#and when it's brought out it might mean alllll kinds of things

[jlf23tumble]

Ok Jen dying to know why you think Harry brought out that bat signal ring some last year. I think some say during the month of sept it was replacing the bird ring which was being repaired but it does seem like a statement to wear it for My Policeman premiere at TIFF (with the Oscar Wilde reference outfit). Lotta focus on the hands that day for those seated interviews holding mics. Just a *wink wink* to the fandom? I’m sure all his jewelry has some assigned value/meaning in his mind but they are prob different from what we assume, at least in part. But he knows the relationship we connect that ring to I’m sure, no?

Nah, one of my rancidly unpopular onions is that these two aren't signaling to their fans, especially now (in fact, they probably low-key actively resent a significant chunk of their respective fanbases), so I don't think it was a wink, wink. If anything, they seem to signal to each other, doing that monitoring monkeying writ large. What it all meansTM, I have no idea, but yeah, I'm with you! I think there ARE meanings to certain pieces, and we'll never know the particulars (though I do love to speculate)

[heartsofminds]

okay okay okay. i’ve finally been able to look this piece in the eye and NOT combust because OH MY GOD???? the way that i felt like a complete fly on the wall and was so immersed in the story? i was blushing like bradley was whispering all the things (and by all i mean ALLLLL) he was saying in my own ear! i’m so grateful to have gotten to see the screenshotted sneak peeks over the past few weeks and to have gotten to pick your brain and see what wonderful things you could come up with!!! 

jordan, i say this all the time but i’ll say it again, you are absolutely amazing and if i could somehow transport to boston and give you a big, fat smooch, i SO would!!! like always, thoughts and comments below the cut! 😉

“You liked it and you thought you looked pretty and beautiful and sexy in it and because of that, you knew Bradley would like it, too. He would. He would.” - right off the bat, she’s the absolute sweetest girl and i love her oh so much! it’s so funny because we know he loves her beyond words and she knows it but there’s always that small ounce of doubt and she’s so real for that!

“The jacket smelled like his cologne and the cigar he had with Pete and weighed heavily on your chest with all the assorted medals and ribbons that Bradley had explained the significance of at one time or another with the one from earlier that evening the most prominent of them all. With a final deep breath, you crossed the small distance towards the sliding door.” - this is where my brain started to short circuit. you know i absolutely LOVE bradley lore and this literally is so personal?? and, dare i say it, hot?? like this is such a small thing but yet i’m so floored by it omg  😵‍💫

“You decide to throw out all those ironclad morals of yours and join up?”

“Maybe? Still waiting on the verdict for those war crimes trials…”

“Don’t tell anyone, but you might be waiting a while…” - shut up shut up shut UP i love the way she’s always on his ass and always has something to say. this is absolutely why i’m in love with her omg 

“Like I said earlier, I’ve been patient all night. Don’t think I can wait another second, kid…” - calling someone KID??? bradley calling ME kid?? my brain is actually on fire... not to mention the fact that he’s been so patient and is so so SO enamored with her

“You taste like scotch,” he said and then kissed you again. “You hate scotch.” Another kiss. And again and again and again until he was kissing up and down your neck and tickling your sides.” - i already mentioned this to you, but the fact that he noticed and commented on it!!! he’s absolutely so observant and the kind of person who knows someone inside and out when he’s in love and boy oh boy, is he in love with her!!! 

“- I was nervous earlier, too,” he confessed like you hadn’t known, “Like I knew I was getting the award and everything, but I had this fear that I didn’t deserve it and they were just gonna take it away - which like I don’t know, it just brought everything back from that day. And how fucking scared I was and just - it was a lot.” - “like you hadn’t known” PLEASE the duality of their love for each other! like we obvi know how much bradley loves her but this is so touching to know how much she also loves him? and how they both love each other not only in the big ways, but the small ones too? and the fact that she knew he was nervous but didn’t say anything to him about it and let him come to her? absolutely floored! 

“Just seeing his face, knowing he was nearby was enough. It would always be enough.” - okay okay okay. you caught me crying. i literally had to blink sporadically from getting all starry-eyed because this is just so sweet. like sometimes love isn’t enough but kindness always is, and the fact that they’re always so KIND to each other is so touching 

“And you picked five…” You hummed again, though less sure this time. “Well, that’s how many times you’re gonna come for me tonight.” - bradley you fucking FREAK!!!! my heart dropped to my ass FOR HER reading this line lmaoooo 

“He glanced down at your glistening core and smiled wolfishly. “Beg me.” You whined. “Bradley…”“You beg me or I don’t touch you the rest of the night…” - JORDAN!!!! please!!! why am i blushing. why am i blushing. WHY AM I BLUSHING??? 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫

“ - Have them hear your little civvy girlfriend cry out for her handsome, award winning boyfriend?” - OH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY GOD!!!!!!! i literally can’t say anything else OH MY GOD 

“Shhh, there’s people in the other room…” he mocked, echoing your words from earlier. “You want everyone to hear how much of a slut you are begging me to make you come?”  - PLEASE!!! this literally awakened something inside me omfg!!!! the way that bradley is the absolute sweetest boyfriend and will do ANYTHING for you...but absolutely degrades you in bed!!!! like he’s perfect and i’m SO JEALOUS 

“That was all you wanted - all you ever wanted - to be Bradley’s good girl and have him lavish praise upon you. To take care of him and be good for him.” - i genuinely can’t tell if i want to be her or if i’m happy for her or both because OH MY GOD!!! this is also so sweet in a way that’s so completely mushy and me rambling too much but OMG

“You had to draw the line at letting him brush your teeth for you, though, and did it yourself.” - this actually made me chuckle but no like the way he would’ve done it if she had asked though? this man is absolutely picture perfect and i need him SO BADLY! 

“From beside him at the checkout counter, Maverick cleared his throat. “So, I heard you kids had a good time last night.” Bradley froze, but Maverick just continued looking over his bill.” - OH MY GODDDDD! this is absolutely so funny but i can only imagine the horror! 

“Yup. His parents had heard him having sex. Monday morning was sure to be fun.” - mav and penny being his parents is def fanon but i love the way you write them in this universe!! also, knowing about the little crush she ha(d)s on mav is so funny with this line written and knowing that they know about what kind of night they had 

all in all, I’M SO IN LOVE WITH THEM! and am so happy to see them grace my dashboard! every time i get the honor to read something about them, i’m absolutely floored and am kind of mad at the fact that i don’t get to be her and that i don’t get to have her bradley! jordan, i am in absolute AWE of everything you write and can only dream to write stories with characters that everyone loves the way you have!! you’ve exceeded all my expectations beyond their capacity miss ma’am!!! 🩷🩷🩷

but i kinda hope they catch us - anyway...

Summary: well, you both survived the gala. if only you can survive what bradley has in store for the post-game

OR five times

Pairing: Rooster x Fem!Reader (15.8k)

Warnings: 18+, explicit language, explicit sexual content (oral (f receiving), vaginal fingering, p in v, dom/sub influence, discussions of subspace, and praise, rank, and degradation kink). listen she really internally rambles like...a lot about him and how much she loves him, so like idk. part of 'and even when we're wrong in every way, we come out the other side okay' part 1, part 1.5, part 2.1, part 2.2.1, part 2.2.2

You took a deep breath as you stared at your reflection in the bathroom mirror and tried to hype yourself up. Was it too much? Would he like it? Why were you so nervous?

Because, to be honest, it wasn’t something you’d typically wear - especially not in this color. But it matched your dress and your underwear - and Bradley had liked that just fine. Would he like this though? You fiddled with the bow securing the halter style chemise behind your neck. 

He’d like it, he’d like it, he’d like - you liked it. 

You liked it and you thought you looked pretty and beautiful and sexy in it and because of that, you knew Bradley would like it, too. He would. He would. 

With a final fluff of your hair and check of your makeup, you adjusted your breasts in the white lace cups - you really could’ve done with the next size up, but it was too late now - and left the quiet sanctuary of the bathroom. You peeked your head around the hallway corner to see that Bradley was still on the patio, the sliding glass door just barely cracked open. 

Perfect.  

Darting around the room to dim the lights was only made slightly difficult by your heels, but they were part of the whole thing, the whole bit. You tapped your index finger against your chin, looking for anything amiss as you ran through your mental checklist. The extra set of sheets in the closet were ready to go - you hated having to sleep in messy sheets - there were water bottles within reach, and the lights were dimmed. 

Suddenly, you wished you had listened to Bradley and brought something stronger to drink from home. His scotch wasn’t exactly to your tastes, but you wanted something to give you a little liquid courage after the buzz from the champagne you’d drunk at the gala had mostly worn off about thirty minutes ago. You glanced outside - he was still sitting out there, his back to you, aimlessly scrolling through his phone. There was still time…

You turned back to the desk spanning almost half the wall of the room, flipped over one of the tumblers next to the ice bucket, and poured yourself two fingers of scotch. The face you made upon swallowing was probably the least attractive thing you’d done that night, but no one else had seen it, so it didn’t count. A smudge of your lipstick lined the rim of the glass, reminding you that you hadn’t blotted it when you reapplied. 

The tumbler made a solid thunk when you set it back down on the desk. Out of the corner of your eye, you spotted Bradley’s suit jacket discarded on the couch and an idea struck. The jacket didn’t exactly dwarf your frame even with two buttons fastened to hide what was underneath, but it did provide decent coverage and you figured he’d like it. 

He always liked stuff like that. 

The jacket smelled like his cologne and the cigar he had with Pete and weighed heavily on your chest with all the assorted medals and ribbons that Bradley had explained the significance of at one time or another with the one from earlier that evening the most prominent of them all. With a final deep breath, you crossed the small distance towards the sliding door. 

You slid it open further, so that your whole body would fit, and placed your hands on either side of the frame at shoulder height. With one leg relaxed and bent slightly at the knee, you simply said:

“Are you coming to bed, handsome?”

Bradley huffed out a laugh and glanced up from his phone. “That’s a new one - oh…”

You slinked over towards him and his legs instinctively widened so you could stand between them, while his hands slid up to rest on your hips over the jacket. 

“Was a little cold, had to throw this on for a bit.”

“Hmmm.” He looked up at you, a teasing smile on his face. “You decide to throw out all those ironclad morals of yours and join up?”

You tapped your chin twice with your index finger. “Maybe? Still waiting on the verdict for those war crimes trials…”

Bradley chuckled. “Don’t tell anyone, but you might be waiting a while…” His hands slipped underneath the jacket and brushed against the silk chiffon of your chemise. “Now what do we have here?”

He retracted his hands only to unfasten the two buttons previously keeping the jacket closed. 

“Do you like it?” Please like it.

“Maybe if I could see all of it I might have a better idea…” There was the slightest hint of teasing in his voice and his eyes were alight with mischief. 

You bit your lip and then sat down on his lap, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Be patient.”

The jacket slipped a little as you got situated, which gave Bradley a glimpse at the thick bow tied at the back of your neck and the top of the lace cups. 

He hummed and shifted in his seat, jostling you slightly. “Like I said earlier, I’ve been patient all night. Don’t think I can wait another second, kid…”

Slowly, Bradley’s hands crept up your sides, getting closer and closer to your breasts. He rubbed the silk between his thumb and index finger, not quite yet meeting your eye as he explored. 

Prior to your relationship, you hadn’t really worn lingerie outside of a cute bra and panty set for yourself. Granted, you had bought something more daring once for your ex-boyfriend, Jack, when the two of you had first started dating. But even though he had said all the right things, he had still practically torn the Fleur du Mal matching set off you, not taking any time to savor how the lace had looked against your skin or how prettily you had tied the bows. 

But Bradley? Bradley savored it. Every glimpse of your nipples peeking out through the lace cups, every brush of his hand against the silk, every pretty little bow he had to untie. He savored it - sometimes a little too much, leaving you whiny and panting and desperate for his teasing to stop. 

“Think this one’s my favorite so far.”

You smiled and eventually met his eyes. “You said that last time…”

“And last time it was, but - fuck. You look so gorgeous.”

He pushed his jacket off your left shoulder, then the right, causing it to land on the ground with a solid thud due to all the assorted military paraphernalia. You peered over your shoulder at the pathetic lump of fabric on the patio. 

“I should pick that up. It’s gonna get -”

Bradley grabbed your chin to focus your attention back on him. “- Shhh, it’ll be fine.” He leaned in and sucked on your pulse point for a moment. “Just relax.” 

While he kissed up and down your neck, telling you to just relax after each one, you found yourself doing just that, slowly sagging your body against his and getting into a comfortable position. 

For a moment, you were cold without the jacket. There was a slight breeze coming off the ocean some two hundred yards away and you felt your nipples harden and goosebumps break out up and down your arms. But slowly, you felt warm - buzzed. And that was all due to Bradley and how safe and warm and happy and good he made you feel. And tonight, you had a feeling he was going to make you feel very good.

You turned your head, angling for a proper kiss - your first one since you had gotten back to the room that evening - which Bradley gladly reciprocated.

“You taste like scotch,” he said and then kissed you again. “You hate scotch.” Another kiss. And again and again and again until he was kissing up and down your neck and tickling your sides. 

Your giggles echoed across the patio. “I was nervous,” you admitted, “needed some liquid courage.”

Bradley properly paused and cocked his head. “Nervous?”

You tittered, not thinking he would actually call you out on it. “I don’t know? I don’t normally wear stuff like this? Was just nervous if you’d like it and just everything about tonight - which I know is silly considering what you  -”

“- I was nervous earlier, too,” he confessed like you hadn’t known, “Like I knew I was getting the award and everything, but I had this fear that I didn’t deserve it and they were just gonna take it away - which like I don’t know, it just brought everything back from that day. And how fucking scared I was and just - it was a lot.”

Oh, sweet boy. You cupped his cheek. “It’s okay to have been nervous. You did something really brave and important, Bradley. And that’s something you and Pete will have between you for the rest of your lives. So now, whenever you look at that medal, just think of Pete and everything you guys have gone through, okay?”

Bradley smiled and placed his hand over yours before bringing them both down between the two of you. “I like that, actually. Beats the alternative.” He didn’t let you linger on that last part and kept talking. “You know, whenever it would get to be too much, I’d glance over at you and see you smiling and talking with someone or dancing and I’d be fine - because you were there.”

If possible, you had never felt more love for someone than you did at that moment. Because that’s the way you always felt around Bradley, too. Just seeing his face, knowing he was nearby was enough. It would always be enough. 

Your eyes started to get misty. “Bubs, my nervousness tonight is in no way comparable to what you were going through earlier - let me finish - but I feel the exact same way every single time I look over and see you, just knowing you’re there is always enough for me.”

A huge smile lit up Bradley’s entire face and he squeezed his hands around your hips. God, he was so handsome. “I love you.” 

“I love you, too.” You brushed a lock of hair away from his forehead. “Now kiss me again.”

He didn’t waste another moment and captured your lips with his own, while your arms wrapped around his neck, pulling you even closer to him. As you sat in his lap, biting lips, brushing tongues, roving hands, you repositioned yourself and got comfortable straddling Bradley’s left leg, though you didn’t quite put all of your weight on it. For the first time all evening, your heels hurt your feet. But you knew Bradley would want to take them off himself, so you bore the momentary pain graciously. 

Clearly liking the new position, he grabbed your hips and brought you closer towards him, causing the fabric of his dress pants to create the most exciting ripple against your lace underwear. You couldn’t help the gasp that escaped. 

“You like that?” You nodded and he did it again, this time your underwear brushed perfectly against your clit and you whimpered. 

“You gonna let me be in charge tonight?” he asked like he wasn’t in charge every time you had sex. But you knew what he meant. Bradley needed to be in charge and be dominant and take control tonight. After everything during the gala and all the memories it had brought up, he needed to be in charge. 

And you were always eager and willing to let him. 

“Remember earlier when I asked you for a number between one and five?” You hummed. “And you picked five…” You hummed again, though less sure this time. “Well, that’s how many times you’re gonna come for me tonight.”

Your throat went dry and your pulse quickened. Oh god - oh wow. Five times. Had you known what Bradley had been asking earlier when he coaxed the number out of you, you would have gone for a much more manageable three - maybe four. 

Maybe. 

But five? 

With five it was a foregone conclusion that you would go into subspace during and drop after. Because the last time - really the only time - you’d done either of those, it had taken Bradley doing something you’d never done before to finally get you there. And that was only after he’d already made you come three times. 

“Do you - do you think you could spank me…”

Bradley looked slightly confused and rightly so. It wasn’t out of the ordinary for him to slap your ass while you were having sex. It actually wasn’t something you’d ever asked him to do before. It had long been established between the two of you that it was something you both liked and were free to do. Hell, he had already done it a couple times that evening. 

But you didn’t mean on your ass. 

“Yeah,” it wasn’t quite phrased as a question, but Bradley didn’t sound as sure as he had earlier in the evening when he’d fucked your throat and came on your tits. 

Because he had sounded very sure when he had called you a ‘dumb fucking slut’ whose mouth was ‘only good for one thing.’ Naturally, you’d come and he hadn’t even properly touched you yet. 

“Onmypussy,” you rushed out, your mortification growing slightly when all you got out of Bradley was his eyes widening and his cock twitching. 

He glanced down at your glistening core and smiled wolfishly. “Beg me.”

You whined. “Bradley…”

“You beg me or I don’t touch you the rest of the night…”

No. No, no no. You wanted him - you needed him. You were beyond horny and needy at this point, you were desperate to be fucked, to be filled. You’d beg. You’d beg and beg and beg for him to slap you if that was what it took for his cock to be inside you later.

“Please, Bradley. Please, slap my pussy,” you whined, “Need to come, need you. So desperate and needy for you. Please, please, please - oh!”

The first slap hit your exposed clit and you cried out. From above you, you could tell Bradley was hesitant to proceed. 

But all it took was you saying “Green” for his hands to be on you again. The next slap hit the sensitive skin of your upper thighs and lips. But the third one? The third one hit perfectly. And it was loud and wet and filthy. So fucking filthy. His big hands hit your tender flesh and you let out a desperate moan. Fucking finally. 

After that, you’d tried to keep count of how many times he’d struck you, but were eventually rendered unable to do anything more than mindlessly whimper and babble. 

“- F-five? Five times?”

He mistook your response as hesitance. “Hey - no, we don’t have to if you don’t want to, plain and simple. It was just a game I made up to distract myself before the ceremony -”

Your throat went dry and your cheeks warmed. It was impossible to stop yourself from rolling your hips against his thigh. “You were thinking - that’s what you were thinking about earlier? At dinner? In front of everyone?” He blushed and nodded. “Fuck,” you whined. 

Bradley bent his head down to rest on your chest, right in the valley of your breasts. 

“Fuck, sweetheart, I need you everywhere. Anyway I can have you if you let me.”

And without thinking it over for another moment, you said “yes.” Yes, to five. Yes, to anything he asked you. Yes, to Bradley. 

Bradley. Bradley. Bradley. 

“I wanna try for you.”

A proud smile lit up his face and he pecked you on the lips. “Good girl.” 

You wound your arms around his neck, bringing the two of you closer together before ultimately capturing his lips with your own. 

For how needy you both were, neither of you had any problem just kissing each other. Making out like two horny teenagers who were left unsupervised in someone’s parents’ converted basement. Except now you were very much two adults making out on the patio of your cabana suite after a night spent toasting one of you for their heroics. And no, you did not mean how you survived talking to Emily Simpson and meeting Bradley’s gorgeous ex-girlfriend. 

Not now.

Your hands moved from where they were raking through Bradley’s hair - making it tousled and fluffy - to his shoulders and eventually to his bowtie. The silk slipped through your fingers as you untied the knot, pulling it through the collar of his shirt, which you unbuttoned to expose that pretty neck of his. 

Now you could kiss him. Mark him. Bite that scar on his shoulder. Inhale the scent of his cologne. 

While you had been kissing him, Bradley’s right hand snuck underneath the gauzy fabric of your chemise and started teasing the pretty little bow tied at the back of your thong. All the while, his hand left gripped your hip, anchoring you to his thigh, but still allowing you the ability to grind. 

You were whimpering in between kisses, desperate for the big, strong hand digging into your hip to slip underneath your thong and brush your aching clit. 

The lace. The pants. Bradley. 

It felt so good. All of it. Grinding on his big, strong thigh. Brushing your breasts against his big, strong chest. 

Big. Strong. Bradley. 

It was all consuming. Feeling his mustache brush against your lips and his tongue stroke yours expertly. The way one of his hands snuck up your side to fondle your breasts through the delicate lace. 

It felt so good. And you were already getting so wet. So unbelievably wet that there was definitely going to be a sticky mess on Bradley’s Navy issued slacks if you didn’t let up. 

God, wasn’t that a thought? You had wanted to mark him, sure. But on his chest or neck. A bite on his shoulder. Not your cum on his pants. Could he tell? He had to be able to tell. Shit. You needed to move. 

You shifted and hid a whimper at the unintentional stimulation. 

“…Wait, where’re you going?” Bradley stilled you on his thigh, clearly oblivious to your embarrassment.

You squirmed, but all that did was send another wave of arousal crashing through you. “I don’t want to ruin your pants,” the words came out in a rush.

He cocked his head. “My pants?”

God, you had thought you were beyond getting embarrassed about stuff like this, but apparently grinding on your boyfriend’s thigh with only a thin barrier of white, Italian lace was doing you in that evening. He just looked so handsome and you were already so keyed up and just needed him in any way you could have him.

Bradley. Bradley. Bradley.

“I’m sorry, it just feels like I - I need more and it feels so good, but I don’t want to ruin your pants - I can stop -”

Bradley squeezed your hips and dragged you higher up on his thigh, closer to his crotch. The ripple of the fabric on his pants felt absolutely sinful against your core and you bit your lip to hold back a moan, momentarily forgetting your embarrassment.

“- I don’t mind.” And clearly he didn’t if the prominent bulge in his slacks was any indication.

You ducked your head and he tipped your chin up so you were looking into his beautiful brown eyes. He kissed you and you desperately wanted to get lost in the feeling until you had another thought. 

“- They’ll probably have to get dry cleaned now - the pants, I mean -”

But Bradley just smiled. “- And I will happily expense it - hey, you know you’re currently defacing government property? I know that’s right up your alley.” You smiled. “Now, are you gonna be a good girl and ride my thigh or not?” You nodded twice before he could say another word. “Shhh, shhh, it’s okay sweetheart. Take what you need, it’s alright.”

Given the explicit permission to continue, you resumed grinding on Bradley’s thigh. The combination of the soft lace of your underwear coupled with the coarse fabric of his dress pants was doing wonders against your clit. You dug your hands into his shoulders as you tried to keep your balance, but that was only made harder when Bradley teasingly bounced his leg a couple times. You whimpered. It echoed pitifully across the patio and he chuckled.

“That feel good against you, huh, kid?” You nodded. “Yeah, I bet. I could feel you dripping on me since you sat down. I know you’ve been like this all night.” You nodded again and he clicked his tongue.

You leaned forward to kiss his neck, right along that little white scar. He smelled so pretty and his hands were so big and strong as they dug into your hips.

He was all you could focus on - all you wanted to focus on. Bradley. Bradley. Bradley.

“Awww, look at you trying so hard to come. Such a good girl for me.”

Goosebumps ran up and down your entire body and you felt yourself get even wetter at the praise. You pulled away from his neck - his beautiful, beautiful neck - and kissed him. 

“Fuck,” Bradley gasped against your mouth after a few moments of continued grinding and kisses, “why haven’t we done this before?”

You shook your head quickly. “I don’t know, ‘feels so good though.”

“I like you using me like this.”

His words made you pause, slightly self conscious again. He liked this? “Really?”

“Could be kinda fun for you to take control every once in a while - ‘know you like me to take care of you, but maybe one day?”

It was an interesting idea, one you hadn’t considered too much on your own, at least not seriously. Bradley was so naturally dominant, it just made sense that it would translate in that way to your sex life. But now that you thought about it, he did like when you were a little condescending towards him - and when you called him a good boy. You felt your neck getting warm at the thought. 

“One day, but for now…” 

Bradley pressed hot, sloppy kisses across your chest, occasionally stopping to suck on your pert nipples through the lace of your chemise. You let out a strangled cry as he tweaked your nipple in a way that had your seeing stars. God, it felt so delicious, so good. 

Touch me. Touch me. Touch me. 

His fingers slid underneath the thin straps of your thong and he splayed his hands across your ass cheeks. You let out a pitiful whimper and kept moving, kept rubbing yourself against him. It felt so good and pleasant - an electric hum running through your body - and you had the passing thought that you could actually come from this. You could actually come on your boyfriend’s thigh. 

You wondered what his pants looked like right now and wanted to check, but Bradley tipped your chin up so you were staring into his eyes. 

“Almost there?” You just nodded. “Lemme try one more thing…”

You barely uttered a simple yes when he yanked your thong up so it was digging into your clit. The sudden movement had you crying out, which Bradley smothered with a sloppy kiss. 

Holy fuck. 

Your body tensed and then relaxed again as you rode out your high, before you eventually sagged against his chest. 

Fuck. You can’t believe that just happened. You came riding his thigh. His big, brawny, strong thigh. The fact that what finally pushed you over the edge was the borderline crude or base act of yanking your panties didn’t even embarrass you, it just made you want to come again. 

“Now that wasn’t so hard, huh?”

Bradley kissed your neck, but didn’t move or even signal for you to get up. He just held you there against him as you caught your breath. Eventually, his right hand moved from your lower back to the front of your drenched thong. His fingers slipped underneath the lace and brushed against your wet folds. You gasped as he sunk one then another finger inside you, but you didn’t pick your head up from his shoulder. 

“Bradley,” you whined, the word suddenly too loud for your little patio. Your hips rolled against his hand. “Need your fingers.”

“Shhh hold on, sweetheart.” He leaned back. “Let’s go inside -”

You picked your head up and laid a hand on his arm, stopping him in his tracks. “What if we stayed out here for a bit…”

“If we stay out here someone -”

Your eyes never left his own. “- might hear us…”

You were in the corner room. There was only one room next to yours. One room that shared a wall with your room. One room whose patio was only delineated by a thin cabana awning. One room whose occupants you had both found out earlier in the evening were Jake Seresin - and Sarah fucking Costigan. 

Goosebumps ran up and down your arms. You leaned forward to whisper in his ear. “What if I want someone to hear us? To hear how good you make me feel -”

He said your name; it came out like a warning. 

“ - Have them hear your little civvy girlfriend cry out for her handsome, award winning boyfriend?”

Bradley’s eyes darkened and you knew you had him. The only other thing that could possibly push him over the edge even further was you calling him Lieutenant Commander Bradshaw. 

And there was still plenty of time for that.

“Fuck,” he sounded completely and utterly wrecked. “You sure, kid?”

“I want them to know how good you are.”

It was like a switch had gone off inside his head. From then on, it became all about you. His hands - his big, strong hands - were everywhere, roving over your hips, your ass, your thighs, your breasts. His lips latched onto your neck, while his left hand tweaked your nipple and you sighed and sighed and sighed, each one breathier and louder than the last. 

You wanted him to leave bruises and marks all over your body. You wanted proof. 

“Bradley…” You sounded wanton, but it didn’t stop you from saying his name again - and louder still. 

Hear me. Hear how good my boyfriend makes me feel. Hear how he makes love to me. Hear how much he loves me. 

“Oh god, that feels so good.” You let out a gasp as he scissored his fingers inside you. You could feel your clit throbbing against your underwear, desperate to be touched there again - to come again. 

Noticing your increased neediness, Bradley scoffed. 

“You’re making such a mess. Am I gonna have to clean you up, too - bury my face in that soaking wet pussy? Might have to go back for seconds with the way you’re dripping on me like you didn’t just come on my thigh.”

That sounded heavenly right now. The thought of his mustache tickling the sensitive skin of your thighs and his lips sucking your clit, lapping up all the slick you had just accumulated. You could come right now from the thought alone, but why make do with the thought when you had the man, himself, so willing. 

“Need you to -” you whined, “need your mouth on me, please, please - oof.”

The words barely had a moment to settle when Bradley rolled you both over so he was lying on top of you on the outdoor loveseat. His eyes were blown out as he looked down at you and you shifted under his heady stare. 

He leaned back on his haunches and ran his hands - his big, strong hands - up and down your thighs. “So pretty,” he muttered under his breath, almost like he hadn’t wanted you to hear. And then, louder, he said: “You want my mouth on you?”

“Mmmm, please.” 

Bradley tutted. “Try again.” 

You didn’t know what he wanted. You said please, you used your words, you - oh. His big, strong hand slapped your pussy and you let out a cry as your hips chased after his hand. 

“Please, Lieutenant Commander Bradshaw. Please put your mouth on me.”

“Much better….” He leaned down to blow on your aching cunt. You squirmed - already unbelievably sensitive and wet from the amount of slick on you that hadn’t made its way onto Bradley’s pants.

Bradley. Bradley. Bradley.

“Come on, be a good girl and spread those legs for me - wanna see all of you.” 

He laid your legs over his shoulders and pulled you closer to his face. Before you could even get out a word or a sigh or a plea, he started kissing your thighs. Slowly, painfully, languidly, making his way closer to where you were aching the most. With a final bite on your right thigh, he mouthed at your core through the wet lace of your white panties. 

“Mmm can I take these off now? Unwrap my present?” His plush lips wrapped around your clit through the lace and sucked. 

You threw your arm over your face. It was so hard not to buck up against his mouth - you didn’t want to show him how desperate you were so quickly. It was bad enough you already felt hot and could feel the sweat beading behind your neck right where the pretty white bow was holding up your chemise. 

“Please, please,” you whined. 

Bradley had you briefly roll over so he could get the full experience of untying the bow on the back of your panties before slowly rolling the lace down your legs. Of course, he stashed them in his pants pocket. 

Before you could roll back over, he slapped your ass and you smiled. “Good girl.” Your cheeks warmed and you laid on your back again. 

Now, completely bare and open to the elements and your boyfriend’s heady stare, it was even more apparent that your cunt was positively dripping. He placed your legs back over his shoulders and licked a long stripe across your folds. 

You could feel his pleased hum against your skin. “You taste so fucking good.” 

His voice came out muffled and he continued at a steady pace, alternating between slipping his tongue inside you and probing at your clit. You tried and failed to fist at the couch cushions - anything to center you - and instead grabbed a hold of Bradley’s hair with one hand and played with your breasts through the lace with the other. 

“Bradley…” You let out a whine; it was only slightly exaggerated. “More, more. Please.”

The idea that you sounded pathetic didn’t even cross your mind; you just wanted to come on Bradley’s tongue.

“Shhh, there’s people in the other room…” he mocked, echoing your words from earlier. “You want everyone to hear how much of a slut you are begging me to make you come?” 

He stopped talking - no, he stopped degrading you and went back to work. It was getting harder and harder to stay relatively still the closer you got to completion and you kept shifting your legs on Bradley’s shoulders. The hand with its fingers not shoved up your cunt, moved from where it was leaving marks on your hip to press on your stomach, right below your belly button. 

Then, you whined as his lips wrapped around your clit and squeezed your thighs around his head, pulling at his curls to shift his focus to that special spot. 

“Bradley…Bradley…Bradley…”

There was a pull in your stomach, a deep swooping sensation and you knew you wouldn’t last much longer. 

Five, five, five. 

But you had to try for Bradley. You wanted to be good for him. Be his good girl. Even though he’d call you a slut for it. 

“Fuck, ‘m sorry,” he said, suddenly. 

You somehow managed to lift your head up, dazed, and watched as Bradley took away his hand pressing on your stomach and slipped it down between his own legs. He let up for a moment as he touched himself over his slacks, before diving right back in with such renewed vigor that you bucked up into his face. His stupid (wonderful) mustache dragged across your clit just so. It was euphoric. You could feel your walls tightening around his fingers and tongue and arched your back of the couch as you came.

“Ah! Fuck, fuck, Bradley! Right there, right there - oh - fuck, yes!”

Oh, oh, oh. It felt so good. So good. 

And knowing that he was touching himself because of how good you were being? How receptive you were? Fuck. Something about Bradley’s mouth was extra sinful tonight. Or maybe you were just particularly sensitive. You were basking in the afterglow and you tried to settle your breathing. 

Two. Two. Two down. 

“Your legs are shaking.” Were they? You could hardly tell. “Bet I can get another one out of you like this. You wanna ride my face?”

You moaned. “Don’t think I - don’t have the strength to.” The thought didn’t even cross your mind to say that doing that normally made you nervous. You were always worried you’d break Bradley’s stupidly pretty face or something. 

He clicked his tongue and then started nipping at your upper thighs. “Shame,” he said between kisses, “bet you can’t even fucking walking either. Don’t worry, I’ll take you on your back for the next one, let you rest up.”

All you could do was whimper. The thought of just laying there as he used you was so delicious. Fuck. You loved Bradley’s fingers and tongue, but you really wanted his cock inside you. Have him fill you up. Over and over again. 

Five. Five. Five. 

Bradley. Bradley. Bradley. 

“Gonna have to carry you to bed.” 

He peered his head up from between your thighs and shot you a look, silently asking if that was okay. You didn’t like to be carried despite Bradley’s numerous efforts to prove that it was no big deal. 

You just couldn’t help but think that maybe it wouldn't be as much of a deal if you were a size two instead of a size - no, no, no. Not now. 

Let him. Just let him. Let him love you. Let him love you more. 

“Please.”

He stood up to his full height, towering over you as you still were relaxed against the couch cushions. God, he was so pretty and so wrecked. His starch, white tuxedo shirt was rumpled, half tucked into his pants that he had unbuttoned at one point - and his cock was rock hard and straining against them. 

You had done that. You had done that to him. Made him so desperate with want and need that he had had to touch himself. Would he let you touch him? Would he let you suck his cock? A whimper escaped your lips just thinking about it and Bradley ran his fingers over them. You could smell yourself. 

“Come on. Lemme take you inside.”

Feeling like a lush, you let Bradley pick you up and thanked him by burrowing your face in his neck and pressing sloppy kisses to the exposed skin there. He smelled so good and his neck was so bite-able. You started pawing at the collar of his shirt, trying to push it as far away from his warm body as possible and more access. 

As you nipped at his broad shoulder, he kneaded your ass with the hand not doing the majority of the work holding you up. It was a quick journey to the bedroom, but you didn’t want him to let go of you. You wanted him to be everywhere. His arms wrapped around you, his lips on yours, his cock inside you. 

Bradley. Bradley. Bradley. 

Loathe as you were to let him go, you let Bradley untwine your arms from around his neck and sit you on the edge of the bed, only propped up by your elbows. The sheets felt scratchy against your bare ass and thighs, just how you liked them. You peered up to see Bradley already staring at you, a knowing smile on his face, before he shifted his attention to toeing off his shoes and socks. 

In turn, you realized that you still had your heels on - the ones with the dainty little strap you were scared Bradley would break. (You weren’t really scared, but knew he’d get frustrated with the clasp and didn’t want to be out eleven-hundred dollars.) Once he laid his crisp white tuxedo shirt down on the bed - though not without giving you a cheeky smile and a show - did Bradley give you his full attention once again. 

“God, you look so gorgeous like that.”

You could feel your cheeks warming at his unabashed staring. But he was one to talk! There was the slightest touch of pink on his shoulders from too much time spent out in the sun earlier in the day, but god if Bradley wasn’t absolutely stunning with his dress pants snug on his slutty little waist, while his tan chest had the slightest sheen of sweat on it. You wanted to lick him - everywhere. 

He held out his hand and you cocked your head. “Shoes, kid.”

Oh. You raised your left leg up for him to take off your heel. The way you were sprawled out on the bed - with one leg up, no panties on, and Bradley’s eyes darting between your ankle and your wet pussy - made you feel powerful and desirable. 

And god - did the stretch on your leg feel heavenly. 

As predicted, Bradley did fumble with the clasp (as one would only expect with his big, strong hands), but he more than made up for it with the way he peppered kisses up and down your left leg, before switching and doing the same with the right. 

“I’ve been thinking about this all night,” you sighed and closed your eyes, utterly blissed out.  

