture Ben's impenetrable skin with his claws, but it doesn't come.

You glance over your shoulder. Are you kidding me?

Bean is sitting on your white plush comforter, rubbing up against Ben's hand, purring while Ben scratches him behind the ears.

Traitor.

"Didn't know you had a cat." Ben says continuing to stroke his hand down Bean's spine, who stands up and turns so Ben can have a better angle.

"I didn't peg you for a cat person. Kinda ruins the whole all-American Man image you have going on."

He shrugs. "I like dogs more, but I don't hate cats. Usually they don't like me very much."

"I wonder why that is." You grumble watching Bean lean into Ben's hand again. "His name is Bean."

"Bean? Why?"

"Because when I got him I was trying to grow green beans in the linen closet and he would sit outside the door and screech until I gave him a green bean to play with."

"You were trying to grow green beans in the linen closet?"

"Yeah. Seemed like a good idea, but they like the bathroom more-" You finally find the oversized Led Zeppelin shirt your brother left the last time he crashed at your apartment and a pair of jeans. "A lot of my plants like the bathroom more actually."

"I was going to ask you why the bathroom floor and wall was squishy."

"It's moss. It thrives in humid environments." You hold out the clothes for him.

"Uh-huh." He frowns at the clothes for a minute. "So you're saying you wouldn't want a guy to serenade you like that?" Ben nods his head towards your bedroom wall, just as Mike and his mother begin to belt out the chorus. "Thought girls liked sappy shit."

"I'm not a fan of One Direction."

"Right. You like ABBA more." Ben turns towards your door to go back to the bathroom to change.

Shock momentarily spikes in your chest. "How did you know that?"

He freezes as if you caught him doing something bad, turning slightly towards you. "Um- well, you hum their songs a lot."

"When?" You cross your arms over your chest.

"Whenever you're on stake outs. Sometimes when you're reading those files or waiting for Annie at the apartment." He shrugs. “When you were walking last night you were humming ‘Fernando.’"

He noticed that?

"How long exactly were you following me?"

"Long enough." He raises an eyebrow. "Are you trying to keep me talking because you want me to change in here? Because I would be more than happy to drop this towel and show you what a real man looks like Sweetheart."

"Don't flatter yourself Gramps. If you drop that towel the only thing that'll happen is Bean will think you brought him a green bean to play with." You roll your eyes. "Now get out of my room. I have to change."

Ben begins to say something, but the vines hanging above the door push him out into the hall and shut the door behind him.

That felt good.

After you put on a white t-shirt, your favorite pair of jean overalls and your dark green converse, you make your way out into the living room. Ben is there, lounging on your couch like he owns it. He’s wearing the jeans and t-shirt you gave him, but you can't help but notice how the clothes are just a little too small for him. The way his muscles pull at the t-shirt, the way the jeans hug his thighs and butt-

He's getting way too comfortable here. You think to yourself to avoid the thought of how good he looks on your couch. How it almost feels natural that he's sitting here in your living room, inhabiting your space.

"So what's for breakfast doll face?" He leans his head back to gaze at you with a mischievous smile that makes a warm tingle travel down the length of your spine.

"Well, I'm going to have oatmeal and you're going to have whatever you want I guess?"

His eyes darken. "Whatever I want?"

"Calm down Gramps I meant that there's cereal in the cabinet." You roll your eyes to avoid thinking about the kiss last night and then thinking about how it felt for your body to be pressed against his in the hallway when you ran into him.  Which inevitably leads back to the waterfall fantasy and-

No. No. Not going to do that. Not with him. He's just good at getting women into bed, he doesn't care about you. You think about how he remembered that you liked ABBA. That doesn't mean anything. He doesn't see me as anything more than a conquest and he probably remembered that because he's changing tactics and trying not to act like a creep.

“You’re not going to pour me a bowl?” His smirk pulls down in an attractive pout.

“I think it’s simple enough for your little brain to do.” You don’t turn around from the kitchen cabinets, grabbing a raspberry from the refrigerator and popping it in your mouth. For some reason you noticed that whatever you grew tasted better than anything you bought at the grocery store. You hoped that it didn’t mean that your powers supercharged whatever you grew and that it was actually radioactive or something. 

Because that’s exactly what I need, to turn bright green. 

“There’s nothing little about me doll.” 

“Can’t you ever have a conversation with someone without it revolving around sex?” You grumble banging around in your cabinets to find your instant oatmeal. 

It was a valid point and you were tired of getting whiplash every time Ben acted caring and then flipping back to horny manchild.

“Where’s the fun in that?” Ben laughs. He stands from the couch and makes his way into your kitchen.

It was hard not to notice how small each room in your apartment looked with him in it. His head was only a foot below the ceiling, not to mention the kitchen was only composed of six cabinets, a small sink, a microwave shoved into a corner, a stove top, and a refrigerator that only came up to Ben’s shoulders. Your bathroom was worse, sometimes the shower was small even for you and you didn’t know how Ben fit in there. 

He probably had to duck down to stand under the shower head. 

And then as you thought that, the image of Ben standing under a waterfall comes creeping back, making the strawberry plant on top of the fridge, the raspberry vines, and the blackberry vines covering your refridgerator burst into bloom.

Thankfully Ben didn’t notice, because he was rooting through the white top cabinet in the corner for one of the cereal boxes. 

I’d never hear the end of it if he saw that happen. 

You glare at the plants in question, eyes shifting to a deep green as the flowers develop into fresh fruit to cover your slip. 

Ben pulls out a box of Lucky Charms, but frowns at Lucky on the front cover, who is throwing a handful of marshmallow charms into the air around him. 

Guess he's not a fan.

 “If I’d known you were going to sleep on my couch I would have gotten Bran flakes and prunes for you.” You smirk as you pour water over the oats in the bowl before placing it in the microwave to cook. “I know people your age need that kind of thing sometimes. Gets the bowel moving.”

“Make fun of my age all you want.” Ben steps around you to grab the almost empty bottle of milk from your refrigerator. “One day you’ll be happy to find out just how experienced I am.”

“Keep dreaming.”

His dark eyes meet yours. “You’re all I dream about baby.”

You can feel his breath on the side of your neck from how close he is to you, the kitchen seems smaller than it ever has, and he leans forward, sensing your hesitation. One of his hands goes on the kitchen counter to your right, the other places the milk down and then braces on the counter to your left caging you against him. 

“Do any of your lines actually work?” You say, throat tight.

“You’d be surprised.” He smirks wider, green eyes sliding up and down your body. 

 The air in the kitchen electrifies, something passing through the air between the two of you that makes you feel like your heart is going to burst out of your chest. His eyes are softer green now, reminding you of the color of fresh leaves on an oak tree in spring, bright, strong, and full of life. His body is pressed gently against yours, the strong muscles of his abdomen laying on your hips, muscular arms making sure that you don't walk away.

You try not to think again about how good he looks in your apartment, how calm and relaxed he seems when he’s away from Butcher and not wearing his uniform. 

Standing here in your apartment, he looked normal, human. Sometimes it was hard to remember that you were, when you could do what you did, when you saw him get hit with a car and shove it away with one hand. 

He was still ridiculously attractive, the kind of attractive that you’d read in romance novels and in classic Roman literature, the kind of beautiful that people wrote poetry about, the kind of ruggedly handsome that made smart girls stupid. 

You were really feeling that last one. Because you were desperately trying to hold on to your dream of being with someone that understood every part of you, but Ben was making it hard.

It wasn’t that the idea of sleeping with him was terrible. It wasn’t. It was far from terrible it was the idea of having sex without feelings that you didn’t like. You didn’t want to sleep with him because you knew that he only saw you as something to be possessed not as an equal or someone he cared about. Soldier Boy only cared about himself, that was apparent.

He’s only interested in you because you haven’t given in. You think to yourself. It's all about the thrill of the chase, nothing else. I'm worth more than that. I'm worth more than one night.

“In fact, I think it’s working on you doll.” Ben leans down towards you so close you can feel his words in the air between your faces, his eyes searching yours as if waiting for you to say no.

That made you pause. Ben didn’t seem to be the type of man who was patient. You’d walked in on him making out with numerous women on the couch back at the apartment he shared with the rest of the team, saw how he took control, saw how he didn’t seem to wait for them to say no or really say anything at all. Not to mention one time when you walked into the shared apartment and could hear Ben with one of his "dates" in his bedroom. Nothing about that seemed patient at all.

But this Ben standing in your kitchen was different. He was almost smiling, dark hair still damp from the shower curling on his forehead, the t-shirt damp around the collar, jeans a dark blue, and the smell of your shampoo fills your senses again all over again. It made you wish for this person all the time. The one that you could see yourself falling in love with, not the racist, sexist, and inappropriate jerk that seemed to dominate his persona at all other parts of the day.

Funny, the only time you’d ever seen Ben like this, was when the two of you were alone- well sometimes- other times he annoyed you without end and made you want to jump out a window. 

But why? Why only around me?

The feeling in your chest grows. It jumps from synapse to synapse, pulses along your skin, buzzes in your blood, tangles through your hair, and radiates through the air like a sound wave. Your eyes drift down to his lips remembering exactly what it was like to kiss him last night. How he seemed to consume you whole, how everything else fell away, how Ben curled himself around you, how he-

Your cell phone rings, breaking through the moment, and making you remember exactly why you didn’t want to give in to Ben and remember the kind of person he was. 

You push him away and pull your cellphone out of your pocket. Butcher's photo and name appear on the screen.

Shit.

"Hey Butch, what's up?" You look away from Ben, forcing yourself to calm your racing heart.

Ben perks up at the mention of Butcher’s name.

“Do you have any idea where Soldier Boy is?”

“Soldier Boy?”

“Seems like our blunt smoking man out of time has vanished. Been trying to text him all bloody morning.”

At least he doesn’t know that Ben is here. That’s good. I’d never hear the end of it if-

Ben snatches the phone from your hand and holds it up to his ear. “What the fuck do you want?”

The softness was gone, his eyes had hardened again, and the spell was broken. Ben was no longer relaxed, his shoulders were tensed and guarded, jaw set.

It didn’t take a genius to know that Ben didn’t like Butcher. Sometimes you wondered why Ben decided to stay.

Probably because the alternative was being frozen like Han Solo next to his son.

When Ben had knocked Homelander out, you hadn’t believed it, and despite Ben’s arguing Butcher wanted to keep Homelander a supe, and just put him on ice. You had no idea why, especially since Butcher had been gunning for him forever, but had the sneakiest suspicion that it was because of Ryan.

But you didn't blame Butcher for that, watching your father get killed in front of you seemed traumatic, not to mention Ryan was still reeling from watching his mother die.

You turn back to your microwave to pull out your bowl of oatmeal with a groan.

Now Butcher’s going to mock me endlessly about going home with Soldier Boy. We didn’t do anything! Well…

Your mind flits back to the searing kiss you shared and to five seconds ago when whatever the hell just happened.

“You want me to meet you in fucking Jersey?” Ben laughs.

You choose not to eavesdrop on the conversation, instead you busy yourself with sprinkling brown sugar onto your breakfast and plucking a few more raspberries from the vines.

“Fine.” Ben almost growls before holding out the phone to you. “He wants to talk to you.”

Of course he does. Maybe I can pretend to lose the signal with a piece of paper or a candy wrapper.

“Hello-“

“You crazy wanker.” Butcher chuckles into the phone. “Guess your night was a little more exciting than mine eh? Oi Hughie, you owe me a tener!” He shouts to Hughie who you can guess is sitting nearby.

“What? He’s with y/n! No way!” You hear Hughie shout back, muffled but there.

Damn it he’s gonna tell Annie. She's going to start sending me pictures of babies photoshopped in supe suits.

“You guys were betting that he was here?!” You shout making eye contact with Ben who only smirks before he busies himself with getting a bowl for his cereal.

“He left about two minutes after you did. Said some bullshit about a smoke break.” Butcher is smiling and you know it. “How was he? Was he as good as all the girls say?" Butcher coos on the other side of the line.

“Nothing happened-“

“Sure it didn’t Cherie!” You hear Frenchie crow. “Hopefully you got to relieve some of that tension no?”

“I hate all of you.” You grumble, and before Butcher can say anything else you hang up the phone and glare at Ben. “This is your fault.”

“What do you mean sweetheart?”

“You just had to follow me home!”

“You shouldn’t have been walking out there alone.”

“I do it all the time!”

“Not anymore.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“I’m not going to let you walk around alone in the middle of the night.”

"Like hell. I don't need a babysitter!"

"I think you do-"

"No I don't. In fact why are you still here? Why haven't you left?" You shout, snatching your bowl of oatmeal before moving to the wobbly kitchen table that you smooshed up against a window that looks out onto your fire escape.

"Because I tend to like morning sex. It's a great way to start the day. Thought you'd be interested." Ben winks as he sits across from you, barely fitting in the wooden chair.

