#accurate halt

[biggestqiblifan]

The Burning Bridge

Duncan and Crowley: What's wrong Halt? Is everything ok?

Halt looking out into the horizon,

Halt: Will's doing something stupid, I can feel it.

Halt later:

While at the same time,

Accurate?

[that-one-enby-ranger]

Halt, making coffee: This is going to fix everything.

[firesofdainix]

Why do people who make content about Penelope and Clytemnestra (especially when it comes to feminist revision) intentionally omit the fact that Odysseus tried so hard to prevent being away from her and Telemachus (unwilling participant of the war) and Agamemnon being sad and angry about sacrificing Iphigenia (literally TOLD by Artemis to sacrifice her)?

[an1d10t]

Pauline: what is one of the lies you’ve told me and Crowley?

Halt: I didn’t pay or ask someone to write those love poems and love letters to you, I wrote them myself.

Pauline and Crowley:

Crowley: so you are a sweetheart after all

[romdocitizen]

showing halt and catch fire to once and future gf and only just noticed for the first time that joe is enough of a gary numan die hard to stick with him beyond telekon and that's such a wonderful little character detail

[navree]

Question for you, oh ASOIAF/F&B analysis queen: Do you think GRRM will ever actually finish ASOIAF? I feel like no, and like he should just hire his former assistant (half of James S.A. Corey) to finish it because GRRM clearly doesn't want to (or feels pressured from the reaction to the show idk). I know you appreciate Dany as a character - do you think that, if the books ever actually did continue (lol), she would've ended up like she does in GOT? (Also, side note: sometimes I think you interpret female characters in ASOIAF with more nuance than GRRM himself appreciated/intended, but maybe I'm just not giving him the benefit of the doubt.)

Unrelated: I don't watch HOTD (I just like Rhaenyra because Emma D'Arcy is a great actor), but sorry they did the B&C scene incorrectly. They should've owned up to the choices Team Black makes.

So, the thing to know about me is I am an eternal optimist. Not unrealistically so, but I am someone whose first instinct is that things are gonna work out in my favor, even if it takes a while. So I do think that GRRM is gonna at least finish The Winds of Winter, if only because he has been actively working on it for, like, ten million years. I'm a bit more iffy about A Dream of Spring, if only because George is not a particularly young man and I wouldn't be shocked if he ended up dying of old age before completing it, especially since the length of wait time seems to double with every new release. If TWOW gets finished this year, than we're supposed to expect ADOS by, what, 2044? By which time George while be in his mid-nineties? Winds also doesn't need to solve every dangling plot thread, since it's still not the last book, which is good because I think part of the issue and wait time, based on George's context clues, is that he's kinda written himself into a corner on at least one key thing and has been struggling to figure a way out of it (along with what I assume is more pressure due to the show's catastrophic ending).

I think it's possible we'll see a version of what we saw in the show with book!Dany, because the issue most people had wasn't necessarily with how Dany's arc ended, but the steps taken to get there, which were rushed and sloppy and made no sense and grotesquely out of character. But I think it's going to look very different, because the show and the books literally cannot end in the same way. The choices made in changing character motivations, character storylines, and even straight up cutting arcs and plots and whole entire swaths of people means that ASOIAF is an entirely different narrative to GOT, and the stories cannot line up in their conclusion. That's part of what sunk GOT, David and Dan knew key beats of how the story ended, but had switched around so much in getting there that all these characters are functionally different people in a different plot, so trying to force them into book storylines didn't work. Like, the whole thing with "the bells". There is a character in the books, Jon Connington, who has a trauma response associated with the bells of King's Landing that could lead to him making dumb decisions that would eventually result in the destruction of the city. But the way that would go about in the books is nowhere near what we saw in that fuckass show. @turtle-paced has a post about how that would work that I cannot for the life of me find but the gist of it is that there will be some bells ringing to signify surrender during the conflict between Dany and Aegon/fAegon, but that Connington will likely ignore it and keep fighting because trauma response, Dany will then continue hostilities herself in the face of that, and at some point the fires involved, cuz she has dragons, are going to reach the cache of wildfire Aerys hid all over the city and blow everything sky high, because that wildfire has been given way too much significance to not matter. Very different from Dany seeing abject surrender and just deciding to become She-Hitler on a whim, because it involves characters that the books set up, like Jon Connington and Arianne Martell and Aegon/fAegon and the involvement of the Golden Company, who were literally all cut from the show. So Dany likely will have a moment where she causes mass destruction in King's Landing, she might even have a moment where she rules and might exhibit some darker tendencies, and she might die (I'm still on the fence on whether that'll happen or not), but it's not gonna be like we saw in the show, and the circumstances of any death on her part is going to be entirely different.

I probably do give more nuance to most characters, especially Fire&Blood characters, than GRRM intended, it's that eternal optimist in me that wants to believe that stuff is well written. But for F&B I at least allow that part of it is straight headcanoning because of how muddled and sparse the information is, especially when it relates to characters from the Conquest. Is there any evidence in the text for my firm belief that Visenya was a lesbian and the real "love triangle" was her and Aegon both super into Rhaenys? No, there is not, but I will go to my grave believing it.

