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#crime rates went down to a new all time low
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Jason: *angrily beating up villains in a fight*
Tim: is he being more aggressive than usual?
Dick: He's upset cause he just found out he can't title his self-inserted Pride and Prejudice fanfic "Pride and Prejudice and Zombies" cause that's already a famous Pride and Prejudice fanfic
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hongism · 10 months
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THIS WORLD. - k. hongjoong (m)
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➼ genre; smut (some minor angst and fluff) ➼ pairing; hongjoong x fem!reader ➼ au; outlaw!hongjoong, dystopian futurism, lore accurate ateez ➼ warnings; explicit smut ➼ rating; m/18+ ➼ wc; 4.5k
What he’s given you is essentially one chance and night. Nothing more and nothing less.
part of the outlaw miniseries.
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➼ smut warnings; piv, unprotected sex, oral: f, creampie, light choking/asphyxiation, dirty talk, breast/nipple play
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Cool night air brushes across your cheeks as you set foot on the roof, eyes already scanning your surroundings in the hopes of finding what you’re looking for here. Of course, it doesn’t take much — Hongjoong is a hard man to miss unless the government officials are looking for him, in which case he has an uncanny ability to make himself totally invisible in a crowd.
There are no crowds up here though; just you, him, and the night to keep you company.
You see him clearly across the stretch of roof that’s accentuated by gaudy neon signs and other electrical components that keep the bar below powered.
“Closed up shop for the night,” you offer as a means of greeting the man. He’s donned his usual dramatic regalia tonight as well, complete with the patterned bandana pulled up over his nose and the ridiculous cowboy hat he fetched out of a dumpster several months back. It matches the vibe of the bar, he had told you and Mingi. While you weren’t on board, Mingi was more than a little eager to pull together a similar outfit for himself. “Everyone else went home.”
K-Hot Chilli Peppers. When you saw the job listing online, you had laughed at the name before realizing that it’s only half as ridiculous as many of the other bars in Night City, and you weren’t about to be picky given that you were desperate to find a place that lets you actually use your tender’s license on the daily. Upon being hired, you were promptly told to not ask questions when two rugged outlaws came through the doors and went up to the roof without pause. Answers came on their own, naturally and over time as you peeled back the seemingly endless layers to the two vigilantes who had set up shop in your new place of employment.
Whatever the circumstances and however the stars aligned that night you saw the job listing, it all boiled down to this: standing across from Hongjoong on the rooftop under the stars with this magnetic sort of pull towards the man. A pull you shouldn’t even think to entertain mostly because you’d like to keep your job and also a little bit because you’d like to keep your life.
Hongjoong got a message today. You know that much because you saw the small moped buzz by in front of the bar after all the customers left, and though you don’t know who that delivery driver is, you know he always brings something more than crappy takeout. The most convincing piece of evidence came in how Mingi promptly stormed out of the bar without so much as a goodbye twenty minutes later, and now here you stand up on the roof with the last man standing not long after. You aren’t here to ask questions as that wouldn’t be in your right (fairly so).
“I’m gonna close up and lock everything, if you’re done?” you continue pressing when Hongjoong fails to say anything back to you. He turns, gaze sharp as it finds you across the rooftop. The next moment, he pulls his bandana down to rest around his neck and exposes his handsome face to you.
“We’re not gonna be around much longer.”
You pull your lips together and do your best not to frown. “They won’t know you were ever here.”
“They’re gonna come looking here. And they’re gonna rip the place apart trying to find us.” Hongjoong takes slow steps in your direction as he speaks, tone low and quiet as though trying to either threaten or warn you. You don’t think he has a need for either. “When they come knocking, it’s not gonna matter what you do know or what you don’t know. Just being affiliated by name is enough of a crime.”
“Business is too good to be knocked down by a little police search.”
Hongjoong sinks his teeth into his lower lip. The light from the neon signs bounces off his face and casts crude little shadows across the roof. He looks far too worried for your liking, almost like there’s a semblance of care in the man, which was not part of the plan. You think you’re the one to blame for that, considering how you can’t simply leave well enough alone and have to express some modicum of care for those around you, including the vigilante outlaws that frequent your workplace and stay after hours. And well, all these months that have passed in this comfortable routine have made the heart grow fonder in many ways.
You’re quite fond of him, you think, and maybe those feelings are reciprocated to some extent.
The sky is clear tonight, free of clouds but the lights and pollution from the city obstruct the stars somewhat even now. Curfew is about to begin, but there’s no chance of you making it home before the drones start patrolling the streets. You could have left thirty minutes ago — should have most likely, but that chance is well and gone now.
“We leave tomorrow. I don’t know when we’ll be back.”
When is merely code for if, and you’re not dumb enough to think otherwise. If he survives whatever obscene plan he’s ready to deploy, you’re positive that Hongjoong won’t come back or set food near the bar again, even as a hideout. Men like him don’t stick to one place for long, especially not when their heads are full of grandiose plans of anarchy and destruction. You don’t blame him for it, but it does make your heart ache a little more than it should.
Your shoes skid across the stone of the roof as you cross the distance between you and him. It breaks the silence you’ve presented as an answer to him, and Hongjoong’s eyes grow wider as you turn the space into an afterthought. Shaky hands find their way around Hongjoong’s shoulders then come to clasp behind his neck.
“Tell me you’ll survive,” you plead to the night air between your lips.
“Of course I will,” he answers without hesitation, whether a lie or a truth he is willing to truly stand by and believe. You don’t ask that he tell you he’ll return here; some dreams are a bit too far-fetched.
When your hands begin to fall away from him, Hongjoong dips his chin and slots his lips over your parted ones. You scramble to regain your hold on him, fingers stretching up to tangle in the dark blue strands of hair on the back of his head just below where his hat sits. The pressure against your mouth is faint to begin with, something small and searching as he tests the waters and waits for your response. As though pulling him closer and nearly kissing him moments ago wasn’t enough of a confirmation for whatever this is.
“This is all I can give you,” he exhales into your mouth, and you press another heated kiss against his lips. I don’t need more than this. This is enough. This is all I could ask for from someone like you. It would be nice if you could ask for more but this is all the greed you can bear. His hands wander from your hips up to the hem of your shirt that sits against the loops of your jeans. The first contact of his fingertips on bare skin hits you like a bucket of ice water and sends goosebumps all across your body.
“Hongjoong,” you say against his mouth as he palms his way down to your thighs. He does well to quiet whatever thoughts are rushing through your head right now with his lips, breaking from yours to mouth along the line of your jaw. The force of his body moving against yours is enough to push you back, and you fall into step with him in an almost haphazard sort of way. Your back hits the wall soon after, right beside the door you just came out of minutes prior, and now Hongjoong has you pressed against the concrete with a knee slipping between your thighs. “Hongjoong.”
“You can’t stay here.” The blunt tips of his painted nails dig into the flesh above your jeans. A gasp tumbles from your lips as he licks over a particularly sensitive spot on your neck, and it makes your knees buckle in turn. “I can have two of my men transport you to a different area of the city in the morning. Earlier the better. We won’t be enacting any plans under the sun’s gone down.” You busy yourself with the buttons keeping his shirt around his body.
“No.”
He pauses where he is, halfway to removing your shirt from your torso, and looks you in the eye. You abandon his shirt in favor of clasping both hands around his cheeks.
“I’m not going anywhere because you’re going to come back to me and get me yourself.” Rather than denying your wistfulness, Hongjoong offers a half-smile and a breathy laugh, one you share in yourself before pulling his face back up to your own. You taste his lips again, but this time you pay more attention to it, the hint of spice on his tongue as he pushes past the seam of your mouth and explores you further. Your hands are busy with his shirt once more under the urging of your eagerness to have him. He responds in kind by hiking your shirt up over your chest and dragging the blunts of his nails down over the exposed skin on his path to your pants.
“Let me go down on you?” Your chest tightens at the proposition and at the way his voice sounds inexplicably strained from the mere thought of tasting you.
“Take this stupid shirt off first, for fuck’s sa—” Frustration wins the battle against his clothing, and Hongjoong leans away from you with a clear, resounding laugh that makes your stomach turn to mush. You ought to kick yourself in the side of the head for not acting on the blatant chemistry dancing between the two of you before now. Still, if this truly is a one-and-done thing, you’re going to do the absolute most to make it worth it. And maybe a bit unforgettable for both of you. Hooking your fingers under the handkerchief still tied about his neck, you pull Hongjoong close once again. He rushes to brace his hands on either side of you, his shirt still dangling from where it remains tucked into his ridiculous faux leather pants. His mouth goes straight for your neck, pulling the skin between his teeth and sucking so harshly at it that you feel tingles rush up to your skull. Your whine is music in the distant noise of the city, softly exhaled against the side of his head and disturbing the hair behind his ear. His hat is beginning to get in your way now too, especially as he kisses a path down to where he left your shirt. You catch the brim just before he goes lower, stripping it off his head with the hand you have draped around his shoulders. When he looks up at you from between your breasts, you smile, close-lipped but with an arched brow meant to tease further.
“The amount of filthy, heinous jokes on my mind right now,” he groans, head dipping forward to rest against your chest.
“If you make any sort of cowboy joke I’ll make sure you finish in your hand and nowhere else.” The threat is halfhearted of course, but it makes Hongjoong laugh in that obscenely pretty way again and you revel in the sound as he frees your breasts just enough to have access to them. Your nipples are already hardened peaks thanks to the simple touches from earlier, but the cool air stiffens them even further before Hongjoong has the chance to pull one into his mouth. Your back curls up off the wall, Hongjoong pinches your right nipple, and at the same moment, he pushes you back to the wall with enough force to punch a moan out of you.
“F-Fuck, Hongjoong.” You’re suddenly rather grateful to have something to hold onto because otherwise you would be digging your nails into your palms and making yourself bleed. As it is, you might run the risk of ruining Hongjoong’s treasured hat with how tight you’re gripping it at present. Your other hand sits on his bicep, atop the black-lettered inking that dances across his arm and reminds you that this man in your arms is one of a kind. You wonder, far and away in the back of your brain, how many have had the pleasure of being in your current position. He disperses those runaway thoughts mere seconds later; his hand sneaks down from its perch cupping your breast and locks onto the button keeping your pants together. The resulting lewd and wet pop! that comes from him pulling his lips away from your nipple makes your neck heat up.
“Bet I could make you cream your panties without even getting in your pants,” he quips as the button comes loose. Deftly, he works the zipper down in the same smooth movement.
“Who are you trying to impress, cowboy? You’ve already got me for the night.”
The muscles in his neck strain as he laughs and tilts his chin to the side, and your breath hitches watching him sink to his knees between your legs. Hongjoong folds his fingers around your wrist — the hand that currently holds his hat by the brim — and slowly, he guides you to place it back where it belongs atop his head.
“There. Now you can call me that again.” You can’t hide the unsteadiness of your breaths from him like this, even though he’s currently occupying his focus with stripping you of both jeans and underwear in one go. You brace a hand over your heart just to make sure it's still part of you despite racing like you’ve just run a marathon. Hongjoong’s lips skate against the inside of your knee when he lifts your ankle and carefully pulls the boot from your foot. Fabric follows suit quickly, then he commits to the same routine for your other leg — complete with the ghosting kisses and soft drags of his nails over the bare skin of your thighs. The growing pit of arousal in your stomach is so heavy that you think it might simply drip out of you the moment he touches your folds.
“Hongjoong,” you whisper. His kisses climb to the inside of your thighs, close enough to exhale heated breath across your pussy, but he doesn’t push further than that. Content to sit between your legs in the lewdest of positions and stare up at you through fluttering lashes.
“That’s not what you called me.” Hongjoong grins, cheek brushing against your thigh so close to your sex that your muscles twitch. “Maybe I’ll consider it—” he enunciates the word particularly harshly “—and do whatever you’d like?”
“You’re so — ugh, I want you to eat me out,” you mumble into the cradle of your hands, hardly able to look down at the man and be expected to speak like a normal functioning human being in this sort of predicament. He’s silent in return. “Cowboy.”
The veil of seriousness drops at that, and you’re the first to laugh at the sheer absurdity of calling him such a thing right now. Hongjoong can’t seem to keep himself together either, huffed laughter spilling out of him in turn.
“I wasn’t serious about you calling me that, y/n, I was just teasing. But I guess you want it pretty damn bad, huh?”
“Shut up!” Your tone contorts into a cracked gasp as Hongjoong wraps a hand back and around your thigh and spreads your legs over his face. Your hand flies to cover your mouth — something done out of pure instinct — and the man beneath you is quick to tut his disapproval.
“Let me hear you, pretty. I don’t want you covering anything up.”
“I-It’s the middle of the night,” you argue through your fingers.
“And? Wake the whole damn city if you have to, I want you to cry on my cock.”
You let your hand fall away and come to rest atop Hongjoong’s head (his hat, rather). Your view of what he’s doing is entirely obscured except for the slightest glint of his eyes when he tilts his chin against your cunt. You can’t seem to tear your gaze off of him regardless, lips parted and quivering as he presses his tongue between your folds and takes his first taste of you. The tension in your gut is wound into a knot so tight that your eyes burn and sting at the corners. Hongjoong takes you into his palm, onto his tongue, and into his deft fingers, and unravels you gloriously.
Two fingers dip lower and press against your entrance. He teases you with the pad of his middle finger only, toying with your hole and pushing into you ever so slightly before retracting to circle your clit with his tongue. He can’t run his mouth as he very much loves to in this position, but you’re finding that he makes use of his mouth in other more devilish ways, another talent he keeps tucked under his belt that you’re reaping the benefits from.
You can’t think of the last time you got laid, and trying to think of the last good fuck you had would be an even taller order. To imagine when a man last ate you out with actual passion and not simply as a means to an end might be impossible, or perhaps Hongjoong is simply keen on blowing every last sexual experience you’ve had out of the water in one go. When his fingers finally, at long last, stretch you open, you cry out with a moan so loud that it would be a miracle if no one heard it.
“Gonna make you taste yourself on my lips, pretty. Make your little cunt cream all over my cock until I fill you up with cum.” You jerk Hongjoong’s head almost violently, a sharp response to the way his fingers curl against your walls, but it doesn’t deter him in the slightest from the task at hand. He pulls your clit between his lips and sucks until your knees give out under you. It sends his fingers deeper into your cunt in the same motion, nearly making you come undone.
“T-Too much, too much, Hongjoong, it’s — fuck, fuck, ah!” You fold in on yourself, free hand moving to press against your stomach as the pressure in you reaches an unbearable degree. Hongjoong works his fingers in and out of you at a steadily increasing pace and almost seems to be making a game of the way he curls them each time he flicks his tongue against your clit just for another moan to climb out of your throat. Each sound is more broken than the last, sweat beads on your forehead, and you think there’s a euphoric end in sight just for him to pull away without warning. Your walls clench tight around nothing as his fingers are now gone from you and sucked between his own lips. Dazed and frustrated, you pass an incredulous stare his way just for him to grin back at you, tongue teasing the vee between his fingers.
“Hm? Did you want something?”
“I—” Hongjoong eases your body back against the stone wall and hoists one of your legs around his hips. Your cunt is still tense and pulsing to the rhythm he spent all that time building. “If you don’t get inside me right the fuck now, Kim Hongjoong, so help me—”
He makes good on his promise to have you taste yourself on his lips. His tongue shoves its way into your mouth as well, eager to tangle with yours and push your arousal onto your own taste buds. You delight in the fervor with which he kisses you, and in the sound of his belt jingling because it means more pleasure is on the horizon. You feel a hand against your hip, and that’s the only real warning you get before he’s pushing the length of his dick into your pussy and burying himself to the hilt in you. You scramble to grab hold of him somehow. It’s a slight miracle that you don’t bite both his and your own tongues in the process because you cry out into his mouth. Your moan remains unbroken even when he pulls your mouths apart and rushes to cradle the back of your head before you whack it harshly against the concrete behind you. There’s not a second to catch your breath in Hongjoong’s mind; his other hand is busy at work, and he presses the pad of his thumb into your clit. He rubs once, twice, three times before you unravel on his cock.
“You’re so tight, fuck, if you could feel yourself, your cunt is so tight.” There are stars behind your eyelids, clearer than the ones in the sky, and Hongjoong begins to rock his hips up into yours as the weight of your orgasm barrels down on you. “You feel so good on me, pretty. Fuckin’ made for my cock, yeah?”
“Yeah, y-yes, yes, yes.” Your voice cracks at the tail end of your agreement. It turns into something more akin to a sob than a moan. Hongjoong’s pace is relentless in every regard. The lack of pause doesn’t let your body come totally undone or relax, still wound tight around your previous orgasm to the point where it feels like it won’t end.
“Keep taking it, lovely, I won’t be able to pull out with you squeezing around me like this.”
Whining, you drop your head to the side, chin coming all the way down to your shoulder. Hongjoong snakes his hand around to your neck and braces his index finger and thumb on either side of your jaw. Your head lolls in tune with the way he moves you and without resistance — every ounce of strength in your muscles has melted into goo in his hands. When he presses you back to the wall, your breath hitches. The sensation of his fingers at your neck has you feeling floaty and a bit detached from your body in the most pleasant way imaginable. His thrusts jerk your body enough to offer more pressure against your neck every so often but it’s not as persistent as you wish for it to be.
When you reach between your bodies and clasp your fingers around his wrist, Hongjoong seems to think that you want him to pull away because his grip loosens instantly.
“More,” you grit out, yanking his hand harder into the column of your neck. The steady rhythm he’s found falters momentarily for him to resituate his grip, but once he’s settled back into it, each thrust comes with a delightful headiness as your breath becomes shorter.
“’m close,” he announces. He shifts a hair to look down between your bodies and watches his length disappear into you a few more times before pulling his focus back up to your face with a groan. “Gonna cum in you, pretty, you’re still so tight.”
“Wanna cum with you, t-touch me again,” you pant, licking your lips between each phrase, “please.”
Despite his own shaky hands, Hongjoong reaches down to where his cock pumps in and out of you. He finds your clit with ease and rolls two fingers over it in a similar rhythm to his thrusts, pace only growing as he races towards his finish with you in tow. His motions fail as he orgasms, but the sudden feeling of his cock twitching inside your walls and pumping you full of hot cum pushes you over the edge with him. You almost don’t even feel it with all the sensations hitting you at once, and Hongjoong’s body falls against yours so harshly that your moan is positively unholy.
His hands keep roaming — tracing every inch of skin he can reach like he wants to commit it all to memory, and you simply let him do as he pleases because it feels good and it feels damn good to be wanted by this man. He pulls you towards a different section of the rooftop with your pants and underwear in hand. When he tugs you down to the messy pile of blankets that he and Mingi leave up here for particularly cold nights, you don’t even complain either. He lays himself down atop you, easing between your legs and caging you in with elbows pressed to concrete on either side of your head.
Hongjoong kisses you softly, and you smile against his lips. He finally settles down beside you after a few more exchanged kisses. His hat gets put aside with the other stray pieces of clothing — including his shirt that he’s finally decided to rid himself of far after the fact. The aftermath is peaceful, if a bit hazy as your brain still feels a jumbled mess of putty, and the stars above are bright.
“I’ll have someone pick you up in the morning to take you over to my men. The bar won’t be safe for a few weeks minimum. They can give you some cash to help cut your losses in the meantime too.”
“Okay,” you answer quietly. Beside you, his hand searches the blankets for your own. You let his fingers tangle with yours and squeeze until it hurts.
“Just don’t let Wooyoung try to convince you to buy into any scheme he might come up with.”
“Who?”
“Trust me, he’ll let you know who he is.” Hongjoong laughs at his own comment but falls into silence when he glances at you out of the corner of his eye.
“Come back for me please.”
Hongjoong is quiet beside you for several lingering seconds, then he leans across the empty space and kisses your temple.
“I’ll make sure of it.”
You believe him.
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please like & reblog this work and consider leaving a reply or sharing your thoughts in a reblog or ask!
this work belongs to caly / hongism (2023). do not copy, repost, or plagiarize in any way.
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xxsugarbonesxx · 2 months
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this literally took years off my life but please enjoy
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tags: smut, lots of fluff, domestic life, pregnancy, oral sex (both male and female receiving) and vaginal sex afab!reader
Miguel had officially retired from the role of Spider-Man 2099 as well as acting leader of the Spider Society, he left quietly. Leaving his position to Jess and just disappearing one day, Jess had his contact info but was only to be used in absolute emergencies. He debated shutting LYLA down or she would go on to be Jess’s assistant, but he couldn’t bring himself to do that. She had been with him after everything with Gabriela, he couldn’t just shut her down. Sure she was AI but he did care for her.
So Miguel left in search of any kind of normalcy. He found a cozy little dimension with a low crime rate and an acting spider person. There he could relax and settle down, it took awhile to get him out of his old routine. But he did his best, he got an apartment, and a dog. He had houseplants, he cooked and read more books, he stopped caring so much about the little things. Soon enough, he developed a bit of a dad bod.