Your phone buzzes where it sits on the table beside your bowl. When you flip it over, you see the text from Annie.

Annie: YOU SLEPT WITH SOLDIER BOY?!!!!

You: I'm not going to dignify that with a response.

Annie: That's a yes. TELL ME EVERYTHING!!!

You sigh and shovel a spoonful of oatmeal into your mouth, eyes drifting up to the top of your phone screen focusing on the time.

"SHIT! I'm late for work!" You shout before shoving as much oatmeal as you can into your mouth.

"Work?" Ben looks up from his bowl of cereal confused as you begin to run around the room.

The half-eaten bowl of oatmeal falls into the sink with a resounding crash, Bean's cat food lands haphazardly in his bright green food dish, and you practically run to your tote bag that hangs on a peg by your front door.

"I told you. I work at a plant shop." You glance back at your barren coffee maker mournfully. The thought of trying to get through the day without coffee seemed impossible, not to mention you didn’t have time to grab one on the way to work from your favorite shop just around the corner.

"I thought you were joking."

"No. Some of us have to work for a living." You run your fingers through your hair quickly pulling it back in a loose ponytail.

"You should leave your hair down." Ben says from the table watching you.

"What?"

"It's prettier when it's down."

"I don't have time for your misogynistic comments. Come on let's go."

"What?"

"I'm not going to leave you here in my apartment alone. You don't have a key."

"You could give me yours-"

"HA. No that's not going to happen. Come on." You tug on his muscular arm, trying to get him up out of the chair, but he barely moves.

“You know you could call out of work and we could spend the day in bed.” He smiles, eyes tracing your figure. “I mean you look good baby, but I think you'd look even better naked. Plus, Butcher and the rest of those fuckers already think we slept together so we might as well-“

“Not a chance Gramps. Either get up out of the chair and leave through the door or leave through the window. It’s your choice and I have no qualms with throwing you down to the street. But please don't make me do that because I can't afford a new window."

Ben rolls his eyes, but finally gets up to follow you. He actually tries to open the door for you, but you place your hand on his chest.

“Nah uh uh. Bowl in the sink. I’m not going to clean up after you.”

Ben sighs and mumbles something under his breath that’s lost in Mike’s inhuman screech of “Love on Top.”

Yeah. What a great fucking way to start the day.

Thank you so much for reading! If you'd like to be added to my taglist for this series let me know :)

(Photos for series picture found on Pinterest)

Taglist: @roseblue373 @mrsjenniferwinchester @corruptedcruiser @winchesterwild78 @the-super-who-locked-wizard

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@faephoria @possiblyafangirl @jqtaro

[takemetomyfragiledreams]

This is a wip about banshee!Tim gradually adopting all the bats and keeping them alive. It has the possibility to be an eventual Robin pile but I haven't fully decided on where it'll go. The original intention was to eventually have it be damitim but honestly it could go jaytim, dicktim or just robin pile. If you have a preference I'm all ears.

Talia becomes aware of her father’s shadow at the age of five. A boy with skin so white she half expects him to be translucent and eyes so frigid they put the winter sky to shame. He lingers in shadows and darkened corners, ever silent and ever watching. Her father never mentions him, not even when he perches on the arm of his throne or steals bits of meat from his plate. She half thinks she’s crazy for the first thirteen years of her life but doesn’t once dare to ask. Secrets get you killed in this world and this is one she’s not willing to die for.

He never speaks to her. Never seems to speak to anyone. He’d be an afterthought if his presence wasn’t so alien. 

At the age of thirteen, the night before her first solo mission, she wakes to find him sitting on the edge of her bed. No scream comes; she’s learned the only one she can depend on is herself. 

He touches a finger to his lips and she remains silent as the guards outside walk past. When the lights from under the door fade, he speaks for the first time. 

“Tomorrow, you’re going to die.” 

Talia’s hand curls around the blade beneath her pillow. “Is this a threat?” 

“A fact.” His face is cold, emotionless. It’s like looking into the depths of a still pool; all she sees is herself staring back. “You will die many times in this world and you will pay dearly for your return.” 

“The pit,” she understands. 

“If you’re smart, you’ll start saving what pieces of yourself you have left. You’ll need them one day.” He stands. Instead of opening the door, she watches as he finds tiny handholds in the stone of her wall and begins to climb to the ceiling. There’s a small hole six meters up, where the smoke of her fires can escape. It’s barely big enough for his head.  

“Who are you?” She calls as loud as she dares. 

“When the time comes, I will scream for you. Follow the sound back.” 

He vanishes out the hole like smoke, body contorted into impossible shapes. Talia lays down and stares up at that dark maw of space until her eyes blur and droop. 

Three days later she can’t stop the sword from cutting through her chest. She slices through her enemy but it’s too late. Her knees fall out from under her as her mouth opens in a silent cry. 

Across the room, she sees a boy’s eyes turn from icy blue to black as his mouth contorts into the shape of a horrific scream; the sound rings in her ears long after it’s over. 

It’s the last thing she hears as she dies and the first she hears as she comes gasping from the Pit, naked and shaking as her heart restarts in her chest. 

He stands in the shadows when her father holds a hand out. Always watching. Waiting.

This repeats twenty times in the span of a hundred years. Twenty times in which she dies to a scream and returns to one. And then it stops. 

He’s sitting in front of a machine, eyes big as he presses his palms to the glass. She feels something sick in her stomach but cannot place just what it means. Motherly instinct? The desire to whisk her growing child out of sight and away from this creature no one ever seems to talk about. 

“His name,” he says, “what will you call him?” 

The last thing she wants to do is tell him. Still, she cannot stop herself. 

“His name is Damian.” 

“Damian,” he sighs, croons, growls. “Damian Wayne-al Ghul.”

She never told him who the father was. 

The day Damian is born is the day she loses him, if she ever had him in the first place. It’s in the way he looks past her to stare into the shadows; the way his nose scrunches and his lips curl in delight; the way he waves his grasping hands and the way she cannot stop him from leaving her arms. 

“Tim,” he babbles up at the monster that has dogged her life and death. She didn't even know he had a name to give.

Damian giggles and pats at a pale cheek with his own colored fingers. “Tim!” 

Tim smiles a ghastly, jagged sort of smile down at him. It’s like watching someone learn how to feel for the first time; unnatural, yet impossible to look away from. There’s color in his face for the first time, a light in his eyes like the first thaw of spring. 

“Damian,” he says like it’s something reverent, something holy. It’s the level of devotion a prince deserves but she cannot find it in herself to be pleased. 

It’s then that she acknowledges the bitter truth: Tim scares her in a world where she is not meant to be afraid of anything. He’s the only being she fears save perhaps her father and he’s looking at her son like he hung the stars.

What bitter irony. 

For the first time, she comes to him. He’s standing just outside Damian’s room, looking in like there’s nothing he wants more and less than to go inside. 

“Normally you’re inseparable. What is it?”

He’s silent for so long that she half convinces herself he’s an illusion. 

“I’m leaving.” 

Talia blinks. He’s never left once; not that she’s aware of. “Leaving?”

“If I stay, he won’t turn into the boy he needs to be to survive what’s coming.” Tim turns almost human eyes on her. He looks drawn and tired. “I won’t be able to let you hurt him.” 

“I would not—"

“You would. You know nothing else.” 

They stand together, staring at the closed door in mutual contemplation. Finally, Tim sighs. 

“You’ll do your best to kill the good in him, but remember death is never permanent. Not for an al Ghul. Do more than that and I’ll come for you. I don’t care what destiny says.” 

Talia’s hands itch for her knives, but she does not reach. She knows better. “When will you return?” 

“When I’m needed.” He turns to meet her eyes, small but oh so fierce. “Teach him well, Talia. Show him what he needs to know to survive.” 

He’s gone before she can respond. They both know she will do nothing less. 

(Still, he scares her; Talia al Ghul is not meant to be afraid of anything.) 

[itsnevercasual]

Sweet Creature

harry styles masterlist

pairing: kinda dark!harry styles x reader

summary: harry’s mother finds a girl on the side of the street one day while harry’s away. he hears about her for months, until he finally decides to see for himself. expecting her to be an undercover rat, he is surprised to find a girl more similar to a deer in headlights.

warning: kinda dark harry kinda alludes to him doing illegal, mafia type stuff but it isn’t specified. third person writing instead of second, READER DOESN’T USE HER REAL NAME!!! she will eventually just not yet.

—

harry had been hearing about some girl non-stop. by who, you may ask?

his mother.

his sweet, kind mother somehow found a girl who was living on the streets, took her in (gave her his room!), and is obsessed with her.

“oh, harry, she’s just the sweetest! gemma says she’s like a kicked puppy, but she’s just so sweet. this morning, i woke up, and she’d cleaned the whole house! and i asked her why, because i obviously didn’t tell her to, and she said she figured she should. you’d love her. proper sweetheart.”

and honestly, it was sweet. he probably would like her if he wasn’t the way he is. because the way he is, he thinks it’s a trap. he thinks she was never really living on the streets, and it’s a ploy. someone found his family and is trying to ruin it.

but, of course, he’d never let his mother know of the way he actually is and thinks, or what he does for a living.

“she sounds lovely, mum. what did you say her name was?”

“she says it’s belle. she’s always singing some french song. i think she lived in france before she got here.. i’m not sure. she isn’t very talkative.”

“she got an accent?”

“a little bit of everything, hazza. when will you come visit? i think you have to be the one to tell her that your room is hers now. she keeps saying ‘harry’s room’ and ‘your son’s room’. i feel horrible!”

“she’s probably just weary mum. if she was on the streets before, she probably just doesn’t want to jinx it.”

“you’re right.. gosh, she won’t even let gemma and i buy her things. she just borrows gemma’s clothes and apologizes a bunch for it. i’m not sure what to do.”

“i’ll come visit soon.”

—

and he did. a surprise visit in the middle of the night, because he was convinced he’s find this belle girl doing shady things .

except when he snuck in the front door, the house was quiet.

alright, he supposes, she’s stealthy.

so he goes upstairs and quietly opens his bedroom door.

and that’s when it’s a little louder. a girl is twisted and turning and mumbling in her sleep on his bed.

all she is saying, from what he can hear, is no. no, no, no, no, no. please, no.

and he feels a little bad, so he walks over to tap her. when that doesn’t work, he shakes her.

her eyes snap open and she has probably the worst reaction possible in this situation.

she fucking screams. like a goddamn banshee.

and sure, it lasts for maybe five seconds, probably four, but she definitely woke his mother up. and it’s so loud, he backs up to the doorway.

gemma was probably still passed out. she would sleep through the world ending.

“hey! it’s just me, calm down!”

she squinted at him through the darkness before yanking the chain on the lamp, turning it on.

he could hear her practically hyperventilating from the doorway.

she let out a sigh of relief when she recognized him from the photos in the living room.

“you really are jumpy, huh?”

“i woke up to a random man hovering over me,” she deadpans.

he almost laughs.

“it’s my room.”

and it’s like a fucking switch. her breaths are staggered and labored, but she still rushes out a whole ass monologue. kicked puppy, indeed.

“oh, my god. i am so sorry. i forgot. i can— i can take the couch— you probably want to sleep in your bed. i’m sorry, anne didn’t say you were coming by or else i would’ve cleaned up—“

the room is spotless, probably cleaner than when he stays in it, but harry doesn’t say that.

“i’ll just.. grab my blanket and stuff and go to the couch. i’m so sorry, i didn’t know—“

“relax,” he finally says. “i knew you’d be in here. i was just.. grabbing a pillow. didn’t realize mum was serious about you being jumpy.”

“oh.. uh.. are you sure? i can take the couch—“

“belle— belle, right?” she nods. “go back to bed. i have slept on plenty of couches. i will survive.”

“i feel bad.”

“well, don’t.”

he should feel bad. she is very clearly not dangerous unless she is a phenomenal actress.

“you’re not mad, are you? because i can sleep on the couch—“

“jesus, are y’gonna cry?”

“i can’t help it! i’m sorry!—“

“what on earth is going on— harry! what did you do!” anne asked as she rushed through the doorway, moving to sit next to belle.

“i didn’t do anything!” he defends.

“he didn’t do anything, anne,” she repeats. “just.. frightened me, is all.”

anne gives her a look before pulling her into a hug, and she just flips another switch and instead of watering eyes, she sobs.

who the hell is her acting coach? maybe he could take a few lessons.

“h, go get her a cuppa.. and there’s those baby yogurt melts in the cupboard.”

he doesn’t comment on the fact that belle is at the very least 19, and probably shouldn’t be eating baby food.

—

the next morning, belle made her way downstairs quietly. she was surprised to see harry making a cup of tea this early, but she didn’t say anything, not wanting to disturb his peace.

she adjusted her earbuds in her ear (anne offered to buy her better ones, airpods or something, but she was fine with her earbuds, even if the wire was a pain in the ass), so they didn’t fall out as she walked.

once she made it into the kitchen, she walked into the pantry, grabbing some random granola bar.

when she turned, she jumped. harry was right behind her. well, in front of her now.