God I wish Emma D'Arcy was in more stuff so I could see more of them, they're so good and I'd kill to have them act out scripts that are, like, well written. Honestly finding out the leaks about how they were doing Blood and Cheese really turned me off of watching season 2 even though I was tentatively back on board due to the Aegon dad stuff, because it's just badly written, and the cop-out excuse of "oh there's some stuff you can't legally do with kids involved" makes no sense because y'all are making a TV show, you're filming, you know editing and cuts and multiple takes and different angles exist. Do you actually think that D&D were having Lena Heady and Nikolaj Coster-Waldau simulate graphic sex, including elements of nudity, literally right in front of ten year old Isaac Hempstead-Wright? No, of course not, they edited that together from two separate takes, oh wow how novel that's never been done before. And they did that because Bran catching the Lannisters fucking is, like, important to the plot, and honestly Blood and Cheese doing what they did in the way that they did it is too. It turns the smallfolk hard against Rhaenyra and her faction, which is important because it's a smallfolk uprising that leads to her fleeing King's Landing and ultimately dying and losing the war, and it's part of a broader trend in ASOIAF about how monarchy is a bad system. Rhaenyra sanctioning Blood and Cheese and not punishing Daemon in the slightest for this egregious action shows that she is not, in fact, the right choice for the Iron Throne. And neither is Aegon. Because there's no right choice, because this war specifically was entirely useless and that's why, narratively, it's the beginning of the end for House Targaryen, and broadly because birthright monarchy is a scam and should not exist. There's a reason why all the kings who've sat the Iron Throne in ASOIAF are bad, that Tommen is a bad king, that Joffrey was a bad king, that Robert was a bad king, that Aerys was a bad king, that even a lot of claimants aren't really gonna be good kings (Renly was an idiot and Stannis, for all I love him, is too hard headed and rigid). And conversely, there's a reason why the rulers we see who are the best morally tend to be the ones who've come the closest to being democratically chosen, Robb was chosen by his bannermen by popular decree, Jon was elected by the Night's Watch in a democratic vote, Dany was willingly followed by free men and women who were given the option not to (and even all three of them have issues when it comes to ruling and are far from perfect monarchs). There's not really such a thing as a "good king", not firmly, because a monarchy is inherently unjust. Rhaenyra's claim is inherently as illegitimate as Aegon's, it rests on "Daddy said it's mine so it's mine" rather than "Mommy said it's mine so it's mine", because that's how hereditary monarchies work and that's bad. And having Rhaenyra allow acts of senseless brutality in her name due to personal hangups is a part of showcasing that. There's no good side in this civil war, there's no good and righteous claimant, and whitewashing so much of Team Black's actions weakens the overall story (but at least makes their stans look like the hypocrites they are, considering they were all about book purity when it came to, like, the concept of sapphics in Westeros but now all the people chanting "we support all of Team Black's war crimes after that boring ass plank of wood got eaten" have gone dead silent about the deviations when it comes to making Daemon and Rhaenyra not be monsters, shrug dot emoji).

Also, how are you, as a writer, gonna say that the core of the story is Rhaenyra and Alicent, and then not include Alicent in Blood and Cheese? Like, she was there, she was physically attacked, by this thing that happened as a result of Rhaenyra's wants and wishes! And you don't do anything with that? You don't want to give Emma D'Arcy the chance to perform that delusion conflict, that she wanted revenge but didn't even get it, and worse, someone she loved so dearly, still deep down loves so dearly, was assaulted and put in real danger as a result? If the leaks are true and Rhaenyra and Alicent are gonna have a secret meeting in the next couple episodes, imagine how wonderful it could be if Rhaenyra has to confront that not only has her side hurt Alicent emotionally in torturing her daughter and murdering her grandson, but physically as well. Imagine Rhaenyra, full of righteous "the throne is mine" crap but having to confront the still healing physical wounds on Alicent's body. It could be so good for Rhaenicent character interaction, even for Daemyra character interaction if they wanted to still whitewash Rhaenyra and have it be Daemon going off script against her wishes, but at this point I'm not entirely sure Ryan and Sara are good at their jobs.

[iwanttobepersephone]

Halt used to have pierced ears, but they healed up after he moved to Araluen

[ijustwantedtoresetmypassword]

There's nothing so rural German as Schützenfest

5km marschieren bei greller Sonne und mit mittelmäßig gespielten Märschen, der erste zwischenstop beim König kommt in sicht und du realisierst: das Tiefe Blech hat den Roten bereits auf :')

Endlich auf dem Schießplatz angekommen. Eine Tuba musste das letzte Stück getragen werden. Ein bisschen Schwund ist immer.

Einzug ins Zelt, das Preußens Gloria klingt als würde es eine ägyptische Militärband spielen, die ersten Trompeten kommen ins schwanken.

Die Erste Klarinette verpasst ihren Einsatz, der Präsentiermarsch klingt als möchte der König lieber nicht auftreten.

Das Schlagwerk hat den Kasten Bier der der Kapelle gestellt wurde leer.

Nach den Reden. Der Dirigent gibt auf und lässt das Tenorhorn Takt geben. Macht sich ein Bier aus dem neuen Kastrn auf.

Die Querflöten trillern mutig weiter. Auch beim Walzer.

