#bc i have no clue if that's anywhere near right

[thetomorrowshow]

hubris killed the god - ch 2

first chapter

sorry this one took so long folks! while i’m on my tumblr break i’m only uploading once a month, and this fic got pushed back farther than i would’ve liked.

cw: talk of death, illness/plague, implied animal death, religious setting

~

Scott tries to sleep. He really does.

But every time he closes his eyes, all he can see is a darkness more sinister than what he knows lies in Sanctuary.

Every couple of minutes, he can’t stand it—he opens his eyes, sits up, and scans the dark room.

Every time, there’s nothing there. He’s safe.

But it’s terrifying, lying alone, alone the way he was for the past weeks in his house as the plague closed in around him.

Eventually, Scott can’t handle it any longer. He slips out of bed and into his boots, wrapping the soft spare blanket (a fluffy tan thing that he’d found under the bed) around his shoulders like a cloak.

Scott eases his bedroom door open, slowly and carefully to avoid any squeaking that might wake someone. He’d heard several people pass by earlier as he prepared for bed, so he knows he isn’t alone on the floor.

He sneaks out and down the stairs, wincing at every creak his boots make against the wooden steps. There’s nobody in the public section of the inn, all candles blown out and leaving the room eerily silent in its emptiness.

He chooses not to stay. The dim light of the stars, the wind in the trees, the sounds of animals—all a much preferable peace to this. And there’s a cool breeze, a fresh scent on the air, and the distant shadowy figure of someone standing by a campfire at the edge of town past the church.

Scott doesn’t approach them—he’s sure it’s one of his friends, out keeping watch, but he’s afraid that going over there will bring him into sight of the mites, and thereby set him up for a sleepless night.

Instead, he turns to the church.

The foyer is silent, the blankets and pillows in the corner abandoned. There’s still a lamp burning, though, which gives Scott hope that someone might be here, if not awake.

He pushes open the door to the chapel and steps inside.

Sure enough, beyond the rows of simple pews, setting up a candle at the altar at the front is Sausage.

Sausage turns at the noise, his face breaking into a smile as he sees Scott. He abandons what he’s doing, strides down the aisle.

“Scott! You’re here, I’m so happy you’re here!”

Sausage wraps Scott in a big, warm hug, and Scott just melts into it, gripping Sausage as tightly as he can. Sausage smells just as he always does, a bit smokey mixed with some sort of incense, and it’s more comforting than anything else he’s been through today.

“I’m really glad you’re safe,” Sausage says, drawing back to examine him. He frowns. “Te ves consado, Scott. Haven’t you slept?”

“Not really,” Scott admits, drawing his blanket closer around himself. He doesn’t want to talk about his lack of sleep, though, instead gesturing toward the stand. “Are you . . . lighting a candle?”

Sausage perks up. “Oh, yes! I do most of my worship at night lately—Santa Perla is strongest then, you see!” He takes Scott gently by the elbow, leading him up to the front of the chapel. There on the altar is, indeed, a plain unlit candle, flint n’ steel beside it.

“I didn’t know candles were involved in your religion,” Scott says curiously. He’s sat in on a few worship sessions and a sermon or two, more out of support for his friend than any real interest, and in all his recollections he can’t picture a candle anywhere in the service.

“They aren’t,” Sausage says. He kneels there, in the same spot as earlier, and strikes up the flint n’ steel. Carefully, he lights the wick of the candle, coaxing a flame to life. Scott waits in silence, watches as Sausage raises his eyes to the image of Saint Pearl, mouth moving soundlessly in prayer.

“I saw it in a vision,” he says eventually, when his prayer is finished. “A friend, I think. Someone who helped the dead pass on by lighting them a candle. And I figured, well, it can’t hurt to give them a helping hand! That’s what we’re all about here in Sanctuary.”

Sausage reaches under the altar into the compartment there, where he retrieves a second candle. “The first one is for Joel,” he says. “This one is for my people who have passed on.”

Again, Scott waits patiently as Sausage lights it and prays over it, quiet until Sausage begins to stand.

“Do you believe in it?”

Sausage shrugs. “I believe in Santa Perla,” he offers, eyes flicking up. “And I believe if she wishes this to be one of her many ways of helping, then she will accept my offerings. And if it doesn’t actually help them?” he shrugs again. “At least it’s something to remember them by.”

Scott thinks about that for a moment. It’s . . . it’s really a beautiful sentiment. Whether he believes that the flame is genuinely helping to light their path to the afterlife, or whether it just represents their life here on earth, it’s something that he likes. Neither explanation is less spiritual, less meaningful.

“Do you have a third?” he asks quietly, and when Sausage nods, he kneels in Sausage’s place and lights a candle for his llamas. He stares into the flickering flame as Sausage murmurs a prayer over the candle, imploring his saint to ensure the safety of those passed, if she is able.

“Do you mind if I just. . . .” Scott gestures to the pews when the ritual is done, pulling his blanket a little tighter around himself.

Sausage nods. “Oh, go right ahead! There’s a little room off to the side where there’s a bed, if you want, but it’s fine if you stay in here! There’s always blankets and pillows somewhere!” Scott turns to go, but Sausage catches his shoulder. “If you hear little footsteps in the morning, don’t worry about it,” he says, eyes twinkling a little. “That’s just Hermes running in to relight his daddy’s candle. Don’t let it wake you!”

Scott realizes, for a millisecond, the absolute magnitude of being a child in this apocalypse.

And then he moves on.

Scott does wander for a moment, finding the room spoken of, but he decides fairly quickly that he would rather stay in the chapel with Sausage, where the lamps are low but lit and there’s a person awake to make sure all is well.

He grabs the pillow and another blanket from the foyer, drapes them across one of the pews sort of midway between the doors and the stand. He spares a quick prayer of thanks to Saint Pearl (which consists of “Hi Pearl, thanks for Sausage making these pews cushioned, amen.”), then lays down with the blanket from his room draped over him.

With the mutterings of Sausage’s worship and the slight spicy smell of incense and the warm, soft glow, Scott falls asleep easily.

-

It’s only two days later that they’re gearing up to rescue Katherine.

In those two days, Scott’s learned a lot—fWhip walks him around the invisible perimeter, warning him that if he ever crosses it, he’s no longer protected by Sanctuary’s magic. Which is stressful to hear, especially considering the marking is less of a fence and more of a slat of wood sticking up in the dirt every couple of feet, but fWhip assures him that he won’t be on watch by himself for a while.

Scott has his first watch with Gem, and together they keep an eye out until midnight, when Jimmy relieves them and Scott returns to the church to sleep in the cozy warmth of Sausage’s presence.

He at first wonders why they patrol at all, but Jimmy explains that the noise of their footsteps keeps the mites from attempting to get through the perimeter. There are also various times set apart during the day to patrol, make sure that everything is in order.

Sausage sleeps during the day, so Scott’s careful to be quiet when he finds himself in the church foyer. His companions don’t seem to take the same care, though, particularly fWhip and Gem, and Scott finds himself staring at them frequently, recalling the ominous note he’d found in his room.

The group meets at mealtimes, where they share food either in the foyer of the church, or at the outpost (just a campfire with some logs around it not far from the church), seemingly interchangeably. It’s then that Jimmy will ask someone to get in a patrol before the next meal, or ask about certain capabilities that might help in a rescue. It’s during breakfast in the foyer that Jimmy announces his plans for rescuing Katherine.

“I’m thinking a team of me, False, and Gem,” Jimmy says that morning, just two days after Scott’s arrival. Jimmy nods toward Scott when he looks up.

“Scott, if you want to see how these sorts of things go, you could tag along. fWhip knows how to run the place, I just figured he shouldn’t have to do it alone.”

Which is something that really irks Scott, because why would fWhip be running Sanctuary in the first place? Sure, Sausage sleeps for a good part of the day, but it’s still his land.

Scott opens his mouth to say something about how he wants to go, then reconsiders. It’ll just be him and fWhip and Sausage out of the main group here. Maybe he can do some investigating, sneak into people’s rooms. After all, the note from behind his mirror is still nagging at him.

And maybe it’s selfish, or cowardly, but he really doesn’t want to go out into the world so soon after being saved from it. Seeing the masses of mites that wait just outside Sanctuary’s safety seems like something that he isn’t prepared for. He can only imagine how embarrassing it would be to have a panic attack in front of the rest of the party, when he’s meant to be proving he's worth keeping around.

“I’ll stay back,” he says. “I can do some patrolling, keep learning my way around.”

Jimmy nods, then continues laying out the plan.

The next day, very early in the morning, the three set off on False’s airship for Glimmer Grove. Scott waves to them, even though no one looks back.

And then he gets to work.

It isn’t hard at all to shake fWhip off, seeing as fWhip heads out almost instantly for a patrol. So Scott, claiming he’s tired and going to take a nap (he is tired, the pews are less comfortable the longer one lies on them and it’s taking him longer and longer to fall asleep), heads into the inn, ready to break into his companions’ rooms.

Which isn’t hard. None of them were given keys, apparently, and only lock the doors from the inside. Not that any of them have any valuables, but Scott has taken to carrying his coat and fedora with him everywhere, just in case of a robber.

He checks Gem’s room first, sliding in and easing the door shut behind him near-silently. Gem’s room is decorated in mostly orange hues, a soft orange rug beside the bed, an auburn duvet spread across the bed. It’s nice, home-y almost, but he doesn’t have time to focus on it.

He makes quick work of going through the wardrobe—there isn’t much but a few changes of clothes—and a random boot thrown in at the bottom.

The boot doesn’t match any that he’s ever seen her wear, strangely enough. Scott tugs it out, turns it every which way. It looks like something Katherine made, and sure enough, the sole of it has two imprinted ‘G’s curling around each other in her familiar logo.

None of that is too strange. What’s strange is that it’s not made out of the typical supple leather. This boot is stiff and rubbery, made for walking through mud and puddles without getting the foot wet.

He searches through the rest of the room, ducking down to check under the bed. There’s no match.

Why on earth would Gem have a specially-made boot for traveling through mud and marshes, when she lives in a perfectly dry part of the world and would have no practical use for it? And only one?

And Scott doesn’t know the sizes of his friends’ feet, but this looks a little small. Is it too small for Gem? If it was crafted by Katherine, wouldn’t it be made to fit?

He realizes with a start that he’s been pondering the boot for at least ten minutes. He tosses it back into the bottom of the wardrobe, draws the doors closed, and leaves. There’s nothing else to look at. Time to move on.

Jimmy’s room is the next down, and it’s a decent bit larger than either his or Gem’s. The past few days have made it fairly clear that Jimmy’s the leader of their ragtag group, but Scott would bet that the room size is less Jimmy throwing his weight around and more like first come, first served. Still, he can’t help but feel a bit miffed when he notices that Jimmy’s bed is nearly double the size of his own.

There’s no rug in Jimmy’s room, but his bed has plain white sheets and a grey comforter. Jimmy has a wardrobe and a set of drawers, which Scott finds aren’t empty—there’s several papers in the top drawer, mostly maps and half-baked rescue plans. There’s one big, thin book (an art book, by the looks of it) atop the dresser drawers, a couple of sheets of paper and a pencil atop that. The rest of the drawers are empty.

A couple of shirts and an extra pair of jeans are hanging in the wardrobe. Scott feels around the top shelf (he’s too short to properly see it; Jimmy’s wardrobe is taller than his) and finds two items.

The first is a well-polished badge, ‘Deputy Norman’ inscribed in the middle. Scott puts that back, grabs the second.

This is a huge circlet of dull gold, a laurel crown that Scott recognizes immediately.

Joel.

He hadn’t thought that there must have been a period of time during which Joel had been a part of the surviving rulers group. A time when he joked with them, went on rescue missions, stood guard.

Scott remembers the way Jimmy had looked away, face drawn, when he said that hubris had killed Joel.

He wonders how risky it must’ve been for Jimmy to take his crown after whatever had happened to take him down. He can imagine the god’s giant body, swarmed with mites. And Jimmy had gone for it anyway, just to keep a piece of Joel with them.

Or maybe it hadn’t been like that. Maybe Joel had died slowly, in Sanctuary, succumbing to the plague little by little. Maybe Jimmy keeps hold of the crown as a reminder of what they’ve lost, and how careful they need to be.

Whatever the reason, Scott slides it back into place on the shelf, closing the wardrobe doors on it. He doesn’t need to dwell on death. He doesn’t have time.

fWhip’s room is next, and Scott is considerably more cautious with this one. fWhip usually spends the day in the church, using it as a hub of sorts so that if anyone needs help, there’s someone right there, but there’s every possibility that he might need something from his room.

fWhip has just the one change of clothes (and Scott remembers him mentioning it, talking about how he’s a generally strange size and has been having to take in spare Sanctuary clothing in his spare time) in his wardrobe, but the only really notable thing in his blue-themed room is the rocks.

There are rocks piled up in the wardrobe, so precariously that Scott thinks if he even touches one all the rest will fall down. Most of them are run-of-the-mill pebbles and chunks of brick, a couple bearing the distinctive craggly features of dripstone.

Under the bed is a bit of a different story, because fWhip appears to have stripped his bed of the covers and pillows and built a bed underneath the frame, pillows neat and blankets folded. A couple of geodes and cooler-shaped rocks surround the space (which Scott would normally think of as a nest, but it’s far too organized for that).

He hasn’t really found the move from Chromia to Sanctuary to be too difficult to handle—maybe that’s because he’s a traveler by nature, or maybe that’s just because he’s been putting off processing the traumatizing events of what’s gone on. And sure, he’s been hunkering down every night in the chapel, lulled to sleep by Sausage’s murmured prayers, but overall he doesn’t feel too homesick.

fWhip must be a different story. The guy hides it well, but he must miss the caves of Gobland more than he gives away.

Scott doesn’t disturb the bedding, not wanting to give away that he’d been snooping, but he catches sight of something . . . out of place. A rag, by itself, beside the rocks of the bed. A rag that looks like it’s crusted-over with a reddish-brown.

With blood.

Scott doesn’t touch it, of course. He’s not an idiot.

“Okay. Okay. Blood. That’s fine,” he mutters to himself, more to keep his stomach steady than anything else. He really doesn’t want to investigate further, so he crawls out from underneath the bed and heads to the next room.

Two doors down is the next one that’s occupied, and Scott stands in the doorway for a long moment.

This is Shelby’s room. The oversized witch’s hat on the bed makes that clear.

Scott’s careful in his perusal of her room, some irrational part of him telling him that Shelby’s spirit is haunting the room, ready to attack if he breaks anything. Not that there’s much to break, really.

Instead of a wardrobe, Shelby has a set of drawers, and Scott opens each one. The top drawer has a couple of potion bottles, two full of shimmering liquid and one empty. Beside those is a bundle of dried netherwart, some loose golden powder making a fine silt at the bottom of the drawer.

The middle drawer is clothes. Scott hadn’t been terribly close with any of the rulers, but Shelby had been one of those he considered a friend. Opening the drawer of clothes also unleashes a familiar scent, the smokey smell common of brewing businesses intermingling with a sweet melon that is so very representative of Shelby that Scott almost instantly shuts the drawer again. He can’t handle whatever emotions are tied to that.

The bottom drawer is empty. The bed is made, purple duvet a little wrinkled where the hat lies on it. Beside the bed is a congealed, drying-out bucket of slime.

Scott exits quickly, moving on to the last room in the hallway, which must belong to False.

That door is locked.

Scott twists the doorknob this way and that, jiggling it to make sure it isn’t just stuck. No, it’s well and truly locked, which Scott can’t help but find inordinately strange—nobody else even has a key. Why does False have one, when no one else does?

He bends down, peers through the keyhole—he can’t see anything. He adjusts positions, switches eyes. Even his magical eye sees nothing.

There’s something placed over the keyhole to make it impossible to peek in.

Scott leans back, chews on his lip. There has to be a way into that room, right?

The window.

Scott jogs down the hallway then the stairs, taking them two at a time. He makes a note of which side of the building False’s window will probably be on—the back—and hikes around to it, kicking through grass to gaze up.

There’s his window, he thinks—he remembers leaving the curtains open. Gem’s beside it. He tracks down the line, finds—

Nothing. What should be False’s window has the curtains closed. There’s no way to see in without the woman letting him in herself.

Which shouldn’t be suspicious. It really shouldn’t be suspicious. If anything, Scott’s the suspicious one for snooping around in everyone’s rooms while they’re away.

It’s just . . . the note, that he found behind his mirror. During every moment of free time, his thoughts return to it. Who left it? Is it recent? Is it about one of his companions?

Whoever the notes was about, it said they would kill again. It leaves a bad taste in his mouth to imagine—someone (possibly someone that he knows) has killed a person, and is looking to do it again.

He can’t imagine any of his friends as a murderer.

But it’s the apocalypse. Who knows what they’re capable of?

fWhip. Constantly trying to please, smoothly redirecting conversations when they go places he doesn’t want them to go. Jimmy, the leader and a dead-eye shot, stubborn and quick to anger but quicker to forgiveness. False, stoic and private, her room blocked off and thoughts kept to herself. Gem, careful not to offend, but judgemental and self-important. And Sausage, up all night praying, apparently sleeping during the day—but for some reason, none of the others ever want to see him or talk about him.

Actually, Scott can imagine all of his friends as murderers.

And isn’t that a comforting thought?

-

“We’ve got another sick one,” fWhip tells him as they walk down the main road of Sanctuary. Scott glances down at him, then back to the street ahead. There are a couple of people milling about, talking with neighbors in hushed tones. Their eyes follow Scott and fWhip as they pass, boring holes into the back of Scott’s head.

“A youngling girl,” fWhip continues. “Refugee with her older sister from Dawn. I wish we could do something.”

Despite himself and his suspicions, Scott’s curiosity is piqued. He’d just thought his llamas had a normal illness when he first noticed it. Are there unique signs? The plague probably presents differently in humans than it does in llamas, right? “How can you tell she’s got it? It’s not just some normal illness?”

fWhip chews on his bottom lip. “I’ve seen . . . five people get infected since being here, I think. Jimmy said he’s seen twelve. If one of those things touches them, they leave a little red mark. A fever spreads from the mark. Usually the first sign, though, is hallucinations.”

“I thought hallucinations were a symptom of a fever already. How can you tell the difference?”