His arms and legs are thick with muscle, but now he has a pudgy tummy, love handles and thick cakey ass. Thick black hair bloomed over his firm pecs and stomach, snaking down to his member. He doesn’t cut his hair as much now, instead a clean curly cut, he now has a shaggy almost wolf cut with a streak of gray hair in his curls. He doesn’t shave his face, just trims to his neat black beard to keep from getting too long and thick.
He was taking his pet Pomerian, Fox, out for a walk. This dimension is a lot different from the futuristic Earth-928, set in the 2020’s but void of any pandemic. It’s airy and clean, lots of plant life and diverse people with small business shops lining the sidewalks. It felt like he could finally breathe, it’s quaint and quiet. Him and Fox wandered into a library, he was browsing around for a new cookbook to add to his growing collection. That’s when he met you.
You were on the other side of the library, looking through some romance novels while your daughter was sitting with the other kids for story time. Dressed in a light green tank dress with a plunging neckline white lace lining the neckline and under the bust. Oh that caught his attention, he slowly walked over, pretending to look at the same romance books as you were scanning. He nervously made small talk, he complimented your hair and you asked to pet Fox.
You and Miguel got on great, and even better, he was cool with you having a young daughter. He was thrilled when you gave him your number, thinking this was it. He’d finally get to lead a normal life, meet a girl, settle down, become a father again. And luckily, that was exactly what you were looking for too.Miguel loved your daughter, Luella, she reminded him so much of his Gabriela. He’s been working on being more open about his past and not running away when he was uncomfortable. 
He adored taking you out, treating you to coffee or just going on a walk with you, Luella and Fox. He took you and Luella to a museum once you’ve been dating for two years. You went off to the bathroom and walked back to see Miguel holding Luella on his hip so she could see the penguins waddling in their exhibit. She asked him all sorts of questions and he answered all of them. He looked so much like dad, in his sweater, sweat shorts, high socks with sneakers and snapback, holding Luella’s hand or carrying her when she got tired. He bought her a little penguin stuffy and cooked you and her dinner when you got home.
You two moved in together after three years of dating. Miguel was so happy to be finally living with other people, he really did love taking care of you and your daughter. Whether it was making Luella’s lunches or making you breakfast in bed after a night shift. He really was a dream to live with, he kept his space clean and organized. He liked shopping with you, he loved following you around with a basket in one hand and your hand in the other. When you’d stop to check the nutrition label on the back of something, he’d rest his head on yours. Sighing loudly with his hands on your shoulders, gently kissing the back of your head.
Your first time with him was heavenly, gently laying you down on the plush bed. Your thighs wrapped around his head, he made sure you came at least once before his pants actually came off. He ate you out like he was a starved man and you a five course meal. Flicking your sensitive clit with the tip of his tongue as he pumped his pointer finger into your weeping core, slowly sliding in his middle finger to make you squeal. He lapped up your nectar once you came, licking it up, telling you that it tasted like candy. 
He’d whine in your ear how tight you were, begging to not clench too hard as he grunted. He had you in doggy style, your back arched, face buried in pillows with your ass up. He mindlessly pounded into you, it had been too long since he had sex. His big hands squeeze your waist tight, his claws slipping out to graze but not break your soft skin. He whines in the shell of your ear, a ring of cream wrapped around the base of his thick cock as he bullies deeper into you. He would always make you cum first or you’d both cum together.
After round four, you were spent. His fat cock stretched you out, you laid down on your back on the now dirty sheets. Miguel would be pressing kiss after kiss all over your sweaty body, caressing and running his hands all over you. He’s an after care god, if you’re hungry, he’ll order out. He’s already got the water in the tub running, he changes the sheets as you lay in the warm water, he comes back only to wash your hair and rub your back and shoulders. After eating, he’ll cuddle you, his arms wrapped around you with his legs tangled with yours. Telling you how happy you’ve made him and telling you how much he loves you.
You have a small, chapel wedding, nothing too fancy though Miguel could afford it. But you wanted something small, something with only close family and friends. And he gave you that happily, with Luella as the flower girl and a quiet honeymoon in Italy.
Not that you got to see much of Italy, not when you were bouncing on your husband's fat cock for the majority of your visit. Not that you were gonna complain though. Your hips rose and fell back into the heated water of the hot tub, your hips slapping against his pelvis as he watched the fat over your ass ripple. His hand on your neck with your back to him as you whine, him squeezing your throat softly to tell you to slow down every once in a while. Praising you, only calling you ‘Mrs. O’Hara’ since your wedding.
God, how you adored his touch. His other hand is on your clit, teasing your body. Begging for him to let you cum, he’d tsk and shake his head. Telling you not just yet and to be patient, you held off the best you could. But his big strong hands all over your body made you practically vibrate, this big bear of a man finally yours, you couldn’t help but move faster. Your full tits bouncing, he reached in front of you to take one in his hand. He squeezed the meat of it, his fingertips drifting to your nipple and gently tugging. Making you moan louder and finally cum.
Though he did enjoy such a display, and on the balcony overlooking the city of all places, he did have to take you to the room and teach you a quick lesson in obedience. He made you lay down on your back on the bed, your head resting on the edge of the bed, he stood in front of you. Pumping his cock with his hand, his other hand cupping your cheek, his thumb on your lips. He slapped his now fully erect dick on your cheek, making you giggle. He finally pressed his angry red tip to your plump lips, you slowly opened your mouth, letting him in.
Bent over the bed, he rolled his hips gently at first. Feeding you inch after inch, he took great pleasure watching your tight throat bulge from his length. He pushed in all the way, his happy trail tickling your chin. He fucked your throat, his cock twitching inside you after hearing you gag, thrusting his hips harder to watch your tits bounce and jiggle. You had one hand resting on his thigh, your other on your pussy. Your middle and ring finger teasing your weeping core, your new wedding ring was cold on your folds, making you shiver with delight.
Your tongue slithered over his cock, memorizing each inch and vein. Your eyes roll back and toes curl when you feel his hand cup your soaked pussy, gently kneading your folds as he fucked your throat like a fleshlight. He never lasted long with you, even after years of being with you, he never grew tired of your body, always wanting one more round or brushing his teeth a little longer than usual in the bathroom when you showered. He groaned hard, his voice breaking as ropes of his cum slipped down your throat, warming your belly. The rest of your honeymoon was practically spent in that Airbnb, only leaving for a wine tasting and the white sand beaches. 
Of course it did take long for you to get pregnant, in fact, you found out the week you came back home from your honeymoon. Miguel was over the moon, doting and spoiling you more than usual. As you sat back on the couch, he knelt down in front of you, kissing all over your eight month baby bump. Cooing and talking to the fetus growing in your womb, telling you how he wanted the baby to recognize his voice once they were born.
Just ‘cause you were having his baby didn’t mean he paid any less attention to Luella. He still adored her, adopting her once he proposed. She was excited to have a dad in her life and now a little sibling, he still took her out for things to do. The look of excitement on his face when Luella expressed an interest in soccer, he’d go to all her games and take her to ice cream whether she lost or won. 
The second you went into labor, he dropped everything he was doing at work and rushed to the hospital. He held your hand and kissed your head, telling how strong, brave and beautiful you were as you pushed. No matter how hard you squeezed his hand or yelled or screamed, he didn’t flinch. He held you tight and dried your tears, reassuring you throughout the whole ordeal.
Soon enough the O’Hara unit would be completed. You had given birth to a healthy baby girl, a chubby one too. Miguel was a big man, he’s literally 6 '9 and weighs 310lbs, your baby is gonna be a chub. Not that you were gonna complain, your girl was gorgeous, with soft brown skin and a mess of black hair. She snuggled up to Miguel for some skin on skin time with papa. He cried like a baby seeing her, she was the spitting image of his Gabriela. To her big eyes to her nose. Though, she did have his claws, which made you two order baby mittens so fast.
Miguel was happy. The last six years he wouldn’t trade the world for, no matter if you argued or fought, he wouldn’t be the same man he was if it weren’t for giving everything up as Spider-Man. A job he thought he’d keep forever, he’d imagine dying in the suit before you came along. He couldn’t be happier with his decision though as he put baby Esther down in her crib for a nap.  
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littleyanderes · 5 months
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The Butterfly - platonic yandere batfam x oc (yandere purge)
The Red Letter
content warnings
-Referenced pedophilia, infantilization, general violence.
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When the first trees on the crumbling sidewalk of Gotham's leaves began to slowly change color and die, the city knew that the time had come.
An entire year had passed since this horrible holiday had begun, cementing into the minds of the public that yes, this truly was happening.
A federal holiday. Enacted by the government itself in response to the harsh uptick in crime, as well as repeated cases of love-sick people kidnapping those whom they deemed to be their 'one true love'.
The term 'yandere' was not the one used formally, those affected by whatever madness of lust and desire were known as to the general public, police stations, and post offices as the Loveless.
How the Loveless came about, was also a mystery. They began in what the rest of the country deemed to be the cesspool of all violence and death - Gotham city, New Jersey.
Common theories ranged from Scarecrow gas going wrong, some sort of alien attack, to just plain old collective psychosis. In the end the theories didn't matter much. People were dying, and a solution had been found.
Ripley had just turned 14 on the day of the first Loveless Purge. Huddled in the closet of their room in the orphanage, they had been sat with ten other children their age. All of them, staring at the crack in the window curtains that allowed a thin stream of moonlight to slip through.
Every passing shadow had the collective flinching, pulling the closet door just a little tighter closed but also not daring to take their eyes from the window. Ripley, pushed to the far back, huddled close to one of the older girls who gently stroked their hair away from their forehead and whispered soothing words of encouragement when the screams outside started.
Howls for help, people being ripped away from their lives. Fighting against those who had proclaimed their love for them. In that night, one person in the orphanage received a warning that they were being hunted.
A boy, older than Ripley. Given a thick red envelope that made his face go white as a sheet. Whoever had professed their love for him, had come to get him that night. His screams and cries for help haunted Ripley's dreams for weeks.
It wasn't until the boy was spotted three months later, out in the open and unharmed, that they got any sort of relief from knowing that he hadn't been hurt by the one who took him.
He had looked...Happy. Well fed, hair brushed and cut short, eyes brighter than they had ever been before. He was healthy.
That didn't stop the haunted look he gave Ripley when their eyes met, when Ripley realized that the gleam in his eyes was not from joy but rather from the false eyes that had been placed in his skull.
Life was normal for the rest of the 364 days of the year. Crime rates sunk low in cases of kidnappings or hostage situations, though the rest of the crime stayed pretty much the same.
The same villains still roamed about. The Joker, Riddler, Harley and Ivy. None of them had gotten in on whatever craze that had swept through the other criminals, which Ripley couldn't decide to be happy or distressed about.
Life was normal, and then the leaves began to change. Radio stations began a countdown to the Purge. It went from two months away, to a month, to two weeks, and then that very morning as Ripley turned on their old and beaten radio, the official announcement came through.
"-staring today, official letters from the Loveless will be distributed to the public. It is up to you whether you accept your fate or try to run. All letters should be filed by-"
Ripley turned off the radio, their chest suddenly feeling very hollow as they stared down at the old piece of junk. The other children had left already, gone to check their mail slots to see if they had gotten a letter.
Ripley was the only one left, huddled in their small bed tinkering with the radio. Unease had been sitting underneath their ribs all morning as they stared out the window, seeing the swaths of yellow leaves flowing through the streets like a wave of fire.
The orphanage was quiet around them, which made their footsteps seem louder than normal as they slowly got out of bed and slunk out from their room. The hallway leading towards the mailroom was dark, with the only light having blown out a week ago. And without the proper funds, it would stay that way until enough money could be procured to fix all of the lights.
The only light came from a small lamp in the mailroom, casting a beam of shaky orange light towards the mailboxes. Ripley shuffled into the room, tongue feeling dry in their mouth as they approached the wall of small silver doors.
Their hands shook as they grabbed the tiny handle, taking a slow deep breath and holding it before twisting the handle and yanking the door open. Squeezing their eyes shut, they stuck their hand inside hoping to find cold metal under their touch.
Instead, their fingers met the soft silky feeling of a very expensive letter. Their eyes popped open, and they slowly dragged the thing out into the light.
The corner of a scarlet red letter peeked out from between their fingers.
They yanked their hand away, nausea growing in their throat. The letter, unassuming and thin, was not just the one.
There were eight.
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cyprus-green · 2 years
Text
Need you, Granger
Pairing: Draco x Hermione
Rated E; Male Masterbation
Summary: After six months in Azkaban Draco is stuck at a Hogwarts Reconstruction summer program. He's consumed by a certain Golden Girl and we get a view into his explicit masturbation session.
....
He palmed himself.
His hands were cool and rough--still slightly callused from his time playing Quidditch. Skin toughened from years of gripping a thick length of smooth wood.
But his hands had changed over the years. He no longer had the polished hands of a pampered heir. Six months in Azkaban could do that to you. His apperance had hardened, shoulders filled out. No longer all angles and edges. The tattoo on his neck, a reminder of how lucky he had been to let out on 'parole'.
So many things had changed in the last two years. But oh, how he savored his new-found freedom.
After six months of no privacy, he had vowed to never have another quiet orgasm for as long as he lived. An 'up yours' all to the times he tried to sneak in a wank in his small cell and had to bite down violently on his fist to silence his groans.
No more. He was determined to thouroughly enjoy himself nowadays. Not that he had anyone to enjoy with. Being a convicted death eater, even one who was acquitted on account of being a minor at the time of his crimes, could really put a damper on your dating life.
So alone he went. Savoring the feeling of rubbing his long, thick length slowly with both hands. Imagining her body taking him in, filling her to the hilt.
Her.
That girl. The fucking girl he could never quite shake.
The girl who also happened to return to Hogwarts for an optional 8th year. The girl who also happened to joined the summer 'castle reconstruction' program. The only student present who was not required to attend due to ministry mandated public service.
The Golden Girl, herself.
Hermione. Fucking. Granger.
His mouth parted and he thrust his cock up into his fisted hands.
Granger.
Mmmm Granger.
Beautiful.
And Fucking Infuriating.
Precum lubed the tip of his head as he spread it around with his wide thumb. He gently rubbed the slick up and down himself. Needing more glide, he spit into his hand and rubbed it down his length, coating his cock. It made an obscene noise and he groaned in pleasure.
He squeezed his eyes shut. Fuck. Fuck. He had needed this, so badly. It had been such a long week. Full of hard physical labor, lifting slabs of stone. Complex spells, repairing walls and floors. He had little time to do more than work, sleep and eat.
Gods, she had been right there. Wearing her awful muggle outfits that left him hard all day. Skimpy little things she said kept her cool in the oppressive summer heat. Tight shorts that sat low on her hips and rode up her ass. Tank tops with thin straps that he wanted to rip off her body. Her smooth mid drift showing everytime she pulled her wild mane up into a bun. And by all apperances she had zero clue the effect she had.
Her fragrant scent hit him every time she passed by his way. Distinctivly feminine. Apple shampoo and sweat.
By midday she was dripping in it. He wanted to lick every single drop. Wanted nothing more than to feel her body beneath his, sweating and used. Panting. Hair wild around her, cascading down her back. The evidence of her arousal all over her thighs. The taste of his semen all over her mouth and chin.
He wanted her to be filthy for him.
He wanted her to bend over and spread her ass cheeks for him, showing off her pink little holes like a good girl. Wanted to see her thighs coated in her own need, desperate.
Fuck. He palmed himself up and down again, gritting his teeth and throwing his head back against his pillow.
He could stretch her out. She was so small. Would his cock even fit the first time? Her thin shorts left little to the imagination, fabric clinging to her fat little lips--until she turned and adjusted herself. Delicious.
She'd be so embarassed if she knew.
If she had seen him stare.
If she could see him panting as he indulgently stroked himself to thoughts of her, and her alone.
Would she blush and turn around? Or would she stare and lick her lips? Letting her gaze linger on his proud cock just a second more.
His grip tightened and he twisted his hand around his head and back down.
Merlin, he needed her.
His hand went past the base of his cock and he grabbed his balls, tugging at them. They bounced heavily. He tugged at them again, and felt a familiar ache.
Fuck. He was so full. He needed to cum. So badly.
He wanted to fill her with it. He was young. Verile. Full of seed. A wizard who needed to fuck. Hard. And she could take it, with those high hips. That petite, yet solid frame. Oh yes, Granger could take a pounding.
He fisted his cock harder and groaned at the loud sloppy sounds it made.
Her cunt would be heaven. Warm. Soft. Wet. He just knew it. He wanted to taste it. To eat her out. To finger her tight cunt, to push his thick fingers in her ass as he licked and sucked at her clit. Working her body into a frenzy. Not letting her escape him even when she writhed and shook.
He wanted to make her take more than she ever thought she could. To make her weep from pleasure. To spasm and gasp and squirt all over him in confusion and shock. To grip her perfect cunt around his fingers and sob his name into the air.
He shuddered and thrust his cock up into his hand again. And again. And again. His light blond pubes beginning to become wet with spit and precum.
Fuck. What would she say if she knew? If she walked in and saw him?
His arms began to ache at the punishing speed but he couldn't stop. He couldn't stop. It felt so good. He hissed at the smooth glide over the sensitive underside of his head. He threw his head back again and cursed. She was unreal. The perfect delight for his filthy mind. The glide of his hand addicting when paired with her image.
He wanted to bite at her smooth light-brown skin. To tounge her pretty dark cunt from behind and rub her round ass while she went down on him. He wanted a close up of her pretty little pussy contracting on air. Needing his thickness. Needing his length. Needing him. Wanting him. Screaming his name. Crying out for his cock. Saying his name over and over and over. Draco. Draco. Draco. Draco.
His abs began to quiver and his eyebrows knitted together.
He was getting close and he let out a involuntary yell. His hips bucked and he felt himself on the edge of no return. He pumped his hand harder. Fucking himself, turning himself on with how wanton his need must look.
He needed Granger. His Granger.
He was so thouroughly pent up. Salazar, he would cum buckets just at the sight of her breasts. Her perky little tits. Bouncing slightly when she walked by on early weekend mornings, wearing no bra. The fucking tease. Little peaks poking through. He wanted to take them in his mouth and suck on her dark nipples. Biting her from her tits all the way up her neck and back down to her soft thighs. Marking her as His.
Granger needed his cum. She did. She needed a good hard fuck. One look at her and you could tell it was true. Her shoulders were too tight. Her posture to ridgid. Someone needed to help her let go. Needed to tame the little lion into contented submission. His little lion.
She'd beg for it. She'd beg for him to come on her tits. Or to come all over her pussy, just to fuck the cum into her with his thick long fingers. A greedy little pussy. His greedy little pussy.
Or maybe he'd just fuck her into the bed. Drill her with her ankles pushed all the way back to her ears. Banging the wooden headbord into the wall over and over. Their hip bones grinding against eachother. Her cunt rubbing his pelvic bone, hitting that spot just right. That spot that he knew would have her gushing, drenching his balls.
He wanted to taste their sex.
He wanted to grind himself into her. To make her cling to his arms, his shoulders, his back. He had always felt so skinny growing up, but she had always made him feel broad. Large. Strong. She had changed everything for him.
And recently something had changed between them. At times it felt like they were actually firting and dare he say, they had chemistry. Brushing by eachother in close spaces, knocking into one another on purpose just to feel the closeness of eachother's body.
Fuck. He thought of the way she had rolled her eyes at him today. Their verbal sparing leavng him frustrated. The little fucking brat. Needed a lesson in manners. Needed to be teased. Needed to beg for it. And he needed to taste her desperation.
Fuck he wanted to get her pregnant. The prissy little swot. To force his pleasure deep into her. To fill her again and again. Until her womb accepted his seed.
Fuck, he was close. His arm was burning at the speed. His hips snapping up to meet every single pump. The pleasure, a weight across his hips. He moved his hand from his balls and grabbed for his towel in anticipation. His hand snaked down his chest. Wet from perspiration. He tweaked his nipples and cried out sharply.
His hand remained on his flat stomach, fingers feeling his core tense again and again as his body teetered on the edge of release.
He whined. He needed it. He was chasing it. He imagined being muffled by her cunt. Her thighs around his face.
He spasmed at the thought, as he continued frantically fucking himself. Grunting and cursing every thrust. He bit down hard and grabbed his balls cupping and pulling and squeezing when suddenly his peak hit him like a steam train.
His body tensed, thrusting his cock, hard as he could into his fist. His abs tensed and he saw stars, his body hit by blinding pleasure that shot through him. He howled her name.
Hermione
Unabashed. Unashamed.
His eyes rolled back as cum shot violently from his pulsing cock. His voice rang out clear and desperate as he yelled into the air. Long strings of hot pleasure, shot out one after another. The first sailing past his head, the next hitting him in the shoulder, in the chest, on his abs and the final shot landing below his belly button. Each rope brought another groan. Another clench. Another bliss.
He continued to slowly stroke himself after his last shot. The warm, slick cum, feeling heavenly on his sensitive cock. Turning his head he panted into the pillow, letting out a shout as he needily jacked his cock, chasing another orgasm. The image of her naked writhing form flashed behind his eyes. Fucking beautiful. He found it quickly and cried out her name again. The sound of his hand on his cock, obscene.
