#baleman

[ellesthots]

punished - kinktober 2024

ONESHOT!

read on AO3 ❤️‍🔥

plot: after a disappointing night as Batman, Bruce wants you to make him suffer [not related to Fateful]

pairing: bruce wayne x fem!reader

warnings: 18+ ONLY, NSFW, smut, orgasm denial, breath play

words: 2.3k

a/n: hi lovelies!! a little treat for the month of October 🎃 based on the 2023 kinktober prompt list (day 14 - orgasm denial), since they didn’t release an official one this year <3 comments, reblogs, etc SO appreciated 💭

It was your favorite position to have him in, and an opportunity that didn’t come often.

Sometimes, after an especially frustrating night crimefighting—say, the muggers got away, the clues led nowhere, or Batman came too late—he’d arrive back home with that look in his eye. A frustrated, ruminating expression that crowded even the massive rooms at Wayne Manor. A demeanor that screamed ‘I need to be punished’.

It floored you the first time he said as much, a few months ago. When he’d trudged upstairs with his eye makeup still on, the black mess smeared up into his browbone and blotchy in the hollow of his undereyes. The fire in his gaze nearly had you running to the bedroom, chasing fantasies of him fucking you into oblivion, blowing off steam. The promise of his bruising touch was the only thing keeping you satisfied on his long nights away.

But that night was different. The closer he came, the more the fire melted into something gentler, more vulnerable. Still, his jaw was tight, twitching in the way exclusive to angry curses and frustrated sighs. His voice was low and hoarse in your ear, the prick of his stubble grazing the crook of your neck. He exhaled a single, quivering breath before speaking. “Punish me.”

You felt faint. Bruce rarely relinquished control in the bedroom, save times he could tell how desperate you were to be on top. Before he walked toward his room, he caught your eye, a careful gauge of your comfort. As shocking as it was to hear it from his mouth, the big bad Batman, you would’ve been lying if you said it didn’t make your pulse race. You nodded, and he disappeared into the dark hallway behind you.

Alone in the hallway, a dozen lewd thoughts circled you. Your limbs tingled with anticipation, overwhelmed by the sheer mass of options. You’d asked him to punish you before, so this was far from unknown territory… you closed your eyes and imagined which sensations he’d allowed you that you wanted to return.

Choking him would be especially pleasing, and… your mouth curled into a grin and you suppressed a laugh. Of course. He wouldn’t think it was anything until he was already in too deep, a shock to his system, leaving him reeling… the anxiety melted away to a selfish excitement, waiting for the pinch in his eyes, how his face might look, his body tense and wanting, so close yet so impossibly far… fuck.

Your feet were light across the cool manor floor. Alfred was nowhere to be seen, and you were grateful for it. Too many times you’d been concerned he might overhear, but tonight that didn’t seem to be the case. Bruce wanted to be punished, wanted to suffer a bit. It wouldn’t be a feat silently won.

The dynamic had already been switched, entering to him sat on the edge of the bed, his spandex long sleeve he wore on every patrol in a pile by his nightstand. You could see in his eyes that he didn’t know what to expect, which was invigorating. He looked almost meek.

As you approached him, you nearly second-guessed it. It would be punishing for you too, not seeing, hearing, feeling his climax. But holy shit was it exhilarating to be the one standing over him, watching as his eyes deepened their focus on yours, fingers moving to undo his button. Was this the power and excitement he felt each time with you, as you tugged down your satin nightgown, unclasped your lace bra?

Your eyes caught on the slightest tremble in his hands while pulling down the zipper. You put your hand over his, and he halted on contact. You pulled yourself closer and dragged your lips from his jaw to his collarbone. His body was worn, muscles tired. It must’ve been a rough night. Your free hand caressed his back, tracing gentle, reassuring circles between his shoulderblades. “Remember your safe word?”

Bruce was putty in your hands, nothing more than a breathy, needy whisper. “Yes.”

Having said the magic words, you placed your hand around his neck, pushing him flush on his back against the mattress. You watched his eyes flash as you tightened your grip, swallowing like his mouth had gone dry. You placed a hand to his sternum as you climbed on top, where you felt his pulse thunder beneath your palm. You slowly dragged your fingertips along his sweat-soaked skin toward the waistband of his boxers.