Bradley chuckled. You could hear your Jimmy Cho hit the floor somewhere nearby. “What? Me taking your shoes off?”

“Mmmhmm, amongst other things…”

Once he let go of your right foot, you opened your eyes and scampered up on the bed - the fastest you’d moved all night - and watched, dazed, as Bradley fumbled with his belt and pulled his pants down, leaving him in just his boxer briefs. You let out a whine at the sight of the wet patch on them, the proof of his arousal and need for you. And oh god, his cock was so big. 

So big and pretty and perfect and you desperately wanted it in your mouth. To have him fuck your throat until you had to tap out. You felt the slick still dripping down your thighs and made grabby hands at the waistband of his Calvin’s. 

“Can I suck your cock? Please, please, Bradley?”

He swallowed thickly and glanced at the ceiling - the first sign all evening that he was just as fucking gone for you as you were for him. 

Please say ‘yes.’ Please say ‘yes.’ Please. Please. Plea-

“And why should you get rewarded? Pretty sure you told me you’d give me five, not two. Not even halfway there yet…”

Reaching out for his hand, you threaded your fingers together and you pulled Bradley down for a kiss. “Please? Please?” you said between kisses as you pulled him closer and wrapped your legs around his hips, but he just grumbled. 

He sat up and straddled your lap, but didn’t put his full weight on you. “How ‘bout we take this off before we get any further?” His hands fingered the hem of your chemise. 

Reminded of its presence, you could admit that the pretty bow at the back of your neck suddenly felt too tight and confining. You scooched up on the bed to give Bradley better access to take it off, but not before he gave your nipples one final tweak through the lace. Being free of the white chemise meant that you were now totally bare before him. And now, it was like neither of you could get enough of each other, both your hands were everywhere, grabbing at your breasts, running over Bradley’s abs, cupping him through his boxer briefs, kissing and biting and sucking on each other’s lips and neck and shoulders.

Bradley pulled away for a second to get better access to your breasts and you took it as an opportunity to try and roll him over so he was on his back. However, your efforts were all for naught as he wrapped a strong hand around your wrist and held you in place.

“Uh uh, I told you that you’d be on your back for this next one. Got to let you rest up a bit, sweetheart.”

He took the opportunity to lay you back on the bed and drape his body over yours, relishing in the feeling of his muscular legs, his toned chest, his strong arms, and most importantly his throbbing cock. In your current position, there was just enough space between the two of you for you to snake your hand down between your legs and palm at his cock through his boxer briefs. Bradley sucked in a breath and guided your hand in his up and down his shaft.

“Need more of you…”

“Need to make sure you’re ready for me first.” 

As if you weren’t ready for him the second you had walked out onto that patio earlier. 

With an expert touch, Bradley started working you over, getting ready and soon you were squirming, desperate for more of him - for more of Bradley. It was intoxicating almost. This insatiable need to prove you could do it. That no matter how tired you got, you could come five times for him. Let him wring each one out of you like it was the only thing he was put on this Earth to do. 

And right now, his fingers felt heavenly pumping in and out of your pussy while you thrust your hips up to meet his hand. But you knew you needed more. And you knew that Bradley knew that you needed more.

You wrenched your lips away from him and took pleasure in seeing how hard he was breathing. The two of you were a hot and sweaty mess and you desperately needed to remove any final barriers between the two of you. 

“Fuck, I want your cock, Lieutenant Commander Bradshaw. Please.”

There was a brief pause - like time had stood still. Neither of you could deny how absolutely sinful and wanton and desperate his title had just sounded as it slipped from your lips. 

Bradley moaned, deep and guttural. He said your name. “Didn’t we just talk about this? You think you deserve it?” You nodded in quick succession. It was all you wanted right now. It was all you could think about right now. Cuming on Bradley’s cock and letting the entire hotel hear you. “I know you can come without it - how about you clean my fingers off first, you got them all dirty again -”

He shoved his cum soaked fingers in your mouth. You moaned at the taste of yourself and started sucking. Your tongue swirled around his fingertips, making sure you didn’t miss a drop. Fuck, he had such big hands, such big fingers. Strong too. You would do anything he wanted. You gagged as he shoved his fingers further into your mouth and drool pooled at the corners.

“Don’t sound so smart anymore, huh? Were so perfect at dinner. Imagine if everyone saw you now? Such a fucking slut…”

Bradley took his fingers out of your mouth and wiped them on your chest, right in the valley of your breasts. It was sticky and wet, but you’d let him mark you all over a thousand times just so everyone would know you were his. You whimpered at the thought.

“Now be a good girl and lie back for me.”

You shifted to lie back on the bed - just as he had asked. Your head was cradled by the fluffy, white pillows at the top of the bed and your legs were stretched out in front of you. But you wanted Bradley on top of you. You wanted him inside you. You wanted him, you wanted him, you wanted -

“Knees up.” 

Not waiting for you to obey, he held your legs wide open, leaving you completely exposed. You tried to roll your hips up for some sort of friction - anything, really - but Bradley let out a grunt of reproach and you immediately stilled. His pupils were blown wide and his hair was so messy - so unlike Bradley. Did you look that wrecked? Did you look that desperate? You hoped you did.

“Gonna tear you in half, kid.” 

His words sent a wave of arousal over your entire body. Your face felt hot, your pulse quickened, your nipples hardened, and your felt your pussy clench on air. It was like you hadn’t already come twice that evening - you were that desperate and that horny for him. 

And by the looks of the impressive tent in Bradley’s boxer briefs, he was just as desperate for you. Probably even more so since you hadn’t even taken care of him yet. Selfish, selfish bitch. Under your watchful stare, Bradley slipped off his boxer briefs, discarding them somewhere behind him. And god, did he look beautiful. 

You made grabby hands at his cock and he chuckled. “Alright, alright.”

His cock pulsed in your gasp and you swiped your thumb over the slit to rub his pre-cum over the head. Such a pretty cock, wasn’t it? Seven and a half glorious inches with the prettiest veins and head to top it off. Your hand could barely fit around it. You’d become intimately familiar with it over the last six months and you still never got tired of how divine it felt in your mouth or thrusting in and out of your cunt. It was just as pretty as Bradley. The Pride of the Navy, you’d once called it. You could write sonnets about it. (You wouldn’t, but you could.)

Pulling back from your hands with a hiss, Bradley leaned his body over you and pressed a lingering kiss to your lips, which then turned to one on your neck, your breasts, and then your tummy.

“Ready?” You nodded. Together, Bradley lifted your hips up slightly and you lined up his cock head with your entrance. And then there was the one thing you could never get used to: the stretch. Your back arched and you let out a breathy gasp. 

The two of you fell into a perfect rhythm, knowing the exact way to bring the other to release. Once you got comfortable, Bradley grabbed both your wrists with one hand and held them up over your head. 

“Ohhhh, Bradley,” you whimpered. It didn’t sound like you. Your heart was pounding like crazy and your chest was heaving with each breath. 

It was addicting. The knowledge that you had to push through to five. Normally, you got sleepy and sluggish and slow after two or three, but pushing yourself to five - for Bradley - was addicting. 

Bradley, Bradley, Bradley, you kept repeating his name like a mantra. 

Because nothing else was enough. Nothing else would convey how much he meant to you, how good he was making you feel as he drove into you again and again. You’d never felt closer to someone before in your entire life - never felt closer to God or the almighty or whatever you wanted to call them than you did right in that moment with Bradley. 

Bradley, Bradley, Bradley. Again and again and again you cried out his name. 

I love you, I want you, I need you. 

Take me, love me, have me. 

Bradley, Bradley, Bradley. 

“God, you’re such a good girl for me…”

That was all you wanted - all you ever wanted - to be Bradley’s good girl and have him lavish praise oupn you. To take care of him and be good for him. 

Please let me be good for you. 

God, you weren’t going to last for him. Your breathing was coming faster, the way his cock was thrusting into you was coming faster - it was all coming faster. 

“How’d I get so lucky to have the most perfect girl in the entire world? Can’t believe I wanted to keep you to myself.”

“Bubs…” 

His hands tightened on your wrists. Big, strong. “Because everyone thinks you’re the one in charge, sweetheart - everywhere. In every aspect of our relationship. But you’re not when we’re like this, are you?”

“No, no - you are. ‘Like when you tell me what to do.” 

Whenever Bradley wanted to take control of something and let you get lost in the pleasure of him and get lost in him, you did. It didn’t happen all the time - not like this, at least. But he made you feel safe and protected. He was brawny and broad and big and strong and in his arms you never felt like anything bad was going to happen. 

And it might be vanilla or boring or whatever, but you loved missionary sex. You loved being that close to Bradley. You loved feeling the weight of his body all over you. You loved being able to look into his eyes as he pounded into you and told you things he would otherwise never say about you. You loved how he would hold your hands above your head and thread your fingers together. You loved how good it all made you feel. 

“You’re so strong, make me feel so safe,” you were rambling at this point, unknowingly debunking every insecurity Bradley had earlier in the evening. 

Tell me I’m bad if only to patch me up later and tell me I’m good. 

You cried out - loudly - as Bradley drove into you deeper and more than ever before. 

“Bet you want everyone to hear you now, don’t you.” He paused to collect himself. “Hear how good you’re getting fucked?”

Your words came out slow, just like every thought running through your head. “Want ‘em to hear how well you take care of me. Hear how well you stretch me out.”

“Color?”

“Green,” you whined. You sounded beyond pathetic. He changed the angle, pulled your leg up higher around his hip.

You glanced down to see where the two of you were connected and let out a whimper. At the borderline obscene sight, your arms broke out into goosebumps and you felt your nipples harden. Fuck, he felt so good. You felt so good. And loved and cherished and full. So fucking full. And it was all you could think of - how full you were and Bradley, Bradley, Bradley. 

“Wanna be - good,” you slurred. The words felt heavy on your tongue, like you were underwater, sinking lower and lower. You arched your back, bringing yourself closer to Bradley. 

Bradley, Bradley, Bradley. 

“You are. But right now I wanna take care of you, kid.”

“‘Do - you do. Always.”

You wondered what you looked like right now? Fucked out. Mouth open. Hair rumpled. Makeup smudged. A whiny, desperate mess. What did you look like? What did Bradley see? 

You could hear him talking to you, telling you how you were such a good girl for him. Please keep talking. He needed to keep telling you how good you were. 

How good your cunt felt around him. How sweet you smelled as he nibbled at your neck. How he couldn’t wait till his cum was dripping out of you. How he couldn’t believe that a whiny whore like you had been wearing white lingerie like some innocent little debutante. 

“I could get you to do anything if I promised you my cock, couldn’t I?”

You whined. You still wanted to suck his cock. Would he let you? It always looked so pretty and felt so good in your mouth. As Bradley repositioned your leg, you let out a particularly pathetic cry. 

(That one’s got quite the mouth on her.) 

Rationally, you knew you could respond with words and say all kinds of things like yes and more and of course, Bradley, anything or just Bradley Bradley Bradley and even that one word you dared not even think. But it was so much easier to just whine and keen and whimper. Your back arched and you stared at the white and gold patterned headboard and then at the mirror above it. Could Bradley - no. He wouldn’t be able to see himself in the mirror. 

But you wanted to - you wanted to see yourself in the mirror. See Bradley pounding into you over and over again, your back arched, your breasts pushed out, nipples hard as you played with them. Even your legs over his shoulders. 

You imagined you looked pretty, seeing yourself how Bradley saw you. It caused a particularly loud whimper to escape your mouth. Because that was all you could do - whimper, whine, and keen. It was so much. All of it. But you liked it. You really liked it. 

“God, sweetheart. You’re fucking milking my cock.” You whined. “Haven’t I taken care of you enough tonight?”

Yes. Yes. Yes. Bradley had taken such good care of you! He always did. Like you were the most precious thing on earth. Please, please, please. Bradley, Bradley, Bradley. 

“S’ good to - me.” Was that your voice? It didn’t even sound like you. 

“I know, kid.”

You could feel yourself tighten around his cock and slightly canted your hips up to meet his pelvis. A sudden sense of urgency coursed through your veins and your senses became even more heightened. With your hands pinned above your head, the only way for you to pull him closer was to dig your ankle into the back of his thighs, right near his perfectly tight ass. 

It was wet and loud as your bodies collided and you knew if he moved just slightly you’d come: you were that keyed up and overstimulated. 

Three. Three. Three. 

But somehow, Bradley bet you to completion. “I’m so close,” he finished with your name like a plea. “Can’t wait for you…”

“Take it.” Take it. Take whatever you want. Take me.

His thrusts got sloppy and less precise, but he managed to pound into your g-spot a few more times before he let out a moan and spent himself inside you. You could tell it took a lot out of him, but he deserved it. Bradley deserved everything. Bradley was so perfect and strong and kind and - he was saying your name, trying to get you to finish with him still inside you. You loved the feeling of his cock and cum inside you. It made you feel absolutely divine. You were close. Would he be proud of you if you came just now?

“I got you, I got you,” he muttered. 

He kept himself propped up on his left forearm, but brought his right hand - which had previously been holding your wrists above your head - down between your bodies, teasing you until he reached your clit. And just like you thought, it only took a little more for you to come in his arms. 

“Gonna - ahhh! Come - please, please, Bradley. Bradley, Bra - ahhhhh,” your last cry was stolen from you as you got lost in the haze of your orgasm. 

You felt weightless and floaty after you reached your high. Your legs relaxed from their tight hold on Bradley’s thighs. He pressed what felt like hundreds of kisses to your face, telling you time and time again that he loved you. 

“There you go, good girl. Such a good girl. Listen to how pretty you sound.”

Eventually, he rolled off you and settled himself further down the bed so that his head was positioned near your left hip. As you caught your breath, you mindlessly ran your fingers through his hair. He has the softest, prettiest hair. It always got blonder in the sun, like he was kissed by the gods or something. You didn’t know how long you did it, it could’ve been five minutes or fifteen, but eventually Bradley let out a pleased hum and glanced over at your spread legs. 

He clicked his tongue. “Can’t believe you’re just wasting all that. All that hard work…”

Your cheeks warmed. He was looking at the cum dripping out of you, staining your thighs. A perfect mix of the two of you - of your want and need and love for each other. Just like a child would be the perfect mix of the two of you. 

And you were wasting it. It was dripping out of you right onto the sheets. Selfish, selfish bitch.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, ashamed to have disappointed him. 

Bradley rolled over onto his stomach and slotted himself between your spread legs. “So, what’re we gonna do about this, huh?”

Whatever you want. All you could do was shimmy your hips, inviting him to take charge. His eyes were alight with mischief and he sprang up from his position on his stomach to grab your waist and throw you back down on the bed, except this time on your stomach. You let him manhandle you into some sort of child’s pose - ass up, face down into the down pillows. It made you feel vulnerable in the best kind of way.

“How about we try this?” Bradley ran his big, strong hands over your hips.  “That’s my girl. Bet you like this, both of your holes completely exposed to me.” He slapped your ass lightly. You moaned when he did it again, except harder. “Color?”

Despite being a little muffled, you still spoke loud enough for him to hear you. “Green.”

Bradley’s hand slipped down to brush against your sensitive clit and then he slid his fingers into your pussy with ease and groaned your name. “So good, look at how much you came.” Your back arched and you burrowed your face even further into the fluffy white pillow. “Such a greedy fucking pussy we have here…”

In and out. In and out went his fingers - fucking his cum back inside you. You were whining. You were crying. You were floating. 

“It’s all mine, belongs right back inside you.”

“Yours.”

Bradley chuckled. “Yeah, all mine. Mine to take.” His fingers dragged down your walls before sliding back in. 

It felt divine. 

“Oh - fuck. So much, Bradley.” It wasn’t too much; it wasn’t enough. You were floating. There were no thoughts in your head besides Bradley and coming. 

Four. Four. Four.

“Can’t waste any.” Of course not.

You never wanted to waste any of Bradley’s cum. It felt so good inside you. You loved when he filled you up like this. Maybe he’d let you warm his cock later? He deserved it. And more. Anything he wanted.

Anything.

Bradley had done such a good job tonight. He was so perfect, so impressive. So beautiful. Everyone loved him. Bradley. His friends, his colleagues - you. You loved him. You loved him. You loved -

Your tongue felt heavy in your mouth, but you wanted to tell him. “Perf-ect,” was all you could manage. Love me, love me, love me more. “‘M close.” Again.

“Fuck, I know. Da - I’ll take care of you. Always take care of you.”

You let out a cry. Bradley always took care of you. Such good care of you. Always.

“Bradley, Bradley, Bradley,” you realized you were saying his name out loud and had been for some time. It was pathetic how far gone you were. “F-four. Four.”

But to your horror, when you took a breath to center yourself, you couldn’t. You couldn’t get back to yourself. You were still overwhelmed, almost like your body was taking too long to catch up to what was happening. It felt like you were on fire. Like you had run a marathon. Your breaths came in pants and you wanted more, you needed more. But how? If you already felt this overstimulated, how could you need more? Maybe it was the position? Ass up, face down? The throbbing and thrumming of your clit was driving you insane. And Bradley’s big, strong hands and fingers were overstimulating you in a way you’d never felt before. 

Tell him. Tell him to stop. Tell him. He’ll do it. Tell him. Tell - 

“- Bra-adley,” your voice sounded small, like it wasn’t connected to you, but it was still insistent, “I - I can’t do it anymore - please, I - yellow.”

His fingers stopped slowly - not so abruptly that you’d be in even more discomfort - and carefully turned you over so you were on your back with your legs laid out on the bed. Bradley propped himself up on his side and looked you over intently. Your heart was beating so fast, it felt like it was going to burst out of your chest. Your eyes fluttered closed.

It was quiet in the room except for both of your labored breathing. But even in your haze, you could tell it was too quiet. 

Yellow. 

You had never had to say it before. But you felt too overwhelmed. Like you were going to burst and cry and that Bradley would be disappointed in you that you couldn’t last. You felt your eyes fill with tears. You’d only gotten to four - if what you just felt could even be classified as four. You’d promised. You said you would try - and you failed. 

Four. Four. Four. 

You glanced up to see Bradley’s eyes were wide with concern. “Hey, hey, it’s alright, what is it?”

“Slower. ‘S too much. ” It had been. But you still wanted him beside you. Holding you, reassuring you, loving you. 

“Want me to hold you?” He read your mind. He was so sweet and kind and you loved him. You loved him so much. You started to nod, but then remembered your words. “Please?”

Take care of me, hold me, love me. 

Fuck. Even shuffling closer to Bradley made you cry out. You were so sensitive. And so overstimulated. But you still wanted to come again. You just needed to go slower.

Bradley’s hands grabbed your hips, pulling your ass against his crotch, and he wrapped his arms around your stomach. Oh, you felt so warm - warm and safe and loved. You grabbed one of his hands and brought it to your lips, pressing a light kiss across each of his knuckles. At the same time, Bradley peppered kisses up and down your neck and across your left shoulder. 

Had he marked you? You wanted him to mark you. All over your thighs, your neck, your breasts. Show everyone you were his. His good girl. Your cunt was still throbbing and needed to be filled again by him - by Bradley. 

Bradley, Bradley, Bradley.

It seemed like no time and so much time had passed since you’d been chanting his name, since he’d held your wrists in his big hands, since he’d kissed your breasts, since he’d filled you up with his cum. You whimpered, lost in the thought. 

“‘Still need to come again - one more time for you.”

He made shushing noises. “‘s okay, kid. Like doing this too.”

It was hard to tell how long you laid there wrapped in each other’s arms. Safe and warm and loved. Bradley even started humming at one point. The song was pretty even if you didn’t know it. But everything Bradley did was pretty to you right now. 

Eventually, you got a little too desperate again and started squirming against him. The rumble from his amused chuckles made you relax again, but you could tell he was more than ready whenever you were. 

“Feel too empty…”

“Want me back inside you?” You nodded and twisted your head to press kisses to Bradley’s neck. “Front? Or behind?”

“Behind,” you whispered. It would make you feel smaller, more precious, to have his arms wrapped around you. 

“Why don’t I let you set the pace this time, huh?” 

His fingers ghosted over your sensitive clit and you whimpered. “Okay…”

Something about the way you were positioned this time made everything more intimate. You felt more dear. Not that you didn’t love missionary and whenever Bradley’s eyes were on you as you fell apart. But having his arms wrapped around you and being cocooned in his warmth and essence was absolutely divine after how wrecked you were. 

It was overwhelming, but in the best kind of way this time. You were crying. There were tears streaming down your cheeks. And you felt so good. So good. Like you could stay like this forever. Like you would do anything to feel this good again. To make Bradley feel this good again. Bradley, Bradley, Bradley. 

Did he feel good? Were you making him happy? Oh, you hoped you were. That’s all you wanted. To make him feel good and be good for him. You wanted to be good for him. Always. Bradley, Bradley, Bradley. 

You should tell him that. Tell him how you wanted to be good for him. He had to know. He had to know because what if he didn’t and he thought you were selfish? He had made you feel good so many times tonight. Bradley, Bradley, Bradley. 

Because no. You couldn’t come again until he did. Until he spent himself inside you and filled you up. You liked when he did that. When he made you feel full. With his cock nestled inside you. You wanted him inside you forever if it meant you’d feel that good.

Five. Five. Five. 

You were so close. So close to doing what he had asked. What he had thought about all evening at dinner. Did he imagine this as he was getting his award? Did he imagine fucking you like this as you danced? Did he imagine he’d have fallen in love with the girl from the bar all those months ago?

Five. Five. Five. 

It went on like that for a little longer, both of you letting out gasps and moans and whimpers as you neared closer and closer to completion. Bradley thumbed over your clit with his right hand, playing with the nub. Combined with the way he was kneading your breasts and sucking on your neck, you knew you were close.

You gasped as your pussy fluttered around his cock, except this time it felt different. Deeper. Harder. More intense. The pull behind your belly button crashed through you and you felt like you jumped out of your body for a moment. You clenched down on him, moaning as he plunged deeper inside you.

“Sweetheart, you keep doing that, I’m not gonna last much longer.”

Then don’t, the words were on the tip of your tongue, but you couldn’t get them out. Instead, all Bradley got from you was another slow and deep roll of your hips, followed by a strangled cry. He kept murmuring your name in your ear, saying how good you felt around his cock, how warm you were, how sweet you tasted as he licked your neck. Again, you could tell he was close as his thrusts got sloppier.

Five. Five. Five. Almost there. Almost there - oh!

“Bradley,” you cried out, gripping his hand on your breasts to try and anchor yourself to something because you felt like you were about to jump out of your skin. His dick was so big and stretched you just so.   

“Five,” Bradley said. He bit your shoulder and you spasmed around him, before he followed suit, shooting his cum inside you. You whimpered at the sensation, feeling so full and dirty and beautiful, and shook in Bradley’s arms. 

After both of you caught your breath, Bradley slipped out of you and the two of you laid on the bed, heads on the pillows, bodies tucked under the sheets, chests rising heavily as you stared at the ceiling in awe. 

You had never felt like this before. Five. Five. Five. Bradley. Bradley. Bradley. 

“Fuck,” Bradley stretched the word out. He crossed his forearms over his forehead and took another deep breath. “That - that was -” he broke off.

You arched your back one final time and stretched out on the bed before rolling back over towards him. You nuzzled his neck, trying to get as close to him as possible. But it wasn’t enough - you needed to be closer. You wanted to have his arms wrapped around you. You wanted to lick where the sweat was beading on his neck. You wanted him to consume you. Tell you that you were good. That you had done a good job. 

“Hey.”

“Hi,” you whispered back. 

He tucked your hair behind your ear. “You alright, kid?” You smiled and nodded. “You did such a good job - always do such a good job.”

You preened under the praise and started peppering kisses across Bradley’s shoulder and neck. He was so pretty and warm and smelled so good. So pretty, so warm. Bradley, Bradley, Bradley. 

After a moment, he tipped your chin up so you could meet his eyes and then pressed his lips to yours. Without breaking the kiss, you sprawled out on top of him with your legs on either side of his hips. Some of the cum still inside you even made its way onto his stomach with the new position - you weren’t supposed to waste any of it. You promised you wouldn’t -

It took Bradley saying your name twice for you to pull back for a moment. “Why don’t we get you cleaned up?”

You laid your cheek down on his chest and started tracing the freckles on his biceps with your finger. “Wanna sleep right here.”

“You can,” he gave you a quick peck on the lips, “we just gotta do a couple things first, alright?”

Bradley rolled over so now he was leaning over you and pressed a kiss to your lips before he climbed out of bed. He pulled you over towards the edge of the bed and let your feet dangle off the side. “Now where’s my - aha.”

He grabbed his white tuxedo shirt that had been discarded on the floor earlier and brought it over to you. 

“Arms out, kid.” Slowly, like you were wading through water, you held your arms up and Bradley slipped the shirt on you before fastening a couple buttons. “Alright, sit tight.”

He gave the wall lamp to your right another click and you squeezed your eyes shut at the slightly increased brightness. 

“Sorry,” he muttered, before picking up the phone hidden in the bedside nook and dialing for room service. “Yeah, hi. Can I get a large order of fries and two ginger ales - wait, do you have Gatorade? Oh - no, she only likes the blue - yeah, then just the ginger ales and fries? Uhhh room 4114, I think? Yeah, under Bradshaw. Okay, thanks - yeah, have a good night.” He hung up the phone.

Food. He ordered food. And a soda. You were hungry. And tired. Really tired. Your thighs ached. 

“Here.” Bradley grabbed a water bottle off the nightstand and gave it to you, cap off. You took a few greedy sips and then handed it back to him and he finished off the bottle. 

You were still sitting on the edge of the bed. You hadn’t moved. It was like you were still waiting for Bradley to tell you what to do next. Was Bradley happy with you? Did he still want you so close to him? Would he hold you? You wanted him to hold you. 

“Hey.” He was suddenly sitting next to you. Or maybe not - you felt like you were floating and had just gotten back on solid ground. Bradley grasped your chin. “Ahh, there she is. I’m gonna rinse off, you wanna come with me or stay in bed?” 

You cleared your throat. “Wanna go with you.”

He smiled and kissed you on your forehead. “Then let’s clean you up first - I’ll be right back.”

And true to his word - and more importantly before you could muster up a reply to tell him not to go - Bradley came right back holding a slightly wet hand towel. 

“Alright, kid, lay back.” 

You flopped back on the duvet, but your legs remained hanging off the edge of the bed. At first, you squirmed at the sudden warmth from the towel, but as Bradley ran it across your upper thighs and towards your still wet core, you couldn’t help but find it soothing. 

It felt nice - comforting - as he cared for you. You sighed and stretched, feeling like a cat. Languid and warm. Bradley chuckled and eventually stopped, but not before pressing a kiss to the inside of your knee. 

“All set, come on.”

He stood up from his spot between your legs and held his hands out for you to grab so you could sit up. Then you followed him into the bathroom. He got you situated on the counter before he hopped into the glass shower without even turning it on or allowing it to heat up. 

“You wanna come in with me?” You shook your head. No. The water was cold. You were warm - or at least you had been when you were in bed. And sure, you could have stayed there. But you wanted to be with Bradley.

So, after quickly going to the toilet while he got situated, you sat on the marble countertop, legs crossed at your ankles, and watched him. Watched the soap run down his body - down his tan chest and thick thighs - as he cleaned his body and scrubbed his face. 

Without a doubt, Bradley was the prettiest boy you’d ever seen. And he was yours. He was your boyfriend. He loved you. He wanted to spend time with you. And be with you. You you you you you. 

“You sure you don’t wanna come in with me?” Bradley teased you. “Or are you just gonna stare at me?”

Had you been more coherent, you probably would have made a quip about how he was the one with the soapy titties this time, but you just shook your head and said:

“You’re so beautiful.”

You could see the blush creep up his neck at your sudden honesty. The water shut off a moment later and then Bradley grabbed a fluffy white towel off the rack and dried off in the shower. He dried his hair first, making it all messy and fluffy, before he wrapped the towel around his waist and approached you. 

You swung your legs back and forth. “I look too pretty to go to bed.”

“Mmmhmm, way too pretty.” He kissed your forehead and then your lips. “But you’re gonna be mad at me if I let you go to bed with your makeup on…” 

He had a point, loathe as you were to admit it. But instead of doing your skincare routine yourself, Bradley was the one who got out your makeup remover and serum and night cream. Granted, he snuck a little for himself and rubbed at your eyes a little too hard to get your mascara off, but he did a good job. 

You had to draw the line at letting him brush your teeth for you, though, and did it yourself. 

And then finally, Bradley held his hand out for you to hop off the counter and the two of you went back to the bedroom where he threw on a pair of sleep shorts. You were still a little slow to the chase, so while he made the bed with the fresh sheets in the closet, you held two of the pillows close to your chest and watched from the foot of the bed. 

Luckily, Bradley shared your appreciation for hospital corners and tight sheets on a bed and once it was made to both your tastes, you slipped back in between the sheets. 

They felt just as scratchy as they had earlier in the evening, but were just how you liked them. Bradley made sure you were settled before he walked around to his side of the bed and let you snuggle up beside him. His body was so warm and he smelled so good and you felt your eyelids getting heavy. It was a miracle you hadn’t truly fallen asleep yet. You always got a little sleepy after you orgasmed once - let alone five times. 

Fuck - that had really happened. Bradley really loved you that much. More to the point, you really loved Bradley that much. 

“Bradley?” He hummed and looked down at you. “I don’t ever want to let you go.”

“Come here.” You scooched up and kissed him sloppily. Eventually, he let you go and you let out a sigh as your shirt rubbed against your sensitive breasts. “Rest. I’ll wake you up when the food’s here.”

That sounded really nice. “Mmm, okay.” You yawned. “Love you, bubs.”

“Love you too, kid.” And then he pressed a kiss to your forehead and you were asleep before you knew it. 

Some time later, a soft knock echoed throughout the room, but it didn’t seem loud enough to be coming from your door. You let out a soft grunt as you felt Bradley sit up in bed and begrudgingly opened your eyes. 

The knock repeated - again, sounding a bit far off still and couldn’t be at your door with room service - and Bradley glanced at you and you shrugged before he eventually got up to investigate. Shuffling across the room and down the short hallway, Bradley threw on a grey crewneck sweatshirt and swung open the door.

 A cacophony of voices soon hit your ears and that was when you realized that the bellhop wasn’t at your door delivering your french fries and ginger ales - he was at Jake and Sarah’s. 

“ - I’m telling you I didn’t order this and I don’t want to be charged for it -” 

You took that as your queue to join Bradley at the door and scampered out of bed. Mindful of the fact that Bradley’s shirt just barely covered your ass, you hid behind him. You were nosy - sue you.

Once you fell into Jake’s line of sight, you saw the eating grin on the blond’s face. He was clad in a pair of shorts and a ratty t-shirt. He didn’t look as handsome as Bradley did. 

“Well, now, look who it is? Rooster, this order of fries for you? Or Miss Chatty fucking Cathy?”

Bradley puffed out his chest, but largely ignored Jake and instead turned towards the bellhop, who was apologizing profusely about the mix up. 

Miss Chatty fucking Cathy who did he think he was?

“- This for Bradshaw?” 

The bellhop nodded and handed Bradley the slip to sign before he took off. He even left the cart there, which he probably wasn’t supposed to do. Taking a page out of Bradley’s book, you also patently ignored Jake and glanced at the french fries and ginger ales and glasses of pellet ice on the cart. You turned your focus back onto Bradley, completely ignoring what he was saying to Jake. It was like the blond man didn’t even exist to you at the moment.

God, Bradley was so smart, so kind, so thoughtful. He took such good care of you. The way he kissed that stretch mark you hated on your stomach or the way he knew to lift your hips up the first time he slipped inside you. He treated you like you were the most precious thing in the world - except when he didn’t and even then you still melted and keened in his arms. 

Oh, he was so perfect and handsome and beautiful. It was unreal how much you loved him - sometimes you wondered how he was yours? Just yours? He was so pretty and handsome. Pretty boy. 

His hair was still wet from his shower and the perfect amount of messy. Maybe he’d play with your hair later? Would he let you wear his sweatshirt? It was probably warm and soft and smelled like him. Like his fancy cologne and something so Bradley. You just wanted him to -

“- Jesus, Bradshaw, what’d you do to the poor girl?”

You blinked, realizing you had been staring at Bradley’s face - his beautiful, pretty face - for god knows how long and tucked yourself behind him. Luckily, you were too far out of it to be too embarrassed (that would come tomorrow). 

“I mean I heard what you were doing to her, but didn’t realize you also mauled her - Jesus, look at her thi -”

“- Don’t you dare fucking finish that sentence.” You felt yourself heat up at the timbre of Bradley’s voice. His entire body was tense and you squeezed his hand.

He was so protective, so strong. He loved to take care of you. He always wanted to take care of you. 

Take care of you. Take you. Take you. Take you. 

“Apologize.” His voice was like steel. “Now.”

Jake looked like he wanted to scoff or even laugh, but something in Bradley’s face must have scared him. “Fine, fine,” he turned to look at you, “my sincere apologies, darlin.’” You didn’t appreciate the nickname and neither did Bradley judging on the growl he let out. “Alright, Jesus, fuck. I’m sorry for any inappropriate comments I may have directed towards you, okay?” You glanced up at Bradley and then fleetingly back at Jake before nodding. 

“Alright, good - just promise you’ll knock twice on the wall if there’s going to be an encore, so I can know if I need to change rooms or not - enjoy the -” Bradley slammed the door shut in his face “- fries!”

“Fuck off,” he muttered and took your hand. It might have been a bit overkill for the short trip back to bed, but you couldn’t help but smile. “Sorry about that, you good?” You nodded. 

The room service cart rattled as it made the trip further in the room and your mouth watered at the smell of the fries. You failed to stifle a giggle once you heard Bradley’s stomach growl. 

“Hey,” he exclaimed, “you’re the one that made me work up an appetite!”

Both of you sat on the bed and got situated with your sodas on each nightstand and laid the fries between the two of you. For the first time, you noticed Bradley had turned the TV on low and watched as the closed captioning ran across the bottom of the screen. 

“Moonstruck?” He turned towards you and nodded. “I didn’t even hear it.”

He blushed. “You were pretty knocked out.”

You wrapped your legs around Bradley’s under the covers. “Well, no one’s ever made me feel like that before…”

“Oh, really?” He looked too cocky - though you supposed it may have had some merit that night. You threw a fry at him. “Hey, these are eighteen dollar fries, champ.” You threw another one, which in turn made Bradley take the plate onto his side of the king-sized bed. “Miss Moneybags thinks we can just waste these…” he muttered.

You giggled. You spent the next few minutes wordlessly holding out your hand, waiting for Bradley to give you a couple fries until he got tired of it and just gave you back the plate. It was amazing how half a plate of fries and some ginger ale could have you feeling like your normal self again. You still couldn’t get over how spacey and out of it you had been. The two of you needed to talk about it, do a debrief of sorts.

Trying to get his full attention, you pressed your foot against Bradley’s thigh under the covers. “Owww, Jesus fuck - your feet are cold.”

“Sorry,” you giggled, but continued rubbing them up and down Bradley’s shins. He made a funny face, but kept his eyes on the movie, trying to play it cool. 

You then handed him the plate of french fries balancing precariously on your side of the bed. Once the plate was placed on the nightstand, Bradley wrapped his arm around your shoulder, pulling you close. A huge rush of affection surged through you for the man beside you. 

He just made you happy. Every little thing about him. He made you happy. He made you better. 

“I like when you take care of me.” Your face was buried so deeply in his chest, you didn’t think he had heard you until he pressed a kiss to your forehead. You tilted your head up to look at him. “You’re always so good to me. Make me feel so safe. Never trusted anyone else enough to do that.”

Bradley blushed. “Well, I - I was worried it was too much sometimes and I liked when you told me to slow down - well, liked is the wrong word, but I’m -” he cleared his throat, “we’ve never had to do that, but I’m glad you said something.”

“I am too. Like I said, you always make me feel safe.”