“Well, they don’t get the fever right away,” fWhip explains, stopping as the main street dwindles away. “It starts with hallucinations. The fever comes a day or two later. And then they just . . . go downhill. Slowly, sometimes. It depends on how willing they are to give up, I guess.”

“How long has she been ill?” Scott asks.

“Her sister noticed the red spot on her leg this morning, but apparently she’s been acting weird for a couple of days. It’s. . . .” fWhip draws in a shuddering breath. He doesn’t continue his thought, but after a moment, he says, “Kids are the hardest. They think they’ll be fine if they accidentally play outside the border. They don’t even notice it, sometimes. And every time, one of them dies.”

Scott doesn’t even know what to say.

He woke up in the chapel this morning to see a little boy with curly brown hair kneeling at the altar, shifting his weight back and forth, whispering a prayer that echoed through the hall.

“Santa Perla, por favor bendice a mi papá. Gracias por mi padre, quien es en el paraíso. Por favor ayúdame con mi español lecciones. ¡Te amo, padre!”

Hermes had finished his prayer and bounded out of the church, face shining and calling for his papa.

He can’t imagine that little boy lying in bed, hallucinating and feverish and on death’s door. He can’t imagine how destroyed Sausage would be were that to happen.

“And there’s nothing we can do?” he asks, fighting to keep the hopelessness out of his voice.

fWhip sighs. He doesn’t say anything.

It tells Scott all he needs to know.

-

The missing members of their little party return that afternoon, accompanied by a familiar face.

Katherine hops down before False has even quite landed the airship in the field beside the church, striding toward Scott, dropping her huge battleaxe beside her. She pulls Scott into a hard hug as soon as she reaches him.

Scott hugs her back, doing his best to ignore her sweat sticking to him. She’s battlestained and gross and looks exhausted, but Scott holds her tight, trying not to let his arms shake, until she pushes away and hugs fWhip.

“It’s good to see you,” Scott says, reaching over for her battleaxe—the least he can do is carry it for her. As soon as he lifts it a couple of inches off the ground, he has to let it fall again with a grunt. He pauses, staring at the massively heavy axe in shock. He’d barely even been able to get it off the ground! How does Katherine even use it?

He heaves, manages to pull it up under both arms, carrying it like a baby rather than a weapon. Who on earth needs an axe this heavy? How much can Katherine lift?

He totters this way and that with the weight of it, following fWhip and Katherine toward the church—Jimmy comes up beside him, takes half the weight of the axe. Together, they carry it inside and lean it against the doorframe. Then, with a jerk of his head, Jimmy exits once again.

That probably means he wants Scott to follow him. Scott bites his lip, glances back at Katherine—she’s already sitting at the table, ravenously attacking a bowl of chicken and rice.

He can talk to her later.

Scott follows Jimmy out of the church, jogs to catch up with him at the edge of town.

“What’s up?” he asks. Jimmy shrugs.

“Just wanted to tell you about the mission. Katherine was pretty much in the same position you were, closed down to just one house.”

“Why’d it take longer to spread to her?”

“Probably something to do with the fact that Katherine’s a known monster hunter, and you were defending yourself with an old iron shovel,” Jimmy laughs, one hand rubbing at the back of his neck. “She had some tricks up her sleeve. That’s actually why we went for you first—we figured Katherine could hold her own longer.”

“Well, now I’m offended,” Scott says, not actually offended. He’s fully confident that Katherine is more capable than he is against these things.

Jimmy kicks a stone absently. Scott’s eyes follow it as it rolls away, just passing out of range of the border. Jimmy goes to kick it again; Scott throws an arm across his chest to stop him.

“That’s the border,” he points out. Jimmy frowns, points beyond it a couple of feet to where a slat of wood sticks out of the ground.

“No, that’s the border,” he contradicts. “We marked it.”

Scott blinks, stares at the wooden slat. Because, yes, when he got shown around the place, fWhip had made a point of referencing the wooden markers, set two or three meters apart, keeping an eye on where the border was. Apparently Sausage had laid them out before they even arrived, just to make sure none of his villagers ever crossed them.

And yet, Scott’s certain that the border does not fall in place properly.

“Jimmy, I don’t know how to explain this, but I’m certain that the border is . . . here,” he says, pointing to where it is. “This marker must be off, or something.”

Jimmy shakes his head doggedly. “No, Sausage placed them himself. And he can sort of sense the border, since it’s his magic.”

Right. Magic.

Scott closes his right eye, surveys the area closer. Sure enough, just looking through the magically-inclined eye allows him to see a slight shimmer in the air, right where he feels the border is.

And if Sausage had been able to see it too, there’s no way he would’ve gone outside of it to place a marker.

“We need to get Sausage,” he says, and ignores Jimmy’s questions as he runs back to the church.

-

“Yep, it’s moved,” Sausage announces to the gathered crowd—rulers and villagers alike—, straightening up and dusting off his knees. “About three feet here. I’ll check everywhere else—it looks mostly the same, luckily! So you all can go about your day and just know that there’s new boundaries, so stay far away!”

They wait a moment longer, but Sausage turns away and crouches back down, inching his way down the new border, feeling with his hands as to where the line may be. The crowd disperses with a bit of anxious whispering, villagers back to their jobs and homes, rulers back to the church.

Scott kneels down beside Sausage, watching his fingers carefully search out the border. “Can’t you see it?”

Sausage sighs. “A little bit. It’s easier at night. But I can feel the threads that sew into the ground, which is a better way of telling, usually.”

“I can see it,” Scott offers. “My gold eye. It can see magic. Would that help?”

Sausage doesn’t pause in his searching, just nods. “If you wanna go along the border ahead of me and put rocks where you think it is, that would be awesome! I just wanna be totally sure.”

So Scott does that, trailing all the way around Sanctuary in a slow patrol, with an armful of pebbles that he picks up and places down in a line on his way around.

In most places, it’s barely moved. Five or six inches, usually, on rare occasions a foot. But it’s movement, it’s the magical border adjusting against the mites, and more than once as he lays down his line of stones he notices mites right along the border, often piled up against the invisible shield where it bows inward the worst.

The boundaries of Sanctuary are giving, little by little. Scott doesn’t know how long they’ve been up, exactly, but it can’t have been more than a month or so. They’re bending inward, the space stolen little by little and it may be moving slowly right now, but the three feet lost where Scott had first noticed the difference isn’t a small amount. Some points are weaker than others, and those points are a significant blow to their defenses.

If the trends continue, Sanctuary may not be a sanctuary much longer.

He and Sausage finish mapping out the boundary just as the sun completely disappears over the horizon. Sausage turns in, hoping for a few hours of sleep before the moon rises, and Scott stays out, taking first watch and kicking back at the campfire. He’s joined, once again, by Jimmy.

“Don’t you ever sleep?” he asks absently when Jimmy sits across from him. Jimmy shrugs.

“More important things than my sleep.”

“At least tell me you showered. You guys came home all sweaty and gross.”

The way Jimmy’s eyes slide guiltily to the side tells Scott all he needs to know. He rolls his eyes. “Look, Jimmy, you know I love authentic, but you don’t have to be covered in mud to be a cowboy worth my attention. Actually, I think that makes it worse.”

Jimmy groans and buries his face in his hands. “You’d best not be flirting with me,” he threatens. “I get enough of it from fWhip and Sausage already.”

Scott spreads his hands. “I’m just saying, that vibe makes you a pony express that I definitely will not be riding.”

“Scott, stop!” Jimmy sounds very put-out, but when he raises his head, he’s laughing. “You are something else, I’ll tell you that. Go walk the perimeter or something, leave me alone.”

Scott stands obligingly, chuckling, though he’s fairly certain Jimmy doesn’t mean it. As he passes Jimmy, the man catches him by the sleeve.

“I’m really, truly glad you’re here,” he says seriously, smile shadowed a bit by some emotion Scott can’t quite make out. “I know it’s a bad situation, but you’re a good one, Scott. We need you.”

“Thanks,” Scott tells him, touched. Jimmy’s the kind to be open with his feelings, to wear his heart on his sleeves, and it’s been strange to be here with him so closed-off and distant. This is more what he’s used to. “Really, take a night off. I’ll be fine.”

By the way Jimmy nods and dusts off his knees, Scott knows he's just pretending to get up.

And sure enough, when Scott swaps with fWhip for the next watch, there's still the lanky silhouette of a cowboy sitting by the campfire.

Scott actually goes back to his room that night, hanging his coat and fedora in his room and stripping his bed of another blanket before heading to the chapel. This blanket is fully tucked in, and Scott strains for a moment against it before it pops loose.

There's a bounce and a rattle and a little bit of a squeak when he does so, and Scott pauses.

Did that—did the blanket just make noise?

He shakes it out, hears nothing else. He scours the bed, and there's nothing there, peers around the side—

And there, on the floor, dislodged when he moved the blanket, is a little toy mouse.

[raisedbythetv89]

excuse the ranting here but just had someone try and argue that a fully evil literally on the hunt for the Slayer (bc he’s stalking his PREY to fight and hopefully kill) Spike - finding Buffy attractive (according to an interview James gave where he talks about that moment and said he embodied the kinds of predatory men who literally are “on the hunt” for real life women in bars) as anywhere NEAR the same level of creepiness as a SOULFUL aka SUPPOSED TO BE GOOD angel stalking and falling in love at the sight of an innocent and crying 15 year old Buffy….

Anti spike/spuffy ppl always try and use that interview to make Spike out to be “just as creepy” as Angel which is always just so embarrassing to me that they don’t grasp the basic difference between one was the most evil and literally is a predator to her prey but buffy is also a predator to spike’s kind so there is even still a balance of power between them even then and he’s literally just explaining how he played the scene to get the attitude and body language right as a predator bc he understands that’s what Spike is to Buffy at that time (literally had zero clue he would ever be a love interest of Buffy’s). And the other who is not supposed to be a predator anymore…. hides his identity as a vampire AND hides the fact that he’s been watching her for over a year is still acting as a predator but instead of stalking an experienced slayer to attempt to fight and kill he is stalking a freshly called still weak and vulnerable slayer who he wants to sleep with aka corrupt.

Angel is supposed to be GOOD yet is still acting like a predator. Spike IS EVIL and so is simply acting as someone who has killed two slayers should 💀💀💀💀 the fact that soulless evil Spike and soulful “good” Angel’s behavior can be compared AT ALL is bad for angel and angel alone bc spike is supposed to be evil and treating buffy as someone he is hunting and as an opponent. Angel is supposed to be HELPING Buffy….

But regardless of all that the argument is James said Sarah is beautiful so of course he played up that angle as well so canonically Spike thinks a 16 year old Buffy is pretty and these people really don’t understand the difference between the two 😭😭

First of all I personally have heard Sarah call herself “not the prettiest” at least 10 times in 10 different interviews - how often do you think the people in her life heard her make jokes or comments about her appearance??? To me that always seemed like James just paying a compliment to his costar who doesn’t understand how literally fucking STUNNING she is by basically being like HAVE YOU SEEN HER OF COURSE MY CHARACTER THINKS SHE’S PRETTY LOOK AT HER!! James literally rizzed his way into a main character and love interest like of course he’s gonna be charming in real life by paying compliments to everyone he can every chance he gets. He had sex appeal and a dream AND IT WORKED 💀 and we also see him have chemistry with practically every person on the show that’s just who he is 😹😹😹

But I also just cannot emphasize how much of a difference there is between finding someone attractive or thinking they’re beautiful vs actually ACTING on it and ESPECIALLY acting on it when you call her friend of the same age “just a kid” and say over and over again how wrong it is and that she’s too young AND THEN DO IT ANYWAY. Like it’s a supernatural show with vampires who are 100 & 200+ years old if angel hadn’t constantly acted like her dad and treated Buffy like a kid and everything is season 3 didn’t happen there could be sooooooo much more leniency with angel and buffy’s age differences and I probably wouldn’t care bc applying irl rules to the supernatural doesn’t make a lot of sense but angel always treats her like a child and says over and over again how wrong it is and THAT is what makes it a problem within this supernatural show bc Spike never treats her like a child or like she isn’t his equal ever no matter what age she is

But unfortunately it makes sense people who like a character whose main personality trait is !catholic guilt! (when he’s got a soul) don’t understand the difference between thoughts and actions and how we should only be defining ourselves and other people by their actions. Because we are not every single thought we’ve ever had both good and bad. If you think to do good things but don’t that does not make you good and if you think to do bad things but don’t that does not make you bad.

So evil Spike thinking a beautiful Buffy dancing with her friends is hot at 16 is not even CLOSE to the same as a supposed to be good angel activity pursuing a relationship with her by breadcrumbing the absolute fuck out of her, manipulating her like crazy and lying to her about practically everything and flirting with her under false pretenses after falling in love at the sight of her looking like a child with her lollipop on the school steps at 15 and then watching her cry in the bathroom mirror as he watches her from the bushes with a smile on his face and hope in his eyes and if you don’t understand that there is literally nothing I can do or say to help you

[gorgeousundertow]

for the hbowar ask game, a, f, i, l, o, v, w (unrelated to the ask game: xoxoxoxo)

a. okay he's not underrated because I think people definitely like him but here's the thing I would smash Patterson like a hammer

f. ranking the shows oh no i'm so sorry everyone but i did not like...

4. The Pacific. I'm just being honest right now. I liked certain parts and certain characters A LOT but it all felt too disjointed and there were too many through lines and it was (this sounds bad bc war and trauma and tragedy but hey I watch tv for entertainment) depressing. I didn't like a war show bc war is depressing, I know how ridiculous that sound.

3. Masters of the Air. Not anywhere near as depressing, but much more disjointed. I couldn't track or find a connection with most of the characters. It felt like too much telling and not enough showing about what I should care about and I want to seeeeee these things.

2. Generation Kill is probably my second-favorite, but I think about it all the time (and by all the time I really do literally mean all. the. time.) so I have to wonder if that's inaccurate? But you guys. It's so fucking good don't take this slight rank of #2 to mean anything besides it's so fucking good and I love it.

Band of Brothers, because it was my first love. Because winnix. Because gorgeous cinematography. Because Liebgott's jugular. Because "Doing fine, Bill, thanks for asking." Because Dick Winters shaving. Because Nixon's suspenders. Because F Company got lost again. Because Joe Toye's brass knuckles.

i. wheeee the fun one!

@ep6bastogne Babe. But not just sweet thoughtful funny Babe although yes that but also sobbing for Julian Babe devastated eyes meeting Gene's in Hagenau Babe.

@screwby Ray ur just Ray-Ray. A sweet chaotic gremlin of such a good and emotionally available friend who is also more down to talk dick than anybody I know.

@lamialamia You give me Snafu vibes but hear me out. It's not tossing rocks in brain puddles Snaf, but Peer Into My Eyes to Check for Disease But Also For the Flirt Snaf.

@blood-mocha-latte I don't know you as well but you started this whole thing and should get as much Being Perceived as you deserve for all that effort. You've got the Very Excited and Delighted attitude of Luz Talking Through The Movie, but also Snug as a Bug nurturing Luz. I'm not even saying this because of Luztoye week, this is just what I'm getting.

l. hbowar does seem a lot less hectic. I've never really participated in other fandoms, but I've lurked around the edges of Good Omens and BBC Sherlock and. well.

o. okay i'm bout to get slapped but. i don't really get luztoye. Obviously I was there for "Just give me a goddamn drink" and several other key scenes but...I don't know!!! Obviously the textual clues are there and they are not subtle, I just don't quite get how the two personalities mesh. Excited to read more fics until I do get it *hides*

v. snippet:

“Nate’s already made contact,” Ray argued. “Go on, homes, bring her a drink, make small talk, compliment her shoes. Whatever, dude. See what you can get out of her.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Brad said.

Nate frowned. “You don’t think she’d be interested?”

Brad looked over to where Lara stood sipping her wine and pretending she wasn’t watching Nate’s every move. “I didn’t say that.”

Ray barked out a laugh. “Dude, I was listening in. She wants your tongue in her mouth, like, yesterday.”

Nate grinned widely and turned to make his way back over to Lara. Brad thought it would probably feel really good to punch something. 

“You okay there, Big Gay Brad?”

“Shut up, Ray.”

“Don’t worry, he can’t hear us. This is a special private channel just for you and me. You know, you could just tell him. You could walk right up to him and say, ‘Nate, your soulful green eyes and air of heroic tragedy give me a hard on like I’m a thirteen-year-old boy watching his cousin bounce naked on a trampoline. I want to suck all your pain and suffering right out through your dickhole.’”

w. What hbowar url I should have instead of my Fully Unrelated and Inscrutable url is an excellent question! Problem is Lenora/@screwby already stole the best one.

[neutron-stars-collision]

Waiting for the Night

Bruce Wayne x F!Reader

Chapter 19 - You'll be the promise, I'll be the scream

Masterlist; Chapter 18 Summary: The aftermath of Riddler's words. You're forced to face the fears and talk to Bruce. Neither of those is an easy feat... Warnings: 18+; tones of angst, R's internal crisis and... them smuts ✨ Author's Notes: Woo, she made it! Incredible! Outstanding achievement. Seriously, though, I know it's been a while. To compensate - this one is long. Like 10.7k long. And it's also explicit bc them idiots needed tension release of the traditional kind :))))) It's probably only one chapter and epilogue left now so... getting emotional. A little bit. But we'll cross that bridge when we get to it. For now... buckle up, 'kay? You're gonna needed. (I know they're idiots). Hope you enjoy and let me know what you think? 💕 Tag list: Tag list: @thecraziestcrayon, @kookiewastolen, @imimsy, @tuskens-mando, @sugarcoated-lame, @blue-aconite, @hypnoash, @rabbitdictionary, @nicklet94, @mcrmarvelloki, @shimmeringgrim, @ttae-yong, @freyadruid, @siriuslydestiny, @ms-dont-care, @raphaelaisabella, @itsmytimetoodream, @brightjimini, @castellandiangelo, @grunge-n-roses5 (let me know if you wanted to be removed/added).

(gif credit: @makoto-shinkai)

Returning to the Wayne Tower from Arkham felt like a fevered dream. You could barely remember how you got there from the street by your house where you had directed Gordon to drop you off. Only that no matter the distance from the prison, your heart did not get any lighter.