Endlich ist der Tag geschafft, du seufzt in Erleichterung. Nur um wieder hoch zu schrecken. Morgen ist um 10:00 Uhr Antritt!

Die Kapelle schaut sich an, zuckt mit den Schultern und verabredet sich auf Sonntagmorgen zum Frühschoppen.

Sonntagmorgen: Königsschießen.

Nach und nach versammelt man sich langsam im Zelt. Der Schlagzeuger hat nicht geschlafen, der Aufbautrupp verzweifelt am Schlagwerk.

Um 10:30 kann dann endlich angefangen werden, die schützen sind schon seit 1000 dabei. Um 10:45 kommt noch ein Saxophon angerannt, es hätte nach gestern Abend sein Instrument nicht mehr finden können.

Jetzt wo alle da sind kann ja richtig losgelegt werden. Dirigent hebt drn Taktstock, will zu einer Polka ansetzen.

Da tönt der Lautsprecher. Der König wurde ermittelt!

Der Dirigent ändert die order. Tusch!

Hinten hat das tiefe blech nichts mitbekommen und spielt die Polka. Die Klarinetten drehen sich verärgert nach hinten.

Der Kasten Bier ist schon wieder leer.

Wann war endlich Mittagspause?

Kurz vorm Festzug kommt panisch eine Querflöte angelaufen. Ihr Instrument tut nicht mehr! Sie hält das Instrument hoch, aus den Löchern tropft Grüner.

Der Dirigent schüttelt den Kopf und macht sich noch ein Bier auf.

"Legs in die Sonne zum trocknen" , rät eine Querflöte der andern.

Bei den Klarinetten wird gekichert.

Einreihen gleicht eher der Reise nach Jerusalem. Irgendwann ist eine Posaune verloren gegangen.

Die Locke kann jeder auch im vollsuff spielen, bei den nächsten Märschen werden die Töne nach bestem ermessen geraten.

"Die klingen sowieso alle gleich!" beschwert sich ein Horn.

"Kannste einen, kannste alle", nickt das Altsaxophon.

"Ich kann gar keinen!" meint eine dritte Klarinette, und spielt mit Eifer den falschen Ton.

Im Zelt angekommen werden mit Vorfreude die Schlager ausgepackt. Das Marschbuch wird gerne bis zum nächsten Schützenfest in der Westentasche vergessen.

Hinter dem Zelt hat man auch endlich die fehlende Posaune wieder gefunden. Nach seinem "kurzen Mittagsschlaf" ist er auch der einzige der beim abspielen im Zelt alle Töne trifft.

Die Schützen schunkeln begeistert mit.

Ältere Dame kommt zum Dirigenten und meint was hätten wir schön gespielt. Betretenes Schweigen. Die Klarinetten kichern schon wieder.

Älterer Herr folgt der älteren Dame und fragt ob wir auch Wünsche annehmen. Ded Dirigent nickt und der Herr wünscht sich Radetzky Marsch.

Auf einen Schalg sind alle wieder nüchtern.

Der Dirigent nickt der Kapelle zu. Es wird verzweifelt nach Noten gekramt. Als jeder soweit ist, hebt der Dirigent den Taktstock und...

"Pergament-Pergament-PergamentPAPIER!"

Das Schlagwerk hat den dritten Kasten Bier auf.

Der Dirigent senkt den Taktstock und seufzt. Die Kapelle lacht.

[monster-noises]

I have spoken before on my trouble trying to do the thing where i Show Up to things and... Actually successfully follow through on the next step of Making Connections and a big biiig part of that that i'm going to vomit onto my blog about today is that I just

Mmmm

I simply have No Thoughts and that makes having conversations very! Very hard!

Now this isn't a~silly quirky~ like "No Thoughts Head Empty uwu" thing

What I'm struggling with when i'm trying to talk to people, usually strangers or people I've just met but this can and does stretch to people i've known for y e a r s too,

is that they will say something; express an opinion, tell me about something, give story about their life, you know, the things you have conversations about and in response my brain just Goes Silent.

and it's not that I'm not listening, I'm actually really good at the Listening part of having a conversation, but if the person I'm trying to talk to does not go off on some long diatribe or ask me a very specific question to formulate a response around...

it's radio static! it's a soft and thoughtless buzz maybe sometimes permeated by a vague feeling associated with what they were saying that, really, forms no basis for a response beyond basic platitudes.

I'd Love to say that like "Well actually I Do have thoughts but I'm so anxious about embarrassing myself I just can't voice them" but I dunno! because if it's that I probably wouldn't be writing this post because That's something I can Work On. I know what to do with something like That. This isn't!!!! That Though!! Experiencing this in real time in a conversation doesn't Feel like my other experiences with anxiety and nervousness, where I feel like physically held back or barricade from participating in the way I Want to. The thoughts would be there I just wouldn't be able to Voice them.