The two of you turned your focus back to the movie. It was your favorite part - Loretta was waiting for Johnny at Lincoln Center. It was all so romantic: La Boheme and Christmas lights -

Bradley cleared his throat, but kept watching the TV. “I know we don’t do that a lot…” That was putting things mildly. “But I really liked it - making you feel good - because it makes me feel go -”

“- You can say it turned you on, Bradley. It was rather obvious.” He finally turned to look at you. His cheeks were red - something you wouldn’t have found possible after all you had done together that evening. “I won’t tell anyone.”

“Well…I’m pretty sure everyone in our hallway could hear how much it turned you on, so don’t think that’ll matter too much...” 

Your mouth gaped open in shock and then you both dissolved into giggles. Your hands snuck under the covers and tickled Bradley’s sides, getting even more giggles out of him and he quickly followed suit. 

“And can I - Bradley!” He stopped tickling you, but you had to take a breath to control your giggling. “Can I tell you something else?” He hummed. “I liked imagining you were watching us in the mirror above the bed.”

A smile slowly crept across his face. “Really?”

“Mmmhhmm. ‘Kept thinking about what I looked like, what you looked like - all of it.” You felt your cheeks heating up at the thought. You had a full length mirror in your walk-in closet that could definitely provide a different point of view. 

It was like Bradley had read your thoughts when he said: “Maybe we can figure out something for our anniversary…”

“Six months.”

He kissed you. “Six months.”

“Are you gonna give me six orgasms then?” You wouldn't make it to seven months in your relationship if Bradley tried to give you six orgasms. 

“I don’t know if you’re ready for that, kid.”

You giggled. “Probably not.” 

The two of you went back to mindlessly snacking on your fries and watching the movie. The fries were absolutely delicious and you were tickled that they remembered to give you mayo, something Bradley always made fun of you for liking. 

By now, Loretta had found her father at intermission and both of them agreed not to have seen each other. Your favorite part was coming up soon, but seeing the awkward scene in the movie, you couldn’t help, but think of your own similar moment from earlier. 

“I’m sorry if I made things awkward with Jake...”

Bradley’s jaw twitched and he took a long sip of his ginger ale before replying. “‘s not your fault Hangman’s an ass.” 

“Still, I feel bad.” Your voice came out small. 

“You,” he kissed your cheek, “are absolutely perfect and,” he kissed your nose, “I will gladly take any teasing Hangman sends my way if it means I get to think of you like that again.” He kissed your lips. “Got it?”

You ducked your head. “Got it.”

“Alright, good. Now there’s something really important I need to talk to you about…”

The impish smile on Bradley’s face prevented you from truly spiraling and instead you couldn’t help but giggle. “Go on.”

“How can I get you to wear that dress for me again? Because - not that I’m complaining - but I didn’t even get to take it off y - hey!” 

You slid your hands underneath the duvet and started tickling Bradley’s sides in earnest. He soon joined in, attacking you instead.

The sound of your collective laughter and giggles and shrieks would surely keep your neighbors up for a little longer still. 

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

The next morning, after a hearty breakfast delivered to your room - thankfully not by the same busboy - you supervised the bellhops as they put your various garment bags and assorted weekenders into the Bronco while Bradley checked out.

It had been a hell of a weekend. You had fucking ran Bradley ragged last night, to say nothing about the sloppy blow job he’d finally let you give him that morning. He had gotten an award, gotten to dance with you, gotten a slightly better handle on his nerves, and even gotten to one-up Hangman. 

So, in Bradley’s books it was a win and he was more than happy to sign for the hundred and fifty dollars worth of room charges you’d both racked up over the last two days. He even got three times the points for it on his card. 

From beside him at the checkout counter, Maverick cleared his throat. “So, I heard you kids had a good time last night.” Bradley froze, but Maverick just continued looking over his bill. 

Fuck. Bradley had never had parents around to catch him sneaking around or having sex, but this very much felt like he had. He was going to get so much shit now. Because Hangman he could handle, but Mav? 

Mav would probably go off on him about respecting girls and not calling them degrading names while having sex - nevermind that the girl in question liked to be called a pathetic slut or a whiny little whore in bed.  

Plus, Bradley hadn’t thought he had been that loud, right? He didn’t know where Maverick and Penny had been staying last night, but there wasn’t a room on the other side of yours and there was no way it traveled further down the hallway, right? 

(Though to be fair, you had elected to have room service for breakfast due to the smattering of marks Bradley had left on your neck and upper thighs. Because Jake hadn’t necessarily been wrong when he said it looked like Bradley had mauled you. It was another reason you had elected to supervise the luggage - outside. Alone.)

It felt like there were a handful of cotton balls in his mouth. “Wha - where’d you hear that?” 

“Penny?” Maverick said as he looked at Bradley like he had seven heads. “She mentioned dancing with you and how nice of a time you were having considering all the - well, all the stress and pageantry.” 

“Oh.” His cheeks were burning. “Yeah, yeah. Great time last night. Good time.” 

“Yeah…” He then said how nice it had been to spend time with you, too. “Where is she by the way? We missed you guys at breakfast.”

The two men finished up with the desk clerk and then made their way across the lobby to where Penny was standing. You were still outside. 

“Oh, we uhh got room service. Had a bit of a lie-in.”

Penny chuckled. “Bet you did - hey, you know Hangman was complaining about some noise last night to everyone at breakfast earlier. You hear anything about -”

“- Oh shit, I gotta go. The car’s ready.” He had no idea if the car was ready. “But I’ll talk to you guys later, nice to see you both. Have a good weekend.”

And before either of them could protest to the kiss Bradley laid on both their foreheads, he was already halfway across the lobby and hellbent on getting to the safety of you and his car. 

Yup. His parents had heard him having sex. Monday morning was sure to be fun. 

Outside, Bradley searched the valet stand for the Bronco and saw it - and you - further down the line behind a navy Lexus. You weren’t in the car yet and looked to be reading over something on your phone. 

“All set,” Bradley called out and you glanced up at him and slipped your phone into your pocket, watching him as he made his way towards you. 

You were dressed casually in your same denim shorts and another button down, which was sticking out from underneath his crew neck sweatshirt. The sunglasses perched on the top of your head only added to your artfully disheveled appearance. Though, tragically, the marks on your neck and chest were covered. 

“What was the damage?” you asked, referring to the room charges. 

Bradley pecked you on the lips. “One fifty.”

“Not awful.”

“Blame the eggs benedict for breakfast.” They had been worth every penny for the record. “All set with the bags?”

“Yup,” you popped the p. “What’s the plan for the rest of the day?”

You leaned back against the passenger door and Bradley crowded into your space before pressing a sweet kiss to your lips. He couldn’t resist you. Everything about you made him so happy. Who else wanted to spend the day together after being attached at the hip all weekend?

“Can we go back to yours? Take a nap?” Bradley liked how the sun hit your living room in the  late afternoon. There was nothing like snuggling up with you on your couch and watching football on a Sunday afternoon. You had the prettiest candles and softest throw blankets at your place, too. He’d have to get some for the house eventually, but was more than happy to hunker down at your place today. 

You nodded and looked exceptionally pleased he had even brought it up. “And I can finally take care of you, bubs.”

There was enough innuendo in that sentence to stop him cold. “You’ve taken care of me plenty this weekend, I need to rest up.”

A gasp of faux indignation slipped past your lips. “And here I was talking about the new sheet masks I got, all while you’re planning to debauch me again!”

Bradley chuckled and pressed a quick kiss to your forehead before opening your door and waiting for you to get situated in the car. He wheeled around the front of the car to his own side and got in. 

“Debauch is a strong word, no?” He started the car and turned up the radio. “Been reading too many romance novels lately?”

“I’m never letting you use my Kindle again…” 

He laughed. “Fine, fine. Lemme just take you home, kid, and we can discuss the semantics behind debauched and defiled all you want.”

an: thanks to everyone for reading and all the positive comments and feedback about the teaser the last few days! i'd be remiss if i didn't thank @sometimesanalice, @heartsofminds, @howdysebby, @notroosterbradshaw, @dissonannce, @cherrycola27, and @ofstoriesandstardust for liking and giving me all caps feedback on all the very random screenshots i've sent you guys over the last couple weeks! the next thing i'm going to post for these two is an epistolary while bradley's deployed! x jordan

[mingmingfufu]

Can we just talk about the ending of KawoShin open discuss. *sort of spoilerish*

I feel like I’m the only one who’s like reallly disappointed LMFAO--ya’ll there’s so much “canon” alternative universe and merchandise for Kawoshin in Evangelion that it kind of makes me upset to realise this couple just went down the drain. Yeah, I can see how people were like, “Kaworu’s toxic” or “Kaworu has a hero complex for Shinji” to which I say are valid points. But the toxic thing I feel like can also be applied to pretty much everyone around Shinji tbh, except for Rei. I did NOT, like Asuka at all but I really love her character though, and I felt for her a lot throughout the series.

I did not ship them either because honestly, Shinji and Asuka seemed better off playing the sibling dynamic instead of trying to play bf/gf which honestly is kind of forced by their living situation. Also since they’re in a similar disposition non existent father and dead mother, you’d imagine they would rely on each other for emotional comfort. Though Asuka—her personality I feel like she can’t differentiate between familial love and romantic love and the affection she wants is a bit of both. But, her character tries to be “mature”; she wants romantic love more and does this through sexual means and romantic gestures e.g. like kissing. One of my friends told me that you can’t stay friends as a boy and a girl cause eventually you catch feelings. Which I say is kinda dumb cause I have a lot of male friends, and I definitely don’t harbour those feelings, but I guess it’s a common phenomena.

I think this is what happens in this case, of Asuka and Shinji. Even after rejection of instrumentality they actually are depicted as childhood friends. But knowing how they both were before to each other, it was not good tbh. Also to mention the choking like thrice— bro if anything, this showcases a really abusive relationship and I think this outstretches the idea of their character tropes. Which I firmly stand by saying they’re superficial to each other. AsuShin were never really there for each other and are using each other in a forced situation. However, you can’t deny that they didn’t at some point catch feels, also Shinji is pretty consistent how he still cares about everyone around him. Which I really like how they add that to his character because it reminiscent of Yui, because you see a duality of both his parents personality in Shinji throughout the series—it’s a really nice touch. But bruh, if we gonna talk about that coma scene—I’m out LOL.

Thoughhhh, she is a true definition of best girl I really like her arc, fighting drive, and her skills as an Eva pilot 😭💗--but bruh she’s still a toxic and sometimes annoying tsundere trope, but still she’s 14 what can you do. So I feel like Kensuke and Asuka are actually a pretty good combo, cause he’s always been pretty mature even without parents. Also Asuka was into older guys, so I guess this is a win win?? Also Rei and Shinji, I honestly cannot get my head around it cause that’s pretty much his mom—so in a way that’s like either his half-sister or mom-ish clone?? Idk but Yui is definitely the donor LOL.

Kaworu and Shinji I felt like brought a bunch of things out of each other. I don’t know which timeline begins first, but I’d like to think the manga, the anime (plus its movies), and then to the rebuild series. Because I think that order is kind of pivotal to observing Kaworu’s character development from being a person who’s trying to understand human feelings to then the kinder person we see in the final series. You can tell how he’s changed and he knows Shinji a lot more as well as being considerate to him e.g. giving him personal space or letting him work at his own pace. Also that “we’ll meet again.” Is an obvious nod to how he’s done this before.

His literal story in every timeline is always romantic LOL, like bruh I can’t remember which game it was but basically a bad ending of Kawoshin route is that you reject Kaworu and he starts the third impact 🤡. Also I don’t know why but I started to see a weird dynamic between those two, in the manga their interactions reminded me of Asuka and Shinji—which Shinji is the tsundere Asuka here. I don’t know if this is relevant but the older character relative to the character they’re with seems to play off a mature vs a childish person trope. Asuka is younger than Shinji and Shinji is actually younger than Kaworu. Then again I could be overseeing this but istg manga Kaworu and Shinji mirror the whole Asushin dynamic. Like he’s seriously agressive against Kaworu, then after killing him he admits liking him. 🤡 I don’t know which is funnier no homo Shinji, homophobe shinji, or just closet Shinji who needs to realise sexuality is a spectrum so he could’ve idk—come out as bisexual, but whatever manga Shinji lol that timeline is over.

Anyways the development of these two is real and I think the rebuild timeline shows them at their best bringing their own personage out from each other like how they both enjoy music together--WHICH I’M SO SAD WE NEVER GET TO SEE THAT CELLO AGAIN. Then there’s those feelings of humanity, love, kindness, etc. Which yeah an angel could represent those things, but Kaworu is still his own person, self-aware of a cycle and if you think about how he initially was there to USE Shinji, but ultimately turned on that plan set by SEELE because he loved Shinji (and a bunch of other things like him showing Kaworu humanity). I also can see the argument, how “ideal” Kaworu is to Shinji, but he’s more self aware of the time he has before he KNOWS he’ll die and knows how to act for himself in that duration to make the most of it. All with Shinji. At some point, I think he fell in love with Shinji tho I don’t know where it began tbh—considering that all those alternate universes do exist. Kaworu does romantically love Shinji--so, in some universe they both reciprocate their feelings to each other. 

In the last movie during that convo with Shinji. Like bREH it’s so emotionally moving because Kaworu remembers ALLLLL the timelines and how he’s been with Shinji and later Shinji himself recalls the events too. Where they show the scene from the manga and anime. Kaworu cries after being set free from the EVA cycle. Which, I definitely understood what he meant by him saying “it’ll be lonely” and how Shinji changed or that he’s actually different this time.

Either way, Shinji did right by him because it’s always Kaworu who has the purpose of “trying to save Shinji” but it always ends up the same. I thought that was really moving because Shinji tells Kaworu he’s gonna let him live a life for himself for once and he wants the same for everyone as well. Which was honestly so meaningful cause I think Kaworu’s character and like Rei too when they start to realise how to “live” like a person and not another puppet it’s truly liberating. Another thing I forgot, bruh Kaworu calls Gendo his father and ngl I feel like this is kind of a weird lore situation because I for sure don’t think he’s the donor. I think he calls him that as an insult because he knows Gendo’s whole doing and relative to Shinji—I kind of see it as a joke LOL. Like it’s equivalent to saying, “daddy chill”, or “hey look it’s daddy and his plans to end the world” also I kind of like to think of it as a father in law thing cause you know, Kawoshin *winks amirite*

The ending, I’m honestly hoping is just an open ending because it gives everything an actual start of their adult lives not being dictated by extraterrestrial forces. Though, I’m kind of wondering if the world doesn’t have EVAs does that still mean everyone else still has the same backstory, and do they remember? Maybe Mari really is just a coworker lmfao, and there’s still a chance for Kaworu and Shinji cause ngl, they did have a convo (presumably from the spoilers) about still remaining close afterwards and that stare at the ending seems very hopeful.

I call bs from Anno saying, “oh Shinji is based off him and Mari off of his wife”, like honestly any OCs made theres always some part of yourself made into that character. Which is probably why a lot of people relate to the characters in EVA because they’re based off real things (e.g. those war machines characters are named after and people around them). I think why Kaworu and Rei are together at the end, is bc they’re very much the same. They’re mass produced dolls—which oddly enough that’s the case for all the children except they don’t recall the loop. Kind of funny also how both Kaworu and Rei became farmers lmfao so ig it runs in the family (yes that’s right I like the idea that they’re siblings it was always noted that they’re like “the same”).

Another thing, i think why the rebuild really did well for Kawoshin and in my opinion canonised it—the convo with elder Ryoji Kaji (Misato’s baby daddy) that there was a time he felt incredibly lonely and depressed thinking Misato didn’t love him and so he started looking out for himself. So self love and found himself a hobby in farming which he suggests to Kaworu—basically saying he might feel like Shinji doesn’t love him but he’s gotta remember to take care of himself. if I go thru a breakup ill feel like it’s the end of the world but Kaji says y’a gotta self love broe and take care yo self gad dam fam 😭 💗.

Though, that look at the end from Shinji to Kaworu—I’d like to believe there is still hope that one day when they’re a bit stable in their adult lives, they’ll run into each other.

[bugsbucky]

Search And Found

Bucky Barnes x Reader, Stalker!Brock 

Request:  Omg I'm so happy you're taking requests!!! SO HERE IT IS: Bucky and the reader were super close and Bucky was about to confess that he loves her... but a week before someone started stalking her, she ran and Bucky has been trying to find her, when he finally locates her he saves her from the stalker who was nearly killing her!!!! Tons of aggressive kisses and whatever you wanna do!! Have an awesome alllll day every day!!🖤🖤🖤

Warnings: angst, injury, choking and not the sexy kind, asshole!Brock, stalker!Brock, protective!Bucky, fluff, language, happy ending.

Word Count: 2,104

Authors Notes: thank you so much for your patience hun! Really hope you like this and I think I wrote everything you wanted and more! This was really fun to write and I used Brock as the stalker just because I hate that smug cocky bastard. Anyway, please enjoy and feedback is welcome!!! This has been proofread twice but I don’t guarantee anything :) 

Requested by: @deanthedemon​​ 

Something wasn’t right. The uncomfortable gut feeling and the hairs standing up on the back of your neck told you something wasn’t right either. Every time you stepped outside, you were constantly looking over your shoulder with the feeling that someone was somewhere watching your every step. Sometimes you’d catch a glimpse of a shadow as they moved quickly out of your line of sight. 

You didn’t tell anyone in the compound about this feeling. Fearing they would just blame it on the mere fact you were an avenger and during your career, it wasn’t unheard of to make more enemies than friends. An uncomfortable presence loomed in the air as you sat next to Bucky on the couch opposite the team having a game night. You and Bucky have spent the past few months closely bonding and you were almost inseparable. Despite your closeness, you also chose not to share this feeling with him. Knowing how protective he is of you. He was your friend, not your bodyguard.

There was nothing in the world Bucky wouldn’t do for you. He loved you and he wanted to make you his girl, he just didn’t know how to confess. He also saw the distant look in your eyes which made him halt any attempt of telling you. When you smiled, it didn’t reach your eyes like it used to. He wanted to know what was going on, but again, he didn’t know how to ask and not make it seem like he was wanting to know your business. You of course must have known he was there if and when you were ready to talk, he didn’t want to force you. So when he heard those two words from Steve the day after game night, his mind went into panic mode.

“She’s gone.” Steve announced as he barged into Bucky’s room. 

“What do you mean? Who’s gone?” Bucky had just woken up from a deep sleep, he rubbed the tiredness from his eyes as Steve’s eyes were frantic.

“Y/N. Her clothes are gone, her belongings, they’ve all gone.” Bucky quickly stood up, ignoring the tumble he almost took from tripping over his boots he lazily kicked off the night before. He sprinted down to your room wanting to believe this was a prank the guys were pulling on him since they were the only ones who truly knew how much he loved you. Soon enough, Steve’s words were true. No clothes, nothing in sight. Even your neatly stacked books had disappeared from the numerous shelves you had in your room. 

“Wha- why would she leave me? What the fuck did I do?” Bucky pulled at his hair, tears rolling down his cheeks. 

“She might have just needed a break Buck-”

“NO! Don’t tell me that! She would have said something! I’m going to find her.”

The rundown apartment you had found was basic, a replica of Bucky’s Bucharest apartment, but it had four walls and a roof which was good enough for you. The decision to leave the compound didn’t come easy, you just didn’t feel safe there. You spent most of your nights crying into your pillow as you imagined the pained look on Bucky’s face when he realised you were gone. The worry he must be going through, but you did this to protect yourself and surely he would understand that should the day come where you might meet him again. 

Despite moving out of the compound and leaving your friends and family behind, that eerie uncomfortable feeling still remained. When you took walks in the dead of night when you couldn’t sleep, you would hear a second pair of footsteps in the distance walking the same route as you. Each time you looked over your shoulder, nobody was there. 

The tiny thought that you were being haunted and this was a ghost following you amused you. But this wasn’t a ghost, this wasn’t in your mind. Your intuition told you as much a week ago when this started happening.

Tonight was one of those sleepless nights and you took a nice slow stroll around the city you were in. People were hanging out in diners, on park benches with their friends. You brought your collar up to shield you from the bitter air and shoved your hands in your pockets. The familiar sounds of footsteps behind you once again. You stand still but don’t turn around, the footsteps stop but the hairs on the back of your neck stand tall despite the warmth from your jacket. A shudder runs down your spine and you continue walking back towards your apartment, hearing the footsteps behind you pick up pace slightly. Panic sets within you and you set off in a fast walk-jog combination. In times like this, you wished Bucky was here. To wrap his strong arm around you and hold you, to tell you everything was going to be fine. 

You made it to the front door of your apartment and looked left and right to see if anyone had followed you. Seeing and hearing nothing, you sigh a relief and open the door. But before you can shut it, a boot appears in the doorway and pushes the door open, causing you to fall and land on your back.

“I’ve been waiting for you.” the voice said, removing his mask which revealed a man you knew all too well. Brock Rumlow. This guy you found out was a traitor, secretly working for Hydra during his time with Shield until he was banished. He was responsible in helping with the torture of Bucky, smirking and loving it when Bucky was strapped in his chair begging for help as the machine frizzed his mind. He was sick and he had a crush on you. Brock had asked you out many times which you would always shut down. Making it clear you had your eyes set on someone else and you were not interested. He never took the hint though, going as far as mocking Bucky. 

“Wha- what- what the hell are you doing here?!” your voice came out shaky and you were slightly disappointed in yourself. You were an avenger and were trained for situations like this, but your brain froze and so did your body. Brock chuckled and hovered over you. His feet on either side of your waist. He kissed your cheek and swept your hair from your face. One button at a time, he tugged your jacket open. Both hands wrapping around your throat, “if I can’t have you. Then he’s not having you either.” he chuckled, his thumbs pressing into your windpipe, cutting off your air supply and you gasped. Your hands wrapping around his wrists to alleviate the pressure to no avail. You saw black spots and that white light everyone was always talking about before they passed to the other side.

“Y/N?!” you heard Bucky’s voice in the distance somewhere as your face was turning pale white. Brock wasn’t here to teach you a lesson, he was here to kill you. Suddenly, Brock’s hands were ripped from your throat and you rolled over desperately trying to get some air back in your lungs. Sounds of punches and groans were heard but your mind was hazy and for now you concentrated on your breathing. 

“Y/N? Baby can you hear me?” A cold metal hand caressed your hot cheek. You look up with teary eyes and take a deep breath.

“Bucky?” you croaked, your throat bruising and sore from Brock’s hands. His eyes narrowed to the marks left behind. Anger building up inside of him that Brock of all people dared put his filthy hands on you.

“It’s me. You’re safe.” Bucky sat you up and moved you into his lap. You buried your face in his neck and sobbed as he rocked you back and forth. “Shh, shh. It’s okay baby he won’t hurt you again.” 

“Where is-”

“Steve’s takin’ care of him. Are you alright? Y/N why didn’t you tell me?!” his voice raised with each passing question, only because he was scared out of his mind and didn’t know what had happened to you. But there was just one question you wanted the answer to.

“How did you find me?” Bucky smiled and lifted your wrist. His finger tapping the gold bracelet he had bought you for christmas a year ago. 

“It has a tracker for emergencies like this one.” you nodded and wanted to talk, the pain in your throat stopped you from doing that. You wanted to give him the answers he so desperately wanted to know. Your eyes felt heavy and you fell limp against his chest. You heard him talking to you but darkness overtook your senses.

You don’t know how long you were out for. The nurses that came by told you it was about a week. The team had stopped by everyday to check on your progress, but one member stayed most of the night. 

Bucky.

You hoped he wouldn’t be too mad at you, not that you could blame him because if this was switched and it was him who had left without an explanation, you wouldn’t go easy on him. 

Your throat was healing but it still aches each time you swallow. A sore throat was the least of your worries, you were alive and that’s all that mattered. 

You were discharged from the medical bay a week later after being given the all clear from Dr Cho. You were given orders to take it easy. The bruises on your neck and throat were fading in a horrible yellow colour. The only thing you wanted was a nice hot shower and a change of clothes, and after being helped to your room by some medical assistants, that’s exactly what you did. 

The warmth from the water cascading down on your body was the most relaxing feeling in the world. You took your time in the shower, cleaning every inch of your skin with your favourite showergel. Keeping your eyes open at all times to stop Brock’s image appearing in front of you. You shampooed your hair and deep conditioned the oily roots. 

Finishing up your shower with shaving, you gave your body one final wash and stepped out of the shower. Towel drying and sighing into the soft material. You still haven’t spoken to Bucky about what happened but you knew sooner or later he will want those answers to his questions. You dressed into your comfortable clothes and wrapped the towel around your hair walking into your room. You froze when you saw Bucky leaning against the wall with his arms folded. 

“Hi.” you whispered, swallowing the thick lump in your throat. 

“How are you feeling?” he asked with a small smile and strode over towards you with his hands in his pockets. 

“Good. Thank you for everything.” 

“I uh… I was actually planning on asking you out before uh, this happened.” his blue orbs were swarming with worry.

“I’m really sorry. I promise I’ll explain myself.”

“You don’t need to. I get it now but a heads up would have been nice.” you dropped your gaze to the floor in guilt. “Hey, look at me.” Bucky hooked his flesh fingers under your chin and lifted your head up. His eyes flickered around your face and landed on your lips. There was an unspoken question in the air as you stared at each other. Your arms wrapped around his neck and you closed the distance. Your lips, tongues and teeth clashing in a fight for dominance. The kiss was aggressive and desperate. His arms wrapped securely around your waist and lifted you like you weighed nothing, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist. 

“Doll.” he panted out of breath as he pulled away slightly. His eyes were full blown with lust. “I’m never leaving your side again. I’ll protect you. I’m yours if you’ll be mine.” 

“I’m yours Bucky.” your lips met for a second time in a heated passionate kiss. Bucky lowered you down gently on the bed. His fingers caressing your sides. 

“I don’t wanna stop but I wanna do this properly. Go out to dinner with me?” He swept the strands of wet hair that had escaped from the confinements of your towel and smiled.

“Yes!” you grinned, making the corners of your eyes crinkle. A little feature Bucky absolutely loved about you. 

Even though Bucky had persisted you didn’t need to explain yourself, that he figured it all out pretty quickly. You still felt guilty and the need to explain yourself to him. Bucky would keep his word, he would be with you every step you take and no man or woman on earth would dare hurt his girl, his Y/N.

Taglist: @jobean12-blog​​ @marvelgirl7​​ @godofplumsandthunder​​ @hawksmagnolia​​

[rurulaura]

digimon tri. rant thing

So, I was making new screenshots of Meiko for the last few weeks to make a phone wallpaper with. Kind of shocking I never did that before isn’t it? As someone who is so obsessed... 

So anyway, I was rewatching the series, but fast forwarding to Meiko’s scenes. Doing so made me realize that more things bothered me about the series than I remembered. 

I didn’t realize how I wasn’t the only one that thought this not in such a rage mindset. I ran a salt blog between part 1 and 4 where I shitposted. THat blog is now deleted. But I was so emotionally angry, that I couldn’t think straight, if that makes sense. I couldn’t put the logic to my emotions.

It’s been a few years and “rewatching” tri. brought these feelings back, but now I can look at it more logically.. I’m more mentally sound, so I was to see more. Hah, taichi’s goggles reference. See more, understand less. Get it? Well anyway. It ended up a little long. Enjoy.

Initially, anything that bothered me I tried to come up with an explanation for. I just thought back then, surely I am just not a deep enough person to fully comprehend what is obviously here. I don’t remember the last I rewatched tri., probably last year, but this darn pandemic makes feel it’s been a decade. The situation with the 02 kids is something I tried to come up with an explanation for. 

Sure, I can see the lead up to their disappearance, discovering Maki’s and Yggdrasil’s plan. Or maybe that’s just wishful thinking too. (Ok, but a detective/ hacker 02 squad? How can you say no to that! Can you blame me???) But ultimately, now that I look back on it. Just doesn’t make sense. 

\The four of them would have definitely called the other chosen for help. Daisuke and Miyako might be irrational at times, but I think even they would have realized they couldn’t hadle this.  Miyako and Iori would have definitely needed Hikari and Takeru by their side for Jogress. They would realized they would  need Koushirou for contact. Taichi and Yamato for Omegamon. Plus, the timeline for Reunion to Determination seems to be 2 months. They would have 1,000,000,000% have realized four of their friends were missing. The six of them are hanging out together. Miyako, HIkari, Takeru, and Daisuke are not just in the same grade, But I bet you they are still in the same darn school. I tried to make sense of this. Maybe this would make sense in a week period. But honestly. These 6 idiots would have known. 

In Determination, mysterious man shows up as the “Digimon Kaiser” and no one bats an eye. They all 100% think that’s Ken. After everything that poor kid has been through. and to top it all off Imperialdramon. You think Ken would EVER not only USE someonelse’s Digimon for his own doing, BUT PUT HIS PARTNER AND HIS BEST FRIEND’S PARTNER IN POTENTIAL DANGER? TO ACCOMPLISH WHAT EXACTLY? No. Absoulutely not. 

In Loss, when “gennai” was blowing up the kids with Mugendramon, one of the kids said “IS that really Gennai?” Then Takeru responds, “No way . Gennai would never do this!”

Takeru, TK. Teeks. Honey, remember how that old geezer didn’t even show up until half way through your adventure to guide you? Remember three years later when he didn’t appear until the world was pretty ending? YOU TRUST THAT GEEZER MORE THAT YOUR FRIEND. How freaking dare you. It was bad enough when Sora also said “Oh, stop Ichijouji-kun!” When she was pinned down and sexually harassed by mysterious man. 

I remembered trying to defend this. Saying “Oh, they just didn’t know what to call him.” In Japan there are so many ways to refer to someone in third person. Just like for the non-binary community,  They ask to be called “they/them”. It’s not that difficult to find those third person pronouns in English. I mean, even we have had nicknames. Dark Gennai, Kennai, Mysterious Man. 

There are some other nuances that didn’t make sense to me in the series. Like in part 5, when Meiko is sitting outside the school after having spoken with Taichi Agumon shows up in front of her. Agumon talks about how he wasn’t scared of the scary story she told. Agumon then states “I love Meicoomon, and I know she loves you too!”. I never got why Meiko teared up and hugged Agumon. I don’t get how that was comforting. 

Also in part 5, no one is suprised that Daigo could get into the Digital WOrld? I’m pretty disappointed that they basically used the Original Chosen Children for plot only. Because none of the kids cared that “Hey! How come you can get into the Digital World without a Digivice?” Or Taichi caring in the basement with the 02 kids/gennai with Daigo talking Maki also having partner. Why did you introduce them in this way, if you were just using for plot purposes? You can say, “Oh, it’s just time constraints.”

But there’s so much in tri. where you can say that to. It really does show how sloppy tri. was. 

We never really got to see much of Meiko’s personality. As a kid she’s shown as a happy go lucky kid. Seems like adventuring/exploring. I.e. “Meicoomon and I would always play in the woods behind my house.” She also knows to how to make fire. Cool skill. Seen drawing. Cool. 

Ok, so what happened in those 6 years to make her to traumatized that she’s so withdrawn and selfloathing? Were she and Meicoomon being chased for that long? Targeted? Without any of the 12 knowing? Koushirou made a huge Chosen Child database, wouldn’t they know if a Chosen Child out there was in that much danger? WOuldn’t they know the DIgital WOrld was being attacked and put in danger by a mutation? Why logically move her to Tokyo 6 years later to “protect her”. Yeah, I get it. For plot reasons. It’s just sloppy.

Like, the transfer student trope is done in anime alllll the time. But this one obviously screams plot convinience. Then to top it off, Meiko moves BACK to Tottori. Why? I get being mortified that you asked your new friends to kill your partner. That you feel you don’t deserve their friendship and that’ll close you off to others. But why move in a 5 month span? Look, I know it’s anime and things don’t have to make sense. But when you have so many plot points just for convenience, it’s sloppy! So poor! 

Like, Meiko could just stay in Tokyo. And the end of tri. is just the 12 of them at her door with presents and they have a christmas party. You can still have a one off character live in the same city. Michael and Wallace still live in New York as far I know. and hey, wallace even got a cameo in Kizuna! 

Also,, in part 2. Mimi has a discussion with Meiko in the clothing store that Mimi can’t stand people that aren’t honest with themselves. This bothers Meiko. I thought this was just because Meiko knew of the infection and didn’t tell anyone. But later in part 3, Meiko says she knew Meicoomon was special, but not that it would come to this. So the reaction there doesn’t make sense. 

Other inappropriate reactions consist of Agumon’s constant “I’m hungry!” jokes during serious moments. “It’s comedy releif for the dark scenes!” For a few sure, not constantly through out 6 movies. It got really old really fast. That also just doesn’t fit their personalities.  Patamon’s ship bait in part 6 was not cool. 

Also, really don’t like the girls in bikinis. Didn’t like it either. Still makes sense to not like it now. 

I think those are my biggest gripes. I’m going rewatch adventure and 02 at some point. I’ll probably have more gripes about the older cast. 

[hobiiwan]

I need some sad, angsty Mando content!! Like... maybe if Mando cheats (or almost cheats) on the reader and then the reader is like ah beans frick and Mando is super guilty and tries to make up for it? A happy ending would be appreciated. This is so specific sorry

combined with this request!

you haven’t been a part of mando’s crew for very long

but you like to think you’ve dented that beskar wall and gotten into his heart!!

comparing to when you first met him, with days of silence, carrying tense air wherever he went

you guys have gotten much more comfortable around each other

he talks more now, and not just replying with one-worded answers

he initiates conversations and actually tries to keep it going, for however long he can without imploding

when you see him pausing and struggling to find words, you chuckle and take the wheel

he’s much more comfortable with listening to you talking

you worry that it might be annoying, but reassures you that he doesn’t mind

you pretend you don’t hear the very, vERY silent whisper of “it’s cute.”

yall have been doing so well

and maybe, jusT MAYBE

he might like you too :’))

there have been increasing instances where you notice him glancing in your direction when he doesn’t think you’re paying attention

and you deF notice how his hand hesitates to leave your side when you’re wading through busy markets together

he claimS it’s ‘foR safetY’ but sure jan

you know it probably isn’t a great time for either of you to be getting into any kind of relationship rn

but he’s!! just!! so!!!!!

you can’t deny the way your heart pounds a lil bit harder whenever he’s near

he can’t either

so when you arrive on the woody planet of sorgan,,,,,

and a certain widow seems to take a liking to the man,,,,,

it’s not hard to notice when they talk as though you’re merely a shadow in the room

and how her glances at him feel a bit too meaningful

you try to chalk it up as you being in over your head

you have no right to be jealous, you tell yourself

but,,,, the morning after the whole raid goes down

you’ve just been talking to your new acquaintance cara dune, whom you surprisingly get along with very well

and you look over, eyes landing on omera and mando

she’s got her hands on his helmet, and although mando stops her, you don’t miss the way his touch lingers on her wrists

you feel like you’ve been punched in the throat

you bear no ill will towards the woman; she’s fed you, given you a roof to stay under

but it just kinda sucks

you feel so stupid,,,, thinking mando would ever take any interest in you

why wouldn’t he like omera? she’s a kind, strong and independent woman

plus, she definitely knows a thing or two about parenting, which you definitely don’t (when it comes to the Child)

siGh

after all that goes down on sorgan with the klatoonian raiders, you come to terms with the fact that you and mando just aren’t going to happen

but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t still hurt

you attempt to distance yourself from mando, clipping your sentences short and never staying too long when the man enters the room

meanwhile

mando is CONFUSED

he doesn’t know what to do

he talked to cara back on sorgan before the whole omera-helmet thing

wherein cara brought to his attention of how fond he seemed to be of you

you’d have to be blind to not notice it, she quips

he tries to deny it, but she rebukes him, saying that he radiates big “i

“seriously, man, if i stay around you for too long, that energy’s gonna pass onto me, then i’ll start catching feelings for y/n.”

to which his eyes almost bulge out of his head bc deAR LORD WHAT IF CARA DUNE GETS TO DATE YOU AND HE DOESNT

god knows cara dune has the power to get anyone she wants

“relax,” cara laughs at mando’s spluttering panic, “she’s not my type.”