Granger! Oh fuck, Yes. There it is. Fuck me. Yes, love. Just like that! Oh Fuck, I'm coming...I'm coming! FUCK!
His second orgasm had him shouting loudly, body spasming, his legs shaking and his hand now absolutely covered in his thick pleaure. Cum gutters filled with warm, white, need.
Slowing to a stop, he lay there absolutely drenched in his own seed. His balls empty. He stayed like that for a few moments, panting into the night air, the aftershocks making him shiver. He fought the powerful sleepiness that threatened to overtake him.
His hand shook as he loosened his grip.
Fucking Fuck.
His hand came away, just covered. He opened his eyes and surveyed the scene. It was quite the sight. And it was all her fault. Beautiful fucking thing.
After he cleaned himself off, he continued to lay there with a smile playing on his lips. He chuckled to himself as he listened carefully for any signs of life coming from his neighbor to the right. It was a dumb thought, really.
But he could dream right?
...
...
...
On the other side of the wall lay a girl with wild curly hair, smooth tan skin, and warm, kind, chestnut eyes. She grabbed for a towel and wiped her hand on it before placing it between her legs. She stifled a moan, biting her lip. Her clit was large and swollen. Fuck. So sensitive. And although she had touched herself to him nearly every night, and had craved to be as loud and carefree as he, she would be damned if she ever let Draco Malfoy know how badly she needed him. The feel of his svelte, toned body gripping her tight. Gods. She needed to stop.
If he wanted her, he was going to have to do more than wank to the thought of her every now and again.
Maybe he'd come knocking on her door one night. Come use her willing body to fulfill all his filthy needs. It was a dumb thought, really.
But she could dream right?
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Election Day
Pairing: Bruce Wayne x F!Reader
Warnings: Spoilers, crime mentions, injury mentions
Word Count: 1370
A/N: Here’s part 21 of Convenience! Thank you to everyone who commented on and reblogged the other parts, it really means a lot. This is a side blog so I can’t reply to comments but know that I read them all! Anyway, I hope you like it!
Series Masterlist
Masterlist
Headcanon Requests Open!
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Y/N woke with a start. She reached down to her waist and threaded her fingers with Bruce’s to prove to herself that he was with her. She could feel his chest moving against her back with each breath he took and tried to match his breathing. Her nightmare had been so real. The bomb went off just like it had the other night, but this time she had been too late to get to Alfred and the Riddler had shown up instead of the police. He had been after her, so she could pay for the sins of her parents. She somehow knew Bruce was coming for her, but that he would not be there in time.
Her heart rate started to slow down. She knew she would not be able to go back to sleep. A look at the bedside clock told her it was early afternoon. As carefully as she could, she removed Bruce’s arm from around her and climbed out of bed. He shifted onto his back but did not wake up. She dodged the creaky floor boards and walked out of the door and down the hall to her room. She made a beeline straight for the bathroom, hoping the hot water from the shower would wash away the last of the panic she felt when she realised Bruce would get to her too late.
****
Bruce looked around the room groggily when he realised he was alone in bed. He half-expected Y/N to be sat against the foot board sketching, like she had been that first night they spent together. But the room was empty. He pulled on a pair of sweatpants before going to look for her.
He found her bedroom empty so he made his way downstairs. The news was playing on the TV for the empty living room. The newscasters were discussing the new plans for election night, given that one of the candidates had been brutally murdered. He realised that everything with the Riddler had made the election date completely slip his mind, but it looked like it was finally November 5th. He walked out and made a beeline for the noises coming out of the kitchen.
After Y/N showered, she decided that she better make them some food. She had only eaten Bruce’s cooking once in her life and had no plans to repeat that experience. The eggs and bacon were cooking away on the hob when she realised she was being watched. She turned to find Bruce standing in the doorway, bare-chested and sweatpants low on his hips. She shot him a small smile. “How you feeling?”
“I’m not sure.” His mind was still all over the place.
She looked back at the food to make sure nothing was burning. “I had a feeling you’d say that. So, we’re going to eat, then you’re going to shower, and go to the hospital to talk to Alfred.”
“You’re not coming with me?” He sounded almost betrayed.
“I think this is a conversation you need to have just the two of you.” She looked back up at him to gauge his reaction.
He nodded, clearly not happy about it, but willing to accept her reasoning. He walked over to her and rested his hands against the counter on either side of her. He rested his chin on her shoulder as she flipped the bacon. She leaned back into him and tried to enjoy the brief moment of normality between them. Domestic bliss she supposed. But it was hard to ignore that she was making breakfast at dinner time and getting ready for another night with him running around the city dressed as a bat.
He stepped back as she moved to pull two plates out of the cupboard and the toaster popped. He grabbed the toast as she divided the bacon and eggs between the two plates. He thanked her as she handed him one of them and they both sat down at the table.
They ate in comfortable silence, but she could not help shooting glances at him. This was the most she had seen him eat in a while. The circles under his eyes were darker, his hair hanging limp in his face and he seemed more reserved than usual. She realised what the stress of the past five days must have done to him. A deranged serial killer was one thing, but then he had targeted Bruce personally and Alfred had got hurt because of it. And then, to make it worse, all the stuff about his parents had been released for the whole city to see. Combined with the fact that the Riddler was personally writing to the Batman, Bruce was probably the most stressed person in the city right now.
****
After she managed to convince Bruce to leave, Y/N knew she should finish fixing the car. The elevator opening sent a swarm of bats flying and nearly gave her a heart attack. She realised it was probably the first time in almost two years that no one had been down to the station for almost twenty-four hours. Apparently, that was all the time the bats needed to move back into the space underneath the old staircases. The station seemed colder than normal. The stack of renewal files on the desk drew her eye and she remembered that she meant to ask Bruce what exactly he had been looking for in them. She made a mental note to ask when he got back and walked over to the charger.
It took her almost no time to replace the blown out window and the damaged tire. She was working on the fuel line again when the elevator door rattled open.
“Y/N?” Bruce’s voice echoed off the walls. He had looked throughout the whole apartment before realising she must have been down in the station.
“Give me two minutes!” She called from under the car. “Did you talk to Alfred?”
He walked over to the car and crouched down so he could see her. “You were right. He said my father did it all to protect my mother, and that he never expected Falcone to kill the anyone. He said… He said, he doesn’t know for sure, but he thinks Falcone might have ordered the hit because he knew my father would never bend to his will.” He moved back as she finished up and moved out from under the car.
“I thought you might stay longer.” She grabbed a rag of the bonnet and wiped off her hands.
“The signals up.” He told her as he moved over to the desk and started kitting up. “I came back to get everything. Is the car ready?”
“Yeah, but be gentle, okay?” She started packing up her tools. “You cracked the fuel line chasing Penguin and I don’t have another spare. I’m going to reinforce it but the stuff I ordered won’t be here until the weekend.”
“I’ll try to be careful.” The corner of his lips turned up, sometimes he swore the car meant more to her than anything else.
“What are they for anyway?” She pointed towards the renewal files on the desk.
He turned and looked to see what she was pointing at. “I thought I might be able to find out why the Riddler was so hung up on the renewal fund. I didn’t get chance to look through them before I had to leave yesterday.”
Y/N resisted the urge to bring up the gorgeous woman. “I’ll look through them tonight.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I’ve got nothing better to do.” She smiled as he walked over to her.
“Thank you.”
“Here.” She handed him the car keys. “Be safe.”
“I will.” He pressed a kiss to her temple and climbed into the car.
Part 22
Taglist: In the reblogs
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tmnt-tychou · 11 months
Text
Four Against One, Chapter One
So I've had people ask me about writing something like this, since I don't mind writing poly. Originally, the concept was a bunch of comedy shorts about Mona trying to date all four turtles at once and it goes about as well as you expect it to.
But then more ideas piled up and I kept changing the concept and the feel of the story. And I finally settled on this. Please keep in mind this is just a fun side project for me to explore this ridiculous idea. Do not take it seriously. I assure you, I am not taking it seriously. I'm just feeling this out and seeing where it goes.
This happens in Bayverse, in the same world as "When Leo Met Mona" only in this version, Leo did NOT meet Mona. At least, not at that time. They don't meet her until after she is mutated.
So...enjoy if you're into this sort of thing. If not, feel free to skip. As I said, this is not a project I'm taking too seriously and I will not be hurt if this isn't for you.
Also, while this chapter is clean-ish, this will eventually be an M-rated fic.
*****
The four brothers walked carefully through the rubble. Police offers were everywhere, the blue and red lights from their cars lit up the night behind them. The turtles were escorted through the building—once an ordinary lobby, now completely in shambles. Equipment had been thrown to the side, doors ripped off their hinges. Blood was smeared on the floors and walls.
This was the second time ever the New York police department had called on the turtles for help. But this time, they had no idea what they were in for. And the further they walked into the building, the more they felt like they were in over their heads.
And officer escorted them through a door in the back that led down a flight of narrow, concrete stairs to reveal an entire sub basement below the office building. Down below, it was far worse. Everything was trashed, smashed, smeared in blood. Bodies lay strewn about. Pieces of human bodies and hulking forms of...something else. Something reptilian.
“Dude, that...are those...mutants?” Michelangelo whispered harshly. There were several. Lizard-like creatures, far bigger than the turtles, laying dead with throats and bellies slashed open. Some partially eaten. Human and mutant bodies alike were everywhere. The smell of death was already beginning to rise.
Police Chief Rebecca Vincent stood among it all, the only thing orderly in all the chaos. As the turtles approached, she gestured to the nightmare around her as if they would have answers for her. But all any of them had were questions.
“What happened here?” Leonardo asked in a low tone.
The chief huffed. “That's what we're trying to figure out. This was some sort of secret lab where they were mutating animals into giant creatures for God only knows how long. Tonight, something happened. Several of these animals got out. We're still trying to piece together what happened. But we're already getting calls about monsters loose in the city. A good portion of them, it turns out, fled into the sewers.” Raphael growled. “No, of course. Of course they went into the sewers. Where we live.”
“Your home turf,” Chief Vincent agreed. “We were hoping you would help us locate them before they hurt anyone.”
“Locate them and then what?” Donatello asked. “What do you want us to do with them?”
Vincent shook her head, obviously overwhelmed with it all. Everyone was still trying to wrap their heads around this absolute madhouse of a crime scene.
“Dr. Falco, the man responsible for all of this, managed to survive. He's insisting we take them all alive.” She held up a black duffel bag. “In here are supposed doses of mutagen. He said this will push them through to the second phase. It will make them smaller, more manageable. In theory, it will increase their intelligence. Even, he insisted, allow them to learn how to speak. It was like he was trying to make mutants just like the four of you.”
The brothers looked at each other.
“So you want us to mutate them and bring them back to you?” Leonardo asked carefully.
Vincent handed him the bag of mutagen. “At this point, I honestly don't know. Do what you can. If you can bring them back alive, then we'll figure out what to do with them. If you can't...maybe it would be better for everyone in this city if you killed them all.”
Four Against One
Chapter One: Animal Instincts
Mona tossed and turned in bed, finding she couldn't sleep. It was unusual to have this problem down in the sewer. It was so dark and quiet at night. It was like sleeping with the weight of the whole city like a thick, warm blanket on top of her. It never took long before she was out.
But tonight, she just couldn't do it. Something about her body was keeping her active, making her muscles restless and her mind spinning. It was maddening. After a good three hours of flopping from side to side, Mona pulled herself up with a huff. It felt like she wouldn't be sleeping anytime soon. Might as well get up.
It was dead silent. Dark and dormant with a few lights stationed here and there for anyone who needed to see where they were going in the otherwise pitch black lair. The idea was to wander in some of the main rooms for a bit until she got sleepy, but light from deeper in the lair caught her attention. Someone else was awake.
The light was coming from Donatello's workshop. Of course, if anyone else was awake, it would be him. He was a self-professed insomniac and liked to keep odd hours whenever he was pulled into another project.
Mona approached the open entrance way and leaned on the frame. A barely audible true crime podcast played from the phone on the table. Donatello fiddled with a piece of rusty machinery as he tried to take it apart. She watched him for a moment, enjoying the quiet zen of seeing him work. He always gave out such a calm energy. She hoped being in the wake of his aura for a while would lull her enough to go back to bed.
Yet, as he worked, she found herself more energized as she watched the muscles of his arms. The flex of his biceps as he tried to pry one stubborn piece from the other. It made her restless all over again and she could no longer hold still. Her legs moved, carrying her in further.
“Hey, Donatello,” she greeted.
He paused and looked at her curiously. “Uh, hey. Can I help you with something?”
She sat herself in the extra chair that floated around his workshop. “I can't sleep. I was hoping I could stay up with you for a while. Unless it's a bother. You can kick me out if you need to.”
He gave her a calculating look. Not the first one she had received from him in the nearly three months she had known him. It was like he was trying to learn her; figure her out.
She was trying to learn them all, too. These four mutant turtles with their mutant rat father that had been living down in the sewers undiscovered for over twenty years now. She, too, had no idea of their existence until they had saved her from a monstrous mutation that, in her opinion, was a fate worse than death.
Her current situation was better than being a hulking beast lurking in the sewers, but it still wasn't ideal. Born human, she was now mutant; still reptile in form with a broad snout, green skin, and a long tail that irritated her on nearly a daily basis.
Unable to be a part of the human world any longer, she lived in the sewers with these other mutants. Very sweet and intriguing mutants who opened their home to her when she had no place to go. She would be forever grateful for their hospitality, but this wasn't her home and these mutants weren't her family. Three months in, she still felt like a guest, like she should be moving on soon. She wished she could. She hated relying on others; taking without being able to give back. Eventually, she would take too much and they would be done with her. In the meantime, she tried not to be a bother.
“No, you can stay,” Donatello said. “I don't mind at all.”
“Thank you.” The words were weighted, as they always were. Thank you for tolerating me for another day, even though I am a stranger. Even though I am useless to all of you.
He went back to fiddling as she curled up in the chair, feet tucked beneath her. Trying to take up as little as possible in a room that wasn't hers. Trying to be invisible, soundless. She didn't want to disrupt. But only a few minutes in, she started rocking back and forth on the chair as she looked around. The rhythmic tick, tick, tick of the chair caused Donatello to look up at her.
“Sorry,” she said, when she realized what she was doing. “I'm really struggling. I don't know why I can't sleep. I feel very mmm...kinetic tonight.”
A smile pulled at the side of his mouth. She had a different vocabulary than his brothers. Her choice of words amused him at times.
But his lack of response made her nervous. She stood up. “You know what? Maybe I'll go watch TV or something. I don't think sitting here bothering you is the answer. I'm sorry to come in.”
When she moved to leave, he stood up. His height towered over her. His broad shoulders took up space. For some reason, Mona found herself hyper aware of those two things about him.
“Do you want to go for a walk?” he asked. He seemed almost surprised himself to offer it. “I'll go with you.”
Gratitude flooded her. A feeling where a thank you didn't seem to be enough. But she said it anyway. “Thanks. I'd really like that.”
Donatello grabbed a flashlight and led the way to some of the catacombs at the back of the lair. They tended to be much dryer with less runoff. Not that there was much runoff anywhere. The summer had been usually dry this year.
Mona was getting more and more familiar with the different tunnels in the area. She even knew how to get to the surface if she needed to. But the surface scared her. She had been a few times, but she didn't like to go out too long. When she was exposed, it felt like she was showing the entire city what she had become, and she was still coming to terms with it herself.
“You're not a bother, by the way,” Donatello said suddenly, breaking her from her thoughts. “I've noticed you apologize a lot whenever you need something or you're taking up our time. None of us mind helping you.”
“Yes, all of you are amazing,” she agreed. “You guys have been so, so great. But I feel bad. I've been here a while. Even now, I'm taking up your time. Time you would have had if I wasn't here bothering you. I've always been one who's paid my own way. I wish there was at least more than I could contribute.”
“You contribute,” he insisted. “We all love that you cook for us, we appreciate when you clean. You've patched us up when we're hurt, you've stayed up with us when we're sick.”
“So I'm your mom,” said said with a hint of dissatisfaction.
Donatello frowned. He didn't like the sound of that either. “No, it's not like that. You just...the lair just feels nicer with you in it. You also give us something pretty to look at, so there's that.”
“Me?” she asked stupidly.
He smiled and gave a shrug.
Her gaze turned to watch ahead of them by the light of the flashlight. She never thought of herself as that pretty as human. Good enough to get by. Maybe even cute on her best days. But as a mutant lizard...she tried not to look at herself in the mirror for too long. She had sometimes wanted to apologize to them for having to look at her.
But that comment...was he serious? He was a reptile, too. Maybe to him, there was a different beauty standard. She herself thought all four turtle brothers were cute as hell. It had taken a while to get used to them—to wrap her head around the fact that talking giant turtles existed—but after that, it was easy to enjoy being around them. To learn their quirks and personalities, to discover how sweet they all were. To learn all the turtlely things about them and find out each one just endeared them to her more.
If Mona was really honest with herself, she'd had to admit that she was crushing on them all a little. Though she assumed it mostly came from the fact that she had hardly had any interaction with anyone else aside from the brothers and their father. That and she had never been treated as kindly as this family had treated her. She was growing to love them, but at the same time pitied them for being stuck with her growing affection for them merely because they had been kind to her.
“You've gone quiet,” Donatello spoke after a few minutes of silence. “I'm sorry if I said something bad.”
“You've never done or said anything bad since I've known you, Donatello,” came the soft response.
He paused and shined his flashlight on her. She blinked in the strong light, unable to see him other than the reflection of his glasses.
“I keep trying to read you, Mona Lisa, but I always feel like I'm missing something.”
She shrugged. “I don't know what that is. I'm just your average girl who was kidnapped and mutated against her will, faced off against a bunch of scary monsters—both human and mutant. And then found this sweet family of adorable turtles and their rat dad. And now I live here in the sewers. Tale as old as time.”
The light was still on her, as if she was being interrogated. “You don't talk much about before your mutation. Who you were; if there's anyone out there who might be missing you.”
“There isn't. There's not much to talk about. Just another poor twenty-something trying to work and keep the bills paid and the lights on. I'm afraid I'm not an interesting person.”
“I find you plenty interesting, Mona Lisa.”
Mona held a hand up to her eyes to block out the light. Trying to see his face; to see if he was being serious. “Are you flirting with me?”
“Of course.” Donatello's answer was pragmatic as he lowered the light.
In truth, she often flirted with all the brothers. And they usually flirted back. Sometimes even Leonardo—on the rare occasions she could get more than two words out of him. They were growing on her, always endearing. She liked having their attention. It made her feel special. Having Donatello's attention right now, hearing the soft, playful tone of his voice, made the core of her gently tighten. That was new.
“You're quite good at it,” she flirted back and they settled back into walking. “Very charming.”
He didn't respond, but she could feel him smiling. All four brothers would get flustered whenever she complimented them. It was cute. They were all so big, strong. They could be dangerous if they wanted to be. But they all melted with flattery and affection. Mona was happy to be the source of both of those things. It was one of the very few things she had to offer.
The tunnel narrowed and they had to walk close. Mona's shoulder brushed his arm so many times it seemed like he was seeking out the contact on purpose. Likewise, his knuckles touched the back of her hand now and then, silently asking. They liked to be touched, she had noticed. But this was distracting. She settled it by taking his hand. Three-fingered with thick, scaled skin. She didn't mind touching him. She never minded touching any of them.
When she did, something in Donatello relaxed. He was quiet, but silently pleased with this. Mona wished she could be so relaxed and pleased. She still felt like energy was running through her. Even though his thumb rubbing the back of her hand soothed her a bit. Donatello's presence was always soothing; calm.
They walked in companionable silence as their route turned them around and they headed back into the lair.
“Better?” Donatello asked as they entered the comfortable, familiar tunnels.
“Yeah,” she lied. “I think I'm going to try to sleep now. Thank you for spending some time with me.”
He still had her hand; still ran his thumb over it like he wasn't done feeling the texture of her. “My pleasure.” His voice was a soft whisper. It stirred her body in a way she wasn't prepared for. “Hug?”
Michelangelo asked for hugs the most. Donatello was a close second. She never minded as she slipped her hand out of his and then raised her arms. The very tall turtle stooped down so she could wrap her arms around his neck. He slowly straightened, carrying her off her toes. She loved when he did this. A joyful noise squeaked out of her and she gave a few happy kicks before he set her back down.
She felt a little flush after being pressed to his firm body, but tried not to focus on it.
“Good night, Donatello.”
His voice remained soft and raspy. “Have a good night.”
*************
Early the next morning, Leonardo paused when he walked into the dojo and found that it was already in use. Usually, he was the first one up and enjoyed at least an hour of quiet time before the rest of the family began to stir. But today, the light was already on. Mona Lisa sat lotus style, eyes closed and back straight. She opened her eyes as Leonardo silently entered.
She must have noticed him pause. “Sorry, am I going to be interrupting your personal time?”
She was. Leonardo liked having his quiet mornings alone. But that morning, he didn't particularly mind her company. She was usually a quiet person and he appreciated that about her.
“You're fine. Do you mind me joining you?” he asked as he sat himself in a similar position.
