#'the kindness in that man's heart to help even a rat...' and it just made me start tearing up bc it is TRUE

[deathbxnny]

So we know that Boothill had a daughter but what is he had a S/O that also was killed but their consciousness was put into a robotic body(?) and they work for the IPC. Not having any memory of what the IPC did to their family and they meet Boothill again after a long time. Maybe they didn’t even recognize Boothill. Just angst.

ʕ •̀ ω •́ ʔ congratulations on 1000!!!

Oooh, I really love this request, Anon!! I've been craving something angsty and tragic, so I hope you'll like this and thank you for the request!!<33

Content: Reader is similar to the Androids from "Detroit: Become human", spoilers to Boothills past!!, past romantic relationship, heavy angst, hurt/no comfort, swearing, reader kind of is hinted to have a southern sounding accent, sfw

Reader has no set pronouns!!

((Not proofread))

"You promised your next life to me." (Boothill x Gn!Reader)

"That was close-" "-Too close! I told ya not to shut the gates too hard! The damned hens nearly got us killed when they woke up!" A young Boothill hissed to you, although there was no malice in his voice, only a playful tune of amusement. You grinned, biting into one of the apples you had stolen. "But we're alive right now, aren't we?"

The sun was slowly peeking out from beyond the mountains, painting the skies above you in soft blues, pinks, and oranges. You leaned against the tree you were both hiding in, trying your best not to fall out of it or make too much noise, lest the swearing and enraged farmer nearby heard you. It was just supposed to be a little early morning fun, in which you both hopped your neighbors fence to get some of his freshly harvested apples.

Some may call it stealing, but you often liked to call it "borrowing". Served the old man right anyway. He always sold them for too high of a price at the market!

"God damn you, brats! Once I get my hands on you, you'll never think of crossing my damned fields again!" The farmer yelled, loading his shot gun, before he seemed to trip over the pots you had accidentally run into on your way to the tree. Both of you snorted at the cursing intensifying, your hands pressing against your mouths to weakly muffle the laughs that threaten to bubble out of you.

A door creaked open in the distance, the disgruntled old wife hobbling out in annoyance. "RANDY! WHAT ON GOD'S GREEN EARTH ARE YOU DOIN'? IT'S NEARLY 5 AM!" She yelled, the farmer quick to scramble up and pull on his hat with a gulp. "Those damned kids are back!-" "-I don't care! Get your ass back in here, or so may the Aeons help me!" The man only reluctantly did as told, trudging back inside in sizzling rage, yet decided that for today, the little rats could escape him just one more time again. He'll get them next time.

You two waited for a while after the door slammed shut before you finally let out a relieved giggle. "That's what he gets! Old man Mr. Roger had it, comin'!" You slid down the tree, skillfully landing on your feet, before you ran towards the cornfield you came from. "Let's get back to the horses!" You called out behind you, making the young boy follow after you quickly, albeit slower due to being the one carrying most of your "borrowed" goods. You had always been the braver one. The one with the most energy and the most strength to do things. He looked up to you in moments like these, nearly admiring you when you jumped over the fence with no difficulty. He struggled alot more than you did before he too finally reached your horses on the otherside.

"That was really fun..." Boothill trailed off as he helped you load up your half of the apples onto your mare, that was attempting to take one for herself. You hummed in agreement, thanking him right after whilst he helped you onto your saddle. "It's always fun when you're with me." You commented with a shrug, not understanding the weight of your kind words that made his heart beat faster. You rode next to eachother in silence for a while, your eyes glued on the sunset before you, and yet the boy found you more interesting to look at. He bit his lip nervously when the sun hit your eyes just right, making them glow.

"I'm gonna hit the bed the second I'm home... but we'll meet later today again, okay? See ya!" It wasn't a request in Boothills' mind. No, it was simply a natural demand, a requirement to be there, to see you. He watched you ride on the opposite path back to your home, wondering when he too could be braver than you and spill the words that were on his mind for his best friend.

--

That was one of the only memories of Boothills childhood with you that he could remember anymore now. It was odd to think that you two were once nothing more than little troublemakers ridding through the early morning hours together. Only years later however, you'd see eachother every day through marriage.

Your home was a small cottage near the oceanside, miles of fields and meadows surrounding it, in the distance, unexplored forests and mountains. It was your idea to move there as it was still close to his family, and he couldn't have been more grateful. Especially with the small bundle of joy he one day found whilst he was out checking on the cattle during a strong thunderstorm. You were resting at home that night, your fingers moving quickly as they crocheted a blanket you had been working on for a while, ears strained to listen to the music over the static that played through the radio. The fireplace was warm, eyes beginning to drop shut from the exhaustion of a busy day on the farm, when suddenly the front door creaked open and in came your husband, soaked to the bone.

You sat up, watching carefully as he set down his dripping hat and pulled off his boots with one hand clumsily, the other tightly wrapped around something you couldn't see from the dimness of the room. "Come here, honey. Look what a sweet little thing I've found out there." He chuckled gently, holding out the wrapped bundle to you, whilst he pulled away some of the cloth to show the face of a small, sleeping infant. You gasped in surprise, eyes widening, as you were quick to take her out of the wet cloths and wrap her into your own warm arms. "Oh she really is so little!" You whispered in awe, and Boothill could see the love you had for what would soon become your adoptive daughter from the start.

She was your everything ever since that fateful night, you two lovingly calling her "Lavender" after the fields her father had found her in. She was a lively, easy child, so loving and sweet, that your heart couldn't help but be filled with her the moment you met her. Boothill found alot of purpose in raising her with you, often times taking her on horse rides around the land he owned, or taking her out to fish, whilst you taught her how to garden and crochet things herself.

You and Lavender were his sweethearts, his everything. All that Boothill lived for... until eventually, you weren't.

--

The day came in which the devil's from above, also calling themselves members of the "IPC" came down to slaughter you all senselessly. No one survived, no one but Boothill. Your daughter was dead instantly, her small daughter hidden under the heavy rubble, never having stood a chance against the bombs.

He could never forget the relief he felt when he found you, even if it was short-lived. You were fatally injured, breath labored and short, as you tried to hold on for just a moment longer. His arms wrapped around you, tears in eyes when he saw the fear for the first time in yours. No amount of bravery could save you now. "(Y/N)... you... please, you can't die." He chocked out, unable to comprehend the agony he was in. Yet you couldn't hear him over the ringing in your ears, your hand reaching up to grasp his shirt tightly with all the strength you had left. "I'll... I'll find you. I swear I will. In my next life. I promise... I..." Your arm dropped, the fear relaxing into nothing, as your breathing came to an end, the only thing left being the crackling of flames around you.

.....

....

..

"Mr. Boothill? Are you... alright?" Dan Heng awkwardly nudged the now Cyborg man, his head tilting in confusion. Aventurine raised a brow, his arms crossing as his gaze met your rather unamused one in thought. "My... he only seemed to malfunction once you arrived, (Y/N)!" He grinned teasingly, making you roll your eyes and cross your arms. "Can we please continue? You claimed we didn't have any time to waste." The blonde raised his arms in faux surrender, knowing he shouldn't bother you any more than summoning you here has.

A high-profile IPC android like you surely had better things to do after all than to deal with a failing country, but here you were.

Boothill, meanwhile, blinked a couple of times, his head hurting and throbbing in agonizing pain. Just how was this possible? Just how were you alive?

Why did you not recognize him?

"... I... sorry, they look really familiar." He said, trying to compose himself when you gave him a sharp, uninterested look. Your eyes always held so much kindness for everyone. How could you forget even that? Pulling down his hat to cover his eyes, he sighed and shook his head. He supposed both of you had changed beyond recognition in one way or another.

"Anyways... let's get goin'... that nice, wing-headed Mister ain't gonna go down on his own..." He continued, trailing off for a moment, before he simply turned and left to fulfill his part of the plan. He heard you scoff lightly, obviously unamused by whatever seemed to have angered you so much before coming here.

His soul ached for you in ways he couldn't ever utter out loud again. And whilst you did keep your promise of seeing him again, this is not the life or the way he had preferred.

At least you weren't a liar, he supposed bitterly with a cold chuckle.

Alrightyy... I finally found the time to write this, and I'm unsure how I like it... BUT it's done, and I hope it was okay for you, Anon!! Thank you again for the request!!<33

[daisies-on-a-cup]

to help an undesired animal is truly one of the strongest shows of humanity

[deadsetobsessions]

Spider in Gotham AU- Pt.2

[Pt.1]

Peter’s no stranger to memories that comes as nightmares. There’s something different to them, the taste of terror that’s tinged with a feeling of “that’s happened.”

Flashes of Aunt May, dying as he stood next to her while choosing the city over her? Old hat. Inky darkness surrounding MJ falling as Peter reached for her, over and over again? Been there, seen that, didn’t even get a sick scar out of it. Racing against the clock to defeat some bad guy or an unknown threat? That’s his Thursday.

But this?

This isn’t his. It’s real, Peter could tell that much. Sure, it’s wrapped up in silk hisses and heart crushing terror, but Peter could always tell whether a nightmare was a nightmare or whether it was a memory.

This was a memory. Not his. His. It’s complicated.

“Your father, papito, he-,”

Then, it’d be the ruffle of his hair, brown eyes. It reminded him of his mom. But the crease of these eyes were different. Hardened, mean. Even towards him.

“Well, he said no, but I knew what he really wanted.”

The base of Peter’s neck always crawled when he remembered that line. His spider-sense warned him that whatever he’s remembering, he would not like.

“Ey, Peter.”

“Huh?” Peter blinked, looking up from where his arms were elbow deep in wires.

“Don’cha need gloves with that?” Frank asked, munching on some jerky. They were sitting in the living room, repairing a TV and a washer Frank had somehow managed to lug back to the apartment. It’s a toss up between Frank’s network of orphans (Peter included), street rats (these things are not mutually inclusive), or his own slightly higher than average strength. Not that they needed to thrift broken things, considering Peter’s funneling money from offshore bank accounts belonging to this America’s 1%. They just made it so easy! He and Ned had been hacking into government bases in middle school back on his world. This world? Not even a challenge. Regardless, this was kind of like… Frank’s version of those fancy sensory boxes for Peter.

“Oh, no. It’s not plugged in, see?”

“How’re ya gunna know it works then?”

“Plug it in after I’m done. Turn it off and on, you know?”

Frank stared at him, then rolled his eyes towards the ceiling.

“If you burn down that portion of the house, at least we’ll be warm for a bit.”

“Thanks. Your confidence in me is astounding.”

“You talk like an old man.”

“I do not! Excuse you! If I’m old, you’re the expired knock off cup ramen in the back of a convenience store!”

“Yo, shrimpy, that’s rude, ya hear?” Frank snickered, impressed at the quip. The Alley kid turned brother stood up to plop next to Peter.

“So… you gonna go…?” Frank made a whooshing sound and held his hand in a web shooter position.

“Tonight? Prolly. Anything I should look out for?”

“You’re gunna get yourself killed, but yeah, heard the gang’s back up north.”

Peter flashed a smile, dimples coming out. “I’ll try not to. Thanks, Frank.”

“Anytime, Spidey.”

Frank, though little (to Peter), was a good friend. Then again, considering Peter saved his ass both in mask and out of it, it’s to be expected. One would think that after eight years of hiding his identity, Peter would be better at it. Then, he got punted into a different world and got made by a child.

To be fair, the circumstances all but screamed Parker Luck, so Peter’s not counting this instance.

See, the first few days of this sudden cohabitation, Peter had asked Frank to find them furniture. Both because he was getting real sick of eating on the floor and because Peter needed to fix his suit to match his much younger body. Then, once he readjusted the shrinking nanotech and the spider legs to fit him in a way that wouldn’t break him, Peter had promptly swung out of the building and went patrolling. He stuck with the wandering Frank, taking out muggers and robbers and everything in between and past that around the area where Frank is.

Looking back, Peter realized how lucky he was when he decided to go on the “helping joyride” at the beginning of the evening. His spider-sense activated way later in the night, the moment where he began seeing and sensing the cameras that kept pointing towards him. He ducked and dodged out of the way, and eventually, the feeling left. Somebody was watching. And he doesn’t know where they stood on the moral side of things.

Anyways, it happened after three weeks and a half of going out and just… settling into life in Gotham. He had already been struggling to find a way home, scouring the libraries around Gotham on any subject that would aid in his multiversal travel. Peter would like to know which emo kid named this city.

Eventually, Parker Luck decided to strike once more.

“Get back, freak!” The lady brandished a wicked knife.

Talk about deja vu.

“Oh no! Knives! My greatest weakness!” Spider-Man yelled, sticking to the shadowed windows as he let his voice echo in the alley. Gotham had a lot of nice hiding places. Spider-man dropped down on her head like a bat out of hell and webbed the knife out of her hands. He webbed the mugger up onto the alleyway above normal reach, and told the man to call the police.

Frank screamed, just as Spider-man wrapped it up, loud enough to reach his enhanced hearing.

“Wait-!” The man tried to stop him, but Peter, small, trained, and having readjusted his reach, slipped away.

“What’s your name?!” The guy he saved yelled at his back.

Spider-man, distracted, yelled back, “SPIDEY!”

He shot webs upwards and used them to slingshot his way towards where Frank was. And… car! Peter used his webs to swing up, up, and let himself fall to gain momentum. At the last moment, Peter shot a web to the top of the car and pulled himself to it.

Shit, shit, shit. He’s stupidly attached to the kid, and he was stupid enough to let Frank go out into Gotham looking both well-fed and well clothed.

The world slowed as he locked eyes with a terrified Frank, who was getting dragged into a car.

The world narrowed to speed and Spider-Man landed on top of the car roof, sweeping his leg out and thankfully remembering his much shorter reach. His foot collided with the kidnapper’s face with the equivalent force of a grown up, slightly annoyed Peter Parker who’s letting his strength go a bit unchecked. Basically, they went flying, blood spewing out of the undoubtedly broken nose Spider-Man had just given them.

Standing on business, the shorter webster promptly flipped down wards as he all but glued the would-be kidnapper to the curb.

“You alright?”

“You’re- You’re that new mask.” Frank whispered, scuttling away from the car where he’d been dropped.

“Yeah, man. You okay?” His voice modulator came in clutch.

“Fuck. Fuck, I gotta-” Frank stumbled. The kid looked like he was one bad break away from snapping. Peter hated it when kids got that terrified look on their faces, it reminded him of himself, helpless as Ben bled out because they should never have to fear something that much.

Something’s wrong, though. As much as Peter wished otherwise, Frank was a Gotham bred and true alley kid, through and through. These kids don’t spook easily. Peter already stopped a couple of kidnappings and at least two of the kids had yelled at him to stay out of the way before unloading a rain of nut kicks on their kidnappers that left Peter wincing for days in sympathy. Frank being this spooked? Something’s going on.

“Woah, easy there, I’m not gonna hurt you,”

Frank shot him a half hysterical, half condescending look. Yeah, that’s more like it.

“Ob-obviously. I have to go before more of them comes,” Frank muttered.

“More of them? You know what they want?”

Frank stared at him, looking up and down at his blue, red, and gold ensemble.

“I can help,” Peter promised.

“What’re your thoughts on metas?”

Suspicious.

“Uh, they’re fine? Depends on the person, why?”

Frank sighed. The skinny teenager, barely 14, tugged at his hair. “They’re traffickers. Meta kids, mostly, so the Bats don’t do nothing. I- uh, I got caught.” He held up a thin wrist, showing Peter his new accessorie, a think metal bracelet that was beeping red.

Peter cursed in his head. Fuck, of course he’d stumble into a-

“Caught? You’re a meta?”

Frank nodded. “Strength. This is an inhibitor, illegal kind, you know?”

Well, that explained how he got all of those furniture without struggle.

“Right. Hey, don’t stress, kid, I’m a meta too.”

Frank blinked.

“What?”