“sorry,” she mumbled, moving out of his way.

he muttered something she didn’t understand.

“um.. sorry about.. last night. i’m kind of jumpy.”

“i noticed.”

he was very short. he didn’t seem to like her much.

“you can.. uh.. take your.. room back.. if you want.”

“it’s yours. i’m fine.”

“are you—“

“i’m sure.”

rude. why was he so rude? what had she done to him? well, besides scream at him, but in her defense, he was just hovering over her! that’s weird!

—

harry still didn’t trust her after a week of being there. she kept to herself for the most part, although he was pretty sure he heard her and gemma giggling in the middle of the night.

he just couldn’t figure out who sent her. why she was here.

his mother explained her freakout when he showed up eventually.

“you gotta be careful with her, h. she’s like.. a bunny, in a way. if you aren’t careful in how you approach her and speak to her, she bolts. first day she was here, i asked her what happened, because she had this horrible cut on her cheek. locked herself in your room for a week. i think whatever put her on the streets is a sensitive topic, and was difficult for her.”

“i jus’ dunno if i trust her, mum.”

“well, i do. she’s sweet, she just needs to warm up to you. she warmed up to me and gemma after about a week or two.. and she’s been more jumpy when gem brings michael around. so.. she might just need a minute.”

“the whole thing just seems.. shady.”

“she’ll tell us when she’s ready. and until then, you’ll make her feel welcomed. speaking of, i’m gonna go wash her clothes. poor girl won’t let us buy her anything. she just has these same clothes she had and a few things gemma convinced her to use.”

—

a/n: little thing i wrote on a plane, part 2 soon-ish maybe

[starry-bi-sky]

Cannon Danny, Danyal Au and CFAU met, waht does each other think of the other and do they get along?

I'VE TALKED ABOUT THIS BEFORE WITH FRIENDS IN DMS! WOOO I'M GLAD YOU ASKED! beCAUSE.

Cfau Danny and Canon Danny get along, but Danyal and Canon abso-fucking-lutely do not. It's hillarious. Danyal is appalled that this fucking white boy is another version of him -- that Al Ghul arrogance and pride really shines through here, you can’t get rid of all of it.

Cfau Danny is a sleeper agent, honestly. I'm putting all three of them around the 15 age range because any younger and CFAU won't be as Sleeper Agent. Him and Canon get along pretty well because they’re both pretty similar to each other when CFAU's not in active grief. CFAU is a bit rough around the edges, and canon is surprised by his smoking habit and sharp tongue, but he’s a relatively friendly dude. Just snarky and no-nonsense at times, and intolerant of bullshit.

However the moment a ghost fight starts?? BAM. he shifts into a house of horrors who can and will rip out your throat with his teeth. Banshee boi haha. Canon is floating there all “???? HUH???” watching as Danyal and CFAU full on tackle the opposition.

Canon Danny watches in 4k as Danyal hunts Skulker down mercilessly and tears open the “damn poacher’s” suit with his bare hands. Vlad is only safe because he isn't showing his face (yet).

Frankly all of canon’s rogues are gonna have a blast meeting CFAU and Danyal. They’re both two different flavors of unhinged violence, and they’re on the opposite side of the spectrum. One is an elegant storm of blades with years of fine-tuned practice, and the other is the brutality of the backstreets and Gotham’s cruelty; messy, bloody, and merciless.

Canon and Danyal will eventually start getting along, but they’re pretty — well, correction, Danyal is pretty hostile to canon at first. Its a combination of tension, stress, and frustration with canon and what Danyal perceives as canon’s incompetence. Danyal struggles to understand how canon is anyway a version of him beyond the name and halfa status. He starts understanding better when he sees Phantom fighting and sees his resourcefulness and quick thinking.

I have this funny mental image of the three Dannys all in the quad at school (with Sam and Tucker). Danyal is sitting on the table giving off Major Gargoyle vibes, warding off Dash and other bullies through pure "Little Orphan Tom Riddle" Energy alone, while CFAU is standing off to the side with Canon showing him how to throw a proper punch. Sam and Tucker are staring at Danyal, or they're just casually eating their lunch.

Dash isn't going near Danyal with a ten foot pole, but he'll try his chances with Sleeper Agent CFAU who, despite the "edgy" smoking thing and more alternative style, acts and looks almost the same way "Fenturd" does. He gets socked in the jaw the moment he goes over and grabs CFAU's shirt, and CFAU releases the full verbal force of Crime Alley's fist down unto him.

----

To properly answer your question:

Canon Danny: Thinks CFAU is pretty cool, and views him as kind of like a cooler, terrifying version of him. He's off-put by the smoking thing and totally thrown off by CFAU being a banshee. He's only heard from word-of-mouth about them, and it sounds like a shitty existence to be in permanent grief. He's glad he's never had to fight one.

If this is purely canon Danny and not DPxDC adjacent-canon Canon Danny, then he's glad that Gotham doesn't exist in his world because holy fuck that place sounds like the home of nightmares. But he also kinda wishes there was a Jason in his world, the guy sounded like a really good friend if CFAU is to be believed, and Danny needs more of those in the world. He's infinitely more grateful that Dan is nothing like how Rath sounds. Because Rath sounds like something straight out of an apocalypse movie. (Granted, Dan could be argued to be the same, but he gives off more 'generic supervillain' vibes.)

He thinks Danyal is an asshole at first who needs to get that stick out of his ass, along with his head. But once they start getting along, he finds him rather funny and enjoys his dry wit, along with CFAU's. He's unnerved by Danyal's willingness to kill if necessary, but he admires his dedication and love for his little brother (if Danyal brings him up). He knows he'd be in the same boat with Jazz or Ellie if he was in Danyal's shoes. He recognizes that their core fundamentals ring the same, even if the both of them tend to show it differently.

CFAU Danny: Thinks Canon is pretty cool too. Is thrown off and very unsettled by the idea that Jason might not exist in this world, and that he and this other Danny aren't friends. He genuinely just. cannot comprehend the idea that well, and if he thinks about it too hard he's going to go into a Banshee-Grade Level Grief Spiral and nobody is gonna wanna see that. Soothes his own nerves by telling himself that this other him will meet Jason eventually.

Kinda thinks Danyal is also a jerk, but he recognizes that it comes from a place of fear and general self-defense. He's seen other kids do similar stuff in crime alley where they completely close themselves off from other people -- hell, he does it. It's a safety mechanism, so he's more empathetic with him. They're not buddy-buddy with each other at first, but they're certainly not hostile like Danyal is with Canon. Is entirely baffled and thrown off by the fact that Danyal is related to Bruce fucking Wayne when Danyal tells them about his brother Damian. Can't help but ask about Jason and if he's alive, and is insanely jealous but so happy when Danyal confirms that he is.

Danyal Al Ghul: Homie hates this fucking white boy at first. Canon Danny's general playful behavior and inexperience drives him up a wall because he's incredibly tense and in an alternate dimension. He unintentionally slips back into a League Training mindset, and criticizes Danny's every move during a fight. He eventually apologizes, but just like his father, it's like pulling teeth because he's emotionally constipated. Canon asks Danyal if he was in pain while saying anything, Danyal readily admits to yes, he was. But not because he wasn't sincere about it. Afterwards, Canon still kinda annoys him, but once DAnyal reframes his mindset into viewing him more like a civilian and being more like Ella, rather than being an alternate version of himself, his mistakes become easier to bear.

likes CFAU! They both took one look at each other and thought "wow there is something Fucking Wrong With You" and instantly shared solidarity in that. CFAU is still a sloppy fighter in Danyal's eyes, but he recognizes his own bias, and at least CFAU is ruthless and swift with it compared to Canon. He silently.. mourns??? pays respects?? He Has Somber Emotions about CFAU being a banshee, and offers him basically the Danyal Equivalent of "that's rough, buddy". He's very weirded out about how neither of these Daniels are related to his father, and are not Damian's brother. Has no idea who this "Rath" and "Dan" are because he doesn't (to his knowledge) have an alternate evil self.

[maculategiraffe]

so I know I said from (the TV show) was just lost (the TV show) again but I take it back. it is lost times banshee. of the long and honorable "makes no damn sense! compels me though" genre of television serials. also (with the exception of one extremely wooden child actor) everybody generally looks and talks and acts like how an actual person might. the one thing that's getting me hopping mad is how crisp and clean and freshly ironed everybody's white blouses are and honestly it's bugging me the more because generally the show looks fantastically dingy. like it's good enough that when it's not good it's noticeable and jarring, but it's not good enough that there aren't times when it's not good. if you see what I mean

anyway this one girl was crying because she had been manipulated by sinister forces into doing horrible things and she said something like-- and again, it sounded like something a person might actually say in real life:

"they destroyed the only person I ever get to be"

and man. that line. really got me. I don't know. the only person I ever get to be

what will you do with your one wild and precious life. who do you want to be the only person you ever get to be.

[aurumwarden]

Because some people asked me to make a post here too... I'm doing it. (I AM SO SORRY FOR SCREAMING LIKE A BANSHEE IN THE VIDEO😂)

Exactly a month ago, my best friend and I, with so many hassles and struggles, managed to meet in Shanghai and go to the Nike event where Jackson was appearing.

We were there from 10 a.m. because we had no idea when he would show up... and we waited for seven long hours. ⏳

And then... there he was.

My pretty, amazing boy. 🥹

I don't know if this is the place to share it, but... I lost my father last year. He was my best friend, my world. After losing him, I crumbled completely.

I know it might sound cheesy, but truly, Jackson and all of GOT7’s content (and honestly BTS content too) kept me sane during those impossible moments.

After losing everything, holding on to those little pieces of joy was the only thing that kept me alive... the only thing that gave me strength to stay standing for my mother.

This man has helped me in more ways than I can ever express. In some of the darkest and most difficult moments of my life, his presence, his content, was a light that kept me going.

He inspired me to pick up my pen again and start writing stories after ten long years of silence.

And as if seeing Jackson wasn’t already a dream come true… I was also blessed with the unexpected joy of seeing the amazing #EricNam.

These two men, true gentlemen in every sense of the word, left me absolutely speechless.

Eric was so kind… he even stood up without hesitation just because I asked to shake his hand. That small, thoughtful gesture meant the world to me. 💖

After this experience, my love and respect for both of them have grown even deeper. Moments like these stay with you forever. 🌟

So when I say, my dream came true, I mean it from the bottom of my heart.

The event was very short, and all I got to do was shake Jackson’s hand... but for me? It was enough. It was everything. 🥹

For a moment, I was floating among the clouds. ☁️

I’m endlessly grateful for that day, for that moment, and for the kindness these two incredible men showed.

Thank you, Jackson and Eric.

Thank you for making broken hearts feel seen and for bringing light to the darkest days. ❤️

[transformersandturtles]

I made another fic! This one is solely Wolverine centric. This is darker than I normally write so please keep in mind the warnings! Also a bit of this fic is the movie, but just from Logan's side of it.

Inspired by This Post by Midnightdrag0ns ( @midnights-dragon ) on TikTok!

Word count : 6,848 words (my hands hurt)

CW : ⚠️Alcoholism, ⚠️mentions of SH and thoughts of s-side, survivor's guilt and heavy grief, swearing, hurt/angst (very little comfort at the end), possible spelling errors (not reviewed)

edit : Forgot the title woops

---

Guilt isn't always a rational thing. . .

Guilt is a weight that will crush you whether you deserve it or not.

- Maureen Johnson

𝒀𝒐𝒖 𝑯𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝑩𝒍𝒐𝒐𝒅 𝒐𝒏 𝒀𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝑯𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒔

No sleep for the innocent.

Logan's head was spinning, his thoughts all a blur as his throat burned from the familiar liquid he had become so dependent on.

Not for you.

A little voice rang in the back of his mind, a bitter sound that haunted him. His own thoughts, an awful reminder of what he still had. A functioning conscious. How miserable. The calloused finger tips of his index and middle fingers tapped the wooden surface of the bar. Another drink. As his healing factor started to clear his liver, his blurry thoughts were almost clear once again. And he heard it.

"Logan!" The familiar voices rang out his name. Voices he longed to hear once again. Voices he didn't want to hear in his head. He wanted to hear the sounds against his ears, feel the touch on the shoulder or the face. The comforting scents, the comforting caresses. Everything he lost, he wanted again. To make things right. . . But it was one of God's best jokes that he couldn't die. No matter what he did. No matter how hard he tried. His body would always recover, and the cycle continued.

Did you forget?

You have blood on your hands.

As Logan was given another drink by the bartender, he paid no attention to what was said to him but he knew. He wasn't welcomed here. He wasn't welcomed anywhere. A blight. He'd failed everyone; his people, his team, his friends, his family. All because he went out one night and got shitfaced. He left when they called for him. He always walked away. . . And it was his biggest regret.