“Please do. I'm not having much luck on my own.”
Leonardo didn't say anything. He had learned merely by waiting, he could always get more information out of her.
“I couldn't sleep last night. I'm feeling a little frayed. Like there's this energy in my body that won't stop churning. I thought maybe some meditation would help, but I don't know what I'm doing. Am I supposed to be thinking about something? Or am I supposed to empty my head and think about nothing?”
A slight smile pulled at the side of his mouth. “I guess it depends on what your goals are: to quiet the mind, or to contemplate something that's been on your mind.”
She furrowed her brows in consternation and he found it to be quite cute. “What do you think about when you meditate? Or is that too personal to ask?”
“I try to think about my goals. How I want my day to go. How I can be a better brother and a better leader to my team. How I can improve on my skills and myself. Admittedly, my brain likes to wander to my mistakes and dwell on them. I try to spin it to the positive. Learn from them. Do better the next time.”
“Damn,” was Mona's response. “That's a good answer. I'll try some of that.”
Leonardo smiled a little more. There was something about her that was gentle, but amusing. He enjoyed her energy. As he settled into his own meditation, he was reminded of that as she remained a quiet and calm presence beside him. But she was still a presence. Normally, he could tune out his sensei and even any of his brothers if they were meditating beside him.
But her. Something kept calling him to her. Meditation for him was like sitting in a comfortable darkness. With Mona, she was like a soft glow next to him. Not loud or distracting, but definitely there. He opened an eye to look at her. She wasn't moving or making any sound. She looked relaxed; she wasn't even breathing loud. So why did his head keep turning in her direction? Was it her smell? He could definitely smell her. She smelled very nice. She smelled...attractive? Was that the word he was looking for?
He didn't say anything and let her be. For Leonardo, that morning's meditation was spent trying to keep his focus. He did not have much success. Still, it felt like it wasn't too long before Splinter came in for his own morning meditation. And after twenty or so minutes, the other turtle brothers trundled in.
“Ooh, look who's up,” Michelangelo greeted. He crouched behind Mona and gave her a light one-armed hug around the neck. “Morning, Mo-Mo. Ooh, you smell really good today.”
“Hey, Mike,” she greeted back, still not moving.
“What are you doing up so early?”
“Having quality time with Leonardo.”
Leonardo glanced at her. She had one eye open in his direction, smiling as if she just told a joke. “Jealous,” Michelangelo replied and moved to find his own space on the floor where he began doing stretches. “When do I get my quality time?”
“With Leonardo? You'll have to ask him.”
“I wasn't talking about Leo. You know what I meant.”
Mona just grinned.
Raphael came in next and he too paused at the extra person before sitting in front of her and beginning his own stretches in preparation for training.
“Hey there, Big Eyes. You come to train with us this morning?”
She snorted. “Probably not. Not interested in getting my ass kicked today.”
“Nah. I'd go easy on ya. You using a new shampoo or something? You smell good.”
“Right?” Michelangelo piped up. “She smells super good this morning.”
Mona subtly sniffed her shoulder, then her hair. Then down the front of her shirt. “I'm not sure what that is. I don't smell anything.”
“Did you go to sleep at all?” Donatello's voice asked as he walked behind her.
“Not really,” she said guiltily. “Just wasn't my night.”
He crouched behind her and touched the side of her neck with the back of his fingers. “You're a little warm. Do you feel okay?”
“About the same as last night. Like I need to be awake for something. I just don't know what that something is. I think I'll make myself stay up all day and then hopefully I'll crash good tonight.”
Donatello paused and then overtly breathed her in.
“She smells good, huh?” Michelangelo grinned from where he stretched in a complicated pose.
“That's not how you usually smell,” Donatello mused. “Interesting.”
“What do I smell like? I don't smell anything.”
No response. Mona specifically looked to Leonardo, as if they were all keeping a secret from her and she knew he would be the one to speak the truth. But the blue-clad turtle shrugged. She did smell different, but he didn't know how to put it into words.
“Alright, time for training,” Splinter announced as he finished with his meditation and stood. With a sharp clap, the turtles immediately stopped their chatter and stood in a straight row before their sensei.
Mona stood as well to get out of their way.
“Can I stay and watch?”
Splinter eyed her while at least half of his sons were openly nodding. Before, she had always been politely told the dojo wasn't a safe place to be during training and the reasons were obvious. Very large mutants with very dangerous weapons would be whipping around at high speeds. Mona had no training to keep herself safe. But she couldn't learn if she wasn't allowed.
“Yes, you may,” Splinter agreed. “But you will adhere to every rule.”
She straightened. “Yes, sir.”
“You will sit where I put you. You will not move while there is any activity on the mats. You will pay attention to what is happening. If you break these rules, you will be asked to leave. This is completely for your safety.”
She nodded emphatically. “I can do that.”
“Very well.”
Splinter offered her a pillow to kneel upon close to the wall. Far away from any fighting. He stayed with her while the turtles warmed up. They pulled out their weapons and began performing complicated katas. To Splinter, it was obvious they were showing off for their audience of one. He let them. When they were sufficiently warmed up he called for them to stop and they obeyed.
“Weapons, here,” he pointed to a spot next to him and the brothers complied, setting their weapons down. “From the wall.” Splinter nodded to the collection of weapons adorning what was aptly named The Weapons Wall. “Donatello: daisho. Leonardo: tonfa. Michelangelo: kama. Raphael: naginata.”
Without their weapons of choice, it was obvious to the master that his students weren't as comfortable. But but they were also ninja and should be able to make a weapon out of anything. He allowed a few moments for the turtles to get used to the weight and swing of their new weapons. Raphael was enjoying the reach of his long, bladed staff and kept poking Michelangelo in the shell with it. The smaller turtle parried back with his kama; two short handles with curved blades. Like miniature scythes. Leonardo spun his double tonfa expertly, but it was clear he didn't like that they were more a defensive weapon and had barely any reach. Donatello looked the least comfortable with his allotment as he handled the sword set and awkwardly strapped them to his body in a way he could reach both swords. The shorter sword stayed in its sheath in the front while he swung the long sword around in a way that told he was used to handling a staff.
“Pair up,” Splinter then ordered. “Raphael and Donatello. Leonardo and Michelangelo.”
The designated pairs faced each other. When their sensei gave the order, the fighting began. It started a little slow at first with each brother getting into the feel of their weapon. Usually they were a lot more devil-may-care when playing with weapons. But they were aware of their audience and didn't want to look clumsy.
But Splinter didn't care who was watching. He was there to make sure his students were always on their toes. Once the sparing fell into a more comfortable rhythm, Splinter left his post at Mona's side. He noticed her posture was rigid, back straight. Her thick, heavy tail thumped on the mat. There was an energy from her that made him almost want to raise his hackles. Strange, but he was more focused on his sons. Though he felt almost a relief at moving away from the lizard mutant.
The turtles were a whirl of movement and blades. A dangerous place to be of anyone untrained. Splinter, however, walked among the battles effortlessly untouched as he dodged bodies at least twice his size. Every once in a while, he would hit one of them with the blade of his hand. Sometimes the attacks were dodged or blocked. Most of them hit their mark.
“Be aware of everything around you,” Splinter barked. “Not just your opponent.”
And yet, he too was only focused on his sons. Though something niggled at the back of his mind. Mona Lisa was at the periphery of his senses. Her tail still slapped against the solid floor. It swished back and forth in agitation. These were not normal behaviors for her. Somewhere in the primitive part in Splinter's rat brain and voice whispered Predator.
He glanced back at her and the primitive part of his instincts took over for just a second. A second was all it took. Splinter jerked into Donatello, who glanced back in time to nearly get sliced from Raphael. Leonardo became distracted by Donatello's stumbling as Michelangelo surged forward. And everything fell apart as turtles and rat all collapsed gracelessly on top of each other.
For a second, everything was silent, save for the swishing sound of an anxious tail.
“What happened?” Raphael demanded.
“Dudes, she's doing the predator eyes again,” Michelangelo hissed.
All eyes turned to Mona Lisa, who had obediently remained where she was. Her posture still stiff, tail swishing like an interested cat. Her normally human-like brown eyes had changed. The whites turned yellow, the pupils now long, reptilian slits.
Leonardo stood up, fists gripping his weapon as if to protect himself. They had seen her do this before, shortly after she had first changed. “Mona,” he said carefully.
She looked up at him. “Hm? You guys okay?”
There was a visible sense of relaxing from the group of prey animals.
“We're okay. Are you...okay?”
“Why wouldn't I be okay?”
Donatello took a few steps forward, but still kept his distance. “Your eyes...”
She blinked at him several times, then stood. Swiftly, she removed herself from the dojo.
************
Mona ran to the bathroom and looked at herself in the mirror. Her eyes were slowly going back to normal, but the evidence of what they had looked like was there.
“No...no, no, no,” she whispered. “Why is this happening again?”
She saw Donatello appear in the reflection behind her. “Let me see,” he said softly.
She turned with a sigh. She didn't want to. She didn't want him to stare right into her soul with those intense golden eyes of his. Always calculating, always taking in so much of her with every look. His hand held her chin as he studied her. He didn't need to touch her to look at her eyes, but he always touched. And she wanted to lean into it.
“They're pretty normal now. Do you know what happened? Were you feeling scared or threatened in the dojo?” he then asked as he pulled back.
“No, I was just watching you guys.”
“You looked kind of intense, babe,” Michelangelo said from the doorway. The others were lurking in the hall. “What were you thinking about?”
A flush warmed her face. She had been watching alright. Watching the display of speed and strength. Watching how their muscles moved, how their bodies glistened with sweat. The silhouette of them, the masculine energy they brought with them. It excited her, though she hadn't felt any changes in her body.
“I don't remember thinking about much, I was just watching.”
She must have still looked a little wide-eyed because Donatello put his hands on her shoulders and spoke in a calm voice. “Let's take a blood sample just to be sure.”
Now all that was on Mona's mind was worry. The mutation had been rough, traumatic. It had left her a different person, both physically and mentally. Even after the second mutation, she still dealt with some changes. Ones she thought she had mastered, but if she was changing again...
She was hardly paying attention as Donatello stuck a needle in her arm. So far, there had been no possible way to change her back to her original human form. But if she was regressing back to what she was before...it was her nightmare.
“I don't see any further mutation,” Donatello announced as he looked at her blood through a microscope. “It's still the same as it was. The cells aren't changing.”
Mona let out a sigh of relief. She felt Michelangelo give her shoulder a soft squeeze. She hadn't even noticed his hand was there until then.
Paper from the oldest printer Mona had ever seen was spat out and Donatello looked at the readings. “Here we go. Your hormone levels have shifted. That's why you've been feeling off. Estrogen and pheromone levels are up. Which means you're uh...entering a mating cycle.”
Mona blinked at him, trying to make sense of the words. “A what?”
“You're in estrus. Or in layman's terms, you're in heat.”
She snorted. “Fuck off, Donatello. Humans don't go into heat.”
He snorted back, unused to being told to fuck off. Especially by a woman. “You're not all human. Not anymore. Some of the animal tendencies from your reptile DNA may take over from time to time. It's already happened before with you.”
“Yeah, but I have a human brain. So is it even a thing?”
“It's a thing. And it kinda sucks when it happens.” Raphael said with arms folded across his chest. This gesture wasn't aggressive. It was more of a self-soothing motion. Like he didn't enjoy the topic of discussion.
Mona looked even more confused. “It happens to you guys, too?”
Hesitant and disgruntled murmurs from all four turtles.
She suddenly looked unsure. “Is it happening right now?”
“Nah. Ours comes in the spring. This late summer shit is new to me.”
Donatello was typing on the computer. “It says on this article that Komodo dragons—your main source of reptile DNA—mate during the dry season, which is usually late summer. Uh, we have had a pretty dry summer lately.”
“Fuck me,” she groaned.
“Is that an invitation?” Michelangelo asked cheekily.
Mona shot out of her chair and quickly moved out of their reach. “No, that was not! Do not...” She gestured in warning at them. “Just...DO NOT.”
“We're not going to do anything to you,” Leonardo said calmly. “You're safe here. I promise you.”
None of the turtles made a move toward her, which she appreciated. Her mind was racing as she tried to get a handle on the situation. Suddenly, it all made sense. Her restlessness. The way she had been hyper aware of everything the turtles did lately. How her gaze would zero in on their strong necks when they swallowed, on their mouths when they licked their lips. How she kept staring at their bodies; the defined arms, the shape of their torsos. The delicious way their thick thighs filled out their pants.
“Now I see why you got excited,” Donatello continued as he looked at his computer screen. “In the wild, male Komodo dragons will fight each other to win females. Watching us spar made you—”
“It sure as hell did not!” she shot back, cutting him off. Her voice had gone higher than normal. “That is not what is happening here! Oh my God. I—I have to go.”
She immediately left with Raphael calling after her. “Where you gonna go? The lair's the only place you've got.”
Leonardo was the first to follow after her, mostly just to make sure she wasn't going to do anything drastic. As it turned out, Mona only went to her room and firmly shut the door behind her. She was quiet for the first few moments as the turtles gathered outside.
“Mo-Mo, baby, it's okay,” Michelangelo called to her door. “It's not that big of a deal. We've been dealing with it for years and we always get through it.”
Her door opened and she was suddenly in his face. “Really?” she asked, looking desperately hopeful.
God she smelled good. Intoxicatingly good. He tried to ignore it, even as his body warmed. “Yeah, you'll be okay. I mean, you're going to be cranky and so horny you'll want to bang anything with a pulse, and sometimes things without, but you'll get through it. It only lasts like two weeks.”
“Two weeks?” Her pitch rose another octave. “That's longer than a period! What the hell?”
“Well, that's our cycle,” Donatello said. “Komodo dragons seem to have a really long mating season. Yours might be longer.”
Leonardo elbowed him to shut up.
“I'm just saying,” the tallest brother insisted. “It's good to have all the facts.”
“Another fact is, Mona, that we're here for you,” Raphael said, trying to smooth the conversation over. “We'll help you through it. Whatever you need.”
He hadn't meant it in a sexual way, but Mona's eyes suddenly went wide and he realized his poor word choices.
“Oh my God, no!” she cried and promptly slammed the door in their faces.
“She's going to be okay, right?” Michelangelo wondered.
A moment later, the turtles could hear the unique sound of her angrily screaming into a pillow.
*****
Tag List: @thelaundrybitch @turtle-babe83 @androidships007 @snackugaki @red-phoenixxx @leosgirl82 @dilucsflame33 @happymoonangel @fluffytriceratops
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beardedmrbean · 7 months
Text
A disorienting and blinding fog connected to a store's alarm is a relatively new security measure to stop would-be thieves as organized retail crime spirals out of control.
The technology, which was created by DensityUSA, is already in use in several countries in the European Union and Australia but is becoming more prevalent in the U.S., said Mike Egel, president of DensityUSA.
Stores lost an estimated $86.6 billion to retail theft in 2022, and projections indicate that amount may reach $115 billion in 2025, according to Capital One Shopping Research.
"I think the COVID-19 pandemic tore the social and economic fabric of America," Egel told Fox News Digital. "Pre-pandemic, crime was on the decline. But when the nation shut down and the economy stepped backwards, common sense went to an all-time low. And sadly, crime rose and continues to grow."
Businesses have been forced to hide products behind registers or lock them up in glass cases to protect their inventory.
That hasn't stopped orchestrated smash-and-grab robberies in which thieves execute intricate plots to grab as many items as possible and leave before witnesses get a good look or police respond.
DOLLAR TREE TAKING ‘VERY DEFENSIVE APPROACH’ TO SHOPLIFTING, CEO SAYS
Egel said there was one instance in the United Kingdom where a truck took out the entire front of a jewelry store, but the fog covered the 900-square-foot space in less than five seconds.
"Once it's activated, the DensityUSA system creates a dense fog with near-zero visibility conditions in just seconds," Egel said. "The fog is designed to be dense and disorientating to deter an intruder from following through with their intentions."
In the case of the U.K. jewelry store, the thieves came away empty-handed, he said: "Thieves can’t steal what they can’t see."
The company is based in St. Louis, but the European Union was the first to approve the fog machine as a crime deterrent.
After seeing its success, Egel said he and his business partner, Scott Bader, introduced their security measure to the United States, which is used in stores in a handful of states.
"After seeing the rise in crime across the United States and billions of dollars lost to intrusions, including burglaries, riots and looting, we partnered with our colleagues in the European Union to bring Density Global to the U.S. as DensityUSA," Egel said.
"The system can be used in all retail settings, from clothing stores and pharmacies to cannabis stores, from convenience stores to gun shops."
A 2022 report from the Retail Security Survey found $94.5 billion in losses in 2021 because of shrink – losses coming from causes other than sales – which includes shoplifting and damaged products.
That's up from $90.8 billion in 2020.
"The study found that, similar to the last five years, the average shrink rate in 2021 was 1.4%," according to the study.
Organized retail crime, which increased on average by 26.5% in 2021, is the driving force, the study says.
Retailers, on average, saw a 26.5% increase in organized retail crime (ORC).
"Eight in 10 retailers surveyed report that the violence and aggression associated with ORC incidents increased in the past year," the 2022 Retail Security Survey says.
"The current climate of active assailants and gun violence add to retailers' concerns about being able to keep employees and customers safe."
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generalfoolish · 2 years
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Hold on Loosely
Summary: In which Vigilante is disgusted with you.
Pairing: Vigilante (Adrian Chase) x GN!Reader
Warnings: *All of my works are M for mature so 18+ please; language, language, language, canon typical violence, sexual themes, canon-typical violence, gun violence, gun wounds, gore descriptions
Word Count: 1.4K
A/N: @peacemakernet EVENT 02: once more, with feeling!
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You walked down the darkened road, swinging your arms loosely by your side. For an onlooker, you might have seemed nonchalant, relaxed even, but you were tense and ready. Despite your training, the service that had broken you down and rebuilt you, you were often at ease. Living in a smaller town had helped that, of course. 
Gotham, Metropolis, and New York had frayed your nerves, left you raw and aching for a slower pace. You had hopped in your shitty, old beater and driven until it had broken down–clear across the United States. Evergreen, Washington had endless perks for someone like you. Low crime rates, a diligent police force, and a nefarious supervillain that was inactive. Imagine being next door neighbors to a retired Joker, it was invigorating without the constant fear of getting beaten within an inch of your life every week. 
You were a decent fighter, one of your guardians had made sure of that. Your body was a finely honed weapon, should you lose your signature blade, a sleek katana. You were trained with numerous weapons though, handling your own when it came to firearms, staffs, and even throwing knives. Your fists themselves could be considered a weapon, as you’d trained in several fighting styles.
Your life hadn’t been easy. Subjected to constant training, testing, and procedures; but on the other side of it you were trying to carve a meaningful life out of the horror. The easiest path was the one that helped keep the citizens of Evergreen safe. 
The humming was a dead give away of who was quickly approaching you on the street, Vigilante. You hadn’t expected him when you settled here, quickly learning that he was quick on the trigger and possibly not sane of mind. Not that you were anyone to judge. Vigilante, however, went too far, in your eyes, and in the eyes of the American judicial system, meaning he was wanted for murder. You actively hunted murderers, so the decision was made the first time you had encountered him, you had to turn him in.
He, violently, disagreed. You were soon marked as his archnemesis, something you didn’t suspect happened a lot, and when he saw you, it was on sight. Every fight ended in a stalemate, neither of you seemingly willing to pull the last trigger, but neither of you backing down.
You dodged his first throwing star, knowing his aim well enough to know he’d pulled the throw.
“Just fuck off Vig, not really in the mood.” You called out, taunted, as his pace increased to a jog. You halted completely, keeping the streetlight on your right illuminating the road. A second star glinted by you, without you having to dodge, and you narrowed your eyes. Something was off.
“You aren’t into this, just keep going Vig.” You offered, hands resting on your hips, the urge to fall into a fighting stance creeping up your spine.
A third star was his answer, this one embedding itself in the streetlight ten feet from your shoulder. Panic began to rise in your throat, bitter and biting.
“Seriously, those are expensive, dude. Just stop.” You demanded, watching him approach.
“We have to fight. It’s fundamental.” He panted as he slowed to a stop in front of you.
“You’re out of breath?” You asked, your face pinched in confusion. You’d fought him at least once a week for months, and he’d never even huffed like he was tired. As far as you knew, the guy had unlimited stamina. 
“Happens to everyone.” He answered easily, shrugging. You didn’t buy it.
“Not you. Are you hurt?” You asked, even as you began scanning his body. His suit was mostly made up of a thick black kevlar material, which meant if he was bleeding you’d be unlikely to notice. Never hurt to check.
“Wha–No. Of course not. Are you?” He countered, stammering. He really was a shit liar.
“Vig, seriously, let me see.” You instructed, moving a step closer to him with your hands up, a move you’d use on an injured wild animal.
“Uh, no. I’m good. We should just hurry up and fight.” He told you, shrinking back from you.
“I’m not fighting you.” You replied, your tone final.
“Are you fucking kidding? I just spent the last thirty minutes looking for you, bleeding out–” He whined before you cut him off.