Peter walked up the side of the car and did jazz hands.

“You’re a meta?! But- but you’re a mask operating in Gotham!”

“Yeah…? Is that weird?”

Before Frank could reply, Peter’s sense screamed and Spider-Man shoved Frank away from the spray of bullets.

“Move, Frank!”

Peter flipped away, vaguely aware of Frank’s gaping realization. He took down the shooters in quick succession, stopping the speeding car with his bare hands and some webs.

“Shooters, no shooting!” He yelled, liberally applying force he tended to keep under wraps. Frank was like a brother to him, and there is no universe where Peter Parker would hold back when his family was in danger.

When he got back to Frank, who had oddly stayed instead of running, Peter found out why the kid stayed.

“Peter?!” Frank hissed lowly, looking more pissed off than terrified. “Are you fucking insane?! Why are you running ‘round as a mask?!”

“Shhh!” Shit, he got made. “Come on, get back to the apartment and we can talk there. I’ll get rid of this-”

Peter casually snapped the bracelet in half, tearing the tracker out, and tucked it away to study later.

“Fuckin’- shit, fine, but you’re explaining everything, motherfucker!”

They split, Peter guessing correctly that he was in another lecture of a lifetime.

——

“Your vigilante name is Spiderman?”

“Hey, I can hear you say it without the hyphen! There’s a hyphen in there!”

“You’re not a man! You’re a twerp!”

“I’ll show you twerp, you-”

Five minutes of tussling later, in which Peter did not try to bite Frank’s arm off, thank you very much, Frank leaned back on the couch.

“Besides. People in the streets are calling you Spidey, anyways.”

“Spidey?”

“Some dude you saved from a mugging said you told him.”

Peter slammed his head on the floor where he was laying face down.

“Ughhhh.”

——

“He could have been great. I saw his potential.”

Anger. But he shouldn’t be afraid. The woman loved him.

“Hey, Peter. You’re up here again.”

“Hi.” Peter stayed curled up. His mind had refused him sleep for the last three nights, causing dark circles to appear underneath his eyes. The memories of what he assumed to be this world’s Peter was merging with his. What he’d seen so far did not fill him with confidence of a happy childhood. Flashes of wielding weapons, the sterile smell of a metal dissection table, and hundreds and hundreds of spiders crawling over him, getting startled into biting down. Plus, the stress of tracking down the meta trafficking circles in Gotham was no joke. He doesn’t know Gotham nearly as well as he knew New York, and he had to be extra careful running around and trying to catch every bit of the circle before making any moves. Frank was helping with his network of homeless Meta kids, but the traffickers were everywhere except for Crime Alley.

He should be dead. They sold his body to an organ harvester who dumped his venom filled corpse on the side of Gotham. At least he didn’t have to worry about killing his alternate version.

“Everything all right?” Red Robin clambered down to sit next to him, cowl hiding the concerned scrunch of his brow. He’s never seen Peter like this.

Peter grumbled, staring down at another alleyway. He knows his alternate died. His shit excuse for another sold his body to an organ harvester, when he seized on the operating table, who dumped his venom filled corpse on the side of Gotham. At least he didn’t have to worry about killing his alternate version. He does, however, have to worry about missing vital organs.

“I… remembered something.” Peter remembered a lot of things. And pretty much none of them were good. This Peter suffered a lot in his short life.

Red Robin nodded. The issue of Peter’s spotty memories had come up in their discussions over the past month.

“Ah. Something unpleasant?”

Peter thought back to the voice who, despite all of the other, highly traumatic memories, haunted his brain like nothing else.

“He didn’t live up to it. He refused to kill. So I made the decision for him.”

“Yeah. Not for me, but unpleasant that I know about it.”

“Yeah, I get that. You wanna talk about it?” Peter hid a small smile. Even though Red Robin kept his tone light, the concern still bled through. Warm. It made Peter feel warm. Even if it appeared that the Bats don’t really care about the trafficked meta kids… maybe Red Robin would come save normal kid Peter if he got kidnapped. A backup plan to consider. For now…

“Sure,” he said. Red Robin waited patiently.

“I think, I remember someone. Maybe, maybe my…” Peter grimaced. “My mom? She… told me something. And uh, I think I’maproductofrape.”

“Oh,” Red Robin said, so awkwardly that Peter had to crack a small smile despite the gravity of the topic. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah. Me too. Not myself, but for…” Peter waved a hand. “You know.”

“Yeah.”

“She wasn’t a good person,” Peter whispered and hated how he missed the browns of her eyes- her middle name was Marie, and god, Peter wished he hadn’t known that because he gets why her eyes reminded him so much of his own mother- and she besmirched everything Mary Parker stood for.

“You have our combined potential, Peter. Make sure not to be like him too much and live up to it, papito.”

“It’s okay, to love her even if she hurt other people,” Red Robin said, gently ruffling his greasy hair. Peter’s spidey-sense tingled and he ducked away. Red Robin withdrew his hand. “Because you can’t really help that. Trust me, I’ve tried. You just have to make sure they don’t get the chance to do what they did again.”

Cold, cold voices and his voice gave out from screaming. “You really are your father’s son. Never being able to do what’s necessary.”

And Peter wondered what happened to Red Robin and who hurt him. Peter would just like to talk. Red Robin reminded him of himself, way back when being Spider-Man meant finding out Harry became Green Goblin. Pained. Tired.

“Yeah,” Peter agreed. But that’s not really a problem, considering the last thing the organ harvester said before dumping him in an alley. “She’s dead in a ditch in Siberia or something. I’m not really worried she’ll do it again.”

“Uh.”

“It’s cool,”

“Right. Have you… remembered your dad?”

“Yeah. He’s in Gotham,” Peter unfurled a little.

“You want help tracking him down? I’m good at that kind of thing.”

Peter glanced at Red Robin. “I think you just admitted to being a stalker.”

“Vigilante,” Red Robin shrugged, like it explained everything. And yeah, it kind of did. Peter snorted.

“Nah, it’s okay. I don’t want to meet him anyways.”

“Why not?”

“He doesn’t know about me,” Peter ticked off his fingers. “I’m a literal walking, talking, breathing reminder of his trauma. And I don’t need a dad.”

Red Robin looked at him silently. Peter doesn’t think about it.

He never wanted to see his parents suffer. An alternate version of his dad, hurt so irrevocably by an alternate version of his mom?

Peter hated that this Catalina dirtied his mother’s name, and went against the most fundamental parts of what the spider symbol was meant for. And considering he’s been doing this longer than her, he had first dibs on defining it. He’ll look after his dad, as long as he’s stuck in Gotham. It’s only right.

“His name? Oh, my son, it’s Richard Grayson.”

——

Peter, who Trusts his instincts: no head rubs?? awwwww

Tim, who’s been trying to get a dna sample for the last month: how does he keep evading me?? He must be a genius or a spy or- *spirals down the conspiracy board*

——

Tim: I’ve connected the dots!

Peter: you’ve connected jack shit

——

Listen, the moment I learned Catalina Flores’ middle name, the pieces clicked, okay? Like legos. It’s like, former FBI agent in this one and former CIA agent in Peter’s home universe? Wow. Middle name Marie? Mary Parker? Incredible. Spider themes run in the blood apparently?? They both have brown eyes!! Trying to do good with no qualms about murder!! (I’m assuming since Mary Parker was SHIELD and I don’t think SHIELD cared much for the sanctity of human life if it threatened the country or something)

[nocturnest]

You're the Cream in My Coffee

author's note: i love this fear-crazy man as much as i love coffee! 🥹 i can't imagine him drinking straight-up black coffee despite his personality because i imagine that he so secretly has a slight sweet tooth but in a refined crane kind of way - like with sweet cold foam or milk. anyway, please enjoy you guys!

It was a quiet morning at Arkham. As you made your way to your office, you couldn't help but glance with curiosity down the hall towards Dr. Jonathan Crane's door. The reserved but brilliant fellow psychologist was often the first one in the building, working tirelessly on his research and case files.

You had always admired Jonathan's sharp wit and keen intellect. Most of your colleagues steered clear of him as they found him distant and aloof. Nevertheless, he had always shown you polite courtesy. There was something about his dry sense of humor and the way his sharp blue eyes would crinkle slightly when he was amused that had captured your attention.

On this particular morning, you had woken up exceptionally early to lend a visit to your favorite coffee shop. And as you were ordering your usual drink, you thought of Dr. Crane and how hardworking he was. You had noted the dark circles that were often under his eyes and how he was usually the last to leave Arkham for the day. He looked thinner every time you saw him and you wondered if he was even eating. Before you could even process your actions, you had ordered another coffee, picking one on a whim based off of Jonathan's taste: a dark roast with hints of cinnamon and a dash of cream.

And how did you know he would like it? Well, you couldn't be blamed if you had noticed him once or twice in the staff room - on the rare occasion that he ventured out of his office to reluctantly grab the hospital's rat-poison-flavored coffee. You'd noticed the way he would wrinkle his nose in distaste at the acrid, burnt flavor of the breakroom coffee, quickly sprinkling a dash of cinnamon from a small tin he kept in his pocket to improve the taste.

It was those small details - the way he would linger over each sip, savoring the subtle warmth and spice - that had given you insight into his refined palate. And when you had the chance to bring him his morning coffee, you knew you had to do something special, something that would truly please him.

You thought he deserved something nice. You couldn't help but feel a twinge of sympathy for Jonathan, knowing that your colleagues often spoke unkindly of him behind his back. The other psychologists at Arkham would whisper and snicker, casting judgmental glances in his direction as he hurried through the halls, his brow furrowed in concentration.

It saddened you to see the way they dismissed him, writing him off as nothing more than a cold, calculating eccentric. If only they could see the subtle nuances of his character, the flashes of dry wit and intellectual curiosity that you had come to admire.

You suspected that Jonathan was a deeply lonely man, so consumed by his work and his research that he had allowed the barriers around his heart to harden over time. And you couldn't help but wonder if, deep down, he craved the kind of genuine connection and understanding that so many of his peers seemed to take for granted.

That's why you had put so much thought into selecting the perfect coffee for him. You wanted him to know that there was at least one person at Arkham who saw him as more than just an oddity, more than just a means to an end. You wanted him to feel appreciated, to know that someone truly cared.

As you made your way to Jonathan's office, mug in hand, you couldn't help but feel a sense of nervousness. It wasn't exactly typical for a colleague to be bringing another coffee, especially one as reserved and enigmatic as Dr. Jonathan Crane. You knew you'd have to have a good excuse ready if he questioned your gesture.

Thankfully, inspiration struck as you neared his door. Earlier that morning, you had noticed the coffee maker in the staff break room was acting up again, only producing a weak, watered-down brew. Jonathan, being the devoted workaholic that he was, had likely missed his usual morning cup in his rush to get an early start.

You knocked on his office door, which was slightly ajar, "Good morning, Dr. Crane."

Jonathan looked up with brief surprise crossing his face, his eyebrows raised, before he quickly schooled his features into a more neutral and collected expression. He greeted you, his voice low and slightly raspy from lack of sleep, "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

You offered him the coffee, feeling a flutter of nervousness in your stomach. "I- um... The coffee machine has been acting up lately, so I brought you a fresh cup. It's probably better than the dreadful coffee they offer here anyway. I hope that's alright."

Jonathan eyed the mug skeptically, but after a moment's hesitation, he reached out and took it from your hand, his fingers brushing against yours ever so slightly. "That's...very kind of you," he said, his brow furrowing slightly as he studied the contents of the cup.

You felt your heart skip a beat at the brief contact, but you tried your best to maintain a casual demeanor. "I know how important that first cup of coffee is, especially for someone as dedicated as you," you replied, offering him a small, hopefully reassuring smile.

His piercing blue eyes studied you for a moment, and you couldn't help but feel as though he was trying to read your thoughts.

You held your breath as Jonathan took a cautious sip, his gaze never leaving yours. For a moment, the silence hung heavy in the air, broken only by the soft sound of rain tapping against the windowpane.

Then, to your relief and delight, a faint smile tugged at the corners of Jonathan's lips. "It's...quite good," he admitted, his tone almost surprised.

A rush of warmth flooded through you at his words. You had hoped he would enjoy it, but hearing his genuine approval was more than you could have asked for.

"I'm glad you like it," you replied, unable to contain the smile that spread across your face. "I know it's not much, but I thought you deserved something better than the usual."

Jonathan's eyes softened as he met your gaze, a flicker of gratitude shining in their depths. "Thank you," he said simply, his voice carrying a warmth that sent a shiver down your spine.

With a nod of acknowledgment, you turned to leave, feeling a wave of accomplishment wash over you. You sensed that this would be the beginning of many more interactions with Jonathan Crane.

~

Over the next few weeks, it became routine for you to bring Jonathan his favorite coffee whenever you could, even if it meant waking up a bit earlier to make it to work. It was worth it to see a lovely smile grace his face, his entire lighting up youthfully. Gradually, the two of you began to exchange brief conversations in the hallway or during breaks.

You learned more about Jonathan than you ever imagined you would. He shared stories of his childhood - some being precious and others proving more saddening. He spoke about his love for literature and philosophy and his interest in the intricacies of the human mind. You found yourself drawn to his sharp intellect and dry wit.

Some of his casual sarcastic remarks and mutterings to himself had you practically crying with laughter, causing your colleagues to stare at you as if you were a madwoman if they happened to be nearby. After discovering how easily he could make you laugh, Jonathan began using your weakness to your advantage and making you giggle in the most serious of situations.

He had such a surprising humor to him that had only come out by spending more time with him the softness that peeked through his carefully composed exterior. You noticed other things about him too - little details that slowly painted a fuller picture of who Jonathan truly was. The manner in which his eyes would light up with a rare, genuine passion as he discussed the latest developments in psychology. The subtle way his hands would run unusually cold, a telltale sign of his underlying tension and nervousness. The habit of running his fingers through his dark hair when he was deep in thought, brow furrowed in concentration.

And then, of course, there were the moments of softness, the flashes of vulnerability that would occasionally peek through the carefully composed exterior he presented to the world. The slight crinkle at the corners of his eyes when he was truly amused by one of your witty exchanges. The gentle tone that would creep into his voice when he spoke of his favorite books or theories. It was in those unguarded instants that you caught glimpses of who the man truly was.

And there were moments when you began to realize that your fascination with him wasn't one-sided. Jonathan too asked about you and your life. He chuckled at your embarrassing stories and frowned when you mentioned the rougher parts of your childhood. He had an aptitude for listening and for giving sound advice, which made you realize just how incredible he was at what he did for a living.

But something more began to grow between the two of you. You felt an undeniable pull towards him that had only grown since that first step, that first cup of coffee. And sometimes, you felt the heaviness of his gaze mixed with an indescribable emotion. Whatever feeling it was behind his eyes - well, you wanted him to stare at you like that forever.

You had grown accustomed to the quiet camaraderie that had developed between you and Jonathan over the past few weeks. Your daily coffee deliveries had become a cherished ritual, and the easy banter you shared had slowly chipped away at the icy facade he so often presented to the world.

But today, as you made your way through the halls of Arkham, you couldn't help but overhear a hushed conversation between a few of your colleagues. Their words, laced with barely concealed disdain, filled you with unease.

"Can you believe that she brings Crane coffee every morning?" one of them scoffed. "As if he's not weird enough already."

Another chimed in, a malicious glint in her eyes. "Yeah, and have you noticed how much time she's been spending with him lately? Probably trying to whore herself off to get a promotion."

You felt your cheeks flush with hurt and embarrassment, your heart sinking. Was that really what they all thought of you? That you were simply using Jonathan for your own personal gain? That you weren't genuine about your desire for his friendship?

The discussion continued, the gossip growing more and more vicious until you couldn't bear it anymore. You felt tears creeping out of your eyes as you stalked down the halls and back to your office, avoiding every glance that came your way. You shut the door behind you, making your way directly to the small couch in your office and pulling a soft blanket around your trembling shoulders as the tears finally spilled over. The cruel words of your colleagues kept echoing in your mind, each barb cutting deeper than the last.

How could these colleagues of yours, who had faked their pleasantries with you and occasionally even asked you about your day, be so two-faced? How could they think so little of you? Of the genuine friendship you had forged with Jonathan? The time you had spent getting to know him, the way your heart raced whenever he fixed you with that piercing gaze - it was all so much more than some cheap ploy for favor or advancement.

You cared for Jonathan, more than you knew how to express. The warmth of his smile, the subtle softness that would sometimes peek through his carefully crafted facade - it had all wormed its way deep into your heart. And the thought of anyone diminishing those precious moments you shared cut you to the core.

As you sat there, your vision blurred by tears, you didn't hear the familiar knock at your door. It wasn't until you sensed a presence beside you that you looked up, your breath catching in your throat at the sight of Jonathan wearing a concerned expression.

"My dear, what's wrong?" he murmured, his voice uncharacteristically soft as he moved to sit beside you.

You couldn’t find the strength in you to respond, tears continuing to streak down your cheeks. Something in Jonathan's heart broke for you, and he placed a gentle arm around you, pulling you into a comforting embrace.

"It's alright." He spoke in a soothing, gentle tone, his fingertips lightly stroking your arm in a comforting gesture, "I'm here."

Jonathan waited for your sobs to subside and then carefully cradled your face, using his thumb to wipe away the remaining tears, "Tell me, what happened?" His brow furrowed with concern as he searched your face, waiting for you to find the right words.

Your breath was shaky, gaze falling as you recounted the gossip you had heard, "I-I was bringing you coffee - you know, like usual. But then I heard some of the others talking and..." You paused and Jonathan's expression darkened as he listened, his jaw tightening with barely contained anger.

"Some of the others talking, saying such horrible things. About how I'm only doing it to try and get ahead, that I'm..." Anger took over you as you utter the last part, "whoring myself off."

Jonathan practically gritted his teeth in anger at that. It was one thing for him to have to deal with the constant remarks and bullying in his life. By now, he was used to it - until that changed when he met you. But for you to be dragged into this, to be treated so horribly. He wouldn't stand for it.

"My dear, why on Earth would you put yourself through this for my sake?" His piercing blue eyes studied you intently, a hint of exasperation in his tone, "After all, I'm hardly worth the trouble, am I?" There was a self-deprecating edge to his words, like he truly believed he wasn't worth the effort.

Jonathan sighed, a flicker of vulnerability crossing his features, "You shouldn't have to defend me, nor should you have to endure the cruelty of our colleagues. I'm quite accustomed to their...less than pleasant opinions of me." A wry, humorless smile tugged at the corners of his lips.

He pauses, his fingers gently brushing against your cheek as he meets your confused gaze. You didn't understand how he failed to see how incredible he actually was. You hesitated, murmuring, "They're wrong, you know. You're a wonderful friend and they just don't see that."

Jonathan's eyes widened but he hid his surprise with a soft smile, "Oh? Well I'm truly touched. I find your unwavering loyalty quite endearing."

You blushed as his expression turned impish, a playful glint in his eyes as he leaned in closer, scrutinizing your words, "And friends, you say?"

You felt your cheeks flush with embarrassment as you nodded hesitantly. "Yes, I...I consider you my closest friend here, Jonathan." The admission slipped out before you could stop it, and you suddenly felt caught.

Jonathan's expression turned thoughtful, a hint of amusement playing on his lips. "Is that so?" He paused, his piercing gaze studying you intently. "Then how do you explain the time you fell asleep on my shoulder in my office?" His tone was lightly teasing, a subtle smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Or that time we shared a cup of coffee, our lips mere inches apart?"

Your face reddened more and more as you tried to figure out a response. "T-that was just...I mean, it was only once! And the coffee, I just...I wanted to make sure you got the right order, that's all!"

Jonathan chuckled, clearly delighted by your flustered state. "Hmm, I see. And what about the fact that you knew exactly how I take my coffee from the very start? Cinnamon and all?" His fingers graze your cheek, leaving you to only want more of his touch. "Surely that goes beyond the realm of mere friendship, don't you think?"

He leaned in even closer, tilting his head with mock admonishment, his gaze flicking down to your lips for the briefest of moments. "And let's not forget that time I caught you...unbeknownst to you, of course...staring at my..."

You can't help but cut him off, your heart racing. "Alright, alright! I admit it, Jonathan. I...I've developed feelings for you. More than just friendship." You averted your gaze, suddenly feeling rather vulnerable. He noticed the fear on your face, which he would have taken pleasure in if you weren't you.

Jonathan's expression softened, and he reached out to gently tilt your chin up, meeting your eyes. "My dear, I don't doubt the sincerity of your affection." His voice was low and intimate. "And frankly, I'm quite flattered." He leaned in, his breath ghosting across your lips. "So tell me, is it still 'just friends' you want?"

"No?"

A subtle smile made its way onto his lips, and you couldn't help but feel a flutter of anticipation in your chest. "Is that a question?" His thumb traced the outline of your mouth.

"No. I mean - yes. Argh, I-"

He chuckled at your struggle to speak, his lips grazing your ear as he murmured, "Am I making you nervous?"

You narrowed your eyes at him briefly, aware that he was taunting you, and whispered, "Yes." You didn't think you'd ever been this close to Jonathan. You noticed that his eyes have grey specks in them.

"Hm. Well, then...Tell me what it is that you truly want?"

The intensity of his gaze was almost overwhelming, making it difficult for you to think clearly. You found yourself captivated by the depth of emotion within his eyes.

"I want..." You swallowed hard, your heart racing as you leaned in closer, his nose brushing yours and lips millimeters apart. Jonathan leaned back ever so slightly upon your pause. He was teasing you, eager for you to work for his touch. His hand moved down to trace the edge of your collarbone, giving you chills.

His pupils darkening, he murmured, "Say it."

You notice the bare anticipation and hunger in his gaze, but he also still had that same mischief about him. Unable to hold back your desire, you whispered, "I want you, Jonathan." Your voice was laced with a quiet intensity. "Your mind, your touch, your affection. All of you."

The words set off a proper reaction in him, and in one swift motion, he closed the distance between you, his lips crashing against yours in a desperate kiss.

You gasped softly, the sensation of his mouth moving hungrily against yours setting your nerves on fire. Without breaking the kiss, Jonathan gently guided you backward, and you sunk down onto the couch as he hovered over you, one hand cradling the back of your head, the other keeping him upright.

In the halls, you had always noticed the musk of his cologne and the distinct smell of the spice he craved so dearly. Naturally, he tasted like cinnamon and his kiss was sweeter than you could have ever imagined.

He bit your lip and you allowed his tongue entrance into your mouth. Your fingers thread through his dark hair, pulling him closer, needing to feel all of him.

As you pulled his hips closer to yours, you could feel a hardness press on you. Jonathan groaned as you moved against him. You could stay like this forever, under him as he kissed you senselessly.

Eventually, you parted, both of you breathless and flushed. Jonathan gazed down at you, his eyes dark with desire. His thumb brushed against your swollen lips, a blazing look in his eyes.

"You truly are a marvel, my dear. Ignore what nonsense anyone else says," he murmurs, his voice rough with emotion. He dips his head, nuzzling against your neck, his lips trailing featherlight kisses along your skin. "You are the cream in my coffee. You make my life sweeter. I hope to only bring you that same joy."

You softened immensely at his words. His arms wrapped around you, holding you close as he continued his gentle assault, intent on exploring every possible inch of you, his keen eyes noticed your little reactions to his touch. And you didn't mind one bit. You craved him. To think this had all simply started with a sweet cup of coffee...

@kpopgirlbtssvt @kiss-me-cill-me @mothhball hope you guys enjoy!

[thezombieprostitute]

Lloyd Hanson - Soulmate AU

A/N: I swear, I tried to ignore him but that only made things worse. @alicedopey didn't help!

Word Count: ~1.8k

Warnings: Reader is kidnapped. Smut. Sub/Dom dynamics vs Dub Con?

The bag is removed from your head and you're finally able to get a look at your surroundings. It's a dark room with one light above the table. It looks like one of those police interrogation rooms in TV shows. The duct tape is ripped from your mouth and you hiss from the pain. You test the bonds around your wrists, tied behind your back, but they're too secure to wiggle out of.

The chair across from you is abruptly pulled back and you're face to face with a tall, broad, blue eyed man with a porn mustache. He's smiling at you. You say nothing, letting your confusion show on your face. He rolls up his shirt sleeve and you see his soulmate tattoo. It's an exact match for yours.

"You couldn't have just bought me a coffee," you ask, trying to keep from snapping.

"Sweetheart," he coos, "you're my soulmate. I have to get you used to what the rest of your life is going to be."

You raise an eyebrow at that, "I'm going to constantly be kidnapped and talk with over-the-top idiots?"

He laughs at your comeback, "not quite. But I do have a lot of enemies and I gotta make sure my soulmate doesn't panic, cry and rat me out if they get picked up." He leans forward and rests his arms on the table. "And I gotta say, you are a champ!"

"I'm good at getting kidnapped," you deadpan. "What a wonderful compliment."

"Not easily scared, sassy and sarcastic," he croons. "You really are my soulmate." He winks and you roll your eyes.

"How did you find me," you ask. "I rarely, if ever, let my soulmate tattoo show."

"Someone used a rare photo of your mark to draw me in," he admits. "Imagine my surprise when it was someone trying to kill me."

"And from there you were able to find me," you nod. "Any chance of untying me, now that you know I'm not trying to kill you?"

"I dunno," he leers, "I'm kinda getting hard at the thought of you being so helpless to stop me."

"I swear to whatever deity will listen, I can and will bite you. Literally and metaphorically."

"Metaphorically?"

"The reason you like me being tied up is because your limp dick needs to feel like it's actually capable of leaving some kind of imprint."

"Ouch!" He moves his hand over his heart, "you weren't kidding, Sunshine. That really hurt!" He leaned forward even more, grinning like a Cheshire cat, "do it again."

"The only reason you don't shave your mustache is because you enjoy getting looks from people because you're a needy man-baby who needs the attention."

"Ooooh, that feels so good," he leans back, chuckling. He makes a motion and someone comes up behind you and undoes your bindings.

"Thank you," you nod, rubbing your wrists.

"Ah, I was wondering where the niceness was." You raise your eyebrow again, silently asking him what he meant. "You work with people a lot and always get such glowing customer service reviews. That means you can at least pretend to be nice. But when I dig further, I find that you're a good neighbor who helps the old lady carry in her groceries. Helps the kiddies with their homework. All that wholesome stuff."

"I have social skills," you retort. "Kinda required for the job."

"You don't have a job anymore." You don't try to hide your surprise at that statement. His tone goes stern for the first time, "I can't have my soulmate wasting her time on other people. All of that goodness you do for others? You're gonna do it for me and only me from now on. I get to be the only outlet for your kindness and you're gonna pamper me every time I'm home."

“No I'm not.”

“Excuse you? I don’t see that you have much of a choice here Sweetie.”

“Not my fault you lack the imagination to see my options.” 

“Your options are to either tend to my every want and need or wallow in a basement on starvation rations.” You smile at him and enjoy the momentary drop in his confidence. “You will give me everything I want. In return, I’ll give you everything money can buy.” You throw your head back and laugh at that. He’s squirming a little, wondering what the hell is going on.

“You can have my submission when you earn it,” you coo. “And you don’t earn it by buying it.” You lean forward, putting yourself in his personal space. 

“What the hell is going on?”

You roll up your sleeve to show Lloyd the matching soulmate tattoo and put your arm next to his. At the first touch of your hand, you both feel the electricity that confirms the two halves have met. You reach out and gently rub his cheek with your hand and he leans into it, gently moaning before he catches himself. 

“You see, even though I don’t know your name, I can see right through you. Your reactions to my snipes and my politeness were quite telling. You do crave attention but you’ve only ever been good at getting negative attention. A soulmate could give you that positive attention you long for. Why else would you actually come looking for me? You could keep up that attention seeking behaviour without involving me but you put yourself at risk for the chance at meeting someone who might be kind to you. Who might like you, if only because they have to.”

“My name is Lloyd,” he grumbles.

“Thank you, Lloyd. I’d say it’s nice to meet you, but you definitely started on the wrong foot.” 

He goes silent but he doesn’t stop your hand rubbing his cheek. He wants to be angry at you. He wants to follow through on his display of force. But he can’t do that. He makes another hand motion and a door opens. He stands up, comes around the table and lifts you up out of your chair. 

“I don’t appreciate not being in control, Sweetheart,” he growls at you. “I may want all of your affection but I will not hesitate to use force if you try to take control from me ever again.”

“As I said, you can have my submission when you’ve earned it.”

“And how do I do that? You turned down my offer of everything money can buy.”

“Treat me like a queen or goddess, not a pet.”

Lloyd takes a deep breath and starts walking towards the door, taking you with him. You manage to keep pace as he leads you through several hallways, up some stairs and finally emerging into, what you can easily assume to be, a mansion. He doesn’t stop to let you take too close of a look. He leads up the wide staircase, to a set of double doors. He pushes them open and you see a giant, canopy bed. You also see things that, while you can’t name them, you're pretty sure they’re meant for BDSM activities. 

He pulls you towards him, wrapping you in his arms, and forces your face up to look at him. “You’re not the only one who can read people, Sweetheart,” he purrs. “You enjoy being a bratty, submissive slut. You want someone who can properly dominate you, satisfy that craving your cunt aches for.”

He walks you to the bed as he keeps talking, “you always tried to hide your tattoo because it was your one rebellion against a world that makes you feel helpless. You are kind to your neighbors because you’re too stubborn to let your customer service job kill your soul.”

He pushes you onto all fours on the bed and smacks your ass. “And your unusual calm at being kidnapped? You expect the world to fuck you over.” He smacks your ass again and you bite back a moan. “You expect things to be out of your control so you don’t sweat it when you’re proven right.” He smacks your ass a few more times and you can’t stop the moan that escapes you. As soon as he hears it he chuckles. “You don’t want to be treated like a pet? Fine.” He spanks you again. “But I won’t treat you like a goddess or a queen.” Another slap. “I’m gonna treat you like the dirty slut you’ve always wanted to be.” Another slap. “And I’ll make sure you never feel you have to be more than just the cock hungry whore you really are.” 

The spanking continues, hard, fast and painful, until your arms give out. Lloyd reaches his arms around you and pulls you up so that your back is flush against his muscular chest. One hand holds you up by your neck. His other hand reaches under your clothes and smirks at how wet you are. He gathers up some of the slick and starts rubbing circles over your clit. You start whining and gasping at the sensations but you don’t dare move your hips. You’re certain he’ll stop if you do anything he doesn’t tell you to and you don’t want this to stop. 

He whispers in your ear, “so long as you never try to wrestle control from me again, I’ll treat how you really want to be treated.” His fingers move faster and you whimper from how close you are. “Not like a queen or a goddess, no. Not a pet, either.” You’re focused on not moving, trying to make sure that his fingers continue to work their magic. “I’ll treat you like my dirty little slut who will do anything so long as I let her cum.” 

His grip on your neck tightens and he whispers, “cum for me.” Your orgasm hits you harder than you ever thought possible. He keeps his fingers moving as he whispers “such a good slut.” As the ecstasy ebbs your legs start shaking and he lays you down on your back. 

Lloyd licks his fingers and moans appreciatively. He pulls off your pants and underwear, whistling appreciatively at the mess you’ve made of your panties. You try to lift yourself on your elbows but he pushes you back down. “You move when I tell you to, Sweetheart,” he orders, his tone making you whimper. He winks at you, “now let me show you the real reason I keep this mustache.”

[j2h5b5]

There was only one thing that could have dragged Steve out of bed at two in the morning when he was nursing a booze-induced headache and an Eddie Munson-induced heartache.

“We need you,” she said.

He didn’t even bother putting on a jacket.

***

Dustin was sloppy, red-eyed and so unsteady that when Steve thunked a strong hand down on his shoulder, he almost lost his balance turning away from the group of asshats he’d taken up with to see who had grabbed him. Some of the drink in his hand sloshed over the sides of the cup and dribbled down the front of his shirt and onto the already filthy kitchen floor.

“Hey, what the—” he began, and then he dragged his gaze up to land on Steve.

There was a time, not so very long ago, when those same eyes would’ve lit up at the sight of his babysitter slash idol slash best friend. He would wrap him in a hug if it had been a day or two since he’d seen him, or sling a companionable arm around him, or punch him good-naturedly in the arm in hopes of initiating a play scuffle, which inevitably ended with him in a headlock getting his mop of curls aggressively tousled because he was just never going to have any kind of athletic edge on Steve.

But now.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” the younger boy asked in a tone so sharp and cold and so very NOT-Dustin that it made Steve’s heart squeeze painfully in his chest.

“Hey, man,” Steve said, aiming for casual if only to keep Dustin from embarrassing himself in front of his new asshat friends. “Can I talk to you? Step outside with me for a sec, okay?”

“Um, no,” Dustin bit out. “This’s my party, i'ss my house. It would be rude to leave my guests.”

“Yeah, since you brought that up … who are these people?” Steve swept his gaze over the Henderson kitchen, which was almost unrecognizable with all of the clutter, displaced furniture, and wasted teenagers. “And Dustin … where’s your mom?”

“Not here.”

“Well yeah, I kind of gathered that. Listen, Dust…”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Are the others here?”

“Oh, you mean the traitors who called and ratted me out to YOU? Who the fuck cares?” His voice lowered to what he seemed to think was a conspiratorial level but was really just an extremely loud stage whisper. “Maybe they tripped and fell and landed their buzzkill asses back in the Upside Down.”

“Okay, that’s it.”

Before Dustin could protest, the cup was plucked from his hand and tossed expertly across the room, over the heads of several unwary drunken youths and into the crusty-dish-crowded sink and he was being towed along behind Steve through the kitchen, the living room, out the front door.

“What the fuck, Harrington? Let go of me! Let go!” Dustin struggled against the vise grip on his bicep but only succeeded in ensuring he’d probably have finger-shaped bruises there tomorrow.

Steve paid him no mind until he had deposited the boy into the passenger seat of his car, slammed the door, and locked it. Then he walked around to the driver’s side, unlocked it only long enough to get in, relocked it, and turned to Dustin.

“First of all,” he began loudly, drowning out Dustin’s sputtering attempts to find the words he wanted to hurl at Steve in his outrage at being manhandled out of his own party. “First of all. Joking about the Upside Down in a room full of strangers? NOT OKAY.”

“They don’t even know what—”

“Not. Fucking. Okay. SECOND, if you ever imply again that one of ours should BE in the Upside Down, you will find yourself with my foot so far up your ass you’ll choke on my shoe, and if you think I’m joking about that, Dustin, try me.”

This time there was only an eye-roll from Dustin, because he kind of didn’t want to try Steve on that point and because he kind of felt bad about saying it.

“Third, your friends are not traitors. They care about you and they’re worried about you; they called me for help because you’re treating them like shit and shut down every attempt they make to help you. Listen, I know I’m not your favorite person right now, Dustin, but you have to let someone help you. You’re not okay, buddy. This isn’t you. And all this shit you’re doing, the drinking and the partying and the pretending not to give a damn? It isn’t going to fix anything. It … it won’t bring him back.”

“Shut up!” Dustin shouted, flinching so hard at the words that he smacked the back of his head against the side window. Steve winced at the sound of skull meeting glass and resisted the urge to reach out and check for blood, or a bump. Dustin seemed not to have noticed that he’d nearly brained himself, infusing his next words with all the venom he could muster. “You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about, Steve. Even if you were right, it’s none of your business what I do! I am none of your business.”

“Don’t say shit like that, Dustin. Of course you’re my business.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah! What are you saying?”

Dustin barked out a humorless laugh. “As much as I’d like to sit here with you and have a heart to heart right now, I have to get back to my guests.”

“No,” Steve snapped, reaching over Dustin to slap down the peg lock when the teen yanked it up. “We’re not done here. Now I can go inside and clear out your house and we can talk there, or you can drop the bullshit and talk to me right now.”

“You’re not shutting down my party.”

“Then we talk here.”

“I have nothing to say to you.”

“Right, sure you don’t. Maybe I can give you some words, then. How about this, Dustin? How about: ‘Hey, Steve, you useless idiot loser, you promised to keep us safe and then you fucked it all up like you always do. The plan didn’t work and Max got hurt and Eddie fucking died, and you couldn’t stop it. I hate you for that, for lying and making us feel safe and telling us it was going to be okay. I can’t even look at you anymore and I hate my friends because they don’t hate you for some reason, but we know, don’t we? We know whose fault it is that we came back a man short. It’s yours, Steve. Yours.’” Steve’s voice was cracked and painful, like he’d been eating gravel and chasing it with cheap whisky and cigarettes. It hurt, that voice. “How’s that, Dust?” he finished, staring unflinching into Dustin’s shocked eyes. “Am I in the ballpark?”

Before Steve could react, Dustin unlocked his door and flung himself out of the car. He was drunk and it was dark, though, and he only made it a few yards before tripping and landing hard on the grass. Steve was on him almost instantly, hauling him up by the arms and scanning him for injuries.

He didn’t see the punch coming, wouldn’t have believed Dustin Henderson capable of such an effective hit, right in the mouth, knocking him back a couple of feet. “Jesus, Dustin!” he shouted, touching his lip and staring dumbfounded when his fingers came away wet with blood. “What the fuck, man?”

“Hit me back.”

“What? No! Dustin, what’s—”

“HIT ME BACK, STEVE! You have to!” Dustin’s voice cracked, the sudden violent burst of emotion threatening to unleash something big and scary and unforgivable. A tidal wave that had a name.

Steve grappled wildly with the boy, trying to grab his flailing arms so he could pin him, but Dustin was surprisingly swift in his current state, and he launched another punch, this one landing heavy in Steve’s gut and socking the breath right out of him.

“HIT ME, STEVE! I KNOW YOU WANT TO, JUST DO IT!”

Fueled by a burst of frustration and a sharper burst of fear (what is this?), Steve recovered enough to trap Dustin’s arms against his body, using his own weight to twist the boy around until he was trapped with his back against Steve, the hold immobilizing him so all he could do was squirm and shout out his fury. “LET ME GO FUCK YOU STEVE WHY WON’T YOU JUST FIGHT BACK YOU ASSHOLE?!”

“Dustin, stop. Stop it. Breathe, Dustin. Take a breath. No, hey, stop. You’re not going anywhere until you calm down for me. Breathe. Shhh, buddy. Breathe,” Steve’s hold was unbudging, his tone stern but soothing. Dustin’s violent struggles gradually slowed, and it took a couple of minutes for Steve to realize that the boy was shaking with silent sobs. And then the sobs became words, almost indecipherable in the wrecked, wretched voice that was rough and strained from screaming.

Every sentence Steve parsed from the stream of horrible self-accusations added another crack to his heart, which couldn’t have been more than a mess of spiderwebbing at this point.

It’s my fault.

He’s dead because of me.

I couldn’t save him.

You loved him, I know you did.

Why don’t you hate me?

Why don’t you hate me?

Why don’t you hate me?

Finally, finally, the words stopped and Dustin sagged, exhausted, in Steve’s arms. Only then did Steve ease up on his hold, but only long enough to turn the boy around and hug him properly. He bent down to bury his face in the unruly curls, his own tears falling unchecked and inconsequential.

“Dustin,” he whispered into the mop of hair. “Oh, Dustin, never.”

And when he realized he didn’t have the right words, he just stopped. He just picked Dustin up and carried him to his car, buckled him into the passenger seat, and told him he would be right back. He had a party to break up, some kids to chase away, and a boy—his boy—to mend.

“You loved him, I know you did.”

With a soul-cleansing breath that sounded more like a sob, Steve made his way back up to the Hendersons’ house.

[cursedkeyboard]

Babies shouldn't grow up ☆ Jason Todd & GN!Reader (PT.2)

What does Jason do after stealing a kid from Gotham's slums? Feed and give the little brat a home, of course. [PART ONE ♤ PART TWO ♤ PART THREE ♤ PART FOUR ♤ PART FIVE ♤ PART SIX]

pairings: Platonic Jason Todd & Child GN!Reader

To be completely honest, when Jason reached his apartment, he was panicking a little

The drive had been enough to clear his mind and he realized how impulsive he'd been

He is a damn vigilante, one with a hell of a reputation, and who's always messing with the baddest assholes of this city

Fuck, he's got guns and explosives in his house

But even with all the panic and rationality, Jason wasn't going to abandon you somewhere else

Orphanages were great places for villains to hit, the foster system might as well have been created by the joker, and no way in hell was he going to drop you at Bruce's

Anything but that

So he sucked it up and focused on your small voice full of wonder as you two drove through the city

"I didn't know there was so many tall buildings in Gotham!"

"That church is huge!"

"Holy shit is that a theater?! I only saw them in movies!"

At a certain point he was close to biting his fists in pure cuteness aggression

He knew exactly what you were feeling, could even picture your eyes glittering full of wonder behind the helmet

It didn't help his heart that your helmet also had comms, which were connected to his, so every single one of your little comments meant for yourself only were accidentally shared

Your Gotham accent was so thick too, born and raised in an area were the elite never tried to "cleanse"

Fuking adorable

Oh, also, he'd need to teach you not to follow strangers even if they were famous vigilantes

Because he realized how fucking dangerous it was that you just up and agreed to be taken by a random masked man

Sure, he knew he also did the same with Bruce, but hey, look at where that got him

When Jason finally brought you up to his apartment, still carrying you, he knew he'd have to immediately go out to buy some things

His fridge wasn't stocked with what kids need

Like... apple juice and cereal

Or any kind of vegetables

And, he definitely needed some kid safety stuff, even if he knew you wouldn't try opening the dangerous cabinets

... probably

Opening his door, he took you to the bathroom

Look, as cute as you were, you were also as filthy as a drenched sewer rat

He told you as much when he set you down

Your glare was worth the slap on the arm (it didn't even hurt)

"Can I assume you know how to take a shower?"

"I'm nine, not three, Red Hood."

"Not my fault you look like you're five."

He chuckled as you huffed and puffed

"Jason Todd."

"What?"

"My name is Jason Todd. Can't have you calling me Red Hood if you're gonna live with me, right?"

You gaped, big eyes going wide

He told you his name! And showed you his face! Why did this man trust you so much?

It... it made you real warm inside

You were quiet for a moment before quietly telling you your name, shyly, like you hadn't done that in a long time

"Hm, I think I prefer 'squirt', tho."

Okay, warm moment over, the guy is insufferable

Hissing and pushing him out of the bathroom with all of your strength, you hesitantly took your first real shower since... since you don't even know when

The water was black

You realized your skin could feel soft instead of oily

And your nails finally didn't look like you dug through dirt

Meanwhile, Jason was running around the apartment like a crazed man

Shoving his guns inside high drawers you wouldn't be able to reach

Trashing the cigs he had bought out of curiosity

And making sure any items for... his intimate partners were completely hidden away

He'd found those in Bruce's room one time as a kid and, needless to say, Jason still felt traumatized to this day

After making his apartment slightly less deadly and ordering food, Jason knocked on the door to let you know he'd left a change of clothes for you in front of the bathroom

Damian's clothes the brat left behind once he had stayed over when he was rebelling

they'd be a little too big for you but nothing like what his would look like

Once you came out, looking fresh and clean, Jason immediately carried you to the couch

Biting his tongue because the demon brat's clothes were actually so big on you he could cry

He ignored your complaints again, he knew your little feet were all scratched and they must have hurt like a bitch

Once you finally settled and didn't try to scratch his eyeballs out, Jason started to patch you up

Such careful, gentle touches for rough hands like his

He handled your injuries like you were made of glass

And despite your childish pride... you kind of loved it

It made you feel all tingly and cozy inside, like you were precious

Like you were deserving of kindness

As you started fidgeting with all the bubbling emotions inside of you, Jason tried to calm you down by talking

He learned your mother died from a drive-by shooting and your father was an alcoholic with a taste for physical abuse

"It only got bad bad a year or so ago, I think he blamed me for us being poor."

"And you know that's bull, right?"

You shrugged as he finished treating your injuries and started to dry your damp hair, a little awkwardly but attentive

"He left a month ago–or died, I don't know–so it doesn't matter either way."

Well, that was a healthy mindset for a child!

He had to breathe through his mouth to not get up and go put three little bullets in your piece of shit father's head

or his body, if the bastard was already dead

Jason definitely had a lot of work to do, but for now, ding-dong, he was going to focus on feeding you

And, no, he was never going to delete the photo he took of your face when he opened the huge takeout orders

Nor would he forget the way you cried silently as you ate

That was your first real meal in months

Your first real meal, washed and clothed, in a safe apartment that didn't smell of roaches nor booze, with an adult who looked at you fondly

Jason promised, to himself and God, that he'd make sure you'd never cry over something like food ever again

When you giggled at a joke he made and didn't flinch when he gently wiped a bit of sauce from your cheek, he knew he had made the correct decision

He'd keep you safe

To be continued...

[bookishdreamer28]

Tom Blyth is a total babe and has my heart and his character in Billy the kid has me weak on the knees

Btw I'll definitely write more Billy fics so I hope you'll enjoy reading this one ❣

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You felt your body responding to his intense stare again. You found yourself burning with desire for the man with the beautiful ocean eyes across the room, for the 5th time this month. He was an occasional costumer but you never had the chance to have a proper conversation with him because of all these drunken people blocking your way or your boss making you taking orders from other tables. He never once threw a dirty look at you, neither he made you feel uneasy and uncomfortable in any way just like brainless rats did. And you liked that. You liked him.

When you served a costumer his bear, your eyes went immediately on him. He gave a small smile and waved at you. This small interaction increased your heart's rate and you returned the smile with one of your own. You tried to preoccupy yourself by cleaning the counter but all you could think about was him. The man who already had your heart in his hands.

After contemplating for about half an hour on what to do, you picked up the courage and made your way to his table. His eyes never left you. Seeing you approaching him made him nervous. Unable to make a single move.

"Would you like me to bring you something else?" You asked giving him a sweet smile.

"Uh n-no thank you" his hand traveled up to his hair, pushing a few locks out of the way. You suddenly felt your mouth dry. You licked your lips and you caught his eyes following the movement.

"I'm Y/N" you reached your hand out for a shake. He gently grabbed your hand and said

"I'm William but most people call me Billy. The choice is yours sweetheart" he lowered your hand to his mouth and placed a soft kiss there. Your cheeks were burning and you were sure that you looked like you had fever.

You were ready to say something but a drunk guy placed his arm around your shoulder. Your body tensed and Billy's eyes darkened.

"Why don't We get this kind of treatment huh?" His breath was stinking liquor and you wanted to punch the shit out of him which you were ready to do so, but Billy caught you. His punch surely broke thos guy's jaw and it sent him straight to the floor. He then picked him up by his colar and slammed him to the wall.

"If you even dare do as much as look in her direction, I will end you, get it? Don't you DARE put your filthy hands on her again" He growled and then threw him on the floor again. The guy didn't had the guts to say anything to Billy. And all the other men in the bar knew that it would be best if the mind their own business instead of get themselves involved in this.

Billy turned to you and gently touched your shoulders.

"Let's get out of here"

"But I can't just le-"

"As long as you're with me no one is going to hurt you. There's no way I'm leaving you here but if you want to stay, I'll stay too" his words warmed your heart.

"Lead the way cowboy" you smirked and grabbed his hand. He smiled widely and walked the to exit. Once you were outside you started laughing at how wonderful it all felt with him. He couldn't help but watch you closely. Your smile, your bright eyes, your hair flowing in the breeze. You were all he's thinking about and now he finally has the chance to be with you. Just the two of you.

You looked at your intertwined fingers and your stomach filled with butterflies again . But then your eyes widened when you realized that you were still holding hands.

Billy noticed your expression and was ready to pull his hand away but you held it tight.

"I'm ok with this...that is as long as you're ok with it too" and for once agaim you felt your face burning.

"I'm more than ok sweetheart" he smiled.

"Oh thank you souch for earlier I didn't expe-"

"I will never let anyone touch you again like this. I know you think that I didn't have to interfere but it made my blood boil seeing in distress" he stopped walking and turned his body to you.

His eyes were so beautiful under the moonlight. The soft touch of his fingertips on your cheek is what shook me out of my thoughts. Your breath quickened.

"I...where is your home exactly? I don't want you to walk on your all alone now" he cleared his throat, moving his hand from your face, looking anywhere else but you.

"Oh we're almost there-...Um actually, I don't want to go home right now" you stopped him from moving.

"Ok that's great then, cause I didn't want you to go either" he said and you stared at each other.

"Great" you whispered and moved closer to him.

"Great" he moved closer too.

His hands cupped your face slowly and his thumbs were caressing your skin softly.

"Can I please, please kiss you? Cause I've been dying to do this for whole month now and I can't wait longer" your legs felt like jelly and you had no idea how you managed to stand still.

You nodded eagerly and closed your eyes the moment he started leaning in. He kissed you tenderly and pulled back to see your reaction, only for you to crash your lips against his passionately. You felt Billy's hand slide into your hair and his other kept your body close to his. The kiss held such intensity and emotion, that made you both breathless once you pulled away.

"I'm at your mercy woman" he whispered against my lips and and I smiled, grabbing his collar to kiss him more

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Thank you for reading 😚 love you all

all rights reserved. please do not copy, modify, repost, translate, or claim my content as yours.

[maxwell-grant]

So... Thoughts on The Penguin trailer?

I'm trying to reign in my optimism a bit and be a little more cautious, but so far: ahahahah oh man, oh man oh man, I'm really excited for this.

God I gotta get back on my Sopranos watch, I gotta start making time for it again. I mean, it's been a terrific show so far, I'm not just watching it because of this, but out of everything we've seen so far this trailer is the biggest "we're doing The Sopranos" thing I've seen from them yet.

I love the mention of Rex Calabrese here and the recontextualization of his character, and how Oswald views him. For comparison's sake: In Batman Eternal, Rex Calabrese was brought up as a brutal ruler who ripped throats out with his teeth and terrified all the other cops and crime families into obeying him and who understood the natural order through which he was supplanted by Falcone, who was then supplanted by Penguin. But here, he talks about Rex Calabrese as a childhood hero who helped people, who was given a funeral parade as a show of love from the people. That's the kind of person Oz idolizes, the kind of life he wants and is starting to think he will never get to have.

Here's one of the big reasons why this is already the best take on Gangster Penguin there's ever been, and the thing I love the most about this trailer, and something that absolutely defined him in the movie as well: Oswald is completely delusional about what being a gangster actually means.

Oswald here is a guy who had his heart broken in the movie because Falcone, the guy he followed and obeyed and looked up to with every breath, turned out to be a backstabbing piece of shit, with Oswald clearly kept in the dark about the nastier things Falcone got up to. He gets very offended at the suggestion he murdered Annika or that he did the Riddler's serial killer rat maze trap, and in that deleted scene where he tries to pay Selina and keep her from going underground, he clearly wants to be the guy who treats his staff allright and pays them what they need and tries to shield her from the grubby animals downstairs that he on some level finds disgusting (even though they're on his club, and he's providing them with what they want, and he's shielding the worst one of all).

And now he's sitting here talking about his old hero, a gangster from his neighborhood who reached out to people in the street and helped them, who died with his pride in hand and was beloved by his community for it. The kind of guy that Oswald emotionally talks about as someone he wants to be like, as he's getting ready to go to war and shoot and stab and blow up people in a crumbling nightmare city.

This is, in spite of everything, a guy who is very, very preoccupied with being some kind of gentleman, or at least more of a gentleman than the criminals he cavorts with, and a guy whose vision of himself doesn't match the reality of what he does, and a guy who has made a ridiculous cartoon of himself in order to try and forcing that childish idea into reality. This is a Penguin who lives and dresses and acts as an absurd child's idea of a rich and powerful man, except what that entails has changed.

Instead of wanting to be the romantic aristocrat, instead of playing the cultured gentleman thief, this Oswald wants to be the friendly gangster. He wants to be the neighborhood king who runs soup kitchens and helps old ladies cross the street and inspires beaten-down insecure loser kids like him to strive for more, the mafioso who looks out for women and kids and isn't scared of the cops and gets funeral parades for being such a swell guy who just does a little crime ova here every now and then, eeyy, c'maan.

Oswald here has the same dream as Giorno Giovanna, from JoJo Part 5, and he saw Rex Calabrese as the distant mysterious gangster who looked out for Giorno and invisibly kept bullies from picking on him and made the neighborhood treat him decently, who showed him what real power, power to protect himself and others, looks like, and he very clearly wanted to project that kind of fantasy onto Falcone, who is an actual gangster, and thus doesn't act remotely the way Oswald thinks they ought to act.

Oswald here wants to be the Depression-era honorable mafioso, just as outdated and fictional and mismatched a character in our time as the gentleman thief aristocrat was to the 1940s, and to me that feels like the first time anyone's really made Penguin-as-Gangster be a concept worth it's weight and play into makes him so engaging a character. It's just instead of being a burglar and crimelord who reads Raffles and quotes Shakespeare, this Oswald is a Tony Soprano who prays every night to be Don Corleone once he grows up.

And he might even get his chance! Because the way things are going in Gotham, with the city destroyed and in need of rebuilding, with the entire infrastructure crumbled and the mob having lost their figureheads and supply, and Oswald holding one of the few structures not completely totaled, he has the opportunity of a lifetime here to swoop in and play the Capone/Dillinger to this Depression-flavored Gotham.

And I'm really curious as to where he's heading within the show: whether he's going to make this fantasy of his work and be the reasonable flexible-but-unbeatable crimelord and the sole player remaining in town, or whether the downfall of organized crime in Gotham and the rise of the weirdos means that our beloved waddling freak is going to have to come to terms with what he actually is, and grab his colorful suits and his new name and make some umbrella guns to embrace and ride his bizarre awfulness into the sunset.

[oqlixsreads]

𝗦𝗽𝗮𝗱𝗲𝘀, 𝗖𝗹𝘂𝗯𝘀, 𝗛𝗲𝗮𝗿𝘁𝘀, 𝗼𝗿 𝗗𝗶𝗮𝗺𝗼𝗻𝗱𝘀?

Y/n unfortunately got split up from the group, just like Chishiya did. But they didn’t get split up together. Until the two have a life or death reunion.

tw/cw: spoilers, blood, manipulation kinda(does that need a tw lol)

pairings: ChishiyaXreader

“Usagi? Chishiya?” Y/n’s heart was practically beating out of their chest. Less than 24 hours ago they and the 4 others along with the people who had survived were trying to figure out who the witch was at the beach. Now they’re all running for their lives, screaming at the top of their lungs and being shot at by the King of Spades, who nobody knows who he is, or where he even came from.

Everywhere Y/n turned there was either a dead body, or a person in the middle of getting shot. Which ever it was, it made them pick up speed and hide behind a car. Hyperventilating like no other. Bullets hit the car, shattering the windows, Y/n threw their hands up to their mouth to silence their noises. Making sure not to scream no matter how much it was on the tip of their tongue. They would’ve used the gun in their hand to get the man, but they would’ve failed.

If they wanted to live Y/n had to look for their friends. But how could they when bullets are flying from every which way. And they can’t even look for the one shooting at them.

Until it went at least a little silent. “Hey.” Y/n snapped their head to the car next to them in horror but settled down once they recognized Arisu and Usagi. “It’s just us. Kuina and Chishiya are on the other side.” there was a long pause before they knew how to respond. “What do we do?” the two were quiet for a second. “Survive.” That was a lot to do especially in these circumstances. Y/n didn’t know which they preferred. Niragi and his trigger happy fingers at the beach, or a man wearing a cloak shooting at everyone.

What they didn’t know was that Ann and Tatta were coming to help.

With a screech a car stopped in front of them. “Get in!” They watched Kuina, Usagi, and Arisu get in but realized there were no more seats and Chishiya trailing behind slowly then stopped. A bomb had been thrown their way. “Go get out of here!” They yelled, there was no time before the King of Spades starting shooting again. “Y/n! Chishiya!” Kuina was just as stressed as the rest of them.

Tatta put more pressure on the gas peddle and they were gone. “They’ll survive.” And Y/n was alone with dead bodies on the ground and smoke blurring their vision. Which gave them no choice but to walk around the city to find a plan to join up with their friends, keep playing. And find the most important person to them.

The sun was almost down and they had yet to find some kind of food or water. Gunshots were heard miles behind them. Y/n found an empty corner store in front of an hopefully abandoned apartment building, after getting food that’ll last until they find some type of game to get involved with.

The apartment building was soundless, dirty, and vacant.

Throughly checking for any sign of people it seemed like Y/n was actually the only thing around. They came to a stop on floor number three, and opens the first door on the hall. Placing the bag of food beside the door before pulling out their gun and searching for sight of someone else.

They weren’t expecting a noise coming from behind them in the bathroom. They paused before turning around pushing the door slightly open with their foot while the gun was still pointed, it was mostly clean. Until a rat jumped out scaring Y/n a bit. “Jesus I can’t wait to go home.” If there even was a home to go back to.

Y/n settled down in the bedroom making sure to lock the door and place something in front of it and the bedroom one as well. Being away from their friends was going to be a long time.

The sun glared through the windows onto their face waking them up, and it was time to look for a game.

Luckily when they went strolling for a while, Y/n found an abandoned prison like building, with a blimp and the jack of hearts card hanging down from it.

Walking in there was one collar like thing on a table. And a boy with blue hair walking up the stairs. The collar clicked together and on the back of it, the screen with flipping through hearts, spades, clubs, and diamonds. Landing on spades.

When Y/n got to the top of the stairs and saw many people. A girl with a blue dress, a man in a suit with a woman on his right side, a boy with his hair covering half his face, some guy looking anxious as hell with a guy with a white jacket on beside him. Wait? Isn’t that- “The game with now commence. This is called solitary confinement, difficulty: Jack of Hearts. Here are the rules. Guess the card suit that appears on the back of your collar. However you may not look at the symbol yourself. The time limit is one hour per round. In the final five minutes you will enter your cells and disclose your symbol. If you do not guess the correct symbol the game will be over. The collar will explode and you will die., the game is over once the Jack of Hearts is dead.” Y/n tuned the feminine voice out after that.

They were staring long and hard at the dude wearing his hood, til the two made eye contact. It was him. It was Chishiya. Their eyes lit up and went wide and he started to come forward a bit, but Y/n motioned him to stay put, just until the PA was done speaking. When everyone else started moving they did too.

“You seem trustworthy, I think we should form an alliance, what do you say?” Y/n said with a hint of cracking a joke. God did they miss his presence. And it hasn’t even a solid 3 days. But did they miss his touch, his lips, his everything.

Round one, no one died. Round two, a bald angry man died. Due to the influence of the boy with blue hair, which they heard his name was Banda. Who was a serial killer, four women he murdered. And his friend that sort of followed him like a loss puppy.

Every round was the same thing. “I’ll tell you yours if you tell me mine!”

Y/n, Chishiya, and the anxious guy in overalls, his name was Ippei. The three were sitting in the canteen, looking at everyone freaking for round 5 and seeing the number of people dwindle. They were dropping like flies.

This woman Kotoko and a man she was stuck with as if she were glued to his side caught Y/n’s attention. Not only were the two going at it like a bunch of bunnies but they seemed so mysterious like. Especially Yaba, but Kotoko was different. Throughout the game her and another guy, Matsushita would walk past each other when ever the could. Grabbing the same snack every time they were in the canteen. Of course Chishiya was the one to pick this up.

“Maybe they’re secretly in love.” Y/n slapped the back of his head. “It was a joke.”

Finally. It was five players left, Matsushita, Chishiya, Y/n, Banda, Yaba, and Kotoko. Y/n had a feeling of who the jack was.

Chishiya used the clever kind of his to formulate a plan against Kotoko, Yaba, and Matsushita. Chishiya got into her head to say the least, resulting in her death.

Honestly all this death had Y/n feeling like life was way too short, although everyone knew this. Y/n was seeing hundreds of lives being taken each minute in this hell hole.

Now this was and still is not the time for Y/n to get all soft and sappy just because Chishiya meant a lot to them. But Y/n had heavy admiration towards him, for his bravery, and stoic attitude towards this whole ordeal. Maybe the two would have a brighter and better future once this shit hole comes to an end.

Kotoko was dumb enough to believe anyone besides Yaba who she had stuck with the entire game. Poor girl shouldn’t have done that.

The last round. And one door opened. Matsushita walked out and started laughing like a complete lunatic. Banda was the real serial killer and psycho but even he was able to keep his composure and keep his emotions in. The laughter filled with silence the minute another door to a cell opened. And before he knew it he was backed to a corner with Yaba and Banda crouched over him with a shared knife.

The two later walked out of the prison and the blip above had came crashing down on fire. Y/n already knew many people were bound to die, but they and Chishiya would not be one of them.

But maybe in the next few hours that lay ahead of them.

Y/n turned to Chishiya and kissed his cheek. “I’ll never understand how you’re so fucking smart ‘Chiya.” he let out a chuckle. “I don’t even know how honestly. I just.. connect the dots, find patterns and go from there.”

They would stick by Chishiya’s side if need be, protecting him if needed. Unless he ends up being the protector, it’s still fine.

[writingforatwistedworld]

Hello i hope this isn't too specific, may i request in the self aware au, for a player that actually is a god? ( Examples: God of love and beauty, god of time and or night etc, etc)And for whatever reason they use their godly powers to protect them?(the twst characters) Separately for lilia, vil and jamil! Thank you so much!

Self-aware au

I do not take any responsibility for you reading this no matter which age group you are from!

My works are for entertainment and not meant seriously!!!

WARNINGS: Yandere themes, religion, suicide, obsession, manipulation, unhealthy relationship, death, war, blood, murder, violence, unhealthy mindset

Jamil Viper/Vil Schoenheit/Lilia Vanrouge-Player who is a real God

God of wisdom

The Octavinelle trio and the fire rat had failed

We all remember Jamils Overblot happening, right?

Unlike the game however, they weren't able to beat him and despite the servant already seeing black spots in his vision the feeling of power and freedom was too wonderful just to give up on it

Deep down he also knew that this was his end, having heard the stories about other Overblots that also went terribly wrong

And then there was warmth in the cold desert night his heart had become, lulling him into a dreamless sleep and your voice telling him that it was ok, that he could let go, that you would protect him from his sorrows

Cue next morning and a crying Kalim later

There he was, alive

The one's that were present told him that he suddenly fell asleep during their battle

All they could say about the situation was that they surely had luck, after all it did end things in a positive, non-violent way

But Jamil knew what truly happened

You were a real God, not just an all-knowing scholar like they thought, the God of wisdom

If it weren't for your warning gaze he would have dropped to his knees, thanking you that you had saved his life

But apparently you didn't want them to know, so he held his mouth shut

This wasn't the end though

From then on out he started to become even more obsessed with you and whoops! Was that someone saying that you were just am otherworldly being and nothing more?

They jumped off the roof of the school on the next day, ending their life very early

Not knowing who you truly were was no excuse for denying you the worship you deserved. You, who knew about worlds beyond the stars and even much, much more

He had to know, he had caught a glimpse of it in your voice on that fateful day after all, telling him who you truly were

This had to mean that he was so important to you that you would tell him who you truly were, right? RIGHT??!

Jamil had learned how to serve and obey and who would he be if he didn't use that to show his loyalty to you. Even of it meant that there were blood sacrifices for which you never asked needed...

God of beauty and kindness

Vil was at his end

He felt like there was nothing to look forward to anymore

After going into Overblot and then even losing against Neige the dorm leader wanted to just delete his accounts on social media and burn his contracts with the film and modeling industry

I think it was your sixth sense as a God but you were there, in the room right when he was breaking down with him

And how could you not help him, he who was so lost and helpless

After all, you were not only the God of beauty but also the God of kindness

And that was the day on which the supposedly magic-less student made a miracle happen

Igniting the embers of determination of the Fairest Queen who was sitting slumped over in front of you you showed him who you truly were, showed him that he was worthy to witness the God of what he wanted to be sitting in front of him

Vil swore to never give up again

Ok he is happy, case closed. Want to drink something? How about- WHY IS THERE SOMEONE SUFFOCATING??!

Isn't that the model competing against Vil for a spot in that magazine?

In true evil queen... I MEAN FAIREST QUEEN fashion the man poisoned his rival

And then suddenly accidents happen all over the place to models and other figures in the beauty industry

Just yesterday a light fell onto an actor on a set, killing him in an instance

But there is no need to worry over Vil

He will make sure that he is extra careful!

And if you wouldn't mind, would you give him that bag with the screwdriver in it to him? Thank you!

Vil would be a fool if he were to ignore the blessing his God had given him, giving him the mission to become the most perfect one if them all

No need to wait for too long. He will make sure that he is worthy of you...

Just ignore the red makeup on his jacket. An assistant on set spilled it accidentally on his uniform

God of time

You and I, we both know that this will end in a tragedy and yet you still ask for him in this request

But ok, you are asking for it

Leonas Oveeblot, it happened so fast and unpredicted leading to him leaving for a short while to get help

And to what does he return? The other students lying knocked out on the ground and you standing there proud, not being afraid for a second

You stood there like the true God that you were

And it also ended so quickly, flicking the lion's forehead the student fell into himself like a house of cards

And then you turned around and oh... he was lost in time and space

Lilia is old. He has seen the rise and fall of kingdoms but there was nothing that could have prepare him for the eternity that he saw in your eyes

Suddenly he was nothing more than a child, suddenly realizing that all his joking about his age was truly nothing more than a joke to you

You were after all the beginning, the end and everything in between

The Headmage who had followed the general after the told him what happened seemed to be frozen in time, or rather was until you seemingly decided that it was time to move on in time itself

Of course everyone was confused why Leona was lying on the floor when he was the one beating others into submission just a minute ago

But Lilia knew, and Lilia knew that ou knew that he knew

This leads us to now, the time in which Lilia rests his head in your lap whispering with crazed whispers that all the bloodshed was worth it, that you were finally here

But for what happens next even you, a God, could do something against his next step

The Valley of Thorns is powerful if we are talking about magic

And they are more than looking forward to lay the world to your feet

It is like these peaceful times never existed, Lilia was once more a raging general who now even pulled his own son into the bloodbath he created

But even Lilia knows that you are just an excuse in his life. After all, worldly beings aren't meant to live so long as he already did, making him search for some reason in his life and if it is to end massive amount of life then be it that

And in all the sadness, in all the pain and blood there is a small, gentle part of him lost in time, cradled in your arms whilst it weeps tears of sadness and despair

[ramp-it-up]

Christmas Time to Me

Pairing: Duke! Henry Cavill x Reader

Word Count: Less than the last one, ok?

Warnings: 18+ Only, Minors DNI. SMUT, Explicit description of graphic sex. Read at your own risk.  All errors my own. Pining, angst, young pregnancy, Henry is someone’s father, I am writing about British nobility and I am not British, jet lag, reader has a slight inferiority complex, definite ‘Sir’ kink,  Dom thoughts, bratty behavior. Oral (both receiving) nipple, play, rough sex, size kink, cow girl, face sitting, p in v (wrap that up). Whew, this was quite different than the tender scene I thought to write.

A/N: This is for #DJ’sAllIWant4KChristmas and based on this ask from @ysmmsy found here. Let me know if you liked it, love. ❤️

I no longer have a taglist. Please follow @rampitupandread and turn on notifications to learn when I post! 😘

I Do NOT Consent to my work being reposted, translated or presented on any other blog or site other than by myself.

Good afternoon my Dear Professor. What do you think about the latest hullabaloo about the British Museum. Do you think they should return all artifacts? It would empty everything out.

Your alarm went off and you yawned and stretched, then reached for your phone, trying not to have any expectations. You couldn’t help the smile that spread across your face as you saw a text waiting there from 12 minutes ago, 6:48 am Houston time.

Good morning, Sir. You know very well what I think about that. I could give a rat’s ass about the BU’s inventory.

Lol, I agree, just wanted to get your blood flowing on this beautiful chilly noon day, mate.

You squirmed at the innocent words. He sure did get your blood flowing, to interesting places. And from just a friendly text.

Thank you, Sir. But it’s a nice balmy morning here in Houston. Now go eat lunch!

Henry grinned.

I will. I am looking forward to seeing you and Junie in a couple of days.

Somehow, you could see Henry’s smile through the phone.

I’m excited. I will do professor stuff while you and Junie are hanging out.

Thank you for the consideration, but there is no question that I will leave you alone for a second.

The authoritative tone reached you over 5,000 miles. You shivered, then shook it off.

🙄 Okay, Sir. I have to shower. See you in a couple of days.

You put your phone back on your charger as you shook your head, knowing that you would think of him while you were getting clean.

Henry stared at the text for a long time, his lunch stuck in his throat. He needed to take a drink of water, suddenly very thirsty. His pants got tighter at his desk as he imagined you all wet in the shower. And you calling him ‘Sir’ did things to him. You affected him in a myriad of ways with one text.

“Christ, Y/N,” growled Henry to himself as he rubbed the bulge in his now tighter pants. 

He ran his hand through his curls, trying to think of how he would both be appropriate with you in front of Juniper-Rose, and get beyond this friend zone you’d put him in.

Your ‘friend’ was actually a member of British nobility, Henry William Dalgliesh Cavill, the 12th Duke of Jersey, but one who worked at a non-profit for climate change. Your research on Britain’s role on colonialism and world oppression and his activist heart connected you on an intellectual level. He was tall, hot, and a little bit nerdy, just your type. 

Too bad that he was your best friend’s baby daddy.

The first time you saw Henry, there was an instant attraction, at least on your side. He was gorgeous, bright blue eyes happy and full of kindness. He looked at you with an appreciation that you recognized from a man, but there was nothing offensive in his gaze.

Junie was literally bouncing in his arms, and his smile was ear to ear for his toddler. He seemed full of girl-dad joy and it was obvious that he was wrapped around her tiny little finger. Of course that made him even more alluring. 

You tried to keep from swooning every time you saw Henry, as he grew up from slim-thick twenty something to grown and sexy hunk of a thirty something. Every time you saw him, he got sexier. And your body reacted more.

But girl code, and the fact that you were sure that he was still in love with Jasmine even though they were not together, prevented you from sharing your feelings.

You settled for debates whenever he was in town, which morphed into emails, which changed into friendly texts. He spent all of his available time in Houston with Junie, your goddaughter (christened Marion Eleanor Juniper-Rose Cavill), so the talk was light and passing, and you didn’t want to intrude on Daddy/Daughter time. Smiles and electronic chatter was the entirety of your relationship with Henry. Or so you thought.

You couldn’t, and shouldn’t want for anything more.

Jasmine was always the brightest star in your friend group. To you, she was always just a little bit cuter, prettier, popular and brighter than you, becoming a Rhodes Scholar and jetting off to Britain at 17, while you only earned a National Merit and stayed at home in Houston to attend Rice University. 

You two stayed close, communicating every day, you reveling in her adventures studying Economics at Oxford during the week and partying in London on the weekends. You lived vicariously, internalizing the stories Jazz told you as you lived your quiet academic life at Rice with your quiet boring boyfriends. 

She casually dropped the news about Henry and the fact that he was a Duke, stating that he was bored of his life of duty and privilege. They kept it fun and casual. Until Jasmine turned up pregnant during her senior year. 

Even though they were young starting out, Jasmine and Henry were wonderful co-parents. The only difficulty in the arrangement was that neither Henry nor Jasmine would, or could, give up their lives 5,000 miles apart. Despite his obligations, distance was no barrier for Henry. He would fly over at the drop of a hat for his daughter. 

One memorable occasion was when Junie broke her arm playing soccer at eight years old and had to have surgery. You almost hyperventilated when you ran into Henry, who was on Jasmine’s doorstep a day later looking tired and worried. He was very, very handsome, but he was not checking for you. It was all about Juniper-Rose, as he called her. And probably Jasmine too. 

The next years of Junie’s life were filled with regular visits to Britain and from her father. Henry came to the States every summer for Junie’s birthday and took her back to Britain for a few weeks. Jasmine took her to London every Christmas, using the opportunity for her work in Economics and to catch up with her European friends. 

So here it was, Junie’s 14th Christmas, and you were recruited (by Jasmine of course) to escort her to visit her father on her yearly holiday visit to Britain. Except Junie refused to go this year. Something about wanting to be with her friends who were going to Mexico. And so you wound up being convinced (by Jasmine of course) to go alone. For the entire eight hour flight, you lamented the fact that you did something that you normally don’t: go with the flow

When you landed at Heathrow on December 23rd, you expected a driver to be waiting for you, but what actually happened was surprising. There was Henry, with a small smile, holding up a placard with your name.

You stopped for a moment, heart beating erratically, not expecting this at all. Henry gazed at you as you collected yourself and moved toward him. His smile grew incrementally as you got closer.

“Hullo.”

His baritone held early morning gruffness and was making you feel some kind of way.

“Hello Henry, I mean Sir…I mean Mr. Cavill…Your Grace...” 

You felt like you had to curtsey, and you were tongue tied. Meeting Henry in England was different from talking to him on the phone, or texting. Then, you could pretend that he was a regular person, not British nobility and the real-life embodiment of your fantasies.

Henry’s eyes dilated when you called him ‘Sir,” but then he blushed and looked down, then back up at you to correct you quietly, but firmly.

“Henry is fine. Welcome to London.”

God, you were wet.

“Thank you. I.. I didn’t think that you would meet me personally, I mean, knowing that Junie wasn’t here.”

Henry’s smile dropped.

“Juniper-Rose and I spoke, and I am disappointed, but hopeful that she will join us. But I had to come greet you. To thank you for… for everything that you do for my daughter. And for me.”

Henry held your gaze for as long as you would allow before you flushed and turned your eyes to the floor. He was so god damned beautiful.

“No… no.. problem. I love that little girl.”

Henry reached for your carryon, brushing your fingers with his. You felt electricity down your spine as he started walking toward the exit. 

“My driver, Benjamim, will get your other bags.”

You chuckled. 

“So you do have a driver…” Henry cocked his head at the comment, wondering what was going on in that head of yours.

“Of course. I told you. I wanted to meet you myself. You are a very special person to me.”

You did not, for a moment, believe that he really meant that. It was simply British politeness.

“And I told you. What I do for Junie, I will do forever. She is like my own.”

You did not want Henry to be nice to you out of obligation.

“And that is part of why I… That is why I have to thank you.”

You were quiet, wondering what this outpouring of communication and sentiment was owed to. You zoned out as you were waiting for the car, staring off into space as you bit your lip. Was Henry trying to get back with Jasmine? Is that why he met you at the airport? What was the reason? 

You sighed when you realized that you were giving yourself a headache overthinking, and you realized that you hadn’t had any caffeine yet this day.

Henry interrupted your thoughts with a chuckle.

“You’re overworking that mind of yours, Professor.”

You made a face as he laughed again.

“Come, we’ll get you settled and get you some tea and allow you to rest. Then, tonight, we’ll go out and witness Christmas Time in London.”

“That is just the ticket. Thank you again, Sir Cavill.”

You gave Henry your full smile and a little curtsey this time, and you could see Henry’s smile falter. He cleared his throat and opened the door of the SUV for you. You got in, relaxed in the luxurious seats, and was asleep before Henry and Benjamin got your bags in the car.

As the car rolled along into London, Henry watched you sleeping. You were beautiful, unguarded and soft. He knew that you didn’t know how gorgeous you were and that you constantly compared yourself to Jasmine. For him, there was no comparison. The first time he saw you, it was like he was struck by lightning. At that time, he thought it was unlucky. Only with time and maturity did he realize that he could make his own luck. With you.

You awoke as the car pulled into a drive of a beautiful, large white building. It was almost like a castle. Henry was staring and you stared back, disoriented at first. You looked around.

“Is this the hotel?”

Henry smiled at you.

“It’s my home.”

You smiled back at him.

“It’s beautiful. Will Benjamin be taking me to my hotel after this?”

“I was hoping you would stay here… those were the plans when Juniper- Rose was coming and I… “

Your mouth was hanging open and Henry’s heart sank.

“Of course, I’ll get you a hotel…”

You felt bad. Henry had done an awful lot for you.

“No need! I’d love to stay here. You are too kind.”

Henry looked troubled.

“Y/N, I…”

 “Yes?”

“Never mind. Let’s get you settled.”

Your suite of rooms were gorgeous. It was basically a little flat, with a sitting room, en suite and a huge four poster bed, and roaring fireplace. 

As soon as you were in your suite, tea was delivered. You are something, took a shower and then rested, letting everyone know you had landed. You were due to get dinner with Henry at 7 PM London time. You decided to nap some more to get over your jet lag. You needed to clear your head of all of your anxious thoughts, and sleep always helped.

It seemed your dreams were filled with thoughts of Henry as well. You woke up warm and wet, as well as dismayed that you were going to be with him in England for so long with this yearning need and no way to satisfy it. You were glad that you had packed your small toy. You needed some relief before you saw him again, or you were liable to jump his bones.

When you came down the stairs at 6 pm, you took Henry’s breath away. You were dressed in a bright red sweater which showcased your cleavage and form fitting black pants that showed all of your curves. Your face was slightly flushed and your smile was shier than this morning. He just wanted to take you in his arms when you reached the bottom stair.

“You look Lovely, Y/N.”

Henry’s eyes shone at you. Damn, he was being so nice.

“How do you feel?”

“Well. I think I’ve done my best to fast forward my body to Londont time. Ready to go!”

You moved to put your coat on, and Henry took it, his fingers brushing your neck as you were getting it settled. He felt your slight shiver as he let his fingers linger just a moment. He had a little bit of hope.

You took him in. Henry had changed from his pullover and joggers that he had on in the morning to a broadcloth shirt unbuttoned at the neck and with sleeves rolled up. He was in dress pants and shoes, and his hair looked combed but run through with fingers. You wished you could play in those curls. You stared for what seemed like forever until Henry cleared his throat and offered his arm. 

“Are you ready to see the sights?”

“I sure am, Your Grace.”

Henry rolled his eyes and shook his head

“Stop. If anything, I should be on my knees for you.”

“What?”

You didn’t quite believe that you heard him correctly. He smiled.

“Nothing, let’s go.”

——

You were absolutely charmed all night. Henry showed you around London sights at sunset and a dinner at Cafe Cecilia. You talked with Henry like you were old friends, and you were, in your way.

Any anxiety you had about Jasmine was erased from your mind with the good food, good wine, and good conversation, mostly about you. If you didn’t know any better, you would think this was a date.

When you excused yourself to go to the bathroom, you didn’t see Henry checking out your ass in your slacks, you just saw how happy you were in the mirror when you washed your hands, you tried to tell yourself to calm down, that he wasn’t into you at all.

Meanwhile, Henry was wiping his hands on his slacks, trying to quiet his own nerves. Your conversations over the years stuck with Henry, and he played them over and over in his mind. When it got to the point that he was replaying how your mouth looked, your curves that his eyes couldn’t help but trace, and the erotic dreams he had about you, Henry had to admit to himself that he had more than just friendly feelings for you.

When he looked up and saw you coming back to the table, his erratic heartbeat and the fact that he could swear that your nipples were erect and pointing right at him, made him decide to tell you how he felt. That night.

An hour and a half later, you were looking over the night skyline with Henry in the private London Eye pod he rented when he spoke to you, barely above a whisper. His voice was hesitant and gruff. And sexy as hell.

“Y/N. I think I… I do.. I feel for you very deeply.”

You turned to him, butterflies loose in your belly.

“You can’t be serious.”

“Come on, Y/N. Exactly how much more hinting do I have to do? I am absolutely besotted with you. I told Jasmine how I felt months ago.”

Henry was looking at you, with those beautiful blue eyes determinedly fixed upon you as you paced before him inside the capsule. It was not lost upon you the fact that his eyes were taking in the entirety of your figure. The backdrop of the lights of the city surrounding you from atop the Eye made the scene that much more romantic.

But you didn’t feel romantic. You felt incredulous. 

Henry stood up from the bench in the middle of the pod.

“Y/N. I text you every morning..”

“But that’s just your lunch time.”

“I call you my Dear Professor..”

“That’s… that’s just a British thing, like Sherlock Holmes..”

Henry raised his eyebrow at you and looked stern.

“Y/N. I think about you all the time. I am constantly thinking of how to tell you how I feel and now that you are here, in front of me, I’ve decided to just say it.”

You stared at him.

“Well.”

Henry sighed, frustrated.

“Well. I have deep feelings for you.”

“I can’t believe… you did all this. For me?You hardly know me.”

“Don’t start this again. I want to get to know you.”

“Are you trying to get next to Jasmine again?”

Henry threw his hands up.

“What has this got to do with her?”

“Everything has to do with her!”

“No, it doesn’t.”

“Yes, it does.”

Henry was mad.

“Tell you what. Forget I said anything.”

“Fine.”

“Great.”

You two sat in the pod in silence for the next 15 minutes until the ride was done. Henry was texting on his phone and by the time you disembarked, Benjamin was waiting with the car. 

You were despondent as you drove back to Henry’s place. You watched him glaring out of the window and thought you’d certainly blew your chance.

“Good night, Y/N.”

Henry breezed by you as you entered the house. You said goodnight to his back as he went up the stairs. 

Yep. You blew it.

30 minutes later, Henry was tossing and turning, fighting the urge to go to your rooms and fuck you into submission. You needed to be tied up and… Needless to say that Henry was not getting a good sleep thinking of all the ways he could try and make you understand.

You were nowhere near sleep. The nap earlier and the time difference had you wide awake. As well as thoughts of Henry.

After an hour and a half, you found yourself in the hallways looking for Henry’s rooms. As you crept down a passageway, a door opened on your right.

Henry, sexy as hell in pajama bottoms and curly chest hair, glared down at you.

“What are you doing?”

The question was terse, and you felt the chill. He was still mad.

“I was thinking…” 

You bit your lip as you looked up at him, and Henry melted a bit. But just a bit.

“That’s the problem. You think too much.”

“I know…”

You found yourself playing the brat and moving closer to him as he guarded his doorway.

“But I wanna know what you think.”

Henry sighed.

“What I think about what?”

His raised eyebrow indicated that he was about done with you. You feared a spanking. And that made you smile.

“What do you think about when you think of me…”

Henry blinked and pursed his lips. But he didn’t hesitate for long.

“I think about how smart you are, how funny. I think about how our conversations make me think. And I wonder what goes on in that head of yours.”

You lifted your chin to look him in the eye. Henry returned your gaze, then allowed his eyes to follow the form of your body in your thin t-shirt and short shorts.

Henry’s jaw clenched and he seemed to take a step back. You pursued him, stepping forward.

“Is that all?”

You felt more confident now, and your sultry voice was barely above a whisper. Henry had to concentrate not just to listen, but to hold himself back.

“You don’t want to know.”

“Don’t I?” 

You kept moving forward until you were toe to toe with Henry.

“Tell me all your thoughts. Even the naughty ones. Especially the naughty ones. I wanna know what goes on in that head…”

You reached up on tip toes and ran your fingers through his hair, brushing the curls back that had fallen into his face.

Henry grabbed you by the waist and pulled you flush to him, so that you could feel his burgeoning erection.

“I’ve got to kiss you first.”

And he did.

His lips pressed against yours, lightly, rubbing across yours, then he opened his mouth and his tongue tipped out and traced your cupid’s bow. Then he took your bottom lip and nipped lightly, causing you to gasp and as you did so, he claimed your mouth. He suckled your tongue, ruining your panties as his hands slipped down and grabbed your ass. You were breathless as he pulled away. 

You looked up into his hungry eyes as they blazed blue fire.

“I think about that. Kissing those lips, feeling this beautiful body. I think about your breasts, what color your areolas, how they would taste. I dream about how your ass would feel. I think about lying between these thighs and having you sit on my face. God, Y/N…”

His long fingers squeezed your bottom and pulled your cheeks apart. The sound and feel of your wetness set Henry’s soul on fire. You whimpered in his clutches.

“Is it possible that you want me as much as I want you?”

Henry tried to peer into your soul.

“If not, tell me now, and I will not bother you again. But if there is some chance…. by God, I want you, Y/N….”

“Henry I…” 

He was waiting for word from you. You moved your hands from Henry’s chest down to his cock, which was large and throbbing between you.

“Henry, I want you too.”

“So you want to do this? With me?”

“Exactly how much more hinting do I have to do? Fuck me, Sir.”

Henry smiled as he hauled you backward into his room. He sat down on the bed and you climbed up onto his lap, grinding together through your night clothes as he pulled your hair back and attacked your neck with kisses and bites. His other hand went up your shirt to weigh your breast and roll and pinch your nipple.

He bared his teeth in enjoyment as you squirmed on him.

“So so reactive for me, does that feel good, yeah?”

You panted and nodded yes, caught up in the energy of the moment.

He slapped your nipple hard. You keened and shouted, “Yes, oh yesssss.”

You felt his cock throb.

“Just as I thought. You’re a naughty little girl. My naughty little girl now…”

Henry dipped below your t-shirt and started sucking your nipple hard and nipping at it as you desperately tried to find friction on your clit. You hastily pulled off your shirt, then tried to put your hand down your pants.

“Ah ah ah. Don’t touch.”

Henry captured your hand and bent it behind your back, bending you backward as he turned around and deposited you on your back. 

“So so beautiful.”

He bent over you and ran first his hands, then his lips and then his tongue over your areolas, grinding into you again. Your legs bent around him, trying to lock him into the friction against your nub. Your whines got to him and you watched as he took off his shirt.

“Needy little thing, aren’t you?”

“Need you, Henry.”

“Need you too, love. I’ve been waiting for this for years.”

You reached for his pants.

“Give it to me, Sir. Please Sir, Please.”

“Fuck. You sure you want it?”

You started rolling your own nipples and you arched your back as you let your legs fall apart.

“Most definitely. Sir.”

Henry’s eyes were mesmerized, drawn to your core and your weeping, wet cunt. He automatically pulled down his pants and his huge thick cock slapped him on his stomach.

“I am so weak for you.”

You wanted him even weaker so you sat up and tested his weight in your palm. You looked up at him as you wet your lips.

“Wanna taste you. Can I, Your Grace?”

You pecked his dripping tip and let the string of precum stretch to your lips from the head of him as you gently played with his balls. Henry’s voice was impossibly deeper now.

“You may…ughhhhhhhh.”

You slipped your lips around him and drew him into your mouth, using your tongue to circumnavigate him. You had to hinge your mouth open wide to take his girth. You knew your jaw was going to be sore in the morning.

“Naughty, sweet naughty girl. Do you like to get your face fucked? Oooohhh, fuuuck!”

Henry’s hips started moving as his fingers pulled your nipples.

“I wanted the first time to be sweet and tender, but you… you are better than my wildest dreams. And I do mean wild.” 

Henry fisted your hair and held you to him, forcing your throat open with his thick member and causing you to gag. After a few seconds, he let go, but you stayed down, causing him to curse.

“Bloody hell, you’re going to make me cum down your throat.”

“Ummmm hmmmm.” 

You answered as you pulled off, messy with spit and pre cum. Henry’s eyes were alight as he bent down to grab your thighs and toss you back on the bed.

“You’re trying to get properly fucked, but I need to taste you first.”

He lay down beside you and grabbed you again, palming your ass in his hands as he maneuvered your legs around his shoulders. His hands were your seat as he prepared to eat you like some decadent fruit. He brought you to his mouth and his eyes watched you as he tasted you. They rolled back as if in rapture and he dove in, fully suckling and laving you.

Henry stopped long enough to say, “Sit down!” because you were trying not to put your full weight on him.

When he pulled you down on his face, his tongue went deep inside you as he nibbled at your clit. His tongue was so skillful that your legs drew up around his head and your thighs started shaking. 

You pulled at his hair and started begging.

“Stop, please stop. Henry. Sir. I’m gonna… I’m… ahhhhh!”

When you came, and released into his mouth, you tried to climb off of him, but he held you fast, eyes dark with warning.

When he came up for air, Henry grinned at you.

“Now’s the time to split you open, Love.”

He literally grabbed you and positioned you above his pelvis. You knew what to do from there and you watched as he positioned himself so that you could slide down around him. You looked up at him as you bend your thighs so that his tip could breach your entrance.

“You feel as good as you taste.” 

Licked his lips as you slid down around him slowly, his thick cock difficult to take. The stretch almost took you out, but your wetness helped you out. You felt unimaginably filled to the brim with Sir Henry Cavill.

“So fucking tiny, Love. You feel so good, my naughty little girl.”

You whimpered as you stayed still to adjust to him, and as you grabbed his hand to feel himself inside your abdomen. His eyes got wide.

“Such a tight fit. D’you feel me? Feel me inside there?”

His cock throbbed and he started to move a little, eyes dilating as you winced.

“Does it hurt, Love?”

“Y-y-es Sir. Only a little.” 

You bit your lip as Henry spit on his thumb and started working your clit.

“Don’t worry, Love. I’ll make it feel better.’

“Hnnnghhhh. Ohhhh!”

Your back bowed as Henry pistoned inside you, and the pain turned to pure pleasure. Henry sat up and held your arms behind your back with one hand, and man handled your breast with the other. He suckled your nipple through his fingers and then gave you a filthy kiss.

“Do you want to be mine?”

“Hnnnhhh. Yes. Yes. Sir.”

“Good girl. You know what to say already.” 

He gave you a sweet peck on your lips as he pinches your nipple. Hard. That caused you to shatter, and you came around his cock.

Henry looked down.

“Look at that cunt. Pulling me in so greedily.”

He looked back up at you.

“Look at your face. So Lovely with it all fucked out.”

You were lost in his eyes as he rotated so that your back was on the bed.

“Need you to cum Sir. Job’s not done.”

“Your wish is my command. Tonight. But I will demonstrate to you who your Lord is later on.”

And Henry started to pull out, stopping just in time to save your sanity as you were ready to fight if he left you right now. He hiked your leg around his waist as he delivered powerful thrusts to seat himself deep inside you.

“I wanted to be gentle, but no. You pull this primal nature out of me. I can’t be polite.”

“I wouldn’t want you to be, Sir. Be yourself. Give me yourself. Take me.”

Henry grunted and suckled your collarbone, sure to leave a mark as he pumped sloppily into you.

“Cum again…”

You obeyed his command as he reached between you and thrummed your clit. You detonated just before he did and you both came back together in each other’s arms, sweaty and out of breath.

You stared at him as if he weren’t real.

“What’s wrong, Love?”

“I now know the meaning of Happy Christmas.”

Henry smiled and kissed your forehead.

“It is a happy Christmas, indeed.”

Reblog = Love

[destined-if]

You and your family moved to Glove City. However, the house caught fire, and you're the sole survivor. Oh, but that was two years ago... you're not still stuck up on that... are you?

After your family died, being 20 with no job or nearby family, you had to live in alleyways, sleep on park benches, and steal food from vendors... until you met them. They hesitantly welcomed you into their little group after you saved their asses, and you've stuck with them ever since. One day, you got commissioned to steal a necklace from a family in the rich part of town for a hefty price, so obviously, your group accepted and prepared for the trip. What you didn't expect is that the family you're stealing from might not be as innocent and powerless as you thought.

Trigger warnings: Violence, drug intake of minor characters, alcohol of main characters (Optional for MC), violence, death, theft, and slight mention of animal cruelty. This list will be updated as the story progresses.

NOTES: Romance options have a ♡ next to their name. Melody is male or female. Optional Polyarmous Route with Melody and Elias. I'll go into more detail with their personalities (As well as appearances) in their character profiles, I've started on them, but they most likely won't come out for a couple days.

Ian/Ivy ♡; A street rat the moment they were born. Kinda a jackass, but they keep you and their friends out of harm's way, so are they really as cold as they pretend to be? Possible Tropes: Opposites Attract, Found Family, Slowburn. Isla "Wren" Hill ♡; Best thief you know. The first time you met, she stole your packet of gum without you ever finding out until a year later when she told you. She's playful, affectionate, and a little bit of a smartass. [Healing Mage.] Possible Tropes: Mutual Pining, Friends to Lovers, Found Family. Valerie "Val" Hill; The little sister of Isla. You think it’s nice how she steals for others free of charge, but don’t understand why. She’s sarcastic, bold, and surprisingly attentive. Oh, and also a bit of a smartass. Trope: Found Family. [Made by @dvoilds] Elias "Eli" Wynn ♡; His life before he met you guys is a blur, or at least what he says, but you don't really think that's true. Other than that, he's as sweet as a thief can be. He's caring and considerate of other's feelings, and your group's peacemaker. Will you get him to uncover his secrets? [Water Mage.] Possible Tropes: Mutual Pining, "You came?" "You called." Melody "Mel" Rose ♡; They got tangled up in this mess, and you're not quite sure how it happened. As far as you can make out, they're actually pretty understanding. It's kinda freaky how nice they are to you guys, even after you got them knee-deep in all this shit. You think they're here to stay, but it's not like they have a choice. Do they have an alternative motive, or are they just this kind-hearted? Possible Tropes: Frenemies to Lovers, Love at First Sight (More like Attraction), Strangers to Lovers. Casper Vespertine ♡; The son of the family you stole from and the man you're running away from. He scares you shitless, and it doesn't help that he talks like a robot. Will you outrun him, or will you let him catch you? Possible Tropes: Rivals to Lovers, Slowburn, Right Person, Wrong Time.

and more!

Customize your MC. Choose your gender, personality, pronouns, assets, appearance, name, and sexuality.

Decide how your MC feels about stealing and how they deal with their family being... dead.

Be a mage or a human.

Run from your problems!

Found family <3

Cute stray animals.

Create close bonds, or break them.

A fully platonic route for those who don't wanna romance anyone!

LINKS; Demo [TBA], Pinterest, Playlist, Character Profiles, Mage Profiles

posted july 19, 2023

[nightcrawlerzincorporated]

All of Charlie’s art in Dee Made a Smut film has always fascinated me. But today I want to focuses on a couple that really stood out to me and why I think they help teach the message of the episode.

This painting shows a woman with dirty blonde hair and a halo ripping out a man’s heart while he’s wearing The Boy footie pajamas from Nightman. I think when Charlie painted this, he intended it to be him and the Waitress—she ripped his heart out when she rejected him after his play but he still sees her as an angel.

But doesn’t it also kind of look like Dee and Dennis? Especially with the messy makeup on the woman, the way the man’s face looks like it can have facial hair or be clean shaven depending on how you look at it. In this scene where the painting is shown, Dee is confronting Dennis with his trauma, showing everyone his bloody ripped out heart and acting like she’s doing him a kindness (killing him while seeing herself as an angel). Also super interesting in hindsight when you consider that in DTAMHD Dennis fantasizes about eating a bloody heart to sooth himself, taking the trauma back into his own body in a sense.

Let’s look at some more.

A painting of dogs barking (at a human shape maybe? Hard to tell) and a rat covered in blood. To Charlie, I again think these are pretty straightforwardly about his life—he was illustrating Cricket’s dog orgy and the rats he bashes at Paddy’s.

But in the scene they’re framing Dennis, who is in the middle of trying to make excuses for the CSA he suffered. He’s trapped like a rat who’s being bashed, he wants to scream and howl like those dogs but he can’t. And the dog orgy is literally Cricket being assaulted by dogs and then playing it off casually so that’s also a pretty obvious parallel.

In this scene Dennis also explains that he thinks good art is just whatever the “right” people say is good art. Because he’s never been able to connect with his feelings due to his trauma, Dennis has always had a hard time connecting with art on a personal level (in sharp contrast to Frank, who sees himself in art depicting WWII so deeply he has an out of body experience). Like most things in life, Dennis only sees art for its social and commercial value, not as a way to feel connection. That’s why he’s so dismissive of all art that isn’t porn, because porn at least has an obvious tangible use. But even then, even then, when he tries to make “artistic” porn, his mind immediately (subconsciously) tries to express his trauma, using art to express his deepest wounds in a way he isn’t even aware of. And I think Dee sees that and tries to help him through her own interpretation of his art, continuing the metaphorical conversation he started, but she’s also petty, and bitter about him mocking her art at the beginning of the episode, so she does it in a way that’s vicious and public. Art can hurt you, make you think about things you don’t want to, and Dennis hates that. He doesn’t see the emotional connection he could make with Charlie’s art or Dee’s or even his own because he won’t let himself.

[sinsandsweetness]

Inclination (sex and zombies- chapter 1)

all chapters here

pairing- {Daryl x fem!reader}

summary- Reader is crushing on Rick, but someone else offers to take care of her needs.

warnings- 18+ content, MDNI, smut, rough sex, dirty talk, begging. I think that's all.

notes- I just thought I would cross post these chapters on here. They definitely don't need to be read in order and can all pretty much be standalone fics if you want them to be. However they do follow the timeline of the show and have a bit of plot I sprinkled in, so I feel like it makes a better story all in order.

**(The entire work has both rick x reader and daryl x reader scenes. definitely more rick though cause... I mean can u blame me?)

Let me know what you think!

“Hot?” A deep voice asked from behind you. You looked over your shoulder. 

Your cheeks turned warm and you could tell you were blushing. So you stepped even further into the quarry. 

“A little,”

He smiled at you. You turned around and dipped your whole self into the water, then moved to lay down and float on your back. You were bored. And hot. Going for a swim seemed to be a decent solution for both of your issues. 

However, you weren’t really expecting company. Especially not Ricks. 

His gaze made you want to disappear under the cool water forever, but you needed air at some point. 

He was still standing there. A couple buckets of water on the ground now filled. But he was rolling up his jeans and stepping in. Cooling his feet off. He sighed up at the sun. 

You couldn’t even help but stare at him. 

“Y' know Shane was getting worried about you. Thought you ran off or something,” 

“Ran away from him maybe…” you muttered. Not realizing that the water made it loud enough for him to hear you. Shane had wanted to teach you to clean guns. You didn’t really care. He’d already showed you twice. 

“He can be kind of intense.” Rick said with a smile. 

“Yeah, intense. Overbearing. Annoying. Just a few among his many outstanding qualities.” You joked. 

“He is a little protective, I’ll give you that.” He grinned. “I guess there’s a few guys around here who are a little protective of you huh?” 

You didn’t really know what to answer. Not entirely sure what he meant. Shane? He was protective of everyone. The whole group was his responsibility at one point.

Rick must have seen the confusion on your face. 

“I just mean that you’re young. They don’t… want anything to happen to you,”

“Who?”

“Shane, Dale, Daryl,” He paused for a moment. Reaching down to feel the cool water. “Me.”

That made your heart flutter. Just a little. 

But he was married. And he didn’t mean it like that. He meant like a sister. Or a kid. Probably anyway. 

“You?” 

“Yeah, y’know Lori has nothing but good things to say about you.” 

That was probably true. 

“Well I don’t think Daryl here gives a rats ass what happens to me,” you brought the attention to behind Rick. Seeing the man walking over to the two of you. He had blood on his arms. And dirt. Mostly dirt actually now that he was up close. 

“The hell are you doing down here? Shane’s been looking for you for over an hour,” Daryl asked you. Not even acknowledging Ricks presence. 

“Tell him to come down here and get me then.” You taunted. Just a little. 

Rick chuckled, slid his shoes back on and grabbed the buckets of water. He started back for the camp. 

“I’ll let him know you’re here,” he nodded a sweet goodbye at you and you smiled back. But Daryl didn’t leave. Instead he started washing his arms in the clear quarry water. 

“Seriously? You couldn’t do that anywhere else?”

“What he can be here but I can’t?” He motioned to Rick who was well out of range now. 

“You’re getting the water all gross.”

He grunted. Standing up and drying his arms and hands off with a rag from his pocket. 

You started to swim back to shore, standing up and wringing your hair out. 

“You know he’s married right?” 

You glared at him. 

“I’m aware.” Painfully aware. 

“Then maybe you shouldn’t invite him into the water when you’re wearing next to nothing.” He pointed to your bare legs.

You looked down at your now see through tank top. Very see through. And some cute little panties with flowers all over them. But they were more modest than Daryl seemed to think. Regardless, he seemed irritated. 

“I didn’t invite him in-"

“Oh you’ve been ogglin him since the moment he got here! Giving him them bedroom eyes,” he muttered the last part. But you still heard. 

“Bedroom eyes?” You scoffed. 

“Uh huh,”

“What would you even know about bedroom eyes Daryl? You ever even had a girl in your bed?” You were being kind of mean now. But he was most of the time anyway so you didn’t feel too bad.

“Wouldn’t be too hard to convince you would it? Little slut like you would fuck anything that gave her a lick of attention-“

This wouldn’t be the first fight you two had gotten into. There was one about Merle and the way he was trying to take you to his tent after a scavenged bottle of wine. You called Merle a few crude choice words. Daryl got up in your face. 

Shane broke that up quickly. Telling you both to calm down. But Shane wasn’t here now. 

So you lunged at him. “Prick!” You started to push at his chest but his hands caught your wrists, twisting them downwards. Trying your best to kick and hit him, but he just moved you against a large rock. Rather aggressively you might add. 

“Don’t fuckin’ touch me,” you spat at him. Wrists still pinned to your sides. Pressed against the cool shaded rock. 

“You’re the one who started it,” he points out. 

Finally you stopped struggling against his touch. And he loosened his grip. That was his mistake because as soon as your wrist was free, you reached up to slap him. Not very hard but enough to get a reaction. 

He immediately shoved you up against the rock with his whole body, pinning your chest with his forearm. 

“Are you mad that I called you a slut? Or mad that you know I’m right?” He was up in your face now. Actually up against your whole body. Your wet clothes dampening his own. 

“Get off me,” you say through clenched teeth. 

“I think,” Daryl’s free hand moved to the front of your panties, pressing against your clit.  “That I’m right. It wouldn’t be too hard to get you in my bed would it?” 

“Screw you,” unfortunately the pressure of his hand elicited a physical reaction from you. Definitely not in agreement with your words. 

“Yeah you wish,” 

“Daryl seriously stop,” you tried to grab at his arm, and pull it away from between your legs. But he didn’t let up, instead he put more pressure, rubbing messy circles on your clit. 

You choked back a moan. 

“You want me to take you right here? Give you some relief before you go back to daydreaming about officer friendly huh?”

His moved your panties to the side and dipped a finger inside. Breath hitching in your throat. 

“Daryl…” 

“I’ll stop if you really want me to.” He pulled out of you, “But I got a feeling that you don’t,” he brought his finger up to his mouth, tasting you and then dipping down again, inserting two digits this time. He got a noise out of you that time. Curling up to hit your g spot. 

“You want me to fuck you?” He asked quietly into your ear. 

You shook your head. No way.

His fingers were curling and thrusting into you at a perfect pace.   

“You like that huh? Tell me how bad you want it.” He asked. 

And with those words in your ear you gave up. With a quiet sob you rested your forehead on his shoulder. Allowing yourself to give in to his torture. Suppressing your moans into his shoulder. 

Not that you didn’t want anyone to hear. No one would. You just didn’t want to give Daryl the satisfaction of making you moan. Of having any effect on your body. 

“I’m gonna need an answer, sweetheart” he pulled his fingers out and dipped his head down to your chest, pulling your tank top down and sucking and nibbling at your breasts. 

“Yeah…” you whispered. Loving the way his mouth warmed your wet skin. 

He leaned back and grinned. You could see his hard on through his jeans but he took his hands off you. 

“That’s all it took? Like I said, just a few minutes of attention. Got you begging me to fuck you,”

Annoyed at his little games you rolled your eyes, "I’d hardly call that begging,"

He grunted and reached into his pocket, pulling out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. 

“Seriously?”  you were really annoyed now. You could feel your wetness pooling in your panties. And here he was lighting a damn cigarette. You were over aware of how empty you were, a strong need for where his touch was just a minute ago. 

“You want it?”, he took a drag of his cigarette, “Then you can beg for it.” 

“I am not fucking begging you for-“

“Then go back to camp. See if Shane will help you. Rick definitely won’t.” You squeezed your legs together. Trying to get some form of relief. 

“Or you can go back to your tent, all wet and needy. You can try and do it yourself. Don’t think your fingers will fill you up the same way one of us could but-“ 

“Daryl come on,” you grabbed his arm and pulled him back towards you, hoping he’d give in before you actually felt the need to beg. You fumbled with his belt, while trying to catch his lips. You could hear the sizzle of his cigarette against the rock beside you. 

“Say it,” he said against your mouth, hands now both going to your hips. 

“Fuck me.” You demanded. Not asking. 

He grinned against you, letting you slide a hand into his pants, stroking him a few times. 

“What’s the magic word?” He was breathing heavy now. He wouldn’t walk away now. 

You rolled your eyes. But when he dipped his hand back under your panties, you bit back a moan. He went in with two digits right away. Plus a thumb on your clit. Working together clumsily. 

“Just once.” He said softer this time. Asking nicely. 

Another stifled moan escaped you. 

“Fuck- Daryl please…”

“Atta girl,” he spun you around, face smashing up against the rock now in front of you. He smacked your ass hard. Earning a squeak from you. You looked back at him, 

“Ouch!”

He didn’t acknowledge your moment of pain. Instead tugging on your panties, pulling them down to your knees. 

His hands started to play with your ass, caressing up and down. Spreading you open for him to see. 

“Daryl…” you were impatient. 

“I know, I know,” he lined himself up with your entrance and pushed in. An inch or two at a time until you were completely filled. You closed your eyes relishing in the feel of him stretching you out. His hands gripped onto your waist, pulling you down against him. Meeting his thrusts halfway. 

He pounded fast and hard. Not caring about your poor face hitting the rock in front of you. His hand came up and pulled on your hair. Throwing your head back, you cried out. A mix between a sob and a moan. He liked that. 

A lot. 

He tightened his grip on your hair and started pounding into you harder. 

“Fuck,” he was grunting behind you, the sound of skin slapping filled the air between you. 

You could feel how close you were. He was hitting that hot bundle of nerves deep inside of you. Pushing you to the edge. Within no time you came hard with a drawn out whine. But Daryl wasn’t done yet. 

And when your knees started to give out he noticed. 

“I knew I’d have you coming all over my cock,” He kept going, the arm around your waist the only thing keeping you upright at this point. It was getting to be too much. 

Suddenly he pulled out and used the hand tangled in your hair to push you to your knees. Rather hard. The gravel underneath you digging into your skin. He turned you towards him, twisting your body awkwardly and he jerked himself above your face. Instincts told you to open your mouth and the second he felt your wet tongue on the bottom of his tip, you were rewarded with his salty seed. You swallowed it all. Looking up at him with doe eyes. Your knees and scalp hurting from his agression. 

He swore under his breath. Finally letting your scalp go. Tucking himself back into his pants and doing up his belt. You stood up slowly and started to dress yourself again. Grabbing your shorts and the flannel you’d left on shore before your swim. 

“You ok?” 

There was a cut on your knee. A tiny droplet of blood trailing down your calf. 

“Fine” 

“You know you can come by my tent later if that wasn’t enough-“

“Don’t tell anyone about this ok?” You cut him off.

He scoffed. “What you embarrassed or so-“

“Seriously Daryl if you ever want anything like that to happen again, you’ll shut it. ” You buttoned up your flannel. It was two sizes two big. 

“Damn already asking me for more! If I’d a known-“ 

You walked by him and smacked the back of his head. Kinda hard. Harder than you meant. 

“Aw fuck,” he rubbed at the back of his head and jogged back after you. Walking the both of you back to camp. 

---------------------------

“The hell happened to you?” Shane came over quickly. Seeing the blood on your knee and the scrape on your face. 

“Nothing I-" 

“You do this?” His attention now drawn to Daryl right behind you. He started to grab the man’s collar but you got in between them quickly. 

“Hey Shane! No. We had a little fight ok, but it was my fault.” You pushed on his chest, leading him further from the bowman. “I’m serious, I’m fine. He just put me in my place that’s all.” 

Shane was scowling hard. He didn’t believe you. “Put you in your place-“ 

“I swung at him! We had an argument and it just got a little heated ok. We talked it out. We’re good.” 

“You’re telling me-“

“You heard her man, she swung on me!” Daryl piped in to his defence. 

“I did.” You looked back at him with a warning glare. “But we’re good now right?” 

He nodded. “Mhm.” He paused. Praying he wouldn’t say anything crude. “Best friends.” He teased. 

You looked back at Shane. A few others from the camp had made their way over after hearing the little altercation. 

“See?” You tell Shane. Assuring him you were fine. He continued to scowl at Daryl, but wrapped a possessive arm around your waist, guiding you back towards the main camp.

Maybe Rick was right about a few men being a little protective of you. 

(next chapter)

[forgottentothefog]

To The Izzy Canyon

Despite my dissapointment with s2 and the crushing realization that this show was never actually as smart as we thought it was, I will say one, actually two, good things. The OFMD cast, especially Con, Vico, and Kristian, were a huge part of what made OFMD season 1 (and 2) as beautifully queer as it was, and I will forever be grateful for all the joy and passion that they put into it. I will stand by the fact that OFMD season 1 was, intentionally or not, a beautifully executed story and one of the best pieces of queer media I have ever seen.

But what really made OFMD so special to me was the fanbase, especially the fanfic that you all have blessed this world with. I read mostly Izzy-centric works, and so much of the stuff I've read, even the darker stuff, has been both intelligent and kind in a way that I rarely see in other fandoms. It's just... beautiful to experience, and I hope that all you OFMD fic writers know that your contributions are what make this fandom so special and worth staying in, even if I've been dissapointed by canon. Your works, as crazy as it sounds, have helped me gain confidence and self-acceptance in ways I didn't even think were possible. If the angry little rat man can deserve to be loved and cherished and healed, then so can I. So can all of us!

I cherish you all so much, even if I don't interact much with anyone, and I hope you all know that your works have been a bright spot in my life, and that I can feel the love, kindness, and defiance radiating from them, passing from your heart to mine <3