“besides, she’s already got eyes for somebody else.”

cue confused mandalorian

“it’s you, genius.”

,,,,,,,

huH

it’s not long after you depart from sorgan that mando finally confronts you

he doesn’t know how to start

he’s a renowned bounty hunter, and yet talking to the person he has feelings for has him in shaMBLES

“i’m sorry.”

now you’re confused

he has you cornered, so now you’ve got nowhere to run to avoid the conversation

he knows you too well

daMn

now you’ve got no choice but to talk

being in such close proximity with him is bringing back aLLLLL the feelings you tried so hard to ignore

“why are you sorry?” you ask, refusing to meet his eye

“i know you saw me with omera,” he says, but continues quickly when you open your mouth to object, “but it was a misunderstanding, i promise.”

your face heats up at getting caught being salty

“mando, you don’t have to apologise,” you say quietly, as seemingly nonchalantly you can muster, “it’s not like we’re together; you can date whoever you want.”

the man places a hand on your elbow when you try to wriggle out of the situation you’ve gotten into

“but,” he says, and pauses

your eyes water, waiting for him to continue.

this is probably going to hurt

you brace yourself for the words to hit you

“but what if we were together?” he asks so gently, you almost miss it

the air is knocked out of your chest

whEWWWW

that is noT what you were expecting

your face lights up in hope, and mando feels his heart clench for ever making it dim

“but you and omera? you guys seemed verY fond of each other.”

he sighs, resting both hands on your shoulders

“i’m fond of you. she understood that.” he states firmly

your eyes are wide as you stare up at him

THIS BETTER NOT BE A DREAM BC YOU WILL BEAT WHOEVER WAKES YOU UP

the mandalorian’s heart is beating so fast, it’s going to jump through his breastplate

he really hopes cara was right

when you wrap your hands around his torso and pull him into a tight hug, he’s really glad cara was right

“i’m sorry i got jealous, it was wrong of me,” you apologise sheepishly into his chest

his heart’s gonna explode

what he wouldn’t do to kiss you right now

uM probably take off his helmet lol

he winds his hold around you tighter, and rests his cheek atop of your head

you’re tucked into him, like your body was made for this

“i’m sorry i made you doubt how i felt about you,” he sighs, “to clarify, it’s a lot.”

you pull back to cheekily tap his helmet and grin, “i like you a lot, too, mando.”

his heart busTS A FAT ONE

[tough-bit-of-fluff]

"Self-Reflection on My Self's Reflection or, Do Foxes Tire of Time-Worn Tropes?"

“Pink...everything is...pink. By. The. Twelve. Has all the world….gone pink!?”

Aly flipped her hair out of her face, laughing in her normal voice instead of the overly-theatrical faux-masculine one she had used a moment before. Glancing in the mirror and seeing her attempts at styling were already mussed beyond easy repair, she scrabbled at her hair with both hands, to tease it up into further heights of disordered fluffitude. Pink strands tinged with light blue now stood out in all directions from her head, the points of her long, furry ears barely visible above the mass.

“Okay, Fetch.” She crouched down to address the fox sitting primly on the floor of the small, slightly ramshackle airship, The Four Winds, beside her. “Remember to make a wish, before you blow the seeds off this unusual but strangely alluring pink dandelion, and scatter its seeds alllll across Eorzea.” She pointed at her recently-enfloofened hair, and gestured broadly with an open palm to indicate, no, really, ALL across Eorzea. 

“Just imagine, little me’s sprouting up in every city-state. It’ll be the cutest AND most combat-ready invasive species!” She laughed again, imagining the potential mayhem. “Unless you somehow managed to like. Send out fox-spores or whatever. Then that one wins, hands-down. No one will suspect the lethality and sheer cunning of the adorable fox-weeds until it’s toooo late! All of Eorzea will be within the grasp of your many slender snoots!”

Fetch lifted aforementioned snoot slightly, perhaps to watch a moth fluttering past the hanging lantern, or perhaps to affect a more majestic air befitting a conqueror. Whatever the motivation, the effect was achieved nevertheless.

Alyona grinned wide and tossed Fetch a hearty thumbs-up, before bouncing up out of her crouch, stretching her arms and tail as far as they would go, arching and flexing her back, and then turning to look in the mirror. 

“I know you don’t need my approval, Fetchie, but I need yours,” she said, raking her fingers this way and that in an attempt to tame the fluffy pink mane. “Do you like my hair parted on the left side? Or the right?”

The fox tilted her head in apparent consideration, and then began scratching her left ear with her hind paw.

“Left side, got it! Your advice is invaluable as always.” Aly wasn’t sure where Kail Gerrad, the tough old pirate who was Fetch’s person, had wandered off to, or why the fox was roaming around the airship on her own, but she was glad of what company the oddly attentive animal could provide.

The miqo’te leaned forward to examine her reflection more closely, tongue sticking out of the corner of her mouth as she struggled to open a barrette with a resin paissa affixed to it. Her eyebrows raised in realization, and her mouth opened in a wide grin, showing her fangs.

“Oh! This is that part of the story where the heroine examines herself in the mirror, so the readers can know what she looks like and what is on her mind. It’s a well-worn literary device, Fetch. Some might say TOO well-worn, but you know what? I say it’s a classic for a reason!”

Aly clipped her hair into place and gave an “eh, good enough” shrug at her reflection. “Here’s the important question, Fetch: what IS on my mind?”

The fox paused her scratching to give a huff that sounded almost scornful. “If you don’t know, woman, how on earth am I, a fox, supposed to?” is what it seemed to Aly to convey.

“Ha, fair enough, Fetchie, fair enough,” Aly said, as though replying to an actual statement the fox had made. 

“Well, let’s start with the appearance then! Okay so. I have these big ol’ gray eyes, which are great at noticing things. They’re not shrewd gray eyes, or flinty gray eyes, so that tells you something about the nature of my character. They’re,” she paused to make a series of increasingly bizarre faces in the mirror, furrowing her brow, arching one eyebrow, opening her eyes so wide it looked like they might disengage from the rest of her head. 

“Soft,” she wrinkled her nose, dissatisfied with what character traits that might denote, “And curious,” she nodded. “These eyes say to the onlooker, this person does not NECESSARILY know what is going on. But, she is canny enough to *know* she doesn’t know, and savvy enough to try and find out.”

Aly gave another thumbs-up and a grin. “Yeah! We’re doin’ it, Fetch! Introspection Experts Beg Protagonists To Identify Their Defining Traits With This One Weird Trick.”

“Umm, what else. Rounded cheeks, perhaps denoting my youthful enthusiasm?” She smooshed a finger into the soft curve. “Or at least my enthusiasm for like, cheesecake?” She shrugged. 

“And a cute little chin signifying,” she paused a moment, frowning. The chin, what did it signify? Was a chin sometimes just a chin? “Oh! That I am agreeable but can be very decisive when necessary!” 

Aly beamed and pumped her fist in the air. “Man, I am a natural at this! I should open a consulting business, telling people what character traits they have, based on my assessment of their appearance!” Aly sat with that idea for a moment, arms folding across her chest. She shifted from foot to foot.

The woman grimaced, and scratched the back of her neck. She looked chagrined. “I….should NOT open such a business, for reasons that should have been immediately clear to me, but, now revealed, are better left unsaid.”

She waved away her embarrassment. “That’s not how these scenes work anyway! They have to emerge organically. You can’t force someone to undergo character growth,” she laughed. 

She narrowed her eyes and growled into the mirror dramatically, “Though by the Twelve I try.” She slapped her fist into her palm for emphasis.

Aly beamed again at the fun she was having, and her tail waved merrily behind her. “What next. Ears? I have pretty ears. They’re real soft. Though not as pretty and soft as yours, Fetch, no no no, I would never suggest! What inner complexities do you find that they reveal to the perceptive, Fetchie? Or has anyone even taken notice? Don’t worry, the right ones will come along,” she reassured the animal, nodding. The fox’s tongue lolled from the corner of its mouth. Fetch’s face was not that of a forest creature who was overly concerned.

Aly turned her head at various angles, watching the shifts in light and shadow on her face. Her hand wandered up to stroke the edge of one of her own ears. A goofy grin spread across her face, in both recognition and enjoyment of the absurd gesture.

“Mmm,” she said, closing her eyes and smiling. “It actually is pretty nice, even this way. Though still not the same.” She opened her eyes and tapped her cheek thoughtfully. “Oh! The takeaway here is perhaps that I am the kind of person who is aware that her ears are soft and pretty, and cares which way the light falls on her face to create the desired dramatic effect. I am surprisingly filled with artifice!” she observed cheerily. 

She held up a finger, adding, “AND self-awareness! And and, winning! I am full of winning, Fetch.” 

Fetch gave the woman a flat look that indicated she was certainly full of something.

“I can’t see what look you’re giving me right now so I’ll have to assume it’s more of that approval,” said Aly, who, with the mirror, absolutely could see that was not the case.

“Of course,” she said, lifting up her shirt, “This callback serves not only to point out my delightful cheeky sarcasm,” (the shirt covered Aly’s face at this moment, so she could not see Fetch’s reaction to this declaration) “But to recognize that I am not entirely kidding about craving recognition and even acceptance from a fox, which really calls into question a number of my other judgment calls.”

“Oh well!” She chirped, casting her blouse to the floor. “Now we get to see how many paragraphs we spend discussing the appearance of my br-” Aly broke off, tilting her head curiously, and running her fingers over a spot on her side.

“Huh,” she said. “I have a scar there. A small, cute scar. But totally a scar.” She used her thumb and forefinger to measure its size, then brought the measurement up in front of her face. Her eyes crossed a little as she looked at it. 

Aly pursed her lips, then reached down to her thigh-high boot. She pulled out a knife, which she held up first to her fingers, then to the old wound.

“Oh, yeah. I definitely got stabbed,” Aly asserted, nodding confidently. Sheathing her knife, she pressed her fingers into her side with her left hand to feel her ribs, and put the palm of her right hand flat against her chest, over her heart. “I almost got stabbed to death!” The miqo’te’s level of enthusiasm for this macabre revelation might have seemed to Fetch to be entirely out of proportion, had the fox not been absorbed with the pressing task of worrying at her svelte right haunch with her tiny teeth.

Aly was ready to move on with her whimsical self-assessment, but her fingers kept wandering back to the scar. Probing it, examining it. Imagining what it must have felt like. She frowned slightly. Well of course she’d been stabbed before, there was nothing significant about that. She’d been injured in combat multiple times in the past month alone. Scrapes, bruises, cuts. That desperate Ala Mhigan’s spear had taken a while to heal from. But the fact was that she had healed. She was fast to recover, and not prone to developing lasting, visible scar tissue. Not prone to taking a hit someplace so vulnerable, someplace she would have rolled and twisted and fought to protect in combat.

She moistened her dry lips. “I think,” she said slowly, “I wasn’t stabbed in combat.” She took a moment to mull over what that might mean.

“They said I was a spy, Fetch,” she said, crouching down to retrieve her discarded blouse. “In those folders and files we found at the secret base. Dossiers! That’s the word. It, it was the Garleans! It could have been a trick, or just plain wrong. But…” Aly twisted the fabric in her hands. Fetch yawn-whined, and padded to Alyona’s side, resting her tawny chin on the girl’s thigh.

Aly had already averted her gaze from the mirror, but it was too late to stop the tide of unbidden reflection, as ever more stories about herself came flooding into her mind. You’re the kind of person who can’t tell friend from foe. You’re the kind of person who lets her guard down even when it doesn’t make sense to do it. Someone tricked you into believing you were safe with them. You probably tricked other people into thinking they were safe with you, too. You’re the kind of person who tells lies and gets lied to, do you even know which of your stories are true? You’re the kind of person who can’t leave well enough alone. You refuse to look at what’s in front of you, and when you finally do, you won’t look at anything else. How many people are going to get hurt before-

Fetch whined again, and Aly absently stroked the fox’s head. The feel of the fur against her fingers grounded her, interrupted her racing thoughts. Impulsively, she hugged the creature, an act which the elegant fox bore stoically. Fetch gave the miqo’te an appraising look, as if to say, “Well? What have we concluded?”

Aly rose to her feet, and pulled the now-wrinkled blouse back over her head. “We’ve concluded,” she answered the imagined question, “That I’m the kind of person who almost got killed, maybe in combat, maybe by someone close to me, but, that’s not going to stop me from fighting. That’s not going to stop me from getting close to people! I love people, I will never stop that!” She stamped her foot for emphasis, and her booted heel thudded against the wood of the floorboards. She liked the dramatic sound it made, so she did it again.

“The girl smiled,” Aly narrated aloud, breaking into a grin on her own command. She didn’t turn to look at it in the mirror, however. “She didn’t know a lot about who she had been, but, little by little, she was finding out, who she is.”

Aly nodded in satisfaction. “Well? Whatcha think, Fetch? Would you read a book about this character? Or is she consigned to the discount bin?”

The fox was nowhere in sight. Perhaps the stomping had scared her away, or perhaps she had found the scene too self-indulgent by half.

Aly heaved an exaggerated sigh. “Everyone’s a critic,” she lamented, but she said no more about it. This time, she was not even talking to a fox. @teahousetales @erstwhile25

[radramblog]

Album Discussion- The Fall of Troy

Last week I discussed an album that, more or less, was defined by looseness and empty spaces. This might as well be the polar opposite of that.

(man no-one seems to have uploaded this album art in high res)

Released in 2003, The Fall of Troy is a self-titled mathcore/post-hardcore/screamo debut album made by 3 17 year olds- and in some ways that shows, but it’s not like they were fresh, they’d had two EPs under a different name by that point. The Fall of Troy is probably best known by their song F.C.P.R.E.M.I.X., having been featured as a bonus track in Guitar Hero III, which is notably, not on this album. Rather, their second album, Doppelganger, had a few tracks that were basically retakes of songs from this first album. But we’re not talking about Doppelganger (and I still can’t find a bloody CD of it), we’re talking about The Fall of Troy, by The Fall of Troy, so let’s bloody well dive in.

The first song on here, Rockstar Nailbomb!, is as much a statement of intent as anything I’ve ever seen. It’s starts with hoarsely screamed, incomprehensible vocals over a frenetic set of guitar riffs, that cuts back into a more traditional song structure, you know, after a bit. Like any good opener, it’s introducing what you’re going to be getting from the album- songs that, while extremely energetic, tend to cut between sung vocals and screamed ones at a moment’s notice, complex and overlapping guitar riffs, and a very deliberately unpolished sound. The technical skill on display is incredible considering the age of the band, as well. For such a short song, Rockstar Nailbomb! goes in some real places, closing with a line that would be appropriate to finish off the album as a whole- but of course, we’re just getting started.

The next song is called Spartacus, and it shows off the talent of the drummer in a way that the previous didn’t. Unfortunately, I almost feel like this song was kind of a half-formed idea, considering it’s a minute and a quarter long, and the…squeal…? Near the end is kind of offputting. A mid one.

Oh boy it wouldn’t be a nerd band without ridiculous track names- next up is The Circus That Has Brought Us Back to These Nights (Yo Chocola), and no I don’t fucking know what that means. This one ironically feels the most like a song than the others before it, a slightly more traditional structure, the screaming and singing vocals forming something of a call-and-response that would probably make more sense if I could understand the lyrics half the time. Despite this, it’s no less speedy, frantic, and intricate, mixes between melody and dissonance that are basically the band’s signature.

The fourth track is named Mouths Like Sidewinder Missiles, and it’s one of my favourite tracks on the album. I can’t really describe why, though, so I’m going to take a minute to talk about something else. See, this is one of the tracks that was redone for Doppelganger, and on Spotify, for whatever reason, has the title misspelled “Misssiles”. I let them know about this years ago and they never fixed it, so I guess this is my callout post. For what it’s worth, I think the Doppelganger version is a bit looser, adding in some elements in the empty space (there’s a reverb after the initial riff I really love), but both have their own merits.

Okay, mild rant over, back to regular old rambling. The next track is The Last March of the Ents, Lord of the Rings reference very much intended. This is one of those tracks I always forgets exists to be honest, like the intro started and I was like…what was this one again? And then the bit at like 50 seconds came in and I remembered everything. That section is honestly really strong, though unfortunately the rest of the track kinda feels just like Mouths like Sidewinder Missiles, but like, slightly worse? Which is especially awkward considering it immediately proceeds that song. I will say the part of the song where it slows alllll the way down is really enjoyable, it’s very gradual and smooth, gives the bass a bit of time to shine, before blowing back up again because these guys just can’t bear to play slow for half a minute.

The next track is F.C.P.S.I.T.S.G.E.P.G.E.P.G.E.P. This is the song that their most popular track, F.C.P.R.E.M.I.X. is a version of, and they’ve never actually stated what the acronym is for. A common (and I believe discredited) suggestion is, and I quote, “Fuck condoms, premarital sex is the shit, get ‘er pregnant get ‘er pregnant get ‘er pregnant”, which is A Take. It also has nothing to do with the lyrics of the song itself. This track is actually by far the loosest and slowest on the album completely, appropriate considering it’s first words are “slow down”. There’s really not a lot of screaming on it, left only to the chorus, and they’re actually understandable which is nice (or maybe it’s just because I know it’s “come running home”). This is undoubtedly an emo track, based on the lyrics, but it’s also just kind of excellent, similarly complex lyrics slowed down to a comprehensible tempo and a bridge that builds in a supremely satisfying manner. The comparison to R.E.M.I.X. is of course, inevitable, and I will say the tightening up did help in some places- the very slow section at the latter part of the song probably doesn’t need to go that long, and that’s easily the part that gets sped up most in the redo. Still, the song stands out very naturally, feeling more thoughtful and controlled than its peers.

The next song is titled “Whacko Jacko Steals The Elephant Man’s Bones”, apparently a reference to…a music video where Michael Jackson danced next to a recreation of the skeleton of a famously deformed man. Yeah, ok, sure. I don’t actually have much to say about this one, it’s very scream-led, but doesn’t really stand out to me apart from the naming. It’s play rating supports this, being the second least listened track here, but it’s by no means bad. It’s just kinda long and as generic as something like this can be, I suppose. Honestly I kinda forgot all the directions this goes, some of these sections are really quite excellent, but the song is probably like 2 minutes longer than it needed to be. I’m just saying. Like I kept waiting for this song to try and change my mind and it kinda just didn’t.

Reassurance Rests in the Sea is up next, and god that little riff it’s building around, that just noodles around but at triple speed, is just so sick. It’s a song that spends a lot more time cutting itself down- like F.C.P.etc. it’s looser and slower, but substantially more disjointed than that one is. This song, uh, completely breaks off like two minutes in and just stops. And becomes a different song. Like, I don’t think this is a bonus track or anything, it’s just a part of the same song. And that second half is a really sort of chill (for this album) instrumental, lead by a bassline that slowly gets more riffs over the top of it. And then that bit stops itself, and the main song returns again for like the final half a minute or so. And honestly I was just like, wait, no, go back…….

The actual least listened to track on the album is number 9, The Adventures of Allan Gordon (it’s apparently about a book). Honestly, I’d kinda love to hear this live, because the first minute or so of it is the kind of thing you’d play as an interstitial to keep the audience going while you get your shit ready for the next song. Eventually (and I mean eventually, song’s a third through at this point) the lyrics and such come in, and yeah ok I see why this one isn’t as popular. It’s like, fine? Like, that cut back section is pretty overall mediocre, but when we get back to the screaming and the riffs and the noise its as solid as ever. It’s a little frustrating, because they can do the more lyrical stuff, F.C.P. is right there, but this one doesn’t quite make the mark for me. A shame.

Track 10 is I Just Got This Symphony Goin’, which does not have an actual symphony, but it does present and absolutely killer opening riff, so it’s not all bad. This is one of the songs I most associate with the album, even if it’s one of the ones also on Doppelganger. Its speeding up and slowing down and screaming and singing and lots of interweaving and yeah. I like it. Iunno.

The final song, What Sound Does a Mastodon Make? (I dunno, ask a paleontolgist?), is a full seven minutes, 2 minutes longer than the next longest track. It’s kind of interesting, since the second half of the album going by tracks is much much longer than the first half. It does this really fun bit where the lead guitar and rhythm guitar do their own little call and response thing, immediately followed by one of the weirdest vocal noises I’ve ever heard, and I don’t have a word to describe it, so you’re gonna have to either trust me or listen to it yourself. This song is just really, really long, man, and it goes in a lot of places but none of them are exceptional enough to really justify slogging through a total 7 minutes of it. I’m going to be honest, I’m probably not going to listen to it unless I’m going through the whole album. The extended build near the end is pretty sick, I guess? And the way the last minute just decides to, like, drop everything, and just end with a very quiet, indie-esque instrumental. Like the very “we did it, now we can relax” sort of moment. Lets both you and the band know its over, and you can move on past your energy high to something a bit more chill.

I think the best phrase I can use to describe The Fall of Troy is “ADHD music”. Both in that it feels almost a little distractable sometimes, multidirectional and often not fully resolving its lines, and also in that said lines are great if you’re someone like myself who’s brain needs something to be chewing over while the more conscious parts are trying to do something else. To be clear, I consider this a compliment. Like most music I discuss, this certainly isn’t for everyone, as you’re going to need a tolerance for adrenaline and screaming to enjoy this album, but I do think it’s worth the attempt. Now, I haven’t listened to Doppelganger (or any of the other albums for that manner) in full, so I can’t comment on how the style of The Fall of Troy would evolve over time. But at the very least, this is a very solid starting point for what would become a surprisingly long-lasting act.

[obikinrise]

BREAK THE RULES

▪  summary : just a little story about obi wan breaking the jedi code by falling in love with the reader

▪ warnings : none, full of fluff tbh

▪ pairing(s) : OBI WAN X READER [REQUESTED BY ANON]

▪ a/n : okay, so here's my first post. hope you'll like it and that I wouldn't have made too many mistakes lol. have a good day !

(+ note : first of all, I would like to warn you that English isn’t my main language. I might make some small (or big) mistakes. I still hope you’ll enjoy my work. and if you want to help me or advise me on how I write in english, there’s no problem. I’m open to all possibilities !)

I'm so sorry I couldn't find who owns this gif. hope I can manage to find the owner in order to credit him.

so yes obi wan has always been devoted to his jedi code

like

really lmao

even tho there was satine miss her sm:(

so how you met ?

you were a jedi knight who had just graduated from her padawan training.

your training was somehow complicated as you've always been the late type

not to mention your very clumsy side.

your master was yoda

so it was kinda funny and cool

always teasing  you about your clumsiness but always there to encouraging you

yoda is a softie here okay

it was obvious that meeting him for the first time was going to be ... AWKWARD LMAO

you had a meeting with the council about your life as a jedi knight

first of all, you fell out of your bed.

you almost fell from the stairs

and you arrived, panting from having walked through so many corridors.

the temple was huge

obi wan immediately guessed what kind of person you were

and yoda couldn't help but smile

he was proud of his funny ex-padawan lol

cute, was the first word that crossed his mind

it will not be the first time and not the last time that your paths will cross

of course, it will always happen at embarassing moments ;)

the beginning (or the start idk ?) ?

obi wan hides his feelings and emotions very well

so it’s hard to guess what can he be thinking right now or how’s he feelin’

at least at the beginning

but oh boy

in reality, what he feels deep inside him is like a boiling volcano

'cause you haunt his mind when he should stay devoted to his code

constantly looking at you when you weren't looking at him

whether there are people or not

his eyes are always on yours when you speak to him

his gaze is really deep ... which could be destabilizing, not to mention your heart that skip a beat

you though about it

about these little things except his secrets gazes lol

like his guenine smile towards you

the fact that he’s always listening to you no matter what

about your day, your past, your future or whatever

making him laugh a lot

he ended up taking his time to think about his feelings for you. realizing the attachment that has grown up in him.

at first, he was determined to not to get attached to you. he was ready to walk away and to run away from those thoughts that brought him closer to the dark side.

but the more he saw you, the more he couldn’t prevent his heart from melting in front of so much clumsiness...

he really likes that part of you

like rEALLY

A LOT

so he ended up confessing his feelings to you

in private, bc f*ck the jedi council for once

that day, he knocked on your room door

as you opened the door, the first thing you saw was the shadow of obi wan that ran across the room

desperate and lost

he was silent

and his way of looking at you was filled with many emotions, both positive and negative

and then

he screamed

“ I LOVE YOU ???? “

he knew from the start that he was able to love you without having to fall into the dark side

anyGAY

actually dating y/n is lucky

obi wan tends to stay discreet, very discreet in public

once it's nothing but the two of you, he becomes more confident, enjoying every little second shared with you

he’s a gentleman

he’s the nation’s gentleman

always looking at you like a piece of art

with his deep light eyes

no pda sorry:( or at least secrets gazes and brushing fingers

anakin is the first (and the last) to know what's going on between you two

he’s very confident tbh

he’s rarely shy

except when it’s about touching you at some specific places on your body

he lives for touching you, praising you about your jedi’s skills, or kissing you on the cheek

mostly cheeks kisses, shoulders kisses, and pecks

he’s not too touchy tho

he can just hold your hand and rest like that

always listening to him talking about his complicated days

when he returns from a long mission

he waits until it’s just the two of you

and bOOM

he hugs you ALLLLL NIGHT gurl

secret garden dates

or just naps

looking at the sky too

looking at the stars too OMG

bc you’re clumsy means

noses accidentally hitting after kisses

that’s cute ngl don’t fight me

bc you’re laugh together

and that’s kriffing cute

i think that’s all omg ;;;;

i swear i hope this isn’t a disaster

my english is terrible njk

love you y’all:(

[princesskokichi]

kokichi bringing shuichi back with the necronomicon

WE LOVE ANGST HERE GOOD KOKICHI SIMP ANON

also this is set place in a time where shuichi died in the killing game, and kokichi did not take it very well 

i wrote a short about how kokichi deals with shuichi’s death immediately after he dies, but it kinda sucks so i won’t be posting it unless i get quite a bit of feedback for it, but if you want the short, message me and i’ll send it to you ! 

also this is written in paragraph form and not listed butttt you know how it be - mod kokichi

It was completely unlike him to seek refuge in something as stupid as the Necronomicon. After all, it was just so,, stupid, it was so stupid. He knew something like this wouldn't work, simply because it was impossible to raise the dead

Even though he knew that, why did he steal the book from Shuichi's room? And why was there a little doll made out of his bedsheets that he made all last night, sitting there staring at him with button eyes? With Shuichi's hat covering its entire face, the doll being far too small to actually wear Shuichi's hat, he set it upright on his bed, making sure that it wasn't going to fall over and potentially fuck everything up. He'd written Shuichi's name on the back of the doll in case monokuma or whoever the fuck was orchestrating this couldn't understand who he wanted to bring back

He wanted Shuichi Saihara back, more than anything else. He wanted him back more than he wanted to end this godforsaken killing game.

Kokichi had read and reread the rules over repeatedly in his head, trying desperately not to screw this up.

Not that it would work, of course.

Who would believe in such a stupid thing?

But when you're out of options, sometimes the things you have to stoop down to make no sense at all.

He carefully burned the entire book down into nothing but ashes, collecting those ashes into a small container he got from the kitchen area. Throughout this entire thing, he set his bars low, but still, there was this feeling in his heart that maybe, maybe this might just work. Maybe he could get his Shumai back.

God, this entire thing was so stupid, so why did he feel the need to continue?

Kokichi wanted - no he needed - to exhaust all options before giving up hope on Shuichi, and that wasn't like him at all. He was never one to cling to hope or belief. What happens in the world is what happens in the world and nothing will change that, but if blind and unnecessary hope could somehow bring his only friend back to life, then so be it.

So what if Shuichi had told him he was always going to be alone? Or if Shuichi most likely never thought about him like a friend but more as an enemy, just as everyone else did.

Whether Kokichi had lied to himself to believe Shuichi was his friend or not, he wanted him back. He,, needed him back. He needed Shuichi back so much, the desire wrapped around his heart and choked it mercilessly. Shuichi had to finish this killing game. He had to because no one else was going to be able to pull through. No one else could finish the killing game but Shuichi, the Ultimate Detective.

No, Shuichi wouldn't finish the killing game as the Ultimate Detective, but rather as himself. As the boy that liked reading novels at three a.m and could have been found at the library at any point in time if it wasn't for Kaede and Rantaro's deaths that still haunted him in his dreams. He was going to end this stupid fucking game as Shuichi. And Kokichi was determined to help, no matter the consequences of his actions.

If everyone else hated him in this game, if even Shuichi turned his back on Kokichi, he didn't care. Getting the only trustworthy person to play this game alive again was the only way.

Because of this need, he continued overworking himself, although he didn't know he was overworked or mentally exhausted. As an all-nighter turned into an all-weeker, and now he'd come to the only conclusion that he could think of and it was nearing its final stages, he didn't know that he was running on nothing but the sheer hope that this works.

As he sprinkled the ashes over the effigy he'd created, and repeated Shuichi's name three times, just as it was told in the Necronomicon. This was the hard part, the waiting.

Kokichi closed his eyes tightly, resting his head on his bed. He was afraid to talk or think about anything other than resurrecting Shuichi in case it screwed everything up.

He waited.

And waited.

He must've been waiting like that for at least an hour or so because the sun was rising up from his window, not that he could see it. Kokichi breathed out a sigh, and as he opened his eyes, he felt a light tap on his shoulder.

" Uhm-"

He spun his head around, coming face to face with the person he'd been trying so hard to bring back.

" Saihara-chan- You're-"

"I'm sorry, do I know you? Where am I, actually?" Shuichi looked around the room, his eyes wide as he tried to take in all of the strange objects around him that Kokichi had collected and put in his room. "Uh, last I checked my teacher said I was going to school. This isn't,, a school. So where am I?"

"You're in my room, Saihara-chan. You're the transfer student at this fucking school. You're the Ultimate Detective, you know."

"I am? Last I checked I was just a regular high school student."

"No, you just haven't gotten your first memory, I swear. This will all start to make sense when we talk to Monokuma and-"

"Mono,,, Monokuma? What kind of name is that?"

It took at least three days for Shuichi to finally be able to introduce himself back into the group. There was so much that he needed to learn in such a short amount of time that he was practically confined to the classroom in the beginning of the hallway the entire time, only really allowed to eat some food and sleep when nighttime came. Because of the short time frame he had to learn everything, no one knew he was back in high school.

Kokichi didn't know how it happened, but during these three days, while Shuichi was learning stuff about the school and the way things worked around here, they almost became,, actual friends. Shuichi was leaning on Kokichi to explain what was happening around him when he didn't understand what the Monokubs or what Monokuma was talking about.

They truly bonded, probably. So why did Kokichi feel so bad?

Ah, yeah, because he brought him back into the killing game where Shuichi would live in agony until he found out how to escape. It was a cruel fate to put him back into, but Kokichi needed him there since he didn't know how to end the killing game himself, and as long as Shuichi was there, there wouldn't be any more killings, right?

Right?

There were expected conflicted reactions when Shuichi walked through the front door, wearing his hat to cover a little bit of his expression.

Maki and Kaito had the worst reactions though, screaming in horror once they saw Shuichi and realized that this wasn't an elaborately pulled prank; the Shuichi in front of them was the real Shuichi.

"Sh-Sh-Sh-Shuichi??" Kaito screamed, his face contorting to that hideous face he makes when he's terrified, "I thought- I thought you were dead."

Monokuma popped up out of thin air, scaring Shuichi shitless. "That's because the Necronomicon brought him back ~ ! Ah, isn't that fun? Perhaps it wasn't a waste of a motive at alllll!"

"H-holy crap the bear can teleport?? Why didn't you ever tell me this Oma-chan?"

Maki took a step forward, her hand up as if she wanted to touch his shoulder to make sure he was real. "Why- why are you talking to Oma like he's a friend? He- he-"

"Sorry, sorry! Nishishi~ It's not like I wanted to see your reaction or anything like that."

Shuichi's shoulders slumped down a little bit as he pouted and crossed his arms over his chest, "Jeeeez, Oma-kun, you're so mean sometimes."

This isn't Shuichi.

Kokichi scratched the back of his head, smiling, He teetered back and forth, shifting his weight between his feet and swaying his head a little bit. "Yeah, you're right. Hey, after this, want to go to the library? There are a few things I really want to check out there. Plus, I heard that there's lots of good novels."

"That sounds boring, but alright."

"Ah, then perhaps the gym? There's an awesome dojo around here."

"A gym? That sounds more entertaining, I say sure!"

Everyone had the same look of distraught strewn across their faces. Maki winced, clenching her fists tightly as she shied away from everyone. Kaito's eyes were cast to the ground, unable to make eye contact with anyone in the room as he followed Maki out of the room silently.

Kokichi wanted to hide away forever, practically drowning in these overwhelming emotions that not even he could repress. He wasn't such an emotional person - that wasn't his character. So why did this revelation hurt so much? Was it because he was just playing dumb and trying to convince himself that it had worked? Was it because he lied, to himself and to the people around him?

And.

Who had Kokichi "brought" back to life?

[fordarkisthesuede]

The Tolls of Justice - Chapter 7

Goooood morning, darlings!  It was a longer wait than I wanted to give you, but I hope this absolute monster of a chapter is alllll worth it for what we’re leading up to! :3c

Important Spoiler Tags:  self harm, paranoia, playing with knives, discussion of mental illness, bonding through near-death situations, omg Billionaire Playboy Vigilante Bruce Wayne has That™ kind of drawer what a surprise

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Read on Ao3 or continue below...

[Chapter 7:  Drawing the Strings]

Wayne Manor was too big. John figured he could walk the whole length of it in the time it would take to let Bruce deal with everything being set up for his fancy-schmancy party.

He was okay with not going. It wasn’t like he wanted to actually be in the enormous unused ballroom, all dressed to the nines. Or be on Bruce’s arm for any miniscule part of the evening. Or get to try to be normal-ish for once. It made sense for him not to go, what with a wannabe-killer on the loose. He knew that as soon as he’d realized he was in Wayne Manor and not in some weird fever dream made from various Arkham-brand drugs.

But hearing he wasn’t wanted there in the first place was different. Not so much from calculating, logical Bruce, who might have his best interests at heart - but from Alfred?

He felt the stirrings of the mysterious beast under his skin. It had been kicked hard in its cage and now it was angrier than ever. It was as if it had been staring Alfred down from behind its bars of bone and flesh, teeth bared and growling low since he saw him in the kitchen that morning - and it was lie Alfred could see it, somehow, and stared back as he shoved a pancake into John’s hands with his compliments like that would make things better.

John would be lying if he said it hadn’t made a fraction of a difference – Alfred treated him like he would any other guest to their face. He was polite and seemingly neutral, and even tossed a joke out about Bruce’s life juggling trick. It was enough to remind John that this was Bruce’s father figure he was dealing with and not a stranger, and he should do his best to get along with who could – in the slimmest possibilities of a good future – be his eventual father-in-law.

But the knowledge that Alfred didn’t think he should be around other people kept sitting in John’s head. It sat there in the kitchen, and in the oversized dining room, and back in the kitchen as John very carefully dried the china and attempted to make conversation about Alfred’s journey across the world in-between mentally running through a list of all the mob hits ever made on 13th Street. Bad thoughts were easy to drown out when he was thinking about other things, but as soon as he was left on his own it came back.

Alfred doesn’t want me here, the thought cycled in again as John stepped into the elevator down to cave. It was the one place he could surround himself with Bruce’s presence without the man actually being there. He doesn’t like me. He thinks I’m dangerous around people. Shadows passed over his face. 

He knew Alfred was right. Does anyone want me here, with my bloody hands...? 

John looked down at them. They were clean, but sometimes he felt like Lady Macbeth trying to scrub away the guilt that seeped a permanent red into her conscience. He squeezed his fingers into fists, feeling the short nails dig a little into his skin as his wrist muscles flexed. 