His breathing hitched, feeling the movement in his throat as you slipped one, then two fingers underneath the elastic. A heady, potent feeling of intoxication swept you, having him completely at your mercy. His face bloomed pink under the pressure of your hand, his eyes a steady pulse of blue, singularly focused as a man starved.

“Were you bad tonight?” Your voice was sweet like honey. He nodded as much as he could within your vice grip, and his lashes fluttered, as if ashamed to admit it. The way the moonlight illuminated the curve of his biceps, caressed the snags of violence across his skin, you felt dizzy. His voice held its own echo, like he’d been hollowed out. “Very.”

Oh how you longed to kiss those lips… “Mmm, can’t have that.” You pulled your hand out from his boxers, as if you had changed your mind about touching him. Your fingers traipsed along the sides of his torso, causing him to shudder. The sensation brought sparks to your fingertips. His eyes searched your face, his desire increasingly evident, desperate to be taken care of. Your fingers caught on the subtle slopes and valleys of his abdomen, skimming the raised scars on his chest, moving agonizingly slower until they reached your mouth.

Bruce’s pupils dilated as he watched you throat your fingers, spit strings falling down your chin as you pulled them away. He moaned as your slick fingers found the base of his cock. He was already hard. Very hard. You squeezed your fingers firmer round his throat with each stroke, drawing strangled moans out of him that only made you press harder, move faster. His head dug into the pillow in glorious agony, the tension in his throat heightening each slip of your hand. You felt every reverberation of his moans within your palm. Every inhale, every exhale. God, it was so fucking hot… you pressed your knees together on the bed, feeling your pussy start to throb.

“Fuck, mmph,��� his hands moved up to grip the edge of his pillow, his knuckles going white. He was becoming lost in it, obvious by the shivering moans gasping out of him, the way his hips drove up to match the rhythm of your hand. He was wound up, messy. His hair splayed in dark clumps across his forehead, his eyes squeezing shut, brows furrowing. Seeing him like this, so enraptured in your touch, it could’ve overwhelmed you if you weren’t so stubborn.

But he kept moaning, and his chest kept heaving, and the slip of his dick in your hand was mind-numbingly torturous… when you knew he could be inside you, and the only thing standing between you and his thick, long… you pumped harder, biting the inside of your cheek, hyperfocusing on his mouth like it wasn’t the precise thing making it worse. You noticed your hips subtly moving in concert with his, wanting to lean closer and fucking feel him. Your eyes trailed to his fingers curling around the linen pillowcase, pinching the folds, metabolizing what his moans failed to, and it broke the last thread.

You slowed down, his eyes snapping open at the shift, chest heaving. His pupils were blown, and goddammit, you felt like you could burst. You bunched up your shirt to get it out of the way and straddled him, shoving your thong to the side. If he wasn’t getting release tonight, you’d find it. Sinking onto him was otherworldly, his dick achingly hard, your cunt already puffy and soaked like you’d been at this for hours, welcoming him readily. Your grip slipped on his neck as you rode him, your vision blurring between the wet, slapping sounds of him driving into you, and the groans mingling in the space between your mouths.

He married his hands to your hips to pull you down harder, and it took every ounce of self-control to refuse him. Usually you savored the grip of his fingers, he knew it made you weak, but you were teetering on the edge of a cliff. In a movement that read to your body as blasphemy, as sin, you slammed forward, shoving your hand back around his throat. His arms slacked at his sides as you chastised him. “Manners, baby… only me.”

Your body flattened against him and you left sloppy kisses along his jugular, bathing in the sensation of him hitting your g-spot over, and over… your hands pawed at his jaw, shrieking as you felt tension coil in your stomach, your heart quickening to a fever pitch. Small trails of black fell down his cheeks, the warmth of your colliding bodies running his eye paint.

You knew him well, well enough to know he was lost in it, and that he knew you were there, too. He’d long abandoned the proposition of punishment, relishing in the feeling of your hot, cushioned walls enveloping him, drowning in the symphony of your moans. You could tell he needed this, the way his hips chased yours, slamming into you with increasing abandon. You were almost there, but he was too… if you finished, he would. God, now you really wanted to punish him.

In a swift motion, you slunk between his legs, his dick throbbing against your thigh as it slid completely out of you. A whine cracked the edge of his moan. He propped up on his elbows, panting, watching as you moved both hands to his shaft. By this point his cock was aching, possibly the hardest it’d ever felt. Every time your fingers glided over his tip you’d catch some of his arousal, mingling it with your own with each push, pull.

You had to get this over with now, or you were going to cave. You whispered your lips along his shaft, his hips jerking involuntarily with every gentle swirl of your tongue along the rim. Sweat and adrenaline closed your lips around his head, your hands working the base.

“Baby,” he whimpered, his head falling back. His shoulders relaxed into the feeling, his elbows slipping against his sheets. His lashes were fluttering, his abs tightening, his mouth parting a little, more, a lot… your body became tight with need, borrowing some of the anguish you were sure he’d be feeling soon.

You removed it from your mouth with a subtle pop, savoring the taste of him as you licked your lips. “Look how much of a mess you are.”

His brows knit together as your hands wrung the length of him, his breathing becoming increasingly labored. He was so pretty like this, writhing underneath you. So responsive…

The moans you were pulling out of him almost made you feel bad for what you were about to do. Almost.

A high-pitched groan paired with the twitch of his dick signified the building of his climax. He had no fucking idea, but he’d asked for it. Your brow cocked and he nodded, the edges of his breaths ragged and frayed. “I’m so,”

“Close?”

He nodded again, his inhales shallow and stilted as you increased your fervor, pumping him straight to the edge. His gasps could’ve split the windows, pitchy whines expelling from his chest. “Yes, yes,”

“So close, hmm?” You slowed down just so, barely, imperceptible to someone as thrown as he was. “So fucking close,”

“Just like that, oh, fuck, fuck,” His movements drew erratic, his hips fucking himself into your hand, sweat pouring down his face. You bit back a giggle, watching his body begin to surrender, wishing you could bottle this moment in time. The instant you felt his body prep a shudder, you shot back, ceasing all contact.

He choked on a strangled moan, his eyes flashing wide in shock, his mouth flying open. On your knees at the foot of his bed, you watched his body stretch toward release, unable to grasp it. He slowly attempted to get his bearings, his body heaving with unspent pleasure. You blushed as you witnessed his cock throb in vain—right there, but not quite.

You smirked at him as you ran your hands up his calves, his body vibrating. He blinked hard, whiplash ravaging his system. Your voice was a low, teasing purr. “You wanted this, didn’t you?”

His exhausted eyes held the hint of a glare, his teeth gritting hard as he accepted the loss. His heart jammed against his ribs, screaming in protest. He fell back against the sweat-soaked pillow, bringing his hands up to rub his face, hiding the bitter heat flushing his cheeks. “Christ,”

You stood, the bed creaking softly beneath you. You twirled your shirt off and tossed it by the door of his bath, all but skipping over to it. “I’d help you clean yourself up, but…” When you looked back, his dick was softer, his breathing starting to regulate. His eyes flicked over to you, his breath deepening, as if overwhelmed by the sight of you.

He hauled a sigh from the depth of his lungs, agonizingly situating upright. He steadied his breathing for a few beats, stomach coiled tight, body heavy. Jesus fucking Christ. As wholly, entirely frustrated as he was, he was undeniably impressed; his tense, electrified body the ultimate testament, unable to block a boyish grin from revealing itself to you. “Stop celebrating.”

You hummed your way to his shower, choreographing the shape of your hands slammed against the fogged glass. “Careful what you wish for.”

[frownyalfred]

Unrelated to any of ur fics, but what do you think of Bale!Bruce Wayne Batman ? I know that he’s not one of ur fave but can you elaborate on more ? :)

The older I get, the more I think it’s just Christian Bale’s way of speaking. Something about his lips. I don’t know what it is, but whenever he puts on an American accent, it’s flawless except for his mouth position. I can’t quite put my finger on it. Otherwise he is a very, very good Batman. I enjoy watching him in TDK trilogy with obvious caveats about what I like/don’t like in that trilogy as a Batman fan.

[persephone411]

Ok so I know we call the Batman played by Robert Pattinson the Battinson and the one played by Ben Affleck the Batfleck…

Let’s call the one from the dark knight trilogy the baleman

[deadpoolya]

if someone asks me "baleman or battinson?" i'm killing myself. i don't have an answer.

[bullsh1tterz]

₊🎞️❜ |[ @storyofwhoiam said ]|   :

“Who let you in here?” matt

Adam allows a smirk to settle along his features for a split second before shrugging and un-pocketing the other's keys. "Take a guess." He tosses them his way and lets the very hand used for the motion fall lightly over his own hip.

"Wanna hear somethin' interestin'?" he asks, but it falls short of any probable answer because he's quick to voice said 'something' in a blink, no leeway to speak betwixt the two enclosures. "Some chick almost hired me ta trail ya last week." Head tilts. "Then she went poof. Radio silent."

[frankiebirds]

lmfao at reid using "i need help looking through these files" as an excuse to have detective baleman stay behind. he only reads twenty thousand words a minute you see. no way he can get through all that on his own.

can you imagine being baleman. like yeah sure okay you know youre not actually being asked to stay behind because one of the fbi guys needs help getting through the files. you know its just an excuse to keep you away from the scene and that sucks enough already but then you sit down with said fbi guy and he reads every file in .1 seconds. the insult. they put you in timeout.

[beepartcollection]

@sicc-nasti's Bobie :3 Various drawings of him from my doodle canvas, explanations under the cut!

First few are variations of Brodie's helmet, if it was a TF2 cosmetic and someone wanted to paint it various things. Plus a halloween version that's a UFO hat with tiny aliens controlling him :3

Next is him with his jacket off, and then him holding Jay like that Neon White poster, sorry Brodie sometimes u just can't figure out if someone's a Spy!! (ignore the reactor and scout kissing lol)

Then them in the comics- what happens is after Mann Co gets taken over they flee to NYC with whatever they can grab and the clothes on their back- and the clothes just so happen to be Spy's suits, which they stole. They kill a rich wall street banker named Paulrick Baleman who is not a reference to anyone at all and while he's choking to death on mustard gas Jay talks about funds but because Brodie is Brodie they now own his bank accounts and penthouse and stay :3 at least until Pauling grabs em

brodie grabs ur morning coffee and drinks it so fruitily wyd :3

and then Brodie and Brady (BLU Courier). It was my first time drawing Brady so I wanted to try getting it right :3

[dr-spencer-reids-queen]

A Higher Power: Part One

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~2.6k

Warnings: canon violence, canon language, canon talk of death, methods of kill

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Criminal Minds. All credit goes to their respective owners. If there is any warnings that exceed the normal death/kills from the show, I will list them. If you’ve seen the show, then it’s the same level of angst unless otherwise stated

"There is no refuge from confession but suicide; and suicide is confession." - Daniel Webster

When you get to work, you notice that Hotch isn't with you. You're not sure where he is, but JJ looks like she can't wait for him. She passes out the files to everyone and gets started whether he is absent or not.

"Three months ago, a fire in the shadyside rec center killed fourteen children. Over the past three months, there's been five suicides. All of them lost a child in the fire. The last one was Paul Baleman. He was found electrocuted in his bathtub yesterday. I received a request for our help."

"Why do they need our help? They're suicides," Derek shrugs.

"What evidence do you have to support that?" you ask him.

"All of the suicides were within two weeks of each other. It could be some kind of pattern," Spencer says.

"Detective Ronnie Baleman from the Pittsburgh PD thinks that something's going on."

"Of course he does," Derek says.

"Why do you say that?"

"He's related to that man, isn't he?"

"It's his brother," JJ confirms.

"A cop who doesn't believe his brother committed suicide. Come on, next case."

"Why are you so against this?" you ask. "What if they were murders staged to look like suicides? You can't dismiss the case without knowing all the facts and evidence. Five suicides in the same neighborhood within months is a little suspicious."

"Suicides don't spike after a tragedy," Spencer says. "It's quite the opposite, actually. Following World War I and II, right after Kennedy was shot, and following 9/11, suicides plummeted. Within a society, external threats usually create group integrations."

"So, if there's reason for doubt, which there obviously is, don't those families left behind have a right to know?" Emily backs you up.

"Yes, they do," Rossi nods in agreement.

"Okay, sure, they deserve to know, but let somebody else tell them, like social services."

"Contact detective Baleman. Let him know we're coming," Rossi says despite Derek's disagreements.

"Hotch would never have taken this case," Derek says when you get to the plane, "and I say case in the loosest sense."

"Yeah, well, Hotch isn't here. You're the only one against this, so why don't you spend less time complaining and more time focusing on the facts without bias," you snap.

"What facts, Y/N? Look at us. We don't have a single file."

"Fact one: we don't have a file, but that doesn't mean there isn't one. Fact two: There was one fire that occurred with fourteen deaths, and a result of it, five suicides. Fact three: All suicides were exactly two weeks apart."

"Okay, I get it," Derek sighs.

"Do you? That's a pattern, Derek, and a timeline."

"A lot of people lost their kids in that fire. That's a whole world of grief, and for a few, suicide is their only way out."

"Or someone decided it was," Rossi backs you up. "What if they made it look that way?"

"Then we're looking for one very smart unsub who targets people in grief," Derek sighs.

"What would that make them?"

"An angel of death. Someone who thinks they're putting them out of their misery," you answer and look at Derek. "Not everything is black and white, Derek. Sometimes, things run deeper than that."

The rest of the plane ride is filled with silence. Derek doesn't want to admit that someone is doing this, but you're here to prove him wrong. Someone is doing this, and it's your job to find them and bring them in.

"Agent Jareau?" the detective on the case greets the team. "Hi. I'm Detective Ronnie Baleman."

"Hi. This is SSA Rossi, SSAs Morgan, Prentiss, Y/N and Dr. Reid."

"Thank you all for coming."

"Well, your colleagues don't look all that happy to see us," Derek notices the unhappy faces of the officers inside the station.

"They didn't just lose a brother."

"I'd like to get started on all the files," Spencer says. "We're gonna build what we call psychological autopsies to determine whether the victims killed themselves."

"Everything is in those boxes," Ronnie points to the boxes in an empty conference room.

"We'd also like to take a look at your brother's house," you suggest.

"I'll take you there."

"I think it's better if you stay here."

"It's my case. I brought you here."

"Technically, there is no case. If there was, you wouldn't be on it," Derek says bluntly.

"Ronnie, we need to profile the scene without bias. It's best if you stay here and let us do our jobs," you say gently.

"I could use your help with these files. It looks like there's quite a few," Spencer says, trying to get him to stay here.

"Fine. My brother kept a journal. I found this on the desk in his bedroom. Read the last page. They're not the words of a suicidal man," Ronnie hands over his brother's journal.

You're better off at Ronnie's brother's house, so you leave with Derek, Emily, and Rossi. Ronnie is so sure that there is an unsub here, and if there is, then there could be evidence inside his brother's house about it.

Pam, Paul's wife, is at the house to meet you when you arrive. She is depressed, sad, and it's strong enough to rub off on you. If someone feels something strong enough, you can also drown in their feelings.

"I'm not sure how this happened. He wasn't on antidepressants. He wasn't depressed," Pam sighs sadly.

"Do you mind if my colleagues take a look upstairs?"

"No, I don't mind."

You, Derek, and Emily walk upstairs and to the bathroom where the crime--supposed crime--took place. Emily and Derek go in first, and nothing seems out of the ordinary. When you enter, your eyes immediately drift to the body inside the bathtub. You gasp loudly and jump back from shock, concerning your colleagues.

"What is it?" Emily asks.

"Paul is here. He's in the bathtub," you sigh sadly, "with the space heater."

You approach him and kneel down to get a better look at him. There is only one energy lingering behind, and you don't see any spiritual evidence that an unsub ever came into this bathroom.

It's as if Paul did commit suicide.

"Okay, so the door was locked from the inside and the wife broke the door in, but he could have gotten out that window," Emily speculates.

"It's a good twenty-foot drop. It'd hurt, but you could do it."

"Hey, check this out." You peel your eyes from Paul to the sink where there is an outlet. "It's a one hundred and ten outlet with no GFCI. This is a 1930s house, but it's been remodeled with no ground fault circuit installation."

"Wait, that makes no sense. There is a GFCI unit in the kitchen. I make sure all my properties have them, especially in the bathroom and the kitchen. Any surge of electrical current will shut the power down at the source."

"Properties?" you ask. "How many?"

"Four. Whoever threw the space heater in this tub knew that there was no GFCI."

You three leave the bathroom, and you pause by the door to look at Paul again. This time, he's gone and the space heater is gone with him. With a sigh, you leave the bathroom and join everyone downstairs.

"Mrs. Baleman, what did your husband do for a living?"

"He was a contractor."

If Paul truly committed suicide, then he'd know not to install a GFCI unit in the bathroom. There is no evidence of an unsub ever being inside this house, so maybe he did kill himself. Though, that's the last thing you're going to tell Derek who would gloat about being right.

The only way you're going to know for sure is if there is another crime scene.

Much like you predicted but didn't hope for, another crime has occured. You found out the second you got into the police station the next morning, so there wasn't time to get coffee or anything like that.

The person who died is a woman, Beth, who hung herself while her baby was crying for her in the kitchen. By the time you get there, the body has already been moved, but you can see her hanging where she was found. Her spirit is lingering behind to show you exactly what happened to her.

You and Rossi are outside the house looking into the doorway where she was found while Emily and Derek are on the small porch right outside the front door. They argue, but you can't seem to take your eyes off her.

"Alright, you got a kid, and there's a bad guy in the house. What do you do to protect your child?" Derek asks.

"Fight."

"There wasn't a single defensive wound on her body."

"She didn't climb up there on her own free will," you comment.

"Unless she committed suicide."

"No, this wasn't suicide. She has a baby in the other room crying for her."

"She couldn't cope. She snapped. It happens. It happens every day."

"Not here it didn't."

"Y/N, right now, that's exactly what happened."

"No, it's not because the unsub is right behind you."

Derek turns, but no one is there.

"What happened?" Rossi asks you.

It's as if you're brought back to last night. The street is dark only lit up by dim streetlights. There are a few cars parked on the side of the road, but nothing of import. You're standing at the front of the property on the sidewalk when you see someone pass by you.

It's a man with blonde hair. He's of medium build, but you can't see more than the color of his hair. He walks past you and up to the front door where he knocks. Beth opens it and smiles at him as if she knows him, and then she opens the door to let him inside.

Beth knew her killer, so you have to look at friends, family, and acquaintances of her.

Suddenly, the outside walls of the house disappear so you can see everything that's happening even while standing on the sidewalk. The unsub talked to Beth for a bit before doing something to her that you can't see.

What he does next confirms that these aren't suicides.

She isn't fighting back, and that confuses you, but he's the one who drags her to the front door and puts her head in a noose. If she didn't fight back, then that must mean she was drugged because her kid is in the kitchen crying for her.

Once the unsub is finished, he leaves the scene. When he passes by you, all you see besides blonde hair is striking blue eyes.

"Y/N?" Rossi asks, bringing you back to the present. "What did you see?"

"This was a suicide because the unsub visited her last night. She let him in willingly, so he must be someone she knew. She wasn't scared by his presence at all. He might have drugged her, and then he strung her up like a doll. All I've done is replay the scene over and over again, and all I see is the same thing. I did catch two things about the unsub; blonde hair and blue eyes so that must narrow things down a bit, I hope."

Everyone can see that you believe what you saw, but Derek still has doubts about this. You're going to do everything in your power to prove to him that these aren't suicides. Emily believes an unsub is doing this, so she calls Penelope who waits eagerly for her call.

"Emily, the strange and great, what can I do for you?"

"I'm looking for a drug that would temporarily paralyze or subdue someone, not kill them."

"I always use alcohol. It's less fussy, and way cheaper," Penelope jokes.

"Look for something that wouldn't show up in a toxicology report."

"You got it."

You're so sure this is a murder spree, sand the only way to determine that with hard evidence is to go over the suicide notes that every victim left behind. Spencer is more of an expert in handwriting and languages, so you want to work with him on this.

When Ronnie hears your theory about this, he gets excited and a bit cocky. He won't even consider the possibility that at least one of these is a suicide... and that's his brother. There was no indication that an unsub was ever in the house.

Still, that doesn't cross Ronnie's mind.

"Is there anything to tell us whether these are suicides or not?" you ask Spencer when you get back to the station.

"These are some samples from Diedre Nollard. See, we have an insurance form, a letter she wrote to her neighbor a month ago, a birthday card she wrote to her husband a week ago, and her suicide note as found on her body."

"The suicide note matches, right?" Ronnie asks.

"This is definitely by her own hand, but she's professing regret. 'I'm sorry I let you down. Please forgive me. I disappointed you', and so on. With the handwriting, the forensic analysis is saying the exact opposite."

"What do you mean?"

"Do you see how the handwriting slants uphill? It's a clear sign of optimism. The same with how the spacing is so consistent. These long T-bars indicate an enthusiastic person."

"Not someone who would take a swan dive off a five-story walkup?" Ronnie asks.

"Look, even if we had alerted the media--"

"Now we'll never know," Ronnie interrupts JJ. "Like I said, that's on me. Now we have the proof that these aren't suicides. Those notes, were they coerced?"

"If you were to force someone to write their own suicide note, these are words you generally wouldn't use."

"I'll take that as a no. What about my brother's journal?"

"I haven't... it's extensive," Spencer stutters.

"Another no. Can we inform the media now?"

Ronnie doesn't want to believe his brother committed suicide, but that's what he did. He's kind of annoying you now because he wants so badly to believe his brother wouldn't leave him like that, but he did.

"I already did," JJ sighs.

"I need you all outside," Derek pops his head in.

You leave the conference room, Ron included, and the police station to join your team outside the building. Hotch is here; he must have just come back. You're not sure where he's been or what he's been doing, but you're glad he's back now.

"This is SSA Aaron Hotchner. He's just arrived," Rossi introduces him to Ronnie.

"What have we got?"

"Including extended families, over one hundred individuals within the Pittsburgh area were affected by that fire."

"So, this unsub is targeting grief."

"Grief?" Ronnie asks, confused.

"A single event in this unsub's life led him to end the life of someone he believed had to die. From that moment on, he created his own sense of morality, and he rationalizes what he did by targeting people that he believes can't be saved by anyone other than himself. He decides who lives and who dies, and this gives him an all-consuming sense of power," you explain.

"So, he's not going to stop anytime soon."

"That's assuming there is someone to stop," Derek mutters.

"Derek, I told you, I saw what happened. You always believe me," you say sadly.

"If there is someone, he's on a mission of mercy, and even after he's caught, he'll maintain he did nothing wrong."

"He's a white male, mid to late thirties, and he's polite, forthcoming, and doesn't stand out. We believe his victims, these families, are all letting him in."

"My brother and his wife weren't letting anyone in. If anything, they were closing themselves off," Ronnie says.

"Well, this unsub found a way in, and that's very hard to trace. In every case there was no evidence of a struggle and no attempt at escape. He finds a personal connection and uses it to buy time," you explain.

"My officers need to know this."

"We've found that Angels of Mercy are often people in the medical profession as well as law enforcement, which is why we're meeting out here."

"Now, we're only fishing. We don't want to point a finger," Rossi assures Ronnie.

"Point it. I don't give a damn."

"If that's what it's about, let us figure out where to point it."

"Ronnie, you're too close to this. You're so hell bent on the idea that someone did this that it's making you act irrationally," you explain. "You're going to make mistakes. I know you want to find out who did this to your brother, but if you let my team and I do our jobs, we'll figure that out for you."

Ronnie nods in understanding, but you know he's not actually listening to you.

x

Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary​​​​​​​ where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

[your-sweetsilence]

Meet the Minitos.

Born from royal lineage, Tanjiro spent his youth being groomed to take over the family business. Despite the disbanding of the feudal monarchy, the Minito family has retained it's royal prestige. With various members still in politics. Although pressured to marry the daugher of a business partner, Tanjiro met the love of his life, Paulina, during a business trip at Foxbury University.

Paulina, a 20 year old psychology student at Foxbury University worked hard to attend one of the prestigious schools in the country. Growing up in Hopewell Hills, Paulina is the only daughter of Marcus and Linetta Baleman. Never having to want for anything, Paulina worked hard to get her distinguished degree all while trying to pave a path for herself. Meeting Tanjiro while attending a business conference was a happy surprise. She found herself drawn to him, though at first, she had no idea who he was. With their concurrent meetings, she found herself diving head first into the relationship, falling more and more head over heels. Getting her degree was always her first priority but she refused to let it stop her from marrying him. She spent the next two years juggling her new relationship and the hardships that accompanied it.

With a whirlwind romance, Tanjiro married Paulina and brought her home to Mt Komerabi where their relationship was scrutenised. Many believed she wasn't good enough to join the family and that she was using him. Yet the couple stood strong and all worries were dashed as they years progressed. Now married for 26 years, the couple is stronger than ever, having birthed two children of their own, 16 year old Selina and 10 year old Reggie. While Reggie enjoys the life granted as the second child, Selina has the pressure of maintaining the Minito lineage.

Thankfully, Tanjiro is more lenient than his elders, but she would never want to disappoint him. With juggling school, extra-curriculars, college prep, and learning the ins and outs of the Minito family history and business, Selina has the weight of the world on her shoulders. Worse that she watches her little brother get the childhood she never really had in terms of her paternal grandparents. Yet, even with the support of her immediate family, she isn't sure whether she'll break under pressure or succeed.

Top: Tanjiro and Paulina

Bottom: Selina and Reggie

[missmysme]

Mystic Messenger Guest Tournament, Round 1 Part 19

Top two move on to the next round!

Info under the cut:

Baleman: Internet installer jumping from rooftops to rooftops wearing the Baleman costume.

The duo Baleman and Robinboy became famous and even starred in TV. The duo is planning to establish an internet company name after them.

Hair Designer Scissorhandler: A famous hair designer in charge of Jumin and Chairman Han's hairstyle.

Currently troubled as Chairman Han keeps requesting to cut his hair "to look younger". Most personally satisfied when slicked back Mr. Han's hair.

Ahddub: A curry restaurant owner who has the image of Buddha, giving off a generous and merciful ambiance.

Wife is Catholic. They sometimes fight over religion. It's been said that their way of reconciling is eating tasty curry together.

Satellite: An astronaut named Satellite living in space.

Thought a great photo was of an alien but the photo came out shaken. After being called a liar, is determined to go back out to space to retake the photo.

Team Leader of C&R Intellegence Unit: C&R Intelligence Team Manager with outstanding risk management skills.

Being the manager of the C&R Intelligence Team, everyone thought his cell phone password would be complicated... However, the password in fact has not been set at all.

[storyofwhoiam]

SEND ME 🎰 AND I’LL RANDOMISE OUR MUSE LISTS AND GIVE THE FIRST FIVE AS POSSIBLE CONNECTIONS !

Always accepting!

Matt Baleman & Poison Ivy — Clearly Ivy should be taking down Matt in his superpowered verse

Jean McBrian & Sheila Bausch — The Bletchley Circle folks are investigating a series of disappearances that lead them to the True Path Retreat

Bridget Westfall & Emma Swan — Let's be real here, just about everyone in Storybrooke could do with some therapy

Alicia Florrick & Ann Reynolds — Alicia is hired as Ann's lawyer and is judging her so hard throughout

Anna Smith & Ashley Boyd — Anna's a preschool teacher in her modern verse, so an easy overlap with day care!

Margo Hanson & Regina Mills — Fillory meets the Enchanted Forest! There would be so much sass between them, it would be fanastic!

@protectthevulnerable

[icareheal]

Best Orthopaedic Surgeon and Joint Specialist in Mangalore

The highly experienced Orthopaedic Surgeon Dr. Sharat Balemane specializes in using modern medical technology to treat patients with Orthopedic ailments.

[frownyalfred]

[guillotineman]

The Dark Knight (2008, dir. Christopher Nolan)

[pixeltender]

No one told them it was going to be this way...

[bullsh1tterz]

₊🎞️❜ |[ @storyofwhoiam said ]|   :

😠 Death Glare at my muse - matt

He meets the glare with an eye-roll, continuing to smoke his cigarette for a moment before letting ashen remnants of it fall over the floor with a tap.

"Someone's got his panties in a twist." he comments, brow quirked as smoke lines the heading of his dialogue. "'m afraid if y're lookin' ta get hate-laid or somethin', I'm all outta gas for that. Most I can offer ya's a joint." he motions to his pocket, where he'd stacked a pre-rolled pair for 'emergencies'.