Riddler’s words still rang out loud and clear in your head, slowly driving you crazy. The tower was blessedly quiet and empty when you reached the study and collapsed into the armchair. One look at the phone screen and a quick read of the only text that awaited you confirmed the expected – Bruce was already out and would be back later. Probably much later. Which was good. The last thing you wanted was to be confronted by someone you could not lie to. All hopes shattered when Dory walked into the room not a quarter of an hour later.

It was easy to pretend then, quickly falling back into the role you knew well. You smiled when appropriate, forced down a meal that could not be contested and produced a lie that worked in your favour. Dory had no clue. It did not matter that your heart was breaking beneath the performance. You were stellar, as always.

It was a relief to have her retire to her room not long after you finished eating. You were finally alone. It was a no-brainer to turn down all the unnecessary lights and carry your stuff to your bedroom, closing the door behind your back. You got as far as sitting down at the foot of the bed when your brain caught up. The memories came rushing in, Riddler’s voice as clear as in that cell, taunting you just like he did. What if he was right? What if your father was a monster, and you were following in his footsteps? There were no answers. Frantic brain kept running through all the pieces you had ever written, quickly finding those Nashton could have meant. The times when you were relentless, pushed too far. The times when you should have stopped. The solution was simple – he was right.

The steady stream of tears rushed down your cheeks, smudging the mascara you had recklessly put on in the morning as you lied down on the covers and curled up. The weight on your chest was not going anywhere, making it hard to breathe. Near impossible to leave the spiral once you got absorbed in it. An endless onslaught of self-hatred poured out along with the quiet sobs that wrecked your frame. Each thought felt like your heart being ripped out, piece by piece. The smithereens bled onto the duvet as your mind circled back, time and time again, to that one idea.

The worst one of them all. The fear that you would hurt Bruce. That it was all you were capable of doing, destroying what you held dear. Perhaps it had already happened; the guillotine was let loose. About to slash your neck, once and for all. Maybe it would’ve been for the best.

After a while, the tears had dried out, the parched throat begging for a glass of water. But you did not want to move. Did not seem to have the strength to do so. Slowly, you raised your head enough to see the inky skies outside, for once free from rain clouds. The moon peered shyly into the room, painting the floor silver. The thoughts were still there. The pain had not left.

You were almost close to dozing off from exhaustion when faint creaks of the floorboards in the corridor outside made you open your eyes. Someone stopped right by your door, hesitating. Somehow, you knew who it was before they decided and pressed the handle. For a split second, you mourned that you had left the door unlocked. Then Bruce stepped inside, and all you could do was close your eyes against the sudden pinprick of pain in your chest. The silence was deafening. Almost enough to make you speak and answer the thousands of questions he seemed to have. You never got quite that far.

As if reading your mind, Bruce closed the door behind his back and slowly approached the bed. His body was tense, uncertainty visible in every move. You could only imagine what he saw when he came closer. You did not dare to move, passively staring at his approaching form until Bruce stopped two feet away from the bed and raised his head. Enough so you could see his expression. The haunting blue eyes were now flooded with concern and fear. Before you could dwell on what you saw, Bruce spoke:

“What happened?” his husky tone dripped with worry, making you wince from the sound alone.

But you did not feel like giving in to him just yet.

“You could’ve knocked, you know” aware of the tear tracks tainted with ink from the mascara on your cheeks, you did your best to glower at him.

Judging by the defeated look you got back, it was a futile attempt. Bruce took another step closer, visibly pondering whether he should sit next to your slumped form.

“Come on, don’t give me that. What happened?” his tone softened a notch, enough to make your heart pick up its pace.

And to make you sit up, silently offering space should he want it. Training your mind on the floor, you whispered:

“I met him” you could hear the unspoken question in the heavy silence, forcing you to add, quieter still, “Riddler,”

Bruce gasped as if he had been hit in the stomach.

“What? Why?” the disbelief in his voice made you look up.

Seeing the horror on his face as if he could not believe what he was hearing. It was enough to make shame bloom in the pit of your stomach, yet again making you wish you could disappear. But there was no divine intervention. No opening pit in the ground or a merciful hand to end it for you. As if subconsciously wanting to make the pain worse, you forced yourself to look him in the eye as you spoke:

“Because I wanted to. I was curious, so I asked Gordon to take me to him after the witness statement” as soon as the words were out, you could feel the tears welling up.

Because hearing it said like that spoke volumes about your idiocy. How it all could have been avoided if not for your lack of logic. It was not surprising to hear Bruce groan in response,

“Jesus Christ,” a muttered curse dropped from his lips as he covered his face with his hands for a beat, then raised it to fix you with a glare, “Why did you-”

Somehow you knew what was coming. And that you would not survive it if Bruce scolded you, pointing out all the ways you had fucked up and the reasons why you could never be enough. For him or anybody else. So, you interjected his incoming rant with the wavering voice:

“Please, don’t. I know it was stupid, and it definitely taught me a lesson” it was impossible to hide the pain from your tone, keen on getting the message, “So if you’re going to berate me, I’d rather you left” what was supposed to be a stern warning, never got that far.

Instead, the condition sounded weak, like a thinly veiled plea for mercy. And it was not wrong. To your immense surprise, it worked. Bruce visibly winced as his words seemed to catch up with him.

“God, no. I’m sorry” seeing immediate contrition felt good enough for you to nod your head in agreement to his silent question, allowing Bruce to sit down and finish the thought, “I just… What did he say to you?” he kept his distance yet the softness in his voice felt like a reassuring hand-squeeze.

You glanced at him, hoping to convey the gratitude. But even that was not enough to make you eager to tell the tale.

“Many, many things” a choice for the moment was a tentative opening.

A quick attempt at dodging the question if Bruce allowed you.

“I’ve got time,” he didn’t; leaning back a fraction to appear at ease.

To highlight that he wanted to hear it, that he had nothing else to do but listen to your sob story of naivety and stupid decisions. From the look in his eyes, you could tell you had no other choice. Letting out a sigh as a preamble, you shifted your gaze back onto the floor. You could already feel the familiar burn of tears.

“Um… in a nutshell, my father was a monster directly responsible for what happened to your mother. I’m exactly the same, devoted to the job so much that nothing else matters” you heard Bruce’s sharp breath intake but did not grant yourself the right to look at him, “He asked when am I going to destroy you and finish what my father started” the wobbling voice cracked as new tears streamed down your cheeks again, ever so eager to make an appearance; they forced out the most vulnerable of confessions you could give him then “The worst part is that I think he’s right” there it is, as always.

Without giving you time to dissolve into sobs that choked up your throat, Bruce moved, his careful fingers lifting your chin so he could lock his eyes with yours. There was no escape from his knowing stare as he delicately swept his thumb over your tear-streaked cheeks before dipping lower to trace your cupid’s bow. Unable to hold his tender gaze, you closed your eyes.

“He’s not,” the gentle whisper was filled with conviction.

But it was not enough to convince you. Not quite enough to stop the vicious thoughts.

“But-” your protest got silenced before you could get a word out.

As if knowing what you needed, Bruce leaned in to press a lingering kiss to your forehead before squeezing your hand with his unoccupied palm. Reluctantly you opened your eyes, realising the intended effect. He had your full attention.

“Listen to me. The point of that conversation was to rile you up. To make you believe those things and go insane because of them,” his firm tone captured your mind, as did the heat in his eyes, betraying the anger Bruce felt on your behalf, “He loved every second because this is what he does. He gets under your skin, feeds on guilt and insecurities and amplifies them” tangling his fingers with yours in what felt like second nature, Bruce allowed the passion give way to fondness, strengthening the message “But the main point is that it was all bullshit” on its own accord, your mouth twisted into a weak smile, triggered by something as unusual as hearing him curse “Nothing else” he finished the speech with another hand squeeze as he raised your joined hands to his mouth and kissed your knuckles.

The gesture, along with everything he said, made your head spin. The logical part of your brain knew Bruce was right. But it was a small fraction of an overall emotional consciousness, which would not be settled quite so easily. You hoped that perhaps the longer you stared into his eyes, the more convinced you would become.

Leaning into his palm that still cupped your cheek, you whispered a question:

“How can you be so sure?” one that you were scared to ask but still needed to know.

To understand what it was that Bruce saw, that you were blind to. Why he trusted you when he should not?

“Because I know you,” his confidence did not waver as he offered the response without hesitancy, “I know that you care about everyone around you, that you would do anything for those you hold dear. And that, above all, you’re a good person” Bruce concluded his speech with another kiss on your forehead, a rare sure smile hiding in the corners of his lips.

At once, the vicious voices in your head grew silent, emptying the space of all that was not affection and gratitude. Even if just for a moment. The prickling tears were not going anywhere as you closed your eyes, relishing the feeling of Bruce’s hand clasping yours. For the first time during that long day, you felt the stifling weight lift off your chest.

“Shit, you’re going to make me cry, sweetheart” cracking a weak joke, you risked a glance at his reaction following the nickname.

Bruce grinned, no longer pretending to mask the fondness with an eye roll. Even with the haze of tiredness quickly descending over your head, you greatly appreciated the change. Enough so to creep a little closer still and lean your head on his shoulder, covertly inhaling the familiar scent of laundry detergent, expensive cologne and dampness of the terminus. A strange concoction that already felt like home, although you would never admit it.

“I mean it, though” Bruce gently rested his head on top of yours, cementing the sentiment and leaving another rush of warmth burning in your chest.

It was hard to fill the silence with anything else. Save maybe for the things you couldn’t say. After a beat, you found the safest question and gave it a voice:

“How- Um… How was your day?” the pathetic quiver shook your vocal cords.

Before you could give yourself a moment to marinate in shame while listening to his answer, Bruce carefully extracted himself from your embrace and stood up. Upon your questioning look, he murmured:

“One sec” already moving towards the ensuite, he kept speaking, “Selina asked to meet up with me, so I went to see her… She’s left the city, actually” you stared as Bruce entered the room a few seconds later, clutching a bottle of micellar water and cotton pads.

It took another three seconds for his words to sink in and for you to understand them. What it meant and how it made you feel. Strange. Conflicted. Fucking confused, among others. The attempts at words got stuck in your throat when Bruce sat next to you on the duvet and wordlessly prepared the make-up remover, waiting for you to tip your chin forward. Your body moved before you told it to, closing the gap yet again. He did not hesitate before leaning in to begin wiping off the mess from your face with a look of pure concentration.

It felt strange to be under his scrutiny, mindful of all the different issues you could catalogue on your face. Of all the ways Bruce could find you lacking. Not enough compared with someone like her.

“Oh… okay,” remembering that it was your turn to speak, you blurted out the only question you desperately needed to be answered, “You didn’t want to go with her?”

There. Your heart lying in his open palm, ready to be crushed. Not for the first time since you had met.

Bruce took his time, meticulously wiping off the smudged mascara from underneath your eyes, his gaze never straying from your face. You did not dare think about what he must have seen there.

“No, of course not” cutting through the uncertainty, Bruce offered a reply that gave no room for interpretation, at once meeting your worried look with a ready explanation, “I spent too much time fighting for Gotham just to leave it on a whim” he swallowed hard as if finally caught by the doubts, clearly debating whether what he wanted to say next should be spoken; then, he made up his mind “Plus, it was never like that between us” the meaningful look was impossible to miss, as was the unspoken implication of what he meant; the combination was enough to fortify the blush on your cheeks  “She’s glad you’re fine after what happened. And that you’re staying too,”

The final comment was another surprise, spiking your heart rate to a faster beat. Because it suggested one thing you did not consider – Bruce talked with Selina about you. That you were important enough to be a conversation topic. Selina took her time to think about what she witnessed.

And that Bruce wasn’t going to leave. You still had time, for better or worse. Using the tidbit of information as your needed courage inspiration, you reached your hand to his, curling your fingers around his wrist. Just to keep him close.

“Are you? Happy I’m staying?” the thin band of skin-to-skin contact offered the push you needed to ask what you wanted.

The second most important matter after Bruce staying in Gotham.

Bruce used the final clean cotton wipe to erase the dried-up coats of foundation from the bridge of your nose and lowered his hands, freeing your face. His blue eyes stayed right where they were, sometimes meeting yours, at other times fixed on your mouth. Enough so to wreak havoc in your head and heart. At last, Bruce’s lips quirked into a small smile, his other hand coming down to cover yours, still encircling his wrist. The light pressure of his touch was enough to ground you, making the wait for his answer seem bearable.

“More than I know how to express” even with the anticipation, his reply took you by surprise, making you gasp as you were suddenly too bashful to look him in the eye; and for a good reason, “The meeting with Selina made me think about some things and…” you glanced up, the breath caught in your throat as you watched Bruce ponder something again; it was impossible to tell where it was leading “Before you, I was never brave enough to want. The feeling was there, the desires and the needs, but I never gave in to them. Slowly, I learnt how to repress it and shove it so far down that I almost thought I’m resistant” oh; your head flew back up fast enough to make your spine crack, head unable to comprehend the meaning without getting overwhelmed, only to find Bruce staring right back; his blue eyes sure and firm in their unwavering belief “Then you happened” oh.

The confession felt important. Crucial in its significance, like nothing else before it. Tangible like the pressure of his hand over yours and the heat of his body across the narrow space. Terrifying like the depths of feelings in your heart and head. You did not know what made him say it. Caught speechless by the admission, you could only whisper:

“Sorry,” shyly biting into your lower lip until Bruce tugged it free.

Your tender skin was burning from his touch. Thousand more apologies for turning his life on its head died on your tongue as you felt the familiar tension rise. Suddenly it was hard to find reasons why you should not close that gap. Why you should not keep touching him, giving whatever he wanted from you. The resolution was waiting in the wings for you to take the plunge whenever you were ready.

“I never said it’s a bad thing” Bruce’s smile only brightened as he brushed away your foolish apology while his fingers drifted downwards to trail over the skin of your neck, “Just that sometimes it’s difficult to stop myself from reaching for what I want” there was an implication in his voice, a pointer towards what he was too scared to say.

Perhaps the heat of his touch sparking the fire in your veins made you decide. Reach for the opening he created and take what he was offering. It was not difficult to breach the gap and take hold of his hand to drag it down, pressing his palm to your chest, right over the heart. Taking pleasure in the hungry look in his eyes, you leaned in close to whisper:

“You don’t have to stop” keeping your gaze locked onto his mouth, you added, “Not with me” then, with the both of you suspended millimetres away from the kiss that you could already feel, you posed the question, “What do you want, Bruce?”

Hoping he would get the message that whatever was about to happen had to be his request. Only then could you let go of the uncertainty and fear ruling your head. The heart was kept hostage. Bruce let out a shuddered breath, fanning your parted lips with a wisp of air. His nose nudged yours as he struggled to look you in the eye before replying:

“You” his free hand wandered down to touch your hip as Bruce leaned against you, slowly pushing you down onto the mattress, “Everything. I-”

Too scared to let him speak, you closed his mouth with a kiss, finally closing the gap. Releasing your heart from the captivity of the mind. Sealing your fate with a careful caress of your lips over his. Taking Bruce’s broken gasp and pulling him further into the embrace so that he had no choice but to surrender. Cover your body with his, enveloping your shaking bones with the warmth you have craved. That kiss was meant to be slow and direct in its meaning. You knew he understood when you broke the contact with a quiet whimper, your eyes roaming over his stunned features. The blown-out pupils and reddened lips drew your attention like magnets and made it so much easier to find the necessary words:

“You can have everything,” swallowing past the unspeakable, you met his gaze with vulnerability, “Please,” now there was nothing to hide.

He had it all, waiting for his move. The troubled blue eyes searched yours for a beat as if looking for uncertainty he expected to follow your admission.

“Are- are you sure?” the hesitant question confirmed your suspicions but was contested by his seemingly unconscious touch.

Fingers running down the slope of your thigh, now hitched over his hip to keep him in place. Adding fuel to the fire and distracting your mind from anything else but Bruce. Even with the fog steadily rising, his question was ridiculous. Without wasting time speaking, you used the empty hand to grab his shirt and pull him down to meet your lips. Again.

Only, this time, you did not idle, instantly opening your mouth and prodding his open with your curious tongue. Swiping against his tongue in a well-practised dance, exploring the inside of his mouth. All the moves were familiar; all elicited a gasp, a tightening hand touching your hip. All increased the temperature till all you wanted to do was make sure Bruce took off his clothes soon. So you could touch him how you wanted to.

Motivated by the thought, you broke the kiss and leaned back far enough to huff out a question:

“Was that good enough for you?” making sure to throw a cheeky smile, you admired the blush blooming upon his cheeks.

The kiss did what you needed it to. Bruce smiled back, the last tint of uncertainty vanishing from his face as you cupped his cheek. Fingertips tracing the sharp cheekbones and the fading bruises. He was beautiful. A fact that still sometimes astonished you after years of hearing about Bruce Wayne and seeing grainy photographs in the paper and online. Along with the idea that one day you would be this close to him. Close enough to touch and tear your heart apart in the process.

Ignoring the melancholy that threatened to steal the moment from your hands, you swept your thumb over Bruce’s bottom lip. Drawing both of you back in. Shaking himself awake, Bruce’s hand ventured up from your hip to trace the hem of your shirt and then dove underneath. Warm fingers skating over your skin, helping the chills settle in and raise the goosebumps. His attentive eyes watched you, noticing every shiver you tried to fight off. Pondering the mystery of what was going to happen next. One thing was clear – this time Bruce had it all figured out. He knew exactly how to get you to the edge of insanity. And then beyond.

Once he leaned in, slowly making his path from the corner of your mouth to your neck with pecks, you knew it was over. With each carefully laid peck, your body trembled. Each ignited a fire in your veins only Bruce could smother. Your hand tightened its hold over his shoulder; legs immediately accommodated to fit his body in the cradle of your thighs. Heart hammering between your ribs, begging to be listened to. To keep him like this forever.