The wrists that Bruce had held not long ago, while lying on him with all the weight of the world packed in mostly-sculpted muscle. He flicked his tongue out, tasting his lips; Bruce’s flavor was all gone, and only maple syrup from breakfast remained, but he was sure it happened. There was no mistaking Bruce’s firm grip.

Bruce does, John countered himself, flexing his hands in a squeezing motion again. Bruce doesn’t care what Alfred thinks. I’m his best friend. He loves me.

He woke up alone. He woke up in the guest room Bruce had given him last time. He had to think carefully about where he was and had snatched the phone off the nightstand to prove to himself that it was Saturday.

...he SAYS he loves me. He left me alone. 

But Bruce had kissed him. Been real. John clutched his bandaged forearm, squeezing hard and feeling the fabric beneath his fingertips. He was there, in the elevator, heading towards the Batcave.

But Bruce had also lied to him before. He lied to Alfred very easily. He didn’t want Alfred to know I was with him.

Why would he do that? Why would he hide John away? Why would he not tell his father his boyfriend was there? Only if…

John squeezed his bandaged forearm harder. His gut had told him so the moment Alfred had finished his sentence from behind Bruce’s bedroom door:  Alfred didn’t know about Bruce and John’s relationship.

He’s ashamed of me.

He wanted to talk to someone about it. Badly. So badly it gnawed at his stomach. 

But of course Mickey and Devi were busy, and Dr. Song would practically say she told him it would happen and tell him to go wherever it was St. Dymphna felt would work for the time being, and John would sooner talk to Harley than go through that mess. Tiffany and Iman wouldn’t understand, and he didn’t think their budding friendships were at that level of emotional intimacy.

The elevator gave a little ding, and John felt his head start to clear with the first breath of cave air. Solid mixed metals and rock, live bats, fresh water, Kevlar cleaner - yes, this was all Bruce. Bruce in his truest form. Logical Bruce with his sweet heart that bled underneath the layers of armor he kept to hide and restrain it all.

Bruce loving him was unquestionable. He was an idiot sometimes, hiding things for his mysterious, inane reasons, but Bruce loved him. He had to. So Bruce might be embarrassed or ashamed of him, but…!

He won’t be for long. 

Sure, he could do something outlandish like kidnap Bruce without letting anyone else be wise to it and prove how clever and deserving he was of Bruce’s time and attention and love as he gave him the heavy pet-down they both deserved to indulge in, but it wouldn’t go over so well when John wasn’t officially released into the wild with the sanity stamp on his hand.

Solving at least one of the cases on Bruce’s desk, though? That was sure to earn him points. Hell, Alfred would undoubtedly be impressed, too. 

He had a lot to catch up on. He glanced over at the Batcomputer and thought about everything.

The Wednesday Nighters’ deaths at The Lot club were mysterious, but the gang seemed to have a lead on that, what with the idiot whose card was “stolen”. It wasn’t impressive enough if John puzzled the rest out.

His own attempted murder was intriguing, but there wasn’t much to go on. Unless Tiffany could show him the exact spot she lost the shooter in... If she did lose them and it wasn’t some very elaborate scheme to- 

Don’t go there, John. You know what the doctors all say about your little paranoid thoughts.

And while he could just throw their advice out the window like they seemed to do to him, he knew they were right. Thinking someone he knew (someone he was growing to like, and was sure he could get the feeling in return if he tried, no less) was out to get even with him wasn’t very progressive. Tiffany had trusted him enough to gamble on following a lead. She didn’t toss his phone over the edge of the building when he’d given it to her. She tried to chase the shooter and got her precious drone smashed to bits as a consequence. She didn’t even pull that weirded out face at the breakfast table...well, he was pretty sure she hadn’t, anyway.

The more he thought about it, the Chandis instance seemed to be connected to Cat-Lady, if the video was to be believed, and John had a feeling that it wasn’t a coincidence that both his and her attacker were wearing masks. And Selina’s looked peculiarly like a Batman knockoff.

Yup, first-in, first-out was the way to go, really. He’d just have to figure out where she was staying and then figure out a way to get there. 

It was only two things. He could manage that.

He was going to march over to the giant supercomputer when he caught a flash of movement in his peripheral vision:  Tiffany. 

For the second time, he found himself finding her in an unlikely place when her back was turned.

She’d brought up Miss Kitty-Witty. She would know exactly where she was. And John, having managed to coax her into working with him before, would surely be able to do it again, as long as he could keep his face straight.

Tiffany was in the little rogue gallery, her phone pressed to her ear. She seemed to be wearing her motorcycle gear from last night, sans the helmet; he could see some of the plating looked a lot like that of the Batsuit, but in a matte midnight blue. She was clearly planning on going somewhere...

John snuck closer, walking on the outside of his heels to lessen the noise.

“I told you, Barb’, I’m not with a guy. If I was, I wouldn’t be so tired when I come back home... Of course my Mom knows where I am; even if I wasn’t with her I’d have to text her. I mean, she’s been getting better, but… Yeah, it’s just work stuff.” Tiffany stepped closer to John’s case. What could she want from there?

Or was John just being paranoid and she was actually going for something else, like Harley’s hammer or Frieze’s ice-ray?

“Oh, uhh… I don’t know. It might be a couple of days. At least I paid rent already.” Tiffany was right in front of the old Joker items; his old belt, his grappling gun, and the razor-sharp Jokerrang. She reached up and snatched his grappling gun off the little pegs Bruce used to keep it in place. Her sixth sense was pretty shitty if she didn’t know he was right behind her by now. “Yeah, I’ll text you if anything interesting happens. Really, Barb’, I don’t know what you expect to-”

“Nice, isn’t it?” John asked from behind her.

Tiffany gave a yelp that echoed against the expansive cave walls as she swung the gun behind her in an arc - it would have hit him in the head if he hadn’t leaned back in the nick of time. John stumbled backwards a step, laughing at the wide-eyed shock on her face. He knew it was loud, but it wasn’t as if anyone else was down there to complain, so he didn’t bother muffling it.

John could hear the voice on the phone shouting in alarm. “No, Barbara, I’m okay, it’s just...one of my colleagues scaring me,” she explained, still frowning over at John. “Yeah, I’ll call you back later.” She hung up, stowed the phone in her pocket, and shoved his arm hard. “Don’t DO that! You scared the shit out of me!”

 John bit his lip to try and stop the titters in his throat. “You were on the phone! You wouldn’t have noticed my text!” he explained half-truthfully, “Nice reflexes, by the way. You’ll be like a little Bat in no time! Or would it be a batling...? A Mini-Bat?”

She didn’t seem to find the funny side to that. 

John cleared his throat, unsure of what else to say until he realized he should have apologized by now. “Um, ‘sorry’. That’s what I’m trying to say.” He stood straighter. “So - Bats won’t let you play with his toys?”

“Uh… Not exactly.” Tiffany shifted her weight and tried to cross her arms, only realizing the gun was in the way too late and having to put her hand on her hip instead. “Bruce…suggested I borrow it from you. Since you’re kinda stuck here,” she said with a shrug.

Ah-ha. She was heading out on a little mission - visiting the Cat, perhaps, in Bruce’s place. “Well, the man’s got a point… Kinda wished you asked first, though, Tiff’. It might be in Bruce’s fancy case under his fancier house, but it’s still mine.” She shifted uncomfortably. John supposed he should play nice and not glower. “But I suppose I could let you borrow it -” he rocked back on his heels once, thinking quickly - “if you let me come with you. You’re going to see the Cat, right?”

“You want to…” Her already dark eyes darkened further. “Did Bruce put you up to this?”

What a suspicious-aloysius. Clearly Bruce had her a short leash. “Give me some credit, Tiff’, I have a life outside of following him around. Though it is nice when he gets that cute proud face when I do something right…” It always gave him a nice little rush of mood-enhancing chemicals to his head, seeing that face...but he was getting off-track. And Tiffany was starting to pull her weirded-out face. “But I didn’t even know you were heading there for sure until just now.”

She seemed to be analyzing him. Thinking. Asking herself if he was lying. She could easily just take the thing and run; she might be shorter than him but the suit showed off powerful legs, and who said she couldn’t fight him? Bruce might take John’s side over hers, or he might take neither. Could she trust him? Would she?

“Let’s say I do,” Tiffany said, staring him down, “What are you planning on doing?”

“Outside of asking questions? Ha, I’ll wing it!”

The dark blue woven curls of her hair swung slightly with the tilt of her head. “And what if you do something stupid?”

“Like, accidentally hit myself in the head with the grappling gun stupid? ‘Cause I’ve done that. Really hurts!” She wasn’t finding that funny. Okay. “Ohhh, you mean whoops there’s a knife in Cat-Lady’s liver, how’d that get there stupid!” He laughed at his own joke, hoping she’d turn that serious line into a tiny smile. “I’m not an idiot, Tiff’. I learned my lesson,” he beamed, holding up his scarred hand and wiggling his fingers to draw attention to it, “I won’t be shiving anyone any time soon.” Well… “I mean, unless she tries to kill you,” he added sensibly, “Then it’d be a lot more socially acceptable.”

Tiffany blinked in confusion. “Are you expecting her to try and kill me? I didn’t think she’d be that testy about a couple of questions from a stranger.”

“I just figured that with Riddler being her ‘friend’ and all…” He could see the grim understanding growing behind her eyes. The ‘R’ word seemed to have been the trigger. “I mean, I don’t think she knows it was you, but...if she did? She might try to.”

“I see…” (He could tell she did. Though what hue she was seeing it in wasn’t for him to know.) “How do I know you won’t tell her when my back is turned?”

He supposed he could, if he felt cruel enough. “You haven’t given me a reason to,” he shrugged, “so my lips are sealed!” He made a zipping motion over his mouth as he gave her a wink.

Finally, she was actually smiling. Even a small one was better than nothing. “Alright, you can come. But you do anything stupid and I’ll test my roundhouse kick on you.”

“Hm, mhm mm-?!” He mimed grasping at his throat and unzipping his mouth and gave a dramatic gasp. “Whew, hard to breathe like that!”

Tiffany gave a slight titter as he laughed at his own joke. Hers was just a little ha ha ha - that was as much as he could’ve asked for. “John, you could breathe through your nose.”

“And what, ruin the bit? Not on your life.” John checked a little box off of his mental list of ways to win her over. He was getting there. “So, when are we going?”

She glanced him over very quickly. “Uh, you’re planning on going like that?”

How else would he go? Makeup took too long to apply. He’d stand out no matter what he did, with his complexion. “She already knows what I look like, Tiff’. If I pull out a disguise now that’s just another leg she could get up on me later.”

To his surprise, she reached around the back of his case and pulled a long piece of purple cloth off a large plastic hanger and tossed it his way. “If you fall off the bike without something on your arms they’re gonna get shredded to ribbons. And you’ll be...slightly less conspicuous with that.” 

John held up the fabric, feeling how heavy it was in his hands, and recognized it instantly. The purple leather trenchcoat he’d worn last year. “Ooh!” He gave it a firm shake and slid it on, instantly feeling the weight sink into his shoulders. He could smell something like mild fabric soap, which meant Bruce had kept it fairly clean. That sweetheart. “Oh, I missed this. I’ll never get why that vampire cosplayer just traded it away…” It was a little thick, really designed for the fall more than the summer. The buttons that made up the double-breasted style were dull black, but he could fix that later. “I need to put in some vents,” he mused, following Tiffany down to the parking pad below. He could hear his ankle boots click slightly on the metal steps, reminding him of when he and Bruce had left for their little missions last year. “How many do you have in that suit? It has to get hot in there.”

“Ten. Bruce’s suit has more, you should look at it later.”

He patted his pockets. Pretty flat. “You wouldn’t happen to have any extra gloves, would you?”

“Yeah, but they’re not going to fit you.”

Upon closer inspection, the sleek motorized bicycle was really built more for one than two. The elevated seat on the back had small handles on the sides for the passenger - or easily-strapped bag - to hold onto. “Uh, you know I’ve never ridden on a motorcycle before...”

“It’s okay, I’ve never had a passenger before.” Tiffany tucked the majority of her hair into a tight fitting hood that reminded John of knight’s chainmail. “Just hold onto the handles and lean with the bike if we turn. I need to start it before you get on.”

“What, no holding onto the driver like they do in the movies?”

Tiffany gave him a look. He’d seen it before on Harley when he’d asked what he didn’t realize was an ‘inappropriate’ question - an odd sort of angrily tired, like she’d been asked it too many times before, but had almost gotten used to it. But of what exactly he couldn’t understand; he’d never seen a guy give that expression to help explain it. “You try and I’ll kick you off the bike.”

“Okay, point taken. Handles only.” 

Tiffany was trying to find a spot on the bike for the grappling gun. She had a couple of little side compartments that John figured was for drones or her controlling tablet. There was a D-clip on what must have passed for her utility belt that could probably hold it, but John had deep pockets and freer hands.

“You want me to hold onto that?” He held out his hand, “Even I know you shouldn’t shoot ‘n’ drive!”

She plopped it into his hand, seeming somewhat annoyed she couldn’t find a spot elsewhere. “Only while I’m driving.”

It was nice and cold, and just the right amount of weight for a tool that could zip him almost anywhere. Now all he needed was a Batarang in his pocket... He did have that nice rainbow-hued knife Devi had given him; he supposed that was close enough, so he slid it from his pants pocket to his coat and heard a little clink.

It had hit a plastic tube that read Number 45, Wine under a torn brand name label. “Ha! I knew I left the spare somewhere.” 

Tiffany was digging around in the little trunk hidden under the backseat. John shuffled to kneel in front of the little side mirror by the controls. 

He hadn’t worn makeup since last year, either. It was one of those socially-unconventional things that made people everywhere look at him uncomfortably - and as much as he liked attention and making people question their own ideas of what was ‘fashionable’ and ‘normal’, he did kind of prefer finishing his recovery in peace. Being lynched in a mental ward with shitty excuses for protection wasn’t his idea of a good time, let alone worth ruining his record of good behavior. 

John rolled the lipstick on; it was a color bordering on the fine line between dark purple and red. The kind of color he wanted to smear over Bruce’s collar. Color over the inevitable purplish bruises and lines of faded scars. Mix with fresh cuts until the reds were indistinguishable and staining white sheets as they tumbled together, blurring the lines of taboo and illicit...

“Here,” Tiffany yanked John out of his thoughts by handing him an open-faced helmet. It reminded him of more of an old-fashioned army helmet than anything. She blinked, slightly surprised by the slight change in appearance. “Uh, there’s no visor, but I did find a bandana for you.”

Heavy white cotton. It could use a good coat of paint… “...are we ganging up on a piñata?”

“What?” Tiffany scoffed, the corner of her mouth upturned just a little, “John, you use it to cover your mouth. Unless you want to swallow a boatload of mosquitos,” she pointed out with a smirk.

“Point taken,” he grumbled, tying it around his neck.

Tiffany slid on her helmet and started the bike with a rumble of the engine while John was still working the helmet’s strap. He’d only just settled on the back of the bike and Tiffany took off like a shot, causing him to grin anew and clutch the handles like he was riding the old haunted house ride back in the abandoned amusement park, grinning anew.

Clearly, Tiffany and Bruce had something else in common.

*~*~*~*~*

To put it mildly, the Motel 11 on Augury Road was the sort of place that seemed to have a pest problem.

John just didn’t know what kind of pest. Arkham always seemed to have rats until his last two years. The run-down halfway house he’d been in the first time he was released had roaches in three sizes. The Old Five Points station John had kicked around for a few months had a bit of both, plus mice, spiders, and The Pact, depending on where you walked.

This place was still a step above all that, of course; it offered freedom, secrecy, hot water, and quiet.

Not too quiet. People clearly stayed there, and the freeway entrance wasn’t too far; John could hear the rush of cars speeding like they were all Batman on a Friday night call.

Tiffany parked her bike in a discreet out-of-the-way corner in a nearby alleyway and stashed their helmets in the tiny trunk as John took in the sight of the motel’s parking lot. 

Selina Kyle had reversed into her parking place so the traffic cameras couldn’t read the plate. There were no markings as to what model car it was, but the sleek dark windows and shiny black finish told John that it was expensive-ish and thus primed for stealing. Or stripping, depending on the area’s hoodlums. He was surprised it hadn’t been touched yet.

“How do you know which room’s hers?” John asked as Tiffany fiddled with her tablet. One of her miniature drones - he was so tempted to name it! - was already zooming towards the building like a little bird.

“Electronic record says someone named ‘Frieda Baast’ checked into room 14[B1]   late last night. Preeetty sure that’s her,” she smirked up at him briefly before watching her screen again, tilting it to fly the small drone, “Plus, she parked close to it.”

John hovered over her shoulder a little, watching the camera zoom around the place like a bee. It looked empty at first, but John saw lumps at the end of the bedspread. “Looks like she’s taking a cat nap.”

Tiffany gave him a look. “Ha ha.”

“What? It’s an easy jab!”

“Speaking of easy,” Tiffany snatched the grappling gun out of his pocket and clipped it to her belt, not bothering to even say ‘excuse me’, “she’s only got two exits.”

“Yeah, the front door and the back window. Duh.”

“Exactly,” she continued with an air of a new orderly, “You go around the back in case she tries to run for it.”

John felt offended at the very idea. There was no way he was going to fit through that back window. Tiffany was clearly going to try and hog the glory of confronting Cat Woman by herself.

Telling Tiffany they should switch places wasn’t a good idea, though. She’d take immediate offense, and even if he threatened her, they’d be fighting before they got to the real problem at hand. No, this would take compromise.

“How about we both go in the front door and use your little kit to guard the back?”

She wrinkled her nose and raised her right eyebrow. “Kit?”

“Yeah!” She didn’t get it. Of course. He rolled his eyes; he didn’t like explaining jokes. “Your last name is Fox, you built the drones - so, your kit. A baby fox!”

She didn’t look impressed. “Oh.”

“Doesn’t it have a laser or miniature flamethrower or something on it? It’s got that little tube under the lens.”

“No, Charlie is only a surveillance drone. That piece is so he can connect with Foxtrot in the field. We don’t need that, though,” she waved off as if his curiosity didn’t matter, “You’ve got a good point, we can both cover the main exit better. And she doesn’t know it’s only for surveillance.”

“Charlie? Ha, what happened to Alpha and Bravo?” he joked. “Wait, does Charlie surf?”

“Alpha was the prototype I made for Br- Batman until it…exploded,” she winced, looking away as if she didn’t want to think about it, “Bravo is what he uses in the field now. I’ve got Charlie, and Delta is the backup in the bike. Batman has the larger drones stashed around the city. And they’re all waterproof, but I wouldn’t say they surf.” Tiffany slid on a large pair of rimless yellow-tinted goggles that looked almost like they were taken from a movie. A small green square lit up in the corner of a lens, and John saw small text crawl across the yellow glass as what looked like a diagram flashed up for a moment.

“Woah.”

“Cool, huh?” Tiffany puffed up in pride. “I’m a few steps ahead of the industry. No big deal.”

“I’d say it’s a pretty big deal!” John flattered, actually meaning it. “You got any other surprise gadgets up your sleeves?”

“What, and ruin the fun?” She lightly smacked his shoulder. Friendly, not bruising, accompanied by a warm smile that reached her eyes - John had scored some points. Clearly, the old adage about catching flies with honey was onto something. “Come on, Selina isn’t going to lay around and wait all day.”

“She will if she’s been in the catnip,” John joked, striding next to Tiffany as they snuck their way around to number 14.

Tiffany could now see the camera feed in her right eye; a little controller in her own wrist gauntlet controlled the drone movements once the tablet was put away on her belt. It was incredibly impressive, but John wondered if it wasn’t a little distracting to be watching a camera and where she was walking. It would be worse if she were fighting or taken by surprise…

John decided to stay on the camera’s side. There was no helping her if she couldn’t see from both sides.

It was tempting to burst in unannounced, but Catwoman wasn’t just using her name for a cute pun on her burglary tendencies – he’d seen her dance with Bruce as nimbly as her namesake. So of course if they couldn’t break in to get the door open, they’d just have to get her to come out.

The easiest way was her car. Anyone who gave a rat’s ass about the safety of their primary method of escape checked on their car alarm.

John remembered Batman’s stunners, and how Bruce had started carrying around one in his pocket since ol’ Scarecrow got put away. He knew they packed a serious punch; he’d been hit with one of those, back when…

No. No no no. Not going there today, Johnny-boy.

John shook his head, telling himself he’d have his little traumatic flashback at a different time. It didn’t quite help, only bringing back that after-zap feeling and the image of Ace Chemicals’ control room, which frustrated him, and that made him gnaw on his bottom lip for something to do and squeeze the knife in his pocket really hard.

“Uh...you okay?” Tiffany asked, stopping him without touching him. He almost wished she did, so he knew for sure she was there.

“Ha ha ha! No!” he answered, feeling more annoyed at everything, “Of course not! Why do you think I was in the funny farm for so long, hmmm?”

It was the wrong thing to say. He knew it was. But he was pissed at himself, at his stupid brain for acting up at the wrong time, for not being able to make that memory better than it was because Bruce probably wouldn’t go for a little safe recreation and they kept getting interrupted, damn it, could things not go his way for fifteen full minutes?!

He grit his teeth. There was no use staying angry for things neither of them could control. “Sorry,” he ground out. “I’m just…” He couldn’t explain it. She wouldn’t get it.

Or would she? Surely she had nasty little memories of where she was last year, too. He knew he caused one of those. His doctors always said he should open up to others. Share the experience.

“It’s just one of those stupid thoughts. The ‘hey, guess what you did a long time ago, boy-o? Let’s relive that,’ kind. It’s not fun.” He breathed in. He was outside, in Gotham, with all its car exhaust and leftover hot dogs covering the rot that seemed to make up the city’s foundation. It was better than Ace or his old cages; at least he could clean out some of the mess by himself. “They just come in at random, sometimes. I’ll be...” 

Not fine. It was what Bruce said all the time. And not ‘normal’, because he never would be. 

“I’ll be okay.”

Tiffany looked sympathetic. Or was it empathetic? Both? She looked at him less judgy and more understanding, and that was all he wanted. “You need a minute?”

“Nah. I was just thinking we need to set off the car alarm and kinda wanted a taser to do it.”

“Oh. We don’t need that.” Tiffany waved over her shoulder for him to follow as she took position by the door, the material of her hood now covering her mouth and nose. John slinked under the window and stood on the other side.

John watched as - quick as he could say ‘Rawhide’ - Tiffany took his grappling gun and fired at one of the headlights before retracting the clattering metal teeth with a snap of a button and clipping it to her belt by its’ jaws.

Like back in his room, half hidden in the dark, John was counting beats. Feeling his heart drum along a little, excitement building in anticipation.

The door opened partway, and Tiffany met his eyes for the briefest second before they spun on their heels to block the doorway and push forward.

“Selina, how are you, can we come in, thanks!” John rushed, pushing the door wide open.

Catwoman was just as fast and nimble as he remembered; it made him wish he’d brought some of his old playing cards along. She rushed straight to the bathroom window and unbolted it as fast as lightning - only to find the drone flying there, the lens right at eye level with a little red LED blinking to life.

Tiffany had her hand poised over the little controls at her wrist. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” she taunted, “Unless you want impromptu laser eye surgery.”

Selina turned to face them partway, looking more pissed off than he’d ever seen her. She had cut her hair short and dressed in tight fitting black and white; John could see something slightly protruding above her lower back, which likely meant a knife. She was dressed for combative self-defense, some instructor might say. But like everyone else, she had bags under her eyes - and they weren’t leftovers of eyeliner. In fact, there wasn’t a trace of her usual style. There was only a glowering resentment and an obvious pressure bearing down on her shoulders. He could see the tension in her brow and jaw and wondered what it was that made her hate them that much.

“Fine, you got me.” Selina stared him down; he could practically see possible escape plans swirling behind her eyes. “What do you want?” 

John could not resist a joke with an opener like that. “Oh, you know - freedom, a little niche of my own, a sunset dinner with Bruce overlooking the city...and my own cotton candy machine,” John answered, enjoying the confusion twisting her face into something less threatening, “But I’d really like some answers.”

“I see.” Selina shot a glance over to Tiffany, not seeming to recognize her. “I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure,” she said sarcastically, giving her a short once-over. “You must be Bats’ side-kick. Or have you gotten yourself mixed up in this crazy clown’s delusions?”

John could practically feel his dislike for her grow, simmering in the front of his head. What did she know about him? Or even the basic definition of a delusion, for that matter?

Tiffany seemed to have bristled a little less. “It doesn’t matter who I work with. If I don’t hear what I need to know, making your little hideout a beacon for trouble will be the least of your worries.”

“What, don’t you have a cute name to go along with the rest of the crew?” Selina taunted, not looking like she was enjoying it.

John held his gaze steady on the stealthy Cat, though his mind was already wandering to what Tiffany’s reaction would be. She supposedly wasn’t in the cave half the time anymore, and with the obvious costume change she’d likely not be calling herself ‘Oracle’ now. What would it be? Spoiler, as a homage to her original purpose of spoiling criminal’s fun? Batgirl, in mimic of her mentor? Something to allude to her range of skills, perhaps…Spectrum[B2] ? Or some word beginning with ‘T’?

“Robin. Now step away from the window,” Tiffany commanded, side-stepping close to the drone as Selina moved closer to the edge of the bathtub. 

“Hm, cute. Hope that’s not your real name, Robin.”

Selina looked very much like a cat itching to stretch its claws by the birdfeeder. It made John antsier, and he had half a mind to shove her into the bathtub and hold her there until he got the answers to the questions sitting in his gut.

Calm down, Bruce’s voice echoed in his head from a distant memory.

Sweet, rational Bruce would be right. She might kick him away, and a fight wouldn’t give him anything they actually needed. His impulses had to be tempered. And what did those doctors always say to do about it?

John whipped out the butterfly knife and began to fiddle with it, opening it and twirling it in his hand in a familiar pattern. He couldn’t quite remember just when or how he had gotten so good at it since his first release. It was sort of...natural.

He already felt the little urge ebbing away with the repetitive motion. It helped that it doubled as a passive threat - Selina eyed it a little upon seeing the flash of light glint off the blade with every turn and snap.

Selina sighed, glowering lightly at him like she was a cat stuck in a bathroom during dinner. “Let me save you the time - you’re here to ask about the attack on me in Bludhaven, right? All because I wouldn’t give up the dirty details to Bruce?” She folded her arms across her chest, looking almost business like. “The short version is:  I don’t know who they were. One minute I’m strolling down my gallery, and the next the lights cut out and some knife-happy freak crashes through my window. The only thing I can tell you about him was that he was wearing a mask.”

“How do you know it was a ‘he’?” John asked.

Selina rolled her eyes. “Please. I’ve seen enough men in costumes to know one when I see one. Tall, wide build, in a mask and ridiculous cape - only a man would wear that and think they look cool.”

John thought that remark was annoyingly unnecessary. And wrong - a third of Gotham could all agree that Batman’s picture should be next to the word ‘cool’ in the dictionary. (She was clearly jealous. Who wouldn’t be?)

“Casual sexism aside,” Tiffany grunted, “did you notice anything else? Any distinctive markings? Smells?”

“I just said he wore a mask. You think a guy like that wouldn’t cover himself up elsewhere?” Selina shot back, clearly not impressed, “I would’ve thought the sidekick to Bats would know to pay attention to context clues.”

John thought about throwing the knife at her, but it was a bad idea. For several reasons. “And I would’ve thought you were smart enough to not make deals under the table anymore, now that you’re free from the pound,” he sneered, clicking the knife open and shut, “What did Roman Sionis cut you in for?”

Selina glared, her stony green eyes hardening at him. “My deal with Roman was above the table, like all my sales. I don’t see how him buying something from my gallery has anything to do with this. Just because he’s loaded doesn’t mean he’s another crazed mob boss who needs to cut ties with everyone he meets.”

So Alfred was right - Roman bought something from the gallery. John made a mental note to mention that later in the most flattering way possible later.

“Did you see him after that?” Tiffany asked.

“Why would I?” Selina asked coolly.

“Handsome, rich, easy to rob…” Tiffany trailed off, seeming to smirk at her, “We all know he’s the kind that splashes champagne on pretty girls.”

“He does seem right up your alley, Cat,” John added.

Selina looked mildly disgusted at the mild pun. Or maybe the implication. John wasn’t sure which. “Look, we had a drink together after the payment transferred. I didn’t see him after that and I didn’t care. Why does this matter?”

…so she really didn’t know. That was interesting. John had figured she had a bit more of a detective instinct than that. “Because, surprise! He is a mob boss,” John said smugly, “One in a mask, no less.”

“I still don’t see how that matters. I don’t care who my clients are, as long as I get paid. And he has no reason to try and kill me, if that’s what you’re implying – the pieces I sold him were authentic. We parted on perfectly friendly terms.”

“Pieces?” Tiffany puzzled, “What, did he buy half your gallery for his yacht?”

(John quietly wondered if she wasn’t reading his mind somehow.)

“Don’t be silly,” Selina said tiredly, “It was a set of masks. And no, they weren’t anything like what the guy from the gallery was wearing.”

Tiffany stared her down, looking cockier than usual behind her glasses. “So if you left Bludhaven to run for your life and got a nice cash deposit, what the hell are you doing here?”

“We can’t all afford to stay at the Hilton for a week,” Selina dead-panned, shifting to add another mildly scathing remark.

But now who was missing context? And with all the obvious bitterness and tension oozing out of every pore, there was a clear answer hanging in the air. One he definitely preferred over the paranoid idea that she was here for Bruce. “I knew it,” John grinned, snapping the knife in his hand open, “You’re here on a job!” he pointed at her with the tip of the knife, not missing the flash down at it. Thinking of whether he would or wouldn’t use it. “What’s wrong, Kitty, get bored of hanging paintings you hadn’t stolen? Wanted that thrill back?”

“Don’t act like you know me,” she sneered in a slightly louder voice than she needed to use, “you’ll only embarrass yourself with your paranoid delusions of what I am.”

She was baiting for a fight. Maybe she wanted to watch him crack in front of Tiffany. Well, weird people said there was more than one way to skin a cat. “Ooh, throwing around psych terms! If you want to play psychiatrist, you better bring better material than that. Like… I would be willing to bet,” he emphasized with a little faux jab and a step towards her, “that you were actually happy down there, weren’t you? Settling nicely in a weird new life you’re not used to,” step, “when it’s allll upturned by some lunatic,” step, “and you’re forced to run back to the only life you knew before.”

He could tell he was right. Very right. She looked like he’d pinned her to the dissection tray in a lab.

“So you come back home!” He splayed his hands open, feeling more and more assured of himself, “And you need to prove to the world you can still land on your feet, so you pick right up where you left off. Am I right?”

“I don’t need to prove anything to anyone,” Selina growled, looking predictably pissed off, “And what I do in Gotham is my business.”

“It’s not just your business,” Tiffany injected, stepping closer to both of them. John wished he could communicate to her that it was a bad idea without having to threaten her; he just hoped Catwoman wouldn’t get as skittish as her namesake when cornered. “This isn’t just your city. It’s all of ours.”

“Who are you doing business with, Cat?” John asked, choosing to ignore Tiffany’s attempt to get Selina Kyle to play hero. If he was going that route he might as well have mentioned how they were in the same sort of boat! Either way it wasn’t going to appeal to her the way it might with someone else. “How do you know they weren’t the ones who tried to kill you?”

She was skirting her gaze between both of them. Annoyed. Wary. Backing up just a slight bit, metaphorically and literally.

“If they wanted to kill me, they would’ve done it already.”

“Unless they realized they could use you.”

She was thinking about it, staring him down, wondering if he was right, if what she thought was an obsessive lunatic might have had a very good point… She hadn’t considered it before, had she? She had met them already. Why wouldn’t they kill her on sight if not to use her for a day or two?

“Just something to think about!” John smirked, smacking her lightly on the shoulder with his free hand and turning to leave, trying to guide Tiffany to the door by her shoulder. “Come on, Robin. Cat Lady’s not in the mood to play with us.”

Tiffany didn’t budge. She had the same sort of stalwart glare that Batman got. “You know we’re only trying to help you.”

Wrong thing to say. Really wrong thing to say.

“Help me?” Selina hissed, “You barge in and poke your nose where it doesn’t belong, and you call that helping?”

“Robin,” John warned-

“God, you’re just like him! Just as stubborn and deluded with his self-righteous concept of justice. I don’t need help! Not from Bats,” the woman spat, “and not from you! If someone’s after me, I’ll-”

“You’ll what?” John interrupted, finding the ‘if’ particularly amusing, “You’ll pull a Riddler? Put yourself on display to lure them in and go for the kill?” It felt really good to rub it in her face. Almost soothing, in its own way. He couldn’t help but grin wider through his mildly-reddening vision and twist the metaphorical knife a little more. “You know what happened to him,” he purred, pointing the knife in his hand a little at her face, “Let’s not pretend it can’t happen to you.”

He felt a weight on his shoulder. Tiffany’s lightweight armored glove was attempting to pull him back, like she thought he might actually stab Selina in the face to prove a point. He went back to spinning the knife in his hand and stepped away. “Good luck out there, Cat-Lady,” he added, pulling Tiffany’s shoulder along with him in a loose, sidelong sort of hug as the drone hovered behind them like it was on a leash, its harmless lens trained on the angry thief at their backs. “You’ll need more than he did.”

Tiffany was stiff. Or maybe that was just the armor. It was hard to tell… He decided to let go as soon they were out of sight; she didn’t seem to be at the ‘hugging’ level of friendship yet, even if it was only a little one that barely counted. It would probably take longer to get there now. Which was a shame, because he felt like they could both use one.

He did want to break the silence, though. Something about the walk back to a getaway vehicle always seemed out of place, like an overly-long transition between scenes in a movie. But things were real, out in Gotham - he could feel the short heels of his boots as he walked and the city heat pressing against him. He clicked the knife shut and put it back in his pocket, not needing it anymore. “Good job back there,” he said earnestly, flashing a thumb’s up at her, “We can officially cross Black Mask off our list of suspects!”

Even with the mask and high-tech glasses covering her face, Tiffany was clearly angry with him. “So it’s our list now? Because I thought you did an awful lot of talking back there. Almost like I wasn’t there.”

“Oh.” He felt dumb just saying it aloud, but it was a reflex. “Um… I guess I got a little carried away?”

“A little? I was trying to get her to work with us, not plant suicidal ideas in her head!”

“I wasn’t doing that!” He protested, hoping he looked as honest as he felt. (Besides, even if he was, it wouldn’t be his fault if she did go down the Riddler-esque path of showboating and winding up dead.)

“What, next you’ll tell me you weren’t openly threatening her, too?” Tiffany rounded on him, looking more furious as she stopped at the end of the row of rooms.

“I wasn’t!” He clicked his heel hard on the pavement. “I was stimming! She just happened to be close to the other end when I was trying to make a point!” She didn’t seem to believe that, but he didn’t care; he knew it was the truth. “Did you want me to just walk away and let her yell at you for nothing all day?!”

“Yeah! I might have gotten a word in that way!”

“And what, convince her to have a sudden change of heart?” He scowled, getting agitated by the very idea she’d do a sudden one-eighty, “She won’t be a hero if you tell her she should!”

“I wasn’t trying to force her,” she countered, “I was suggesting! Unlike you, trying to play psychiatrist just because she pissed you off!”

“Oh, and I guess you wouldn’t get pissed off if someone tried to tell you what your issues are?!”

“You only made her madder!”

“YOU only made her madder! You don’t just offer her help!”

Tiffany was practically stomping towards the motorcycle in the distance as she threw up her hands in exhaustion. “There is just no dealing with you! I don’t know why I went along with this!”

That hurt. The kind that left a burn-like sting over a punch. They were teammates. Or at least they were supposed to be. Was it just guilt or pity that was holding their shreds of civility together? Was trying to get along with her the first step towards failure?

...or was it her fault? She couldn’t see the obvious nature of Selina Kyle - too independent and fickle to follow life-path suggestions, let alone accept help. Or maybe Tiffany did see it, and she thought Selina was still a better match for the crew - for Bruce - than he was. Maybe, like Alfred, Tiffany thought he was too unstable and dangerous to be around.