On your lips.

Logan's lips found the rim of his glass, drinking down another cup. His tongue tingled, taking down the flavor of the bitter drink. His throat burned once more and his stomach churned. The booze in his gut sloshed ever so slightly as he started to sway a little in his seat, but the affect wore off so quickly he could barely remember the feeling. He wanted to he numb in every sense of the word. To be deprived of feeling, sensations, responsiveness. He wanted nothing more than to feel nothing. But maybe it was life's way of punishing him. Keeping him alive as some sick joke. To remind him that he walked away with his life, and his companions. . . Not so much. His eyelids felt heavy as he closed them for a moment, the memories of what happened replaying like a broken projector, stuck on the same movie.

"Come on, Logan, stay! We have beer in the fridge, if that's what has you so preoccupied." Jean spoke with a gentle tone, trying to convince him to stay.

"Honestly, Logan, you should cut back." Scott pestered, as always.

"Spend dinner with us, Logan. You always run off." Ororo tried to persuade him.

"Why didn't you stay?" Charles's voice echoed. That's not what he said. Logan knew that, but he knew that Charles thought it when the mansion was attacked.

"Logan! Help us!" The collective voices got louder and louder, screaming for him. The begging and crying grew louder, like a choir of banshees ready to attack. The anger, the hate. It was all at him. And that was justifiable for what he did. A drunkard monster, abandoning his friends for booze and they're left to die by the hands of humans. No one to help them. To help him.

The guilt was heavy on his shoulders. On his chest, his mind. He should have stayed. Why didn't he stay? Why was he so stubborn? He had nothing now. Nothing but the suit under his coat to remind him of everything he once had. That stupid yellow suit everyone always used to bother him about wearing. Why? He wasn't an X-Man. He would never be an X-Man. That was long gone, long over.

On your teeth.

Logan opened his eyes, the heavy tiredness pushed back by the rushing thump of his heartbeat. The glass in his hand was now empty once more. He grimaced, and soon tapped the bar again to get the bartender's attention. This time his focus was on the full bottle as it was brought over, and when the bartender told him that he was no longer welcomed, Logan just rolled his eyes with a scoff. As the man continued, he wasn't welcomed anywhere and to get the fuck out, Logan's tired expression remained.

"Jus' give me one more drink an' then I'll leave. . ." His words were slow and surprisingly quiet compared to his usual gruff and bark-like tone. He didn't have anything to do or anywhere to go. Like the man said, he was welcomed no where. The night he lost everything, he really saw red. He had been the judge, the jury, and the executioner. Everyone was guilty in his eyes at the time. Every human, every person who stood in his way. Man, woman, anyone he saw a threat. He took down. It's been a while since then, but he still saw the blood on his hands every once in a while. The holes in his knuckles that held his claws. The weapons he used. To be what he was created for. Destruction. To fall so hard from the expectations held up for him. So much hope, so much care, love. He had so much, and it was gone from him in the blink of an eye.

"That's not how it works." The bartender spoke firmly, eyes still narrowed on the mutant drunkard. Out of the corner of his eyes, Logan spotted something. . . Odd. A scent caught his attention. A familiar scent, but also so foreign to him. His nose twitched a little, trying to pinpoint the scent, which fell unto the masked figure in red next to him. Great, what a clown. Who the fuck was this guy? Here to poke fun at the oh-so-great Wolverine? Fantastic.

"It does now." The stranger spoke, the white eyes of the mask focused solely on Logan, which only made him agitated. His life was already shit enough, he didn't need some dude dressed up playing hero to bother him. Logan was no hero. Not anymore. He was a monster. "Leave the bottle." The man's tone was much more serious, head tilted towards the tender for just a moment, before right back at Logan. What a fucking joke.

"I know you, bub?" Logan eventually spoke, eyes half lidded with a slight hint of confusion, but also hidden agitation. He wanted no part of this. He just wanted to drink. And drink. And drink until he couldn't remember his own goddamn name. But life just had to make him live to see 200 and over.

"Nope," The man in red spoke, the 'p' punctuated under the mask, "but I know you. . ." He spoke calmly and lowly, which just made Logan more annoyed. No one had spoken to him like this in a long time. It was foreign to him at this point. Every conversation was hate and anger. Not gentle. This stranger must be a foreigner or a goddamn moron.

"Everybody knows me. . ." Logan murmured in a bored, almost defeated tone as he gave a lazy nod to the man in red, looking away from him. "I'm the Wolverine. . ." He was almost bitter about it. . . Almost. The tags tucked under his suit, a reminder of his past that he long forgot. The only names he knew written on it. But he didn't feel like Wolverine suited him anymore. That was the name of a hero. He wasn't a hero. Heroes don't kill innocent people. Heroes don't go in a blind rage and attack on sight. And heroes don't let their family die all because they wanted to get wasted.

"Yes you are. . ." The stranger continued, his tone of voice sounded like he may be smiling under the mask, but it was really hard for Logan to focus at all on that. He just wanted to drink still, to be left alone. He was better off alone. Better off dead, if he really thought about it, but he knew better than to think like that. Nothing would give him that mercy. It was wishful thinking. "And I'm gonna need you to come with me right now." The man continued on, still focused on Logan. The old mutant was almost flabbergasted. Almost. But he felt annoyed, and almost insulted. Who was this fucker to come waltzing over and make demands for him to go somewhere? He looked the man up and down, not exactly disgusted but he definitely had a look on his face that showed he didn't seem too keen on that.

"Look, lady. . . I'm not interested." He stated firmly and boredly, not wanting to entertain this conversation any longer. He held his hand a little to wave off the man, shaking his head as he looked back at his glass.

"Really getting into your cups --" The stranger started to speak up, but was almost immediately cut off by Logan who really didn't want to have this chat any further.

"-- Why would I go with you?" Logan grumbled, clearly still under the affects of the alcohol he's drank, but it wasn't enough to silence the voices in his head. His left hand went up, index finger pointed out to poke the masked stranger right between his eyes, with just enough force to push the man's head back with a small thump. That probably would have hurt or been uncomfortable for any other person due to his metal bones. But the red man didn't seem too bothered by it. At least in the moment. Logan's gaze was still on him, almost looking dumbfounded with his head tilted to the side like a confused dog.

"Because, unfortunately," the man began, "I need you. And even more unfortunately, my entire world needs you." He continued almost firmly, still talking gently however with a lowered voice so no bystanders heard, but this bar had a few people in it, and they were all staring at the idiot in red. The moment was quickly interrupted by voice piping up from behind the bar, in a jestful tone.

"Are you two gonna fuck or fight?" He snickered as the bartender approached the two. The man in red turned his attention to him, almost like he was insulted that someone dare interrupt their important conversation. Logan, however, could care less as his gaze went away to the countertop of the bar, his hands still on either side of himself on the bar, glass still empty in front of him.

"You gonna take that from him?" The red man raised a brow under his mask as he asked the question, as if curious to know who the ex-hero would react to such a thing said to him. Logan didn't care, he rarely cared. That was nothing compared to the other things that have thrown his way. Insults, slurs, threats. You name it, he's heard it for sure.

"Yup. . ." Logan mumbled as he glanced at the other man before away once again, he was used to this after all. Why would he fight back now? It was nothing. But the man in red found it humorous apparently. With a snort and small chuckle, he shook his head a moment and sighed.

"I can tell you sort of have a 'don't get too close, I'll only break your heart' vibe going here," the chatter box continued as he waved his hand by Logan to address his whole 'vibe' going on, "BUT, every other Wolverine would have really hurt me by now and I'm sort of on the tick tick," he gestured to his wrist and tapped on it, but Logan couldn't care less as his gaze was on his empty glass once again, ignoring the gaze of the stranger in red. Man this guy was super annoying. "So," he stood up and moved behind Logan to get him up off the seat, "Upsy daisy!" Was this guy STILL talking? Logan barely had time to react, his body still reeling with the affects of the alcohol he's drank. Before Logan knew it, he was lifted up which did startle him a little but he was mostly confused by it and really agitated. How the hell could this guy get him up so easily?

"Woah, woah. . . Hey, hey-! " Logan tried to protest as he was moved up and off the seat he had gotten so comfortable on that now left him almost cold and his legs a little tingly from sitting for so long.

"I got you big guy!" The man sounded like he was smiling under his mask. Logan managed to pull away from him in annoyance, glaring at the stranger as he stumbled a little when an all too familiar snikt came from his hands. Logan staggered a bit as him and the stranger looked down at his hand where his claws just barely poked through the knuckles. Logan grumbled a bit, of course his mutation would be affected by his drinking, no shocker there. The pain shot through his arm, but he was so used to it that it didn't even bother him at this point. No gloves or slots to correct the path his claws went. The man in red looked almost. . . Amused? Disappointed? It was really hard to tell when his face was covered up and his eyes didn't give much away.

"Oh!" He seemed surprised at first, having to do a double take as he looked at the small claws then up at Logan, then back at the claws, noticing the small bit of blood drip down from the healing wounds. "Whiskey dick of the claws. . . It's quite common in Wolverine's over 40." The man seem to joke, he definitely had a smile under his mask at this point. He snickered a bit, deeply amused by the whole situation, that was for sure.

"You don't want this. . ." Logan murmured with a frown, shaking his head ever so slightly as he looked at the stranger, still a bit staggered on his feet, out of his mind at the moment as he could barely stand straight while looking at the other man. However, before he knew it, the man in red pulled out a pistol from his holster and pointed the end of the barrel right at Logan's face. Logan, even in a stuper, could hear the familiar sound of a click as it was held up. His ears twitched a little, and the man in red spoke once more.

"You're right. . . And you don't want this." He spoke seriously, a stern look was probably on his face but it was hard for Logan to imagine. This guy acted like a circus clown, and not the funny kind. As Logan looked at the barrel, his blurry eyes managed to focus on the engravings.

Smile. Wait for the flash.

It took everything in him NOT to laugh at that as he still staggered on his uneven footing. That was almost priceless, if he was going to be honest. Now he REALLY couldn't take this guy seriously at all. What a fucking joke.

"Unless you want to take a deep breath through your fucking forehead, I suggest you reconsider. . ." The man threatened so casually like he was used to saying stuff like this. Like he did this for a living or something of the sort. What kind of idiot gave this moron a gun? "Let's go, Peanut." He said sternly with a small huff. Logan couldn't help but snort a little, amused by it all as a smile slowly came to his face, sharp canines bared to the man as he leaned against the barrel of the pistol, showing no signs of backing down or leaving with him. He looked tired, that was for sure, and that grin seemed strained yet also slightly genuine. Maybe a shot to the head would put him out of his misery. But he doubted the holder would actually ever pull the trigger. How unfortunate for him, the immortal freak. But Logan couldn't help the chuckle that escaped his lips as he looked at the red man.

Smile for the camera.

His grin remained as he held up his index finger for a moment, still chuckling like he had actually been told something funny by the circus clown.

"Hold on, hold on, hold on. . ." Logan peeled away from the gun, and his focus turned to the bar and grabbed the bottle of alcohol from the counter. "Watch this." As he grabbed the bottle, he moved back to the red man, the whole attention of the bar was now on them. As he turned back to look at the gun, he grabbed it with no hesitation and no fear or worry for his life or wellbeing. "Alright, that will-" His hand was still on the gun, his movements staggered and words a bit slurred as the man pointed the gun right back up at Logan. "Easy." Logan huffed, still amused by this little game that had come to be. His grip was firm on the barrel as he tilted his head back and started chugging down the contents of the bottle, ensuring that he was being watched the entire time.

"Good god. . ." The stranger seemed surprised and a bit exasperated. Logan grunted slightly as he continued to nurse the bottle. He tried not to laugh as he did so, breathing through his nose. "Thirsty little honey badger, aren't ya?" He tilted his head to the side with an amused grin, chuckling. Logan's nose flared as he breathed heavily while taking down more and more of the bottle with no break, still focused on the almost empty glass. He had become so engrossed in the beverage that he eventually let go of the gun, his arm falling to his side as he kept drinking it down. "It's okay, keep going. . ." The stranger continued to watch, amazed but also a bit concerned for this guy cause holy shit, this was not a normal thing people did. Logan continued to gulp down the drink, still breathing through his nose and grunting a bit. Logan began tilting his head back further with the bottle as it neared empty, no longer focusing on whatever the man was rambling about now. Once it was finally done, Logan let out a satisfied groan and looked towards the man in red. With the bottle still in his hand, his vision got very blurry and his eyes started to roll back as he fell unconscious, no longer aware of his surroundings as his heavy body hit the floor with a thud, the floorboards creaking under his weight.

* * *

In the middle of nowhere, the red and yellow duo drove the the void, somehow now in a forest. Logan hadn't been paying attention, he's just been driving the Honda him and Wade, - the stranger that held him are gun point at the bar -, had gotten from a nicer counterpart of Wade's. Nicepool or some sap shit like that, he didn't care. He just wanted to get back to his universe and get everything fixed like he'd been promised. He was deeply annoyed with Wade, this bastard came into his life and had to flip it upside down for no reason other than to save a universe that had nothing to do with him. Also, the music in the car was starting to drive him nuts. This music sucked. Even after drinking the rubbing alcohol at the abandoned diner, he really wished he had more booze. He hated being sober, his shoulders and chest heavy once again as he sat in the drivers seat, agitated with Wade. The voices were getting to him again, voices he'd longed to get over but knew he'd never get the peace. The blood was on his hands, the souls weighed his conscious. And his mood only got worse as Wade tried to talk about his suit. The suit that he never wanted to wear until the people he cared about were ripped from his life by a bunch of selfish assholes who couldn't accept that they were different, and had to snuff out their flames. He didn't like the negative connotation Wade was getting at about the X-Men. What the fuck did he know? Wade dropped the X-Men, his X-Men. But that didn't mean the Merc with a Mouth could talk about his X-Men like that. Not his team. Not his friends, his family. Wade had no fucking right. But soon something caught his ears.

"If they fix--" Logan didn't bother listening to the rest of that sentence. The fuck did this guy mean if? He promised his world would be fixed. That he'd get the ones he loved back. That he'd get to see Scott, Jean, Ororo, Hank, Charles, everyone. Alive. That he'd get a do-over and fix his mistakes. To never leave his loved ones again. Logan's emotions got the best of him, as always. And he slammed on the brakes with little to no warning. Words were said, and claws found their way into Wade's thigh quickly. There was heavy tension in the air, and Logan was at his wits end. He had enough, he couldn't take this idiot seriously any longer. A wish? A fucking educated wish? It felt like his heart and soul were ripped out of his body all over again, and what little hope he had to fix things was gone.

"You know what?" Logan started with an agitated tone, clearly upset that Wade had lied to him, in the most ridiculous way possible. Maybe he was the fool for believing in this idiot. "You're a fucking joke," he continued on, "No wonder the Avengers didn't take you or the X-Men, and they'll take fucking anyone! I mean, you are a ridiculous, immature, half-wit moron. I have never met a sadder, more attention-starved jabbering little prick in my entire life, and that says a lot because I've been alive for more than 200 fucking years, and I'll tell you, that bald chick was right about one thing: you will never save the world!" His words were harsh and bitter, and maybe a little projected onto the other Canadian that had genuinely pissed him off. Logan was definitely an outlier in the 'nice Canadian' stereotype. Then again, he's been through hell and back and barely remembers half of it sometimes. "You couldn't even save a relationship with a goddamn stripper! Motherfucker, I wish I could say you'll die alone, but it's one of God's best jokes that you can't die, except that's on ALL OF US!" As Logan got more heated, more angry, raw with pure emotions as he hit the roof of the car, his breathing was heavy. For a moment, just a sliver of a second, there was a moment of regrets to his words. A moment of remorse, but it was gone just as fast as it came and the man snarled a bit, canines bared to the other. "Well, you got nothing to say, Mouth?" He was pissed off and it showed, face contorted in anger as he waited for a response from Wade, and as the silence went on, his breathing got a little softer, almost like a pant from a dog, but it was short lived when the other finally spoke up.

"I'm gonna fight you now. . ." Wade muttered. It was hard to tell if he was being serious or not, and honestly Logan couldn't tell. Nor did he care. He'd never be able to take him seriously, not after that lie. But Logan couldn't hold back a laugh, ready to call his bluff.

"Oh? Are you?" He raised a brow with a snort, ready for this to be over already until he was met with a hard fist to the face. He was stunned by this, shock in his eyes as he stared at the other blankly as he felt an almost unfamiliar feeling in his nose. He hadn't been punched in the nose in a long time. That couldn't have felt good to Wade either, a fist straight to the metal skull. A warm liquid dribbled down from Logan's nose, and as Wade had stated, a fight was soon in pursuit.

* * *

No sleep for the innocent.

Not for you.

Did you forget?

You have blood on your hands.

On your lips.

On your teeth.

Smile for the camera.

The voices rang in his head, he couldn't escape. He'd carried this pain, this guilt, for so long. He let everyone down. His universe, his family. He let everyone down. All for a drink. A fixation he couldn't break. Because of him, he was left alone, to walk the miserable world with immortality. No matter how man gashes he gave himself, no matter how hard he tried to disembowel himself, every method he could possibly think over, he couldn't end it. But the pain still lingered. He always felt the pain, even when his healing factor took affect. He always felt the pain, and felt like he deserved it. He knew the others would be disappointed in what he's become, but what could he do? He was exhausted. He sat on his knees, in the darkest parts of his mind. The grass was tall, a breeze going past as a white shirt clung to his figure. He sat there, feeling completely defeated as the voices rang out. He left them all behind. He walked away. He always does.

"Trust me, kid. . . I'm no hero. . ." Logan murmured, nursing down a bottle of whiskey as Laura accompanied him at the fire, against his wishes.

"That suit says different. . ." She spoke calmly yet firmly, her eyes going from the fire then back to Logan. Logan let out a small huff, almost a sound of amusement at her words.

"You like it?" He asked as he raised a brow, looking at Laura who seemed to give a small nod of acknowledgement. "Scott used to beg me to wear it. . . So did Jean. . . Storm. . . Beast. All of 'em. . .They wanted me to be part of the team, but I wouldn't. . ." His voice shook a little as he spoke,his gaze falling to the half empty bottle in his hands. He knew they'd be ashamed of what he's become. "Told 'em they all look fuckin' ridiculous, an'. . ." He trailed off a little, glancing to the side for a moment, then to Laura once more. "I couldn't have 'em thinkin' I wanted to be there. . . And one day, while I was off on my own, the humans came and went mutant huntin'. . ." His voice broke ever so slightly, head down as he remembered the events that fell. Nothing got rid of the bitterness in his heart, and the regret that ate at his soul. Would things have been different if he were there? Maybe. . .

"Whoever you think I am, you got the wrong guy. . ." He remembered speaking to Laura, a girl who had been saved by a better version of himself. He could vaguely see the resemblance; she was strong and fierce and mouthy. But she knew what to say. From the little time he got to know her, she was better than he was, and he was damn sure that his variant would be proud of the person she was.

"You were always the wrong guy. . . Until you weren't." She had told him at that campfire when he was drinking himself to memory fog. Those words definitely hit something in him.

Even as Nova tried to 'sympathize' with him, to entice him to join her so she could make the voices go away. To get the screaming to stop. To stop all the sounds, all the pain. He didn't trust her, not one bit. But it was part of the plan. When the area went quiet, he felt like a weight was lifted from his shoulders, like he could breathe easy again. But he knew it wouldn't last. He didn't deserve the peace. It was too quiet. . . He couldn't handle it, but he had Nova right where they needed her. And it was only a matter of time when Wade finally got that stupid helmet on Nova, that she finally got out of his head, and Logan felt the rush hit him like a train. The pain, the voices, the screams that fell upon deaf ears when he was in a blind rage, it all returned to him. It was a bitter comfort. Silence was unbearable for him. He closed his eyes, and when he returned to reality, he got to his feet quickly as Wade seemed about ready to let Nova die in the Juggernaut helmet.

"This suit's all I've got to remind me of who they were. . . . And what I did. . ."

What he did. . . The biggest fucking mistake of his life, and he's made lots of mistakes over his 200 years of living on this goddamn rock. He's been through hell with experiments for a shitty government. He's forgotten most of his life, and what little bits and pieces he had to remember were only in his nightmares that would always fizzle from his mind the moment he was conscious and in a mess of his torn bedsheets and blood. The blood was on his hands. It always had been. Their faces, God their faces. Always haunted him, always made him feel even worse. The faces of his team, and the faces of those he took his anger out on. He couldn't fix his world, it was doomed from the start. The least he could do, with what will he had left to keep fighting, he had to make sure at least someone remembered who they were. The real X-Men.

"For the first time in my life. . ." Logan's eyes felt wet as he spoke, fighting back the shakiness in his voice. "I am proud to wear this suit." He states firmly, still fighting back tears as his voice wavered, his emotions pure and raw in the moment. "It means I'm an X-Man. . . I am THE X-Man!" Saying those words felt odd, but. . . Needed. Like he'd lifted a heavy weight for his lungs. He could breathe easy, despite the fuzzy vision he had in the moment. With pride, and confidence he had long neglected, he was happy to call himself an X-Man. As much as his life sucked hell, he couldn't let their memories go.

* * *

After the party and saying by to Laura, Logan stepped away from the door so Wade could talk with his friends as they left down the hall. It was. . . Different. And this whole thing would definitely take some getting used to. He helped clean up the small apartment, putting dishes in the sink and trash in the bin before making his way to the couch. He took off the blue-green flannel he wore that evening, taking a deep breath as he laid down, his white T-shirt clung to his figure, dog tags draped over his collarbone with a small jingle. He closed his eyes, flannel over the armrest of the couch as he used it as a pillow, arms crossed over his midsection. He didn't plan on falling asleep yet, just to shut his eyes and wait for Wade. He wasn't really paying attention, not even realizing he was dozing off until he heard a voice.

"Logan!" The voice sounded. . . Happy? It sounded like Jean.

"Wake up, you overgrown Chihuahua!" He could practically hear the snarky grin on Scott's face.

"You always love to keep us waiting, don't you?" Beast scoffed, the sound of fur against fabric could be heard from him shaking his head. He grunted as it sounded like someone elbowed him.

"Cut him some slack, he's had a long day." Ororo could be heard next, a small chuckle escaping her lips. Logan slowly opened his eyes, greeted by a bright light. Was that the sun? How? It was 8pm, he was sure the sun was down by now. His eyes adjusted to the light, and his heart almost dropped at the sight before him. It was everyone. Scott, Jean, Beast, Storm, Kitty, Rogue, everyone. Even the man himself, with that familiar sound of the chair.

"Professor. . ?" He didn't understand. Where was he? This had to be a dream, right? A sick dream his mind made to torment him further of his past misdeeds.

"Logan. . . It's good to see you again." Charles Xavier spoke sincerely, a small smile on his face. He could see the confusion, the uncertainty. "This isn't a dream." He tried to reassure, but knew that those words could only go so far.

"Well, if it's not a dream. . . Where am I? What is. . . All of this?" He sat up from the tall grass, soon standing. He'd never seen it so bright here before. So full of light.

"You know where this is. . ." Charles spoke calmly yet firmly, knowing that Logan knew. When it finally clicked, Logan stepped back.

"Why are you here. . ?" He asked, a bit hesitant. He didn't know if this was real or not, and if it was, he was struggling to hold himself together. Jean and Scott moved close, and Jean was the first to touch Logan, her caress gentle on his face. Logan felt like he was hit by a tidal wave, the rush of warmth he had missed so much from his companions. He relaxed into her touch almost immediately, the familiarity there. Then he felt Scott pat his shoulder. He remembered the bickering and rough housing, how they were always at each other's throats. He was trying not to cry, but it only got harder.

"You know why we're here, Logan. . ." Scott spoke surprisingly softly to him, squeezing his shoulder a bit. Jean smiled warmly.

"We're proud of you. . ." She tried to comfort him, but it was clear that time had not been so kind to Logan after all these years. Slowly but surely, everyone made their presence known by physical contact, and the dam broke. Tears started to drip down his face, like someone had turned the faucet all the way on and broke the handle. It wouldn't stop. He'd never cry in front of his teammates, never in a million years. Yet here he was, shaking before them. He hated being vulnerable in front of others, normally it was his biggest weakness. But right now, he couldn't stop it. Faces he'd thought he'd never see again, never see smiling. Let alone smiling at him of all people.

"You're a damn good X-Man, boy. . ." Hank let out a gruff compliment, patting his back. Logan felt awful, he didn't deserve any compliments or praise.

"I. . . I'm sorry. . ." Logan's voice finally broke and cracked as he mumbled out an apology. The others were confused at first, but all their expressions softened.

"Logan, listen to me. . ." Charles spoke up once more, moving closer to him as the others moved carefully. "Look at me." He requested. Logan was hesitant, which was unlike him, but he slowly lifted his head, looking at the old man. Charles smiled softly, hands in his lap. "You were. . . By far one of my most difficult students. . . Some days I didn't know if you would stay or truly run off and never return. . . You were a wild card, and sometimes you still are. . . Even now. Despite what you may think, or how you perceive yourself. . . You're a good man at heart. No one is immune to mistakes, hell I've made my fair share of mistakes in life. . . But you are as stubborn as they come. You cared not for rules and you could be very troublesome. . . But you are not what they made you. . ." He states, a warm yet tired smile on his face. Logan still had tears running down his cheeks.