“I knew it! You fuck. What happened?” You asked again, eyes raking over his body, ignoring how defined it was, ignoring how thick he seemed beneath it. 
“Doesn’t matter, let’s just fight.” He shrugged, before tensing up, his body going rigid.
“I’m not fighting you like this.” You huffed, your hands landing back on your hips.
“Scared you’ll lose?” He teased, his usual smug cadence returning for a moment.
“No, it won’t be as satisfying to kill you when you’re already half dead. I’ve seen you hit targets that were moving from much further away while you were also moving. These stars are pitiful. Are you dying?” You asked, serious.
“Maybe. Look, just punch me, and then I’ll leave.” He offered, his tone dripping with defeat. You really needed to know where he was hurt. 
“No! Not happening, Vig. Who did this to you? Are they still there?” You inquired, still searching for a tell in his stance over where he was hurt. He gave away nothing.
“It doesn’t fucking matter!” He exclaimed, throwing his arms up, grunting at the effort.
“It does!” You yelled back, not stopping to wonder why it mattered so much to you.
“Fine, they’re dead. I killed them all. Now, let’s move this along, I need to lay down.” He grumbled, placing his hand on his side, finally giving up the ruse. Gut shot, not a good area.
“You killed them? In this state?” You asked, before a movement caught your attention from the corner of your eye. You squinted into the night, making out an inky figure.
“Well, I–” You saw the man in the ski mask aim, and were moving before you realized, positioning yourself between the bullet and Vigilante. You had returned fire, dropping the man, before the pain hit you. The impact of the hit combined with the force of your own gun’s recoil pushed you against Vigilante, who managed to catch you, despite barely standing himself.
“What the fuck?” He asked, his tone indecipherable. You grunted in response, untangling yourself from his arms.
“You missed one, Vig.” You mumbled, sucking your teeth in pain, looking down at the shot on your shoulder.
“What did you do? Why the fuck?” You raised your gaze to his visor, trying to figure out what emotion he was throwing at you.
“Don’t sound so disgusted that I just saved your life, dude.” You sneered, your shoulder starting to throb. 
“Oh fuck you, you don’t get to do that. You don’t get to use yourself as a shield, not for me.” He yelled, pointing an accusatory finger at you. 
“Why are you so pissed? You couldn’t have taken another hit!” You cried back, the uncomfortable warmth seeping from your shoulder soaking further down into your clothes.
“You let yourself–you can’t just—what the fuck? What were you fucking thinking? What the fuck wrong with you?” He asked, and you’d had enough. Enough of his shitty attitude, enough of the pain in your shoulder, and enough with him acting like you had just done an unspeakable evil.
“With me? What’s wrong with you? You’re screaming at me for saving you!” You yelled, storming up to him, getting in his space, considering fighting him now.
“You could have died.” He answered softly, his left hand reaching out to graze your unharmed arm, as his right was pressed tightly against his stomach.
“You could have died.” You told him, your stomach twisting.
“You can’t die. Especially not for me. That’s a horrible thought. It’s literally the most disgusting thing I’ve ever had to consider.” He admitted, his gaze trained solely on the ground before you. 
“Why? No more arch nemesis?” You asked, teasingly.
“What? No, it’s because I think about you all the time. I want to see you all the time. I’m like super obsessed with you. You’re really badass, and hot. I think. I don’t actually know.” He rambled, motioning to your own mask.
“Can I look at your wound? We’re close to my house.” You ask again, softer this time, hoping he’ll agree because you’re certain you’ll need his help with your wound.
“Yeah, okay.” He agreed, reluctantly, walking in the direction of where you lived.
“You already knew that, didn’t you?” You asked, laughing lightly for the first time all night.
“Yeah.” He answered easily, shrugging. You caught up with him, and caught his free hand in yours, the weight an anchor.
tagged: @michi-reads @strawberriesandknives @uncle-eggy
@fictionlandslanddreams @uwiuwi @lostinwinderland314 @kidd3ath @aprilfire18 @zekegorilla @hypnoash
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daddysfangirls-dc · 6 months
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UnTamed Ch. 1
Next
Gotham is cold. The city was usually cold in the winter, but thanks to Mister Freeze, it was abnormally cold, dangerously cold. Fortunately, the frozen villain had been caught and returned to his personal cell in Arkham. The Gotham Police were working alongside Wayne Enterprise to provide shelter, supplies, and support to those who needed it. The good thing about the cold is that fewer people were out and about to commit crimes. The bad thing is that for those who couldn't find shelter or warmth in time would no doubt be dead by sunrise.
With their thick and heated suit, Robin and Batman were safe from the consequences of this weather. And with that safety paired with the current low crime rate, the Dynamic duo split up. The main priority for tonight was to get as many people off the streets and out of this treacherous weather as fast as possible. 
-
She had been racing all over lower and downtown Gotham for the past few days now. She and her friends had been warned of The Iceman's escape days prior and prepared accordingly. Talking to all her people, the word was spread, and most of her people were off the streets before Elisa's episode, but of course, there were a few who didn't make it, didn't hear, or thought better of themselves. 
Idiots.
Now she was looking about for those people to get them to heated shelters. On the streets, behind dumpsters, in abandoned deplorable buildings. She looked in every cold crack, corner, hole, and barrow Gotham had to offer to ensure no one was lost or left behind. So far, she's directed a few people to the shelters and accompanied more home. She was tired, but the night was still cold, and people were still in need of help.
However, she was tired, so she decided to take a moment and rest, only a moment. Swooping down into an alley, she shifts from a snow owl to a black cat, finding a spot she curled up in the snow. Just a few minutes. Just a few. A little rest. Just a little. Her eyes closed slowly, and her mind faded into another place, just for a little while.
-
The night was coming to an end, and so was patrol. Robin was doing one final round, checking the streets and alleys for anyone they might have missed before he left for the warmth of the manor. He used the feature in his Domino mask to follow heat signatures. Fortunately, the streets were cold and clear. He was about to leave when he found a small heat signature in an alley. Fearing it to be a child, Robin grapled over to the alley. Getting closer, he realized the heat signature was too small to belong to a small human, but he still went to look. A precaution.
Dropping into the alley, Robin found the heat signature to be covered by several layers of snow, leaving a lump. Wiping away the snow, he finds black fur pulling the creature out of the cold. It was a black cat, and it was still alive. 
"Robin, your Position." Robin gave Batman his position. Using his cape, he covered up the feline as the Batmobile pulled up. He hid the cat as he got into the car. Seats preheated. 
"The GCPD will continue patrolling the streets for people and running the shelters. There is nothing else for us to do," Batman said as he took off for the cave. 
-
Returning, Damian managed to sneak his new feline friend into the manor and up to his room without his father noticing. However, Alfred knew judging by the way he looked at him and the fact he brought extra towels and a small bowl of warm milk later on. Nothing got past Alfred. Especially a creature in need.
Damian found out that his new feline friend was female she had yet to wake up yet. Using a towel, he dried her fur he used another to wrap her up snugly and put her in the center of the bed to let her continue sleeping. She hadn't woken up through the whole process. It left Damian a little worried, but he blamed the cold for now. He'd take her to the vet in the morning. 
For now, she slept. 
And he sat down, unable to sleep. He grabbed a sketch pad and pencil, deciding that her fur was beautiful and dark. It needed to be captured and saved. 
-
Waking up warm and dry might have been once to others, but not this kitten. She didn't panic, though this wasn't the first time someone picked her up off the streets. Some meant well, others not so much. She wasn't going to stick around to find out.
Peaking out of the pile of towels she found herself in, she saw herself in a bedroom, a large bedroom. This meant someone with money picked her up, and she had a long way back to Crime Alley. Rolling out of the towels, she looked around it appeared like a normal room with a desk, drawers, a mirror, and a TV completely normal. If one ignores the wall of sharp weapons. She decided she wasn't going to stick around to meet whoever this person was at all. Did not want to know if those were for decoration or not. 
Hopping off of the bed, she quickly made her way to the window. Jumping onto the ledge, thankfully, the window was cracked open. Just as she half squeezed through the window. She was being pulled right back in. And then she was met with the infamous glare of Damian Wayne. 
Damian Wayne, Son of Bruce Wayne, New Prince of Gotham, and Heir to Wayne Enterprise. Gotham's newest rich snob. She began to hiss, wiggle, and scratch; the boy would not let up until they reached the bed again. 
"I mean you no harm," The young boy said, raising his hands in the universal surrender sign. 
She kept hissing and swiping at him, and he resolved to close the window. It shouldn't have been open in this weather anyway. 
"It's too cold to be outside. You'll be safe here," Damian said as he put the bowl of milk on the floor. He stepped back, sitting at his desk as he watched her.
It felt like hours before she crossed the room to the bowl and more before she actually drank from it. By the time she made it, the sun had begun to rise. The two spent all night in a standoff over a bowl of lukewarm milk. Damian commended the little lady on her spirit, staying up all night with him. But she was starting to nod off. The Two hours of sleep she got between the alley and the manor weren't enough to recover from two nights of no sleep. Eventually, she could do it no more and let sleep consume her.
Once again, she woke up in his bed, but this time, she had a collar, and she was covered in soft blankets instead of towels. Oeaking her head out of the blankets, she finds the room empty. Just like last time. She listened for a moment before deciding it was clear. Slowly, she crawls out of the blankets, taking very cautious steps. The sun was low, revealing that she had been out for several hours, and it was now sunset, almost night. She had no idea when the little Prince left or when he'd be back. She had to be quick, and she had to lay low and be cautious. She couldn't get caught.
She had made it onto the desk chair when she heard it. A soft creek that made her ear twitch. Slowly turning her head, she saw Damian Wayne standing at the door with a small bowel in hand. They both froze, staring each other down, each waiting for the other to make a movement.
Silence.
Then she moved. Jumping on the desk, then across to the window, she hits the glass. She forgot that he had closed the window the night before. In a bit of panic, she began to claw at the glass. 
"So you're not as intelligent as I thought," Damian said as he picked her up she scratched him, but he didn't flinch, just held her at arm's length as she scratched and kicked. " You're feisty." he dropped her on the bed once again. 
The sun was gone now, leaving them in the dark aside from the hall light. Damian turned his lamp light on. He moved the small bowl on the floor, milk again. Instead of watching her like the last time he sat at his desk, he pulled out a sketchpad. He ignored her and went about drawing and sketching. She, however, did not ignore him she continued sitting on the bed and watching him.
This only lasted an hour before he got up putting away his sketchpad, he came to the bed. She jumped off the bed as he pulled the sheets back and got into bed she thought it was a bit early but wasn't trying to judge and was going to take the opportunity. She waited until he appeared to be sleeping to make a move.
With him asleep, she changes to a human, her original self. Tip-toeing across the room to the windows, her fingertips barely touching the window seal before something whizzed past her head. She continued to dodge and duck as something else came at her head. She continued to dodge and duck, moving further into the room., It wasn't until her back was to the wall that she noticed that the things being thrown at her were the previous wall decoration, aka his knife collection. 
Holy hell, he was trying to kill her?!
Another whizzed past her head, and with a clank, the lights were turned on, revealing her in the nude, crouched in front of the wall while he stood across from her with his sword in hand. 
 Damian was prepared to cut down this intruder until he saw the collar around her neck. Damian did not appear as shocked as she thought he would be. There was a stunned moment, but he recovered quickly, putting his sword down and throwing a towel at her. She swiped it away. Still crouched, she pulled at the collar. Damian raised his hands in surrender as she lifted her head, giving him permission. As soon as it was unbuckled, she kicked his chest in and leaped at the window. On his back, upside down, Damian watched as she opened the window and jumped out, but instead of falling down, she changed and flew into the night as a bird. 
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bombusbombus · 10 months
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hi hello
so i was reading your fic 'masking' and i
i knew gotham was like the chicago's south side, and the harlem, and the new orleans of the dc universe, but your description of clark's realizations about gotham made me realize just how much it would be like those places.
gotham is the coagulation of all the "black" areas, all the low income, crime ridden area's populated by marginalized folks in the united states, and god did you ignite gotham feels in me.
okay, so, imagine with me that gotham is declared the most multi-cultural city in new jersey (that's where it is, canonically, which im sure you know), that jason plays streetball with the black boys, that dick is often spotted at soup kitchens with the volunteers, that tim is organizing warm spaces in libraries and community centers, that damian helps out at animal shelters and makes them accessible for disabled people, that wayne industries constantly attempts to use their influence to get the city to remove the hostile architecture, that for the years that jason was dead, his gravestone was littered with orange petals and that prayers from families went up that robin would visit batman that year, that tales of batman saving people are told around thanksgiving tables, that folks will see black bat on their rooftops on lunar new year, seemingly enjoying the celebrations.
idk man, just imagining a melting-pot gotham that loves their heroes as much as their heroes love them is-
just thank you for your fic, friend :)
~malkolm :)
(p.s. sorry for the run on sentence and i know i could've commented on the fic directly but i haven't had the time to make an ao3 account and yeah sorry)
oh, I love love LOVE this. I know I didn't get into it very deep in the fic, but the way Gotham is always portrayed as a cesspool of crime always rubbed me the wrong way. So many DC writers use the same "crime" and "police" dogwhistles that politicians use about real neighbourhoods in underserved communities. It's really interesting how much certain writers' language around Gotham has roots in racist/classist policies in real life government.
But. If we extrapolate from that, if we do base Gotham off real cities with high crime rates, no wonder Bruce loves it. No wonder he sees something to fight for. And if we extrapolate Metropolis, a city with so little crime, of course it would be everything that those same politicians approve of---gentrified, bland, unwalkable and corporate. It doesn't feel like it could be anyone's home.
I'd much rather live in Gotham. I like your description of the ways the family could incorporate into the community, imo the community is so important. Any Batman who doesn't love the people and cultures of Gotham with an undying passion is not my Batman. Any writer who tries to boil Gotham down to empty gothic buildings and crime is NOT writing my Batman. Every building in that city is full of people leading vibrant, precious lives, and Bruce can't bear to see any of them reduced to a statistic.
If anyone knows specific comics that represent Gotham as a place full of life and love where real people live (not just obsessing over crime like Reagan-era propaganda) please rec them!! I've read some that are really sweet but haven't found nearly enough!
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funky-gobbo-art · 2 years
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John Donovan notes
(At this rate he’s a semi-oc considering how little the game tells us about him and this is all headcanon and speculation. Hamster weirdo became my hyper fixation cause I just wanna give him more depth.)
Some of these things were inspired from conversations with both @sleepytimemoga-p2​ and @thesketchykid​ as well. So giving them credit too UwU
Open to discussion as well ofc. I am releasing this for all who wanna see it.
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LETS GOOOOO
Name: John Donovan Nicknames: Donovan, Johnny Birthday: November 21st 1932 Current Age: 35 Zodiac signs/Horoscope: Scorpio Sun/Leo Moon/Sagittarius Rising, Water Monkey Height: 5ft8 Weight: 150-something lbs Gender/Pronouns: Male, He/Him Orientations:  ▇▇▇/Not straight though Ethnicity: American Race: White (Irish background with grandparents) Place of Birth: Washington, Pennsylvania Current Residence: Delray Hollow, New Bordeaux, LA. 
Affiliations: C.I.A, U.S Army (Both formally), Clay Crime Family Education: Bachelor's Degree from Princeton Political leaning: Democrat (I GUESS??)
Hair Color: Honey Blonde Eye Color: Light Blue Body Type: ▇▇▇ (All I’ll say is personally I think the endomorph body type is more fitting than what we saw in game) Scars/Marks/Blemishes: Horizontal scar across his left palm, scar slash on his chest, moles on his face and neck. Faded freckles. Physical health: Left hand is prone to stiffness and pain on occasion, exhaustion. Chain smokes and nearly excessive drinking. Mental Illnesses/Disorders: Undiagnosed for all of these. C-PTSD, PTSD, Borderline Personality Disorder, Autism Spectrum Disorder, Insomnia. Susceptibility to illness: Medium-Low Overall: Despite everything, he’s okay.
((Relationships/Family))
Mother: Irene Donovan. Status: Alive Relationship: Was close with his mom as a small child, but she had to work a bit throughout his childhood and very much through WW2 and since then they’ve been increasingly distant and completely cut off by the time he graduated college. She’s pretty religious and once John started questioning things, she did not like that at all.
Father: Robert Sr. Donovan Status: Alive/Injured and needs a cane. Relationship: Had the fear/respect type relationship with his father, felt like walking on eggshells the time he got back home from WW2, increasingly got more hostile during his teens and escalated to his adulthood. Despite the rough relationship, the patriotism/nationalism got passed down, but not the Bible thumping. Had some contacts at Princeton from his past military service at least.
Siblings: Family of three children, oldest is Robert Jr. (Bobby or just Junior), the second oldest is James (Jimmy) and the youngest is John. Bobby Jr: Born Feb 1929 Status: Alive/injured-lost his right hand. Jimmy: Born March 1930 Status: Alive
Relationship with Bobby: Being the oldest he was expected to watch his younger brothers while their mother worked. They all got along for the most part but Bobby mostly wanted to keep his parents happy. John was closer with him when he was younger but once he was able to be independent, then they started to drift apart. Bobby being a “kiss-up” as a teenager was the start of a downfall. Volunteered to serve over in Korea and that made their dad happy at least.
Relationship with Jimmy: Much better than his relationship with Bobby weirdly enough. Even though Jimmy and Bobby were closer in age, Jimmy would hang out and play with John more when they were kids. He got into sports, specifically baseball and got real good at it too. John enjoyed going to his games. He got a scholarship and went off to college and only came back home when Bobby came back injured. Things got bad and he continues to be estranged from his younger brother.
((Romantic Relationships))
Single. He never got around to dating while he was in highschool, and had no time at all to allocate time into forming relationships like that while in college. It wasn't something he thought about either and I’m sure going to mostly all boys educational facilities did something to him. Being raised in this time period and Catholic made him never consider that he probably liked men like that until he actually got out of his home, but even then he wasn't sure. Did some impulsive stuff though during breaks that won’t be elaborated on.
Connor Aldridge: After being recruited into the C.I.A after graduating, John was put on an assignment down in South America and was to work under a more experienced agent, Aldridge. Without getting too into the actual plot and conspiracy happening, John got really attached to Aldridge because he was his mentor and things eventually elevated to a relationship that was really toxic thanks to the power dynamic and John’s willingness at the time to get jerked around like that. He was easy for Connor to manipulate because he was fresh but also had something off about him so convincing him to do more extreme stuff for their “jobs” was easy. Dangled patriotism in his face but also positive reinforcement. ((Theory: John still doesn't want to admit he was being abused by another man because of the stigma at the time and genuinely is more angry about Connor selling out information to the NVA. He puts his job and concerns about his country over his own well being, even though the betrayal really messed with his head.))
The Pen pal Girlfriend: Right after the fallout of the Aldridge situation, feeling lonely and confused, John joined a pen pal program being offered to the servicemen at the time. John started talking to this woman and it lasted for a while, he wasn't realizing it was a rebound reaction and just thought they went from friends to being in a long distance relationship. He wanted to meet her in person at some point but then she dropped a bombshell that she just got married which devastated him. He reacted by pulling information on her new husband and found nothing to realistically be mad about. John’s still upset because it implies she was seeing this guy the whole time they were writing and never told him. ((Theory: Girl joined the program out of boredom, John was friendly in the letters but was a little too weird for her (basically going on long rants and infodumping) eventually got a boyfriend in person and just kept the letters up cause John seemed kind of lonely. When John wanted to make plans to meet her when he was on leave, she had to cut it off for good because her and her boyfriend got married and didn't want to deal with it in person.))
((Childhood))
((Personally I don’t want to get into possibly too much uncomfortable detail because he’s not my character and I don’t know what it was like to be an upper middle class white boy in the 1930’s-1940’s.)) Was a chubby baby and you can tell he was even now. Old baby pictures of him are really funny because he just looks like dough in baby clothes. When he joined the C.I.A he worked hard to lose weight but it’s noticeable and he hates doing office work because it will come back. 
Always got into things as soon as he was able to crawl, digging through boxes, going to other peoples rooms. Really nosey, I’m sure he ruined the times his brothers brought any girls home. Unfortunately also eavesdropped when his parents were having some disputes.  
Him and his brothers went to catholic school their whole lives, church was unavoidable. Got into the habit of keeping up to date on the gossip at school and at church, during WW2 when his dad wasn't around and his mom was spread more thin, the habit got worse. Sometimes he liked to spread what he learned around because he thought it was funny, he’s probably about 11-12 at this time. With digging around he got interested in some technology, like figuring out how the phone works and messing with the family's radio (which got him in trouble).
Despite being technically “a nerd” during his school years, the other kids had mixed opinions on him. Either he was the weird and off-putting kid, the rude kid that always got into fights, the nosey kid or to a very small select group of kids: a pretty good friend. Really depended on who you asked. 
His oldest brother, Bobby, also got into Princeton thanks to his fathers connection, but took a break to volunteer for the N. Korean conflict. Jimmy got involved in a local baseball team and focused on his career in that, so John was expected to be the one that goes to college and finishes it. John graduated highschool at 17 and got into uni pretty fast, thanks to his test scores speeding up the process. He took mostly journalism and engineering related courses, but got into other programs relating to foreign studies and languages.