He stood in the corner of the alleyway, watching her angrily push on her helmet, and wondered at the intricate nuances of who exactly was to blame. He looked out at the city on the opposite end, wondering if he should just get a Ryde or risk using the Sky Rail...and thought it was odd a large white van was going that fast in his direction from the turn.

Ha, they’d have to stomp on the brakes to get into the parking space here...

It was getting a little too close…

WAY too close!

John darted into the alley, his heart jumping as he heard a sickening crunch behind him.

The van had smashed right into the corner of the building. Right where he had been just a moment ago.

It didn’t matter how curious he was about the driver. He didn’t want to hang around in case they had backup.

“Start the bike!” He shouted at Tiffany as she stood there, looking at the accident behind him. “NOW!”

“But-”

There came another crunch. Like metal pulling away.

The car was reversing, clearly not taking enough damage to stop the engine. It was impossible to see who was driving.

Tiffany revved the bike to life as John slammed the trunk and clumsily straddled the back seat. He’d barely sat down when the van had successfully pulled away from the building and turned its wheels towards the alleyway.

Tiffany had clearly seen this in the rearview mirror - she sped off, past the dumpster and down one of the many long back-routes of Gotham as wind whipped John’s hair. He gripped one handle hard as he pulled the bandana over his face and practically prayed that Tiffany did not decide to suddenly lose control.

The driver of the van didn’t seem to care how fast they were going, what route they were taking, or if half their front bumper was dislodged. They sped past the same brick and concrete and fire escapes and a rainbow of graffiti like it was nothing.

Tiffany tilted the bike to turn onto the street, narrowly missing a peeling station-wagon that sat too close to the alley.

John turned to see if the van was still there, wondering if maybe he could get a glimpse of the driver as they turned - the station-wagon was upended with a loud pop of fiberglass, swiveling into the road as the van barreled into traffic with a sharp turn, leaving a chorus of honking and squealing tires to follow.

John’s heart was practically drumming against his ribs like a fist, barely heard over the roar of the motorcycle but felt all too much - the van had a web of cracks in its windshield and more severe dents in its engine and driver side, but it still managed to follow them, dropping the headlight dangling from its front into the street for some other driver to run over.

Tiffany dodged between cars, seeming to ignore the beeps and rude gestures. John turned forward to see where they were, trying to think quickly on where they could go where their chaser wouldn’t follow, and heard more telltale sounds of the van in pursuit following Tiffany’s lead.

He was horribly reminded of his chase with the G.C.P.D. last year, when he had Waller thrown in the nearest vehicle as they’d ignored almost every traffic law on the way to Ace Chemicals, winding every which way to lose the cops on their tail.

He’d already killed people that way.

He didn’t want to be responsible for more off-screen deaths. 

The van was close behind, if the rearview mirror was anything to go by. Like it was tracking their every move and just waiting to splat them against a...

Oh. Now there was an idea. The van couldn’t squish them if they did the squishing first!

“ROBIN!” He shouted over the wind, tapping her on the shoulder.

She shoved her visor up. “WHAT?”

“TURN HERE!”

Tiffany made a right turn down the emptier street, passing an abandoned storefront, and John saw his chance - there was streetlamp in the middle of the sidewalk in the distance, right next to an alley.

The van could turn, but he knew it wouldn’t be able to turn too sharply without clipping the corner.

John did what he wasn’t supposed to do and quickly wrapped an arm around the armor plates of Robin’s waist as he unclipped the grappling gun still dangling from her belt. 

“WHAT ARE YOU-?”

Timing and aim - a formula too tricky and complex to actually think through. It was all about gut feeling and best judgement.

So John pointed, waited until the mirror showed the van right at their tail, and fired the hook at the lamppost.

Aaand retract!

They were pulled towards the post sharply, and John pushed the little button on the gun to unclench its jaws as the motorcycle tilted into a turn.

The crash of the van hitting the corner’s wall rang in John’s ears like a small explosion, getting quieter as Tiffany screeched the bike to a halt.

John let go and sat back in the seat, unable to stop himself from laughing in relief, letting out the strained ache in his lungs, and then laughing harder at sight of the van. The very smashed front, the now ruined windshield, the bent tire - they were going to have a hard time chasing them now!

Tiffany pushed down the parking lever in two seconds and hopped off, looking an odd mix of pissed off and amazed as she yanked her mask down to her neck and pulled off her helmet. “You…! You fucking idiot! That was brilliant! And stupid!” She shouted with a shove, causing him to teeter a little on the seat.

“Aha ha…! Sorry, sorry,” he tried, holding up his hands in surrender, “I had to do something to get that creep off our backs! And you nailed the landing! Ten outta ten!”

She looked conflicted. Like she was proud of herself but didn’t want to admit it. “Yeah,” she said simply, “but we could have died!”

Yeesh, did she sound like Bruce. “We could have, but we didn’t,” he emphasized, sliding off the bike with ease. “Besides, life’s not worth living without some risk!”

“Just...fucking warn me next time,” she said loudly, power-walking towards the van. “You’re lucky I’m an excellent driver!”

John decided to keep the thought of there wasn’t any time to himself. She sort of had a point - Gotham was full of alleyways. A few more people might have gotten into accidents along the way, but he could have waited...though he did sort of prefer stopping the van now rather than later, so he still felt his decision was the best. Still, another instance of someone telling him something uncannily familiar to what another person said…

Ah, who was he to dwell on little things like that?

“I thought I was stupidly brilliant?” He teased, following her with a twirl of the grappling gun in his hand.

“You’re a lot of things,” she shot back, not sounding as nearly as mad.

He wasn’t sure how to take the odd mix of implied-insult and praise. He decided to focus more on the positive aspect of her actually saying something nice and marked it as a personal progress.

Tiffany pulled out one of Batman’s portable stunners and kept it ready, poised to throw open the passenger side door of the van - John kept the gun pointed at what should be level with the driver’s face. “Ready when you are, Robin.”

Tiffany counted down from three on her fingers, and opened the cabin door with what looked like enough force to rip it off the hinges.

Broken glass and plastic littered the very…empty seats.

“Well, that’s anticlimactic,” John grumbled, lowering the grappling gun, “Self-driving cars sure have come a long way!” He pulled out his phone to take a quick picture:  proof that it happened, of course, but also proof for Bruce.

Tiffany was already climbing into the seat. “It was driving pretty erratically,” she commented as she poked around the ignition.

“Oh, sure, it clipped some corners and sped up a lot – but I’d say that was more reckless than erratic.”

“It wasn’t quite driving straight.” Tiffany pulled up a normal two-pound weight from the gas pedal, tugging some wire tracing from it to the back area, which was also empty. “And it’s easy to see why. Check this out,” she gestured, waving her hand in.

John hoisted himself up and in, keeping his hands to himself in the likely case it was dusted over later. “Shouldn’t we be worrying about the eventual crowd?”

“We’ve got a minute. Look,” she tugged the line, connected to a pulley system controlled by what looked suspiciously like a standing kitchen mixer, “The mixers are rigged to pull the weights on the brake and gas pedals. They probably have remote capability.”

“You’d think that would be a reeeeally short radius...”

“That’s what the cell phone’s for,” Tiffany said, gesturing to the out-of-date smartphone sticking upright in the dashboard. “They must have used it as a dash-cam, and connected it to the mixers to control through an app at the same time. There’s actually a free one for remote device control.”

“I somehow didn’t pitch you for the kitchen-gadget type.”

Tiffany shrugged, seeming slightly downcast at that. “I’m not. I bought my mom one of these for her birthday. This one’s a little different, but it probably has the same sort of rig.”

“So whoever we’re dealing with doesn’t have the handy funds for an actual radio transmitter setup to drive this thing, huh...” John pondered, pulling away the bandana on his neck to pick up the phone up.

The phone’s battery was getting low and the signal was on the edge of reception, but a remote-wipe app was up and struggling to work; John quickly canceled the wipe action and turned the tower radio off before the mystery-driver could do any further damage.

Beep. 

A beeping noise?

Beep.

That couldn’t be good.

“What’s that?” Tiffany pulled away from the backseat. Whatever was beeping came from the back, and John had a sneaking suspicion it was positioned close to the gas tank.

John pocketed the phone. “Time to go!” He snatched Tiffany’s arm and half dragged her out of the van, thinking wildly – if it were him, he would have rigged the whole thing to blast the car sky-high, and running was likely not going to cut it.

Thankfully, like alleyways, Gotham had a lot of fire escapes.

He didn’t think, only counted off the beeps that seemed to coordinate with his heart – six, seven – as he aimed, fired, and zipped up the line with Tiffany being held against her will in one arm.

Nine, ten –

A blast of superheated air hit his back as they reached the top of the metal staircase, accompanied by the roar of exploding gasoline and metal bending against its will.

John grimaced as he smacked his shin right against the metal grating as he wedged his heels in the little bars. “That’s gonna leave a mark,” he growled, casting a look down at the now-definitely-ruined car. “But it looks like our geese live to see another day!” he joked, trying to lighten up the mood for both of them.

Tiffany was just silently looking down at the wreckage below and clinging to him like she thought he might drop her.

“You okay, there, birdie?”

“Yeah,” she said, the ‘oh God, that could have been me’ written clearly on her face.

“‘Cause you’re not as heavy as Bruce in full gear, but your pal Joker can only hang around with you for so long.”

She shot him a look he couldn’t decipher and silently climbed up and over the railing.

“You sure you’re okay?” He asked again as he followed her, pulling out his phone for another snap of the now-burning van below. “You kiiinda seem like you’re in shock.”

“Yeah, I just…” She pushed her goggles on top of her head to look at him, a little wary and unbelieving, but guilty more than anything. “I’m sorry I called you stupid. I didn’t mean it.” She crossed her arms, looking down at her bike below. “You saved us twice today.”

Part of him wanted to just say it was okay, and another wanted to rub it in her face, but he pushed both ideas away. “You’re welcome! But friends don’t wait until after they’re saved to apologize for being rude,” he emphasized with a light glare. “Still, I’d say this calls for a group pic! Just for my album, of course.” 

“...you’re not gonna let me go without one, are you?” Tiffany mused.

“How can I, it’s our first proper team-up!” He gently put his arm around her shoulder to draw her in. “Ooh, put your goggles on! Then we’ll be Joker and Robin.” He made sure to get both of them at a good angle, with Tiffany’s little smile and yellow goggles making her look like she was defining ‘cool’ in her own way. Snap! 

It was a really good one. There wasn’t a trace of awkwardness on her face this time, and the angle was perfectly flattering for both of them. 

“Okay, we should go before the fuzz shows up.” She pushed her goggles back up into her hair and led the way down the stairs, charging down with hard stomps. “You grabbed the phone from the car, right?”

“Yup! I stopped it from doing a little wipe. It was probably tracking us, too.” He followed closely, seeing the plates of her armor shift a little with movement. It really was like a slimmer version of Batman’s suit. “So why ‘Robin’? I kind of expected something a little more…”

“Batty?” Tiffany kicked the ladder down and started to climb back to the safety of hard pavement. “I always liked robins,” she said simply, “My suit’s wings aren’t suited to be bats’, anyway.”

It was a short fall, but worth every second of the wheee he didn’t even try to hold in as he slid down the ladder after her. He plopped the phone into her hand upon landing, not caring about the bemused look she was throwing him. “Here, you’ll probably find more than I could.”

Tiffany poked around on it, swiping with her gloves’ little pads as she walked towards the bike. “Looks like the wipe started with downloads and unused applications.” Swipe, swipe, tap. “Two different apps were used for the mixers… Bluetooth’s enabled, too... Doesn’t look like any navigation software was installed,” she muttered, “They might have a remote tracker elsewhere. But just what are they tracing?”

He was surprised the answer wasn’t so obvious to her. “Uh, pretty sure it’s me, Tiff’. I mean, the car did swerve towards me back at the motel. If it was you they were after, they would’ve veered towards the bike.”

“But the Batcave has a sensor to detect tracking devices upon arrival. Both the entrance and the elevator would’ve set it off if it was stuck to you...”

“I doubt they could’ve just seen me,” John panned, already emptying his pockets, “I might have changed my clothes, but I have to be carrying something…”

She frowned. “You don’t think it’s someone from St. Dymphna, do you? They gave you a phone, right?”

“I doubt it. It’s too basic! And look, it’s barely got a signal,” he held it out for her to see. “Besides, if someone working at St. Dymphna wanted to kill me, all they’d have to do is give me an overdose and claim it was an accident.”

There was his own cell phone, of course, but it was the least likely thing of all. No one but he, Bruce, and his friends knew of its existence, and he kept it close at all times. Remote access was turned off, as was a lot of casual security violations the phone’s software wanted to enable by default. It was possible that someone could use the Batcomputer to look at it, though… He wouldn’t put it past Bruce to leave an emergency loophole.

Just as he was about to put that one away, too, a text came in from Iman:  

Where are you?

There was the nagging thought that maybe it was one of their little makeshift crew. Especially former-Agent Iman, who could easily plant something on him without suspicion. 

But he trusted Bruce with his life. He should extend that same trust to those who Bruce trusted...right?

Right. It was just the paranoia talking.

Out with Tiffy for a joyride! he answered. Don’t tell Bruce though, I’m hoping to surprise him with what we’ve found.

Are you visiting Selina with her?

Of course he was, where else would he be? Hey, don’t ruin the surprise! ;)

John, PLEASE be careful. Both you and Selina have been targeted recently. Your attempted murderer/s are probably still be hunting you.

It’s safer for you to be in the Manor. 

You know Bruce would say the same.

A little too late for that, he thought privately. Not like he hadn’t thought someone would try it again eventually… 

 Iman sure had good timing with her commentary… She had access to the Batcomputer. In fact, she had access to just about everything. She could have known all along where Selina was hiding out and planted the van near there and just waited until-! 

“Robin,” he started, remembering what Dr. Leland had said about proving to himself that irrational ideas like that were wrong, “You trust Iman, right?”

“Of course I do,” she said confidently. “Why?”

See, John? It’s fine, he told himself. “Just wondering.”

There was no use worrying Iman needlessly by spilling the whole can of beans. We’ll be back soon! Promise!! he wrote, making sure not to scrape the screen against the knife he’d gotten from Devi as he slid it back into his pocket.

Speaking of Devi, he’d been carrying around that knife since last night...but the metal handle would probably interfere with a radio signal. And he doubted she would have planned out the shooting to deliberately put herself in harm’s way. She was smart enough to keep herself out of the way for something like that.

The only other thing he had was his rainbow-splattered wallet. There was the hotel key Mickey had given him last night, which he’d stuck opposite the official state ID grinning up at him from the little clear pocket. But the keycard was pure plastic with a little security stripe - nothing more. And why give it to John to bank on killing him later when he or Devi could have just thrown him in the middle of the sniper’s gunfire? It didn’t make sense…

The only other things he had in there were cash, an emergency contact card, some state-given insurance, that really good picture of Bruce he’d saved from an old newspaper…

John stared at the little blue card he’d hidden behind the clipping and felt the urge to smack himself. 

Of course. Of course - of course - of course. The expired card had a chip in it. He hadn’t even thought about it since he had to jimmy the parole officer’s door open… “I found it.”

“Found it?” Tiffany looked up from her examination of the bike’s underbelly. The trunk was wide open and searched thoroughly.

“It’s the only thing I can think of that I’ve been carrying around before Friday,” he said, stretching it out to her.

Batman’s apprentice took it gingerly, and he knew by the utter shock on her face it was something important. “How did you...?!” 

A distant wail of a fire engine pierced the air. Tiffany stashed the card in a little pouch in her belt, shoved her helmet over her head, and started the bike’s engine.

“Come on! We’ve hung around too much!”

“Oh I don’t know,” John beamed, taking the seat behind her with his borrowed helmet loosely stuck on, “We could always get lunch.”

*~*~*~*~*

Upon arriving back at the cave (unfortunately lunch-less), Tiffany had barely gotten off the bird-cycle before making a beeline for the Batcomputer. “I knew it - Michael Hodges! The same guy who booked the room at The Lot…” 

“From the Friday Nighters’ murders?”

“Mm-hmm…”

John felt like reality had twisted itself a little more at her casual affirmation. He was desperate for something to squeeze or tap. The cold metal of the knife in his pocket wasn’t doing it. The grappling gun was too familiar to ground him in the here-and-now. He settled for holding himself, clutching handfuls of leather and reminding himself that it smelled too clean to be fake.

From what he had read of Bruce and Iman’s notes, all seven cops ‘n’ crooks were drugged and shot in their seats, left to watch as each died and bleed into the couches. It stunk of the sort of gloating reserved for serial killers who had debts to settle. He’d wondered if that’s what they were - debts of death being repaid with more death. The little group had been around for a while. Who was to say someone couldn’t trace them back to a single, faulty so-called accident?

But the fact that the guy who booked the murder-room had his card conveniently dropped into John’s lap… It brewed a terrible feeling in his stomach. Clearly, whoever had tried to shoot him and tried to run him over, too, and they were connected to a mass homicide barely a day after two other mass homicides.

It could be a coincidence.

But didn’t the fact that he had to use ‘could’ tell him it wasn’t?

“It’s not a coincidence, is it,” he said, clutching himself a little harder. “They planted that deliberately.”

“I hate to say it, but...it really seems that way,” Tiffany affirmed with a concerned frown. “Where did you even get this?” Tiffany asked, shaking him out of his thoughts without even glancing over at him.

“It’s a long story,” he tried, not wanting to just spill everything he was feeling, “I kind of found it.”

“So, you stole it,” she said, giving him a disapproving side-eye as she jammed the card into a slot.

“Look, I got an order at work, it was sitting inside of it all expired, and I was never planning on actually using it to buy anything,” he growled in a huff, “I was only ever going to use it as a key! And if it wasn’t for that, I wouldn’t have found all that stuff on Ian!”

He wasn’t sure if Tiffany was actually listening or not. Her eyes were darting over the screen, hunting for something particular in the schematics of the little chip. “How long have you had this?”

“Tuesday.”

“Tuesday?” She glanced at him once, then when back to scanning for something in the computer’s analysis.

“Yeah, Tuesday! Makes me wonder why our would-be killer took so long to find me.”

“That’s easy,” Tiffany said slowly, still not looking at him, “This thing’s shit.”

Maybe it was stress, or maybe it was her expression and the casual tone she used, but John found it a particularly funny thing to say. “Y-you said that so seriously,” he managed between titters.

“Yeah, because it’s seriously shit,” she replied with a smirk. “The receiver on this thing is pretty bad - even without the Batcave’s defenses blocking it, it must only be getting a signal a third of the time.”

“And me wedging it in a door wouldn’t have anything to do with that?”

“Maybe?” she shrugged with an exaggeratingly-puzzled look, “We’ll never know now. But they can’t track you anymore - my belt has extra-special lining, so they’ll think you got severely injured, if anything. They’ll have to wait until the police or news report comes out to know, and that could be a while.”

John had heard all of that, but he was too focused on the word anymore to really take the rest in.

Even if the thing was working a full thirty-three percent of the time, that was still a thirty-three percent chance his would-be killer knew he was staying at Wayne Manor. He’d prefer that number be a nice, round zero…

“John?” Tiffany waved a hand in front of his face.

“Ha, sorry, just thinking,” he waved off, shoving his hands in his pockets so she wouldn’t see him flexing his hands.

“Look, John - I know you’re worried, but the house is going to be packed tonight. You’d have to have one borrowed brain cell to try and get past the amount of security Bruce has for his parties. And thanks to our resident genius,” she said with a self-satisfied smile, “we should be able to track the signal back to ‘em.”

That was all well and good, but whenever anyone told him not to worry, he knew whatever they were going to say wasn’t going to put his mind at ease. 

“So, do you know who slid you the card? Like, who the order was from or anything?”

He did know, but he couldn’t remember the name exactly. John pulled his phone up and scrolled through his gallery, passing the photos of the van, his friends, graffiti… “S. Townsend. Bruce never did get back to me on this signature…” He shared it with the Batcomputer, instantly seeing it appear on the oversized screen. “I was thinking it was that chairperson.”

Tiffany sat back in the captain’s seat, looking thoughtful. “There is a Sonja Townsend on our list of potentials. She’s Michael’s mother-in-law.”

It sounded like a winner to him. “So it’s got to be her!”

“Well…” Tiffany pulled up the security footage of the woman at The Lot, clearly on her way to the murder-room. Big hat, sunglasses...what about this was special? “Look,” she zoomed in, enhancing on the jaw and nose that could be seen in certain shots, “Sonja isn’t this young.” Sonja’s company photo pulled up on the second monitor. “She’s in her mid-sixties. This woman’s half her age, at least. You can see it in her face, and I know Sonja’s waist isn’t that small.”

“All it takes is a corset and a good makeup application,” John said simply.

“I’m not saying I won’t look into this. I just think we’re might be looking for another fraud. Whoever they are, they must have known Michael enough to want to frame him.”

John didn’t have any experience with mothers-in-law - at least that he knew of - but if the media had taught him anything, they were filled with vengeance for their child-in-law for whatever reason. But as he’d learned the hard way, TV wasn’t always right. “What about her kid?”

“A daughter, but it’s definitely not her. She’s currently eight months pregnant. And she’s three inches too short, even without the heels our killer wore. As far as we can tell there’s no girlfriend in the picture, either, and mutual friends that could fit the bill have pretty sturdy alibis.”

John tilted his head, studying the image of the woman on camera. A sturdy, confident pose. A slightly round face without blemish or scarring. Red lips without any hint of smugness. Dutiful.

“I swear she looks almost like one of those really expensive sex workers,” Tiffany said, “The kind that meet businessmen in their offices.”

Jealousy hit John like a light stab. Had...Bruce had someone like that? Even though he’d told John he was waiting for him… “And you would know...how?”

“I’ve run into a couple when I was doing overtime,” she said nonchalantly, “Some of the managers on the twelfth floor seem to be steady clients.”

“You...haven’t seen them above there?” He asked nervously, “Near Bruce’s usual haunts?”

Tiffany laughed. “Bruce? No way! The guy’s way too paranoid about his social persona - he’s not about to invite one of them up to the office.”

“Oh, thank God,” John sunk, feeling some weight lift off his shoulders, “Don’t scare me like that! I mean, I know he loves me, but... I mean, I wouldn’t mind too much if he’d just asked permission first or something…”

Tiffany had a very odd look on her face. Uncomfortable? Confused? Concerned? She had looked away from him and seemed to be pulling up more programs not related to what they were doing. “I’ll look more into where this card might have come from,” she said steadily, as if they had never changed the subject at all, “I’ll let you know if I find anything.”

It shook something inside, deep down, pricking his head with a familiar feeling. He’d said something wrong.

He stared at the head in front of him for a moment, wishing he could crack open her consciousness for a little peek at her thoughts. She had changed the subject and wanted to be alone, all because he mentioned Bruce. Did she not...know about them?

Naaah. Alfred he could understand not telling - but Tiffany? She was part of the team, not a relation that might judge Bruce harshly and tear his heart to shreds. Tiffany had to know.

She was probably just uncomfortable with it because of the whole almost-tried-to-kill-her thing… Or the whole almost-tried-to-kill-Bruce thing. Either way, that was water under the bridge, and she’d have to cross it sometime. Besides, she’d have to be completely blind not to notice how far along Bruce and John had come from that point.

“O-kay, well - I’m going to borrow one of the tablets and do a little research of my own. And then I will tell you what I find!” He said as cheerfully as he could manage with a slap to the back of the chair.

He picked up the spare bat-engraved tablet from the workbench on the way out, expecting her to tell him to be careful with it as soon as it went into his hand, but instead John was left with an uncharacteristically stony silence all the way to the elevator.

*~*~*~*~*

John had been careful about wandering the manor - he didn’t like the idea of suddenly running into Alfred or Tiffany and feeling worse than before, but he did like the idea of running into Bruce on the upper floor. Sadly, his fantasy about bumping into Bruce casually and pulling him into a random room to blow off steam hadn’t come to pass. Instead, he found storage rooms, a second, smaller library, and Bruce’s home office, and still wound up right back at his own guest room.

It was, admittedly, the perfect place to think. The classic green wallpaper was a pretty homey shade, the view of the garden was nice, and the vast empty space that normally bothered him was perfect to pace in and lay out all the things he needed for thinking.

“Of course I’m stimming, Doc’,” he said, looking from the picture of himself and Batman he’d put on his nightstand to his makeshift crime board spread on the floor, “it helps a lot, but it doesn’t help the nasty little thought in my head.”

“What thought?”

“That I’m not entirely welcome here.” He sighed to himself, refocusing on Batman’s stubbled jaw. “Bruce has...guests here, right now. And not just the ones having a literal ball. A surrogate father, and a...well, I don’t know, somewhat-adopted child? Their relationship is weirdly familial.”

“And that makes you feel unwelcome?”

“It’s just… Alfred doesn’t like me very much,” he lamented, looking down at the torn article depicting the Chandis stuck in the harbor. “He’s not rude or anything. It’s the little things. The way he looks at me. How much space he leaves between us.” (The killer had to have stowed away on the boat, hiding himself to lie in wait until the moment was right to kill the crew. Brutal. Forward.) “He said he didn’t think I should be around other people. He didn’t know I could hear him… It was like he was trying to convince Bruce that I should be locked up.”

“How did that make you feel?”

Isn’t that obvious, he wanted to shout into the phone. He didn’t. He looked down at the picture of the warehouse, of the crime scene photos of the mobsters on the ground. “Angry. Mostly Hurt.” He breathed slowly, squeezing his free hand into a fist and letting go. “I just… I just want him to like me. He’s Bruce’s family.”

“I know you and Dr. Leland discussed your feelings about needing to be accepted - do you remember what she told you?”

“That I shouldn’t expect instant results,” he said, not quite remembering Dr. Leland’s exact phrasing.

“That’s true, too, but more importantly:  there will always be people who won’t accept you for who you are. A parental figure in Bruce’s life will naturally be wary of someone who once put his son’s life in danger.”

She had no idea just how much he’d put him in. She would never know. “So… Should I just…not try?”

“I encourage you to try. But you shouldn’t expect anyone to take to you right away. And if there’s no improvement, you have to accept the loss.” There came a brief pause. “What about the other guest?”

“It’s a kid-of-a-family-friend sort of thing. I know she’s going to take a while to come around,” he muttered, “and I didn’t like her at first, but she’s grown on me - and I don’t think it’s entirely mutual.” He studied the picture of the dead group sitting at almost a makeshift conference table. All three major killings were in groups. The only two that weren’t were Muddy Nye and Hubbard Jr., clearly only cover-ups…

“Sounds like you’ve been making a good effort to get along with her. I’m guessing Bruce and her are close?”

“Of course! How’d you guess?” he asked, studying the strings he’d laid over the pages to connect them all. Black Mask connected to the Chandis, the warehouse, Hubbard’s Garage, Muddy, and Selina Kyle; Selina connected to Black Mask and her art gallery, with the Chandis’ killer linking it to the boat; the warehouse connected to Hubbard’s Garage; Sonja Townsend connected to The Lot and St. Dymphna, and Bruce could only be connected to both of those.

(Unless he counted his previous not-quite-a-friendship with Selina, of course… And he did know Roman, but did that really connect him to Black Mask?)

“Would you be making an effort if Bruce wasn’t close with her?”

Oh. That was a good question. One that was potentially driving in the ‘are you revolving your life around Bruce Wayne’ undercurrent that Dr. Song seemed to use as her driving force behind their therapy. It wasn’t necessarily something that made him mad, but it wasn’t something he liked to discuss with anyone except Bruce. Not that he had, exactly, but… Bruce would understand more than anyone else. Doctors and strangers and everyone else would line up around the block to tell him how obsessed he was and that it was “dangerous” and “inappropriate” if he said one word about it.

But he couldn’t keep Dr. Song waiting forever. He paced around the floor-bound casebook slowly, thinking carefully about her question.

Maybe, if they never ever knew each other before, he might not try as hard. If there was no Batman, there would be no reason to try to apologize for old-John’s actions at all. (Well, except at the funeral. But he didn’t think he caused that much of a scene...) They could just be strangers, and there wouldn’t be this dangling thread of animosity towards him. They could, potentially, just be acquaintances.

But if her Dad was alive and she just built Batman’s gear in silence…he still liked being around interesting people. And the little tech-whiz had just enough humor and potential to qualify as interesting in John’s book. He was pretty sure that was why Bruce made her his partner-in-vigilante-crime, outside of compromising for the guilt for her father’s death.

“John?”

“Yeah,” he answered, “I would. Maybe not as much, but...I would.”

“Do you think either of them would make an effort with you, if things were reversed?”

He watched the string paths on the floor turn upside down. “Ha! I wouldn’t know that… I’d have a harder time liking them, though.”

“Try to look at it from that perspective. They clearly care about Bruce a great deal, and the fact that they haven’t been openly hostile mean they’re making an effort. Take those strides with them - give them space and time, and if you feel overwhelmed or threatened, don’t be afraid to walk away,” she advised in her wise, calm tone.

John stared at the upside-down pictures, and the strings leading things together, and breathed out. She would be right, if Bruce wasn’t Batman. If Bruce wasn’t the glue holding the mansion together with his lifelong mission for his personal pursuit of justice. The Batman complicated things far beyond the notion of family and friends. He always hung there, upside down like the proverbial flipside to...

His brain fizzled and thoughts faded away as he stared down at the drawings he’d made over the bodies on display in the Chandis’ storage room.

He HAD seen that shape before. Two lines arcing out from a long vertical line, aka three lines meeting to turn into one. 

Not at all unlike the foot of a bird stamped on heavy stone tablet of the Gotham Cemetery’s mausoleum floor...

“Remember, you can always call me,” Dr. Song said in his ear, stirring him half from the memory and thoughts that were getting squished together. “My phone is always on.”

“Okay,” he heard himself say. He could hear Bruce’s innocent question echoing back out of time from Dr. Crane’s living room:  Did you ever hear anyone talk about the Court of Owls? “I’ve gotta go, doc’.” He vaguely heard her say what was probably ‘goodnight’, but he was too focused on the symbol at his feet. “Yeah, ‘night…”

There were no voices, no music, no hums of lights – just a quiet hush of a lonely room.

His head felt fuzzy, narrowing in on the symbol he’d scribbled over the bodies, silently putting the strings together.

The Court of Owls. An old cult-like organization who believed in keeping the Devil out of Gotham by any means necessary – which usually meant straight-up murder. They disbanded years ago, since the heads of it were either hung in execution or offed themselves before the law could be given the chance. The rest had left Gotham entirely, leaving their bloody sins behind to dry and stain and be swept over.

Until now.

Everything started from Bludhaven. Black Mask had his leg over the fence separating the two cities. The drug shipment, the crew on the Chandis. Catwoman had made her living there. Ian Coggs had supposedly moved to Bludhaven.

And all of them were back in town. They brought The Court with them like a plague…

But that wasn’t true - Black Mask had an inside guy, Muddy, a newbie who didn’t mind giving up the details to the Court.

They were the real rat. They knew when the ship was coming in, and who would be waiting for it – they didn’t care about the drugs, only about leaving their message behind. A warning that Black Mask was being hunted. They killed Muddy for good measure and played dress-up to throw the group off the scent entirely, just in case they delivered a message before their own demise.

John stared at the picture of his attempted-shooter. There was a line connecting the Chandis’ killer to Selina Kyle. Another connecting The Lot to himself.

The masks. The capes. Not copycats, exactly.

Owls.

John felt like he wanted to shed his skin. Chemicals in his brain rushed like he’d woken up next to Bruce for the first time. He could feel his lips wobbling and the thing inside of him vibrating.

Hee hee ha ha HA HA HA HA!

“All this time! Ha ha ha, I’d been thinking it was a riv-al ga-a-ng!” he cackled to himself. “And it’s some - rogue crusader club - risen from the dead! Hee hee aha ha ha! They could’ve killed me before I…!”

Oh.

The realization made his lungs ache with the dying laughs stuck in them. 

They could have killed him. Bruce probably hadn’t considered The Court of Owls as a possibility either. His best buddy hadn’t told him he’d had a theory about it, so he must be as in the dark as the rest of Gotham. But he couldn’t blame him, he was so busy chasing after Black Mask and the various killers and now dealing with him and the Gala and…

He stared at the pages on his bedroom floor, with all the strings laid out, connecting everything together in a complex web. “I have to tell Bruce,” he reaffirmed to himself.

But Bruce was having that big soiree downstairs. The Gotham elite had all stepped out to Bruce’s mansion to show off and pal around on the billionaire’s estate under the pretense of charity. Texting Bruce was likely to backfire, as all the music would likely drown out the phones’ vibrations and tones, and Bruce probably had his Wayne-mask on, which meant his social graces had to be generally adhered to and he couldn’t just cut off whatever schlub he was talking to just to talk to John.

Which meant there was only one solution:  John would have to go down there.

He’d see Bruce in a tux’, undoubtedly impress him with his case-solving abilities, and maybe squeeze in a make-out session in one of the unused rooms. It was a win-win.

He just had to get something to wear and smear makeup on his face. Easy-peasy.

Bruce hadn’t left the suit in John’s room or the Batcave, so it likely was kept in Bruce’s bedroom closet. The same went for John’s makeup. Bruce never just threw things away - as evidenced by the everything in Wayne Manor - so they’d likely be shoved in a drawer somewhere in his grand bathroom.

John had already dumped out half of his meager possessions when searching for his crime-board materials, but there was one thing he needed to find; even if he had to borrow another one of Bruce’s black suits, there was no way he was wearing nothing but black. He pulled out a half-eaten packet of mini-marshmallows, the shiv he’d crafted out of a broken razor and a toothbrush his first week into his stay at St. Dymphna, a very orange button-down too crinkled to deign being put in the closet, the photo album he’d been filling since Bruce had given it to him for Christmas - ah-ha! He shoved the purple bow-tie that had been folded in the corner of the bag into his pocket.

He needed something to cover his hands, too, now that he thought of it. He only had so much peach-tone foundation, and he didn’t trust the setting powder that much.

It was quiet out there, but he knew there was a party going on despite the lack of music thumping under his feet. He passed mirrors and wall-sconces and breathed in, smelling all kinds of buffet food and the smell of old house that seemed to permeate everything. He passed the spots he remembered Bruce throwing some of his clothes down on when John had been there last, and felt a little jolt of deep-seated excitement hit his groin. What he wouldn’t give to relive that wonderful rush of endorphins…

Bruce’s room was just as he’d left it that morning. Except the bed was made. And there were no more clothes on the floor. And there was a definite lack of Bruce’s super-handsome face looking at him with soft longing from the pillow.

But now he was alone in there. With no one to stop him. And John had itchy fingers and a curiosity to fulfill.

“Focus, John,” he muttered to himself, squeezing his hands to try and pass the urge to rifle through Bruce’s bedside drawers, “You’ve got a mission to do.”

The walk-in closet was like a peek into Bruce’s inner-fashionista. Black, white, gray, dark blue, thin classy stripes; t-shirts, full suits, sports jackets, slacks, jeans; shoes that cost more than John’s whole outfits; a whole section of silk ties and pocket squares in colors John had never seen Bruce wore…

It made him want to pull Bruce and his fancy-schmancy black credit card into a proper store and force him to try on some more colors. He settled for running his hands across the rack of expensive shirts instead, flipping them halfway and releasing the smells of fabric detergent and leftover colognes.

John took a step backward, seeing a flash of color behind the up-ended fabric.

A secret button. In red. With ‘ESC’ written on it.

That had to mean ‘escape’, right? What happened if he pressed it? Did Bruce have a secret panel for Batman gear? A panic room? Both?

Bruce had never mentioned it. And if it turned out to fire Batarangs, that was just extra dodging practice and wounds he could make Bruce clean up, so he decided to push it, bracing himself to move.

But there was no alarm or spray of surprise-sharp-things or secret trap door that dropped John into some holding cell. There came a quiet squeak of hinges behind him - and behind the opposing rack of suits, there was an open gap in the wall with a long, shiny pole that plunged who-knew-how-deep into the floor. John took a peek downward, seeing lights reflecting off the pole far, far down.

A secret route to the Batcave, maybe? John made a mental note to ask about that later. He did remember Bruce mentioning wanting to put in an extra entrance…but he wasn’t going to just go down the pole to find out. Pressing buttons was one thing, but travelling potentially-incomplete paths was another entirely.

The door closed by itself after John pulled his head out of the enclosure. He continued down the rack of suits, finding some in clear protective bags, and found a tuxedo in Bruce’s size - but with white formal gloves in the breast pocket. What a lovely coincidence!

They fit his hands a little loosely, but it was better than nothing, so he decided they would do. Bruce must have kept them for if he had scars or visible battle wounds on his hands.

John found his tailored charcoal-suit at the very back, kept in a full-length plastic cover with one of his playing cards peeking out over the breast pocket. He could smell the same laundry detergent Bruce used on everything else in his closet as soon as he unzipped the bag. “I’m steppin’ out, my dear - To breathe an atmosphere -” he sang to himself as he quickly changed, “That simply reeks – ha ha ha ha – wi-ith claaass!”

It still fit as snug and comfortable as ever. He hung up the street-clothes he had been wearing on the now-empty hanger for later and decided that his ankle boots (which he had worn with the same suit last time) still looked fancy enough. Bruce had not thoughtfully put the whole deck in the suit’s pockets, though. He had to have kept them somewhere…

He decided to give into the urge to peek in the drawers, finding nothing but socks in one, and another with an awful lot of boxer-briefs in Bruce’s favored colors, and the last... 

Weapons. A telescoping nightstick, razor-sharp throwing stars, an actual honest-to-goodness pair of nun-chucks, a can of extra-strength mace, a stunner, a pair of police-quality handcuffs, a literal money-clip of cash, and… 

“Oh. My. Batman.” 

Bruce had not only kept his razor-cards in a cute plastic card-case with the Joker card face-up on top, but he’d kept his old joy-buzzer on a fancy velvet bracelet-holder! (Or was it a watch holder? John could never tell the difference.) They were incredibly out-of-place sitting with the non-Batman defense weapons. It made John wonder if Bruce just hadn’t gotten around to moving them to someplace more secure - if someone poked through his drawers, like John was doing now, they might put things together.

Or just think Bruce was obsessed with him and bought the things under the table from the G.C.P.D. 

The thought made John giggle. He was definitely taking the joy-buzzer back. And borrowing the can of mace for good measure. He wanted to take the full deck of cards, but one card was surely enough to qualify as an emergency use, and the rest of the deck would be awfully bulky with the rest of the things in his pockets. Not to mention, he liked the idea of taking them slowly to see if Bruce noticed any missing.

John smirked to himself as he stood in front of the embedded mirror in one of the closet’s cabinet doors to put on his home-made bow-tie. Bruce had stolen more from John’s evidence locker than he’d previously thought, and kept them in display pieces in his bedroom like they were treasures. It was enough to make any boyfriend smug. God, he could not wait to tease Bruce for it later. Maybe pull the card out of his pocket and tap it against his cheek, and wait until Bruce got that surprised look on his face and asked him where he found it, and John would tell him it was a s-e-c-r-e-t…

Though...speaking of secrets. “I wonder where Bruce put my Batarang,” he muttered, tilting his head in the mirror to make sure the tie was staying put. “It wasn’t in the cave earlier…”

And if it wasn’t in the secret drawer… It had to be somewhere in Bruce’s room.

So naturally, he poked into the closest thing outside of the closet - Bruce’s bedside table. He wiggled his fingers before pulling the knob to the top drawer, grinning to himself as he prepared to be surprised with what was inside.

Hm. Just ordinary things. Flashlight, a candle and matches, pen and paper with the Wayne Enterprise logo, the billy club Bruce used to keep under his pillow, and what looked like a powered-off burner phone. Bo-ring.

John checked under the pillow to see if maybe it was there - nope, nothing. Maybe the second drawer of the nightstand?

He opened it, stared, and promptly shut it. He hadn’t…seen that? Right? He was imagining things?

He peeked again, half-hoping he was. Nope, that pearly-white fleshlight was definitely real. So was the bottle of lube and condoms next to it, and the…

John felt uncomfortably warm. Guilty for looking, a little embarrassed for what he’d seen, and turned on by the mental image he was producing. He let the he amused, nervous giggle leave his mouth, grateful that Bruce wasn’t there to see him like this.

Especially since his Batarang - with the lipstick-scrawled message still intact - was sitting right on top of the condom box. It really made a guy all…wonder-y.

He snatched it out of the drawer and focused on tapping on the wood grain of the furniture rather than the dangerous thoughts trying to force their way to the front of his head. Just save those thoughts for later, John. Muuuch later. You’ve got a job to do.

But it was sweet that Bruce kept his little promise-note. Really sweet. Kissable sweet. Shove-him-against-a-wall sweet. The lipstick was dried, but still slightly waxy, so John was careful when putting it in his pocket.

He breathed in and out, smelling remnants of Bruce, and went to put on his face in Bruce’s bathroom.

Thankfully, John had learned how to apply foundation fairly fast, and temporary hair color was only comb-in job. It was the little details that took longer, like eyebrows and careful shading. Especially since he had to do it in a smaller mirror, or else...it wasn’t fun. 

He left in a hurry and straightened himself out as much as possible, his mind full of Owls and Bruce and the out-of-body feeling that came with looking at himself in the mirror with his man-off-the-street makeup. He avoided looking at any hallway mirrors, reminding himself that he did a fine job and didn’t need to triple-check, and followed the sounds of people and classic lounge music to the ballroom, taking the stairs two at a time.

Wayne Manor’s ballroom wasn’t as big as John imagined. He expected something along the lines of an old castle’s ballroom, but it was actually smaller than the manor’s foyer. It still glittered like something out of a storybook or an old Hollywood movie, with an enormous crystal chandelier dangling from the high ceiling, long banquet tables complete with ice sculptures and chocolate fountains, and people dressed to the nines dancing or milling about with champagne flutes.

It was there, just outside the ballroom door, that John realized he would have to sift through the crowd towards Bruce, who was unfortunately not easily visible. 

Well, he had to do what he had to do. Enter the world not as John Doe or Joker or whoever he might have been nearly a decade ago, but as some other new rich schmo out for a shoe shine on the ballroom floor with the rest of Gotham’s elite. He could do that.

He strode in, weaving through the outskirts of the crowd as he scanned them, searching for Bruce’s beautiful face among the crowd. It was difficult - there were an awful lot of black tuxedos and pretty faces, and his growling stomach didn’t help any.

He looked over by the long buffet table - the one with shining silver trays bearing all manners of savory hors d'oeuvres - and spotted a familiar face.

She had her hair up in a very sleek ornate bun, and he couldn’t recall ever seeing her wearing lip gloss or sensible chocolate-colored high heels, but it was definitely Iman in that champagne halter dress. He approached her as casually as he could, popping one of the little fluffy pork-filled dough-things from the end of the table in his mouth on the way. “Well, fancy seeing you here, stranger,” he said as he sidled up to her.

She searched his face for a moment, clearly trying to disguise her confusion with polite examination. He grinned wide when her left eyebrow shot up to her hairline. “John?”

“In the make-up-covered flesh,” he answered quietly. “I’d say you clean up nicely, but you’ve honestly looked this pretty every day I’ve seen you!”

“Thank you,” she said politely, the silvery pearls in her ears reflecting the chandelier with the tilt of her head. They went very well with the snake-shaped hearing aid. “That suit looks like it was tailored for you.”

“It was; I tailored it myself.”

“I’m guessing you’re looking for Bruce?”

Damn, what a guess! “Ha! What are you, a mind reader? Can you guess what number I’m thinking of, too?” 

She smiled warmly. “Of course not. You’d guess a letter instead.”

“Man, you’re good,” he chuckled. “You haven’t seen Bruce, have you? I figured something out and I kinda want to tell him in person. And you, too, of course!”

Iman opened her mouth to reply when Tiffany wedged herself on Iman’s other side. 

“Oh man, I swear if I have to talk to another…” Tiffany paused, seeing John but not recognizing him. “Oh, uh, sorry. Ignore me,” she said, turning to busy herself with choosing from finger-sandwiches.

“It’s gonna be hard for anyone to ignore you when you’re looking that pretty,” John said, taking in the one-shoulder satiny blue jumper. She’d sprayed silver glitter in the dyed portion her hair, too. The effect wasn’t as cute looking when she whipped her head around with the just-seen-a-ghost type of surprise on her face. 

“What are you doing here?” she stage-whispered, “And where did you even get all that?” she added, gesturing to his whole ensemble.

“I could ask you the same question,” he teased, “I’ve had all this since the last time I was here! Well, except for this,” he added, thumbing his tie, “I just couldn’t let a perfectly good scrap of material go to waste! Oh, but I’m here to see Bruce. And you guys! I found something major, and it, uh, probably shouldn’t wait. At least for too long.”

“And you can’t just tell us now?” Tiffany asked, eyeing him suspiciously.

He bit back the desire to ask what her problem was. It wouldn’t be a great start to the evening plan. “It’s easier if I just tell you all at once. In private. Hopefully in the next ten or fifteen minutes, depending on if I can find Bruce in this ridiculous crowd.”

“Which case does it deal with?” Iman asked, watching him with that same analytical curiosity he’d seen half the time she asked him questions.

All of them! He wanted to say. But you didn’t get an audience by spoiling half of the ending. “You’ll find out if you meet me in the parlor,” he said, hoping he was projecting an air of mystery. “I’m gonna keep looking for Bruce. And if you see him, tell him I’m looking for him!” he added, clicking his fingers in their direction as he made his way to the edge of the crowd.

He looked out into the party. People were dancing, laughing, pushing signed checks and wads of cash into glass bowls for the charity of their choice - if it weren’t for the otherworldly feeling he was getting and the fact that all the upper-class twits surrounding him didn’t really care about the actual people they were helping, it might have made a nice picture.

Actually, getting a picture was a good idea. They really did help with the whole grounding-himself-in-reality task he had to do more and more often nowadays. He pulled out his phone, thinking about what angle to use, and saw a text pop up from Devi.

How u holdin up J?

His phone had definitely vibrated in his hand, so that was real… Oh, there was no way he could resist showing off, now. 

You’ll never guess where I am!!! :D He wrote back, having to press a little harder on the screen so the thin cotton would let him type.

Ur bfs bedroom????

Dude u DIDNT

John giggled to himself. Her mind would be blown if she knew what he’d found in there, but he wasn’t about to tell her all that. It raised too many follow-up questions. LOL I wish!!

He turned around and decided to swallow his discomfort to take a partial selfie in the glittering, perfectly-lit ballroom and send it to her. It was honestly better to look at his made-up face with a camera than a mirror, where he couldn’t manage to look at the whole thing without feeling distorted. Maybe it was because he’d done it with Bruce before, back at Dr. Crane’s house? Or maybe it was the way the digital camera moved that made it feel fake enough. Or both. 

I’m at the gala! Undercover, of course. ;D he added.

Ok that makeup is amazing I barely recognize u!!!

Whats it like? Live up 2 the hype?

Everyone is super pretty, it’s annoying and crowded.

But it’s got swanky music and good food sooo... Pretty ok???

He should ask how she was, since she took the effort to reach out to him. How’s it going over there? You and Mickey doing ok?

Well we r still standin so its good. My sis came to visit which was nice but I decided not to transfer out. 2 much trouble. Mickey had no choice but 2 stay bc usual insurance bs :\

Oooh but that bitch Karen got her ASS reprimanded for yelling at the mens room by the gym for some reason last night! Dont ask how i found out ;p

HA I told her Mickey went in there when he was hiding from her in the library yesterday!!! Ha ha ha ha I can’t believe she actually yelled at nothing!!!

Omg!!! Mickey actually laughed when i told him!!! Classic J!!!

If u didnt almost die id say u need to come back

Its less colorful and WAY 2 quiet wo u

John felt that familiar fuzzy warmth that came with Bruce saying he missed him. He looked up into the crowd and was sure he spotted the familiar head of sleek black hair, so he decided to try and navigate through the crowd and text at the same time.

Awwww!!! Don’t worry, it’s only until they catch the guy! He wrote, side-stepping a hired butler before the tray knocked into him. (Should he tell her about Batman working on it? Surely he could excuse it away with a surprise visit. It wouldn’t be the first time Batman had been perched outside his window.) God, was there always this many people huddled together or what? Which should be soon, since Batsy’s on the case!

He’d no sooner pressed send when he smacked into an obstacle and heard the tinkling clink of shattered glass.

“Oh, sorry,” he said, but clearly she didn’t hear him.

“Fuck,” the woman he’d bumped into muttered, wiping off the end of her oddly familiar orange off-shoulder dress. It was too dark to blend in with the rest of the summer dresses swirling in the crowd. It was more suited to autumn, especially with the chunky black heels she was wearing with it...

Waaait a second.

Sure, the curly bob curving around her ears and framing her face was brown, but he knew that cute face anywhere! He’d sat across from it dozens of times!

“Jackie Lant!” He exclaimed, unable to help the smile stretching on his lips as she turned with the very clear look of a deer caught in headlights.

It was actually kind of nice how she seemed to instantly recognize him through the makeup and hair dye. Though the sight of him didn’t seem to excite her. “H-hey, John…”

She must have been thinking he was talking to her for some sort of threatening purpose. He should squash that right away by just talking like he normally did. “Talk about a coincidence! I thought that dress looked familiar – tailored by Mr. Prinya himself! It figures you’d wear it in summer. It’s just everything pumpkiny all year ‘round for you, isn’t it?” He chuckled. “But I’m surprised you’re back in Gotham! How’s the acting gig going for you? I’m assuming well enough to get you invited here?”

Jackie snorted into a small smile as her nerves melted away. “You haven’t changed a bit,” she said, propping one hand on her hip, “You still talk a mile a minute. Well, firstly - I, uh, don’t go by Jackie. In public, anyway,” she added with a pout and a side-eye to the crowd, “It’s Jacqueline, right now.”

“Little close to home, don’t you think?” John smirked.

“It’s easy to get used to,” she shrugged, “Besides, it makes for a good stage name; I get more callbacks with it. Probably because it makes me sound classically trained,” she emphasized with finger-quotes and a slight smirk that made a spark in her leaf-brown eyes. “No one suspects I just learned from life experience and being a huge theater nerd.”

John sniggered. “Well, if you ever need a letter of recommendation, I think me and Bruce can give you one! ‘Fooled entire asylum of patients and employees into thinking she was a trustworthy budding doctor,’” he mimed writing on an invisible notepad, “‘Played dual role as a sympathetic victim of our money-hungry society and a secondary villain, with a believable and overall stellar performance,’” he continued with a grin, “‘Solid ten out of ten!’”

“…sounds kind of like you’re still mad,” she responded, folding her arms across her chest with a dull look at the crowd. She looked more like the hopeless person he’d seen clutching her stitches on the mausoleum floor than the one watching the Batmobile take off afterwards. “Not that I really blame you.”

Well, he couldn’t help but enjoy holding her sins over her head a little, but he wasn’t really mad…anymore. They both did pretty rotten things at some point. “Oh, turn that frown upside-down, Pumpkin-head,” he teased, poking her in the corner of her mouth, “I’m only messing with you! It’s water under the bridge!” She eyed him, seeming like she wanted to believe that, but wasn’t too sure if he meant it. She looked like she needed a little boost. And what better way than to lighten up her grungy past a little? “Besides,” he added in a low voice, “you’re an idiot if you think I don’t replay the memory of you shooting ol’ Scarecrow in the shoulder whenever I’m feeling blue.”

That, surprisingly, made her laugh. It was light and short, but it lit up her face, so he knew he hit a bullseye. “Honestly, so do I,” she said with a dark gleam in her expression. “Especially when someone’s really annoying me. It’s a good reminder of what I’m capable of.”

One of the butlers had swooped over to their spot on the floor to clean up the glass.

“Oh, excuse me,” Jackie said politely and pulled John towards a less crowded section of the floor. “Sorry - I don’t really like the idea of smacking into anyone else out here,” she muttered, “but I’ve been meaning to ask – what are you doing here? I thought you weren’t released yet.”

Sheesh, can a guy just not want to have a good time, he wanted to say. But he didn’t really want to rile up anyone just yet, and it wasn’t her fault she didn’t know he’d been asked that twice already. She must not have known about the incident at St. Dymphna yesterday. (Not that he could blame her for not looking at the news. The same cycle of misery and murder never made for an entertaining time.) “It’s a secret,” he said simply, “Besides, I’m here for a good time, not a long time!” he added with a wink, snatching a shrimp cocktail off a waiter’s tray. It only lasted two bites, but it was delicious. “How about you? The last I saw you, you were running from your problems in a shit-box of a car.” She couldn’t possibly have been doing well enough to get a formal invitation if she had gotten her dress tailored in his neck of the woods…

“Ha, I still am,” she said, not sounding very amused despite the tiny smirk on her lips. “I’m here because it’s better than sitting around my hotel room feeling sorry for myself,” she grunted, the light in her eyes dimming as she snatched a flute off another waiter’s tray and downed half of it in one gulp. She stared at the glass, thinking of something with all the depressed seriousness he’d seen back in the mausoleum last year. “Fifteen years ago, my best friend was found rolled up in a rug in the dumpster three blocks from where she lived.”

John remembered the many pictures she had hung up in her small apartment; a lot of those friends were dead. “Oh… Uh, I’m sorry,” he tried, not sure what else he could say without sounding like a huge jerk.

“Don’t apologize,” she said with an oddly sharp look, “I didn’t tell you to get sympathy. I get enough of that from everyone else. I told you because you would’ve picked my brain apart to get it out anyway, and I don’t really feel like playing that game.”

“Ouch, Jackie,” John clutched his chest and pouted dramatically, “You think so low of me! And here I thought we were getting to be friends…” He couldn’t hold the pout for long – if she was going to be rude, he could needle her with a taste of her own medicine. “But I guess if we were, I’d drop dead in a week.”

She didn’t seem to take that harshly at all. In fact, she lightened up a little. “See, that’s more like it,” she said with a Bruce-like smile. “No one else gives me dark jokes like that. They all think it’ll just make it worse.”

Huh! Well, at least John didn’t have to worry about tossing around grim jokes in her presence…?

“Honestly, though,” she continued, “I’m really only in Gotham for-”

“Jacqueline, baby – who’s this?” A man who couldn’t be much older – or taller - than Jackie sidled up to her out of nowhere, putting his arm protectively around her shoulder and flashing what could only be described as a bad attempt at ‘the Bruce Wayne press smile’. He didn’t have Bruce’s natural charm to pull it off, but he was fairly handsome, in a standard-Hollywood-twenty-something sort of way. Bronzer, foundation, and eyebrow powder were enhancing his face, but admittedly the curly swoop of dirty blond hair and lithe athletic frame helped with the overall look.

Jackie seemed to brighten a little more; she clearly knew him. “There you are, Matt – I was just talking about you. This is one of my old work-buddies.” She nodded slightly as she gestured to John, giving him a significant look he took to mean play along. “We worked on my last play here together. He’s a real Gothamite.”

The man called Matt reached his hand out to shake John’s. “Nice to meet you, Mr…?”

Shit. John had gotten used to being himself out on the floor, and now he had to put his normal-person face on, even if he didn’t want to play along. He grappled for the most normal names he could think of. He didn’t want to use his own, no matter how ordinary ‘John’ was.

Eric? No, I need something more familiar... Uh, J...erome? Jerimiah? Ooh, wait-!

“Jack,” he answered, thinking of the card currently sitting in his breast pocket. He might as well pick a good surname to go with it. And who was this guy to know where it came from? “Jack Napier,” he finished, reaching out to shake the guy’s hand. “Sorry - auditory processing,” he snorted, trying to smooth it over, “Takes a bit for the ol’ brain case to catch up sometimes.”

Matt didn’t seem to quite understand that, but he shook John’s hand anyway. “Matt Chaney,” he said proudly, like his mere name was something to envy.

“Matt and I snuck in here for research,” Jackie said with a small wink.

“Jacqueline-”

“Oh, lighten up, Matt. Jack’s great at keeping secrets.”

John tittered. “Got a noodle stuffed with ‘em,” he joked, “and not a single leak in the pan.”

“There’s a new TV soap role he’s trying out for,” Jackie explained with a pointed thumb up at Matt’s chin, “Think Bruce Wayne, but with less dough.”

“Oh, you’re on TV?” John asked, looking over their shoulder to see if Bruce made a coincidental appearance in the crowd. Maybe he was brooding somewhere…

“I’ve gotten some good contacts recently,” Matt boasted, which John translated to a ‘no’. “You worked with Jacqueline before she moved, right? Man, you must be pretty jealous now.”

...jealous of what? “Uh, look, you’re both rather attractive, but I’m afraid my heart’s spoken for,” he answered, tapping his chest where his undying love for Bruce Wayne lay embedded. “And neither of you are…really my type.”

Jackie sniggered as Matt frowned at him. “He doesn’t really go on social media, babe,” she said to her boyfriend with a genuinely amused grin as she pulled her phone out of the small purse dangling from a pathetically tiny strap on her shoulder. John could see the Lucky Hotel logo on a card she’d stuck in the back of the phone case; no wonder she altered her dress at his place! “Matt’s big on Root and MuSec[B1]  nowadays,” she explained, tapping on her screen, “I’ve got a bit of a following myself. Here, this one’s gotten me a lot of attention.”

John watched the very short video. He couldn’t hear the background music, but he watched as Jackie dramatically flipped a fan between her face, showing her normal face at first (with her hair still dyed brown), and then transitioning to a wide, grinning jack-o-lantern face done entirely in stage makeup. She’d worn yellow contacts to make the black of the painted eye-holes pop and seemed to have crafted painted plastic teeth for her jaw to open wide. “Ooh hoo hoo! Ve-ry nice,” he praised, watching the light in her eyes brighten further. “Reminds me of your last Halloween costume,” he teased.

Matt was clearly seething with jealousy - he plucked the phone out of Jackie’s hand and pulled up a different video. “Here, check this one out,” he said haughtily.

“‘Video removed for copyright violation’,” John read from the video placeholder on the page, “Impressive!”

“What?!” Matt pulled the phone back to him a deep scowl. “Not again! Those stupid fucking…”

“Why, Mr. Chaney,” a clear voice said from John’s left, “what a delight; it seems we’re destined to keep running into each other.”

John tossed a look towards the stranger heading towards them:  a man with extraordinarily average looks and flat, mousy brown hair. He could’ve passed him in the street a hundred times.

“And who are your friends?” The man asked, looking between Jackie and John. He settled back on John, looking more and more curious. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”

“Oh, uh, Jacqueline – my girlfriend,” Matt emphasized by putting his arm back around Jackie and giving her a little squeeze – “this is Reverend Overfield; we met when I was scouting around town a while back. Reverend, this is Jacqueline Latern, and-”

“Jack Napier,” John interrupted, deciding to take initiative in shaking the Reverend’s hand like people were supposed to do. But weren’t guys like the Rev’ supposed to wear those little white collars everywhere they went, and not full-blown tuxedos?

“We haven’t met before, have we?” the Reverend asked as he withdrew his hand. “You seem familiar.”

You might have seen me on the news, John thought privately. “Oh, I’m just your typical man about town,” he answered with all the patented Wayne charm he could channel. “I’m sure you’d find a dozen like me in this crowd.” He looked over the faces of people behind the Reverend’s shoulders, hoping to suddenly see Bruce come into view, but no such luck. He’d have to stealthily make an excuse and slip away when he could.

“Do you live in the area, or further into the city?” The reverend asked, looking oddly probing for such an innocent question.

“I’m just taking the tour, Rev’,” John said with a growing impatience.

“Splendid!” He beamed, as if he was truly enthused by the idea, “You should pay us a proper visit before you decide to go.” He pulled out a business card and handed it to John. “We’re currently housed in of the older churches in the city. It’s quite the sight by itself; you don’t have to worry about being pressured into anything.”

John doubted that. He looked at the card. Rev. Sebastian Overfield, Church of the Written Mercy was stamped next to a picture of three people clustered together to reach up to what John figured was supposed to be a beam of light. “The Written Mercy? ”

“So it is written, and so it shall be,” he nodded with a serene sort of smile that usually came with John’s neighbors being doped up. “God has written our destinies out since the dawn of time. Regardless of evil’s lawless discord interfering with those destinies, we firmly believe those injustices can be resolved with faith, perseverance, and God’s guidance. Of course, we are always open to interpretations now and again.”

“You mean want people to tear your philosophy apart?” Jackie asked with raised brow.

The reverend gave a polite laugh. “There are no better fresh interpretations of ideas than from strangers.”

John’s first impulse was to tell him fate was as much of a joke as the justice system - but while justice had dealt John a bad hand and turned his whole life into a long, bad joke, fate had given him something worthwhile.

Something beautiful, in the form of a man who might as well have been divine for all the life upheavals and whirlwinds of emotion he caused. A man that could, finally, be seen in the immense, glittering crowd over Jackie’s and Matt’s shoulders.

“I think the inevitability of death is the only true fate in the world,” Jackie said as John stared out into the crowd, feeling a sweet sting at the sudden appearance of some pretty nameless thing putting her hands on Bruce’s shoulder to guide him into a dance, “How long we take to get there, the people we meet along the way – all of that is random.”

John could see Bruce following along with the motions, but his smile wasn’t reaching his tired eyes.

“I can see where that comes from,” Reverend Overfield nodded sympathetically, “It’s hard to believe that the people we lose in this lifetime aren’t taken away by chance; but I have always believed that every loss has a place in one’s life, even those most painful to live with. How about you, Mr. Napier?”

He did agree with Jackie’s point about them all being born astride a coffin and being subject to only the unknown, but... There was no way that was all there was. How could he think that, when a piece of his destiny was twirling slowly out beyond them as they spoke? “I think we’re at the mercy of a chaotic, constantly-changing universe,” he said, keeping his eyes firmly on his disarmed dark knight, “but there are some people that are always meant to be there…” (Some of the doctors always seemed to think it was dangerous for patients to think of soul-mates and pre-determination. But they weren’t here, were they? John could speak freely, since he wasn’t going to see most of these people again. Who would care?) “Our choices can make the universe change the how and why, but they’re there; and their choices shape us in return.”

He wouldn’t be there, the way he was now, without Bruce. If Bruce hadn’t saved him. If Bruce hadn’t believed in him. John felt it, deep down, past his thoughts and feelings, past his memories, past his sensory input…

“That’s an interesting way of putting it,” Jackie commented thoughtfully.

“So fate is essentially giving us soul mates, but with free will?” Matt said with what sounded like a sneer.

John could feel himself being stared at, and tore himself away from looking out at Bruce’s strained dance. The Reverend Overfield was staring at him a little too intently. John had the feeling he’d said something wrong; there was a definite dislike sitting in that subtle expression. Not that he cared – the guy was weirding him out anyway. “Aaany-who, this has been a fun diversion and all, but I’ve got a brooding billionaire-playboy in desperate need of some livening up - I’m sure I’ll see you all around!”

He gave a little wave to the group as he made his way back to the ballroom floor, hearing Jackie’s little call of good luck as he plopped the empty shrimp-glass onto a passing waiter’s tray.

John didn’t need luck. He had Bruce squarely in his sights, and navigating around the various tuxedos and shiny gowns was nothing compared to dodging punches and stray bullets.

Judging by the look on Bruce’s face as he spun slowly around on the dance floor with the pretty young thing that had dragged him there, John figured Bruce would rather be in his favorite suit, dancing to a very different tune.

 [B1]My answer to TikTok!

*~*~*~*~*

Notes:  ...now, I know what you’re thinking. Yes, that’s where I’m cutting this chapter off. Yes, you don’t get to see The Dance I teased you with yet. But it took well over my original time-limit to finish this with all the Tiffany-John bonding and various developments I’d been planning for ages! I always seem to go “yeah I can do this large amount of development in a short amount of time nbd” and then forget that when I flesh out ideas, I pull all the stops to make sure they flow with the story right and it takes foreeeevvverrr. So, as I sorta predicted, our Big Gala Saturday is split into 2 parts! So you’ll have to wait a liiiittle while longer to see The Dance...s. But we’ll get to see Brucie next time! It’s gonna be one hell of a night... >:3c

John is just a barrel of fun to write once I get into the rhythm! Having him bond with Tiffany was a great challenge, and I managed to check off soooo much of my wishlist. Jackie Lant’s return! John choosing his “name”! The fun inclusion of the famous Bat Pole! John and Tiff bonding through their investigation and getting a selfie out of it! Ahhhh!!! I’d been planning having him grapple Tiffany out of the way of that van for months! What fun!!! 

Writing John with Selina was tough, though, because part of me knows he’d love to just deck her in the face out of undealt-with jealousy re: Bruce, but I had to remind myself that for all his similarities, this isn’t a S2!John Doe. This is an evolving John “the player” can control, and naturally I get to choose the shape he takes in his chrysalis. Our boy is doing his damnedest to keep his violent impulses in check as he grapples with reality and grows to truly care for people outside of Bruce like the recovering patient he is. He’s come a long way in such a short time! ;w;

I’m hoping I can finish and upload the next part by my birthday. So fingers crossed I’ll upload in the next 6 weeks! Please comment, kudos, and subscribe/bookmark to help charge the muse! (And reblogs are HIGHLY appreciated!)

PS -  I couldn’t NOT reference @fractualized​‘s Free John Doe series! If you haven’t read it yet, check it out! :D

[marcholasmoth]

OSRR: 1970

i think tomorrow i shall fetch myself a tuna sandwich

anyway

today

i finally got to take a shower. it was s o n i c e. i love being clean, and showering and washing your hair and your all of you just makes you melt. i was so happy to wash the grime off of me from three days of being gross. yeah. it was rough.

anyway, i went out with my mom today. we went to staples, longhorn for lunch, and target, and the whole time my mom had an attitude. i mean, she's usually like this, but today was extra bad. she complained that her whims were not catered to, that the food was taking too long, that she couldn't return things, blah blah blah. like, she was the epitome of the worst person you can say "ok boomer" to. she left four dollars on a forty dollar lunch bill. f o u r. i stared at her and pulled the ten i had in my wallet out to put in the book for her, and my mom said, "don't put your money in there. she has alllll [she pointed at them] these other tables that she's getting tips from." i refused to be That Asshole™ who leaves a shitty tip, so when she was looking away i slipped it in. honest to god the woman knows no compassion for people in the service industry.

anyway, we got home after our escapades, and i decorated the garland that's up in the yonder with gold and silver christmas bulbs, and i didn't quite get all the way around, but i ran out before i needed to leave. i anticipated being able to go to lowe's to get more before coming home after bringing joel home, but i didn't get to do that. instead, i brought joel home and i went shopping again, this time for things to add to the gifts i've gotten for people. i owe myself four hundred dollars now. but thankfully, since it's not a credit cards whatever, i won't owe interest. so that's fine.

my whole day was spent exhausted, angry, or anxious, except for the time i spent with joel. he's my respite. my rock. my home. he is my battery and my cheerleader and my heart and soul. without him i'd be lost. or at least, miserable. joel helps me think of and see the best, and even though i'm bad at things still, and will continue to be until we can uninstall character traits from people, he loves me anyway. i love him so much. those words seem to small compared to what i feel for him, but english doesn't have a better way to express it other than waxing poetic for a few hours, which - let's face it - nobody wants to sit through vogon poetry. even though sometimes i like how they come out, they have good pacing, and they flow and are descriptive enough to make someone feel exactly what's happening in your heart, it's kind of hard to really judge based on what other people might think. so whatever.

but yeah. joel is the greatest boyfriend in the whole wide world. at least, for me, he is. ❤️

[forkanna]

[AO3 LINK] [WATTPAD] [QUOTEV]

Characters © Frederator/Cartoon Network and so forth. Story ©2020 to me! All rights reserved.

This little fic was commissioned by MorbidHero. Enjoy! I'm not a superfan but I hope I still did the fandom justice, more or less. Even though there are no bacon pancakes or appearances from Billy.

Orono Or DIE.

The sign was unique enough to attract attention. That was probably the idea. Still, the girl with the long, black hair and the red-and-blue striped sweater seemed a little surprised when a car pulled over on the long, lonely stretch of Highway 95. Her eyes narrowed to slits as headlights attempted to blast the pupils wide, and she shadowed them with a pale hand.

"Hello!" cried a voice that sounded like a music box. "Are you in need of aid?"

"Uhhhh…" The squinting eyes shifted. "There a person in there?"

"Of course! I am a person! Please, it's too cold to be out here alone!"

The stranger approached the passenger window, bending down to look inside. By the light of the dash screen, she saw a rosy complexion and bright pink hair to match. The girl's round face held the sweetest, most angelic smile she had ever seen.

"I… whoa."

"Yes?"

"N-nothing. You're really gonna give me a lift? I could be an axe murderer."

The driver's eyebrows raised. "Are you an axe murderer?"

"Sorta." She opened her black guitar case, covered in stickers from all manner of bands and destinations, to display a red bass that actually was shaped like an axe, a snarky half-smile displaying some prominent canines. "I slay on this thing alllll the time."

"Oooh! A wandering minstrel! Prithee, do not tarry thither, but let us away in mine chariot!"

"I… huh?"

Cheeks turning a bit rosier, she whispered, "Just get in the car."

With her bass, cardboard sign, and knapsack stashed in the cramped back seat, the two pulled away from the shoulder and back onto the near-deserted highway. There reigned silence for a moment or two until the driver decided to attempt pleasant conversation.

"What's your name, minstrel?"

"Not Minstrel. Marcy. Or Marce, Marceline, Nightmarce… Elvira, if you're everybody in my high school."

"That sounds very unkind, and I am not from your high school so I will not do that." She smiled over at her. "I'm Bonnibel, or Bonnie."

"Cool. This, uh… this car seems weird."

"Oh!" she piped up animatedly. "It is a hybrid, but I have converted the combustion engine to run on used peanut oil."

"Is that why I have a craving for a PB&J out of nowhere?!"

Bonnie laughed, and Marcy wore a smile of her own. That was bizarre; why would she smile at some stranger who just picked her up to give her a lift? "Perhaps! It is also why I will eventually have to visit a Five Guys restaurant to refuel."

Chuckling quietly, Marcy fought down a groan as she struggled out of her black leather boots and propped her feet up on the dash. "Sorry, but I've been walking for hours. Nobody else would pick me up, except for this creepy trucker who would probably have murdered me. With my own axe."

"It is alright! I can't blame you, that sounds like a terrible day. How did you end up out here all by yourself? With no car?"

"Ash, ugh."

"Gesundheit?"

Rolling her eyes, Marcy explained, "No, Ash is my ex. Also the lead guitarist of our band, Vampire Queen. But like, he's been impossible since we broke up, and he threw his guitar at my head during our last show. I told him I wasn't riding in the van with him anymore and they took off without me. Jerkfaces."

Bonnie's expression was completely thunderstruck. She reached over to pat Marceline's thigh. "That is just unacceptable, you could have been hurt!"

"Uh… yeah?" She thought that was obvious. And the sudden physical contact made her squirm.

"No, I mean you should remove him from the band. He is clearly dangerous and you have every right to feel safe on the stage."

"Oh. Well… it's not that easy. He writes half our songs, and he's no great singer but he does know all the guitar parts already. But… I guess he's more replaceable than Fionna or Jake."

"You should send him to prison. Or castrate him," she added, tapping her chin thoughtfully.

Which is what finally made Marceline realize neither of her hands were on the wheel. She sat up quick and shouted, "HEY, we're gonna crash! Are you insane?!"

"Hm?" Glancing ahead, she calmly stated, "No we aren't, we're driving perfectly straight. And there are no other cars."

"Well… yeah, but…" She watched their course correct very slightly, still glancing at Bonnie's hands. "Oh, is this one of those self-driving things?"

"Yes! Oh, I see; you thought I was neglecting the wheel." The pink-haired oddity giggled as if Marcy were the weird one.

"Do you just pick up random strangers and scare them to death? Messed up hobby, girl. I can respect it though."

At that, Bonnie's smile lessened as she stared ahead again. "I'm sorry. Sometimes I forget that not everyone has access to the technology I do. I didn't mean to cause you any undue strife."

"Not everybody swallows a dictionary for breakfast, either." When that wiped the smile away entirely, the rocker turned to look out the passenger window as she tightened her arms around her stomach. "Nah… I'm sorry, I'm a bitch."

The car was silent for a few seconds. "You aren't. I just don't spend a lot of time with other people. When I do, they tell me I am awkward."

"Yeah? Agoraphobic or something?" She paused. "Yeah, I know some big words, too."

"I never said you didn't. But no, that isn't the problem. I'm a workaholic. Even when I'm not in my lab, I'm still focused on inventing or revising previous inventions. I like speaking with people, but there never seems to be any time…"

"Dude, nerdslut. Got it."

"WHAT?!"

The outburst was harsher than Marce expected. "Sorry," she muttered, head ducking lower. "I didn't-"

"I'm not a slut! I'm…" Her cheeks began to glow. "I've never even been on a date."

"I was kidding, man. I didn't really mean…" Her fingers ran through her fringe. "Look, you told me you don't get out much. So I'll do my best not to tease you like I normally would, but no promises. I'm pretty edgy." She even threw up devil horns to add to the effect.

"You're teasing. Yes, I understand." The bubbly girl sighed and relaxed, smiling again. Apparently, it was that easy.

"What do you do for a living, anyway? All the inventing…"

"Oh! Have you heard of PeebleCo?"

A brief pause. "If I say 'no', does that mean I'm dumb?"

"It's alright. I am the president and CEO. Though the board members make most of the day-to-day decisions, they consult with me before making any large changes. And I am also the head of the R&D department."

"Whoa. And you're what, like, eighteen?"

"Nineteen."

"Excuse me," she snickered. "But yeah, that's pretty young to have your whole future figured out. I'm still kind of drifting through life in the shadows."

Bonnie shrugged as she pulled off the highway. "It is okay. I know I am strange, and that most people have to take some time to find their true destiny."

"Where… are we going?"

"To this hotel! I have been driving all day."

"Oh. Guess this is where I get off, then."

"It is if you want. Or you are welcome to share my hotel room and I will continue to ferry you to your destination in the morning."

Marceline raised an eyebrow as she watched Bonnie smoothly guide the car into a parking spot — having to use her hands this time, of course. "Are you totally insane, or just the nicest person on the planet?"

"Does it have to be one or the other?" she asked with a huge grin. And yet again, Marcy found she was grinning back.

                                                      ~ o ~

Once they had brought their bags inside, the hitchhiker plopped herself on the bed and kicked off her boots again. Then she started tuning her bass. Bonnie started unpacking her little pink rolling suitcase immediately, though she cast a casual glance over at her guest now and then.

"What? Am I bugging you?"

"Not at all. I have just never seen someone play a guitar in person before."

"Never?!" When the inventor shook her head, Marceline chuckled softly. "Damn, you really don't ever crawl out from under that rock to see what the sun looks like. Not that I do, either."

"It's because I'm working," she protested with a slight pout. "Not because I don't want to meet people. I love people!"

"Oh yeah, me too. They're delicious."

Bonnie cackled as she plugged her BMO's charger into the wall. At least she got that joke. "You're so funny and cool! I wish I was like you."

"No you don't, trust me. I'm kind of a cunt."

"Are you? Well, I think that's still preferable to being boring. I might have an important job but as a person, I am… vanilla pudding."

"Yeah? Well I mean, vanilla pudding can be pretty good. Add a little red food coloring to make people think you're eating ketchup? I like red things, they look more badass."

"Vanilla is not interesting," she sighed as she seated herself on the other twin bed, pulling off her Uggs. Marceline tried not to pay too much attention to how her white leggings hugged her shapely calves and thighs. "Being a vanilla pudding when there are so many chocolate puddings around me… that is why I focus on my work."

The hitchhiker thought that over as she played a couple of notes, a few chords she used in their sets. The hook from "Smoke On The Water", then the bassline from "The Chain".

"I think you're cool, Bonbon."

"You do?" she asked in pure shock. Marcy looked up — and immediately averted her eyes when she saw her company was wearing only her underwear.

"WHOA, hey, warn a girl or something!"

"Oh, I'm sorry!" she hissed, arms trying to hide parts of her body pointlessly. "The other girls in gym class never cared!"

Pale cheeks flooding with color, the rocker cleared her throat and studied the carpet, watching pale pink toes curl nervously into the fibers. "Gym, yeah. Um… I'm sorry, that was stupid. Me flipping out. If you're cool with stripping down in front of me, like… it's your hotel room…"

"No, you are right, it was my mistake. We have only just met today. And I am decent." When Marceline chanced another glance, she saw a long pink nightgown covering Bonnie from neck to ankle. She was also wearing an embarrassed little smile that was more adorable than it had any right to be.

"You're definitely decent."

"Jingo-jango!"

"Gesundheit?" she re-joked with a slight smirk.

"Free candy!" She practically pounced on the little mint laying on her pillow, unwrapping it and devouring it in mere seconds. "Mmmmhhh… oh, divine!"

The moans of pleasure definitely made Marcy have to clear her throat again. Desire was stirring within her in a way that blindsided her; Bonnie was a girl. One she had met literally that day! Was she losing it?! Sure, she had always known she liked girls as much as boys, but she had never really been serious about one.

"Marcy?"

"SHIT!" she gasped out when she saw those beautiful features only a couple of inches away from her own. It seemed Bonnie's concern had brought her over to the other bed. "I… what? I'm fine, you can go back to getting ready for bed or whatever."

"You are flushed. What if you have a fever, from being out in the cold too long?"

Then the bouncy inventor touched their foreheads together, to check her temperature. Marceline knew that was the reason… yet she still felt her heart speed up, her sweat glands stirring to life.

But she was no shrinking violet. Anti-social, sure, and inexperienced hitting on girls versus guys. But she figured she might as well give it a shot and see what happened.

"You give me fever," she began to sing in a smoky voice. Bonnie's concerned eyes shot wide. "Fever when you kiss me, fever when you hold me tight."

A tiny whispered "What?" fell from small pink lips. And not even the oblivious shut-in could miss the rock star's meaning. "Me?"

After they held each other's gaze for a few more seconds, Marceline burst out with a chuckle and looked away, strumming her bass. "Couldn't resist. You're such a cute little marshmallow, it's too easy."

And that was that. Or so she thought. After she had played a few more notes and glanced up again, expecting that Bonnie would have rushed off to the bathroom by now, she saw she was being studied carefully.

"Sorry. Told you I'm a bitch."

"Why are you sorry? If you meant it… which you did…"

"Who says I did?" she grunted. "Hey-"

"I do," Bonnie told her in even tones as she finished pulling the guitar strap from around Marceline's neck. How could this awkward bean be so bold all of a sudden?! "You are blushing like I am blushing. That means you meant it, doesn't it?"

"No. It means… maybe I was out in the cold too long. Whatever."

Sighing like a patient teacher facing an obstinate student, Bonnie leaned over and took her lips gently. And poor Marcy felt her brain short-circuiting. This girl was going for it! How?! This girl?! Even more shameful was that it took three or four seconds for her to pull back from the kiss, panting and clutching at the bedspread.

"WHAT THE WHAT?!"

"Oh wow," Bonnibel whispered, reaching up to touch her own bottom lip with delicate fingers. "I did that."

"Yeah? Like, what, you're surprised you kissed somebody? That's fucking weird!"

"I am. I have never done it before, I didn't think it would be so easy. But I wasn't afraid like I expected to be, and I enjoyed the feeling."

One single fact kept Marcy from harping on about how bold of an assumption it was to kiss her out of nowhere. "Whoa, hold up. I'm really your first?"

"Yes," she breathed, cheeks warming to match Marceline's as she fidgeted with her fingers.

"That… amazing one you just planted on me was your first kiss?!"

Bonnie raised her eyebrows at her. "Oh, it was good?"

"Dude, I'm practically at full sail down here already!" When the hapless girl didn't seem to have any idea what she meant by that, she clarified, "Yes, it was good!"

"Oh. Then it was a successful experiment! Hooray!" Marceline just gaped at her open-mouthed. "We should do more experiments, I think."

"Yeah? What, you think I'm that easy?" she scoffed, trying to focus on reaching for her bass instead of blushing scarlet. But she barely touched the neck before firm hands were pinning her to the bed. "HEY!"

"You will assist me," the girl she had once mistaken for a marshmallow ordered her with a sly smirk.

Marceline finally understood that she had been hoodwinked. Well, not really; she believed this girl had no experience, but she had made the erroneous assumption that also meant she would be timid. Nope.

"I will? That's pretty interesting, I thought I got to decide that part."

"You do. But I already know you will decide to help me." Her hips started shifting on top of Marceline's, eyes briefly falling shut. "Mmm… mm?"

The rocker looked away, waiting for the backlash. Bracing to be shouted at, or called any number of names. She had been down that road before — most recently with Ash, who had no problem doing that to her but only when he was angry.

"You're a transgender person."

Stunned by the bluntness of the phrasing, she finally looked up to see nothing but surprise in Bonnie's features. No judgment, no disgust. "Um… yeah. Well, we prefer just 'trans'."

"Oh! 'Justrans' then." She shifted a few more times, prompting a little groan from both of them. "This will certainly make the experiment easier; I already know how to work with one of these from anatomy class."

Marcy knew she wasn't trying to be cruel. She could tell. But she still hissed up at her, "Can you like, not act like I'm some kind of sex slave robot? There's a real person with a real blackened soul down here."

With a little gasp, she covered her mouth. "Bloobalooby! I'm sorry, you're right." Her hips rolled again, sending a wave of heat down into the rocker from their point of contact, blinding her with pleasure. "Do you consent to experimenting with me sexually, and taking my virginity?"

Marceline could only sputter. And she almost told her 'no' simply because she was so shocked at the entire situation. But it was beginning to feel way too good. Why? Why did she want to?

"Sure. If you really don't care that I'm some problem you picked up off the side of the road."

"You are perfect." For just a second, Marcy felt a flutter in her stomach from such praise. Then Bonnie elaborated, "I'm comfortable with you, and I can tell that you are an adequate size to give me a wonderful first experience."

"Oh. That kind of 'perfect'. Right."

Genuinely puzzled, she tilted her head and asked, "What other kind is there?"

Instead of answering, Marceline pulled her down for a heated kiss. They kept that up while rolling around on the bed, running their fingers through each other's hair, humming into the contact. By the time they came up for air, she realized her sweater had disappeared.

"Can I see you?"

"Oh, is that going to help with the experiment?" Bonnie lowered her voice. "Am I… sexy?"

"Well, duh," she laughed as she dropped her jeans. But she fell speechless when she saw the shapely pink body coming into view. "I'm… yep. Definitely stand by my statement."

"I think you are sexy as well." But she was saying it shyly, as if stating a secret, rather than in a flirty way. This girl really didn't understand human sexuality but she was trying her best.

Weird but cute. And her face was glowing red like a stoplight… and Marceline liked red things.

They fell into each other with eagerness, kissing all over faces and necks as their bodies combined. Bonnibel was so soft inside, and her skin smelled like flowers. The little gasps and mewlings at the foreign sensations only made Marcy throb harder, willed her hips to begin moving.

Minutes later, she broke yet another kiss to whisper urgently, "I'm… I'm gonna finish, I d-don't have… a condom…"

"I'm on birth control, to regulate my cycle. I will not become pregnant." But she was biting her lip. The sensations had changed how she reacted. "Will you…? Please?"

She would. Moans fell freely from both of them as their bodies shifted faster and faster, until the dam burst and Marceline felt both their bodies convulsing with the proof of their pleasure. It was an instant, it was an eternity. It was everything.

As they lay curled up together, silence reigned for a few minutes. Experiment complete. Neither of the new quite what to say. Until finally Bonnie whispered, "You sang."

"Huh?"

"When you ejaculated. It was like singing." She closed her eyes, a small smile on her lips as her hand drifted up to cover her own heart. "It was so sweet…"

Marceline scoffed, resisting the temptation to roll over and away to protect her own feelings. "N-no way. I don't do 'sweet', you're loopy. Literally fucked your brains out."

"No, my brains are still intact," she teased with a light chuckle as she began to draw little circles on Marcy's pale shoulder. "And you sang. And I am very, very satisfied with your 'axe'."

That prompted a gleeful giggle from both women. "Told you. I slay all day, Bonnie-bae."

                                                      THE END

[fictionissocialinquiry]

‘Rumour Has It’ Lives Again, People.

Whoops my finger slipped and I wrote 7,500 words of a Rumour Has It mini story (lol “mini” story, its shaping up to be about 20k). Because I am a fiend for external validation, here is the opening. ‘I thought I’d find you here.’

The words are hushed, reverent; the kind of voice reserved for the resting place of the dead. In the Fire Nation, the dead rest in their ashes and plaques of pale stone record their names through the ages.

The Firelord is reclining against the bodhi tree a stone’s throw from Firelady Mai’s headstone. Beside him is the golden head piece that weighs so much heavier than gold plated brass should. A warm wind stirs his hair, pulls a strand from its top knot to dangle before his eyes. They’d cut it too short last week; the stubborn bangs had been wrestling themselves loose to annoy him for days now.

The Firelord glances up at his wife. ‘Hm.’

Katara pauses by Mai’s headstone, bows— low, lower than decorum dictates— and crouches to place Izumi’s latest offering by the marble stone. ‘Your daughter wanted to bring this herself, but the duties of the Crown Princess are not always aligned with the duties of the heart.’

Zuko doesn’t hear what she whispers next but his heart grows heavy anyway. He could guess. ‘She wouldn’t blame you,’ he tells her again.

Katara straightens slowly, her eyes glassy and full. ‘I know. You’ve said so before.’

‘And yet…’

She nods slowly, touching her fingers gently to the grass before the headstone. ‘I wished she’d die when I found out she was pregnant. All because I couldn’t let go of my bitterness, my jealousy.’ She turns to her husband then, despite the heaviness in the her expression. ‘I may not have killed her but I certainly have things to atone for.’

Zuko reaches for her, guides her over to sit beside him. ‘You did nothing wrong, Katara,’ he mutters into her hair, kissing her temple. ‘Did I ever tell you about my reaction to finding out about that Northern boy of yours?’

‘Tako?’

‘The Northern boy,’ Zuko insists.

‘Tako,’ she says again, fingering her bottom lip. ‘Your uncle said you threw a tantrum.’

Heat— even after all these years, a wedding, two children, and countless memories of laughter, tears, and intimacy— warms his cheeks. ‘Uncle was… concise, then. I threatened to sign a bill raising taxes on Northern Water Tribe trade goods and asked my Intelligence Minister if he could recommend an assassin.’

Disbelief darkens the blue of her eyes. ‘Zuko!’

‘Sokka said he’d caught you two kissing! What was I supposed to do?’

She struggles from his embrace to turn on him and glare. ‘Nothing, you crazy person! We were broken up! You were married!’

‘Exactly.’ He pulls her close enough to kiss, spends long seconds lingering at her lips. ‘I didn’t do anything, much as I might have wanted to. Neither did you. You saved Mai, and Izumi, when those loyalist… when they tried to take my daughter from me. You saved them both, brought them home.’

She huffs, rubbing her eye. ‘You can’t talk me out of this guilt, Zuko. It’s mine.’

He moves his right hand from her hair to the swelling under the sash of her robes. ‘Its yours and it’s his. Carrying our baby is enough of a burden, waterbender.’

Katara smirks playfully. ‘She will be fine.’

‘The healer told me—’

‘The healer told you what she thinks you want to hear. I’ve been right about the others and I’m right about this. Our baby is a girl.’

Zuko makes a face but a smile is creeping at the edges of his expression. ‘He must be as energetic as his mother for you to walk all the way up here in this heat.’

He can feel her trying to catch his eye, it’s as difficult to ignore as the beating sunlight filtering through the leaves above them. ‘So you don’t want to talk about it?’ she asks lightly.

No. ‘What about it?’

‘Zuko.’ Her tone is dangerous, he glances at the ground and away. ‘I can’t believe after everything we’ve been through you won’t talk about this. The comet, the Wong Long Chi, that Earth Kingdom summit, the assassination attempt after Ito was born… we survived it all but this you won’t talk about?’

Anger boils in his blood. ‘You said this like it’s nothing!’ he snaps before realising her ploy. He shoots her a withering look. ‘No, Katara.’

‘Why come here?’ she pushes, and her hand grips his sleeve. ‘Hm?’

‘You’re not the only one Izumi talks to,’ he says in a low voice. ‘She told me about wanting to visit her mother in her last letter. It’s the least I could do until she’s back from her trip with Uncle.’

‘Alligator-bull shit,’ his wife says flatly.

He glances at her askance. ‘You think she doesn’t talk to me too?’

Katara waves her hand impatiently. ‘No, I know how close you two are, but that’s not the whole reason you’ve been coming here recently, whenever we argue. I want to know why.’

Because you’re one of the few things that keep me going and when we fight it feels like I’m not going to survive the year. I’m tired, Katara, I’m so tired and it never stops. There’s always more to do, more they need from me— you, the kids, the nation. Twelve years I’ve been Firelord and I’ve never taken a break. Twelve long, beautiful, painful years that I wouldn’t have been able to survive if not for you. You. You challenge me. It makes me a better man when you do. You challenge me to be the best version of myself but sometimes I’m not up to the task. You think so much of me, but I don’t have it in me to be the person you think I am right now. I haven’t even been able to firebend these last few weeks. I’m burnt out. Can you believe it? The shame! A Firelord who cannot even summon his element. He doesn’t say that though. For all his time in politics, the words of his heart still trip him up. They come across all wrong. ‘Because she never fought with me like you do.’

Shock first, then hurt. That’s how he sees his words land in his wife.

The regret is instant. ‘I didn’t mean it like that.’

Her eyes are swimming again but this time in a familiar anger. ‘One chance,’ she hisses, fists clenching. ‘You get one chance to explain what the hell that means or I’m going to freeze you to that tree.’

Yikes. It’s six-ish years on. Things are hectic, tensions are high, and Zuko needs a holiday. This ain’t nothing to do with heroics or battles. Expect alllll the interpersonal drama in what is essentially Zuko and Katara: A Character Study.

[kyoko0001]

Please feel free to use these!!

10 KuroFai Fanfictions I hope someone writes or I will have to get to them one day 

All of these are for anyone to use and are ideas that have been bouncing around in my head for a while. If you do like one/use one send it to me and I will read, review, and share!!!!! I have pages and pages of these so lemme know if you want more friends! 

1 ~ Fai gets separated from the group and wakes up in a new dimension all alone. He is discovered by a group of warriors. One of those warriors looks suspiciously like Kurogane but Fai can tell instantly it’s not. He of course just so happens to be able to speak the language and surrenders peacefully. He is brought back to there village where he gets to meet the real Kurogane of this world. Youou is only 5 but is obsessed with the blond hair, blue eyes wizard who “is very pretty’ or so he tells his mom and dad. Fai spends a few weeks with the little family and gets dragged around by the overly hyperactive kid we see in the lecourt flashback. I want Youou to give him frogs and bugs cuse ‘arnt they cool!’ and show him all his extra secret hiding spots. I want Youou to get stuck in a tree and Fai to have to save him and he is just so freaking impressed that Fai can use magic to do that. I want him to be glued to Fai and hold his hand and just like climb up Fai’s side like a monkey and hang over his shoulders. I need a cute scene where Fai is telling him bedtime stories that are totally over the top and silly and for Youou to just freaking eat it up. I want him to just be so freaking cute and innocent and adorable that Fai is just swooning in cuteness overload and when Kuro-chan finally finds him Youou bawls his eyes out when they have to go and when they land in the next world Fai is crying too and Kurogane ends up snuggling him and telling him all about what he was like as a kid.

2 ~ This same shit but With Kurogane. He lands in a world separated from the group and is grumbling and stalking around when he runs into two adorable kids who wont speak to him but are constantly whispering in the other twins ears and shooting each other looks. Eventually Fai and Yuui bring Kurogane back to there house where they live with there Aunt Chii. Eventually the twins come out of there shells and they are both just terrors. Fai (the real Fai) is half 50% huge cry baby and 50% If-you-make-Yuui-sad-I-will-cut-you. Yuui(the one who takes his twins name in TRC) is mischievous but appears to be overly innocent and they cause no end of trouble. They are just cuddle bugs and Kurogane will walk into the house to find that they have stolen every blanket in the house and piled them in the living room like a nest/fort and are napping all twisted around each other at odd angles. They will also crawl into his bed in the middle of the night and twist around the same way and it hurts Kurogane’s pride as a ninja that they NEVER wake him. Bonus points if you write them in Ashura-ou’s care because he is the best underappreciated and well meaning father in CLAMP. Extra bonus points if they are little vampires!!!!!! And they get cranky and cry why they are hungry and there little eyes turn gold.

3 ~ A well written KuroFai A/B/O Fic. (I know I know shoot me) because I haven't read a single one in this fandom that didnt get abandoned after a few chapters or were terribly written. (all KuroFai is Good KuroFai but I want really good Kurofai) specifically I want I Dont-need-no-man omega Fai and a potty mouth Kuro-alpha who just doesn't know what to do with him. All the angst. Just modern day au a/b/o and I’ll probs be happy tbh. I have one in the works but I feel like I would get judged for posting it? I wanted something where Fai and Kurogane are both princes in neighboring lands. Fai is a first prince and Kurogane is like way down there on the succession so when they have an arranged marriage Kuro-chan gets shipped to Fai’s country even though he is the alpha. Fai is meh about the whole thing but ends up loving that Kurogane’s alpha pride is hurt because he was shipped off ‘like a blushing bride’ to his husbands home and teases him over it. I want Fai to have to teach Kurogane alllll about his new home that is culturally very different from each other in regards to gender rolls. (Kurogane’s comes from a patriarchal society and Fai comes from a matriarchal society.) So he totally freaks out that his delicate omega is a war mage who leads armies and fights alpha’s face to face. Of course I want them to grow a mutual respect for each others strengths and fall in love love and live happily every after. 

4 ~ I want a fanfiction where something happens in a battle and Fai ends up saving Kurogane’s ass by stepping in and just using magic to absolutely obliterate the threat and we get to actually see him do more then just act as back up. Kurogane is totally turned on when Fai is a bad ass in a fight and even though he is injured he just really wants to take his mage home and erm... show his affection? Hehe. 

5 ~ One time I wrote a fic where Fai and Kurogane went back to Celese when Ashura woke up and there were still people there. I was told of course by the readers that there were no more living people in Celese because Ashura had killed them or Fai had taken them all to another dimension? I never read that in the manga... (I knew there were no living people in Celese I though Ashura-ou had killed them not that Fai had rescued them) I dont think at least? But that would be a Fai thing to do. I want a fic where the gang lands in the world that Fai took all the people fleeing ‘The beast’ to and since they are all strong magic users they sense his presence right away and the court mages just swarm them. Of course everyone but Fai is super confused. I like to think that Ashura-ou didnt have have his actual son So Fai is the crowned prince aka king now that Ashura-ou is dead so they dont want him to go. It could go a few ways from here. 

Fai was married for political reasons but he and his wife had been childhood friends and she is just so delighted that Fai and Kurogane fell in love and she is just all up in there business about how it happened. Kurogane of course is like what-the-hell-do-you-mean-you-are-married!? and Fai has to explain the situation and apologize for not being honest. 

or 

(sorry I ship TaiAsh-ou and it sneaks into everything I do) Taishakuten from RG Veda was super close to Ashura-ou and so also watched Fai grow up and was so freaking worried about him going back to Celese all alone. He has been in charge while Fai was gone and of course demands Fai stay so becomes there villain with good intentions if you catch my drift? Just like in RG Veda he promised Ashura-ou but this time it was to look out for Fai and keep him safe. So we get to hear all sorts of things about Fai that are never revealed int he Manga and Kurogane gets all twisted out of joint that Fai might actually stay when really Fai cant wait to go because while he loves him home the reminders of Celese brake his heart. Of corse Kurogane doesnt get why Fai would want to abandon his people so they have to have a talk and Kuro offers for Fai to live in Nihon when this is over. 

6 ~ I really really reaaaaaaaaaaaally want a fic where Ashura-ou never rescued Fai so he kinda just hung out in Valerie in that timeless prison where he cant use magic. FWR still threw his brother out of the tower and he promised to bring him back if Fai kills the people who will one day. (just swap there names so Fai is Fai and the real Fai is now Yuui for this explanation) So Fai never grows older because timeless prison, never learns how to smile or joke or be a normal human because  no Ashura-ou so he is just this tiny little starving frost bitten gremlin sitting in the snow holding his twin and waiting with the feather FWR gave him. So when the gang show up there like... WTFFFFFF. Kurogane brakes the timeless prison with an attack from his sword and Fai is just looking up at them terrified. he doesnt speak or move just looks up at them terrified. They take Fai and Yuui because Fai wont let go and find shelter for the night. Fai of course cant bring  himself to kill the only people that have ever showed him kindness so he is beating himself up for not being able to do it to save Yuui. I love KuroFai but I also think that people can have close non romantic relationships as well so I would love to see Kurogane Fall in love with Fai and care for him in a parental way? No creepiness just Kurogane seeing a kid that needs him and showing him how to be a kid and live his life. I think this would be so cool if someone has the time to actually write out the healing from a traumatized 5-7 year old into a quirky teen. lord knows when and If I get to this one (I’ve had this idea for 7 years) its gonna be 500k + words. 

7 ~ I want an epic AU where Fai and Kurogane live in different countries. I want it to be a tradition in Nihon that when boys turn 16 they spend some time training alone away from there families and its no different for Kurogane. I want his dad lord suwa to have gone to Celese when he had been Kuro’s age and become best buds with Ashura-ou. like war buddies. So when he ships Kurogane off for training he is trusting his old friend Ashura-ou(king of Celes) to look after him. (Ashura would be more like from RG-Veda and a master swords men if that makes sense) Kurogane is excited as hell to go and when he gets there he meets Ashura’s son Fai/Yuui. I want fun teasing between them, epic adventures, Fai taking Kuro-chans innocence!!! and tons of steamy love. I have so many diff Ideas for how this could go but I would love one where Kurogane helps Fai deal with Ashura going crazy like he does in Tsuba. Bonus points for awesome world building. 

8 ~ I want an AU where Fai travels to Kurogane’s world when he is learning the spell to travel between dimensions and just sorta thunks down in the middle of his village and hurts himself on the landing. I want Kuro’s mama to patch Fai up and for Fai and Kurogane to become quick friends before Fai’s Dad showes up to bring him home. I want Fai to visit every few Years and for them to fall in love love!!! Bonus points if Fai has to sneak off to visit Kurogane and Ashura has to keep coming to get him and drag his ass home. 

9 ~ I want and AU where Kurogane’s parents go on vacation without him so he is spending the summer with his cousins (Syaoran and his dad) and gets dragged with them while they explore historical sights throughout eastern Europe. they end up in this totally dilapidated castle that was abandoned years ago and is supposedly haunted. Kurogane doesn't believe in ghosts so when he hears a banging sound from the catacombs below his room he goes to investigate. He finds the source of the banging and it appears to be coming from a bricked up passage way. Kuro starts to get totally freaked out because he swears he can here crying and someone asking for help on the other side so he locates some tools and tries to get though the wall. while he is working the banging and the crying stop and when he pulls the first brick free he uses his phone to flash some light inside of the room and almost has a heart attack when a single gold eye stares back at him. after the first brick the rest of the wall comes down easy and Kurogane Finds Fai just standing there staring at him. Fai is a vampire that the villagers had entombed 500 years ago and as soon as Kurogane gets close enough to him--Fai bites him. Can you blame him though he is starving to death? the whole immortal thing is not as cool as it sounds when your’re bricked up in a dungeon. Luckily his stomach cant hold much and Fai apoligizes while he waits for Kurogane to come to his senses. Like the rest of these they fall in love love and Kurogane gets to teach Fai all about the convinces of modern day life. 

10 ~ I want a fic where Fai gets sick for the first time in a long time. Usually his magic keeps him healthy so when he gets sick he gets siiiiick. Of course he hates asking for help so que  Kurogane taking care of him. 

[hotheadhero]

💡- A memory that comes with an object or keepsake they have

[ Almost two weeks later, orz 

This massive drabble is inspired by the last paragraph of my answer to @fraldariius 5 days ago, where I said one of the objects Caspar treasures most is a preserved cornflower amulet gifted to him by his siblings on the farm. Here’s the story behind that–beware, it’s long.

Also, never call him Cassie to his face. Only one person gets that privilege, and it’s no one at the academy. XD ]

“Cassie!!”

Hestarted. That voice—!

Heturned just in time to catch an excited Maja full in the chest with an oomphthat somehow miraculously didn’t send them both tumbling to the ground. Perhapshe had his training with the knights here to thank for that, but there weremore important things on his mind now. He hadn’t seen his littlest sister inyears; but look how much she’d grown! Only eight years old, and she was alreadystarting to approach his height. But Caspar refused to let himself dwell on themiserable state of his late growth spurt; instead, he laughed brighter than heever had since moving to Enbarr with his father and Julian, clapping his arms aroundher back and tousling her soft blue-snow hair. “Maja!” he exclaimed. “I haven’tseen you in years! When did you get so big? Last time, I could pretty much cradleyou in one arm.”

(Ifshe kept this up, soon he wasn’t going to be able to carry her anymore…)

“Cassie!”She pouted, dragging his name out the way she always did when she was annoyed. “You’reone to talk; you’re no taller than me! Ricky says you didn’t grow at all the lasttime I came.”

Hishands stiffened around her for a moment, stilled, before half-fisting over hislittlest sister’s clothes. “Julian said that? That brat; why can’t he pick onsomeone his own size…”

“L-Let’s not talk about Ricky right now,” Maja amended hastily. If she let her brotherkeep going like this, there was no telling what else in Enbarr might be destroyed.As she pulled out of his hug, her eyes brightened. “I brought you a present,Cassie! You and Ricky and Father too!”

Helet her go reluctantly, expression thoughtful. “For all of us?” he asked. “Thenwhy didn’t you call Father over, or at least Julian? And when are yougoing to stop calling me that, Maja,” he sighed, exasperated. “If somebodyoverhears, they’re going to get the wrong idea…”

“Butnobody’s here, Cassie! And I like that name better than your real one.” Thegirl smiled brightly, negating his question with ease. Only the mischievousglint in her robin-blue eyes betrayed her display of girlish innocence, allbouncing heels and white-sleeved hands hidden demurely behind a bow-tied dress.“And your present’s special, Cassie! I wanted to give it to you alllllalone.”

“Asecret present, huh?” You’re lucky you’re so cute. He feinted suddenly,attempting to glimpse what she had behind her back, but Maja deftly twisted outof the way with a laugh which he met with a pout worthy of the one the youngestBergliez had just shot him. “Something that small, I doubt it’s anything thatcan help for training; and goddess forbid you bring me a book.” The wordcame out with more disdain than he may perhaps have intended. It wasn’t thatCaspar had anything against books; it was just the ones he found in Enbarr wereall so dense! And idea occurred to him, and his eyes widened. “Is itfood, Maja?” he asked, stomach growling alongside the words. The boy madeanother grab at whatever it was Maja was hiding. “Come on; don’t hold out onme! I haven’t had homestyle cooking in ages—”

“Nope,and nope!” The girl wagged her finger at him as she bounced back, still withthat mischievous grin. “If you wanna find out, Cassie, you gotta close your eyes…”

Whatcould she possibly want to do? But Caspar readily closed his eyes as asked,holding himself as still as possible, mind burning with curiosity. He felt herlittle hands loop around to the back of his neck, trailing with them a strangecord which brushed lightly against his neck like soft woven twine. A necklace,perhaps? Carefully, he edged open an eyelid, but only made it far enough toglimpse sunlight before Maja gave a short yank to his vellus hairs, making himcry out in startled pain.

“Nopeeking!” she scolded. “Or I’m not giving this to you at all!”

“Okay,okay!” (Drat; he was found out.) He sighed internally; the moveincidentally caused him to relax further into her arms. If she was going todeprive him of his vision, maybe he could figure out what it was by othermeans. Caspar focused his mind on his sternum. There was a teardrop-shapedthing sitting there, neither featherlight nor weighty, warm and smooth where itcontacted his chest. But without reaching up to touch it (which would surelyearn him another yank from Maja), he couldn’t tell what it might contain orwhat significance it might hold; and with her hands fidgeting there, he wouldn’thave gotten close besides.

Atlast, he felt her hands glide off his chest, heard the rustle of skirts as shestraightened up and stepped back. When he opened his eyes, he found Majastanding there quizzically, right thumbpad wedged between her lips as herrobin-blue gaze flicked critically between his new necklace and his eyes. A frownmarred her brow; he wondered why.

“Maja?What’s wrong?”

Ifanything, the girl’s frown deepened at the sound of his voice. “Aw, I was socertain you’d like this when I found it,” she murmured dejectedly, almost as ifthinking aloud rather than addressing him. “But now, I don’t know…”

Helooked down, eyes tracing down the soft-twine necklace chain to the small amberteardrop nestled beneath his cravat, and to the flower inside. His eyeswidened. Such a rich and vivid hue! And those petals… “Did this come from thefarm, Maja?” he asked, picking up the amber droplet and turning it about in hishands. From home? Those petals reminded him so much of…

Shenodded, still pensive. “Yeah. I was tilling the corn fields one day and justfound it there, you know? It stood out so brightly there, just like you did thefirst time I came to Enbarr.  But nowthat it’s on you, Cassie, I don’t think it matches your eyes very well afterall …”

“Thatdoesn’t matter, Maja.” A gentle smile spread across his face as the memoriesplayed in his head—memories of a simpler time, when all he had to worry aboutwas cutting wheat, shucking corn, not falling over from the weight of thescythe, and remembering to call ‘Indech’ to Julian’s ‘Macuil’,lest he and everybody else lose him amid the golden fronds. (How many times hadhe hidden beneath those waving stems, weaving leaf-braids and flowers as hewaited far too long for his siblings to find him? He always had been goodat hide-and-seek. Perhaps too good…) “It’s a little piece of home. You’dnever see anything like this in Enbarr. And I’m still impressed sometimes byhow many presents you bring me, Maja,” he mused aloud, his defocused, nostalgicgaze returning to the present time and her. “You weren’t even born yet whenJulian and I moved here. Honestly, I wouldn’t have been surprised if you didn’tever think of me at all.”

Thegirl’s expression turned indignant. “Of course I’d think of you!” she scoffed. “Whatkind of sister forgets her own brother over something like that?!”

Casparcould think of a few times where it seemed Julian would prefer to forget heexisted, but he didn’t need to tell her that. Instead, he swept Maja up in anabrupt hug, twirling her around too fast for her to even think of fighting him.“And that is why I love you so much,” he stated jovially. “Thanks, sis! I’lltreasure this always!”

Shegasped in surprise as he swept her feet off the ground, too startled to eventhink of retaliating. “Really?” she asked when he finally put her down. “You reallymean it?”

“Yeah!”Caspar was grinning from ear to ear as he ran back towards the capital library,tugging her along. “In fact, this reminds me of something I used to do back onthe farm. Come on; let’s go prank Julian! This is going to be so much fun!” (Bywhich, of course, he meant fun for him and Maja, not their lazy and uptight elderbrother.)

Hislittlest sister laughed as she ran after him, skirts in hand as they sought out Julian. It wasn’t long before an outraged yell echoed out the archive doors,followed by a tittering laugh as the owner’s younger siblings fled. As Casparran, the cold iron-stone walls of Enbarr seemed to melt away into bright sun androlling fields. One day when all his adventures and studies were done, he hadto return, back to the bright plains of his youth…