But there Are No Thoughts. It's a cold and silent wind blowing over a dark and dusty barren field, it's white noise static on a screen occasionally permeated with enough of an emotional reaction and recognition that I have to do Something to generate.. generic platitudes that don't really go anywhere.. (Though sometimes, Sometimes, like 10-20 minutes later, when I'm on my own again and Ruminating on fumbling Yet Another attempt to Participate and reach out, I'll be able to think of good engaging and charismatic responses I Could have used. Perhaps suggesting this Is a very extreme form of this anxiety where the nerves are screaming So loud it drowns out all else, which would explain why I can kinda get over this when having text conversations it just takes me about Ten Million Years to formulate a response.) And that's like... what the hell do I Do... about that. ? All the solutions I can come up with involve... having had thoughts. Which doesn't really help because again, it's not having thoughts but struggling to translate or release them, there is nothing there to release. Just silence, just static, vacant gaping hole where my brain should be.

I had a good chance to maybe form some connections with local comics artists via a zine fest today at the library but I was in and out in like ten minutes maybe less because I 1) only had like 20 bucks and that wasn't enough and I have Other Issues dealing with standing at someones table and then not buying anything, it makes me Feel Bad. and 2) Just could not hold a conversation to save my life! There were at least a few people there that I did stop buy a little bit I would have loved to have longer talks with and we'd probably hit it off but my brain blanked out and I nodded politely as they told me what was on there table, sweated a little bit in silence, bought something quickly and then ran away!! like!

Fuck man! I know I'm more of a person than that inside! but it sometimes it really doesn't feel like it! sometimes it really feels like I'm an animated husk with ideas above his station just kinda wandering around and sometimes stumbling into things sideways enough people think I'm a complete person! With this zine fest at least I know it's a local thing so I can try a different strategy of just Being There Physically often enough that people start to recognize me even if I don't say much which will ease the tension I guess?? Still strangers but not Complete strangers you know? For anything else though Idk what I'm going to do...

[becausegoodheroesdeservekidneys]

My sister rang me today.

Ever since she was six, she's had pain in her legs, which turns into pain in her hips and back for stretches of time. She's tried for years to get a diagnosis, with absolutely no joy. As a kid they thought she had collapsed arches in her feet; then it became clear her feet were fine, but something was wrong with her tendons; and then in her 20s they just shrugged it off with a "We'll never know probably" and that was that. She keeps on top of it with daily yoga, generally, though flare ups happen periodically. If she has to pause the yoga for some reason, she fairly rapidly regresses. Currently she has plantar fascitis again, which has halted everything once more, so right now she's back into a pain slump.

Anyway, she called me today while going from Doctors to pharmacy to get the codeine they've prescribed her for it.

"I think one of my yoga moves to help the fascitis might have exacerbated the legs," she said. "Trouble is, there's never been a diagnosis. I just have to trial and error what might help."

... And I had one of those lightbulb moments, you know? My brain suddenly went "Wait hang on, this is very familiar isn't it?" and rang the bells of memory.

"Did they ever test you for fibromyalgia?" I said.

They had not. It's never been suggested, even. My sister said she'd look up the symptoms and see if it chimed, and rang off.

Fifteen minutes later, she calls back.

Turns out she got to the pharmacy and gave them the prescription. While waiting, she googled fibromyalgia symptoms and found the NHS website.

"It was like someone had written a profile of me," she tells me on the phone. "Like, spookily, scarily accurate to me, right down to the temperature regulation bit. It felt like a practical joke."

And of course, as she stood there in the pharmacy, suddenly staring at the age of forty at the apparent answer she's been trying to get since she was six years old, she burst into tears.

"Oh no!" Said the pharmacist, hurdling the counter in a single leap and scattering the queue (I am exaggerating for humorous affectation.) "Quickly! Come into our little exam room, we'll get you tissues and water!"

My sister was duly ensconced into a Safe Place, and encouraged to cry it out. It took several hiccuping minutes, but finally, she managed to calm down and get back to an Extremely Watery Smile.

"Do you want to talk about it?" the pharmacist asked sympathetically.

"It's just..." my sister said, overwhelmed and searching for words. "My whole life I've been in pain, and they've never found why..."

"Ah," said the pharmacist thoughtfully. "Have you explored fibromyalgia?"

...

"TWICE IN ONE DAY," my sister yells on the phone to me later. "HOW THE HELL HAVE TWO SEPARATE PEOPLE ON THE SAME DAY FINALLY GIVEN ME THE ANSWER, AND NEITHER OF YOU IS A DOCTOR"

Anyway she has a doctor's appointment for tomorrow to discuss it, so we'll see

[biggestqiblifan]

very accurate.

The Ruins of Gorlan: a Summary

[that-one-enby-ranger]

Arald: I trusted you!

Halt: Why?

[whokilledsamara]

HEYY POOKIE!!! I was wondering if you could do a Mr. Crawling from homicipher x a fem reader smut.(idk if you do fem reader if you don't feel comfortable just do gn)

THANK YOU SO MUCH IF YOU DO THIS!!! ♡♡♡ I HOPE YOU HAVE A GREAT DAY!!

ENDLESS

a Mr. Crawling {homicipher} x reader fic. {an: hi friend!! ofc! i actually prefer writing fem {afab} because it is what i am and i find it easier to write for. you have a good day aswell :)}

warnings! : not too much for this one, hes a friendly boy. smut, blood mention, claustrophobia, size difference, switch!reader, afab, female genitalia described, mr. crawling has no idea what hes doing, language border. sorry there isnt TOO much plot on this one, i need to study more on the game and plus i didnt really know how to write his character.