Nosing at your pulse point, Bruce licked the spot, making your hips buck to meet his as if on autopilot. Making you gasp and mutter a curse that never quite got its voice. Only for him to sink his teeth in a shallow bite. Enough for your body to jerk upright, a pathetic breathless moan slipping through the gritted teeth. Enough for you to dig your nails into his arm and bunch up the shirt to find his bare skin. Trace the scars and the outline of muscles. You already felt like you were losing your mind. As if summoned by your hazy thoughts, Bruce concluded his exploration with a final teasing kiss over your collarbone and raised his head to ask:

“Can I?” the enigmatic question was easily explained by his tentative hand tracing the hem of your shirt.

Asking to give him what was already his. You appreciated the thoughtfulness. But there was one condition you had to voice before you gave in.

“Only if you take this off too” tugging at his t-shirt, you whispered out the pitiful wish, “I really want to touch you” a wave of shame threatened to rise, but it never got anywhere.

Not with the way Bruce looked at you after the admission. His lips stretched into a soft smile. Eyes awed and sparkling like rarely before. As if what you said was something he had been aching to hear.

Without another word, Bruce kissed your forehead before getting up on his knees to pull off the shirt in one move. You never saw quite where he threw the clothing. It did not matter that you already saw him like this many times before. Nor that now, after the few harrowing days, his torso was littered with an array of bruises and cuts. Your hand darted out as if controlled with a mind of its own, only just managing to graze the skin of his abdomen. The dark hair trail disappearing into the waistline of his trousers drew your attention like it always did. A simple touch earned you a full-body shiver quickly masked with an outstretched hand, inviting you to join him.

You did not waste a second to get up on your knees and close that awful gap. To meet Bruce’s gaze with bravery you did not feel and take off your shirt. Feeling the drafty air over your naked skin, you moved to cover up, but he stopped you with a firm grip on the forearm. Blue eyes locked stares with yours, ceasing all the chatter running through your brain. Till it was just Bruce. His reassuring touch, running up your arms to trace the bra straps and a silent question you knew he was asking. With the staccato in your chest, you nodded. Just once. Already feeling the rush of blood to your head. It all felt different. More profound. As if every action mattered.

The thought was both terrifying and exhilarating. Despite the ridiculous fears, you nodded and watched with bated breath as Bruce carefully lowered both straps and reached around your back to undo the clasp. Another rush of cold air could be only partially blamed for the shiver that wrecked your frame when the bra slipped down. Leaving your torso bare under Bruce’s watchful gaze. His fingertips skated over your tender skin, slowly circling the dark pink areolas and making you gasp. But it was not enough to shut up the brain. Your hand darted out to stop his meticulous study with a grasp around the wrist. His head snapped back up. An instant crease between the eyebrows brought a flush of softness to your heart.

“What’s wrong?” Bruce’s question made you wince.

You could not tell him. Couldn’t-

“Nothing,” the reply was automatic, your tongue falling into the familiar pattern to make up the word, hoping it would be enough to fool him. It wasn’t. You knew it as soon as you saw his brow twitch with disbelief, soothing circles traced into your upper arm acting as a further reason to let it all spill out, “I’m just… feeling weirdly shy, I guess” it was hard to meet his eyes.

Yet the crux of the issue had been laid out. It fell between you, disappearing into the weighted silence. You knew it made no sense. That Bruce had already seen you. Hell, he’s seen so much more. Still. The head did not want to listen to reason. The once hopeful dreams of getting lost in him tonight already seemed improbable. Because how does one get lost when the head and the heart are still in it?

“Why?” another question brought your back to the scene, his measured voice quickly becoming the lifeline you needed.

The string pulling you back from the spiral and forcing you to talk how you probably should have at the beginning. Your breath caught in your chest when you saw the depth of understanding in his gaze. And no judgement or ire. Almost as if, for Bruce, nothing would change no matter what you said next. Almost as if- No. He’d never. You ignored the idea before it could spread like a disease. Instead, you steeled your spine and gathered the courage to answer his question. To reveal a fraction of the truth, as he deserved.

“Because it matters how you see me” your eyes turned glossy as they focused on his face.

It was more than accurate. An admission long overdue. Somehow you could tell Bruce knew that. His hands cupped your face between his palms in a tender hold. Thumbs softly stroke your cheeks as he leaned in to press a kiss to your forehead before speaking:

“Then there’s no need to worry” his nose brushed against yours in a gentle caress, letting the whisper carry his words through the narrow space between you, “You’re perfect” his gaze flickered from your eyes to your mouth, but it was easy to miss.

Christ. You wanted to say something else. To protest, ask him how he can tell when you are the only woman he has ever been with. But it would not do. Your heart would never let you. No, it already took the compliment and ran with it, thrashing in your chest like a caged bird. There was nothing you could do.

Nothing, but throw your arms around his neck and dive in for a kiss. Bruce was waiting for you, opening his mouth under yours as soon as you pressed your lips against his. Not willing to waste time already running out, you let your tongue dart out. Swirling it around his and then sucking, enough to make him gasp and pull you closer. His arms enveloped your body, somehow making everything seem fine. Complete, even. You kissed him till there was barely any oxygen left, and you had to separate, eagerly exchanging pecks as you both caught your breath. His taste had filled your mouth, getting rid of the salty tint of tears and the bitterness of coffee. Everything was just Bruce. Like always.

Without thinking, you lowered your head to press another kiss to his chin and then below, tracing the slope of his throat with careful pecks. Bruce’s grip tightened over your waist as a broken groan reverberated through his chest. You could almost feel the sound in your bones. The thought rushed through your body like a bolt of lightning, venturing down between your thighs to a spot you had tried your hardest to ignore. But no longer could. Your core throbbed with the persistent desire as wetness spilt onto the gusset of your panties. You did not have to search your heart to know what you wanted.

That need made you bold enough to swipe your tongue in a broad stroke over Bruce’s throat. Collecting the low moan, he let out with satisfaction. As you sunk your teeth into a shallow bite over his pulse point, the feeling grew tenfold inspired by the noises that Bruce could not to stop. As if you were driving him insane. Leaning back to study your work, you knew the mark on his skin would stay. That it would be something he could remember you by, no matter what came after.

Before you could dive back in to continue, Bruce hooked his fingers under your chin to gently make you raise your head and look at him. So you could see the flushed cheeks and swollen lips parted to let out strained breaths. Following a will of their own, your eyes flicked to his waist and then below, checking whether he was just as affected as you were. What you found only made the frenzy worse. As did his words, accompanied by deliberate touch running along the waistline of your trousers:

“I want to taste you,” Bruce leaned in close, his breath tickling the shell of your ear.

But you hardly registered it, brain caught up on what he said. Because that… that was quite something. Something you never expected to hear from him. The surprise must have painted across your face, your gaping mouth left open and eyes staring at him for too long. Until your brain thawed enough for you to speak (or stutter):

“Christ… Bruce, you can’t say things like- Okay, yeah” the string of words made only a little sense, but you compensated with a stupid grin and a hasty nod; the anticipatory shiver already coursing through your body as you met his gaze to add, “A sensible lady never says no that” your lips curled into a smirk, gleefully taking note of his mirroring smile, only then it was time for a check in “Do you really want to?” your hand run up his chest to curl around his shoulder.

Feeling the warmth of his skin and the promise of what he offered. But you could not just let him do it. That would have been too selfish. Even if Bruce seemed pretty convinced. The hunger in his eyes stole your breath as he took your verbal consent and hooked his fingers under the waistline of your trousers. Never straying from your gaze, he gave the reply:

“Yes,” his new confidence could easily be your outdoing.

But it could have also been the unceremonial way he pushed you down onto the bed, your body hitting the mattress with a quiet thud. A confirmation enough for the last of your worries.

“Okay,” a nervous giggle broke out from your chest as you watched him lean over you, those blue eyes darker than usual “Blow my mind, sweetheart” there were no doubts in your mind that he was capable.

It was proven as soon as Bruce finished undressing you, the quick work perfected with his lingering touch had you breathing shallowly. The feeling grew once you were lying naked before him, with nothing but the soaked panties to save you from his intense gaze. From the heat of his eyes, caressing what was already familiar. Tracing the paths his hands would soon follow. Unable to withstand the scrutiny much longer, you reached up to get him close, capturing his mouth with a kiss Bruce had long anticipated. He opened his lips underneath yours without a second wasted while letting his hands venture down your stomach, short fingernails emblazoning your tender skin. Before you knew it, he had tugged down your underwear, leaving you bare. The strange shyness had breached the surface again as you broke the kiss with a gasp and met his gaze with wide eyes. Silently asking for mercy.

One quick kiss and a nod had to be enough for you as Bruce gave your nose a playful nudge, his hand delving between your thighs without another warning. Your body shuddered upon his touch, cheeks turning scarlet once you realised how wet you were. Bruce’s surprise was evident in the slight hitch in his breathing, almost disguised by an inhale.

Your slick covered his fingers to the knuckles as he meticulously learnt to play you how you needed. At first, only stroking your clit with a feather-like touch, then circling your entrance, spreading your arousal, and making your thighs shake. It was already bad. And it could only get worse. For your dignity, that is. Sweat pearled on your forehead as you watched Bruce lower himself down your body, placing pecks along your abdomen. He settled between your thighs, the muscles on his back flexing under the skin in the faint light of the bedroom. As if unconsciously acting on his instincts, Bruce pressed a kiss to the inside of your left thigh, quickly following it with another one on the right thigh. Both kisses burned your skin like a hot poker. The sensation culminated in the apex of your thighs, in the frustrating throbbing you could hardly ignore anymore. But you did not have to.

Bruce met your gaze, seeking consent for the final time. With no words found, save for the ones you could never tell out loud, you nodded, impatiently brushing away the stray strands of hair that fell into your eyes. You wanted to see him. That first glimpse of Bruce diving between your legs with his head bowed was reason enough. As was the way his hands curled around your thighs, keeping them apart and spread. Leaving you exposed and shaking with want. All the faintest doubts disappeared when his tongue touched your clit in a kitten stroke. Your body jerked upright, kept in place only with Bruce’s steel grip. He repeated the move, drawing out a moan you could not hold in. Setting your blood on fire. Christ. A thousand curses and endearments rose in your throat but were desperately stifled by your waning self-control. You knew it would not last long.

The first blow came with Bruce’s skilful tongue circling your clit, learning all the different ways to make you tremble. He was a good listener, taking all the cues you were leaving and changing his technique to fit your needs. Searching for grounding, you sank your fingers in his hair and pulled. Bruce did not seem to mind, briefly stopping his feast to press a lingering kiss on your thigh. His fingers traced circles onto your skin, soothing the fevered flesh. The unbidden confessions showed up again, choking you with ferocity. Bruce was the one to save you, letting his tongue delve inside you in an exploratory move. One that made your hips buck into his face and tore a shout from your mouth.

Desire shot through your body like a bolt of lightning, bringing a delirious grin onto your face. It was quickly wiped clean as Bruce continued licking into you with passion you never expected from him. Utterly devoted to the task and focused on driving you crazy. A coil tightened in your lower belly, making it much harder to shut up. Making you squirm and trash under his hold. When he interrupted the relentless penetration with a flick of his tongue over your clit, you could not keep quiet.

“God, you- You’re so good” panting out the sentence that barely made sense, you highlighted the sentiment with a sharper tug on his hair.

Making Bruce groan into your core, the sound pushing you down the slippery slope with no way back. From then on, it was only a question of when you would break. Your body burned under his attention. Each point of contact felt like a flame scorching your flesh. Your heart hammered between your ribs, overwhelmed with the multitude of feelings. Pleasure rose and rose until all you could do was gasp his name between moans. Till your head was empty of everything but Bruce. Until the tension snapped, and an explosion filled your vision with white.

“I’m- Fuck,” the curse substituted any words you could have intended to say, but it was enough.

Bruce knew, his hands gripped your legs harder as if to ground you moments before. You came with his name on your lips and your hand gripping his hair. Your core squeezed around his prodding tongue wave after wave as Bruce lapped at your arousal without hesitation. Your thighs trapped his head between them, but he did not seem to mind, helping you ride the aftershocks with patience. As you came to, feeling your body go limp with a sigh, Bruce took his time earnestly licking at your folds. Collecting every drop as if he was hooked already on the taste. You did not dare dwell on that thought too long.

Instead, you searched for his hand to squeeze his palm. He understood the signal, instantly raising his head to find your gaze. You knew the look in your eyes could only be described as wild, with the pupils blown out large. But staring into his darkened blue stare, the realization did not hurt quite so much. His lips and chin were shiny from your arousal; the discovery of the fact sent a shiver down your spine. Bruce took hold of your hand to return the squeeze while his lips stretched into a confident smile. An incredibly attractive look, you had to admit.

“So… I take it, I did good,” emphasizing the word, Bruce smirked, his eyes twinkling.

Despite the embarrassment at what you said, you could not stop the chuckle. The fondness in your heart made its way to your gaze as you attempted a one-sided shrug.

“You broke me” that was an understatement.

But it only made his grin brighter. Without breaking the eye contact Bruce swept his tongue over his lower lip. Collecting the droplets of your come and crawling up to meet you on the bed. There was no mercy for the wicked.

“I can tell” his eyes roamed over your face affectionately, making you want to hide from his attention.

But you chose to meet it straight on, raising your head just enough to capture his lips in a kiss. Only to instantly groan into his mouth when you tasted yourself on his tongue. Bruce’s embrace tightened around your arms as he gathered you into his chest, carefully laying down next to you. And never breaking the kiss that stretched and evolved to fit your needs. Going from hectic and eager to languid. From chaotic to deliberate, and lasting till you were both out of breath, panting against each other’s mouth, unwilling to separate. You made sure you were sufficiently curled against his warm body before you leaned back to put some space and find his gaze again.

The blue eyes were never disappointing, instantly setting your body on fire with the tenderness you found in them. It felt good to be like this with Bruce, able to let go of the fears and inhibitions. Able to give in to the love you could feel coursing in your bloodstream every second you had spent with Bruce. Because even if he did not reciprocate, the memories would still be there. After. Whatever that meant. After you fucked it and told him, probably. With the aching heart beating in your chest and the creeping dread threatening to tear the moment away from you, the hesitant question placed itself on the tip of your tongue:

“Was it how you imagined?” with your eyes trained on his face, you knew when Bruce caught the meaning.

His flushed cheeks turned redder as his arms tightened around your waist, nose nuzzling into your head to buy him some time. And hide from your curious gaze. Bruce Wayne was adorable, and you had no idea what to do with the fact.

“Better,” his reply came in the form of a rushed word and was followed by an admission you almost thought you had misheard, “Think I’m already addicted to you” he raised his head again to meet your eyes.

It was impossible to get rid of the lovesick look on your face as your body shivered with anticipation. That something was still in the air. The tension that assured you Bruce was eager to take another step. You did not have to search your heart and mind to know you wanted it too. Right here and now. No matter the consequences. You knew there was a high chance you would regret it later. But that did not matter now.

Carefully, you placed your hand over his heart, splaying the palm on his chest and replied:

“That’s my line” taking a deep breath to take the plunge, you added, “I- I want you,” your voice wavered, but the revelation could not have been surer.

The sudden shyness was still concerning, rendering you nearly useless with how it had tied your tongue into knots. But with Bruce, those three words were enough. His eyes darkened almost instantly, a hitch in the breath disguised by a kiss pressed to your temple. It was easy to tell what it meant, encouraging you to trail your hand down the broad planes of his chest and stomach. Eliciting another gasp, this time masked with a tentative question:

“Are you sure?” the irony of his asking did not escape you.

The last time it had been you that asked, a thousand times or more, just to ascertain he would not regret it. To be assured that Bruce wanted to give you that crucial part of himself. A gift no one had given you before. Not quite like that. But now, after everything, you appreciated that he checked. Even though you never needed him to.

“Perfectly” you found his eyes to show him the smile on your face while your hand skated lower still, brushing over his abdomen and the trail of hair disappearing into the waistband.

But you did not stop there, letting your fingertips touch his zipper in what you hoped was a smooth enough suggestion. It worked if the way Bruce grabbed your hand was anything to go by. You shot him a questioning glance, waiting for that telling nod to work his belt undone. Once you had it, his eyes dark and hungry, you did not waste time tugging his trousers and boxers down his legs and throwing them somewhere onto the floor. The longer you hesitated, the more likely it would be for your head or heart to catch up. Intervene in what was supposed to be just sex. No strings attached. Or so you liked to tell yourself.

Only when neither of you could hide behind fabric or pretence, the noises in your head grew quiet again. The room was silent as your eyes trailed over his naked body, consuming all the details you had almost forgotten. Though it had only been days. Like the constellation of moles on his hip or the exact markings of his multiple scars. Like the fading bruises, which were all new to your eyes. Like the feel of his hand running over your hip and thigh, drawing you in for a kiss.

You went willingly, melting into his touch and making sure every inch of your body touched his. With your leg in between his, arms thrown around his waist and mouth sealed in a kiss. A kiss that went on for minutes, which felt like hours. An eternity of your tongues sliding against each other’s and tracing the insides of your mouths. Imprinting the taste of him in your mind forever. Slowly, your hands continued exploration, reaching down to touch his length. Carefully yet firmly enough to elicit a groan from his lips and break the kiss. Encouraged by the reaction, you circled his shaft with your hand, putting pressure and making Bruce gasp. It felt powerful.

Bruce met your gaze with dark, hungry eyes, wasting no time to delve a hand between your thighs and spread your arousal over your folds. All for an act of retaliation that had you cursing under your breath. All to make sure you were ready for him. Without stopping your ministrations, you settled to lie on your back, silently extending an invitation. Bruce took it with your name on his lips and his hands on your waist. He shifted to hover over you, knees resting in the cradle of your thighs. The staccato of your heartbeat thumped between your ribs as you laced your hands on the nape of his neck and met his gaze. Nodding once more to assure the both of you. That it was alright. It was what you wanted. Even if it already felt like a mistake.

Bruce entered you with a gasp falling from his lips, one of his hands coming up to cup your face. You exhaled sharply upon the stretch, body instantly accommodating the feel of him. Your legs opened wider, knees coming up to rest over his hips. It was simple, a primal instinct taking over as you looked him in the eyes and let him know it was okay to move. You could only hope that the pain in your heart would ease. That you could ignore it.

At first, it was easy. You did not let your eyes stray from Bruce, noting every expression that flitting across his face. The awe, the pleasure, and the need. Your fingers tangled into his hair while the other hand sought purchase on his shoulder. Feeling the heat radiating from him and warming every cell of your body. Bruce built up a rhythm, thrusting into you with ease and care. Now and then, he leaned in to kiss you, consuming your lips with his. You tried focusing on it, on the delicious friction and the feel of him inside you. On the closeness and the touch. On the familiarity of his kisses, the pressure of his mouth against yours. But it was not enough. Your heart still felt as if it was being torn apart.

With a moan, you hoisted your legs to cross them over his back, bucking your hips into his. Pleasure erupted underneath your eyelids as he hit the spot that made you cry out his name. Bruce’s only answer was a guttural groan reverberating through your joined bodies. Adding to the urgency building between you. To the need to have it faster and sooner and now. You repeated the move, following that instinct. Soon enough, you had Bruce where you wanted him – gasping and panting; his eyes screwed shut with pleasure.

The pressure in your abdomen rose, making your moans louder. Making you rake your fingernails over his back, breaking the skin and marking Bruce as yours. Only he wasn’t. He wasn’t yours. He could never be yours.

Later you wondered what the reason was. What made you break and shatter like glass. Whether it was how Bruce suddenly opened his eyes and looked at you. His gaze full of affection and admiration you did not deserve and never could live up to. Or his gentle touch, caressing the expanse of your thigh. Or the feel of his breath against your gasping mouth, offering kisses you could not claim without risking too much. Or how he whispered your name, the syllables filled with reverence and devotion. Or maybe it was the constant beating of your heart, spelling out the confessions you could never tell him. Blinding you to the pleasure building in your body.

Before you caught up and understood what was happening, it was done. Tears pooled in your eyes and spilt down your cheeks, tinting your swollen lips with salt. A whimper got caught in your throat, fracturing the moment in a second. You never had the time to hide.

As if in slow motion, you could see when Bruce noticed. His body stilled, eyes widening as his forehead scrunched up with concern. His palm returned to your cheek, rendering it impossible to escape his gaze. The heart thrashed in your chest as you scrapped your mind for words, excuses, anything at all. By the time Bruce asked the question, you came up empty:

“Did I hurt you? What’s wrong?” the worry in his voice felt like a knife to your bleeding heart; you tried turning your head into the pillow, but he did not let you, “Hey, don’t-” you’ve had enough, pressing your palm to his mouth, shutting him up.

At last, your brain found what was needed.

“It’s nothing, I’m fine” the lie fell with practised ease as you slipped on the mask you had tried on many times before; it was just another role, another part to play, “I’m good, Bruce. I promise” forcing a saccharine smile, you moved your palm to caress his face “Don’t stop, please” to strengthen the act, you tightened the muscles in your thighs, caging him within your hold.

Praying to every god you had ever heard of that Bruce would listen. That the tears could dry on your face, and he would push you over the precipice. Help you lose yourself in him and the pleasure. Because you could never explain it. Did not dare to try.

“But you’re-” the conflicted look in his eyes was still there, staining every word with unease.

Ripping your heart into shreds. But there was no other way. There was no universe where you could tell him the truth. No world where you could come clean, whisper those three cursed words, and have this. Things like that didn’t happen to people like you. So, you turned to what you knew best. Desperate to have this night, even if it would be the last one. Impatiently, you wiped the tears off your face and hooked your fingers under his chin, bringing Bruce closer. His mouth an inch away from yours, hot breath fanning your lips:

“I need you like this,” your eyes revealed the despair you no longer tried to hide, “I need you to fuck me so I can forget everything else” as soon as the words left your mouth, you knew why it felt wrong.

It was a dirty trick, an appeal to the side Bruce did not yet have under control. But it was the only one you knew would work. And it had to work.

His gasp and the way he twitched inside you confirmed you were right. But nothing eased the bitterness coating your tongue. Not the way Bruce squeezed you tighter, his swallowed curse buried in the heated kiss you did not deny him. When his tongue swept over yours, you wondered whether he could taste your anguish.

Bruce broke the contact too soon, searching your face for any signs of the truths you had been hiding. All for nothing. Pressing your forehead to his, you whispered the final word of encouragement:

“Please” you met his gaze, aware of your glassy eyes and the pain in your tone.

Bruce only nodded and kissed your forehead, resuming the steady rocking of his hips into yours. Almost as if nothing happened at all. Almost. Your inner walls involuntarily clenched around him, drawing out another groan. Making the throbbing between your thighs prominent again. Just like before. Squeezing his waist with your legs, you latched onto his arms, thrusting up to meet his hips with increasing speed. The desire pooled in your veins, making you bite his shoulder. Resulting in a loud moan, which only spurred you on.

Trading bites like kisses along his neck and throat till Bruce was panting above you. His hips stuttered and twitched in what you knew were tell-tale signs he was close. You were not that far behind, freeing one of your hands to find your clit between your bodies. Desperate to follow him.

Your movement made Bruce look up, his eyes instantly finding yours. You should have always known that would be your downfall. How he looked at you, his gaze filled with a myriad of feelings, some indescribable and impossible to identify. That same unknowable emotion there, like many times before. That tenderness and affection that bruised your heart each time. This one was not any different.

The heart thumped in your chest, the pulse in your ears drowning out thoughts and fears till all you could hear were the moans and sighs neither of you held back. Till unbidden words slipped through your tight control.

“Make me yours. I want to be yours” only when they were out, whispered in between whimpers, you realised what you just said.

What it meant. And prayed Bruce did not hear it. Please.

There was no time to dwell on it, for as soon as the words left your mouth Bruce’s hips stuttered. His tempo waned, forcing you to act. To take over the rhythm and buck your hips till you could feel him tense up. Till it was enough. His lips opened with a breathless moan as he came inside you with a sharp gasp, his head hiding in the crook of your neck. Bruce’s body shook in your hold as he rode the high, never once stopping to chant your name into your skin.

With his arms around you still, it was easy to let go. Let yourself fall, knowing Bruce was there to catch you. For once, you weren’t alone. The sensation of his teeth biting into the sensitive skin underneath your ear pushed you over the precipice. Your vision darkened, a sharp cry piercing the silence as your steel grip bruised his bicep. Your tense muscles uncoiled at once as the orgasm coursed through your body, twitching in the aftershocks. You had been burnt to cinder. Ruined for anyone else. Forever.

Unable to move, you sagged into the mattress, eyes closed to stop yourself from doing something stupid. Or stupider than you’ve already done. Faintly, you could feel a reassuring touch running over your arms and waist, lulling the anxieties and fears. Fooling you into the promise of safety. But the mirage was better than the hard truth and the cruel reality. You took a deep breath to steady your heart and opened your eyes.

Only to find Bruce gazing back at you with concern. On its own accord, your hand rose to smooth the wrinkle between his eyebrows. Before you could drop it again, he pressed a kiss to the inside of your wrist. He rolled off your body, putting inches of space between you as he settled on his side.

“Everything alright?” his question brought you back into the moment, anchoring your mind in the present.

The tinge of relief at the lack of mention of your slip-up was unmistakable. But so was the gratitude you felt upon check-in. A step Bruce could have ignored after everything you had put him through. Especially tonight. Your throat suddenly felt dry. You went too far, didn’t you?

“Yeah. Yes,” swallowing hard, you hoped the guilt could be wiped off your face, “You’ve just kinda blown my mind” a half-hearted shrug and a weak smile were all you could manage.

It was not surprising to see a flash of distrust in Bruce’s eyes as they scanned your face for any signs of lies. You were too good at pretending for him to find anything solid. But he knew you well enough to tell something was off. After a beat, he gave up, meeting your gaze with a smirk of his own:

“You asked me to” the confidence in his voice was still there, now, perhaps even stronger.

Because – yes. You asked, and he delivered, and now you knew, for a fact, that Bruce Wayne was an avid learner. Which somehow made everything harder. Like not falling for him further. If that was even possible.

You did not talk much after. With your refusal to delve into any part of what happened, and Bruce’s inability to persuade you to talk, it was easier to stay silent. As if on autopilot, you pressed a final kiss to his lips and got up, wordlessly heading to the ensuite. To hide and marinate in misery for as long as you could without it being even more suspicious. Avoiding the mirror, you got dressed in a set of sweats and cleaned your face.

The unknown of what you would find back in your room terrified you the most. Because there was no guarantee Bruce would still be there. You did not discuss it, easily letting the awkwardness consume you both. But the hope was still there. The hope that he would stay. Even if just this once.

When you had hand-combed your hair and checked at least twenty times whether there were no signs of the war you were waging in your head, you exited the bathroom. Your eyes darted across the room, drawn to the bed where you had last seen him. Bruce was still there, sitting on the edge of the mattress with his back turned to you. Your heart thumped in your chest, relieved and overwhelmed at once. Bruce waiting on you was just a part of the predicament. The other was that now you had to ask for what you needed.

The creaking floorboards gave away your presence as Bruce glanced at you over his shoulder. He was still shirtless, his back littered with moles, scars, and red lines from where you had scratched him. The discovery brought an instant blush to your cheeks as you silently stared back. The impasse was broken by Bruce’s timid smile, warming up your heart and stifling the fears. If he was still around, it meant that it would be okay. Right?

In a split second, you decided that the only way of finding out was to ask him. No matter how terrifying that seemed. Steeling your spine upon his searching look, you whispered the question:

“Can you stay with me?” fully aware of the tremble in your voice and the shaking in your hands, clasped together tightly.

Aware of the vulnerability you were showing, on top of the rollercoaster of emotions you had dragged him through the past hour. But there was no annoyance on Bruce’s face. An invisible weight lifted off your shoulders as you watched him nod, following the gesture with a reply:

“I was hoping you’d ask” it was that same soft tone which had captured your heart at the very beginning.

Almost as gentle as the look in his eyes, willingly offering the truth you did not expect to hear. Not after everything. Frozen with the dazed smile on your lips, you only moved when Bruce got up from the bed and crossed the space to you. His hand reached out to squeeze your palms as he leaned in to kiss your temple. Without another word, he disappeared into the bathroom. But there were no regrets or uncertainties this time. He would stay. It would be okay.

At least until the morning.

***

Later, when she was long asleep, quiet snores breaking the silence in the room, Bruce was still awake. He watched her chest rise and fall with every breath. Her head was cushioned on his shoulder as if it belonged there. There was only a slight twinge of guilt in his heart when he tightened the hold over her body, drawing her closer. Because god only knew how long that would last. Because if there was one thing the evening taught him, it was that she still was lost within the prison of her own making. Unwilling to believe it was real. That this was real. She was still looking for a reason to run. And he had no way of proving her wrong.

But Bruce wanted to try. Even if it would all be in vain.

He stared at her peaceful face, bathed in the faint moonlight peeking through the hastily drawn curtains, feeling the steady beat of her heart. There was only one thought circling in his head like a vulture. She was wrong. And she had to know. Bruce turned his head towards hers, instantly feeling her burrow her head into the crook of his neck. Still asleep. An uncertain smile bloomed on his face as he whispered:

“I told you there would never be anybody else,”

[mac-lilly]

BTTMW4 recap

Well, here we go ...

General

As most of you heard, last year's con, BTTMW2, with 14 guests was a fucked-up fiasco. This one ... wasn't anywhere near as bad.

(Though, tbf, there was no way for a con to be worse than last year's edition. Even the DI staff said that.)

There was better communication and fewer delays. And the cast didn't look like they were about to keel over any second.

There were even actual JATP panels! On both days! With all of the cast being present! All the time! And they actually got to talk about their show and other projects.

After three years, there wasn't much new information. The cast talking about the props they received (in Owen's case: stole) from the set was the most interesting thing.

Though Charlie talking about how he got sent to community theater bc he kept playing air guitar at his hockey games was so freaking adorable. And it felt so Luke.

The party ... and the "JATP concert"

So, while BTTMW4 was a fantastic experience in general, the party was a huge disappointment.

We already had a bad start. One of my friends is in a wheelchair, and the main access to the room was via a few steps. What kind of genius idea was this, DI?! It took them quite a few minutes to figure out how to get her down to the room. On the way back, I followed her. It was like an escape game.

So, yeah, not the ideal start.

And it didn't get much better. After last year's experience, I stayed away from the food. As cute as it looked, I wasn't keen on getting a Sunset Curve experience again.

Now the "JATP concert"

Well, it wasn't a "JATP concert". It was mostly Madi performing her own music. The closest we got to a JATP concert was her singing along to "Stand Tall" - the song was playing while the cast entered the room.

It was obvious that the guys didn't want to get on stage and sing. That's absolutely understandable. But then DI shouldn't have advertised it as a JATP concert. There were people who paid €220 for this party just to see the JATP concert. I'd be fuming if I had paid for that. (Please, don't get me wrong. Madi has an amazing voice. Unfortunately, her music doesn't do it any justice. And the terrible playback made it worse.)

So, anyway, yeah, not a good concert. The party got slightly better after the concert. Brenna D'Amico saved the party by getting on stage and doing group karaoke with the fans.

Random thoughts and occurrences:

Owen saying that this year was the first time he didn't get a gift for Nikolaus was heartbreaking

Owen with his giant emotional support candy cane - adorkable

The Chowen meeting room was exactly as messed up as a friend and I predicted - two independent conversations in one room: The French fans chatting with Charlie and the rest of us talking to Owen in English. (How the French girls actually understood Charlie's archaic French - no clue. Magic.)

I got nervous when I gave Charlie his ghosties. He squeezed the bag, noticed the content was squishy, and asked if he should keep his dog away from it ... RIP Ghosties - they'll be Koa's snack.

The ones who actually looked into their bags (Sacha, Madi & Owen) said they liked the ghosties.

We got a video message from Kenny, saying he's working on some theatre productions. (I really hope he didn't ditch us bc of Zac's star on the Walk of Fame, though.)

The hotel charged €14 for a footlong sandwich. WTF?! I didn't buy one, but I kinda want to know what was on this sandwich. €14 ... even at overpriced train station shops, I get 3 sandwiches for the same price. The hotel was pretty fancy, though.

Today is Bart Johnson's (Coach Bolton) birthday. At the closing ceremony, right after DI said again that it would be the last con, he got a birthday cake, and he was asked to make a wish. So he said: "BTTMW5"! The faces of the DI bosses were priceless.

Honestly, it looks like DI might cave and do another edition. But who knows.

Fun fact: While my souvenir is COVID, all my friends got influenza. WTF?!

There are probably more things to talk about, but my brain is too foggy to come up with more stuff. So that's what you get for now.

[redrobemerle]

hey what if i made an ffvii au based around a very niche musical i enjoy. woe dolls of ffvii be upon ye

the narrator : the Planet itself (tells the story, also tries to warn people about the consequences of their actions but cannot be heard by the rest of the cast) the gambler and the monk : JENOVA and a cetra (maybe ifalna, maybe just a random one. its not like theyre mentioned by name anyway) jasper : grimoire valentine (this is mainly bc annabel had to be lucrecia) annabel : lucrecia (she canonically sort of brought vincent back from the dead. sort of. she probably wouldve brought grimoire back if she could have. its also lowkey implied that she may have had a crush on grimoire?)

((now heres where the roles go off the rails in regards to what their original relationships were))

edgar : hojo fay : vincent (THATS RIGHT BAY BEE IF JASPER IS GRIMOIRE VINCENT HAS TO BE FAY. whos the guy vincent leaves hojo for when he realizes Oh This Guys Fucked Up Actually? probably cid or reeve. i dont really ship vincent with anyone so like. as long as its not one of the Kids. anyway also thinks about how grimoires last words in canon are "tell vincent im sorry". thinks about "i took the liberty of bringing your dear old dad back. you can talk to him again! but only if you come back and marry me". thinks) byron : sephiroth (let sephiroth be an anarchist lmao) amelia : angeal ("amelia"s shitty dad is hollander obvs) priscilla : aerith (the obvious choice, but also im always thinking about the similarities between aerith and vincent (vincents similarities with cloud are far more obvious, but listen to me. aerith and vincent have their parallels too). priscilla reminding jasper of fay (aerith reminding grimoire of vincent)) soldier 7285 : theres so many people it could be but im leaning towards zack or cloud? everyone else gets to be voodoopunks

BUT TUMBLR USER REDROBEMERLE NONE OF US IN THE FF7 FANDOM HAVE ANY CLUE WHAT DOLLS OF NEW ALBION IS! YOU ADMITTED IT'S NICHE AS HELL!

fear not, for i have typed up a summary of the musical under the cut! if you read the summary and get upset about the way ive fucked with the relationships from the game for the sake of this au, please refer to this post <3

CONTENT WARNINGS: offstage but explicitly mentioned suicide, also very brief but explicitly mentioned parental abuse, immolation mentions (sort of), execution by a militaristic police state (near the end)

The Dolls of New Albion: a Steampunk Opera is a folk opera by Paul Shapera

the opera is split up into four acts, each following a generation of a single family. each act has a narrator telling you about the world as time passes. while not all of it is directly relevant to the story at hand, it tells you something interesting about the world. however, there is a recurring motif of a gambler and a monk who played a never-ending card game. this is important later. the city of new albion was built around them by the people who came to watch them play. but more importantly, in the Now, annabel(/annabelle/annabella. the script cant decide how its spelled) mcalistair is raising up the dead

okay so basically. annabel had a big ol crush on a guy in school. they had never talked until one day they talked and kissed and they became friends for a little bit. but then annabel was expelled for stealing cadavers for her own research. and she became a shut-in and he got married then died young. and she's figured out how to call his soul down into a doll she has built!

the doll is very lifelike but cant really move and cannot talk but he can play the radio! isnt he great? look at annabels doll everyone! she can go anywhere now bc hes proof that shes brilliant! shes conquered life and death! but not everything you love loves you in return. and when she realizes that he cannot, will not ever love her back or speak to her, he doesnt want to be back, she destroys the doll. and throws all of her notes in an old trunk in the attic.

and so passes the first generation.

the narrator informs us that annabel gets married and has a son named edgar at some point. edgar grows up and falls in love, as people often do, with a woman named fay, and on the night he was planning to propose to her, she tells him that while she loves him and she really tried to make the relationship work, hes got Issues and so she leaves him for another man.

in his anger, when edgar goes through the old trunk in the attic and finds annabels notes on necromancy, he makes a business out of it! he summons back the souls of the dead for anyone who asks and pays, and when his business becomes successful enough he uses the money and influence he has to run the business of fays new partner into the ground.

he goes and finds fay and is like. "look. i have a very successful business. the man that you say you love is ruined and poor and I know you cant live like that. and whats more than that, you know your dead dad who you loved so dearly? yeah i brought him back for you, but the only way you can talk to him is if you come back and get married to me. :)" and fay does but shes also like "what the fuck. i actually loved you once why did you end up like this this is why i left you in the first place" also the person whose soul edgar brought back is jasper, the same man annabel brought back originally.

and so passes the second generation.

edgar and fay have a son named byron. now, byron becomes a voodoopunk. voodoopunk is one part religious movement, one part political party, one part punk subculture. yes i know voodoo is a closed practice i dont know that the person who wrote this does and yeah.

so basically his whole plan is to run jasper for mayor? and theres this girl named amelia whos also running with the voodoopunks. it is unclear how old she is, but she is referred to as "a girl" rather than "a woman", so it is likely she's either a teenager or a young adult.

but jasper has figured something out. jasper has figured out how to string together songs on the radio to finally speak for himself. and byron is like "here listen to our doll give you a speech and prove that the dead can run this country better than any of the vultures that are politicians in any part of the political spectrum!"

and jasper sings.

and he sings about how he did not want to be brought back. death was peaceful and he did not want to be here.

and amelia heard this. and she had no friends. and she lived only with her father who was abusive (presumably both verbally and physically? it is never elaborated upon but we do know its at least verbal.)

and she kills herself with only the words of the song jasper sang as her note.

at which point theres public outcry bc ALL the dolls have been singing this song. in the publics eyes, the dolls killed amelia. and so people start rounding up the dolls -- who there are more of than living people in new albion by now -- and burning them alive (for a given definition of alive? its really more of releasing their souls again but really violently) byron manages to "save" jasper though.

and so ends the third generation.

we revisit the card game. the gambler died of a heart attack during the final hand, and cursed with his dying breath that the game was not yet finished, promising the two would come back to finish it one day.

and so begins the fourth generation.

New Albion has become a military police state, killing anyone with any sort of memorabilia of the dead. we see priscilla, byrons daughter, hiding in a basement and playing a never-ending game of cards with jasper. (YEP THATS RIGHT ITS KINDA IMPLIED THAT JASPER AND PRISCILLA ARE THE REINCARNATIONS OF THE MONK AND THE GAMBLER, and even if theyre not, theyre still the ones continuing the game they started).

we also see soldier 7285 join the police.

priscilla loves her great grandfather jasper dearly -- and he loves her back. she reminds him of fay, when fay was younger and more innocent, and jasper lets slip during their card game that he still wants to die but he is willing to stay because he wants priscilla to live even more. because if theyre found, they both die.

priscilla is like what the fuck thats not? fair??? why should you have to sacrifice your death for my life??? and she thinks about it. and decides that a life of hiding isnt much of a life at all.

and she calls the cops on herself.

a firing squad happens, despite jasper doing all he can to prevent it because her life for his death isnt fair to her, either.

but soldier 7285 doesnt fire.

he is court martialled and stripped of his duties/rank for it. soldier 7285 thinks about how priscilla loved jasper so much she was willing to die if it meant his freedom, and goes. hey what the fuck sort of country do i serve that thinks caring about the people we loved past their deaths is punishable by death??? im going to tear this country down and rebuild it on the graves of the people who decided this, and if i die in the process, at least i can be a martyr and inspire people to finish what i started the way she inspired me.

and thats the dolls of new albion!

[noblechaton]

big rambly gwitch finale post before bed

holy fucking shit dude what a finale like damn okay

I love love love the way the show gradually ramped up from the almost whimsical vibes of the first episode to the shock and horror of the finale - how it called back to and felt more in line with the prologue than anything else in the series to that point. adore how they handled the gradual build up. the animation’s so much fun to watch and the soundtrack really hits when it wants - that hug in ep 11 with that backdrop could have made me legit cry if it lasted a lil longer lol

and Suletta UGH my girl Suletta....did not expect for things to get as real as they did in regards to her and how close I felt to what she went thru lmao like her wandering around mishearing ppl and believing herself useless to the same ppl she thought were her friends bc she was in a big time slump like....ouch ok dont come for me like this but also just. everything else about her too. her wide eyed optimism and devotion to the friends she makes. I love my tanuki girl so much I only want the best for her and miomio

speaking of here is where I’m gonna spout a stream of thought about what the fuck is going on with All That in that I have no fucking clue as to what exactly the deal is - Suletta’s been at times very childlike to this point and so Prospera giving her the mere suggestion, a nudge of sorts while she was in shock, like I could totally buy it if its just a bit of gaslighting but also what is up with her eyes?? they really focused on that shine when Prospera was talking to her so like....is her mind being controlled? we still know so little about Prospera in the present and even less about the true nature of Suletta. is she really Eri from the prologue? or is she a clone of Eri that’s basically able to be controlled by her mother? or an Eri made obedient thru mind control of some sort?? or is everything post-credits and how she acted after what she did just her sorta mentally reverting to a happier state of mind due to trauma?? some sort of conditioning reapplied each time she sees her mom or a mental shutdown?? how deep does it go if it goes anywhere at all??? 

like she went from a panic attack to a Suletta Splat in no time flat so something has to be going on there right but the what of it all eludes me still. hope whatever it is that my girl will be okay  

really hope we get a solid episode or two devoted to like. Unpacking Everything There since I can’t see Miorine not being scarred bc I mean damn that visual near the end with the bloody hand and the darker lighting mirroring the end of the first ep’s brighter lighting - her hero come to save her, yet now twisted and darker. but also can’t see her being like. mad at or broken up about Suletta’s actions for too long especially if she comes to realize that one way or another the swat was not Suletta in her right mind. it was the Suletta she knows yes but not Suletta I feel if that makes sense. I get the feeling that Suletta doesn’t even really know what she did here - in her mind she was living by the gain two code and doing as she’d said in staying by Mio’s side and saving her again but in a far less innocuous, romantic way well maybe there’s still some romance in there if ya like that sorta thing thats gonna put a massively interesting twist on their relationship going forward I feel

but speaking of the pairing I love that they seem to really be leaning towards Sulemio as the proper canon pairing and hope they do commit to it and that we get a proper love confession at least - both bc I adore the pairing itself and bc I don’t like Suletta with any of the guys lol - while I’m super excited to see where Guel goes from here after his oopsie fucky wucky with y’know the whole blade thru his own dad thing lmao. kinda feel like I’d be cool not seeing the Earthian terrorist group again if only bc I found them a sudden thing and did not care for Sophie in particular at least atm since I’m sorta over her character type but I’m sure they’ll be cool later I’m just sorta over the quirky killer girl lol

anyway this was fun to ramble about expect me to do so again as the show lingers in my brain and if I’m not annoying in the meantime then I’ll be super annoying when it comes back in April and/or whenever my Suletta/Aerial/Miorine kits finally get in. whichever happens first really

but gotdamn she fucking squished a guy dude

[vampyroteuthid]

ohh mygod i literally have to figure out what im going to do with my life. like now. jesus fucking christ. god.

[lepidopterium]

,

[lavender-annd-lilac]

Frank zooms through your house

Quarantine vocab is still in my brain, bc I read this and was like, why is he on zoom?? Who is on the other end of this zoom call??

pointed ears twitching as he hears Christmas music coming from the lounge room.

I was going to do a rickroll here, but as a gift to all, I will leave this bop instead

Also, Ariana Grande is the spiritual successor of Mariah Carey, would u guys agree?

the room lights up as if you're glowing

No it’s actually bc reader doesn’t have the best judgment when it comes to what is edible and what is not, so she ate a light bulb just like this frog 🐸

An excited squeak leaves his mouth as he sprints toward the object, squealing as he moves closer to it

Dude, take ur time, the tinsel isn’t going anywhere 😆

Frank flops onto the tinsel, wrapping his tiny hands around it as he begins to tug

Lol these elves always act like they’ve never seen Christmas decorations before and get so excited 😅

Like is their workroom just completely grey so they don’t get distracted??

He’s so distracted that he doesn’t notice you moving toward it, nor that it seems to wrap around your ankle, causing you to trip and fall

This is totally the story that someone high af would tell the paramedics… “the tinsel just started wiggling around man, like an eel, u know?? And it grabbed my ankle!! It was chasing me dude…”

a pout forming on his face as Frank wasn’t expecting to fly today

This implies he is planning to fly at some later time?? 😯😯😯

Do they get to ride on the sleigh with Santa? Bc I feel like unless they were strapped in, or weighed down somehow, they would just be gone like dandelions in the wind

There you lie, near the Christmas tree knocked out from the fall

Nooo she deadass got knocked unconscious lol 💀💀💀

this could have turned into a clue-style murder mystery right here y’all. Like, it was the elf in the lounge room with the tinsel!!

Your cute oversized Marvel shirt is flipped

This is wild. Bc Marvel exists in this universe, but Steve the elf also exists?? So does he just have an uncanny resemblance to captain America? 😵‍💫

Frank quickly jumps up, ignoring the slight pain and dizziness in his head

Bro is like, right back into the action acted being literally flung up into the air 😂

He leans forward, and his tiny finger pokes your cheek before he climbs onto your body. 

What is this for? Is he checking if she’s dead? like what if she was tho lmaooo. How does he even know she’s ok?? Or even breathing?

he’s like “I’m ok so she must be ok too!!”😭

Like a child, he decides to use your ass as a trampoline.

First of all, hilarious

Second of all, reader must do squats or something haha

Third of all, idk if a child seeing a giant butt would immediately think to use it as a trampoline, but u never know lol

Oh also!!! This reminds me of the album covers for “Sexuality” by French artist Sébastien Tellier (and also the single “Divine”, which won the Eurovision Song Contest thing one year!!)

Overjoyed squeals leave his lips before he slowly stops and lies stomach first on your body

My brain for no reason: if she was covered in snow he could go sledding!! Or skiing!! Or snowboarding!!

Me: omg reader could be like suffering brain dmg rn and y’all using her like a hill 😭😭😭

Squeezing and kneading it as he slowly ruts into you

Actually I believe the correct term is “making biscuits”😸

Frank opens his mouth, his teeth clamping down onto your flesh as tingles shoot through his tiny body

So Ransom and Frank are the biters huh 🤔

Haha Frank just chomping down tho like he has a giant marshmallow in front of him whereas Ransom at least made an effort to be gentle 🥺

Warm white cum shoots from his thick mushroom tip and covers your plump flesh

My brain: oh, now he can use that as lube and go sledding!!!

As he exits, his eyes connect with his boss’s, and he shoots the giant man a slight wink and smile, topping it off with a small wave.

Ok like… what is the vibe at this workplace? Is it pretty chill?

Literally u guys, imagine this:

U are the boss of an international corporation

U regularly sneak into someone’s house and just watch them

One time, u see them trip

Then u see of ur employees go over and basically nut on their ass

Then u guys make eye contact 👀

Would that not be fucking awkward?? I feel awk even seeing my boss at the mall or something lol.

But I guess they are either really close or super casual at work bc Frank is just like 😉👋🏃💨

Also! Wasn’t boss man going to punish them or something? Is Frank doing this on company time????

huffing when he notices Frank's damage to your place and your pretty little head

Wait how much damage did he do with one piece of tinsel omg 😳

Before he leaves, he kisses your forehead gently, wishing you sweet dreams

Yeah… still not going to like check her pupils for signs of concussion or anything?

Not going to check how hard she hit her head, or feel for any bumps that might indicate some kind of epidural or subdural hematoma/bleeding in the brain?

Just going to leave her there to sleep it off? Cool cool lol 😎

𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒔𝒆𝒍 𝒕𝒖𝒏𝒆𝒔

🎄christmas masterlist🎄

warning - smut, tiny elf male, human reader, stalker behaviour, elf goes flying, elf also using reader as a trampoline, slight somno, slight fluff, reader gets knocked out by dumbass tiny man, a special appearance.

18+ only please, thanks to @lavender-annd-lilac for giving me an idea on what to write for frank, the gif and header aren't mine.

Warnings and Reminders - Please do not plagiarise, copy, repost/republish, adapt, or translate any of my work on any social media platforms, apps, or third-party sites. The only platforms I post my work on are: Tumblr and Wattpad. I do not own any character of any franchise (Marvel etc.) All my works are fiction and may be dark or triggering content: READ ALL WARNINGS BEFORE PROCEEDING.

Frank zooms through your house, his pointed ears twitching as he hears Christmas music coming from the lounge room. An excited grin appears on his face as he heads in that direction. He peeks his head from behind the wall. Frank’s eyes sparkle with glee as they land on your dancing form. Never knowing someone to be so free and beautiful, the room lights up as if you're glowing. For a few moments, he just stares until the shine of something catches his attention.

Frank looks over, his face lighting up, when he notices some golden tinsel lying on the floor. An excited squeak leaves his mouth as he sprints toward the object, squealing as he moves closer to it. Frank flops onto the tinsel, wrapping his tiny hands around it as he begins to tug, similar to a cat but much tinier and human-like. 

“So pretty!” He’s so distracted that he doesn’t notice you moving toward it, nor that it seems to wrap around your ankle, causing you to trip and fall. The action causes Frank to be flung into the air, and a panicked squeal leaves his lips. The sound of a thud comes from where you fell, and the tiniest thud comes from where Frank lands. 

Frank groans, blinking away the stars in his vision, a pout forming on his face as Frank wasn’t expecting to fly today. When his vision clears, Frank looks around, his eyes widening when they land on you and your exposed form. The feel of his cock twitching in his small black tights causes his gaze to quickly flicker down, only to look back up again, not wanting to ever look away from the sight in front of him. 

There you lie, near the Christmas tree knocked out from the fall. Your cute oversized Marvel shirt is flipped, exposing your pretty little pussy and your plump ass. 

Frank quickly jumps up, ignoring the slight pain and dizziness in his head. He excitedly runs over to where you lie. He leans forward, and his tiny finger pokes your cheek before he climbs onto your body. 

He strips from his tights, cock throbs as it springs free. Frank feels giddy as he feels a bounce on your cheek. Like a child, he decides to use your ass as a trampoline. For a split second, he forgets about his hardened cock and how he wants to mark you as he jumps up and down. 

Overjoyed squeals leave his lips before he slowly stops and lies stomach first on your body. His tiny hands grip your plumpy flesh. Squeezing and kneading it as he slowly ruts into you, soft moans escape his lips as the pleasure spreads through his body and becomes too much for him. Frank’s eyes roll back, his tiny little hips moving faster than they ever have before. 

Frank opens his mouth, his teeth clamping down onto your flesh as tingles shoot through his tiny body and down to his thick throbbing member. It feels so good that goosebumps rise throughout him, and his heavy sacks begin to tighten when he feels his end approaching rapidly. Frank should feel embarrassed by how quickly this will end, but the pleasure is too overwhelming to care.

Gripping as tightly as he can, Frank grunts as his member throbs and twitches wildly. Warm white cum shoots from his thick mushroom tip and covers your plump flesh. He lies there for a while, catching his breath before he stands, looking down at the masterpiece he created. A joyful smile graces his appearance as he leans down and spreads his cooling seed across your skin. Soft, cheeky giggles escape him. 

Once everything is done, Frank jumps down and pulls his tights back up his lower half before placing a delicate kiss onto your side. He continues to giggle as he runs off into the night, planning for the next time the rest of them will see you. As he exits, his eyes connect with his boss’s, and he shoots the giant man a slight wink and smile, topping it off with a small wave.

The more giant man grunts, strutting over to where you lie unconscious. He bends down and picks up your tiny body, loving how much smaller you are than him, huffing when he notices Frank's damage to your place and your pretty little head. The man cradles you carefully as he begins to walk in the direction of your room, gently placing you down onto your soft bed and tucking you in. Before he leaves, he kisses your forehead gently, wishing you sweet dreams.

thank you for reading!

feedback and reblogs are greatly appreciated.

[marchiveeee]

MCL crushes sleeping habits (Inspired by @diwencaste post "does your MCL crush snore?")

I have to say that I had a good honest laugh when I read diwen's (can I call you diwen?) version. So I'm gonna share my headcanon for that as well because cuddle nights are not 100% perfect and that's okay :')

Really messy post bc I'm tired, so sorry in advance for the many mistakes or/and if what I wrote doesn't make sense. I'll check that when I wake up.

Good niiiight xoxo

___

Armin: I think Armin is the type to have a deep sleep (I'm not sure if that's the right term in English), so if he has to wake up early he asks someone to wake him up or else he misses his appointment; alternatively, he would set 20 alarms from 10 to 10 minutes. Although I think he's a deep sleeper, I do see him moving around a loooot when sleeping. He might snore when he has a cold and I absolutely see him talking in his sleep and it can be either funny (when he talks nonsense like "mhh- I.. food... Playing...") or scary (that happens when he's played too much shooting games and starts to say things that sound like a threat. JUST IMAGINE YOURSELF CUDDLING WITH SOMEONE AND ALMOST FALLING ASLEEP JUST TO SUDDENLY HEAR SOMETHING LIKE "I'm gonna k**l you"!!!??!?? Bitch, no... I'm outta here)

Castiel: he snores when he drinks. And he sometimes drools as well, specially if he sleeps on his stomach... Omg idk how I'd react if I woke up with drool all over my hair.... But that's okay, everything is possible when it comes to love, right? (*Eyes start ticking*). For me, Castiel has 2 ways of sleeping: 1) does the bare minimum, he just lies down and sleeps, only one pillow and one blanket that he barely uses (it doesn't apply when it's cold); 2) This only happens when someone he likes is next to him, in this case he becomes a koala and won't let the person breathe; and at the same time he'll be fighting for the blanket just because...

Eric: in diwen's words "he would wake up the entire neighborhood" snoring.

Hyun: sleeps like a baby 🤱🤱🤱 maybe has a ritual before sleeping, like doing skin care, reading the news or a book... He has the best sleep out of everyone here.

Kentin: I only see him snoring if his breathing is really bad BC of a cold or something like that, but it has to be a pretty bad one. I also think he drools sometimes. Kentin is a cuddler since Day 1, he will have as many pillows as possible and had plushies until he had to go to military school (I don't judge, I still have mine too 🙃). I believe Kentin likes to sleep early, and if he has to stay up until late he will start nodding off even if someone is talking to him. Can sleep literally anywhere if he's really tired.

Lysander: I agree that he sleeps like a rock!! The animals in the farm can throw the party of the year in the barn and he won't even have a clue. But at the same time, I see Lysander as the kind of person who wakes up like a mom/dad, do you know what I mean? When they wake up is like what happened? The house is on fire??!??! But in Lysandre's case it doesn't happen BC he was suddenly woken up by someone/something, it happens because he didn't remember falling asleep in the first place.

Nathaniel: why do I see Nath having nightmares often? :((( I believe he moves around a lot too. Maybe with Candy that changes, but I don't see Nath as a natural cuddler, quite the opposite actually. It's almost like he avoids or doesn't like it at first, but the truth is that he just needs to be comfortable and feel safe with the person he shares the bed. Maybe he occasionally has insomnia, but not so severe. How to help him as a s/o: gently plays with his hair.

Priya: she's a pretty sleeper kkkk sleeps with her mouth slightly open but doesn't drool. Probably has those satin pillow covers and fluffy blankets. If she's not cuddling you, she will at least have one of her hands lying near your body just to make sure you're there. She does talks in her sleep sometimes, but only a bunch of incoherent mumbles that don't sound like words.

Rayan: occasionally snores, but stops after changing positions. Omg now I thought of him sleeping with those eye masks that people use to keep the light from getting to their eyes. He'll take the whole bed for himself if you let him.

[ughdontbeboring]

Collide

Lloyd Hansen x Black Female Reader

readers worlds collide…and her past finally catches up to her

warnings: kidnapping, angst, cussing and Lloyd in that outfit above

Sidenote: guys, fuck I wanted to re post this after I first posted it but I felt bad bc people were already liking it and stuff so this is it again! Lol it’s me. I rushed to post it before and I have to re do posting it, I wasn’t feeling the rushed vibes. I will eventually delete the other so if you liked that one or reposted pls like this instead! 🤍 also have a part 2 planned!!

I don’t give permission for my work to be used anywhere in any form!

if you fucks with it show some loveeee

x

x

x

YN stirred, her body stretched and arched, she  felt heavy, the kind of heavy similar to waking up after a surgery. When you have to fight just to open your eyes. It felt like a ton of bricks laid on top of her.  Her one hand rubbed at her eyes as the other danced around trying to figure out what she was on. Her mind automatically registering she was on a soft surface.

Within moments her heart started to race as her memory came back to her. 

Hours before 

“Lloyd please tell me what’s going on” she begged into the phone she had been handed by the tall man in front of her. 

It was only moments before when she walked into her loft apartment in Amsterdam’s canal district from her weekly visit to the Van Gogh museum that she found her place flooded with heavily armed men.

She went for her gun in the desk near the front door managing to shoot one of the men in the chest and leg before a man she recognized as Lloyd’s  “acquaintance”, the closest thing he had a friend she ever meet, stepped into her line of sight. Hands up in mock surrender. 

He told her he was going to hand her a phone that had Lloyd on the other end, while the wounded man complained about his leg. His vest saving him from a fatal shot.

“Sweetheart I need you to go with them” he told her calmly once it reached her ear. 

He was watching from Croatia, he had to admit to himself he was proud she managed to almost kill one of them, they were some of Lloyd’s best men.

“No, not until I know what’s going on Lloyd!” She yelled into the phone. She was scared, she had no clue what was happening and she needed to make other calls before she just disappeared to wherever Lloyd was taking her. People who would worry about her.

He surely hadn’t disclosed all the information about what he did for a living to her. 

She looked down at the gun in her hands as she realized she hadn’t been entirely truthfully to Lloyd either but she had her reasons. The rules she lived by that kept her safe.

“I’m sorry sunshine” He said bringing her back to the present moment.

Her eyebrows furrowed at his comment, before she felt the needle prick her neck and arms grab her body as her knees gave out while everything turned black. 

Lloyd watched from his seat in his room countries away as her eyes fluttered close and her body went limp, falling into Rick’s arms. 

“I’ll say this one more time because I enjoy saying it, anyone other then Rick touches her outside of saving her life, I’ll fucking send your hands home to your mother” Lloyd said smiling at the camera’s as he watched his men  file out of her apartment.

Present

Her eyes snapped open as she took in the room she was in. It was stunning as the late afternoon sun or maybe morning? She wasn’t sure anymore, filtered through the curtains of the large windows. Definitely old, more then a century or two but we’ll taken care of with lots of modern updates. To her right was a set of computers and multi screens with a chair. Everything was black. There was a door open that looked like a bathroom and another open door that looked like a closet with clothes. At the foot of the bed was some clothes and towels. A cart with her favorite fruits and pastries stood not to far from the edge. 

Lloyd she gritted out as she swung her legs over the edge of the bed to stand. She had to grab the bed post when her knees slightly bucked. She took a deep breathe as she took her time slowly waking her body up. 

She made it to the stand alone tray when she looked down and noticed a note, a simple piece of paper folded and sitting on the plate. Her fingers ran over the smooth paper as she read the handwriting.

“I’ll be back in a few, stay put sunshine”

Her eyes were rolling before she could stop herself as she tossed the note down. 

She didn’t bother changing her clothes as she headed to the door of the large bedroom she was in. Pulling the knobs the door sprung up. 

There stood 2 men, one on each side of the door, both heavily armed. 

One looked down at her before moving his hand to his walkie. 

“Don’t you dare!” She said as threatening as she could. She didn’t want Lloyd getting a heads up that she was awake, she knew he’d come right away. She didn’t know where he was or what was going on but she needed a few minutes to try and process this. 

Both men shared a look, clearly unsure about what to do now that she was awake. 

“Take me to him”

When neither man started to move she scoffed  and turned on her heel heading toward the middle of the long corridor that lead to another. 

“Ma’am-“

“If you won’t take me to him, I’ll find him myself!” She yelled over her shoulder. 

She had passed countless heavily armed men and women. With each step down the endless hallways her stomach dropped. This place was more fortified then Fort Knox. Everywhere she looked there was people armed, even out the window, helicopters and trucks and stations all armed. People roaming the grounds.

What the fuck was going on? Did the fucking world end and she didn’t know? Was there a zombies apocalypse? She shuttered at the thought, zombie apocalypse was her worse fear.

She needed to find Lloyd so she could find what what was going on. Some of the men and women gave her curious glances and some didn’t seem surprised by her at all. 

She couldn’t miss the occasional glare of jealousy from both sex’s,she couldn’t blame them Lloyd was extremely attractive even with his porn stash. Her pussy clenched at the thoughts that ran through her head about how much he lived up to that stash. The man should’ve been a pornstar.

Focus YN! She scolded herself, she couldn’t let her mind wonder when the feeling something really bad had happened spun around her stomach like a roller coaster.

She came to a slow stop in front of a door More men were guarding, one of the men was Rick. She glared at him, still not ok with what took place before. 

“Is he in there?”

He nodded yes, his left hand covering her path to the door and his right reaching for his ear piece. She had planned to wait while he contacted whoever, but when she heard yelling that sounded familiar she took her chance and ducked under Rick’s arm and pushed the door open as fast as she could. 

She could hear Rick curse under his breathe as he came in after her. 

She made it a few feet into the room and out of Rick’s grip when she noticed Lloyd’s familiar frame. The black sweater stretching over his broad back. 

“What the fuck is it now” Lloyd yelled before he turned slightly on his heel to see who intruded in on his interrogation. 

“Shit” He said under his breathe, he wasn’t used to the feeling that stirred in his stomach, she wasn’t supposed to be here, in this room, right at this moment. 

If Lloyd was being completely honest with himself this wasn’t how he planned for this to go, for her to find out this way but there was no undoing what she walked in on. 

Her eyes left Lloyd’s, dare she say surprised one’s, to see the man and young girl sitting on the bed. The young girl clutching onto him. It took her a moment to register what she was seeing.

Her sister Claire and Uncle Donald. 

Her stomach dropped, what the fuck was going on?! Her uncles hands that were clutching the younger niece were bloody. Bruises littered his face.

It can’t be. 

Lloyd wouldn’t. 

Why?!

This doesn’t make sense.

“Now sunshine-“ Lloyd spoke as he slowly neared her, she looked spooked like a skittish horse that would run any second. 

And she did, right past him, pushing past his out reaching arm. She basically threw herself into her families arms as they held onto her. Her sister clutched to her as she cried. 

Lloyd bite his lip at the sting of her pushing past him. 

“Oh honey I’m so sorry they go you too” her uncle whispered in her hair. 

“Wha-what?” She asked confused with teary eyes. Who got her? He couldn’t be talking about Lloyd. What was Lloyd? 

“Honey-“

“Alright that’s enough!” Lloyd yelled stomping towards them.

“Leave her alone!” Her sister yelled, holding her older sister tighter. 

“Please tell me what’s going on-“

“He’s-“

“Let’s go sunshine” Lloyd said cutting her uncle off, while grabbing her arm. 

Her uncle tried to push Lloyd away only to feel the end of Lloyd gun smashed into his skull. He felt the slight trickled of blood as the impact made him fall back into the bed.

“Lloyd!” YN yelled pushing his arm away from her as she went to aid her uncle.

Another sting Lloyd thought. 

“He’s working for the government honey, he was going to kill-” 

YN watched in horror as Lloyd’s fist came down on her uncles mouth, instantly blood started to pool in his mouth as he coughed and held his jaw.

“Lloyd!” YN screamed as her sister started to scream and cry.

“Let me go!! Let me go you fucking asshole!” YN yelled as she pushed at his arms. 

“Can’t do that sweetheart, now let’s go” Lloyd said hosting her up into his arm. His arm had her hooked by her under arms pulling her backwards. 

She kicked and screamed trying to get away from him. 

“Calm down!” Lloyd yelled at her as he turned her towards him, holding her by her shoulders.

“No!” She yelled as her hand came across Lloyd’s face, the loud sound of skin on skin contact made the room go still. Everyone held their breathe as they watched for Lloyd’s reaction.

Lloyd could feel the heat rise up his neck, his breathe labored.

Lloyd’s rough hand shot out to grab her jaw, his hand squeezing her face as he pulled her closer to his own face. 

Lloyd’s eyes roamed her face as he watched her struggle to pull away from him, her eyes finally reached his, full of tears as she stared at him. 

Lloyd’s stomach turned, she looked scared of him and not in the way that turned him on. 

If those fuckers would have done their job right this wouldn’t even be happening right now. Lloyd didn’t know if he had the self restraint to not kill his own men who royalty fucked this up for him. 

“Fuck this” Lloyd gritted as he threw her over his shoulder. 

“Put me down! Stop this right now Lloyd!” YN screamed as the tears fell. She still didn’t really know what was going on, what she did know is Lloyd had her sister and uncle held hostage and now everything about her and Lloyd’s almost 1 years relationship was put into question.

“Don’t touch her you crazy son of a bitch!” Her uncle yelled from the other side of the room. 

Lloyd was getting tired of the old man. He could only hold his tongue for so long. A few minutes seemed to be the max.

He turned slight over the shoulder YN wasn’t on and smirked at the older man.

“Oh your a little late Unc, I’ve done nothing but touch her” Lloyd said matter a factly before smacking YN’s ass and jiggling it in his large hand. 

“Lloyd!” She yelled as she squirmed in his arms while hitting his back.

“What baby? That was pretty PG for the little sis” Lloyd.

Lloyd winked at her uncle before turning and heading out the door while YN kept screaming “No” and “Put me down”. 

“No one fucking does anything to them until I fucking say so, got it?” Lloyd asked Rick as he watched the women struggling on Lloyd’s shoulder. 

He just nodding before Lloyd headed down the hallway back the way the young woman had came only minutes ago, so unaware of what was waiting for her. 

x

x

[idkthisisjustforfanfic]

I’ve known stepdads and they always panic when child calls them dad , I think it’s cute but how would stepdad h if the youngest of that story called him dad? Seeing as they don’t really see theirs. My friends kid called her stepdad dad purely bc he loves her like one, even with a relationship with her real father. I mean it in that sense? If that’s make sense???

that makes four.

WOW you didn't ask for a blurb but here you go:

"Mom!!!! Dad!!!!" Cece's tiny lungs echoed throughout the house.

Harry froze, you peered over to him for confirmation that he was just as thrown off as you were. You stilled, saw the hint of a dimple appear on his left cheek when his lips parted.

"She's talking to you," Maeve looked up from her phone and directly at Harry, apparently unperturbed by the the three letters and one syllable that packed a whole lot of meaning.

Cece, now descending the stairs, frowned. "Where's my hairbrush? I can't find it anywhere and I looked in the bathroom and my bedroom and I--"

A finger to his own chest, "Cece--were you talking to me?"

Your eyes were wide, shocked that he was addressing it head on but also nervously awaiting her answer.

She was only slightly thrown off by this, tutu around her waist as you all readied for her big Christmas recital.

"Yeah...why?"

He looked over at you, chin tucked to his chest when his eyebrows raised as high as you'd ever seen them, almost like he was saying are you hearing this right now?

When you offered him an excited glance he regained composure, cleared his throat. "No reason," he looked between the two of you. "Have you checked your backpack?"

"Oh!" her eyes lit up, she pranced over to the same glittery backpack she'd been toting around all year, the one she brought when you all flew to London that summer to see Harry's show.

Cece dropped to her knees and turned the backpack over, dumping its contents onto the kitchen floor when Maeve offered Harry a smile.

"Found it!"

"Great!" You looked over at her. "Ready now?"

"Yes!" She squealed.

"You're cleaning that up later," Harry pointed to the mess she'd made when she bounded back up to her feet, heading for the door when he grabbed they keys.

"Okay dad I will!" She raced out the front door, her voice fading into the distance when Harry paused near the front door to look at you in delighted surprise once more. He shrugged, I have no clue what's gotten into her, before following her out of the house.

You grabbed your own jacket, fell into step with your oldest.

"That's gonna go to his head," Maeve let out a funny sigh but let you grab her hand as you walked to the car.

[travellingarsonist]

Chapter 1

NOTHING HAS HAPPENED YET, NO NEED TO PANIC

Nene explores the place, accompanied by Rui while Tsukasa runs off to where Toya and Saki are while Emu goes to approach everyone else. They find an audio-visual room (which was filled with stacked chairs, mats, a few tables, a projector, and various instruments placed on a stage) and the infirmary (that had peculiar items that didn’t seem to belong in the infirmary like sedatives) of the school before everyone gathers back some time before the nighttime announcement. Other notable places everyone else found are as follows: multiple sets of stairs in different areas, most of which are locked off except for the downstairs which leads to the cafeteria, a few entrances of the school: one of which is found in the cafeteria and leads to a grassy field with a bunch of cabins and benches as the whole field is surrounded by (very) tall metal fences (which are unclimbable bc ofc) while the other entrances outside the school are locked so they conclude that they’re the exits to the school, a bunch of offices, one of which seems to be MonoMiku’s since its locked, and a small warehouse near the cafeteria’s entrance with various tools and items to keep them supplied (food, clothing, water, construction n gardening tool, sports stuff, etc.). The day ends off with Nene going to sleep while dreading the day someone actually plots and executes a murder.

Two days later after all the exploring and bonding (what we would probs see during those two days: the Tenmas and Toya would be often seem together, Nene would most likely interact mostly with: wondersho, Ichika, Saki, Minori, Kohane, and Toya. Maybe occasionally interact with mmj bc of Kasa and Shizuku, l/n bc of Saki n Ichika, the rest of niigo bc Kanade and vbs bc Kohane n Toya), the first motive finally arrives. Basically, their current supplies (essentials like food and water) will be limited until someone commits a murder, MonoMiku gives them supplies that will last about a week for all 20 students (if they ration it properly they can make it last for two weeks bc the food they hab doesn’t expire kek). After MonoMiku leaves, everyone’s panicked and stuff until Emu gets her attention using her ultimate so they can hear Rui. Rui provides a plan to be able to ration their food (and makes sure everyone eats at least one meal a day), so now everyone is less cranky and negative, and Emu continues to entertain everyone (with the help of wxs ofc) until the afternoon where everyone leaves to explore. Nene explores with Kohane and Kanade this time, and they come across MonoMiku who introduces them to the Miku Coins(TM).

(INSERT WTV FREE TIME EVENTS/FTEs FOR DIFFERENT CHARACTERS U CAN THINK OF IDK)

SOMETHING HAS HAPPENED, YOU HAVE ALL THE RIGHT TO PANIC

During the second week of their rationing, Nene, Rui, and Tsukasa don’t spot Emu anywhere in the hallways (where they made a routine for a little meetup) or in the caf, so they look for her only to find Emu’s dead body in one of the offices. All three of them cry at the sight of it (Did I mention that the first chap was polysho-centric? L + bozo!! /j) but they investigate the body despite their shakiness everytime they touch the body, let alone look at it. They find a bunch of clues including: 

a broken microphone hidden in one of the file cabinets (you think you’re slick, don’t you)

Ichika’s account (she and the rest of l/n were holding a small practice session that started around 8:23 PM while An, Shizuku, Minori, and Kanade watched)

Mafuyu’s account (She recognized Emu’s voice which was talking to someone else around 8:50 PM, but was too busy making sweets with Ena and Akito, who were constantly bickering while Haruka tried to calm them down, to check it out. Although she definitely heard her kouhai agreeing to go with someone, which she assumes is the killer)

Tsukasa’s account (He and Rui were thinking of what to do for their next show when they get out while they asked Mizuki to help with planning and making the costumes, and they also saw a microphone missing from the audio-visual room they were staying in)

Blood smeared onto Emu’s fingers (‘It seems to have been purposefully smeared onto her fingers, most likely a fake clue’ Rui surmised)

Lack of blood on the back of Emu’s head or in the surrounding area (‘the blood was most likely used for other purposes’ according to Mafuyu)

Fingernail marks on Emu’s waist (the killer likely carried them by dragging Emu’s body by the waist)

A broken camera lens (‘Most confusing one by far. I mean- how would a camera even be used here?’ Tsukasa said in frustration)

and finally, the one and only 

Monokuma file:

The victim was Emu Otori She was found lying her head on the desk, positioned to sit on the chair. The time of death was 9:58 PM The body suffered from force blunt trauma to the back and head, as well as fingernail marks on her waist

When Nene, Rui, and Tsukasa finish up their investigation, Monokuma announces that investigation time is over and tells them to approach a stage in the middle of the lobby. They question when that got there until the bottom of it opens to reveal some type of underground elevator.

Y’know the drill: they all hesitate but go in, elevator goes down, we get cool top shot of them standing on the elevator, monokuma explains the podiums and rules of the trial bla bla bla.

I HAVE AN IDEA

this has been rotting in my notes so I might as well get it out here

so basically, its a PJSK x Danganronpa crossover

“SYMPHONY OF THE DESPAIRED”

{LEO/NEED}

Ichika Hoshino, Ultimate Leader (ultimate is a wip)

Saki Tenma, Ultimate Pianist, Secondary Support

Shiho Hinomori, Ultimate Bassist

Honami Mochizuki, Ultimate Drum Player

{MORE MORE JUMP!}

Minori Hanasato, Ultimate Motivational Speaker (also wip)

Haruka Kiritani, Ultimate Idol

Airi Momoi, Ultimate Dance Instructor

Shizuku Hinomori, Ultimate Live Streamer

{VIVID BAD SQUAD}

Kohane Azusawa, Ultimate Photographer

An Shiraishi, Ultimate Hall Monitor (debatable)

Akito Shinonome, Ultimate Soccer Player

Toya Aoyagi, Ultimate Arcade Gamer

{WONDERLANDS x SHOWTIME}

Tsukasa Tenma, Ultimate Actor, antagonist

Emu Otori, Ultimate Entertainer

Nene Kusanagi, Ultimate Vocalist, Protagonist 

Rui Kamishiro, Ultimate Robotics expert, Primary support

{NIGHTCORD AT 25:00}

Kanade Yoisaki, Ultimate Song Composer, Mastermind

Mafuyu Asahina, Ultimate Lyricist, Minor Antagonist

Mizuki Akiyama, Ultimate Seamstress

Ena Shinonome, Ultimate Artist

(yes, the italicized and bold names are important)

[homoose]

Teach Me Something I Don’t Know: Part IV

Summary: The Halloween parade. Will and JJ are adorable. Anita suggests that Spencer become a classroom volunteer. Reader has a rough week.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Category: fluff, a smidge of angst

Warnings/Includes: none

Word count: 4.4k

a/n: I wish we’d seen more of Will and JJ as parents because I imagine it would be adorable and hilarious. Let’s see if you can guess all of their costumes before the reveal lmao. Your only clue is that Spencer loves keeping with a theme and the brown vest (I literally learned how to make my own shitty gif bc I couldn’t find the right one in the search and I do not understand embedding lmao) makes an appearance.

Series Masterlist

———

“Did you grab the bags?” JJ swept the pleated, platinum braid out of her face as she bent over to zip up her boots.

“No, I thought you did,” Will called, bouncing down the stairs.

“I put them in the car already,” Spencer informed them, popping his head back in the front door. “There was just the one box, right?”

“Yeah, that was it,” Will confirmed. “Shit— where’s Michael’s sword?”

“Should be on the counter,” JJ huffed, standing up and adjusting the bodice of the blue dress.

“Got it.” Will came around the corner of the kitchen, patting his hips where his pockets would be— if he weren’t wearing an adult-sized onesie. “Keys?” Spencer held them up. “All right then, let’s get this show on the road.”

The trio headed to the waiting SUV, Spencer climbing into the backseat as Will and JJ got into the front. Will and JJ chattered on about dinner plans and schedules for the following week, and Spencer smoothed down the brown wool vest layered over his white linen shirt. He’d spent entirely too long putting together the costume over the last week (with a little help from Penelope). He’d scrapped the Spock getup he’d been working on since September— he could always wear that next year. But he’d only get one chance to attend the Room 105 Halloween parade, and once the idea had wormed its way into his brain, he had to make it happen.

“Spence?” JJ’s voice pulled him from his thoughts.

“Hmm?”

“Would you be able to pick Michael up on Monday?”

He ran his hands down his thighs over the mint green cropped trousers. “Sure, as long as we don’t have a case.”

Will smirked at him in the rear view mirror. “How’s Ms. Y/L/N?”

“You’re about to see her yourself, so you can ask,” Spencer replied.

Will laughed, and JJ turned in her seat. “Whoa, coming in hot with the snark. You really do like her.”

Spencer fought and failed to keep the blush from rising, irritation at being teased blooming sharp inside his chest. He tried to shrug as nonchalantly as possible. “She’s a great teacher.”

“That’s not a no,” JJ noted, eyebrows raised.

“She’s Michael’s teacher,” Spencer said, like it meant something.

“Yeah, so?” Will shrugged his shoulders. “You’re his godfather. Technically, you’re not related, so it wouldn’t be breakin’ any rules.”

“Well, it’s not like that, so it doesn’t really matter,” Spencer insisted.

Will hummed and JJ turned back around in her seat. Spencer drummed his fingers on his knees and watched DC roll past through the SUV window. It really wasn’t like that. Y/N was just… very nice. A nice, beautiful, sweet, silly kindergarten teacher that he couldn’t stop thinking about no matter how many books he read or coffees he drank or chess games he played.

Monday was the last day of his sabbatical, and he was even more relieved to be headed back than usual— grateful that he’d have something to occupy his mind other than her. Because his mind was, indeed, occupied. The way her smile beamed like the spotlight on a stage, illuminating whoever happened to be on the receiving end. The way her hands moved in unbound, buoyant illustrations of her thoughts. The way her laugh felt like the first warm sip of tea or the wrap of his favorite scarf. It was getting out of hand, to say the least.

Will pulled into the parking lot, and instantly Spencer’s palms began to sweat. He glanced at the headband on the seat beside him and felt the mortification clawing at his insides. The costume was ridiculous; he was ridiculous. He should have just worn the Spock outfit.

Maybe he could just wait in the car and pretend like he hadn’t been able to make it. Or he could just leave the headband in the car. But then he’d just be in mint green capris with a sweater vest and platform sandals, and she’d have absolutely no idea who he was supposed to be. Then he’d have to explain it, and it would be even worse.

Will parked the car, and he and JJ immediately stepped out. Spencer watched them near the hood of the SUV, enjoying a rare moment of co-parenting without work hovering right out of frame. Will pulled the hood of the onesie up and JJ laughed, brushing her hand over the brown fabric twigs sticking out of the top. He supposed that if Will Lamontagne, Jr. could strut his stuff in adult footie pajamas, his handmade costume was probably all right.

With one last resigned sigh, Spencer slid the headband on. He grabbed the box of Halloween treats, opened the door, and hauled himself out of the vehicle. He pushed the door closed and looked in the reflection of the window, adjusting the headband around his curls and blowing out a breath.

“Ready?” JJ called, peering around the side of the SUV.

“Yeah—yeah,” Spencer agreed. He moved around the vehicle to join them, the three of them walking to find a spot in the crowd of parents standing around the carpool loop.

When they found a suitable spot, Will looked up at him and shook his head. The sandals added three extra inches to Spencer’s height, putting him a good six inches taller than Will. “Those shoes make you look like an actual giant,” Will chuckled. “I know that’s the point, but I feel like even more of a shrimp next to ya now.”

Spencer set the box of candy bags on the ground and would have shoved his hands into his pockets if the linen trousers had any. Before he could respond, JJ pointed to the door of the school, cooing, “Oh my god, look. Remember when the boys were that small?”

The PreK classes came out first, and Spencer could acknowledge that they were very cute, barely out of the toddler stage and holding hands with a line buddy. But he was waiting on a very specific cutie.

He’d barely had the thought when the kindergarten classes started to emerge from the door. He almost didn’t recognize her at first— just an orange blob and green shrubbery. But the converse gave her away.

“How is she so cute?” JJ threaded her arm through Will’s. “Even when she’s dressed as a giant orange blob.”

“It’s a gift,” Will agreed. He glanced up at Spencer. “Right, doc?”

Spencer nodded but didn’t take his eyes off Y/N. “I think so, yeah.” Will grinned and bumped JJ’s shoulder, but Spencer barely even registered his own response.

Thankfully they’d picked a spot near the very end of the loop, so he had plenty of time to get himself together before she was in front of him. While Will and JJ waved at all the tiny superheroes and princesses, he watched Y/N. She was all orange fabric from her shoulders to her knees, with bright orange Chucks to match. On her head was a strange variation on a party hat, bright green ferns sprouting from the tip of the cone and falling into her face. She looked absolutely ridiculous and entirely adorable, and he was in so much trouble.

When the class finally approached the final curve of the loop, Will nudged Spencer and gestured to the box of goodie bags. Spencer crouched down and lifted the box, standing back up to see Y/N laughing at Will and JJ. “Very cute, Lamontagne Family.”

Her gaze traveled across, then up, and then her eyes went wide and her mouth fell open. Spencer wondered if maybe the earth could just open up and swallow him whole.

“Oh my god, are you—?” She stepped forward and ran her hand lightly over the vest, and he didn’t dare breathe. “Are you the BFG?!” Her hand dropped from his torso, and he didn’t have time to be disappointed before her face split into quite possibly the biggest smile he’d seen from her yet.

A tiny Superman shouted, “Ms. Y/L/N, we’re making a gap!”

Y/N came back to herself, gesturing to all three of them. “Don’t go anywhere.” She accepted the offered box of treats from Spencer and then turned to help her class catch up.

Will gave him a look. “It’s not like that, huh?”

“Oh my god, she likes you.” JJ clapped her hands together. “This is amazing.”

“I’m takin’ credit for this,” Will bragged. “I’m a regular ol’ matchmaker.”

Spencer couldn’t even be bothered to attempt a denial. He was still thinking about the feel of her palm on his chest, how it might feel to hold her hand, the way her eyes practically sparkled when she saw his ridiculous headband. He was in so much trouble.

Fifteen minutes later, the classes filed back out into the parking lot for dismissal. Y/N led the class down the sidewalk, grinning at the excitement coursing through her line. As they approached the end of the loop, Y/N caught sight of them and waved. The kids lined up in their normal spot, chatting excitedly about their costumes and candy bags.

“Lord, Ms. Y/L/N, you’re something else,” Will laughed.

“Is it not the most ridiculous thing you’ve ever seen?” She laughed and tapped the green shrubbery hanging in her face. “I have the kids do a little persuasive writing thing every year. They draw a picture and write a sentence about what they think Ms. Y/L/N should be for Halloween, and then we take a vote.”

She waved her hands in that way Spencer loved, the way that was so similar to his own. “Usually the options are pretty tame, you know—ghost, witch, bumblebee. This year was a near tie between runner-up Jojo Siwa and well,” she gestured at herself, “carrot.” Y/N cackled, and the leaves on top of her head shook with the action.

They all laughed along with her, and then JJ added, “The details are truly incredible. Is this an actual plant on your head?”

“I really thought about it,” Y/N laughed, “but no, it’s just fake ferns stuffed into a cardstock funnel.” She gestured at Will and JJ. “But also, excuse me— this family costume is ridiculously cute. Mr. Lamontagne, loving this onesie. Mrs. Jareau, I didn’t even know it was possible to look prettier than you usually do, but here you are. And Michael’s Anna costume?” She held her hands up. “Incredible. Show stopping. I wish I had an aunt Penelope to enlist the help of, because that cape is the actual height of fashion.”

“She helped Spence, too,” JJ prompted, stealing a glance in his direction.

“Oh yeah?” Y/N asked, turning to smile at Spencer.

“We um, 3D printed the ears,” he clarified.

“No way!” She took a step closer to him, peering up at the detail on the headband. He leaned down a little for her to get a closer look. “That is so cool. I’ve never actually seen anything 3D printed up close before— did you design them yourself?”

She met his eyes briefly, and he realized how close they were— close enough that he caught the faintest whiff of sandalwood and cardamom. Of course she even smelled like warmth and home. “Well. I, um— I drew a sort of sketch, I guess. And then Penelope did the software coding. I— I’m not very good with technology, honestly.”

She ran her fingers lightly over the plastic, and he decided she was really trying to kill him. “Yeah, I’m not sure I really understand how it works.”

“Well, first you create a blueprint file of the design you want to print, which you can do through modeling software or three-dimensional scanning. Then you convert the file into an STL file— named for Stereolithography which was the first ever 3D printing process. The STL file is made up of triangular mesh polygons, which is the data that describes the surface of a three-dimensional object. After that, you use a software program to complete the process of slicing— essentially dividing or chopping the 3D model into hundreds or thousands of horizontal layers that the printer can print one at a time to create the 3D object. And then the printer prints each layer until you have your finished product.”

Y/N was quiet, and he pulled back to see her grinning at him. “I thought you said you weren’t very good with technology?”

“I’m not good with using technology,” he clarified.

She nodded. “Gotcha. So you just know everything about it.”

Her joking tone had a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I read a lot.”

“How much is a lot?”

“I can read at a rate of 20,000 words per minute, so… a lot.”

Her eyebrows shot up into the tangle of ferns on her head, and he was just so overwhelmed by how adorable she was. “Well, if I ever have a question about anything, I know who I’m coming to.”

He was sure he was blushing, but he couldn’t really bring himself to care. “I’m happy to answer any and all of your questions.”

She let her gaze travel over the rest of the costume. “Oh my god, the sandals! Man, you really nailed it. I’m very impressed.”

“Thank you.” He cleared his throat. “I thought about being Trunchbull, but I couldn’t find the sweatshirt,” he joked.

She laughed, and he wanted to bottle it up to keep forever. “As much as I would have loved to see your hair in a bun… you’re much too sweet to have been able to pull that off.” She smiled softly at him. “Much more suited to our friend the BFG.”

He rubbed a hand down the back of his neck, and it was only then that he realized Will and JJ had gone to the car. He looked back to Y/N, opening his mouth but unsure of what he was going to say.

“Y/L/N!” He turned his head to see Anita jogging toward them. “Did you—” The giant cardboard box she was wearing knocked into one of the few kindergarteners left in Y/N’s line, nearly sending them to the ground. “Oh my gosh, sorry sweetheart!” She righted the startled child, and Spencer gave her a once over, completely at a loss as to what her costume could be.

“What in the world are you supposed to be?” Y/N asked, choking out a laugh.

Anita looked at her deadpan. “A monopoly piece. Remind me that I’m never participating in team costumes ever again.” She rolled her eyes and gestured at Y/N. “Next year I’m gonna wear an orange t-shirt, call myself a carrot, and be much more comfortable.”

“I’ll have you know this costume was a lot of work,” Y/N remarked, crossing her arms.

“I’m sure it was. You could have put on an orange dress, stuck a green pipe cleaner in your hair, and called it a day, but that’s not the Y/L/N way.” Anita’s eyes slid across to where Spencer stood. “Well, hello, doctor. I have absolutely no idea what you’re supposed to be, but I love everything about it.”

“Spencer’s the BFG,” Y/N said, and Spencer could have sworn she sounded almost proud.

“Ah, Roald Dahl, of course.” Anita smirked. “I see you, Spencer. I see you.” She put her hands on her hips— or rather where her hips would have been if they weren’t covered by a ridiculously large box. “So, when are you going to volunteer?”

“Sorry?” he asked.

“Like, when are you going to volunteer in Y/L/N’s classroom?” She held up her hand, palm down, and made a circular motion between the two of them. “You know, hang out, but professionally.”

“Oh my god, did you need something?” Y/N’s squeaked, eyes wide.

Anita ignored her. “You just have to do a background check, but I’m sure you’ll pass it.”

“Lopez,” Y/N said, staring her down. “Do you need something?”

“Oh, I was just going to ask if you got the email about the PD after school on Tuesday. But this was much more fun.” She winked at Spencer. “Bye, Spencer.”

They both stared after her as she nearly skipped across the grass to the building. Y/N turned to him. “I’m— so sorry.”

He met her eyes and took the leap. “Volunteering could be fun.”

He watched her press her lips together to contain her smile. “It could be.”

He didn’t bother containing his own. “I’ll um— I’ll shoot you an email.”

“I’ll respond to your email.”

…

When he walked in the door, Spencer made a beeline for his desk. He opened his laptop and pulled up his email account, writing as fast as his one-finger typing would allow.

Spencer Reid Re: Volunteering

Hi!

I’m just following up about volunteering. Anita mentioned a form that I needed to fill out? Now that I’ll be back to work, I’ll just need to plan around the BAU schedule. Could you give me a list of days that would work for you?

Really looking forward to seeing you in action.

Spencer

He checked his two other email messages, and then left the browser up while he thumbed through his most recent reading material.

He sat at his desk for the remainder of the afternoon, distractedly perusing his book and glancing at his empty inbox every minute or so. His gaze flew up to the screen at the ding of a new message at 6:30, only to find a promotional email from one of his favorite indie bookstores.

He closed his laptop with a sigh. It was a Friday night. Y/N probably just didn’t check her email on the weekend. He could wait until Monday. He’d see her on Monday.

He limited himself to checking his laptop twice a day on Saturday and Sunday. When Monday rolled around, he checked it in the morning. He leaned back against the leather of his chair, staring at the empty inbox. He had some errands to run, and for the first time in his life, he wished he had a phone that had email on it.

He ran his last-day-of-sabbatical errands and stopped in at his favorite coffee shop for most likely the last midday, sit-down coffee he’d have for a while. Before he realized, it was 2:30. He brought his empty mug to the counter and waved to the barista. Then he walked to the car and prepped his conversation starters.

“Did you get my email? I sent you an email, just wondering if you saw it? Hey— Hello— Hi, I wasn’t sure if you got my email.” He blew out a breath. “Hi. How are you?” He waved his hand. “I’m great. Did you get my email?” He laughed into the empty car. “Ridiculous, Spencer. You’re ridiculous.”

When he pulled into the parking lot, his heart was racing and his palms were slipping against the steering wheel. He pulled around the loop, looking with a furrowed brow at the area where Y/N should be. In her place was a short woman with cropped grey hair. She held a clipboard and looked generally overwhelmed.

Michael sprinted to the car as soon as he saw it. He pulled open the door and let out a world weary sigh. