#velocity from position

[er-cryptid]

Velocity Graph from Position Graph [Ex. 1]

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[3liza]

i know dutch helmet use doesnt matter and isnt interesting, im just playing toys with my friends. ill be done soon

[felassan]

IGN: "Key Dragon Age developers have announced they are leaving BioWare after the developer restructured to focus on the next Mass Effect." Michael Douse, publishing director of Larian Studios: "*laid off I wrote more but then deleted it because I’m not about to ruin a long weekend. Something something $30 billion corporation operating for decades unable to provide the necessary economic foundation from which to support a big RPG. But again, I deleted it. It is possible not to layoff large parts of your development teams between or after projects. Critically, retaining that institutional knowledge is key for the next. It’s often used as an excuse to ‘trim fat’ and to an extent I understand that under financial pressure, but doesn’t that just highlight how needless the aggressive efficiency of giant corporations is? I’d understand it if they were pumping out hit after hit - perhaps you could argue it’s working - but clearly the aggressive streamlining (layoffs) aren’t. It’s *nothing but cost cutting* in the most brutal sense. It’s *always* people lower down the food chain that suffer, when it’s *clearly* strategy higher up the food chain that’s causing the problem. On a pirate ship, they’d toss the captain overboard. Video games companies should be run like pirate ships. The delta between VC and unemployed game developer is fascinating because where one falls upwards the other in parallel velocity tumbles downwards. You can tank an entire multi-billion dollar initiative and head upwards, while an incredibly talented artist, engineer, QA, etc can head into poverty. I don’t have LinkedIn btw 😬 Just in case any of this annoys you, just imagine I meant the exact opposite of it and you’re the best. Have a great weekend ✌️ "[source]

Michael Douse: "To make it absolutely clear, what I hate about the way layoffs are carried out is that they are done *before* decision makers know what do do with a studio, and not as a result of figuring out a direction. This is consistently true. It is a short term cost saving measure at a huge human expense that doesn’t solve a long term problem. (A lack of a viable strategic direction defined at an executive level). You can probably figure it out if you trust your developers instead of firing them. On a positive note, I’m seeing a slight shift in this direction. In the low-stakes arena of remasters and remakes, but they are the foundation of something bigger." [source]

[prokopetz]

Metroidvania where each upgrade modifies or disables a particular form of game-mechanical bounds-checking.

For example, one upgrade might disable underflow checking for the player character's heath meter; most damage sources only inflict one "unit" of damage (assume a very coarse-grained health system, like Legend of Zelda hearts), so this isn't terribly useful in the general case, but against any damage source which inflicts 2+ health units in one go this can be exploited to make your health wrap back around to full if the final value would be negative. Apart from its situational applicability in fights against bosses with highly damaging attacks, this also serves as the game's equivalent of a hellrun mitigator; damaging environments knock off two units of health per tick, so as long as you ensure that your current health value is always an odd number it will just keep wrapping around indefinitely.

Another upgrade might uncap the player character's falling velocity. Mostly this just lets you get places quicker, but in locations where it's possible to fall long distances it can get you going fast enough to clip into the floor. The game's progression logic explicitly incorporates these floor clips, and several areas are gated by long vertical shafts with one-tile-thick floors at the bottom where the only way to pass is to use your uncapped fall speed to clip through.

Late in the game you pick up an upgrade which disables flag checking for scripted events, making all events available regardless of whether you've satisfied their prerequisites or not. This is mainly useful for completionists, since it allows map areas gated behind "permanently missable" flags to be freely explored during the 100% cleanup phase, but it also grants access to several events whose prerequisites are impossible to satisfy during normal play, including story events which require multiple mutually exclusive outcomes to have happened simultaneously. The narrative implications of this are not addressed.

The last upgrade, of course, disables the map position check that automatically kills the player character if they're out of bounds. This is necessary to reach the final boss.

[nickssidewitch]

Headcannons of the triplets during missionary pretty please🫠💕

🤭❤️ The Sturniolo Triplets During Missionary Headcanons (Based on Tarot Readings) 🥺🔥

gifs by @vxnitra 🤍

🦕 Matt 🌀

One thing about Matt and missionary? They both start with M.

But more importantly, it’s one of his favorites to make you completely hypnotized with pleasure.

He is methodical in his movements, studying your face for any signs of pleasure, as well as discomfort if that ever arises.

If he hits a certain spot that makes the most heavenly sound slip between your parted lips, he’ll continue to hit the spot, only deliberately moving away from it when he wants to find a new spot or when he wants to change positions.

The tip of him hits your best areas in the most delicious ways, always sliding against it with the best amount of pressure and grace, the perpetual motions of his hips maintaining the same rhythms in order to keep that beautiful look of ecstasy painted across your face. Your eyes are rolled back or shut tight, small tears on the corners of which he knows aren’t of pain, your lips parted with small breaths and whimpers and moans escaping them.

He’ll hold your legs by your calves as anchors, sometimes putting them over his shoulders when he wants to hit an especially deep spot. He loves to watch your back arch and hands grip whatever surface is closest to them as he continues to fuck into you.

He’ll touch you all over, his hands wisping along your chest, to your sides. His hands may even find their way back to your neck, one of them wrapping around it and pressing into the pulsing jugular veins to give you a choking sensation that you may love.

Sometimes, particularly when you’re especially needy, he wants to take care of his girl. And that translates to his body cascading onto yours and trapping your body in order for you to endure more quickened strokes.

And this is where the knot in your stomach starts to tighten. Matt’s hitting that spot at the right velocity that makes your warmth ooze that beautiful creamy substance that coats his dick, making the glide easier for him and the moment more pleasurable for the both of you.

You’re tightening around him, and you feel his breath puff against your skin as he looks down at you at such a close, almost dangerous, proximity. Dangerous, in that if you ever opened your eyes at this moment, you’d immediately unravel underneath him.

And speak of the devil, it happens. Your eyes bat open at the sound of his voice coaxing the eye contact out of you. “Look at me. Come on, look at me, sweetheart,” is whispered from his lips. He wants to view you— all of you— right before that moment overtakes the both of you.

And once your eyes open, he reaches his hand down between the two of you one last time, rubbing circles into the nervous bud above your labia, wanting to see your face screw up with pleasure as you get even closer… and tighter… and closer… and—

You clamp down onto him with the perfect amount of pressure for him to stroke a couple more times, and finally, he releases. Whether it’s inside of you, or on your precious tummy below your sweaty, heaving chest, it’s all worth it in the end.

He’ll let you catch his breath as he does before helping you up, walking you over to the bathroom to clean up and replenish the energy you both transferred between each other in that moment.

💟 Nick 🍥

Missionary, if he’s the bottom, can be the most needy and whimpering state of Nick that you could ever witness. His eyes would look at you with the most desire as he waits for you to please him.

He’ll hold his legs open and his hips up for you, presenting his awaiting orifice to be filled by your love.

You’d get him ready for you though, taunting and teasing the tip of your cock around and against his rim, maybe even using your fingers to open him up even more for your insertion if you hadn’t done do already. He’d whimper and pulsate around you, the tip of his dick leaking with anticipation to feel all of you.

Then you’d slowly start to press yourself into him, his hands gripping his own thighs as he feels the length taunt his walls. His head would be thrown back and eyes shut with a beautiful combination of pleasure and pressure, his teeth biting his bottom lip as he whimpers and moans softly.

Then he’d look at you, either because you whispered a command or just because of his own will, and his eyes stay on yours. Eye contact doesn’t cease as you start to move— just the little force he used to crane his neck up to look into your eyes and/or watch you dip in and out of his hole.

His moans will get louder and a bit higher in pitch, often complimenting how raw you feel or how deep your cock is inside of him. The grip he has on his own thighs will tighten as you thrust deeper and harder, his head throwing back against whatever surface he’s on. He’d feel the blood rush through every vein of your cock, which would get his stomach stirring with ecstasy.

Once you see his dick start to twitch, you know he’s close. Some precum will start to spray out of the tip, covering his stomach as he starts to jerk himself off.

If you’re in a dominant mood, you’ll swat his hand away from his needy dick and stroke at it yourself, focusing on the inch right below his tip to get him really going. You’d spit on his cock, and your saliva would mix with his precum to make the best mixture of lubricant, which you’d use to tug, and tug, and tug, until—

He moans especially loudly and his hips buck upwards causing his orgasm to squirt up into the air and land onto his stomach and your hand. You’d praise him, and he’d whimper in response, his asshole gripping around your cock as if it sensed that your semen would start to fill him up too.

Once you’re finished unloading, you’ll slowly pull out, watching as Nick’s hole gapes and shows the aftermath of your cum inside of him. It would be a beautiful sight, one you and him definitely hope to recreate soon.

He’d probably ask you to clean him up and you’d get to work, using your tongue to clean up the excess cum running down onto the surface he’s on top of.

If Nick is the top in this dynamic, however, it could get nasty. He’ll tell you to lift your hips and hold yourself open for him, your hole pulsating with need as you wait for him to push himself in. He’d inform you to spread yourself open for him even more, asserting the dominance you’d been longing for all day.

He’d make sure to angle himself properly for you as he squirts the lube onto your hole and some on your cock. His hands would jerk you off a bit before he’d inform you to take his place, since his attention is now a bit lower as he focused on thrusting into you.

You feel it, the pressure as he slowly slides into you. It’s a warm fill, and now you can understand why he instructed you hold yourself open for him— the stretch. Yes, it is that stretch that Nick loves and that you love just the same, the one that really gets those drawled out moans from the two of you.

Nick will put his hand on his hip as he fixes his posture and positioning, really trying to find the best and most comfortable way to draw out the pleasure for the both of you. His eyes are narrowed as he focuses, and he might let out a chuckle if he’s taking too long on purpose.

Finally, the brunette starts to move , his thrusts steady, yet impactful enough for your cock to jump with every force. He tells you to jerk yourself off some more if he notices that you’d stopped, and the look on your face as you twist it in pleasure has him yearning for more.

He’ll continue his thrusts, his hands gripping your hips tightly as your legs move onto his shoulders, making sure that this angle hits your prostate with every stroke.

He’ll notice your tip start to leak with precum, maybe even a little pee, as he thrusts so deep that your prostate starts to hit against your bladder. He’ll use this as motivation to move faster, angling his body to hit against your prostate more, praising and cooing at you every time you cry out with pleasure or try to stop yourself from leaking. “Shh, it’s okay. It means I’m doing my job.” “You’re doing so well for me.”

“Take notes,” if he’s feeling a little cocky, but also if he plans on switching places with you for another round. He knows that if he acts cocky now, it’ll get you to take all of your frustrations out on him when it’s your turn to fuck.

Then he’ll start to twitch inside of you once he feels the slick of your ass make the glide of his cock easier. He’ll wait for you to cum first, his hand swatting yours away to jerk you off frantically, his thumb rubbing the tip around your seeping hole, encouraging its release.

Once he notices your start to cum, he cums as well, filling you up as he staggers his movements and finally buries himself as far as he can into you. His hands are gripping your hips tightly as you tremble underneath and around him, and he leans down to kiss you passionately and sloppily.

Once he pulls out of you, he holds your ass open to watch his cum drip out of you, maybe your hole is pulsating enough to spurt some out. The queefing sound makes you both chuckle.

He’ll lean down to kiss your heaving chest and cum-stained stomach, scooping up some of your warmth with his tongue as his eyes stay on yours.

✴️ Chris 🥭

You’re gonna feel every damn skin cell when he presses into you. Every inch, every indentation, every pulse of blood coursing through his veins, will all be felt as slowly creeps inside of you. And he makes sure of it, sometimes even asking you, “You feel all of that?”, and reminding you, “That’s all yours.”

His movements will be slow, intricate, and above all, fulfilling every inch of your chasm. He’ll watch as he goes deeper, and deeper, and deeper, loving the way your lips part and take all of him (or at least attempt to).

Once he’s buried inside of you, he’ll stay there for a few moments to get himself situated mentally just as much as physically. He’ll take a couple of breaths, looking at where you’re both connected, then up at your chest to watch the way it heaves up and down, then up to your face to see the way it construes as he starts to move.

He’ll take a moment to dig himself as deep as possible, using that opportunity to roll his hips in a circle and grind his pelvis into your clit. Luckily for you, he didn’t shave, so you’ll feel his coarse pubic hair brushing against you, the new form of friction adding onto the pleasure. You’ll release a long, low moan in response— what makes him give you a cheeky grin— before he starts his movements again, long strokes in and out.

His eyes would latch onto yours, eyebrows furrowed and teeth gritted, as he focuses on giving you what you need. If you’re trying to push him away or creep your body away from him due to all of the sensations, he’ll pin your arms down, making you take it even more. “Don’t run.” “What’re you pushing me away for?” “Where you goin’?” “Take this dick.”

He will start to speed up as he feels your body tighten around him— Not just between your legs, but also the way your nails dig into his skin, the way your feet cross around his lower back and pull him deeper, the way your head presses into the crook of his neck as your whimpers reverberate against his skin. It’s all he needs to quicken his movements.

You’ll feel his arms tense as he gets closer to the edge, and his eyes will remain on yours, narrowed with determination as he fucks into you more quickly. He’ll either anchor himself at an angle that makes you cry out or scream the most, or he’ll lay his body against yours, pumping himself repeatedly in and out of you.

A delicious sound of yourself squelching with every thrust could probably be heard throughout the whole house as he continues at the same pace. Your juices would be pushed out of you every time he strokes inwards, and the symphony of that alongside your pretty moans would be the last thing make him fall apart.

He’d hold your shaking legs in his arms as he grips into your skin, his own orgasm coming at full force as he fills you up. His last few strokes are sloppy and beautifully disgusting, his and your orgasms pooling out of you and dripping onto whatever surface is closest. He’d straighten his body to look down and watch the pool of mess form, chuckling and smirking as his chest heaves.

When he finally pulls out of you, he’ll spread your pussy with his fingers, watching the hole convulse as your concoction of arousal drips out. He might even use his finger to push some back inside if he’s feeling the need to “make it stick”, but that’s only when the time comes and he’s ready for the risk of a pregnancy.

If he doesn’t release inside of you, he’s pulling out of you and choosing one of many options. One is that he decides to cum onto your belly. Another is to use the rest of his energy left to flip you onto your stomach, give your ass one or two spanks before ejaculating onto your cheeks. Maybe he’ll choose a third option, pulling you by your legs to bring your body closer to him, adjusting you so that he could cum in your mouth or on your face. Just thinking about the way your pretty, fucked-out eyes would look up at him always persuades him to choose that last option.

[runnning-outof-time]

Tommy & His Girls | Tommy Shelby x Reader

read more of the Girl Dad Mini Series — HERE.

request: yes by anonymous

pairing: Tommy Shelby x fem!Reader

summary: When things get rough, Tommy can most certainly count on the girls in his life to lighten things up.

warnings: drinking, smoking, Tommy being a horsegirl

word count: 2089

a/n: back at it with another girl dad!Tommy fic - I just love using this little family I’ve created (if you couldn’t tell) I hope you like this installment of their story!! p.s…I’m sorry if the ending’s corny…I didn’t know how to, well, end it. Enjoy!! :)

I’D LOVE TO KNOW WHAT YOU THINK! YOUR COMMENTS & REBLOGS HELP ME WRITE!

Tommy barely said a word as he entered Arrow House. He handed his things to Frances and made a b-line to his study. Things with the business were rough today...they'd been rough for as far back as Tommy could remember. It seemed like he was the only one in the family pulling the weight and that left him feeling like there was war happening inside his head as he made the drive home.

He pushed his study's door closed behind him as he walked into the room, not even caring if the door had enough velocity to latch or not. He trudged his way to his desk after pouring himself a generous glass of whiskey. Half of it was downed in the first drink; he really wanted the pain in his head to cease.

Setting the glass down, he went through the motions of lighting himself a cigarette. The first, deep drag he took finally made some of the noise quiet down.

It's unclear how long he sat like that: slumped back on his chair with a cigarette burning between his fingers. The next time he came to, however, was when the office door opened slightly.

"Dad?" a small voice came from the opposite side of the room, making Tommy sit up straighter in his seat.

"Yeah," he answered, his voice not quite audible. He cleared his throat before responding louder, "yes?" He focused in on the doorway, seeing his oldest daughter, Thea, standing in it.

The young girl said nothing else as she fully entered the room and made her way right over to his desk. “You didn’t come to my room to say hello,” she stated, a slight frown present on her face.

She stopped in front of his chair as she finished speaking, her arms open to show him that she wanted a hug. The second he opened his, she fell into them.

Tommy let out a sigh as he felt the weight of his eldest daughter against him. “Hello, Thea,” he breathed, a sigh escaping with his words. He couldn’t deny the fact that he felt terrible in that moment. He always made sure to greet Thea when he returned home from work, no matter what type of day he had.

How could he have gotten so frustrated that he forgot one of the most important parts of his day?

Thea was the one to break away from the hug — Tommy could have sat there like that all evening if she allowed it — and step back to look at her father.

He watched her, waiting to see what she’d do next. To his surprise, she made her way over to one of the seats that faced his desk and sat down.

The two stared at each other for a few moments longer. Thea looked as if she was studying her father; like she was taking notes on the entire situation. Tommy was quite confused as to why the ten year old wanted to stick around after greeting him.

Finally, after several moments of silence, he had to ask her just that, “why have you decided to stay, love?”

“I was able to tell that you’re stressed out over work, dad. I don’t want to leave you alone,” she answered him, sounding simultaneously like a ten year old and like a person who was beyond their years.

Tommy took a moment to let her words sink in. Then he couldn’t help but smile as a soft chuckle escaped his lips. The innocence that his daughters held despite the line of work their father was present in was always something that grounded him, no matter what was going on. He knew that he could count on it to bring him back down from that position of power to just being their dad.

“You can keep working,” Thea’s voice broke through his thoughts, making him realize that he had been sitting there, staring at her for some time.

Tommy glanced down at the papers that were scattered across his desk. They were covered with statements that he truly didn’t want to read anymore. Then he looked to one of the photographs that sat proudly on his desk. It was of Thea, Evie, and Juni. They were all hugging onto each other and smiling their biggest smiles. His eyes finally moved to Thea, who was still sitting with a smile on her face.

“I can’t work any longer,” he said to her then as he stood from his chair, “let’s go and see what your sisters are doing,” he suggested, his statement making Thea rise from her seat as well.

Tommy and Thea found Evie and Juni playing in the front room.

“Dad’s home!” Thea exclaimed, making the two younger girls quickly turn around.

“Dad!” they both cheered in unison, smiles lighting up their faces.

Tommy smiled as they rushed over to hug him. He could slowly feel the stress leaving his body. “Hello, girls,” he greeted them, rubbing both of their backs as they held onto him tightly.

“Come play, dad!” Juni exclaimed as she pulled away from him to go back to the toys they had strewn about on the floor.

“Have you ladies finished your homework?” he asked the older two before making his decision.

“Course I have,” Evie answered in a matter-of-fact tone, “it was too easy.”

“Mine’s finished as well,” Thea answered with a smile.

“Good,” Tommy nodded, smiling at his girls.

“Let’s play!” Juni shrieked from where she was standing by the toys. By this time she already had one leg in one of the ‘princess dresses’ that the girls had specially made for them. Tommy smiled as he saw the one she’d chosen - it was one that Thea had been given when she was little.

“What game?” Tommy asked, watching as his other girls followed suit and grabbed the things they needed from their toy chest.

“Princesses, of course,” Evie answered like it was common sense….well, in this Shelby household it kind of was. Tommy chuckled at that thought.

“Thea’s the queen!” Juni shouted excitedly.

“She’s always the queen though!” Evie protested, a frown on her face as her hands dropped to her hips.

“I’m the queen because I’m the oldest,” Thea calmly explained to her disgruntled sister, “it’s just one of my jobs as the oldest sibling. You and Juni are princesses because you’re my younger sisters, and you’ll get to be queen once I’m older.”

Tommy couldn’t help but smile as he listened to her explanation. She was truly wise beyond her years, and she handled everything with such grace.

“Fine,” Evie huffed, deciding to accept the decision even though she sounded a little disappointed.

“What’s my part in this?” Tommy asked the three once their conversation had ended.

“The part you always are, dad,” Evie was the one to answer.

“Got it,” Tommy nodded, surpressing a groan as he lowered himself to the floor. I’m getting too old for this, he thought to himself, but he didn’t dare let that feeling show. He’d never turn down the opportunity to play with his girls.

(Y/N) was finally finished with discussing all of the changes that were to be made with the grounds and house keepers. A lot went into preparing Arrow House as one season rolled into the next. Despite the magnitude of the task and all of the moving parts that were involved, (Y/N) would be lying if she said she didn’t enjoy overseeing these changes.

Now, however, she was more than ready to get back to her family.

She was able to hear them before she saw them. The giggles of her girls and one of Tommy’s unmistakable impressions. She laughed to herself just hearing it.

The sight she was met with in the front room brought the widest smile to her face. “What’s going on in here?” she made her presence known with a question.

“Mum!” came as a chorus of yells from the three girls as they forgot what they were doing to run and greet her.

“Hello, my darlings,” she greeted them, eagerly accepting their hugs. “What’re you playing in here with dad?”

“Princesses!” Juniper chirped, holding up her wand excitedly.

“Ahh,” (Y/N) nodded in understanding, “and what part is dad playing?”

“He’s the prized horse,” Evie happily answered.

(Y/N) finally looked to her husband. The sight she was met with had her stifling her laughter. Tommy was still down on all fours, and was wearing a rather strained expression as he looked at her through the longer strands of hair that had fallen over his eyes.

“Of course he is,” she finally responded, grinning at him before focusing her attention on the girls. “How about we give him a break now, hmm? Frances has informed me that dinner is ready,” she then suggested.

No pushback was received from any of the girls, who promptly began making their way to the dining room.

(Y/N) looked over at Tommy again. He was now wearing a look of relief, and he matched his eyes with hers again just briefly before he began the process of standing up. (Y/N) couldn’t help but giggle at his predicament, waiting for him to be on his feet again before she started walking to the dining room.

For once, Tommy was actually relieved to have heard that dinner was ready.

After dinner the family decided to go out onto the grounds and enjoy one of the final warm, late fall evenings before winter hit.

Juniper, of course, wanted to go to the stables and check on the horses. Tommy happily took her while the older two stayed back with (Y/N). It wasn’t a surprise, however, when he saw the three cresting the hill to join them in the stables.

Later that night, Tommy was - surprisingly - ready to be in bed at the same time as (Y/N). He helped out with tucking the girls in, wanting to spend as much time with them as he could.

(Y/N) didn’t miss the groan that left his lips as he sat down on his side of the bed. “Not as nimble of a horse as you used to be, huh?” she teasingly commented, biting on her finger to stiffle her giggles when his head snapped to look at her. “Maybe they should put you out to pasture.”

Tommy shot her a look that told her she should watch what she was saying. His look made her giggles escape.

“They’ll still treat you as their prized pony,” she conceded, moving over to where he was so that she could drape her arms over his shoulders. “You know how much they enjoy having you play with them,” she said, pressing a kiss to his cheek before she nuzzled her face into the crook of his neck.

Tommy smiled at the sentiment, nodding his head slightly as he brought his hand up to set it against the spot her wrists crossed each other.

“I don’t believe I’ve asked you…” (Y/N) started after a few moments had passed. She lifted her head from his neck before continuing, “how was your day?”

A breath of a laugh left his lips and he closed his eyes for a moment, silently recounting his day’s events and deciphering what he wanted to tell her. “I came home stressed, but the girls were able to put me into a better mood,” he decided not to go too far into details, settling with a short summary.

“They’ve stolen my job then, hmm?” her question wasn’t the sort of response that he was excepting, and it was one that had him turning his head in confusion, hoping that she’d offer more explanation. “It used to be my job to put you into a better mood,” she remarked, the smile she was wearing telling him that she wasn’t being completely serious about this.

“All of you girls put me in a better mood,” he responded in a matter-of-fact tone before adding, “don’t know what I’d do without you.”

And that was the truth. Without those girls, he probably would have still been in his office, droning over the same stack of papers and nursing his umpteenth whiskey.

Without those girls, he probably would have had to deal with another night of keeping his demons at bay as the shovels hit against the walls.

Without his girls, he would most certainly be a completely different man than the one he is today.

MASTERLIST

Tagged: @mystcldydrms @the-anxious-youth @cloudofdisney @look-at-the-soul @elenavampire21

@mrsalwayswrite @julkaamazing @evita-shelby @theshelbyslimited @peakyswritings

@just-a-blackhole @watercolorskyy @strayrockette @peakyduchesss @alexxavicry

@captivatedbycillianmurphy @yummycastiel @dark-academia-slut @tommystargirl @emotionalcadaver

@stevie75 @lyarr24 @signorellisantichrist @zablife @anotherblinder

@cillmequick @strayrockette @dandelionprints @letal-y-poetica @garrison-girl-08

@insanitybyanothername @depxiety @justrainandcoffee @dragons-are-my-favorite @mrs-bond

@cljordan-imperium @brummiereader @red-riding-wood @everythingelseisextra @little-diable

@thomashelbyswife @shaddixlife @ryecosse @padfootdaredmetoo @novashelby

[sunarryn]

DP X Marvel #2

The Phantom Affair started as a tweet.

One blurry photo. Midtown High’s parking lot. Danny Fenton and Peter Parker sitting shoulder to shoulder on the curb, sharing a burrito, looking like two tired teenage boys who had absolutely trauma bonded over AP Physics and probably something illegal involving lasers. Danny had one arm lazily slung over Peter’s shoulder. Peter, red-faced, was clearly mid-whine.

The caption?

“FENTON-PARKER IS REAL. MY GAY NERD SONS. I WILL FIGHT FOR THEM.”

And from there, it spiraled.

Danny was already public knowledge. After “Phantom Planet,” the entire world knew the pale kid from Amity Park was Phantom—half-ghost superhero, savior of Earth, general menace with bad hair. What they didn’t know was that Peter Parker, sweet, awkward Midtown science student with tragic eyebags and a mild vitamin D deficiency, was also Spider-Man.

But what the public did know was this:

1. Phantom and Spider-Man were attached at the hip. Fighting together. Flying together. Flirting mid-battle.

2. Peter Parker and Danny Fenton were inseparable. Studying together. Walking to school together. Literally sharing a dorm, thanks to Tony Stark.

3. Danny Fenton and Phantom were the same person.

4. Peter Parker and Spider-Man were not the same person.

Cue the chaos.

It didn’t help that Danny and Spider-Man were caught mid-air in a very compromising position—Danny flying backwards with his arms full of Spidey, who was clearly laughing like a Disney princess while twirling his web around Danny’s waist like a lasso. It was broadcasted live during a ghost attack in Queens. The internet lit up like the Fourth of July.

“DANNY FENTON-PHANTOM CAUGHT CHEATING ON BOYFRIEND PETER PARKER WITH SPIDER-MAN?”

“LOVE TRIANGLE OF THE CENTURY: GHOST, SPIDER, AND THE BOY NEXT DOOR”

“WHO DOES DANNY FENTON LOVE MORE?” with a dramatic black-and-white photo collage set to Lana Del Rey.

Thus began: The Phantom Affair.

The world divided into two camps.

Team Parker: loyal, nerdy, wears mismatched socks. Probably bakes. The “true love” since high school.

Team Spider: hot, athletic, mysterious. Definitely leaves hickeys and emotional damage.

The hashtags trended hourly.

#GhostSpider vs #FentonParker

#HeBelongsWithSpidey vs #PeterHasHisHeart

#LetThemAllDateEachOtherHonestly

Talk shows invited “relationship experts” to weigh in on the psychology of dating a ghost and/or a superhero. Morning news anchors were screaming about betrayal and interspecies romance. One tabloid cover showed a badly photoshopped image of Phantom crying while Peter and Spider-Man had a slap fight in the background.

BuzzFeed did a quiz:

“Are You Team Parker or Team Spider?”

Danny took it. He got “Needs Therapy.”

He called Jazz.

At Midtown, things were worse.

Posters started showing up in the halls.

• “FENTON, PICK A SIDE.”

• “SPIDER IS JUST A PHASE.”

• “PARKER DESERVES BETTER.”

• A single one that just said: “POLYAMORY IS VALID.”

Peter accidentally walked into a student-organized debate club arguing which one of them had better chemistry with Danny. One girl tried to defend Spider-Man by referencing the velocity of Danny’s blush during live battles.

“HE GLOWED, MRS. WARREN. GLOWED.”

Peter screamed into his locker and left.

Meanwhile, Tony was having the time of his life.

“I’ve never seen anything so ridiculous!” He laughed, kicking back in the Tower and flipping through Twitter threads titled things like Body Language Analysis of Phantom When Standing Next to Peter vs. Spider-Man. “This is better than Twilight. This is fanfiction-level drama.”

Happy groaned. “Shouldn’t we, like, fix this?”

“No.” Tony said, taking a bite of his sandwich. “We let it grow.”

Back at school, Danny wasn’t helping.

“Wait, wait…” He said during lunch, twirling spaghetti and pretending not to notice the entire cafeteria watching him. “So they think I’m dating Peter and Spider-Man?”

Peter looked like he wanted to die. “Yes, Danny. That’s the problem.”

Danny grinned. “They think I’m a ghost with two boyfriends.”

“You are a ghost with two boyfriends. The boyfriends are just the same person.”

“It’s a metaphor.”

“It’s a mental breakdown.”

Someone across the room yelled, “TELL PETER THE TRUTH, YOU COWARD!” and threw a napkin. Peter caught it mid-air like a ninja. He deserved a Grammy for Best Performance in a Romantic Crisis.

Things hit a boiling point during the Midtown Spring Fling.

Danny showed up in a black suit with green trim. Peter, flustered and adorable, wore a bowtie. The minute they walked in, the room exploded in flash photography. Someone was live-streaming.

“PARKER’S HERE. WITH FENTON. WHERE’S SPIDER-MAN?”

Two hours into the night, the lights flickered. Green. Eerie.

Ghosts. Obviously.

Danny went full Phantom in five seconds flat, eyes glowing, hair flaring, looking like the cover of a paranormal romance novel. He turned to Peter, who sighed, yanked his phone out, and whispered, “Happy’s gonna kill me,” before vanishing into the crowd.

And then ten minutes later—

Spider-Man.

Swung in through the ceiling. Landing in a crouch. Doing a dramatic flip off the refreshment table.

People lost their minds.

“HE’S HERE! SPIDEY’S HERE!”

“THEY’RE GONNA FIGHT!”

“OR KISS!”

What followed was twenty solid minutes of Danny and Spider-Man fighting ghosts back-to-back while whispering furiously to each other like a married couple mid-argument.

“Why did you swing in like that?!”

“You LEFT me to deal with the punch bowl poltergeist!”

“You were doing fine!”

“I was sticky!”

“Well I’m always sticky!”

When the fight ended, they stood in the middle of the gym. Dusty. Glowing. Glorious.

Someone yelled, “KISS HIM, SPIDEY!”

Danny blushed a bright green.

Spider-Man waved awkwardly and ran.

The next morning, the internet exploded.

“Phantom Fights For Love: Team Spider Dominates With Surprise Appearance.”

“Peter Parker Was There Too. Sad.”

The memes were relentless. Edits. Fanart. POVs. Dramatic TikTok transitions.

One viral post:

“Fenton with Parker in the library vs Phantom with Spider-Man mid-battle. Choose your fighter.”

Danny texted Peter at 2am:

Danny: I love you. You. Just you. All of you. The nerd. The spider. The panic. The allergies.

Peter:

Danny:

Peter: … even the spider thighs?

Danny: Especially the spider thighs.

Peter: okay. okay I forgive you.

Danny: for what?

Peter: I don’t know but everyone keeps saying you cheated on me with me and I’m upset about it.

Eventually, they cracked. At a press event where both Phantom and Spider-Man were invited—by Tony, obviously—Peter accidentally yanked his mask off in a moment of frustration while yelling, “I AM ALSO PETER PARKER AND I AM DATING DANNY FENTON-PHANTOM. THERE IS NO LOVE TRIANGLE. WE ARE JUST TWO DUMB BOYFRIENDS WITH IDENTITY ISSUES.”

Danny, in the background, raised his hand. “Can we still sell the merch though?”

The world imploded. Again.

People were angry. People were delighted. Tumblr rejoiced. Twitter died. A new hashtag was born.

#PhantomArachnid

BuzzFeed did a follow-up quiz:

“Which Version of Peter Parker Are You?”

Tony sold limited edition plushies. They sold out in three minutes.

But in the middle of it all, in between the media frenzy and the fandom wars and the paparazzi hiding in the trees, Peter and Danny sat on a rooftop eating pizza.

Just them. No secrets. No masks.

Peter leaned into Danny’s shoulder and sighed. “We really should’ve told people earlier.”

Danny shrugged, mouth full. “I don’t know. I kind of liked being in a love triangle with you and you.”

Peter rolled his eyes. “You’re impossible.”

Danny kissed his cheek. “Yeah. But I’m your impossible.”

And somewhere, miles away, Tony high-fived himself.

[109inthesky]

Danger Days terminology and phrases

If you see any errors, or have a definition for something that I do not, feel free to inform me.

This is entirely based in canon. I have listed the sources below each term. Sources not included for frequently encountered terms (e.g. BLI).

This is currently a WIP. Lore videos have yet to be reviewed for information.

Amnesia

BLI medication used to reset people. Source: Comics

Analog Wars

A war between the rebels and BLI, prior to the events of the album. Source: Comics

Bat City

Abbreviation of “Battery City”. Source: Comics

Blackbird

BLI worker. Source: Comics, ‘S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W’

B.L.I., BL/ind

Better Living Industries

Carbon

Currency in the Zones Source: Comics

C.A.T.

A BLI nuclear tracking device that looks like a cat, with cameras as eyes. Source: Comics

Clap

Run-in, fight. Source: ‘Traffic Report’

Crash-queen

An outgoing Killjoy (e.g. used to describe Val Velocity). Source: ‘Look Alive, Sunshine’, Comics

Colour

Life (e.g. “gave their colours”). Source: Comics

Costa Rica

Go badly. Source: ‘Traffic Report’

Crow

BLI worker. Source: Comics

Death disco

A fight. Source: Comics

Dr Death, Dr D, D

Dr Death Defying

Dust darlings

Killjoys. Source: Comics

Dusted

Killed Source: Comics, ‘Traffic Report’

Fashion flood fest

A party/rave/concert Source: Comics

Ghosted, to ghost

Shot, to shoot. Source: ‘Traffic Report’, Comics

Ghoster

Gun. Source: Comics

Graffiti Bible

The book written by the droids describing how Destroya came to be and the prophecy about his return. Source: Comics

Have a better day

BLI overuses the word “better”, especially in positive contexts. This is a common phrase they use. Source: Comics, video media

Hit the red/redline

Run away. Source: ‘Traffic Report’, Comics

Killjoys never die

N/A Source: Comics

Killologist

A term for Scarecrows, used by BLI. Source: Comics

Lethal injection

Gunshot. Only seen being used by BLI in canon sources. Source: Comics

Look alive, sunshine

The opening of Dr Death Defying’s transmissions. Dr D is known for referring to people as “sunshine”. Source: ‘Look Alive, Sunshine’, Comics, ‘Na Na Na’ music video

Medusa’s motorbike

N/A Source: Comics

Motor baby

Killjoy. Source: ‘Look Alive, Sunshine’

Pigs

BLI officials. Source: Comics, ‘Look Alive, Sunshine’, ‘Bulletproof Heart’

Pixilated

Dead. Source: Comics

Plus

A product that can be bought to replenish batteries. Source: Comics

Polka dotty

Messy. Source: Comics

Red-eye rave

A party/rave/concert Source: Comics

Ritalin rats

Battery City inhabitants. Ritalin is suspected to be one of the drugs given to them. A BLI pill bottle is shown along with this phrase in the ‘Na Na Na’ lyric video. Source: ‘Na Na Na’

Shadow

Soul. Source: Comics, ‘Goodnite, Dr. Death’

Slaughter-matic

N/A Source: Comics, ‘Look Alive, Sunshine

The voice of the desert

Killjoy description of Dr Death Defying. Source: Comics

Tumbleweeds

Dr D addressing Killjoys. Source: Traffic Report

Undergrads

Battery City residents beginning to go against BLI, but aren’t quite Killjoys yet. Source: Comics

Wave head

Someone with an addiction to getting high off the radiation from the sun, often getting severely burnt and denying themselves water. Source: Comics

[loverofoldsadlosers]

he hit me (and it felt like a kiss?)

(smut) thinking abt you arguing with the too-old-for-you contractor next door who you’ve been seeing behind your parents backs….

“It’s not… you’re getting the situation wrong, baby. It’s not like that-“ “Then what is it like?” you, albeit smaller than both the man across from you and the large t-shirt swamping your frame, suddenly muster a courage larger than yourself - striding toward him and delivering a single push at his sweaty chest. “What, you enjoy fighting with me or something?” you shove at his chest again. “Does this do something for you? pissing me off, humiliating me!—“ now, so close to him you can feel his irritation, his stark frustration in the muscles of his jaw tensing as he clenches his teeth, you drive both your fists to bang against his chest. But to your surprise, he grabs both of your wrists in one single move. Unable to move in his grip, albeit held by his one hand; calloused, with lingering dirt on his knuckles from the job you didn’t let him finish, and spanning wider than any of your futile ambition - he swivels you around to pin your arms behind your back and against his torso. “Maybe it does, hm?” his other hand tugs at your nape, pulling your head against his shoulder and effectively pinning you harder against his body. “You being a fuckin’ brat, you want that to get me hard? huh?” he knocks his hips against your backside, letting you feel the shape of him tented underneath his weathered jeans, and you’re not sure when your petty attempt at a jab became a prophecy. The sudden jolt of him from behind stumbles you slightly forward, but he pulls you back against him with another brutal tug at your hair. Your sweet, southern-gentleman joel, now capturing your wrists with a vengeance hard enough to bruise.

“Maybe I oughta teach you a lesson.” his legs position behind your own to walk you toward the edge of his bed, still pulled against him and knees now pinned between the comforter and his own. And then, he hits you. His hand, once strangulating your wrists, letting go just to smack hard against the flesh of your bottom. “Joel!-“ “You need me to teach you some fuckin’ manners, girl?” his palm strikes against you once again. “Teach you your please and thank you’s?” this time, he hits you with a double strike - moving between each side with a velocity so swift you cry out. “ ‘Need me to be your fuckin’ daddy?” This stills your squirming. Your breath hitches. He takes it as an invitation. “Fuck knows you need it” his face moves dangerously close to yours, pressing his nose against your profile and nipping at the skin of your jaw. “Raised by a deadbeat…” his voice lowers to a whisper. “‘Course you’re acting out…” he coo’s softly in mocking revelation, and grasps your jaw to move your face closer to his. “You need this, dont’cha?” He hits you once again. This time, using the hand gripping your jaw and smacking your face one, two, three times. “Joel-“ you want to yell at him. You want to ask him where he got his disgusting audacity from. You want to force him to apologize for his anger, his words, his sickening ability to see through you like one of those freudian novels you keep hidden away. But you just squirm up against him, rutting your hips gently against his. “Don’t worry, baby, daddy’s gonna teach you a thing or two.” He smacks your behind once again before using the hand still twisted in your hair to shove you against the bedding, leaning over you with his full body weight crushing you into the sheets. “How’s that sound to you?” you don’t answer, and he rattles your already smushed face harder against the comforter. “I think you’re fucking sick.” You hope you’ve hit a nerve. Maybe the power you felt from earlier wasn’t just your cruel delusion. But as fleeting as your wish is, his hold tightens and you hear a low chuckle come from behind you. “Hm.” So fast and sudden you can’t even comprehend it until you feel the painful pressure, he pulls down your skimpy lace and plunges two fingers into you without warning. “Gets you this wet though.”

————————————————————————

i said i would never write smut. never say never. hello you freaks … 😞

[fishsticksloser]

OKAY HEAR ME OUT! Future Donnie x gn reader

Where they have a fight, about some random thing but they are too tired too be calm, and at some point Donnie is so pissed he lifts reader up with his mechanical hands- and oh boy. Was that a mistake. Lets just say reader shows him they help in training soldiers for a reason

Thank you in advance, your work is amazing!🌷

Mechanical Arms

f!Donnie x gn!reader

Warnings: argument, angst, ending of argument, bad future,

A/N: Thank you so much! I'm feeling super motivated right now, but also brain dead. How do those fit together, I don't know lmao.... The Minecraft movie comes out today, I'm gonna go see it tomorrow... Thoughts and prayers please

"That doesn't even make sense!" You roll your eyes and fold your arms, shooting Donnie a fierce glare with a deep frown etched on your face.

"It makes perfect sense!" He retorts sharply, fixing you with a piercing glare.

"What you're saying it highly illogical! You're talking about placing a high velocity, incredibly powerful firearm into a prosthetic arm! Attached to your brother's body!"

"Yeah. Which would be beneficial."

"What you're suggesting means a lot of heat against what is left of his arm."

"With the proper specifications, I can lower the heat coming from the weapon so it doesn't harm him."

"Have you even asked him about it?"

Donnie squints at you, exhaling sharply in annoyance. From his mechanical battle shell, metallic arms extend, seizing your wrists and hoisting you into the air. He strides into his lab, taking you along for the ride.

You break free from his battle shell, wrenching yourself away from his metallic grip. He stumbles backward as you touch down on the ground. Seizing Donnie's shoulder, you yank him back and down to the floor. You position yourself over him, your knees resting on his shoulders while he gazes up at you, eyes wide with surprise. "Do that again... And I'll tear the arms apart."

He stumbles over his words, gulping nervously. His face flushes, and he can't seem to meet your gaze. "Mhm... Yep... Understood."

[littlemissspiraleyes]

Combat-Ready

Its pilot-body activated. It was spinning. It was falling through the open air. Threat assessment systems told it that it had 0.7 minutes to impact. It checked its flight logs. It had been inserted into its true-body 38 seconds ago. It checked its mission clock. This was not the designated mission start time. It checked its mission parameters. This was not the designated insertion point.

It activated its jets. It stabilized. Threat assessment systems told it that its new downward velocity was acceptable.

new parameters? It outputted. No response from Handler.

new objectives? It outputted. No response from Handler.

Friend or foe systems told it that a friendly vehicle was requesting support. It focused its optics on the target. Its drop ship was spinning and falling. There were multiple holes in it. One was in the mech bay. Another was in the engine. Its drop ship struck the earth. The request for support ended. No new parameters meant that the mission must continue without alteration. It flew towards the objective.

A final combat check was made when it entered the mission area. It registered numbness in its right arm and in the end of its left arm. It turned its optics to the left extremity and saw extensive damage to its left-side cannon. The weapon was non-functional. It looked at its right arm and saw an empty socket. A flash of memory: Its pilot-body looking down after its first surgery and seeing its arms and legs gone. It screamed then. It did not scream now. The second surgery fixed that. Friend or foe systems told it that enemy units, sub-type infantry ground transports, were entering combat range. Mission parameters stated that all enemy units were to be engaged. It increased its jet output.

It slammed into the first transport in the convoy at maximum speed. Target eliminated. Its true-body fed its pilot-body a chemical rush of positive reinforcement. Goosebumps and shivers covered its pilot-body.

thank you Handler. It outputted. No response from Handler.

It shook the remains of the transport off its true-body. The other transports were disembarking. An infantry unit held an Electromagnetic Pulse Cannon that was targeting it. It did not have time to evade.

A combat EMP at this range would kill the pilot-body. This had been designated by Handler as an unacceptable loss. It performed an emergency all-systems deactivation. Gravity reasserted itself on its pilot-body as its true-body fell backwards.

Darkness. Silence. Stillness. A hiss as the cockpit was opened. “Oh my god, is that the pilot?” an unfamiliar voice said.

“I guess so. I think she’s a woman but I’m not sure, what with all the wiring and shit in the way. Can you hear us?” a second voice said.

hearing check confirmed. pilot-body is combat-ready. It tried to output, but its transmission systems were offline. “They took...She doesn’t have any arms or legs!” the first voice said.

“Or eyes or mouth, it looks like. Look at how the tubes go into her face.” the second voice said.

It hears the cocking of a pistol. “It’d be a mercy to just kill her here. Look at what they did to her.” a third voice said. “Fucking evil pieces of shit.”

“Put that down.” a fourth voice said. “She’s a prisoner of war and we’re going to treat her like one. Just because they’re fucking monsters doesn’t mean that we get to do whatever we want.”

A thump next to it. “Help me cut all this wiring out of the way so we can pull her out.” the fourth voice said. There is a tug on its right leg socket. Then a squelch as one of its sensory inputs is pulled out incorrectly. The pain deactivates it.

[sellyourshadownotyoursoul]

DP x DC WIP: Magical Sugar Daddy

The world exists in shades of green. Everywhere Jason looks he sees sickness and death and the perverted unfairness of it all.

There's blood on his boots, accompanied by the pleasant ache of tired muscles. His hand is still buzzing from the recoil of his gun - the breath in his lungs is tinged with cigarette smoke, dry and acidic.

There's been a presence behind him for a while now, trailing after him no matter what he does to lose the tail. It's like a prickle of static in the air, faint enough to dismiss for anyone less paranoid.

Jason's body is a spring wound too tight, the metal screeching in protest as the feeling of being watched intensifies.

A week and change since he's had a moment of peace.

When he hears the scuffle of a shoe on the quiet rooftop it's no wonder he explodes into action.

The trigger is pulled before he's even turned his head, a roar of thunder in his ears. The butt of his gun misses its target by a hair's breadth as he brings it down in an arc followed up by a kick that finally earns him a reaction. The figure grunts in pain and surprise, but the step it takes backwards isn't one of staggered retreat. It's a pivot on a heel and a coil of muscle before Jason's stalker is vaulting over the smokestack at their side, launching them back into the fight proper.

Jason growls low in his throat, like his lungs do not exchange oxygen for carbon dioxide but what he exhales is instead a heady mix of hunger and rage. There's an answering sound, a hiss pitched high at the end as the two of them clash once more.

Jason blocks a punch and pushes the muzzle of his gun against an unguarded shoulder, point blank. His target flinches hard enough that the shot only clips them but that gives Jason the opportunity for a follow-up punch to the jaw.

The hood of his stalker falls to their shoulders and Jason answers the grin on their face with a baring of teeth hidden behind his mask.

Jason gets a kick to the ribs while he reloads the gun and subsequently opts to just holster the thing so he can have both hands free. The other asshole isn't much bigger than Jason and their guard is sloppy.

He won't need weapons for this.

A misstep from his opponent has Jason surging forward to fling them over the edge of the roof before a flip that would make Dickie proud reverses their positions. It forces Jason to roll under a kick so he isn't the one meeting the pavement at lethal velocity.

His attacker appears male, age unclear but certainly out of their twenties. Jason grabs the snowy white braid that flows behind them and feels a rush at the gasp that pulls from the guy, even as the retaliation gets him an uppercut that makes his vision swim.

Jason twists the hair around his fist, forcing the head it's attached to into the pavement at their feet.

He slams it down once, twice, before a leg around his own has him lose his balance. He lands on his elbow and curses at the pain shooting through it even as he gets back up and rounds on his opponent. He blocks a punch by diverting it outwards, stepping back and to the side so the fight stays in the center of the roof.

There's blood running freely down the other man's front from a nose that Jason bets is broken, the liquid looks jet black in Jason's monochromatic world of sickly lazarus green.

The eyes watching him are wide and alert, a manic edge to them from the bared fangs and the tense posture. They both surge forward, trading blows and kicks until they're breathing heavy and Jason can tell his opponent is flagging.

The way they move makes it clear they're not a fighter, at least not one with a preference for hand-to-hand. They keep up with Jason just barely, but it's already clear who the winner is going to be, even as Jason lets it drag out until there's sweat running down his back.

A kick from Jason's steel toed boot against an unarmored shin is what finally ends it. His opponent falls to the ground with a curse and they don't get back up even as Jason looms over them. Their eyes are half-lidded, hands sprawled out limply above their head in defeat, but there's a smile on their face that really tests Jason's ability to suppress the urge to tear out their throat. He places a boot on the guy's sternum and puts enough weight on it to show he's serious.

A low sound, a mix of a grunt and a laugh, precedes a weak attempt to buck Jason off but he doesn't budge.

“Talk,” Jason rasps.

A dark tongue swipes through the drying blood on his assailant’s lips and they cough wetly before responding.

“Nice to meet you,” is what he says, strained from the pressure on his lungs, “fuck, you're good.”

“Who sent you?” Jason's demand is curious but dripping with derision. Who would send a fucking prodigy of stealth just to have them suck at actually taking out the target?

Jason hadn't been able to lose this stalker for over a week, had gotten litterally zero intel on who this fucker is despite having Oracle and half his own men on high alert.

And then the guy just walks up and scuffs his shoe against the pavement?

Suicide by Red Hood much?

“Technically Clockwork, but I'm not really-” the guy coughs again, trying to breathe, “not really someone people can send.”

Jason prompts him to continue with an addition of pressure to his ribs. He doesn't feel any sort of armor under the neutral hoodie, nor do the cargo pants look like they're in any way reinforced. They're clean though and clearly not the kind of worn Jason expects for someone trying to blend in this side of town. No camouflage tech unless it's nano-sized.

The man wrinkles his nose, eyes flicking down to the boot and back up to Jason's face.

“Okay, look I know I'm late, but I'm here to apologize,” he says with another little grunt and a wiggle. Jason keeps him pinned.

“I didn't actually know you were mine until a year ago-”

“Yours?” Jason scoffs, something sour rising in his gut.

“Yeah?”

“I don't fucking belong to you,” Jason states darkly, one hand unholstering his gun.

There isn't any immediate reaction to the escalation, but Jason can feel a strange charge in the air. The body underneath him certainly doesn't relax.

“Fuck, okay sure, yeah, no ownership,” the guy huffs but the voice is not nearly as afraid as it should be, “that's kind of, ah, what I wanted to talk about.”

“And if I tell you to fuck off?”

“Then I'll fuck off.”

Jason pauses, tilting his head in consideration.

“Who are you?” Jason's question is wary and curt, a final offer to change his mind before he cocks his gun. The guy under him watches with bright, intense eyes, seemingly unperturbed by the monster looming above.

“I'm the reason you're still alive, Jason.”

Jason laughs coldly at the boldness of that statement.

“Bullshit,” he spits.

The eyes continue to watch him, appearing to glow in the faint light. The guy's face is set in a grimace, but it's one of mild inconvenience rather than pain. He should have a concussion at least, not to mention a fracture or two, so he's either trained to withstand pain or some kind of meta. Maybe he's hopped up on some new drug that's got him unaware of the damage. A byproduct of whatever made him so difficult to track.

Neither of them are panting anymore.

“Last chance,” Jason drawls as he takes aim at a damp forehead, already feeling the anticipatory rush that comes with taking a life.

He is admittedly not intending to let this little stalker live no matter what comes out of his mouth. Not when he knows Jason's name, not when there might not be another chance to tie up the loose end.

The guy seems aware of it too, eyes flickering over Jason's mask as if trying to find the right combination of words to buy just a little more time.

He opens his mouth, closes it again.

He sighs through his nose, a wet sound when it displaces the coagulating blood, and lets his head fall back against the concrete rooftop. The message seems clear in the resigned set of his shoulders and Jason feels an irrational indignance at being denied the struggle.

Nevertheless he pulls the trigger.

BANG

The sound echoes into the distance until it blends into every other incriminating noise Gotham makes at night. Jason frowns down at the would-be corpse.

He couldn't have missed, not with the muzzle barely a foot from its target - but there's no bullet hole marring the face at his feet. The eyes remain alive and aware as they watch Jason's growing confusion.

“What the fuck,” he mutters.

That earns him a stuffy snort. The man's hands flare out as if to say ‘ta-dah’ and only flinch minutely when Jason sends another bullet into him.

“Rude,” the guy comments, in the cadence of someone annoyed rather than relieved.

“What are you,” Jason demands in response, forcefully holstering his gun now that it has proven to be worthless. Looks like fists are going to be the way forward.

“Loaded question,” the guy groans unhelpfully, pushing at Jason's leg with little success.

Jason makes a point of momentarily increasing the pressure, staring the fucker down through the whiteouts of his mask.

“You survived a lazarus pit,” stalker offers, the words a sucker punch to an unhealed wound that Jason refuses to acknowledge, “which means you accepted the price that comes with it, whether you knew about it or not.”

“And that explains what, exactly?”

“You asked what I am,” the guy shrugs.

“And you still haven't answered.”

There's a moment where stalker-guy gazes up into the cloudy, dark sky, hands settling from their attempts to remove Jason's boot to instead tap idly against the leather. The fingers are long and thin, the kind an author might describe as suited for playing the piano, the nails neither bitten to the quick nor so long as to appear unkempt. Jason feels a sudden urge to break those fingers one by one just to see if that might yield a more satisfying reaction. Or some answers. His eyes catch on a sleek black band on the ring-finger of the guy's left hand and wonders momentarily if his shadow’s got someone waiting for him. He pities them.

“Price,” Jason prompts, “explain.”

“Right, yeah I can do that-do you mind stepping off? The bullets are digging into my back-”

“Maybe if you give me a reason to,” Jason retorts with a sneer, feeling the absolute furthest from any notion of ‘charitable’.

Stalker-guy sighs.

“Got it, okay, so, I'm basically your magical sugar-daddy-”

“My fucking what-” Jason chokes, feeling distinctly like the gravity of the situation is doing loop-de-loops.

“Your patron. Your new one, anyway,” the guy shrugs again, as if that's a concept that's common knowledge.

Jason forces air into his lungs. The world flickers.

“You paid your soul to my predecessor and he gave you back your memories.”

Jason's insides are made of cracked glass and every syllable pushes further up against it. Isn't the pit rage enough of a price?

“I came to introduce myself,” Jason's apparent ‘magical sugar-daddy’ continues conversationally, “which I guess I still haven't, technically.”

Jason's hands are white-knuckled fists, his vision is green and tunneling. From the moment he had him pinned every word out of his stalker's mouth has done nothing but add more fuel to the anger sitting low in Jason’s gut. The need for this piece of shit to at least have the decency to be afraid.

Talking about Jason's fucking soul - about paying the price and book-ending it with a term as crass as ‘sugar-daddy’ is so discordant it is almost physically painful. Mentioning the pits and claiming to have saved Jason's life in such a blasé manner has him writhing with indignation. The condescension drips from him and his every action, too similar to-

Jason's spiraling is interrupted by a change to his balance. His foot on the guy's chest hits the concrete underneath, the sight of his calf sticking out of what should have been a living, breathing body causing a momentary stutter in Jason's reality.

Then the guy is on his feet, reaching out a hand as if they weren't at each other's throats a moment ago. As if the bullets lodged in the concrete weren't intended for one of their heads. As if he cannot sense the raw malice pouring out of Jason.

“I'm Danny, sorry for the wait.”

[empty-vessel-of-a-person]

Calm over Chaos

Some fans are reacting differently and negatively about Sylus' Birthday. But I have a very positive view on Infold's reasoning why they choose to be low-key for Daddy Crow's Birthday.

Note: Spoiler Alert. You are warned.

Different World. After his myth, Nightly Rendezvous, and Tomorrow's Catch 22 Event, we've seen Sylus and MC try so hard to make peace of the different world they are in. It seems like no matter which lifetime or alternate universe, they can never be on the same side of things. There is always an invisible wall that separates them.

Searching for Peace. In Chaotic Velocity, they Always hinted that they should not be seen together. MC even says that he is perpetually on the association's most wanted list. In Night of Secrecy, MC was almost in danger when she was seen with Sylus. No matter where they are it seems like something or someone is always after them.

Perpetually Cautious. Whether in Linkon or N109 Zone, the two of them are always on their toes. In Chaotic Velocity. MC even mentions that "She came prepared" when she visited him. On the other hand, it seems like Sylus has access to every CCTV in Linkon to make sure he knows where MC is. But you know what is the best part of their story? It's when they adjusted their whole being to fit in each other's life. Whether it's adjusting to Linkon's traffic rules or keeping Daddy Crow's whereabouts, you cannot deny that their passive aggressive relationship is top tier.

Tranquility and Serenity. With all the chaos surrounding them, you cannot blame MC for wanting to give Daddy Crow a day off. True that I was kinda expecting a luxury dinner date or dance in the dark on a penthouse. But after seeing the card, I realized that what I expect, is something Sylus would prepare. Since MC is the one preparing, she decided to give him peace and undivided attention.

The Birthday. The event itself was really mellow and all in all low-key. Something profoundly contrasting to Sylus's every day routine and highly dangerous life. But don't you think that it's more befitting and more memorable for him? Cause in return, "we" are able to give him something he cannot easily have. Something that is so different from what he is used to. Something he can only have when he's with us. Something that even his endless wealth cannot compare.

Afterwords:

I have been asked if Money is the only thing that can measure success and my answer is; No. It may be true for some people but it is different for everyone. Just like how I believe that Sylus wealth can truly satisfy him to some degree but it can never truly make him happy.

Always remember that no matter how complicated, wealthy, and powerful Sylus is, he still searches for MC. She made him whole. He may not directly say it, but he is happy with "us". And we give ourselves to him for birthday .

Remember to always spread Love and Happiness. Let's enjoy our time with him.

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Notes: Realistic Injuries (pt. 4)

The Mechanism of Injury

Assists in establishing both the safety of the scene and guides the remainder of the primary survey.

The seriousness of the mechanism of injury is a significant clue as to the potential seriousness of the patient's actual injuries, be they external or internal.

Relaying the mechanism of injury to downstream care providers early in the course of transport helps them be better prepared and have the necessary resources available for when they are treating the patient in the near future.

A patient with a severe mechanism of injury (MOI) warns providers that they may have a patient who requires many hands/tools/teams for treatment.

Getting those people alerted and organized is a great head start for the patient.

MOIs can be divided into 2 broad categories:

Significant Injuries. Some examples:

Ejection from a vehicle.

Prolonged extrication time.

Multi-system trauma.

Motor vehicle-pedestrian/biker accidents.

Motor vehicle accidents where any occupant of the vehicle was killed.

Any fall over 3 times the patient's height.

Insignificant Injuries. Some examples:

Fights or physical altercations without loss of consciousness.

Minor injuries to isolated body parts.

Car accidents without injury or symptoms of injury to any occupant.

The division between these groups is nothing more than the likelihood that a patient with a certain MOI will present with trauma requiring intensive care. Not all patients with an insignificant MOI are free from severe injuries and vice versa.

More Mechanisms of Injury Categories used to Classify Narratives

Caught accidentally in or between objects

Drowning

Electric currents

Explosive material

Exposure to radiation

Fall

Firearm

Overexertion

Poisoning

Suffocation

Head-on collision frequently results in the rider ejecting or partially ejecting over the handlebars. Common injuries include:

Head and neck injury if no helmet in place

Thoracoabdominal injury from handlebar impact (common in children)

“Open book” pelvic fracture—a splaying open (like a book) of the anterior and posterior pelvis from striking the handlebars

Bilateral femur fracture

Skin abrasions, lacerations

Injuries are decreased when a helmet is in place in proper position and if protective clothing is worn.

Gunshot wounds (GSW) are usually intentional (suicide, homicide) but can be unintentional (hunting, gun not in holster, gun cleaning).

Some mechanisms at work with gunshots include:

Yaw: vertical and horizontal oscillation about the axis of the bullet; can result in a larger surface area on impact with the body depending on the position of the bullet on the axis at time of impact.

Tumbling: rotation of the bullet upon impact resulting in some parts of the cavity larger than others as the bullet rotates along the path.

Rifling: spiraling grooves within the barrel of the weapon put spin on the bullet as it exits the barrel; provides stability in flight along the axis.

Hollow-point bullets: deform on impact causing a larger surface area to inflict damage.

Shotgun: multiple pellets within the cartridge; also possible to have one large projectile, such as a “pumpkin ball,” both air resistance and gravity spread the pellets over distance; closer shotgun wounds result in serious large wounds as the pellets remain clumped together.

The bullet does not usually travel in a straight path. This results in the need for exploration as multiple injuries can occur although the path appears to be in a straight line. Intentional injuries may require either psychiatric support (suicide attempts) or safety (homicide attempts).

Stabbings are also usually intentional (suicide, homicide) but can be unintentional, (eg, a slip on wet floor and landing on open dishwasher with knives pointing upward). A stabbing most often:

follows a direct path,

is low velocity resulting mostly in damage along the line of the path itself, and

are of varying depth.

The type of blade affects the wound inflicted, such as straight blade versus a serrated edge.

From a forensic medicine perspective, a stab is deeper than it is long and a cut is longer than deep.

A cut differs from a blunt laceration in that the edges are clean and the direction of the wound inflicted indicates the direction of the force.

Stabs to the chest and abdomen are particularly important to investigate as the angle of the penetration may indicate that the wound crosses both cavities injuring the diaphragm in between the two.

Sources: 1 2 3 ⚜ Part 1 ⚜ Part 2 ⚜ Part 3 ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

[nahimjustfeelingit-writes]

Finding Refuge.

Chapter two.

Surviving a Zombie Apocalypse with Terry Richmond

“I’m so sorry, Raelynn. The position has been filled.”

Raelynn Matthews looked into the eyes of the receptionist standing behind a sleek front desk. The stillness within that corporate building in Downtown Atlanta left an eerie feeling she was intensely familiar of.

“E–Excuse me?” Raelynn finally found the words to speak, “I–I–I–don’t understand.”

The nonchalant receptionist stared back at Raelynn with a cool expression and a slow blink.

“I received an email from your company for a job opportunity. You have an opening here,” Raelynn displayed the email to the receptionist, “So help me understand…”

The sunken, almost lifeless eyes of the receptionist flicked down to her iPhone and then back to her face.

“That email was sent two days ago. We don’t wait around for a response. If you wanted the job, you’d have shown up within the allotted timeframe.”

The even, condescending tone of the alabaster bitch sitting before her was about to bring the evil out of Raelynn.

“Are you being sarcastic? The date says March 25th. Today is March 25th—”

“I’m trying to be nice here. What would you rather me do? Go grab one of the big boys and have him tell you what I just told you?”

Emerald green eyes stared into Raelynn’s coffee brown orbs. The receptionist with a nameplate that reads: Monica Caudle, started packing her patchwork satchel, prepared to leave Raelynn standing there. The sound of dress shoes against polished, concrete floors echoed around her as her fingers covered in various silver rings twitched against the desk’s surface.

“You know your way out—AHHH! WHAT THE FUCK?!”

Somehow, Raelynn’s hand smacked against Monica’s Big Gulp cup and spilled the contents of a blue slurpie all over her white capris and black, pointed toe, ballet flats. Monica leaped up and almost tripped from the velocity of her sudden movements. The blue, icy-cold liquid drifted all over her desk, soaking very important documents and Monica’s AirPod Pro case.

“ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!” Monica screeched, “I OUTTA SLAP THE FUCK OUT OF YOU—”

Whoops,” Raelynn twisted her full lips and gave a single shoulder shrug, “My hand just…has a mind of its own.”

“I’m calling security—”

“Call them, I don’t care. You deserved it. I’m sure you’ve gotten by so far in your miserable life being nasty and rude to people. Today is the day you feel how it feels to be treated poorly. And it doesn’t help the fact that you’re so ugly on the outside. It matches that rotten core of yours.”

Raelynn beamed at Monica. Monica stared at her with her mouth agape.

“Think about what I’ve said. Really think on it, Monica. I could have done worse,” Raelynn placed her large, black, Telfar bag over her shoulder, “Have a good rest of your day!”

Turning, Raelynn walked away, ready to get so far away from that building. She refused to allow herself to cry over it. Maybe it was a sign for the heavens above that this job wasn’t for her. She was still in college working towards a certificate in medical billing and coding. Other opportunities were on the horizon.

Raelynn had a temper, one she couldn’t control when in situations. Slowing down, breathing deeply, and taking a break before responding were methods she tried to use to reduce her anger. Practicing relaxation skills and developing new anger-management strategies may also help. She just started therapy, so it was an adjustment for her.

A black girl from Decatur, apart of the 14.57 percent of African Americans within the eastern suburb. Her foster parents had her attend the best schools, put her in many clubs from ballet to karate, and made sure she got a full ride to Spelman.

You may have heard the expression “children are resilient,” promoting the idea that children can overcome and conquer hardship and trauma. While it may be comforting to believe in the rhetoric of childhood resilience — that children are immune to adverse experiences and won’t be damaged by trauma — it’s far from the truth. Raelynn suffered heavily from PTSD. She was neglected by her biological parents and abused by her mother’s boyfriend at the age of seven.

The cigarette burn in the center of her chest was a reminder. The sensation of piping hot water against her skin brought back memories of sitting in a hot tub after receiving a beating, the whelps on her skin so painful she couldn’t stand the heat against her skin. Nights without a meal because she ‘disrespected her mother’s man’. Going to school at the age of nine with a black eye was enough to have her 4th grade teacher call CPS.

“Take her, I can’t afford her anyway. One less thing to be concerned with.”

George and Tonya Williams adopted her. George was a Veteran and Tonya was a pediatric nurse. They drove all the way from Decatur to take her back with them. George was a very disciplined man. Very straight and very structured. He was like a drill sergeant. Tonya was loving and often times smothered Raelynn. They built a picture–perfect daughter to their liking, and Raelynn felt she didn’t have a say in the matter. Although she was forever grateful of them, she wished they could understand.

Raelynn became rebellious. She skipped school, got suspended multiple times, fought often, and stayed out way past curfew. It was a cry for help that fell on deaf ears. Eventually, George started to regret adopting Raelynn. And just like her mother’s boyfriend, he hit her. Slapped her in the face. Slapped her while her foster mother watched. Thankfully, she was of age to leave them both behind and figure out what she was going to do.

She left Decatur and moved to Atlanta where she worked two jobs to make ends meet, got her license, made poor dating choices, and partied till she couldn’t party anymore. It did nothing but numb the pain. She tried reaching out to her biological father, but discovered he had passed from colon cancer a year prior. Her mother was no longer with that abusive man but she was living in South Carolina with extended family until she got back on her feet.

Before stepping off the curb and into the street, Raelynn stopped herself, realizing what she was about to do. Was she about to…walk into incoming traffic? She took two wide steps back and closed her eyes. That wasn’t the answer. Raelynn noticed a bench and took a seat. She sat her bag down next to her and retrieved a small note pad and a pen with purple ink. Raelynn removed the top to the pen with her teeth and started jotting down what had just happened.

After what felt like an hour, Raelynn stood from the bench and walked safely across the street to her parked car and climbed inside. The drive back to her shared apartment with her roommate took longer than usual, cars bumper to bumper. Raelynn opened the door to their two bedroom apartment and dropped her shoes off where she stood. Walking inside, she spotted her roommate, Ashley, an art major with the beauty of a pageant girl and the body of an IG model. Ashley was wearing a matching, pale–pink pajama set with her honey blonde knotless braids cascading down her back.

“Raelynn? Did you see the news?” Ashley glanced over her shoulder at Raelynn with light–brown eyes, “look…”

This is a worldwide emergency broadcast; a viral outbreak has been reported and is spreading quickly. The virus is a fast acting strain and is passed through bodily fluids from the infected. Once bitten or contaminated in any way, it attacks your bloodstream and brain. The symptoms of the infected include profound sweating, fever and nausea.

Raelynn’s eyes were hooked to the screen. Ashley stood from the carpet and began ringing her shaky hands as fear rushed through her. Life was about to get interesting. So, a worldwide pandemic? Great. What else can go wrong? They were behind in rent, she couldn’t get another job after being fired from her job delivering packages from Amazon. With a pandemic, she’d have no way to pay bills and survive.

Call up George and Tonya. Move back home to Decatur, she thought.

“It’s probably one of those distractions, Ashley. Just like all of that Area 51 bullshit—”

“Shhhhh! Listen!”

Ashley turned the volume up on their wall—mounted flat screen.

The virus is fatal and there is no cure as we speak; we have reports coming in now that the infected that have passed are rising and attacking the non–infected. Please stay in your homes and do not get close to anyone sick, in severe cases that you need to protect yourself, the only way to stop them is damaging the brain. Do not try to come to emergency services or hospitals and wait for more information…

“Rae…”

Ashley was starting to have a panic attack right before Raelynn’s eyes. The intense fear and anxiety she was experiencing made her dizzy. Ashley almost lost her balance and fell face first against the carpet. Raelynn dropped her bag and rushed over, slowly lowering Ashley to the sofa. She wrapped her arms around her shaking body, rubbing her back in soothing circles. Ashley’s hyperventilating began to slow down.

“Ash, it’s okay…it’s okay—”

“I need to call my mom and my sister! I need to know that they’re okay!” Ashley shouted hysterically.

“Ash, Ash, please, calm down—”

“NO!”

Ashley shoved Raelynn, causing her to fall back against the couch while she stormed off down the hall. Raelynn shot up from the couch and followed Ashley, angered by her rage against her when she was only trying to help. She stood within the doorway of Ashley’s bedroom and watched her pack an overnight bag with random pieces of clothing.

“So, you’re just going to go out there when they just said to stay indoors—”

“I need to be with my family, Raelynn. They’re all I’ve got left. I don’t expect you to understand that—”

“HOLD ON,” Raelynn charged inside of Ashley’s room, “I was only trying to help you! If they’re saying it isn’t safe to go out, then why would you?—”

Raelynn wasn’t prepared for what just happened. Ashley bent over in front of her and vomited all over her bedroom floor. Raelynn rocked back on her heels to avoid it from getting on her. The putrid smell of her stomach contents filled the cramped space and Raelynn couldn’t stand there any longer.

Ashley looked up at her with a sweaty face and spit hanging from her bottom lip. They locked eyes and the silence between them was almost chilling.

The symptoms of the infected include profound sweating, fever and nausea.

“How long have you been feeling like this?” Raelynn questioned.

Ashley avoided Raelynn’s penetrating gaze.

“Ashley, how long?”

Ashley wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. She rushed past Raelynn and into their shared bathroom to grab cleaning supplies. Raelynn watched her scrub and clean, the scent of bleach mixed with vomit toxic to her senses.

“Do you think you were infected—”

“Shut up right now, Raelynn.”

“I need to ask these questions! Because if you are…if you are…”

Raelynn disappeared down the hall to her room. Fuck what that news anchor said on television. If Ashley was indeed infected, she would attack Raelynn and do the exact same to her. She packed an even bigger bag, grabbing all the important things she needed before heading back to Decatur.

Speaking of Decatur.

Incoming call…

“Tonya?”

Raelynn glanced down the hallway, the sound of Ashley scrubbing catching her ear.

“Raelynn, honey, is everything alright? Did you hear what’s happening? Are you safe?”

“Uh…” she lowered her voice and cracked her door, “I don’t think so…my roommate is sick…she just threw up everywhere.”

“You need to come home. Get out of there fast. I rushed home from work because the hospital is in an uproar. The things I’ve witnessed…come home, Rae.”

“How does George feel about all this?”

“…George wants you home too. Leave now and let me know when you’re on the way. I love you. Please be careful, Raelynn.”

Beep.

Raelynn started to feel her own sense of trepidation. She continued packing, and when she finished, she opened her door, silence ahead of her.

“Ashley?”

Nothing. Just an eerie silence.

Raelynn hated the unknown. She hated not knowing what she was walking into. That hallway was her only chance of leaving that apartment. Mustering courage, Raelynn gathered her things and began walking the hallway. Before she approached Ashley’s door. She stopped, reaching inside of her Telfar bag, gripping the handle of her licensed gun. She made sure to bring it with her if what the news was saying was true.

In severe cases that you need to protect yourself, the only way to stop them is damaging the brain.

Raelynn stepped in front of Ashley’s door and it was empty. She’d left. Raelynn exhaled, hoping that Ashley wasn’t infected. She was on her way to her mother and sister. If she’s infected, she would definitely do the same to them.

Not wasting anymore time, Raelynn left the apartment behind and as she exited the complex, her eyes moved back and forth, taking in the sight of people rushing and screaming and crying. She hadn’t been in her apartment for an hour and already there was mass hysteria. She jogged with her bags to her Honda Civic, popping the trunk and throwing her bags inside. Raelynn made sure to keep her eyes focused around her. She hopped in her car and slammed the door shut, thankful she was safe.

We’re gonna die!

It’s the apocalypse!

Those words stuck with her the entire ride to Decatur. She could only hope it wasn’t true. Maybe she was asleep. Maybe she needed to be woken up from this growing nightmare.

——

3:00 pm

The town of Senoia

located 45 minutes south of Atlanta. It was established in 1860 , the land was purchased by a Reverend. Cotton and Peaches where the agricultural products shipped from this area. There are still plenty of farms, now they have lots of honey farms and other fruits. The town was named after a captain's wife from the civil war.

Terry walked into that town with a shotgun flung across his body and a crossbow in his hand. He wore his favorite jeans, a grey T-shirt beneath a flannel shirt, and a beanie on his head. His hazel eyes took in the appearance of the charming little town, small shops surrounding him. The sound of shuffling feet startled him so he ducked low behind an abandoned, faded blue sedan.

It was a small group of zombies.

Terry silently watched while fixing his crossbow to shoot. He steadied his breathing, something he’d learned to do over the months. No use in making it known that he was highly anxious. His eyes peeked through the dusty window at the zombies moving along with weak attempts to stay on two feet.

It’s crazy to think that these were once everyday people. Waking up, going to work, driving, laughing, making love…

They stumbled around, moaning and groaning.

Rauuuhhh…guhhhhhhhh…

Another method that allowed Terry to keep the zombies away from where he hunkered down was to bait them. He’d tie dead animals to a wooden board and hang them in various locations within the forest to keep his scent away. It worked, because if they caught a whiff of him, they’d go crazy. He had to do it every several days. A lot of work, but worth your life.

When they were far enough away, Terry remained low, his eyes casing the area like a hawk. Solid back against a brick wall, Terry retrieved his walkie talkie from his back pocket. He’d made it to the first landmark Rae told him about.

“When you find the history museum, radio me and I’ll tell you what to do from there. Good luck, Terry.”

He was still unsure about Rae.

“Why are you helping me?” Terry questioned her hours prior.

“Because…I know what’s it’s like…and we have to have each other’s back, right?”

He’d like to believe that. Terry refused to travel in a pack. He refused to trust anyone else besides his cousin. But, with Mike gone, he had no choice but to let his guard down just a little. Only a little this time. As soon as he finds Mike, he’s leaving everyone behind. Including Rae.

“Rae, this is Terry, come in.”

Terry moved further away until he was hiding beside a dumpster, crouched low.

“Rae, what’s your 20?”

He couldn’t stay here any longer. What the fuck was she doing? His head snapped to the right when he thought he’d heard something.

Terry whispered a low “fuck,” before jogging as quickly and quietly as he could across to the other side.

“Rae, come in, I’m too exposed. You got me open out here.”

“Terry, Terry, I’m here, sorry…”

“What the fuck was that?” Terry whispered aggressively into the walkie talkie.

“Signal strength down. I’m trying here, Terry. Are you at the landmark?”

“Yes, yes. Now, where to go from here?”

“Travel north. You’ll notice train tracks straight away. Stick close to the trees. When you reach a tunnel, I’m waiting inside for you.”

“Will you? I need your word, Rae.”

“I promise. I wouldn’t lead you astray.”

Terry moved. He hadn’t been in this position for at least two months. His well, structured game plan to remain hidden most of the time was being tested. It took Terry about twenty minutes to find the tracks. He stepped over carefully and did as Rae suggested: sticking to the trees. Ignoring the twigs and pointy greenery scraping his skin, Terry could see the tunnel straight ahead.

“Argh!”

Terry dropped to his knees when the back of a gun collided with his head. He dropped his crossbow and turned around on his hands to see who had attempted to knock him out. He was resilient. it would take a lot to put Terry Richmond down. Not even a taser could subdue him for long. He’d withstood a bullet to his back. His bright eyes stared up into the eyes of a wild—looking white man with overgrown facial hair and thin, oily, dirty blonde hair.

“Who the fuck are you?!”

Terry wanted to kill this man with his bare hands. He was going to draw attention to them.

“Get that gun out my face.” Terry warned.

“I don’t recognize your face ‘round here. We don’t take kindly to outsiders in Woodsbury. You could be infected…”

“Yeah, well, I’m not. And you’re right, I’m not from around here. But I damn sure don’t owe you an explanation. After all, you don’t own this town.”

Click.

Terry acted quickly and charged the man into the bushes. They wrestled, rolling around in the dirt. Terry took his arm and pinned it back, causing the man with rancid breath to wail in agony. He wouldn’t keep still. Terry had to put him in a choking headlock with his bulging bicep.

He squeezed.

The man tapped his arm frantically.

“You wanna go to sleep? Drop the fuckin’ gun. Do it now, motherfucker.” Terry spoke through clenched teeth.

The man loosened his grip on the gun. Terry gave his throat one more painful squeeze to let him know he meant business before releasing him. Terry picked himself up from the ground while the man tried to catch his breath. He picked up the gun and placed it on his hip.

“This mine now.” Better move along before they come find you after making all that noise.”

Terry snatched up his crossbow and adjusted the shotgun around him as he walked, with one final look of pure hatred down at the man, he continued on his way and fast. Terry lifted his forearm and studied the bloody abrasion with fierce eyes.

He wanted to scream. He couldn’t afford to walk around with an open wound. If anything, that man he was fighting back there could be infected.

Terry took off running as fast as he could, darting between trees like a track runner. Up ahead, he came out onto the train tracks and sprinted into the dark tunnel. He slowed his footsteps and pressed his chest into the wall of the tunnel, exhausted breaths billowing from his mouth.

He didn’t have a second to gather himself before he had his crossbow aimed at the face of a woman.

Ebony skin a deep brown with a dewy appearance.

Heart shaped face with eyes coffee brown and a flared nose decorated with a hoop ring.

Lips full and lush.

Hair styled in thick, rope twists that reached her waist

She had her hands raised in surrender. Those entrancing eyes didn’t look away for a second.

Staring down the length of his crossbow, his eyes that appeared green drifted down her tiny frame. She was wearing a hoodie beneath a thick, utility jacket. Her lower half was dressed in a pair of skinny jeans and her feet were covered with dirty high–top Vans.

His eyes locked with hers again, and he slowly lowered his weapon. She released a shaky breath, the sound settling his nerves. He held the crossbow to his side and parted his dry lips to speak.

“Rae?”

She nodded her head, her own eyes taking him in from head to toe.

“Terry…”

She reached behind her and Terry’s eyes followed cautiously. Raelynn held up a hand to calm him down.

“I’m just grabbing the walkie talkie,” She displayed Mike’s walkie talkie, holding it out for him to take, “Here…figured you’d want this back—”

“Show me the worksite where you found it. Maybe there’s a clue there that’ll lead me to Mike—”

“That’s not a good idea…”

Terry tilted his head down at her short body. Rae had to crane her neck to look at him.

“That’s my family, Rae. And we had a deal. Did you forget that?”

Rae’s eyes darted down to her feet. Terry released a sigh.

“Fuck it, just point me in the direction and I can be out your way.” Terry said with a frustrated voice.

“It’s not that I don’t want to help you, Terry. It’s just…there’s guys from this group that are pretty dangerous…they’ve been on the hunt for anyone that could be infected and they’re killing them on the spot.”

“Hmm, is that so?” Terry looked left and right before his intimidating eyes fell on her again, “I just took down one of those guys not too far from here. I ended up with this,” Terry raised his arm to show her, “And I’m not tryna stick around to get infected. Got something on you to wrap me up?”

“Yes,” Rae started walking backwards towards a door, “This way—”

“Stop.”

Rae paused.

“What’s down there?”

“Our refuge. You coming or not?”

Terry hesitated. He looked around him one last time before following Rae through a door, darkness the only thing he could make out ahead.

@theereina @bombshellbre95 @planetblaque @trippyscotch @megamindsecretlair @thesweetestdrug @theblulife @blackerthings @deja-r@kanafunee @helloncrocs @kaylabuggggg06 @skyesthebomb @blyffe @gwenda-fav @beenathembo @blackpinup22 @novaniskye @melaninhawtie @urfavblackbimbo @avoidthings @rose-bliss @xo-goldengirl @kinginwithbreezy-blog @mysecertdiaryofableedingheart @sirenmouths @kokokonako @creartivefairy @soulfulbeauty19 @therealmrsrhodes @hrlzy @nayaesworld @gg-trini @brattyfics @flydotty @writingsbytee @shiania @browngirldominion @notapradagurl7 @madamzola @kismet83 @aristasworld @sl33p-deprived-princess @erynnnn @itssbrie @melaninangel @withoutmusiclifewouldbflat @sweettea-and-honeybutter

[plum-coke]

salt lake crew made a private party for christmas, they (abby) invited you . . . ૮ ˶´ ᵕˋ ˶ა

you arrived in the middle of the year, rescued during an exclusive salt lake crew patrol that ended up escalating too quickly. it took you a while to adapt to the stadium, but you never stopped doing what was asked of you.

and someone didn't fail to notice this effort.

“ abby! ” manny shouts.

“ huh? ” she turns to him.

“ we need to get the decorations, what are you doing? ” he follows abby’s gaze.

she was looking at you, patiently cleaning the dishes in the refectory kitchen.

“ we should invite her. ”

he takes two steps back.

“ abigail, are you serious? mel already got mad that i wanted to invite my… uh, nevermind. you can try but don’t come crying to me after this, let’s go! ”

both go out to get the christmas decorations they had prepared for the party at the aquarium. as they walked, mel and owen appeared in their field of vision.

“ mel, found you! ” abby shouted. “ are you going to the kitchen?! ”

“ wow! yeah, calm down. i need to make the hot chocolate and finish the decoration of the cookies. ”

“ amazing! owen, help him! ”

the blonde escapes from the manny(ual) labor to start using her charms.

“ can we talk…? ”

“ you’re already speaking. ”

abby tries to match the velocity of mel's steps.

“ i was wondering if we could bring someone else to the party…? ”

“ not you too?! manny already tried to invite his gorgeous situationship and i— ”

“ it’s the girl we rescued. ”

“ oh! ” mel stops walking abruptly. “ cute pie? awwww of course we can invite her. ”

abby stops more confused.

“ i’m sorry? cute pie? ”

“ yeah! this girl is a living blessing. i can't think of another name as dedicated to diverse tasks as her. isaac kinda noticed her too, you know? he says we can’t let her in patrol as long as she wants, this stadium can’t loose her. ”

“ and how was i not aware that isaac talked about her…? ”

“ since you mentioned it, i've found you very airy since october, it seems like you're living in your own head. what happened? ”

“ is making the cookies already driving you crazy? be careful with the sugar, diabetic. ”

the blonde tries to change the topic by saying that and rushing to the kitchen.

“ hey… ahm, hi. do you need help? ”

you look at her, noticing the awkward behavior.

“ hi abby! no need, i’m already finishing. ”

mel arrives and says hi to you with a bright smile.

“ are you free today sweetie? ”

“ uhum, finished everything in the refectory. ”

“ great, abby wants to tell you something. ”

mel says, and walks away to make hot chocolate. you look at her with curious eyes, standing in a classy and relaxed position.

“ you know, since we rescued you, i mean… we are very glad to have you with us, specially me and the others… of course the rest of the stadium too but— ”

you wait patiently and a slight smile appears in your face. it’s kinda funny to see abby, this tough and big figure, for some reason all nervous while taking with you.

“ i want to invite you to our private party. that’s it, mel agreed too, and i think you don’t deserve to celebrate your first christmas here alone. not that the others would not include you! i mean— ”

“ yes! ” you chuckle looking at mel, she is smiling too. “ that’s so sweet of you… really, i appreciate that you’re thinking about me too. do i have to bring something? ”

“ NO! no! never… ” she shouts. “ sorry. i’m stressed about the organization. but no, you’re our special guest, you just have to be there and enjoy everything! ”

she quickly looks at mel, who was moving quickly around the kitchen.

“ sweetie, why don’t you go get ready? i will knock at your door when the party starts. ”

“ uhum! see y’all later! ”

you leave the kitchen not too bouncy like a rabbit, and calm like a cat.

“ you’re a disaster, abby anderson! ” mel bursts into laugh. “ i think i got all the answers i needed. ”

“ what do you mean?! ”

“ nothing! ” she chuckles. “ when the time comes, you will pick her at her door. don’t question it. go help the others, i want some time alone to make everything here. ”

mel can be scary and sullen at times, but she almost feels like someone watching a teen movie seeing the other younger members of the salt lake crew fall in love.

abby leaves the kitchen speechless.

“ this face… she didn’t let you, doesn’t she? ”

“ shut up manny… i invited her. ”

“ who? ” owen asks.

“ the girl we rescued months ago, abs seems addicted. ”

“ shut up! oh my goodness! how’s the decorations going after all?! ”

manny and owen share grin and a look.

“ it’s almost done, i already told the others to get ready. mel just have to bring the food and we can start. ”

they finish decorating the aquarium, finally! it's adorable: all the fake branches of leaves, the lights that never stop flashing, some carved reindeer and a christmas tree right in the center of the principal room. abby returns to her room and starts to get ready, some uncertainties appear.

should i do a better braid?

it’s already perfect.

what if i’m stinky and only i can’t notice?

her smell is like pine trees with a touch of cinnamon, thanks to her cologne and the perfum that she found in one of the patrols.

there was nothing wrong, actually.

abby was just nervous to talk to you more then five sentences.

and speaking of you…

you were doing the final steps of your makeup when door knocks can be heard.

“ i’m so sorry! mel mad— ”

abby pauses her speaking, and for a reason. in your months on the stadium, it’s the first time you put on a tight dress to go out.

“ nora found this one weeks ago, i just washed and it’s pretty to use again… ”

you notice the clearly smile, abby was genuine enchanted by you. her eyes were sparkling like snowflakes falling down.

“ you’re gorgeous… ” you blush hard.

“ thank you, abs! ”

abs…

SHE CALLED ME ABS !!!

“ you look gorgeous as always. ”

she notices your shaky hands and the way you were avoiding her gaze.

“ about mel, you were saying… ”

“ ah, right. she had to stay into the kitchen a little more, buts everything’s okay! ”

she pauses for a moment.

“ it’s pretty cold outside, they’re waiting for us in the drivers anyway but take this— ”

“ you’re too kind, the aquarium isn’t that fair. ”

“ hey! i insist, i don’t want you to get a cold. ”

she puts her jacket around you.

“ so cute. ” she says. “ i mean, you’re cute of course! but mor— ”

“ abigail anderson! ” leah shouts from the end of the corridor. “ you’re a fucking snail, let’s fucking go! ”

abby and you share a look giggling, and you two walk with leah to the driver in a awkward silence. everyone finally arrives the aquarium. mel already told everyone that you would be there and they’re being kind to you. as always.

“ hey, you hungry? ” you nod negativly. “ great, wanna see something cool? ”

you agree, abby asks you to close your eyes and she guides you to somewhere else in the aquarium you’ve never been before.

“ you can open. ”

it’s a secret little room, with candles, a mat all rounded with cushions. and a big window opened to the water. yeah, there’s life swimming there too.

“ sit down, please. ”

“ abby… you made this? ”

“ yes, i mean— manny and owen helped me some hours ago. can i… hold your hand? ”

if you remember, that’s literally the first time you’re touching abby. you two never had the opportunity to hug or anything else before.

“ oh, you’re warm! ” she chuckles.

“ and you’re kinda cold… are you okay? ” you ask genuinely concerned, abby’s just nervous.

“ i feel better now. i want to tell you something… you can slap my face and run away if you want, you’re in your rights. ”

pause.

“ since when we found you, all scared, hurt and hiding from the infecteds… i couldn’t stop thinking about you. when i saw your figure all fragile and hopeless like that, i felt a deep feeling to be the one protecting you. and when i noticed everyone being kind and respectful with you just in your first day here, i noticed something. your soul is the most pure thing ever… i don’t wanna sound like a stalker, but i was noticing you in everything you offered yourself to do! you’re perfect, and just in this month, the last of the year, i noticed that i’m genuinely falling in love. ”

what would you answer to that be? :D