{an : this takes place in the part where Mr. Scarletella walks past the room, and Mr. Crawling has to protect/shield you. my apologies if it isnt completely accurate, i have yet to watch a full playthrough.}

theres.. blood on the floor. you make a mental note of as you walk down the eerie hallway, "Mr. Crawling" or so you called him, close behind you. he muttered the same word over and over to you, in a hushed yet worried voice. with not a single understanding of what he was saying, you took his facial expressions as a better way to figure it out. your best guess was that he was attempting to say "unsafe." as his veiny hand kept pointing down the hallway. "unsafe?" you ask in a curious tone. he pauses for a second before nodding.

halting your movements, you stare at him nervously, your eyes darting from him to down the hallway. "i have too.." you say softly as you look at him. he tilts his head in lack of understanding but allows you to continue walking, close behind you on his knees.

turning the corner, there is more blood and chains on the wall. gross. you think to yourself. your head snaps up as you hear footsteps seemingly getting closer to you, and before you can react, you are jerked into the closest room and underneath the usually crawling man. "w-wha... what are you doing..?" you whisper up at him, his worried expression flicking from you to the door.

he lets out a hushed whine, and again, in a language you cant understand, he huffs out panicked words. from your previous understanding with the others, you get the words "someone else, near"

you instantly shut your mouth, his body hovering over you in attempt to shield you from whatever was walking past. thats when you see it. a tall, slender man with red hair, covered in red clothing, and a.. red umbrella for some reason, walking past. the man pauses, static around him, before he continues walking as if he didn't notice you. your body instinctively huddles closer to Mr. Crawling, wrapping your arms around his neck and pushing your body against his. after a few minutes, and after both of you are sure the tall man is gone, he starts to whimper, his forearms holding him above you, and his knee so perfectly placed in between your legs. what you thought was chaste, was him feeling an unknown desire for something he had never felt before.

his whimpers turn into almost desperate whines, and you finally look up at him. while you cant see his eyes, his face is a deep red and light pants leave his mouth. "a-are you okay..?" you ask in a hushed voice. while he doesnt understand you, he understands your body language. he presses his knee further into your clothed core, your body instantly reacting and jerking. "a-oh.." you flinch, hands sliding down his cloth clad chest. his hands make their way up your body, testing the waters and curiously grabbing your plush skin. the cold concrete floor wasnt making it easier to stay focused, along with his cold hands grabbing anything he could. "fuck.. i cant believe this is happening.." you mutter more to yourself than anything. his knee still pressed in between your legs. grabbing his hand, you trail it up under your shirt and place it on your heavy breast. allowing him to explore. he begins kneeding it, with an unknown curiosity. your breathing come out in short huffs and gentle moans, moans that he seems to enjoy hearing. "do you even... have the equipment to be doing this..?" you ask, motioning to his groin. his eyes follow your hand, and he tilts his head while staring at it. he pulls his hands out from under your shirt and slips down the cloth covering his groin. fuck hes big.. his heavy and semi-hard appendage springs out, a slight throb to it. your hand experimentally reaches out to touch it, its hot and leaking. his body instinctively jerks as your hand grazes it, a needy plea in his sounds.

well.. if im gonna die here i might aswell..

you slowly begin stroking it, his mouth agape and hips jerking towards your hand. he gently reaches for your clothing, quick yet gentle as he slides down your pants. you involuntarily squeak, but dont make a move to stop him as his hand curiously grazes your folds. with a swift motion, he pushes a finger inside your entrance, tilting his head with confusion as you moan heavily. wetness grows on his hand, leaking down his forearm. "oh fuck..." you breath shakily, pumping him faster. his face scrunches up and he lets out a cute noise, moving his finger faster. after a hot minute of this, you pull your hand off much to his dismay, and you gently remove his hand from you. as you position yourself in a slightly different way under him, you make a 'come here' motion with your finger. he obediently complies, above you once more.

teaching him what to do was kind of hard with the language barrier but you made it work. it wasnt long before he was slipping his length inside of you, stretching you as far as you could go. sure it hurt like hell, but you couldn't deny the pleasure that came with it. his thrusts were unpredictable, due to his lack of experience. he was good, really good in fact, and teaching him what to do was quite easy as a fast learner. you let out a harsh whine as his tip grazes your cervix, and his hips pause, eyes focused on your face. another word from that confusing language. "you, okay?" he asks. you nod hastily and reach out, grabbing his hip and pulling him back deeper. luckily he gets the hint, and starts moving again.

a white ring forms around the base of his length, his breathing heavy and hitching with each thrust. his long, skinny hand covers your mouth, preventing most of your noises from escaping your lips. no matter how much he wanted to hear them, he had to keep you safe. his thrusts became sloppier, signaling his upcoming orgasm. yours was approaching aswell, and quickly you reach your fingers down, rubbing in a rhythm he noticed. he looks from your face to your hand, shoving it out of the way and replacing it with his own, rubbing harsh circles on your bead. soon after, he had you coming undone on him, cunt clenching and unclenching around him. his whining hit a peak and his surprisingly cold seed shot through you. he came a lot, filling you to the brim and leaning over you.

his large form casted a shadow over your body, his hair falling on each side of your face as he desperately pressed his lips against yours, his cum seeping around him and out of you. harsh pants and whimpers fill the small room, as he pulls out and hurriedly pulls your clothing back on, not wanting to get caught.

he notices your struggle to stand, moving to his knees to help you up. after everything is stable, you and him make your way through the long corridors, hopefully finding an exit to this place.

maybe we can try again..

{an: this was so fun to make!! i kinda procrastinated a bit, so i apologize if it is sloppy. i don't know much about Homicipher other than my deep attraction to the characters XD}

{ made by @whokilledsamara }

[corkinavoid]

DPxDC Police Officer Wes

"Excuse me, sorry, Mr. Batman, sir!"

That's definitely not a voice he knows. Bruce halts in his steps, aborting his usual retreat into the shadows, and turns back around. Commissioner Gordon, who was still in the process of wrapping up his small talk with Tim - the term 'grumpy banter' would describe their conversation more accurately at this point, but Bruce knows better than to argue with the two over semantics - also turns around, pausing in the middle of the sentence.

A ginger haired boy, wide-eyed and obviously either nervous, starstruck, or both, is staring at him from a few feet behind the Commissioner. Bruce can see a few more faces peeking from behind the half-opened door to the roof, all of them filled with anticipation. He knows two of them: detectives that work directly under Gordon, Isaiah Vasquez, and Tasha Kuznets. The third one, a black man in his forties, also looks vaguely familiar, but Bruce can't recall a name.

Yet, he knows absolutely nothing about the ginger, who hasn't blinked once since Bruce noticed him and is now biting on his lips. But he is wearing a police uniform, so, possibly, a new hire?

"Weston, get out," Jim sighs, waving a shooing hand at the boy with a look of barely concealed exasperation on his face. Definitely a new hire, then. That's the level of annoyance he reserves only for the overachieving rookies that he begrudgingly likes but never admits to.

"I-" newly named Weston starts but cuts himself off. Then, he takes a deep breath and straightens up, "Just one question, sir!"

"Weston, I swear to God," Commissioner pinches the bridge of his nose, lifting his glasses up a bit. But Tim tilts his head to the side, looking in the ginger's direction and raising his eyebrows. His domino mask hides it, but Bruce knows his menagerie of kids well enough to see that he is at least a bit curious about the boy. So he turns back around fully and inclines his head, giving Weston his attention. He doesn't mind talking with those rare few members of GCPD that Gordon likes.

Weston perks up like a very eager dog at the sight of a treat. In the contrast lighting of the BatSignal, his hair looks like it's on fire.

"If you don't mind, was the 'Smiling case' relevant to Joker in any sense?" The boy asks, loud and clear - maybe even too loud - with his unblinking gaze still glued to Bruce. Like he is afraid that if he closes his eyes for a moment, Gotham's vigilantes are going to disappear without a trace.

It's not a question Bruce expected, to be honest. The 'Smiling case' was closed just a few days ago, Gordon was still not done with the paperwork, as far as Oracle's records went. A murder of three, where all victims had some badly drawn clown makeup on them - post-mortem makeup, as it turned out, the murderer tried to deceive the investigation by trying to cover it up as Joker's doing. Only, he didn't do a good job at it, all the Bats were way too familiar with the Mad Clown's signature style. Not to mention that Joker was still securely sealed in his Arkham cell.

Bruce turns to look at Red Robin. He was the one working on the case, so Bruce gives him the choice of answering or not. Tim jerks his shoulder, looks the ginger boy up and down, and then shakes his head.

"Aside from a poor attempt at leading the investigation in the wrong direction, no, it wasn't," Tim shrugs, "The guy isn't even a Gothamite, he knew of Joker only from the rumors and media. And the clown faces were a makeshift cover-up."

Weston visibly deflates at the answer. Bruce watches in a slight amusement as Tasha nudges the other officer, one he doesn't remember the name of, in the shoulder, and stage-whispers, "Pay up." The older man huffs and disappears behind the door, followed by Isaiah.

"Thank you, Mr. Red Robin," Wesley nods politely and takes a step back, his eyes darting to Gordon. Tim snorts a laugh but doesn't correct him. Commissioner, though, gives the boy a long, dreadful sigh.

"Is that all, officer Weston?" He asks, not even bothering to hide his 'tired dad' voice.

The ginger nods again, "Yes, Commissioner Gordon."

"Then get out of my sight before I make all your shifts double," Jim commands, and Weston nearly runs back to the door with a speed that makes Bruce involuntarily think of speedsters. Must be the red hair.

Tim turns to look at the Commissioner right as the door to the roof slams shut behind both Weston and Kuznets.

"Who is he?"

Bruce is also a bit curious now. New recruits in the GCPD are nothing out of the ordinary, but Jim seems to know this one personally, and Kuznets, who is one of his trusted detectives, seems to also like the officer.

Gordon briefly huffs and stuffs his hands in the pockets of his coat. It's quite chilly today; Bruce makes a mental note to switch everyone to their more insulated suits. Scarecrow is currently out on the loose. It won't do any good if any of the Bats went down with a cold.

"Wesley Weston, fresh out of the Academy," Commissioner sighs, but, somehow, Bruce gets the impression it's not a sound of simple exasperation over a new officer eager to prove himself. Jim proves his assumptions by looking around the shoulder to make sure the door to the roof is still closed, and continuing, "Born and raised in the middle of nowhere, Illinois, but GCPD was his first choice. He explained it as having a few friends living in the city, which, unfortunately, proved to be right."

Bruce frowns and grunts, alarm bells ringing in his mind. Deliberately choosing to work in Gotham despite not being from here can be caused by many reasons, and nearly none of them are good reasons.

"Unfortunately?" Tim inquires suspiciously, also with a slight frown, but Jim waves them both off.

"No, he's got nothing to do with any of the criminals. It was the first thing I checked when he mentioned 'friends'. If anything, he's quite on the opposite; he'd make a great detective one day, what with his countless conspiracy theories, determination and the insane urge to dig up every single detail known to mankind," he laughs a bit, and Bruce notices a slight, teasing twinkle to the Commissioner's eyes behind his glasses. "On his second day here, the boy went and plain told me he knows that Batman is Bruce Wayne and that he's saying that because he knows I know and he is aware we're working together."

The alarm bells in Bruce's mind turn into sirens. They never discussed the matters of Bats' real identities with Gordon - Bruce had his suspicions that the man knew it and simply kept his status quo. In all fairness, James Gordon didn't make it to Gotham's Commissioner by sheer dumb luck, so all the Bats kind of expected him to figure it out one day.

But Jim knowing who's behind the cowl is one thing. A new, out of town officer is quite another.

"What did you answer?" Tim asks with an easy smile, but Bruce sees the barely noticeable tension in his shoulders.

Gordon nearly grins, "I didn't believe him, which turned out to be exactly what he expected. He also told me of some kind of a familial curse - he called it 'Cassandra's curse', I believe you're aware of what it means. And then, when I naturally expressed my doubts, proceeded to show it in action. Believe me, it works. Sometimes, it even works too well," the man looks to the side with an amused huff, "That's why officer Weston is strictly prohibited from voicing his opinions on any of the ongoing cases outloud. Detective Kuznets almost missed some critical evidence because of his input once."

Cassandra's curse, Bruce has heard of that saying before. Granted, he never thought it could be a real thing, and he is not intending on starting now, not before he investigates the matter thoroughly. But he does trust Jim - years and years of working together would do that to people - so he simply nods in understanding, leaving the matter of supernatural aside for now.

"What about his friends?" Red Robin asks again, and that causes Gordon to wince momentarily.

"That, I believe, was the cause of his performance just now. One of his friends runs an occult shop, and the other one loves to hang around our forensic scientists and coroners occasionally," the man waves their immediate frowns off again, "I don't go into the morgue often, but I heard he's good at finding out the causes of death by a few looks at the body. And they run a lot of bets between them three," Jim shrugs nonchalantly, "The last one was about the 'Smiling case', I take it."

"Any reason to worry about them?" Bruce can't help but ask. It's not unusual for people to be weird in this city, and running an occult shop and hanging out with pathologists are not exactly reasons to go through background checks when they've got much more pressing issues on their plate. Namely, Scarecrow: it's been more than a week since his escape, but none of the Bats have heard anything about him yet. Oracle is already busy enough with that and the current uprise of gang activity in the Narrows, there's no point in piling even more work on her shoulders just because of some gossip that rubs Bruce the wrong way.

Gordon, thankfully, doesn't take his question lightly and pauses, scratching his chin.

"No," he finally concludes after some thought, "They are a bit strange for non-Gothamites, I'll say that, but in terms of this city? They are no stranger than my neighbors from upstairs." Gordon doesn't tell them to leave it alone, Bruce notices. However, it's probably not because of any doubts he has; the Bats just have a habit of tripplechecking everything anyways, and who would know that better than Jim Gordon?

A quick glance to Tim proves Bruce's thoughts. Red Robin, despite the mask, looks thoughtful. How many cases is he already working on, seven? Bruce makes another mental note to ask Alfred to cut his caffeine intake. It might be a bit hypocritical of him, what with his own plans to send a few messages to JLD about the 'Cassandra's curse', but Bruce excuses himself as the adult in the family.

Commissioner Gordon clears his throat.

"Do you want me to turn around so you can make your mysterious escape, or-" he starts, but both vigilantes are already gone by the time he finishes, "-or not, okay."

[lichtecht]

ich werd nochmal ein besseres bild machen müssen, aber: wilma in anzug

(weil @all-chickens-are-trans dwh theaterfundus post mietfrei in meinem kopf wohnt)

[januaryembrs]

oblivious!reader x downbad!spencer who’s not even nervous to flirt with reader anymore cuz she just doesn’t get it (probs older episodes spence)

CLUELESS | Spencer Reid x reader

description: Spencer's got a crush, too bad you're entirely clueless to his dilemma. (S3!Spencer in mind)

length 1.2k

At first he’d thought it was the world’s gentlest form of rejection, how you would dodge his questions, barely bat an eye at him laying himself bare for you, thought that maybe you were pretending not to see the way his hands shook and voice quivered to save him some face. 

“I-I was wondering if you wanted to go see Zodiac at the movie theatre?” He stammered, obsessively tucking his hair behind his ear because it felt like it was ticking his cheeks, or perhaps that was just some residual sweat gathering on his temple because you were just so pretty when you looked at him like that, your eyes wide and excited, waiting for him to finish speaking because you always loved to listen to him, “I was thinking we could try comparing it to the actual case and figure out how accurate their hollywood version of it is,” 

Your face lit up like the fourth of July, and your smile was blinding, “Oh, I love the movies! It’s going to be so fun, Spence!” You chirped, whirling around in your desk chair to meet Emily’s bored stiff expression as she scrolled through her computer, “Em, Spencer wants us to go see Zodiac, you in?” 

Spencer paled, because that was not what he’d meant by we whatsoever. It wasn’t that he held anything against Emily, nor JJ or Penelope as they were quickly roped into the plans as well, he just hadn't had them in mind when he thought to ask you out on a date. From what he could tell you hadn’t escaped spending time with him alone on purpose. He just hadn’t quite been specific in his question, it was an easy mistake to make. 

But you looked so excited as you organised who was getting what snacks, quickly dibsing the seat slap bang in the middle of everyone so you wouldn’t feel like anyone got left out. He thought his chest stuttered when you grabbed his hand and asked if you could sit with him since he’d remember the most about the original case, and you’d need his big brain for the little game he had planned. 

Spencer agreed, instead of trying to make it clear what he’d meant by his original question, because he hated disappointing people and the other girls seemed just as thrilled to go see the movie as you were. It wasn’t until Morgan slapped him on the back with a chuckle, having watched the whole thing from his own desk that Spencer felt truly dumb. 

“You’re going to have to try better than that, pretty boy,” He exclaimed, and Spencer bit his lip in thought, “Try asking her to do something in a way that leaves no room for confusion, girls like it when you’re direct,” 

And he nodded vehemently, because dating advice from Morgan was usually sound and bulletproof, how else would would he have garnered the ladies man reputation?

Direct, he could be direct. Sure, Spencer could be direct. 

He swallowed heavily just thinking about it. 

–

“These are for you,” Spencer jumped in before you could get sidetracked by chatting his ear off about the squirrel you’d nearly ran over on your way to work, and your expression flitted into surprise. 

He handed you the big bunch of pink roses and baby’s breath, and your mouth cracked into a smile immediately. “Oh, Spencer, these are beautiful, you shouldn’t have. My birthday’s not for another week,” 

“And I booked us a table at that Thai place on your block that you always get- wait birthday?” Spencer stumbled over his script, the words he’d been practising all morning coming to an effective halt as he realised once again his intentions had flown right over your head. And yet before he could set his record straight, just like you had last time, you’d jumped at the chance of spending time with him without understand just what you were agreeing to. 

“I love Thai food, that’s so thoughtful of you, Spence,” You said, hopping up out of your chair to give him a bear hug around his lithe waist, the flowers still tightly in the palm of your hand. He reciprocated, even if his expression was a terrible mix of frustration and confusion. 

It was like someone had cast some sort of spell over his words so that he’d never be able to ask you out on a date, like he was trying to speak in a dream, the words never really coming out. You weren’t dumb, not by any means, you could be a little naive sometimes, but never cruel. Spencer had no idea what the answer was. He guessed he was right back at square one.

–

“I don’t know man, I tried asking her to the movies, she thought it was a group thing. I tried taking her out for dinner, she thought it was for her birthday, I even asked if she wanted to come over to mine and she thought I meant a sleepover. What’s romantic about pillow forts?” Spencer sighed, leaning his head into his palm as he watched you swan around the office without a single inkling of his affections, “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I had fun at every one of them, but I just want there to be more. Maybe she just doesn’t feel the same,” 

“Don’t lose hope, pretty boy,” Derek comforted, the seemingly appointed love Guru that had had to witness two weeks of Spencer’s advances get sidelined. He followed Reid’s gaze to where you hummed a song to yourself as you collected files from Emily’s desk to take them over to your own. He bit his lip in thought, “I don’t think it’s personal, honest, I don’t think she means anything by it. You just need to be clearer,” 

“Clearer?” Spencer said with raised brows, using a single prod of his converse to swivel himself around to face you, and your expression perked into a smile just from seeing him. Derek watched the two of you closely, his theory all but game set and match as you seemed genuinely excited to see their resident genius who was convinced there was nothing there, “That shirt is really cute on you. It makes your eyes look really pretty,” Spencer said, in his most direct tone possible, because the nervousness seemed to dissipate when he knew you wouldn’t pick up on his intentions. The only sign you’d heard him at all was the way your fingers ruffled his hair affectionately. 

“Aw, thank you, Spencer,” You said, a little bounce in your step as you passed his desk to your own, running a gentle hand over his arm, where his blue striped shirt bunched around his biceps, “I like your purple one the best, but this one’s quite handsome too,” You replied, grabbing the other wad of papers from your drawer without much of a reaction and heading up the stairs to Hotch’s office, and he turned back to Morgan, throwing his hands up in exasperation. 

Morgan laughed, shaking his head and yanking his cup of coffee towards him, “She’ll figure it out some day, lover boy. I give it a month, tops,” 

And Spencer huffed, wheeling himself back to his desk, his eyes naturally trailing up to the large window that divided them from Hotch’s personal space, the two of you discussing something jovially as if you were none the wiser to his internal predicament. 

He made a note to wear his purple shirt more often.