"B. . . But I. . . I left. . . I walked away and--" Logan was trying to keep it together, but he was very emotional right now.

"You didn't know it would happen. . . No one did. . . It's not your fault, Logan. . ." Jean tried to comfort him again, smiling gently at him to assure him. But Logan didn't buy it, how could he? Because of him, they were all on their own. He could have done something to help.

"Stop focusing on the 'what-ifs', Logan." Beast scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest. "What's been done is done, the past cannot be changed. . . All we can do is learn from it, and ensure that it never repeats again." For once, Logan thought, for once that big blueberry of a mutant finally said something that made some sense to him.

"You've been so caught up in your mind and the world before. . . But you've been given a new chance, Logan. . ." Charles spoke once again, the sun shadowed by a few clouds now. "You have a chance to make things right. What happened is in the past. . . You must move on, and pave a bright future. . . Not just for yourself, but for those around you as well." He moved back a bit, and so did the others, the talk grass shifting from the breeze. Logan looked around as everyone backed up, he rubbed his eyes as he sniffled.

"I. . . I can't move on. . . I can't forget you guys. . . What I did. . ." Logan looked down at the grass, fists clutched.

"Moving on isn't forgetting. . . It's remembering and no longer hurting. . . Missing someone just shows how much they meant to you, right?" Jean smiled, humming softly as she stood with Scott.

"One of the biggest steps in healing is acceptance, Logan. . . It's okay to let go." Scott held Jean's hand, those ruby red shades covering his eyes, but they had a gentle look to them.

"It's not goodbye forever. . . Just a see you next time." Rogue spoke up, smiling softly towards Logan, hands at her sides.

"Yeah, we'll just. . . See you another time." Kitty smiled softly, hands in her pocket. Logan was quiet, besides the small sniffles as he tried to keep himself somewhat together still. Acceptance sounded like a curse. But he couldn't continue to drown himself in anger and hate and guilt. He had to work to improve. The past could haunt him, could haunt his nightmares, but he'd never forget the best people that had ever entered his life. He took a deep breath, and he nodded.

"A. . . Alrigh'. . . I uhm, think I'm ready. . ." Logan was a bit hesitant, but knew that this is what he had to do. He closed his eyes, and took a deep breath in. He opened his eyes with a tired grin. "I may have never said it before, or really shown' it. . . . But I love you guys. . . You meant a lot to me. . ." He mumbled.

Sure, not everything was perfect all the time. There were disagreements, fights recklessness, lots of stuff. Both good and bad. But Logan didn't regret meeting the X-Men. He just wished he had more time with them. His gaze was on the grass, and when he looked up, everyone was gone. But in their place stood new foliage and fauna. Plants of different colors and different arrays of beauty where everyone once was. Peter Pears grew tall and entangled with Red Orchids. Garden Grape-Hyacinth grew a few feet away, White Roses too. Platycodon Grandiflorus grew where Kitty once stood, and so many more floura grew, overtaking the tall grass to be a meadow, no longer an empty space of trees and stones and pain. Logan was heartbroken, but the sight brought him comfort, in an odd way. Knowing that now, they were never too far away. They were still around, even if he couldn't see them, smell them, or hear them. They were there, and that brought him ease. He took a deep breath of the fresh air and soon closed his eyes as the sun got brighter. When his eyes opened again, he felt. . . Lightened.

"Logan?!" Wade was right in his face, not exactly a pretty sight to see first thing. And definitely not something he needed to see right when waking up. His heart jumped in his chest, and he quickly sat up, his forehead smashing into Wade's as he moved. Wade winced and stumbled back a bit, but soon laughed loudly, relieved that Logan wasn't dead. Logan rubbed his head for a moment, before feeling something drip down his chin. He touched his face, and he felt tears. Had he been crying in his sleep? He turned to look at Wade, which was when he also noticed Althea with a bucket of water.

"Well, is he dead?" She stood there, ready to throw it on Logan like Wade had originally planned for her to do. Wade grinned, taking the bucket from her.

"Nah, he ain't dead. Just a heavy sleeper. Guess that's to be expected if he hasn't slept properly, Wolverines sleep in three to four hour cycles regularly. And this one clearly doesn't." He snickered with a big grin. Logan rolled his eyes, smirking a bit as he shooke his head and snorted.

"Ah, go fuck yourself, bub. . ."

[rokishimizu4]

Orphan almost breaks a Bat rule

(I’m gonna focus more on my second blog when I’m done with Cass, Bruce, and Damian, because I’m in a TMNT faze and want to write some 12! Casey x Turtles) I do ship Cass and Steph and in my AU they act like they are married, but Steph treats the Wayne brothers like her brothers-in-law)Mostly because they are fucken cute together and honestly, Steph isn’t adopted by Bruce. (Cass is because her and Damian, Jason, Dick, and Tim are sister and brothers, don’t @ me)

It wasn’t uncommon for Cass to people watch and targets a certain person, either because the person in question was a BatFam villain, just a threat in general, or did something to her family.

But, the person in question checked none of the marks and she found it almost strange with how often she finds herself following the person in question when she is not on patrol, spending time with family, or on her dates with Steph.

Cue Cass silently following a woman that reminds her of a field of flowers and trees on a warm summer day, with bees and birds relaxing, just listening to the songs that the wind writes.

She keeps the target’s car in sight as she jumps from roof top to roof top, in her full Orphan outfit when she notices that something else was tracking the same car as her from across the street.

The other person seems to notice her, but focuses on the car and even jumping onto the moving, at full speed down the busy street, car without hesitation.

Cue Cass jumping onto the same car and hanging onto it along with the stranger, only to realize that the person is wearing a dark red/purple oni mask with glowing gold horns, and a screaming mouth full of white tiger-like teeth.

However, before she could figure out if the person is a human, demon, spirit, or something else, the car jerks to a full stop and threatens to buck the her and the other person off.

Four armed men pile out of the car and starts trying to shoot at her, in the middle of the still very busy street with a shit ton of innocents to protect.

“Get the kids and take off!!” One man screams at the people still in the armored car as the masked men surround the outside of the car with guns pointed at Orphan and the strange person.

Orphan quickly jumps off of the car and attacks the first man with a batarang and hitting another man’s gun out of his hands with a kick.

However, as she focuses on the men around her, the guns going off near her and the innocents around her, that she barely notices the car trying to speed away from the scene. At least until the car splits in half, horizontally.

The battle freezes for that moment as the strange person slowly pulls a razor sharp electric guitar out of the severed armored car, that was built like a smaller version of an armored bank truck, with ease.

The person then plays a few cords the electric guitar, which was not plugged in anything, and the front part of the car starts to crumble onto itself like a paper ball.

The men surrounding Orphan drop their guns and put their hands up, begging for the person to stop, to let the two men in the car go, that the two men were the only ones of the group to be forced into kidnapping the kids.

The men start to crumble under the invisible forces of the stranger’s playing as Orphan watches in shock and growing horror as the people around her start to crumble as well, grabbing at their ears and begging the person to stop.

But the stranger continues to play, playing note after heavy note until the bad men ears’ start to bleed from the sound.

Orphan slowly starts to hear the music from the stranger’s electric guitar, like first a soft whispering that continues to grow in volume and tone until it starts to sound like a banshee’s song on full blast.

Orphan silently screams in pain as she uses one hand to cover one of her ears, and uses the other to pull out her katana and rushes the stranger, unconsciously aiming for the middle of their throat.

However before her blade could make contact with the stranger’s neck, a black/purple goop rushes out of the severed back end of the car to quickly cover the two of them completely.

Next thing Orphan/Cass remembers, she wakes up on the roof of the Gotham City Police Department with Stephanie shaking her awake and crying her eyes out.

“Cass! Cass wake up!!!”

After returning home with Steph not leaving her side, she learns that the kidnappers and around 50 people were hospitalized for ruptured eardrums, and at least two of the six kidnappers suffered from broken legs as well as ruptured eardrums.

”Oni, Banshee song, ears hurt. No more electric guitars, please.”

[local-hellhound-steals-spaghetti]

So proud of Myx for winning Best Junior Courser and earning her Junior Courser (JC) title today!

She won food and $20 so it’s great that she can finally help pay the rent! Honestly what a Girl Boss for winning money by Running So Fast and Good.

Also the reason she won is because there were plovers in the field and she still wanted to murder the plastic bag instead of the birds. I was kind of amazed we were awarded Best because I missed the “Tally Ho” twice due to Myx yelling for plastic bag murder in my ear.

The judge asked if I was hearing impaired in the nicest way possible and I was like “yes” because of my sensory issues. But anyone would be hearing impaired with the sound of a whippet banshee scream in your ear.

Just god’s perfect princess goblin living her best life 😍👍👑

[llaberration]

I.S.M.I - Chapter One

“Hal.”

“Nmmm.”

“Hal. You're late.”

“Nuuuuhhh.”

“Yeah you are. Wake up.”

A heavy shove against his shoulder was enough to rouse the man from his desk nap with a grunt, “Wuh?”

“You're supposed to be taking some of the newbies out to investigate that...” the voice stopped as the man raised a hand.

“I know I know... I'm up,” Hal stood up, grabbed the cold coffee off his desk and drained the mug, “I'm going.”

“You look like shit.”

“Thanks Barbara. Good to know even the monsters have a good grasp of what shit looks like.”

The woman beside his desk glared at him, her long, almost fluid black hair shifting with invisible air currents. “Not considered a monster any more. But at least I'm punctual.”

Hal grumbled, pushing the chair into his desk and grabbing his jacket. “I'll be back tomorrow. Maybe.”

“You should stop in and see Doc. He might be able to give you something. You know. Help you sleep.”

“Thanks, I don't need help from a different flavour of monster.”

The banshee gave a long sigh, a whisper of a shrieking sound underlying her breath. “You founded this place. You were part of the process that started bringing us 'monsters' in as staff,” there was a strange, audible sting of the whispering in her voice as she said the word. “If you dislike us, why did you do any of that?”

“I don't diuslike you,” said Hal, tossing his phone into his pocket. “I just don't trust all of you yet. Especially not Doc. His practices are... strange.”

“They work.”

“So I've heard. Now, I'm going to be even later if I don't move. I'll see you tomorrow.” He hurried out of the room, rubbing sleep from his eyes as he made his way down the corridor. The hallways were clean and whitewashed with grey tiled floors. The permanent state of artificial lighting hurt his eyes and Hal squinted to lessen this as he headed to a door labelled 'Supply.”

Here, he was given the keys to a van, which he knew would have already been kitted out fully for a reconnaissance mission. Several cameras, both handheld, Polaroid, and body-worn, standard equipment such as a taser weapon, a small case loaded with phials of varied Ignotuscience allergens such as holy water, garlic and sacred oak. Honestly, he often felt like he was driving around an entire hardware store and laboratory, but being over-prepared had them at (currently) the lowest death-per-mission rating of any of the institute's facilities. Hal liked to think his over-preparedness and over-exaggeration of the dangers contributed to that too. After all, who could argue with a man whose brother had been eaten by pseudo-magical cephalopods from a rift in spacetime. On his way towards the exit, he paused only to stop at meeting room 3, opening the door for only long enough to call. “Follow,” before he left again.

As he walked down the corridor, two hurried sets of footsteps joined him, one at each side. “Names?” he asked, without looking back.

“Kaplain.”

“Sayer.”

Both voices were masculine, one a little higher and younger but not especially so. “Backgrounds?”

“Police.”

“Uhh... magic?”

Hal stopped dead, the man on his left, Kaplain, stopped in time to avoid a collision but Sayer piled right into his back as Hal turned. “Magic?”

Before him stood a young man, bespectacled, with long, somewhat curly black hair framing a pale and nervous face, dressed in loose clothing with an old fashioned, loose black shirt that covered his arms and hands. “M-Magic...” confirmed Sayer.

“Magic? Of which variety. The study thereof, the practice thereof... clarify.”

“Practice thereof...”

Hal's eyes narrowed as he saw the younger man had unusual eyes. They were washed out of all colour. The black pupil remained, but the iris was a milky grey, absent of any normal colour or natural pink lack of pigment. Frowning, Hal gently grabbed one of the young man's arms, lifted it and peeled back the robe. Beneath it he found a scarred hand that looked as though the flesh had been torn off it in a spiral and then been reattached, giving it a twisted appearance. Hal's face hardened. “I see.”

He had been told they had a newcomer arriving who had been rescued from a fanatical, religious group from Yorkshire some years before. He had read the casefile. A young man who possessed, allegedly, a gift of 'magic.' Though they had filed all of these new discoveries under the label Ignotuscience, they still used the phrase 'magic' to describe the practice of using energy or ability in a way that mimics what mankind had traditionally labelled as such.

This young man allegedly could perform many magics, but had, at the hands of the religious fanatics, been forced to perform far beyond his limitations when they had tried to make him 'summon god' in order to prove their god was the only one. The resulting vibrations and energies had drawn the eye of the Institute, and Neil Sayer, or ISMI-UK-L-0024 had been rescued and taken under their protection.

“Has it already been four years?” asked Hal, his voice suddenly quiet, gently tucking the sleeve back over the young man's arm.

“It has...” admitted Sayer. “I'm all healed up, I've passed all the training, and I'm here to help.”

“Is... uh... there a problem?” Kaplain spoke up.

Hal turned to him, giving the man a slap on the shoulder. “No. Just a first lesson for you. If anyone ever says something like that, you are not one hundred percent certain of, question it. There are tricky things in this world we live in now, and most of them can be tripped up by asking questions. And if you ever, ever doubt that something or someone isn't what they say they are or appear to be, listen to your mental panic alarm. We'd rather have a hundred false alarms than one genuine missed incident.” The ex-policeman looked older than him but not by much, he sported similar grey sprinklings at his temples, but his was speckled through brown hair. Kind but cautious blue eyes peered from behind a set of robust framed spectacles, and an impressive layer of stubble that matched his own spoke of a man with his own demons. Just like everyone here.

Brushing off the interactions, Hal continued his march down the corridor, and the two other men followed. They knew all about him, one of the highest ranking people in the organisation with no interest whatsoever in sitting in a nice safe office and making decisions on behalf of others. He wanted to be out in the field, pursuing the creatures and investigating the incidents. He was a haunted man, but not a bad one. He walked his path alone and pushed away all attempts to get close to him because his heart was scarred, and not yet ready to trust.

“Hope you two are ready for some excitement,” said Hal, glancing back at them. “We've got a long night ahead.”

“I thought you said it was going to be exciting,” Kaplain's voice cut through the quiet of the night.

“Don't go assuming that it will or won't be just yet,” said Hal, taking a swig of coffee straight out of his thermos, prepared and left for him by the vehicle prep team. “It's only 11pm, the night is yet young.”

“Remind me again why we're here?”

“Did you not read the file?” Hal sat up with a frown.

“I mean... I skimread it...”

“Rule 1 of surviving ten minutes in the Institute,” said Hal, pulling a tablet from its dock in the dashboard, “read the damn file.” He unlocked the item, fiddled around to bring up the casefile they were currently staking out and held it out to the ex-policeman.

A little sheepishly, the man took it from him and started to read.

“Would you mind reading it aloud?” a meek voice came from the middle row of seats, “I might also have only skimread it.”

Hal rolled his eyes, “amateurs.” He knew not to be too harsh on them. Fresh out of training and still in orientation, this was likely their first real mission.

“File ISMI-I-UK-591,” began Kaplain, “Status; Open.

A series of occurrences in which people claim to have been attacked in the woods in the region of East Dartmoor by an unknown lifeform.

Incident 001: [DATE]. (1-21yM) (1-23yF) (1-22yN) (1-23yN). Camping in the area. At around 2000hrs, as they were setting up a campfire, (21yM) became aware of a 'crackling sound' in the woods, and when he went to investigate, a 'friggin monster the size of a truck' emerged from the treeline. All four fled, leaving their camping gear which was later retrieved by agents for analysis, the results of which showed nothing abnormal.

Incident 002: [DATE]. (1-42yM). Out to gather wood. At 2100hrs, claims he was struck in the back of the head by something with 'the strength of an elephant' that felt like it was wielding a club. He awoke some hours later, estimated 2330hrs and immediately vacated the area. One significant area of trauma to the head but scans show no permanent damage.

Incident 003: [DATE]. (1-18yF) (1-18yM) in the woods to take various samples for a university project. At 1500hrs, heard large lifeform moving about in the woods nearby. At 1510hrs, as the sounds grew closer, began to leave. At 1513, while running, several stones thrown at significant velocity towards fleeing individuals from treeline. Minor abrasions.”

“Okay, now, what does that tell you?”

“We're out here looking for something that attacks people?” Sayer suggested.

“Okay, good start, let's keep that on the board. What else?”

“Seems to happen day or night, and nobody knows what it looks like other than being 'big' and apparently as strong as an elephant... possibly armed?”

“Great, good. We're learning things,” Hal took another loud swig of his coffee. “Anything else?”

“Most of them seem to have heard it coming,” observed Kaplain.

“And that's why I've been sitting here with my window down. There's one more main thing we can glean from this file, what is it?”

The two newbies looked at each other, then at the file, poring over it as they scrolled up and down.

Hal gave them a little time, calmly leaning his head back against the headrest, his eyes just starting to drift a little.

“I have no idea... what?”

Brought back from the edge of sleep, Hal sat up a little, “What were they all doing?”

“Being... in the woods?” suggested Kaplain

“Yes but what were they doing?”

“Uh...” the ex-policeman seemed stumped.

“They were interfering with the plantlife.”

“Okay... so...”

“So, if you want something to happen, and it clearly isn't going to happen by itself, get out there and bother some plants.”

“Excuse me?” Kaplain stared at him.

“I'm dead serious,” said Hal, “Go snap some sticks or kick a weed. Pretty sure it'll have the desired effect.” He already knew what this particular creature was, having examined the scenes from all of these occurrences. He'd dealt with it several times before on one side of this woodland or another. He was just using this as a very useful training exercise for his new learners.

Looking puzzled, both of the men clambered out of the van, activating the headtorches they had been provided to cut through the darkness.

As this was still classed as an investigation mission, and not an active danger site, they were dressed in their 'civilian' clothes and equipped with only the basic tools of the job, most of which Hal was still holding onto, wanting very much to see how their creativity and problem solving led their first investigation before he began their full training with all of the tools at their disposal.

While the young man, Neil Sayer, went to half-heartedly tug at some brambles, Creek Kaplain grabbed a fallen stick from the ground and snapped it loudly. The sharp sound echoed through the woods, and Hal wound his window down a little further, listening intently towards the treeline. Nothing yet. “Good start, keep going,” he said to encourage them, before leaning back in his seat to keep listening, picking up the first of a distant, thick creaking.

Kaplain, clearly puzzled, snapped another stick noisily, then turned to look at Hal, baffled, “What purpose does this serve?”

“Shh,” Hal cupped a hand around his ear and gestured to the woods.

Kaplain blinked, turning in the direction he was pointing. At first he could neither see nor hear what the man meant, but after a moment, he became aware of a soft creaking in the distance. It sounded almost like something huge was leaning against the trunk of some ancient tree, causing it to creak in objection. The older man gently grabbed for Sayer to stop him in what he was doing, still yanking on the bramble, and they both stood stock still, listening.

Hal grinned to himself as he saw them both tensing up, rummaging in his pocket for his language translator and fiddling with it in preparation.

Suddenly, and before either man could move to do anything, a group of tree roots burst from beneath the ground, knocking Kaplain down and tossing Sayer to the side. The roots swiftly wrapped around the older man's legs and started to drag him, shouting, towards the treeline.

Sayer, who had already managed to stumble to his feet, began to fumble with his hands, glittering light starting to emit from beneath one sleeve as he struggled to focus himself enough to use his magic.

Fortunately, there was no need, as Hal stepped out of the van and spoke loudly into his translator, a simple looking little device that he held up to his mouth. It quickly analyzed his words and emitted them in an equal tone and volume but in his selected language, in this case, ancient Gaelic. “Alright Bovis I think that's enough,”

The roots dragging Kaplain stopped, and a low, creaking, yet somehow petulant sound responded from the forest. After a moment the translator beeped and gave a translation. “Mister Hal. The two legged ones continue to harm my friends...” the voice that came out was chilling, low and creaky with a slight electronic hum where the translator failed to be entirely accurate in its representation.

“I know, but we've told you before. You can't just go around attacking people. Remember our agreement? You stay within your boundaries, and we'll expand them every year with new planting of trees and wild shrubs.” The translator continued to do its best, though Hal was sure some words and phrases were lost in translation, his meaning seemed to come across.

“Yes...” creaked the response.

“And have we kept our end of the bargain?”

“Yes... the new life you have provided brings light to the woods...”

“And is this within your boundaries Bovis?”

Kaplain, whose legs were still wrapped in shifting roots, wriggled, and began to speak, but Hal silenced him with a swift finger to the lips gesture.

There was an awkward pause in the trees, and they could almost feel a 'petulant teenager being told off' vibe from the silence before a much softer and less creaky. “... no.”

“No indeed,” chuckled Hal, “Now I know it's hard ignoring it when people are interfering with your friends. I do. But we cannot stop it entirely. You know if you stay in your boundaries, nobody will be in there hurting anything. Now are you going to go home, or do I need to have you escorted?”

There was another awkward pause, then a soft. “I go. No need to escort.”

“No more throwing rocks at people either?”

“Okay...”

The network of roots withdrew from Kaplain's leg, and the creaking sound began to move away.

Hal waited a moment, then lowered the translator and gave a nod, putting his hands on his hips. “That went pretty well. Last time he put a pebble through my windscreen.”

“Pretty well?! Were you watching the same thing as me?!” demanded Kaplain indignantly, struggling to get to his feet on the churned up ground.

“Everyone is alive, undigested and whole, and we sent the problem back to their containment zone. I call that a good evening's work,” Hal replied as he extended a hand to help the ex-policeman to his feet poroperly.

“But it had me...” Kaplain looked distinctly unsettled by what had happened, and this was exactly why Hal had let the situation play out as long as he had.

“It did. However in this case you were never in any real danger, I knew three days ago what was causing this but I needed to bring you two out in the field to see how you handled being field agents in a controlled 'danger' situation.”

“So this was... a test?”

“You can never truly know how well someone will react to one of our areas of study until you see them do so.”

“Did we... pass?”

Hal chuckled, “This wasn't that kind of test, just a taster, a sample of things to come. You good?”

Kaplain dusted himself off, looking as though his dignity was a little bruised, but otherwise not too upset. “Yeah.”

“And you Sayer?”

The young man was still standing frozen, looking pale, his hands together, “Uh.... y-yeah...”

Hal smiled, going over and gently grabbing his shoulder. “Good, come on, let's get you back in the van with a hot cup of tea.”

“I keep telling you Doc, I have no idea why they sent me here.” It was 11am the next morning, and Hal, who had spent the rest of the night filing a report and getting Sayer and Kaplain home safe after their harrowing first day, was sitting in front of a painfully ordinary desk with a painfully abnormal man behind it. “Isn't it just a box ticking thing?”

“Well, it says here that you average three hours sleep. Most of which you do on your desk between 1500 and 1800,” the man glanced at him over his almost comically undersized glasses, strawberry blonde hair, a little on the scruffy side, threatening to get in the way of his pale pink eyes as he glanced over the tablet in his hand. “It also says you haven't been home in eleven days.”

“Bills are expensive these days. Why leave when we have showers, a cafeteria and heating here?” Hal swung back on the chair, thinking that a desk nap right now would be great.

“Mhmm,” the large man continued to peer over his glasses, a silent judgement in his eyes.

“Look I'm fine. I have some mild insomnia...”

“The other day,” the doctor interrupted, still reading from his tablet, “You woke up from your desk with a yell so loud that you set your Banshee colleague's scream reflex off and she proceeded to break all of the glass objects in that sector with her voice.”

“Look, I do feel bad about that. It wasn't-”

“It resulted in two people needing counselling.”

“I didn't-”

“And caused ISMI-UK-L-0024 to swarm and go to ground somewhere in the air conditioning, where he remains.”

Hal let out a sigh, letting his chair set back onto all fours, “Look I-”

The doctor set the tablet down and folded his arms to lean on the desk, far too big for it, it made the huge man look as though he was leaning on child size desk. “Hal, it's difficult for me to be put in this situation but I have to tell you. High ups, including the site director, are advising that if you won't accept any kind of treatment, you will be removed from duty and placed on long term sick leave.”

“What?!” Hal's voice echoed with thunder. “I hired half those morons!”

“Hal!” the doctor's voice was sharp, booming, and commanded quiet. “You know they're right. That's why you came here when you were told to.”

Hal puffed up indignantly, “I... no... they...”

“Please. This is a safe space.” The large man's hard expression melted slightly. “Nobody is removing you from duty yet. But I need you to talk to me. However you like. You can stare at the wall if you want to, pretend I'm not here. Scream it as loudly as you want. The walls in here are entirely soundproof so you can shout until you shake the heavens if it would make you feel better.”

Hal let out a long, slow sigh, his eyes dropping to the floor.

“Everything and anything said here is confidential, you know that.”

“Even if it's above your clearance level?”

“Even if it's above my... wait what?”

Hal smiled, that one had tripped the doctor up. “Come on Doc. I've been here since before all this. Most of what happened to me I can't even talk to myself about without violating ten laws.”

The huge man scratched his ear thoughtfully. “Hmm. That is a good point. My clearance normally covers everything but... yours is above mine. You know what, I'm going to make a phone call.” He stood, his eight and a half foot frame towering over everything in the room.

Hal ducked his head a little in a vague acknowledgement and rocked back on his chair again as he settled to wait. He didn't like this, not one bit, he felt he was being forced into a corner, and talking about his feelings on the matter was just insult to injury. Still, the doctor was supposed to be very good at his job. Whatever his job was supposed to be, it was made very clear he wasn't a traditional therapist or any kind of medical practitioner, but he must have something that put him here, and everyone talked about how great he was at sorting them out.

A short while later the door clicked open and the huge man returned, holding a pink smartphone, and offered it to Hal. “She... wants to talk to you.”

Glancing at how the thing looked like a toy in the man's enormous hand, Hal took the phone, wondering how he was even able to type on it with those huge fingers. He raised the phone to his ear. “Hello?”

“Hal?”

“Who else?” He already recognised the voice of his boss's boss, just about as high up in the institute as it went without sliding into government or mysterious upper upper management. He did have to wonder how the doctor had the work number of someone so high up... even he himself had to submit a request for a phone meeting.

“How're you feeling honey?” her voice was soft, gentle, but not patronising, like a kindly grandmother offering him a slice of cherry pie.

“I... fine I guess?”

“Mhmm. That's not what I've heard. Don't you worry though, Doc can take care of it. He's the best at what he does.”

“About that... what does he do?”

“Helps people by giving them perspective. Now, you gotta let him do his job though.”

“It's going to be something weird isn't it?”

“Would he be here if it wasn't?”

Hal let out a sigh, a little shiver running down his back. “To what do I owe the pleasure of you taking the time to speak to me today ma'am?”

“Sweet, I want you to tell him anything. Pretend his clearance is above yours if that's what you need.”

“You're giving me permission to talk about everything?”

“Everything.”

“Everything?”

“Sweet, trust me. Anything you tell Doc will be kept between you. I've been waiting for you to be ready to talk to someone, and if now is that time, Doc is your man.”

“O-Okay,” Hal's hard tone was a little diluted now. A little washed out. Like he'd been really relying on her to deny him the right to talk about his experiences with the ISMI. “You sure? You want to give me your clearance password just so I can be certain this is legit?”

“Of course Honey.” She repeated a series of letters and numbers, plus a few less known characters, and then hung up the phone.

Hal exhaled softly, putting the phone on the desk, suddenly deflated. Was he ready to talk? He had honestly been backing the 'no you can't have permission to discuss everything' horse mentally so he wasn't really ready to be making this decision for himself.

“Here, I can tell you need a little time to think. I'll go and get us some tea, let me leave you in the care of my colleagues.”

“Colleagues? You have colleagues?”

The Doc smiled, going to the corner of the office where a small, transparent plastic door was fitted to the wall. Hal had noticed it before but assumed it was some kind of strange monster thing given that he knew there was a lot about the Doc that was a mystery.

The man opened the tiny door and gave a few sharp little whistles. A skittering sound echoed from the space on the other side, and Hal blinked as two blurs of colour shot into the office.

“My colleagues,” said Doc, gently scooping one of the blurs up in his hands to reveal it to be a small dog. Something longhaired and sort of pomeranian-ish, it was tan-orange in colour with a white belly and a tiny black nose. It looked like an explosion in a wig factory, but wagged a tail that was 99% hair with enthusiasm, its face grinning and exuberant.

The Doc gently set the dog down on Hal's knee and caught the other one, which was a similarly hairy mutt-like creature, but black in colour with white socks, tail and patches. “This is Kirk and Spock,”

“You named your dogs Kirk and Spock?”

The Doc shrugged, “judge me if it pleases you, but I will not apologise.”

Hal huffed a little, but found himself unable not to raise his hands to gently stroke Kirk, whose fur was soft to the touch, and the way his effort made the little tail wag at an even greater speed did grant him an unexpectedly welcome molecule of serotonin.

The doctor smiled a knowing smile and left the room to get them some tea.

Hal sat quietly stroking the small animal, its appealing brown eyes looking into his own with nothing but pure trust and appreciation. He blinked as he felt a thump against his leg, and looked down to see Spock was trying to climb up onto him as well. “Hang on a sec, this chair won't take three...” he glanced at the corner, seeing two oversized beanbags. He had wondered why they were here but... suddenly it began to make sense.

He stood, cradling Kirk, who seemed to appreciate being given a lift, and carried him to the beanbags. Spock raced ahead, clearly knowing what he was doing, dancing upright on his tiny hind legs by the soft furnishings as he waited for Hal.

Carefully, Hal turned and lowered his sore body into one of the things, blinking as it all but consumed him. He would have to get one of these for his apartment. Flailing to pull himself into a sit rather than a lay, he 'oofed' as Spock's weight fell upon his chest with a thump. The small black face sought out his own in the folds of cloth and grinned at him, a long pink tongue dangling, but not trying to lick him. He was glad of that.

“Hang on, hang on,” he pushed himself up a little, until he was sitting a bit more upright, and the two dogs settled themselves on his thighs and belly respectively. He was glad there wasn't three of them, he only had two hands for stroking, and they quickly became occupied seeking out tiny chins and ears to scratch, it was strangely calming, and the way they wagged their tails and half closed their eyes at him in appreciation was soothing.

Letting out a soft breath, the man relaxed, still on edge at the thought of talking, but, reassured by the quiet non-judgement of Spock and Kirk.

“Well well, they normally don't work that fast,” the Doc said from the doorway, smiling as he held two steaming mugs.

“They're good at what they do,” admitted Hal.

Doc chuckled, and came to sit down on the other beanbag, gently setting a mug down beside Hal, looking almost normal in the oversized item... which explained why Hal all but disappeared into his when he sat down. “Don't let me interrupt if you're still thinking, we have all the time you need.”

“Says the man who wants me to get some sleep,” chuckled Hal.

Doc shrugged, “I think it would help. I don't think it would solve everything.”

“No, you're right,” sighed Hal, “It certainly wouldn't.”

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<< First || Previous || Masterlist || Next >>

And so we begin to properly meet some of our characters, and experience the ISMI and how it functions.

I know there's no vore in this opening chapter and I apologise for that, but I promise, it's coming. This story contains, I would argue, more vore than there was in Coyne. Be patient. It's coming.

[shortbeantum]

It's been a hot minute since I've posted a gemsona. I have a few cool ideas that I've wanted to do for a while but haven't really had the time. The only reason I did this was because I needed a bit of destress from studying for finals (wish me luck!). I guess I'll go into the lore info now lmao

Gem: Moonstone

Gender: Female

Court: Any

Purpose: Sings for the Diamonds to entertain them.

Weapon(s)/Power(s): Powerful voice that can reach deafening levels if the gem so chooses

Voice: Michella Moss

I had this idea for Moonstone when I decided I wanted a gem that's whole purpose was to sing for the Diamonds. I know that the pearls have already been used for that (such as for What's the Use of Feeling Blue) but I figured that the pearls would only be used when a moonstone wasn't immediately available. I designed her based off an opera singer because I feel like that kind of music would be something the Diamonds would listen to. My very first draft of her was her head looking like a music note but I couldn't really figure out how to incorporate that into her design without having it look awkward so I resorted to the spheres because I felt they still looked alien and other-worldly. I also debated whether she should be a fusion of Sapphire and Pearl because honestly, the design ended up looking like it. I ultimately decided against it because I felt like I could do more with her character if she was separate from the gems we already know, but I wouldn't be opposed to a fusion of Sapphire and Pearl being a moonstone, much like Sapphire and Ruby form a garnet, which already exists on Homeworld. Also, I imagine her voice would have the ability to be deafening loud, like a banshee. Finding her voice was tough for me. I had considered Kristen Chenoweth for a while but I felt like her voice was too high for me. I also looked at Julie Andrews (Mary Poppins), Cynthia Erivo (Harriet), Emma Rossum (Phantom of the Opera), and Emily Rohm (Ride the Cyclone). I eventually settled on Michella Ross (FNAF voice of Ballora) because she has such a mature, deep, and sultry voice. This was pretty close to what I wanted Moonstone to sound like.

Total drawing time took about 2 hours, but technically the whole process took like 3 years since I came up with her concept in 2021.

On a sorta related note, I wanna start using text watermarks because they're easier to read than my signature so if my artwork is ever stolen, I can easily be identified by just looking at the watermark.

[luvnotpercival]

4 + 28 for the ask game :D

Here is the link to the ask game btw

This is so cool I'm sorry it took so long to get around to this (also excuse the quality of art I tried to do this on my phone :,) )

4. Favourite dish specific for your country?

I mean there's a short answer and a long answer haha. I'd say "the" Irish dish is the "Full Irish Breakfast" which would be mash/potatoes, rashers/bacon, sausages, black(or white) pudding, baked beans, eggs, and theme some grilled mushrooms and tomatoes. It sounds like a lot (and it is) but it is sooo good, honestly. I don't usually have the "full" one and I don't have it that often but I have every once in a while, maybe around Christmas or a special occasion or something. I mean look at that!!

Also another delicacy would be Guinness--

28. Does your country have a lot of lakes, mountains, rivers? do you have favourites?

Ireland isn't as mountainous as Scotland or other places but we have a good few rivers (the Shannon is the longest, and the Liffey divides the capital Dublin between North and south).

We have a few nice mountains, but aren't that big compared to other countries. There's the Wicklow mountains which are nice, but our biggest one is Carrauntoohil in Co. Kerry at 1,038m.

The only lake I can think of any significance is Lough Neagh (392m²) and is the little lake at the top of Ireland that you see on maps.There's a legend that the giant Fionn Mac Cumhaill (or Finn McCool is the anglicised version of his name) tore a peice of Ireland out and threw it out to sea making The Isle of Man in Scotland and Lough Neagh here.

Some honourable mentions are The Skellig Islands, especially Skellig Michael which a UNESCO World Heritage Site (and also where they filmed star wars).

Some others are the Aran Islands(where Banshees of inisherin was shot, although "Inisherin" doesn't actually exist).

[There's Inis Mór (Inishmore), Inis Méan (Inishmaan) and Inis Oirr (Inisheer).]

I could go on but I won't bore you lol, it's so cool because writing this I'm remembering that although we have such a small country we have so many things that we take for granted. I'd give Ireland a solid 10/10, would recommend 😎

[melincoly-hill-explored]

No words

Murdoc x GN!Reader

Note: I did this on a school Chromebook

Word count: 469

Cw: Murdocs pov, literally no words spoken by characters to eachother, mentions and fear of physical abuse aka hitting(on murdocs side), reader doesn't actually try and hit murdoc, murdoc is paranoid, anxiety, crying, I dunno say something if I need to ad more

+†+━+†+━+†+━+†+━+†+━+†+━+†+━+†+━+†+━+†+━+†+-+†+

I watched as you paced the floor, the ground of my love shack on wheels groaning under your pacing. I sat stiff in the Winnies red leather cushion seat. My head in my hands, elbows resting on my knees. The upside down cross that hangs from my neck sways with the rise and fall of my chest, the only other part of me in motion were my eyes. My eyes were glossy, which was a sharp contrast to the stinging dryness of the rims of my eyelids, I couldn't take my eyes off you, not even to blink, my retinas following your movement with precision unusual in comparison to my lazy smugness, which was now replaced with a hollow took. I couldn't be seen if there was nothing to see.

That was a stark contrast to you. You. You and your… feelings. You could've just left, honestly. I would've been the first in line to slam the door behind you, you refused though. You were like a leach, no, you were more desperate than a leach, a persistent beggar maybe? Begging for love instead of money. I would've preferred the latter, to tell you the truth. Hindsight at least Ihad the latter, don't have much of the former… I think… well, whatever, you were being dramatic in the first place. It was childish, the hot tears that streamed down your face, the globs of snot that poured down your lips, as you wailed.

No words were needed to get the memo. You cries conveyed your guttural agony, it was so visceral in you you thought I'd stabbed you. There was no blood in sight but your heart still bled, and it was obvious by your banshee like sobs. It made my stomach churned, stomach bile swam thickly in my stomach. I had to fight off a scowl. I mean, how dare you…. How dare you make me feel this way, you fucking deceptive cunt. My blood simmered. You, you whORE YOU BITCH, THE HEL- my rage was spoiled by your movement.

Breaking your mindless pacing you broke off your track and stepped closer to me. My stomach lurched, I pressed myself back into the red leather, it's color, a stark contrast from my putrid skin. Flinching away, I tucked my head down into my arms that had moved to cover my head, my knees jerking up. I waited.

Waited for the pain.

For the impact.

The smack.

But it never came.

Instead a soft sweaty palm placed on my back, wobbly arms pulling me close, as you dug your face into my hair, snot and tears mixing with it. And you sat there, we sat there… the only sound was your silent sobs, and sniffles.

God damn it.

I think I'd rather you'd hit me.

Pains better than guilt.