((Other))
((This is just random stuff that’s just speculation for fun that I didn't know where to fit anywhere))
Always complaining about the weather, even if he’s somewhere that snows, he’s complaining about it. Especially hates humidity and yet keeps finding himself near swamps.
Despite being an Ivy League graduate with a government job, he really likes psychedelic rock music and genres related. Can’t seem to stand music he doesn't like and will get cranky if he’s made to listen to it. (The Doors fan…perhaps)
Because John’s not beating the Autism allegations, he turned down Lincoln’s offer of eating Cajun food because that’s not “safe” food for him. As soon as he feels slimy okra in his mouth, he’s gonna run to the bathroom and his appetite will be ruined for the day. Ice cream’s a safe food, despite it not being a meal. 
He probably, if anything, learned some very base level Spanish that was somewhat useful when he was in Guatemala, but I wouldn't be surprised if Aldridge did most of the talking anyways. It didn't stick that well since he was insulted to his face during that one part in Stones Unturned and he didn't react to it at all. He’s probably better with South-East Asian languages, picking up Vietnamese, Khmer and Lao. Also just helps that he was there longer. 
Speaking of not beating the autism allegations, that’s why he uses those pliers instead of regular nail clippers. I eventually got over it and learned to deal with how clippers feel but John seems to be content with his own weird setup. 
When “Pong” comes out, he goes nuts over it. 
If anyone finds out where he’s from and if they bring up the fact he’s from the Appalachian region, he will get defensive and say he’s not like those “backwards hillbillies”. Also he’s pretty touchy about his Irish heritage. He has some internalized stuff he needs to work through. 
If he didn't get recruited into the C.I.A, he probably would have been some type of journalist specializing in political news and foreign affairs.
((Aldridge Notes))
Name: Connor Aldridge Nicknames: Aldridge Birthday: February 8th 1920 Current Age: 48 Zodiac signs/Horoscope: Aquarius, Metal Monkey Height: 5ft10 Weight: 160-something lbs Gender/Pronouns: Male, He/Him Orientations:  ▇▇▇ Ethnicity: American Race: White (British family background) Him and John have a 12 year age gap. Connor was 34 when John joined the C.I.A and got involved in the Guatemalan coup d'etat. At 43 he turned on his country to sell out information to America’s enemies.  48 at the end of Stones Unturned. Why this specific age and age gap? Similar sort of to Lincoln and John’s age gap and parallels of starting out as a mentorship thing. While that’s where the similarities lie, Aldridge did see it as a way to get under John’s skin on top of everything else when they were hunting him down.  The biggest difference is that Lincoln and John were equals, while Aldridge kept John in the dark and who knows what he was making him do without his knowledge.  Did really mess with John’s head though, that “Yeah…” said a lot. ((Keeping this ship neutral cause I think it’s also valid to worry about possibly hurting your friends because you were hurt in the past.))
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atlanticcanada · 1 year
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'We could see closures in Canada': frustrated retailers fight losing battle with shoplifters
There's evidence the growing problem of shoplifting is actually altering the retail landscape.
Walmart, the world's largest retailer, abruptly closed four of its eight stores in Chicago, Ill., last week,
Media reports cite a lack of profits, theft and security concerns as the company’s reasons for the shutdown.
Experts say it might very well happen in the Maritimes.
"I do think we could see some closures in Canada. Maybe Walmart, maybe not, but it wouldn't surprise me," said retail analyst Bruce Winder from Toronto.
"If you look at the hardest areas hit economically, you look around Canada, especially in some of the big cities, you've got the increase in housing [costs], that just went through the roof whether it's rent or mortgage payments for people that have doubled or tripled because of interest rates," said Winder.
"I think we're at the tipping point now, where people are getting a lot more aggressive shoplifting."
According to Statistics Canada, Shoplifting is at an all-time high.
Thanks to a change in reporting last year, Halifax numbers are hard to pin down, but police acknowledge the problem.
"Like many regions across the country, we have seen an increase in retail theft and break and enters, particularly since 2020, including in Halifax," said Const. John MacLeod, Halifax Regional Police public information officer, in an email to CTV News.
"We do not know all the reasons driving this increase – but we are aware and working closely with community partners to work on solutions.”
"We have had several discussions with business districts and other stakeholders recently regarding such matters, and remain engaged in ongoing dialogue to ensure business owners are aware of the proper conduits to report incidents and connect with police officers in their area.”
MacLeod said the force is also trying to be more visible in the community by conducting foot patrols and using community officers.
Jim Cormier, the Atlantic director of the Retail Council of Canada, says retailers are at their “wit’s end” when it comes to shoplifting.
"They want to be good citizens, they want to do things responsibly, but when people are brazenly stealing from them, they have to be able to have some kind of measure where they can deal with it," said Cormier, adding his group and other stakeholders plan to meet with the provincial justice minister next month to discuss the issue.
"Statistics Canada has been showing time and again that there’s a dramatic increase in shoplifting," said Cormier.
"And it's not just limited to central Canada or to the bigger cities, where we think, 'Oh, that's where these things happen.' It's happening in Halifax. It's happening in Moncton. It's happening in Saint John, Charlottetown -- you name it."
In an afternoon statement to CTV News, Walmart indicated it would be beefing-up security.
"Retail crime – including theft and arson– is sadly higher than it historically has been at Walmart Canada and across the entire retail industry," said Stephanie Fusco, Walmart's senior manager of corporate affairs.
"This is very concerning for our business, our associates, our customers and the industry."
"Canadians rely on us for our everyday low prices on the products and services they need the most -- especially in challenging economic times like we are facing now. We want to reduce theft as much as possible in order to keep our everyday low prices as we continue to help Canadians save money and live better."
"Walmart Canada uses a variety of measures to manage and prevent theft and to keep our associates and customers safe. We’re increasing our investment in these measures, including enhancing our asset protection technologies and procedures in-store," the statement concluded.
from CTV News - Atlantic https://ift.tt/706OuAl
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lessthanpure · 1 year
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A Wrong Dose Chapter 1
Fandom: Elementary
Pairing: Sherlock Holmes/Gareth Lestrade
Tags: Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, female!Sherlock Holmes, non-traditional a/b/o dynamics, Omega!Sherlock, Beta!Lestrade
Rating: Explicit
18+ only
Notes: This is on my AO3. Figured I'd actually fill up this blog so I won't get flagged as a bot. And this is when Lestrade is staying with Sherlock and Joan after Lawrence Pendry.
Summary: When Sherlock is exposed to a new chemical at a crime scene, she's thrown into heat. Lestrade is the only one around.
AO3 link
Sherlock shakes the man’s hand, going around the crime scene. She catalogues the data, making connections in her mind. It’s not until she gets back to the precinct that she feels off.
Sherlock clears her throat and unbuttons a couple of buttons at the top of her shirt.
“Sherlock, are you ok? You look a little flushed,” Joan says, laying the back of her hand on Sherlock’s forehead. “My God, you’re burning up.”
“I do feel warm,” she admits. “I just need some water.” She goes to the water cooler and drinks three cups, each one less effective than the last. She rests her fist against her forehead and closes her eyes. She wanders back to the bullpen, slightly dazed.
“Holmes, you look like shit,” Bell says. Sherlock sways on her feet, and Bell steadies her. “You ok?”
Sherlock closes her eyes again, letting Bell hold her up. She’s warm, and his touch is grounding. It’s almost as if… her eyes snap open. “I need the Heat room,” she forces out.
“What, why,” Bell asks.
“You’re a detective, you tell me,” Sherlock snaps out. The captain comes out of his office, frowning over at her. She bends over, clutching her stomach and gasping. Scent pours off of her in waves, and the nearest Alpha’s nostrils flare. He reaches for her, and she turns and socks him in the stomach. The captain rushes over, bracing her arm against his shoulders and dragging her downstairs. She’s panting all the way.
“Holmes, stay with me,” Gregson says.
“Trying.”
Gregson has warm in-Heat Omega scent in his nose, and fights the rising arousal. Sherlock smells it anyway and chirps. She presses herself against him, and he grits his teeth and pushes her into the Heat room. She drags him inside.
“Captain,” she gasps.
“Holmes. Let me go.”
“Just, stay, stay, please Alpha.”
Gregson’s eyes go wide. He hasn’t been called ‘Alpha’ like that in a long time. “Holmes, you can’t consent. You’re in Heat.” A Beta knocks on the door, and Gregson pushes Sherlock onto the cot to talk to him. The man hands him a packet of pills, and Gregson tosses them at Sherlock. She presses two out and swallows them dry. She looks up at him. Gregson watches her drag her eyes down his body, and she rocks on the cot. He swears, low under his breath. “Feel better.” He leaves before he does something he regrets, locking the door. He leaves the Beta to keep watch.
Sherlock’s pills kick in soon enough, and Joan takes her home.
“Watson, I assure you, I’ll be fine,” Sherlock says.
“I’m not leaving you alone during your Heat,” she says with finality. Sherlock can tell she won’t sway her, so she leaves the topic be. They work from home.
Lestrade comes home eventually. He pauses in the library.
“Oh. Figured you two’d be out until much later.”
“We had to come home, there was… an emergency,” Joan says delicately. Lestrade frowns.
“Everything ok?”
“Yeah, we’re fine.”
Lestrade shrugs, walking to his room. Joan is making dinner when Lestrade goes to Sherlock. He sits on the footrest, looking at the woman. “You’re in Heat, aren’t you,” he asks. Sherlock looks at him.
“Yes.” Sherlock turns back to her case file. “How’d you know?”
“There’s no way you would have left the station unless something drastic happened. So what happened?”
“I don’t know,” Sherlock admits.
“Well, what’d you do today,” Lestrade asks. Sherlock recognizes that voice. His detective voice. It warms her inside.
“Well, we went to the crime scene. I looked around,” she says. “Then went back to the station. I started feeling off there. It came on suddenly.”
“So, do you think something happened at the station?”
“Then why’d it only affect me and not Watson? Or any other Omega?”
“Is there something you did that Joan didn’t?”
Sherlock exhales, thinking. Her face goes slack and she looks at Lestrade.
“Oh, I know that look. What is it?”
“There was a man. The one who discovered the body. We shook hands,” she says, rubbing her palm. “Watson!”
“Sherlock,” Joan comes in. “What’s wrong?”
Sherlock is already using a clean wipe to scrape her palm. She also uses what looks like a GSR test. “Lestrade helped me think. The man I shook hands with. You were elsewhere, with Bell. I believe he must have dosed me with something. Perhaps a gel or a patch on his skin.”
“Did you feel anything?”
“Not at the moment, but I was more preoccupied with the murder victim.”
“Alright. I’ll call Gregson.”
“Go with him.”
“Sherlock, I said-“
“I’m on emergency Heat suppressants, I’ll be fine.”
“Are you sure?”
“Quite.”
“Alright. But call if you feel anything weird.”
“I will. Now go.”
Joan gathers her things and leaves. Sherlock sighs deeply. “Was she making food? I’m famished.”
“Let’s see, shall we,” Lestrade asks. Sherlock gets up, going to the kitchen. Lestrade follows her. There’s a salad on the counter. Sherlock sniffs. She would prefer something more, but her Heat is making her hungry. Lestrade is at her back, fairly close. His familiar Beta scent winds around her. “You alright, love?”
“I’m fine.” She gets herself a bowl, bringing it back to the couch. She bundles herself in a blanket and settles in. Lestrade just watches her. “What?”
“Nothing. It’s just, haven’t seen you in Heat in a while. You always got… softer.”
“Hormones,” Sherlock rolls her eyes. “Unfortunately they make me act more submissive, more attractive for Alphas.”
“And Betas,” Lestrade mutters.
“Pardon?”
“Do you… need someone?”
“I shouldn’t. But my usual Alphas are unfortunately both out of the city at the moment.”
“You have… usual Alphas?”
Sherlock nods, eating some lettuce. She chews, watching Lestrade. “We have an agreement. It’s easier for Omegas to have familiar scents, and I haven’t quite responded well to the usual services. So, I’ve collected associates through my work that have a mutual interest in me.” 
Lestrade nods, still watching her. “But, you know. If you do need something, um. I’m available.” Sherlock pauses, looking up at him. He sits next to her. “You know my scent.”
“I do,” Sherlock says. She sets aside the empty bowl and sits up. She reaches out, and Lestrade inches towards her. She tugs him closer, scenting the air. She opens her mouth, letting Lestrade’s scent wash over her. He’s been drinking tonight. Just beer, though. She puts her mouth at the edge of his jaw, feeling the bristle of his stubble against her lips. He comes closer, hand coming up to the back of her head. She trails her mouth to his, and he lets her set the pace. Sherlock tugs Lestrade closer, over her. “As much as I normally like taking charge,” she says. “In my Heat, I prefer to be told what to do.”
“Then let’s take this to your room, hmm?”
Sherlock nods, taking Lestrade’s hand and leading him upstairs to her bedroom. Lestrade doesn’t bother to look around, he just presses Sherlock onto her bed. Sherlock chirps gently at him. Lestrade goes to Sherlock’s throat, tasting her. She bares it for him. Lestrade may not be an Alpha, but he is a dominant Beta. And that display of submission, especially from an independent Omega like Sherlock, pleases him. Lestrade trails his mouth down, over Sherlock’s shirt. He starts to unbutton it. Sherlock helps him, letting him take it off her shoulders. She also takes off her bra. Lestrade pulls her pants and underwear down her legs. He tugs off her socks, too. He leans back to admire her. Sherlock takes a fistful of his hoodie and tugs gently. He gets the picture and strips. Lestrade settles between Sherlock’s thighs, looking up the woman’s body at her. Sherlock’s hand settles in his hair. He smiles and gets to work. Sherlock arches against him, and he lets himself feel proud. He’s good at this, and he knows it. His previous girlfriends always told him how good he was at oral. He notices she tastes different than any woman he’d been with. Sure, every woman tastes different, but it’s even more… different. Thicker. He figures it must be slick. He licks inside of her, and Sherlock whines loudly.
“There we are. Make noise for me, sweetheart.”
“Lestrade, I-“ He stops her by licking her clit. Her hands tighten on his head, sliding uselessly over his short hair. She wraps her fingers around his jaw and her thumbs behind his ears and pulls him forward. He shuffles forward and licks deeper into her. “Bloody Hell, Lestrade, you’re good at that.” He slides two fingers into her, and she sighs happily. He looks up at her, tongue still in her, and she’s got her head back against the pillows and her eyes closed. He takes her clit in his mouth and licks against it and her head jerks up, eyes dark. He takes his mouth off her and strokes it with his thumb. She gasps and he smirks. He’s still got it. 50 years old and he’s got a 30 year old whining for him. “Condom, condom, now,” she says, pulling at him. She reaches for her bedside cabinet and takes one out, practically throwing it at him. He laughs, putting it on slowly. “Lestrade, I swear, if you’re not in in the next thirty seconds, you’re going out on your arse.” He slides into her and curses under his breath at how Goddamn wet she is. She sighs happily again and wraps her legs around his hips. She’s not forcing him to move, just keeping him close. For once, Lestrade is glad for his age because if he was a younger man, he doesn’t think he'd last long. He’s never had sex with an Omega, just Betas and the occasional Alpha woman. She’s wetter than both of them, and he slides his hand down to collect some and spread it along his cock. She gently tightens her legs, and he slides in completely. She makes a… purry chirp at him.
“What on Earth was that noise, love?”
“Mm. Chirrup,” she says. “As you might have noticed, it’s halfway between a chirp and a purr.”
“I like it,” he admits, lowering his head. She bares her throat for him again. He licks along it and thrusts his hips. She chirrups again. He braces his hand against her hip and his other against the bed and gets into a rhythm. She hums up at him, guiding his head down to mouth at his jaw. She curls her tongue out to lick, and his hips stutter. Omegas want to spread their scent, he knows, but he didn’t think it’d feel so good. She rubs her hands up and down his back, being careful with her nails. “You can mark me up, love,” he says, panting. “Long as I can do the same.”
She nods and digs her nails in with a hum, and he bites the front of her throat. He starts to leave a hickey like a teenager, releasing her with one final lick. He looks at it proudly for a few seconds as she shows it to him. He moves to the side of her neck and makes one there. He slides his hand down her body and touches her clit, and she arches and cums against him. He pauses. She comes down, panting, and he starts again. “Lestrade?”
“Didn’t think I’d let you go that easy, did you?”
She whimpers and tightens her grip on him. He grins and lowers himself on his elbows, bringing his mouth to hers. They kiss deeply, and he runs his tongue over her fangs. He pulls away and kiss the tip of her nose. She snaps her teeth at him playfully. He laughs- he’s never seen her like this- relaxed and happy. He figures it’s the hormones flooding her brain, plus the fact that he just made her cum. He pulls her hips up to get a better angle and starts again. She chirps at him. She touches his shoulders, running her hands softly down his arms. He settles into her touch and runs his thumbs over her hip bones. He eyes her tattoos and lowers himself again, running his tongue over them. She chirrups. He follows the line with his tongue, and they’re slightly rough under it. She brings her hand up to his face and drags it to hers. “Later.” He pauses.
“Later? There’s going to be a later?”
She shrugs. “I am going to be in Heat. I know you. You can help me through it.” He grins widely and kisses her deeply.
“Later,” he mumbles against her.
Lestrade makes her cum again on his cock and then he follows her. He noses at her, and she turns her face away so he can follow the line of her jaw. He presses a kiss to the hinge and gets a happy grumble. He pulls out and tosses the condom, coming back with a warm washcloth. He cleans her up and she chirrups. He tosses the cloth in the direction of her hamper.
Lestrade hums, curling up behind Sherlock. Sherlock lets him put his arm around her waist and kiss her shoulder. Sherlock goes to sleep. Lestrade soon leaves, dressing and going out. He just wants a drink. He’ll be back soon.
Sherlock wakes up, reaching back for Lestrade. Not finding him, she frowns and looks behind her. She touches the sheets- they’re cold. She whimpers, deep in her throat. She knows exactly what this is- a Drop. She fumbles for her phone and presses Joan’s number. “Joan,” she asks, voice quiet.
“Sherlock. What’s wrong?”
“He- he left.”
“Gareth?”
“Yes.”
“I’m coming home.” Sherlock nods, and Joan hangs up. She’s left just holding her phone. She turns over, burying her nose in Lestrade’s pillow. It mostly smells like her but she can pick out his faint scent. She uses it to soothe herself until Joan’s back.
Joan soon shows up in her doorway, maybe 20 minutes later, but it felt like hours to Sherlock. “Oh, Sherlock,” Joan sighs. She knows what happened.
“He left.”
“Hang on.”
Joan goes downstairs, looking around. She knows Sherlock keeps a spray bottle of Alpha scent around… somewhere. She finds it and returns to Sherlock. She sprays the pillow, and Sherlock hugs it to her, turning over. Joan gets in behind her, hugging her. “I’m sorry,” Joan says. “I’m so sorry.”
The next morning, Sherlock is still half-Dropped. She goes into work anyway.
“Hey,” Gregson pulls her aside. “You seem… Dropped.”
“A little hangover from last night,” Sherlock says, looking at the floor. Gregson takes off his jacket and wraps her in it. She curls her fingers around it and wraps it tighter around her. Gregson gently rubs up and down her arms. The scent and touch help to bring her out of it. “Thank you, Captain.” The man nods. She gives his jacket back.
Lestrade wanders into the precinct later on. Sherlock ignores him. “Oh, what, we shag and then you have no interest in me? What happened to 'later,'” he snaps. Sherlock stiffens and walks away from him. “Oi!”
Joan takes him by the arm and drags him into the conference room. “What is the matter with you,” she hisses. Sherlock slips in, closing the door behind her. She closes the shades.
“What, what’d I do, Joan,” Lestrade asks.
“You just left Sherlock.”
“I took care of her,” Lestrade defends himself. “Then I went out for a bit of a drink.”
“Exactly. You slept with her and then you left. And you never came back.”
“Well, I-“ “Save it, Gareth. I don’t want to hear it.” Joan crosses her arms. “Sherlock Dropped.”
Lestrade goes still. “You… went into an Omega Drop,” he asks, turning to Sherlock. She’s looking at the floor, but she nods. “Bloody Hell, Sherlock, I’m sorry,” he says. “I thought only Alphas could bring those on.”
“In a regular Heat, sure, they’re more likely to,” Sherlock says. “But it isn’t unheard of for a dominant Beta to provoke one. And this is not a regular Heat, as you noticed. It’s stronger, chemical. My body and hormones latched onto the first partner it could, and when I was sated, when you left,” she trails off. “I Dropped,” she shrugs.
“Shit, Sherlock,” Lestrade says, approaching her. She stiffens. Lestrade pauses and extends his hand to her. Sherlock considers before she gently touches his palm with just her fingertips. “See you at home.”
Gregson glares at Lestrade as he leaves. Lestrade just takes it.
Sherlock finds herself useless, so she leaves the goes home. She gets into comfortable clothes and goes downstairs finding Lestrade in the kitchen. She watches him. Lestrade turns and jumps. “Bloody Hell, Sherlock, you about gave me a heart attack.”
“Sorry.”
Lestrade puts aside the milk he’s holding and closes the door. “How are you feeling?” Sherlock shrugs. “That badly?” She nods. He exhales. “You go on up to your room. I’ll bring you something to eat, yeah?” Sherlock pauses.
“Can I go to your room instead?”
Lestrade softens. “Course, love.”
Sherlock goes to the room over and adjusts the pillows until she can sit up. She moves the blankets into a half-decent nest and settles in. Lestrade comes in with orange juice and some dry crackers. “Here, love,” he offers them. She takes them, eating slowly. “Do you want more pillows and blankets?”
Sherlock nods. Lestrade goes, collecting them from her room. He brings them back, and he lets Sherlock build a better nest in his bed. She makes it big enough for two and moves over. Lestrade takes the invitation, stripping to his shirt and boxers and climbing in. Sherlock pulls his hoodie closer and squirms into it. Lestrade lays back, extending his arm. Sherlock cuddles close, sighing. She manages to eat a little more, then she settles in. “Sleep, love,” Lestrade says, pressing a kiss to her hair. Sherlock buries her nose in his neck and drifts off. Lestrade pulls the book he had been reading closer. Some dime store novel he had picked up in a ‘whatever’ mood. Mystery. He already has the idea that the butler did it. He puts on his glasses and reads, listening to Sherlock’s steady breathing. He has a bit of trouble turning the pages with only one hand, but he manages it.
Sherlock starts to shiver about an hour later, so he gently rubs her, still reading. She shivers more violently, so he pulls a blanket out of the nest to wrap around her. She settles down. Lestrade’s eyes grow heavy, so he puts down the book, puts away his glasses, and curls up around Sherlock. He goes to sleep.
Lestrade wakes up halfway when he gets warm. He goes to remove the blanket against his front, only for his hand to find Sherlock. He opens his eyes slightly, frowning. She had kicked off the blanket he had put around her and had pushed away the rest of the blankets, disturbing the nest. He gently wraps his arm around her, and his palm comes in contact with where her shirt and his hoodie had ridden up. He snatches his hand back, hissing. She’s burning up. “Sherlock,” he shakes her. She just whimpers. “Sherlock, love, wake up.” He sits up, turning her over onto her back. He puts the back of his hand on her forehead and his eyes widen. That high of a temperature can’t be normal. “Hang on,” he says, going to find a thermometer. He puts it in her mouth and looks at his watch. He removes it and grabs his glasses, reading it. 108. “Shit! Sherlock, get up,” he says, dragging her into a sitting position.
“Lestrade, I don’t feel good,” Sherlock mumbles.
“I know, I know, come on love.” He pulls his hoodie off over her head and she drapes herself over him. He manages to pick her up and carries her upstairs, putting her in the tub. He puts on the cold water as high as it will go and leaves her there. He grabs his phone and calls Joan. “Pick up, pick up, pick up,” he whispers, watching over Sherlock. The woman isn’t even shivering.
“Gareth, hi,” Joan says.
“Joan, blimey. Sherlock’s got a fever of 108.”
“Get her in a cold shower. Now.”
“Already did.”
“Ok, hang up and call 911. Tell them to bring you to Bede’s, I have contacts there and their Heat rooms are the best. Tell them it isn’t a natural Heat. Go now.”
Lestrade hangs up and obeys. He unlocks the door and returns to sit beside Sherlock and wait for the paramedics.
“Are you her Alpha,” one of the paramedics asks when they arrive.
“I’m a Beta,” Lestrade admits. “But I’ve been helping her through it.”
“Then come with us.” The paramedics put the soaked woman on a stretcher, and Lestrade twists the water off before he follows them. He gets in the back of the ambulance and watches as the men pack Sherlock in ice.
“Lestrade?”
“I’m here, love,” Lestrade says, picking up Sherlock’s hand, which had been fumbling for him. Her skin is chilled. “You’re going to hospital, just hang on, alright?”
Sherlock nods. Lestrade isn’t a religious man, but he prays the entire ride to the hospital.
Lestrade hurries after Sherlock, who’s being wheeled in on a gurney. “What happened,” a doctor asks him.
“She’s a consultant for the police,” Lestrade says. “She was exposed to some kind of, I don’t know, chemical? It made her go into Heat,” he says.
“Temperature?”
“Down to 105 now,” a paramedic says. “This is Mr. Gareth Lestrade, he’s her partner.”
“Alpha?”
“Beta,” he says.
“Let’s get her into a Heat room, see how she does.”
The doctors put her in the bed, and Lestrade paces at the foot. “Lestrade,” she asks.
“Yeah, love?”
“Come here?”
“Course.” He gets in the bed behind her, curling around her.
“Ahem. Mr. Lestrade?” Lestrade glares over his shoulder. “You should let her cool down first.”
“She asked for me, and I’m supposed to just bloody ignore her?”
“You can hold her hand.”
Lestrade grits his teeth but gets out of bed, sitting on Sherlock’s side and just holding her hand between both of his. He lets go with one and smooths her hair back from her face. “You’re gonna be ok, love,” he whispers. “You’re safe here.”
“Mr. Lestrade, we need to know everything.”
Lestrade goes over everything he knows that happened from the last few days. He even guiltily admits he had brought on a Drop. The doctor nods and takes notes, only looking thoughtful. “She lives with a former doctor,” Lestrade says. “Joan Watson, she works with the 11th precinct. Ask for Captain Gregson.”
“Will do. Ms. Holmes, are you feeling better,” he asks.
“Cold,” she mutters.
“Let’s take your temperature. This goes under your tongue.” Sherlock obediently opens her mouth, and the doctor puts it inside. Lestrade strokes her hand softly as they wait. The doctor takes the thermometer out. “104. I’d like it to be lower. Would you like dry clothes to change into?”
“Please.”
“Alright. I’ll be right back.” The doctor leaves, and Lestrade gets in the bed with Sherlock. She huddles into him, and he rubs her skin. She’s still cold from the shower and the ice. The doctor comes back, putting some clean clothes on the bed. “Make sure to draw the curtains,” he says, pointing to the mirror taking up the most part of the wall opposite the bed.
“What, why,” Lestrade asks.
“It’s two-way glass,” Sherlock mutters. “For observation.”
Lestrade scowls, getting up and jerking the curtains closed. When he turns around, the doctor is gone. Sherlock sits up, peeling the wet clothes off her body. Lestrade feels himself stir. She gets dressed again, hanging her head and scrubbing her hands through her hair, shaking out the water. Lestrade sits on the end of the bed, watching her. “Thank you,” Sherlock says quietly. Lestrade is confused. “For getting me to hospital.”
“Course,” Lestrade says, reaching out for her. He touches her knee.
“Could you get in here,” Sherlock asks. “Warm me up?”
Lestrade nods, getting under the covers. He bundles Sherlock up, and the Omega burrows into him, throwing a leg between his. The cold immediately makes him soft. “Sorry,” she says. “Felt that.”
“No need to apologize, love,” he says, putting his hand on the back of her head. She wraps around him, settling in. He rubs her back in soothing circles, and she starts to purr a little. Lestrade feels pride. He did that- made her so comfortable that she made that sound. Sherlock’s purr soon fades away, replaced by deep breathing.
Lestrade puts his head back against the pillow. He has to wait until Sherlock wakes up to do anything. Until then, he’s a heating pad. He looks around the room in the meantime- it’s nice. Sterile, but nice. White walls with cheap wood dressers, a door at the other side of the room from the entrance that he assumes is the bathroom. A table in the corner with a couple of chairs, a bedside table. All in all, it looks almost like a long-stay hotel room, if cheap and sterile. And if it smells sterile to him, it must be Hell on Sherlock. He rubs her again, pulling her close. She adjusts around him, not waking.
“Mr. Lestrade,” a voice sounds in the room, jerking him out of a light sleep.
“Yes?”
“Could you open the curtains please?”
Sherlock stirs against him, putting her chin on his chest. “Alright, love?”
“Go,” she says, pulling back. Lestrade gets up, pulling the curtains apart. All he can see is a reflection of the room. He walks backwards until he can sit on the bed. Behind him, he sees Sherlock sit up.
“Gareth,” Joan’s voice says.
“Joan. Have you and the police found anything?”
“Unfortunately, no. Mr. Jalopy is in the wind. Sherlock, you were right. We managed to pull some kind of gel off of that GSR test you did. We tried to analyze it, but the chemical isn’t registered. But his DNA was mixed in with the gel, and that was enough for Captain Gregson to get a search warrant.”
“Of course he is, and of course it isn’t,” Sherlock says. “Has a search of his home found any more of whatever he dosed me with?”
“No.”
“Bollocks,” the Brits say as one. Lestrade puts his hands on his knees.
“Is there anything you can do,” he asks.
“Wait it out.”
“Joan, she’s getting worse,” Lestrade protests. “Can’t they, I dunno, take her blood, see what’s going on?”
“They were waiting until she cooled down. Feel her forehead, is she cool?”
Lestrade turns, and Sherlock leans towards him. He puts the back of his hand on her forehead. “Maybe a tad bit warm,” he admits.
“The doctor’s going to come in and check on her. Is that ok?”
Lestrade and Sherlock nod. The intercom clicks off, and soon enough the doctor is walking into the room. “Ms. Holmes,” he starts. “I’m going to take a blood sample, as well as your pressure and temperature.”
Sherlock holds her arm out obediently. The doctor pulls out a needle, and Lestrade looks away, queasy. He always hated the things. Sherlock doesn’t make a peep when he slides it into her vein. “You can look now, Lestrade.” He does, and the doctor is holding a cotton ball to her arm. Sherlock takes over while he places a bandage over the wound. He caps the needle and puts it away. He takes her blood pressure.
“At least that’s good.” He takes her temperature again. “100 degrees,” the doctor says. “Much better.”
“Better? That’s still high!”
“Not for an Omega in Heat, it’s not,” Sherlock says. “Is there anything we can do?”
“Until we know what caused this, no. We have to assume this will pass like a normal, if a bit intense, Heat.” Sherlock nods. “Is there anything you want, anything that will make you more comfortable?”
“Everything here smells so… sterile,” Sherlock admits. “Could I have my own blankets? And various things? Lestrade, as well?”
“Mr. Lestrade mentioned that Ms. Watson lives with you. It shouldn’t be a problem for her to collect anything you want.”
“Thank you. Also, I’m hungry.”
“We’ll send in some food for you two.” The doctor nods, collecting his things. He leaves the room. Sherlock gets out of bed, going through the door at the other end of the room. Lestrade just watches her. “At least the bathroom is big,” she says. Lestrade follows her. The shower is big enough for both of them, he notices. All sorts of fun things start going through his head.
“No, we are not having shower sex.”
“I didn’t even say anything!”
Sherlock just huffs. “But I do know you, Lestrade.”
“Could you call me Gareth,” he asks.
“Sure.” The door opens, and the pair turn. A nurse brings in two trays, setting them on the bed. Sherlock goes, sitting on the bed. Gareth sits next to her.
“Now, which one’s mine,” he asks. She pushes one tray to him. “How do you know?”
“It doesn’t matter,” she says. “Omegas in Heat and their Alphas-“ she cuts herself off, Lestrade just staring at her. “And their partners require the same things. Carbs and protein. I just need more salt.”
“Hence the crisps,” Lestrade says, taking his and putting it on Sherlock’s tray. Sherlock squirms on the bed. “What’s wrong?”
“I,” Sherlock tries. “I want-“
“What do you want,” Lestrade asks.
“Contact.”
Lestrade moves to sit behind her. She leans against him and turns her nose into his neck, breathing in his scent. Alpha. She called me her Alpha, Lestrade thinks. They eat quietly. When they’re done, Lestrade stacks the trays and gets up, putting them by the door. He comes back to Sherlock, who tugs at him. Lestrade can’t figure out what she wants. “What do you need, love?”
“Lie down.” Lestrade lies back, and she lies next to him, pulling him so he’s on top of her. She settles immediately and bares her throat. Lestrade’s mouth goes there, and he licks. She purrs gently. She noses at his temple and turns her head on the pillow. “I’m going to sleep.” Lestrade just watches as she does. He waits until her breathing evens out, then tries to move. Her hands clutch at him, and he settles. He lays his head on her shoulder and tries to relax.
An hour later, Sherlock wakes up and starts to mouth at his jaw. “Sherlock?” She just hums, mouth going to behind his ear and kissing there. She touches that spot with her tongue, and he shivers. “I’ll just close the curtains.”
“You do that.” Lestrade is up like a shot and jerks the curtains closed. He turns around, seeing that Sherlock had kicked the blankets off and is waiting for him. He gets into bed, supporting himself over her.
“You’re bloody gorgeous, Sherlock.” Sherlock just hums, reaching up and putting her hand on the back of his head. She pulls him down into her mouth. Lestrade uses every single year of experience in the kiss, and Sherlock mewls into his mouth. He moans. Sherlock tugs his shirt off over his head, and Lestrade sits up, pulling Sherlock with him. She straddles his thighs and he strips her. She reaches into the bedside table and grabs a condom, handing it to Lestrade. He opens it, setting her on her back and rolling it onto himself. “You’re sure you don’t want-“ She interrupts him by grabbing his cock and pulling him into her. He moans through his teeth and she sighs in pleasure. He moves his left hand to hold onto her hip and his right to support himself over her. “You good, love?”
“Mm-hmm,” she nods, wrapping her legs around him. “Just move.” Lestrade pulls out halfway and then slides back in. She tilts her head back, humming. He watches her as he fucks her, and she’s comfortable, hands clenching on his shoulders. He tilts her hips up, and she happily adjusts around him. He grins.
“Good,” he asks.
“Yes.”
He noses at her jaw, and she happily turns her head. He scrapes his teeth there and she purrs. "Good girl." She hums. He turns her head back towards him and he kisses her. She bites his lip, and he chuckles. "Cheeky." She laughs. 
"Did you expect anything else?"
"No," he admits, and starts kissing the front of her throat. She tilts her head back for him, and he can feel the purrs against his mouth. 
He gets her to cum on his cock and follows her, content. He lowers himself over her, and she pants, nosing at his jaw. She licks over his stubble and he lets her mark him with her scent. She rests her head back against the pillow and he looks over his shoulder making sure the curtain is closed before he gets up and tosses the condom. He wets a washcloth and cleans himself up, doing the same for Sherlock. He looks around and tosses it where Sherlock had thrown her wet clothes. Sherlock opens her arms, and he settles into them, rolling onto his back. She snuggles into him, pressing her face into his neck. Huh. Sherlock Holmes is a cuddler. Who knew. 
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the-underworld-aes · 2 years
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Mafia 3
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Okay so I’m gonna take the L and admit I’ve never played the other 2 games, I just watched the cut-scene movies on YouTube, and while I enjoyed the story and characters of the first 2, when I watched Mafia 3′s it DID something to me. So I actually went out and got the game so I can play it all myself.
First things first, I’m gonna wonder why people seem to hate this game so much until the day I die, sure it’s glitchy but not as bad as any Bethesda glitch I’ve seen and nothing game breaking, more or less just funny stuff like “lol that cop car exploded in the middle of the street. I’m gucci tho.”. I really like the time-period cause I actually like learning about the 60′s in American history because SO MUCH important stuff was set in motion back then. Others seem to not like how it’s nt focused on the Italian Mafia anymore and...sure?? I guess?? I mean they’re still there, you’re allied with some Italians while taking out the bigger Italian crime family (I think they’re mad that the protag is black and it’s an important part of the game tbh) And another complaint I see a lot is the games too repetitive, I think that’s the lamest excuse personally. I played this after I beat Far Cry 6, and honestly? It was NICE! I like being able to sneak and take people down, or just blow up everything!  Maybe it’s cause I’m autistic perhaps (ASD gang rise up!) but having a pattern was nice for me, I have a specific way of playing and it was fun. Hell, I’ve beat the game twice already cause it felt nice to play.
I know this game came out in 2016 and I’m way late to the party, I became aware of the Mafia series in 2021 and finally played Mafia 3 in March 2022. And I need to be physically restrained from playing it a third time lol.
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Anyways onto the story and characters (SPOILERS BTW)
The story is so 😩👌💦💕 I love crime stories, I love historical fiction (sometimes...), I love seeing racists get CRUSHED, I love the time period, I love the music. It’s just AAHHHH so good!!!
Sure I guess a black Vietnam vet cruising around in 1960′s New Orleans isn't what you’d think when you imagine “American Mafia” but that’s a you problem at this rate, I’m having a great time.
I did like Tommy Angelo, and Vito Scaletta too, but Lincoln Clay is honestly my favorite of the 3 and I wish people looked at him and appreciated him more. Imma say something real controversial here: I know Vito is the fan favorite, he’s unofficially the face of the series now and while I DO LIKE HIM, I think... he makes a better side character in Mafia 3 (also low-key irritated Lincoln gets thrown to the wayside while everyone rushes to Vito). That’s just my personal opinion... also my man aged like milk, how is he 10 years younger than the Irish man dying of liver cancer and yet Burke has his hair color still while Vito looks so chewed up? lmao anyways yeah I do like Vito, when I pick up my kickback from him I always leave saying “Bye Peepaw!!”
Anyways, Lincoln comes back home from Vietnam and is ready to see his adopted family again, Sammy and Ellis Robinson (Father and Brother), Father James Ballard (Raised him in the orphanage before he got adopted and sticks around) and his other friends, Danny Burke and Giorgi Marcano. Without getting too much into it, Giorgi is the son of Sal Marcano, boss of the Marcano Crime Family (Which has power over Sammy Robinson and his Black Mob). Giorgi was friends with Lincoln, Ellis and Danny, but this whole time Sal had him playing the long game of eventually screwing them all over. It ends with Giorgi, Sal and an associate of the Dixie Mafia betraying them all after a job they did together (For Sammy to pay back Sal). Giorgi shoots Lincoln in the head, leaves him for dead, kills Danny, Richie Doucet (Dixie mafia) stabs Ellis to death and Sal shoots Sammy in the back. They burn down Sammy’s bar and in the flames Father James ran in looking for survivors and found Lincoln clinging onto life. Lincoln survives, but he lost his family, friends and was betrayed by someone he thought he could trust. And now he’s got the scar to prove it.
This ignites his revenge quest to wipe out the Marcano Crime family, and all the damage they’ve done to him, his community (Delray Hollow) and eventually the mess he’s made for his soon-to-be under bosses. And while he’s doing that he’s sworn to build up a crime family of his own and needs people he can fully trust.
When he’s recovering from the gunshot wound to the head, he tells Father James to call his old friend and contact from Vietnam, Donovan, who is currently working for the C.I.A. He drops everything and shows up willing to help Lincoln with his goal (btw their friendship is so great, it’s so sad Lincoln lost everyone but he’s got Donovan still and the writers did so great with their chemistry *chefs kiss*). While Lincoln’s recovering, Giorgi lets the Dixie Mafia move into Delray Hollow and turn it inside out. Donovan tracks down possible allies for Lincoln to get in touch with by the time he’s recovered.
The Under bosses:
Delray Hollow: Ran by Cassandra and her Haitian mob. (She’s also called the “Voodoo Queen” btw and she runs a Voodoo shop) You meet Cassandra  first and it’s a shaky start, Sammy’s Black Mob has been fighting with the Haitians beforehand so she has many reasons to not trust Lincoln, but since then now the Dixie Mafia took over, thanks to the Marcanos and is greatly harming the community with human trafficking and she wants them wiped out and she can’t do it alone. Cassandra has some painful history with the Dixie Mafia and she wants nothing more than to see them all dead.
River Row: Ran by Vito Scaletta and his Italian mob (that's loyal to him at least). After everything that happened in 2nd game, Vito found his way down here and had to work with Sal Marcano as one of his lieutenants, Vito’s miserable and Sal hates him but can;t do anything about it cause Leo Galante put him there. Sal did put Grecco, his nephew, into River Row to mess things up from the inside and make it look like Vito’s fault so Sal can finally have an excuse to put a hit out on him to not anger the Commission. Being screwed over and wanting to get back, Vito agrees to help Lincoln because this is personal for him too.
Point Verdun: Ran by Thomas Burke and his Irish mob. He did have a deal worked out with Marcanos prior, but at some point there was a failed shipment of Burke’s end and that made Sal insert someone else to take over his rackets, Barbieri, who brutally took over a crippled Burke’s leg. And after Danny, his son’s murder, Burke’s been spiraling into alcoholism and constant grief. He wants nothing more than to make Barbieri suffer for what he did to him and for the Marcanos to burn for murdering his son. Which makes him eventually side with Lincoln.
Thoughts and extra on the bosses: They all got folks that work under them as their own lieutenants, Cassandra has Emmanuel Lazare, Vito has Alma Diaz and Burke has his own daughter, Nicki Burke.  Unlike the other 2, Lincoln is actually friends with Nicki and they all used to hang out together. She’s mourning the loss of her younger brother and it’s clear there’s some tension between her and her father.
Nicki’s actually a lesbian and comes out to Lincoln, she even has a girlfriend. Burke already kind of knows somehow and does not approve of it, but they still have to work together, so it causes inner personal problems. ALSO SIDENOTE: It was kind of refreshing seeing gay characters in a crime based video game, Nicki is a lesbian, Lincoln is a supportive ally (may or may not be bi/pan himself cause of his response to Nicki after she asks him about his thoughts...) and in one of the DLC’s, there's a side character named Oscar who’s a gay Vietnam vet and Lincoln gives him a job at the renovated Sammy’s bar.
While they may be side characters, I still appreciated it, and because of that dialogue between him and Nicki, it does strongly suggest he might be bisexual, so I’m def taking it and running with it. You can play a bi protag at least and I love my bisexual headcanons.
The Main Antagonists:
Sal Marcano: Sal is the Don of The Marcano Crime family. He does have a pretty interesting history and how he got to where he is now. I won’t deny that, but he’s a master of fucking over people he works with just because they were deemed useless. He did it to Sammy, once Sammy was having problems with the Haitians and short on his kickback, that was his death sentence along with his sons. He was doing it to Burke, who had a shipment go missing and that was a sign he needed an immediate replacement. Working on Vito, who just hated him and was willing to mess up his whole rackets just so he can be allowed to put a hit on him. And let’s not forget his racism at all, he knowingly works with the Southern Union and the Dixie Mafia that do lynchings/hate crimes and specifically target the black folk in New Bordeaux. He keeps using slurs when talking about Lincoln. So...yeah. This dude sucks lol.
Giorgi Marcano: Sal’s only son and the Under boss of the Marcano Crime Family, unlike his dad, he was given his life on a silver platter and is a typical spoiled rich kid with a gun who thinks he owns everyone. Hey may have been Lincoln’s “friend” at one point, but either he was playing a long game or that friendship was truly one sided if he could be fine with shooting him in the head when the time came. (I’m looking at everyone sideways who stan him btw). He worked with Ritchie Doucet, the leader of the Dixie Mafia and let them take over Delray Hollow to abuse and traffic folks in the community there after he thought Lincoln was dead. Racist little spoiled brat with access to weapons and a Daddy’s boy. I hate this rat. In his dying breath, he could have tried to make peace with Lincoln and apologize or something, but it was clear he never saw Lincoln like that at all.
YES I AM LOOKING AT PEOPLE SIDEWAYS IF I SEE PEOPLE STAN GIORGI, SHIP HIM WITH LINCOLN OR TRY TO SOFTEN HIM UP IN ANYWAY. I’VE HAD IT, YOU’RE ALL ON A LIST NOW!...anyways. There’s a whole lot of Capos and Lieutenants that work under them but I’m not really gonna get into em all.
There’s other characters and the DLC’s now I can get to instead.
Father James Ballard: Ran the orphanage before it got shut down and has known Lincoln since he was a child. Kind of an Uncle figure. WW2 Vet and kept close to the Robinson’s. Now....why I understand why he doesn't want Lincoln to go down the path he does go down....cause seeing a loved one do that kind of stuff is painful... I also...REAALLLY...don’t like him.  A whole family got wiped out, Lincoln lost so much and is scarred from it, the people that did the killings are also ruining the Hollow and making it worse. If Lincoln did just, after healing, decide to listen to Father James and not do anything, things would have been WORSE. The Marcanos would have full control, the Dixie Mafia would have free reign, The Southern Union would have gotten stronger. AND IT’S DOUBLY INFURIATING IN ONE THE DLC’S: THE SIGN OF THE TIMES! Lincoln’s adopted family was killed, Father James knew them, sure they were a mob but they were still individual people who loved and cared for each other. And yet he wants Lincoln to let go of his revenge and just leave. BUT THEN THERE’S THIS CREEPY ASS WHITE SUPREMACIST CULT THAT FUCKS UP A WHITE GIRL WHO’S A COMPLETE STRANGER AND THE JAMES IS LIKE “Okay Lincoln, take them out.” AND IT’S JUST SO-...no diss to the white girl though, Anna, she was a victim and it’s tragic what happens in her story, but idk man. James bothers me.
John Donovan: I already talked about him a little bit, but him and Lincoln met in Vietnam where Lincoln was assigned to work with him on an ops mission for the C.I.A. Lincoln learned a lot, including psychological warfare which he uses against the Marcanos later. They eventually got really close, to the point that John dropped everything and ruined his C.I.A career to work with Lincoln in building his own crime empire. He’s a fun character, he’s very chaotic, and him and Lincoln bounce off each other really well, no wild card/straight man dynamic, they’re both wild cards in their own right. I think the game is trying to frame Father James and Donovan as the Angel and Devil on Lincoln’s shoulders and, like, sure, okay, Father James is like “Don’t do it!” while Donovan is like “LETS FUCKIN GOOO!” and neither character really likes each other. James is priest and John is an atheist so the usual clash there too. I’ve made my thoughts clear on James. Donovan though is just willing to do the most for Lincoln and in a DLC he asks him for his help with his own problems that’s started before they even met. And Lincoln gladly helps him. It’s a real “I’m here for you and I hope when the time comes you’re here for me” kinda friendship. Anyways, despite leaving the C.I.A and becomes involved in criminal organizations, John is dead-set to find out who really organized the JFK assassination and finds that Sal Marcano has ties to politicians and others in the country to he goes off on his own manhunt. It’s a fun time. Good time. Don’t watch live political hearings on TV at the time though cause you might see someone get blasted.
The DLC’s
Sign of the Times: A creepy cult called the “Ensanglante” infests the burned remains of Sammy’s bar and Lincoln and Father James discover this on their way to pay the old place a visit. A young girl runs out terrified and men chase after her. After James takes the girl to a safe place and Lincoln investigates what they were doing in the bar. The learn the girl is named Anna McGee and the cult was doing a ritual in the bar because of the past human suffering in there, the murder of Lincoln’s family. The Ensanglante preforms rituals in places where people have suffered, like old slave market areas, a middle school that burned down, a plantation house etc. It’s run by a woman named Bonnie Harless who indoctrinated Anna into the cult through manipulation and promising she’ll be loved. It just left Anna abused and out of her own mind and miserable. This side story isn't really crime orientated, but it’s taking down a creepy racist cult and it gets really trippy sometimes. In my Father James bit I said a little about this already. Bonnie is a creepy bitch and off her rocker, Anna’s story is so tragic what happens to her. The cult does get wiped out and after that Lincoln meets with his aunt Lily and they restore Sammy’s bar into a functioning club again and as a memorial to Sammy and Ellis. 
Faster, Baby!: You go to Sinclair Parish, a sun-down town outside of New Bordeaux that’s run by a corrupt Sheriff “Slim” Beaumont, who wants to keep the town white, even if that means making people who oppose him disappear. There’s civil rights activists who are ran by another of one of Lincoln’s allies in the main game, “The Voice” (Charles Laveau). One of their members who was carrying the evidence that they compiled against was murdered by the sheriff and they need to get it. The Voice’s daughter, Roxy joins and works alongside Lincoln to take down this entire corrupt police force with the help of her friend, M.J, another Vietnam vet who just wants to see his hometown become better. A pretty fun DLC, a lot of car chaos and destruction, brings ACAB to a whole new level. Lincoln and Roxy kinda got a thing going on (I think Lincoln likes girls who bully him lol), and it is pretty cute, especially near the end of the story, Lincoln hears something he really needed to hear to give him comfort and it’s pretty sweet (WELL IT WOULD BE SWEET IF ROXY DIDN'T IMMEDIATELY LEAVE BACK FOR GEORGIA RIGHT AFTER SHE GOT SOME DICK FROM HIM 😭). Not crime focused either, but a lot of fun and with M.J you can actually grow weed and make new strands to actually sell to the districts you take over in the main game. Roxy’s cool, even if it does kinda hurt if I think too much that she just said all the right things to get into Lincoln’s pants but....I’m not gonna judge her either cause he really...👀💦. She’s got a really cool car you get when you beat the story. M.J is cool, Vietnam vet, turned pot smoking/growing, racism fighting hippie. You also get a hippie van from him later when level up the grow operations, and I love me some hippie vans.
Stones Unturned: Donovan calls onto Lincoln for his help once someone from his past starts showing up in New Bordeaux and stirs up some shit. You meet one of Donovan’s old allies, a former C.I.A agent now turned bounty hunter Robert Marshall and he joins in the hunt down for Conner Aldridge. You learn more about John and Connor’s history, they used to work together and be friends but Connor turned his back on America and started feeding intel to the NVA. Eventually John found out and they had a violent falling out. Aldridge’s face got scarred and Donovan’s hand got really messed up. Aldridge’s main goal is to sell information on the U.S to all their enemies, from Vietnam to Cuba. There’s a lot of heavy weapons in this DLC and military grade vehicles. You even leave New Bordeaux to somewhere in Cuba to infiltrate a bunker to get the warhead and hunt down Aldridge. Very much more of a war/action plot than a crime plot, even though I guess John’s brand of shady is better than Connor’s brand of shady (??), still very fun to see more interactions with Lincoln and Donovan. Lincoln even forces him to open up more, that’s how we learn more about Aldridge (I still think he’s hiding more from Lincoln cause that anger felt more visceral...hmm). You first reach Cuba and it’s BEAAUUTTIFULLL, the water is so blue omg it’s so pretty. Robert Marshall is a weird guy, I see why him and John are friends. He’s a little unhinged but over all he’s friendly??in his own weird little way. You actually get bounty hunting missions from, only 3 though, once you’re back in town, and he offers this pretty handy sniping service. Connor as a villain is something alright, not saying he’s a bad character but I do wish there was more information you could have uncovered with Donovan. And he’s pretty nihilistic about the war and America and stuff and as someone who personally is pessimistic about how America is now...uhh...can’t say I blame him. Though selling weapons to people who wanna blast us to the Fallout Universe, that’s not cool. Nooo nope no sir, don’t like that. Anyways, the DLC is a good time. Less of a heavy story than the other 2 which is good cause I don’t wanna feel totally miserable lol
The order in which the DLC’s came out isn't an indicator of a timeline either, there’s no real set timeline in the game. Just the main plot begins during Mardi Gras in 1968, Lincoln needs his time to recover, and the only other indicator is on Anna’s gravestone so I’m assuming at least Sign of the Times is the first one and takes place when Lincoln’s trying to get his under bosses together. That’s a me thing tho, I’m a stickler for timelines and stuff like that.
BUT ANYWAYS I TYPED A LOT SO MUCH OMG I JUST WANTED TO GIVE MY THOUGHTS ON THE GAME AND THE BASIC RUN DOWN OF THE STORY AND CHARACTERS LOL
MAYBE I’LL SHARE MORE HEADCANONS LATER AND SHIZZ CAUSE IT’S SUCH A HYPERFIXATION RIGHT NOW AND EVEN ON MY ART BLOG I MADE SOME FANART K BYE
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newstfionline · 1 year
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Monday, October 24, 2022
Fears Over Fate of Democracy Leave Many Voters Frustrated and Resigned (NYT) Seventy-one percent of all voters believe that democracy is at risk, according to a recent New York Times/Siena College poll, but only 7 percent identified that as the most important problem facing the country. Americans face more immediate concerns: the worst inflation in 40 years, and a perception that crime is surging, if not in their communities then in cities nearby. But another factor is dampening people’s motivation to save America’s representative system of government: Some have already lost faith in its ability to represent them. That democratic erosion has sent many Democrats on a downward spiral of feeling powerless, apathetic and disconnected. Of course, just what is threatening democracy depends on who you talk to. Many Republicans are just as frustrated, convinced that the threat stems from liberal teachers, professors or media personalities who they fear are indoctrinating their children; undocumented immigrants given a path to citizenship; or Democrats widening access to voting so much that they are inviting fraud. Indeed, ask voters exactly what is threatening democracy and the answers are as varied as the individuals who formulate them.
House price slump (Economist) Over the past decade owning a house has meant easy money. Prices rose reliably for years and then went bizarrely ballistic in the pandemic. Yet today house prices are falling in nine rich economies. From Stockholm to Sydney the buying power of borrowers is collapsing. That makes it harder for new buyers to afford homes, depressing demand, and can squeeze the finances of existing owners who, if they are unlucky, may be forced to sell. The world’s worst housing-related financial crisis will be confined to China, whose problems—vast speculative excess, mortgage strikes, people who have pre-paid for flats which have not been built—are, mercifully, contained within its borders. But as an era of low interest rates comes to an end, a home-price crunch is coming—and there is no guarantee of a better housing market at the end of it all.
Iran protests trigger solidarity rallies in US, Europe (AP) Chanting crowds marched in the streets of Berlin, Washington DC and Los Angeles on Saturday in a show of international support for demonstrators facing a violent government crackdown in Iran, sparked by the death of 22-year-old Mahsa Amini in the custody of that country’s morality police. On the U.S. National Mall, thousands of women and men of all ages—wearing green, white and red, the colors of the Iran flag—shouted in rhythm. “Be scared. Be scared. We are one in this,” demonstrators yelled, before marching to the White House. “Say her name! Mahsa!” The demonstrations, put together by grassroots organizers from around the United States, drew Iranians from across the Washington D.C. area, with some travelling down from Toronto to join the crowd. In Los Angeles, home to the biggest population of Iranians outside of Iran, a throng of protesters formed a slow-moving procession along blocks of a closed downtown street. They chanted for the fall of Iran’s government and waved hundreds of Iranian flags that turned the horizon into a undulating wave of red, white and green.
Hurricane Roslyn makes landfall in Mexico, avoids resorts (AP) Hurricane Roslyn slammed into a sparsely populated stretch of Mexico’s Pacific coast between the resorts of Puerto Vallarta and Mazatlan Sunday morning and quickly moved inland. By Sunday morning, Roslyn had winds of 90 mph (150 kph), down from its peak of 130 mph. While it missed a direct hit, Roslyn brought heavy rain and high waves to Puerto Vallarta, where ocean surges lashed the beachside promenade. In Tepic, the Nayarit state capital, Roslyn blew down trees and flooded some streets; authorities asked residents to avoid going out Sunday, as crews worked to clear a landslide that had blocked a local highway.
Cocaine is flooding into Europe (Yahoo News) Three weeks ago, in the farmlands of central Spain, police spotted something peculiar: a surveillance drone hovering over a forest. Pushing in, they discovered something never before seen in Spain: an outdoor drug laboratory set up under a tarp where Colombian chemists were extracting cocaine that had been infused into concrete powder, a process that police estimate was funneling 264 pounds of cocaine into the country each week. Last month, Spanish police also seized 1,843 pounds of cocaine and shut down several laboratories and processing centers just outside of Barcelona, and in July they seized six remote-controlled, unmanned submarines fitted with hidden compartments built to transport cocaine to Spain from Africa. On Wednesday, Spain’s national police announced they’d seized another 145 pounds of pure cocaine hidden in industrial rolling machines shipped from Peru. Last year, around 300 tons of cocaine were seized across Europe, but according to Europol deputy spokesperson Claire Georges, the amount being seized is only “a very small part of what is coming in.” These recent busts, largely made possible by advances in tapping criminals’ encrypted phones, underscore a reality that European drug authorities have been warning about: More cocaine than ever is pouring into the continent, where South American chemists, traffickers and local mafias are helping to bring it to market.
Massive strikes hit Ukraine electrical grid (Washington Post) Russia unleashed a “barrage” of missiles across Ukraine early Saturday morning, Ukrainian officials said—targeting the country’s electrical grid and blacking out large areas—while the Kyiv government increased its calls for Western governments to urgently provide antiaircraft systems as a defense against the airstrikes. As Ukrainians braced themselves for the high probability of even more attacks—and prepare for what could be a winter without heating, water and electricity in parts of the country—officials said that they had managed to impede the assault in some places, while in others the rockets “completely” destroyed electrical facilities.
Weapons shortages could mean hard calls for Ukraine’s allies (AP) Weapons shortages across Europe could force hard choices for Ukraine’s allies as they balance their support for Ukraine against the risk that Russia could target them next. For months, the United States and other NATO members have sent billions of dollars worth of weapons and equipment into Ukraine to help it fight back against Russia. But for many of the smaller NATO countries, and even some of the larger ones, the war has strained already-depleted weapons stockpiles. Some allies sent all their reserve Soviet-era weaponry and are now waiting for U.S. replacements. It can be difficult for some European countries to rapidly resupply because they no longer have a strong defense sector to quickly build replacements, with many relying on a dominant American defense industry that has elbowed out some foreign competitors. Now they face a dilemma: Do they keep sending their stocks of weapons to Ukraine and potentially increase their own vulnerability to Russian attack or do they hold back what’s left to protect their homeland, risking the possibility that makes a Russian victory in Ukraine more likely?
Cyprus, a haven for Russian expats, welcomes techies fleeing Ukraine war (Washington Post) On the wide and shallow Larnaca beach, a group of young, pale men huddled over their phones disrupted the otherwise idyllic scene of blissful, tanned British and German tourists lying on the neatly arranged beige loungers. “Yes! He crossed into Kazakhstan,” Ruslan shouted in Russian. His friend had just texted that he escaped Russia after an agonizing three-day wait at the border, where he feared a notice from an enlistment office might derail his plan to avoid the trenches in Ukraine. Since late September, Russian President Vladimir Putin’s order to enlist at least 300,000 men to help his flagging invasion of Ukraine has been at the heart of discussions among Russians in the increasing number of emigre communities around the world, many of which have experienced a steep increase in new arrivals, including in Larnaca. As the E.U.’s most easterly member, Cyprus has long been a go-to destination for Russian companies and wealthy individuals due to its relatively easy immigration process, low taxes, and openness to attracting as much foreign business as possible. Its beaches are also a plus. So after the tanks rolled into Ukraine, a significant part of Russia’s highly educated, middle- to upper-class workforce—mostly IT workers—flocked to Cyprus, triggering a new migration wave.
Cash is king for sanctioned Russian, Venezuelan oligarchs (AP) It was a deal that brought together oligarchs from some of America’s top adversaries. “The key is the cash,” the oil broker wrote in a text message, offering a deep discount on Venezuelan crude shipments to an associate who claimed to be fronting for the owner of Russia’s biggest aluminum company. “As soon as you are ready with cash we can work.” The communication was included in a 49-page indictment unsealed Wednesday in New York federal court charging seven individuals with conspiring to purchase sensitive U.S. military technology, smuggle oil and launder tens of millions of dollars on behalf of wealthy Russian businessmen. The frank talk among co-defendants reads like a how-to guide on circumventing U.S. sanctions—complete with Hong Kong shell companies, bulk cash pick ups, phantom oil tankers and the use of cryptocurrency to cloak transactions that are illicit under U.S. law. It also shines a light on how wealthy insiders from Russia and its ally Venezuela, both barred from the western financial system, are making common cause to protect their massive fortunes. As is often the case in clandestine transactions, cash appears to have been king.
China Hangs on Xi’s Every Word. His Silence Also Speaks Volumes. (NYT) As China’s leader, Xi Jinping, laid out his priorities this week for a breakthrough third term in power, officials parsed his words for signs of where the country was headed. What he did not say was as revealing. The omission of two phrases from his key report to a Communist Party congress exposed his anxieties about an increasingly volatile world where Washington is contesting China’s ascent as an authoritarian superpower. For two decades, successive Chinese leaders have declared at the congress that the country was in a “period of important strategic opportunity,” implying that China faced no imminent risk of major conflict and could focus more on economic growth. For even longer, leaders have said that “peace and development remain the themes of the era,” suggesting that whatever may be going wrong in the world, the grand trends were on China’s side. But the two slogans, so unvarying that they rarely drew attention, were not mentioned in Mr. Xi’s report to the congress. Their exclusion, and Mr. Xi’s somber warning of “dangerous storms” on the horizon, indicated that he believed international hazards have worsened, especially since the start of the war in Ukraine in February, several experts said. Mr. Xi, who is nearly assured re-election on Sunday as its general secretary, sees a world made more treacherous by American support for the disputed island of Taiwan, Chinese vulnerability to technology “choke points,” and the plans of Western-led alliances to increase their military presence around Asia.
Resisting Israeli Efforts to Displace Them, Palestinians Move Into Caves (NYT) Faced with expulsion from their villages and the demolition of their homes by Israeli authorities, hundreds of Palestinians in the West Bank are trying to stay by reverting to an older form of shelter: living in underground caves. “We have no home to live in and no tent—we have no option but to live in the cave,” said Wadha Ayoub Abu Sabha, 65, a resident of the village of Khirbet al-Fakheit, in a rural area of the Israeli-occupied West Bank that the military is planning to seize. The residents of Ms. Abu Sabha’s village and surrounding herding communities have been fighting efforts to displace them from homes where their families have lived for decades. Some have deeds to their land from before the modern establishment of Israel in 1948. But in May, the Israeli Supreme Court approved the expulsion of some 1,200 Palestinians in the villages so the Israeli Army could use the land for a live-fire military training ground. That could set the stage for one of the biggest mass expulsions of Palestinians since 1967, which the United Nations says could amount to a war crime.
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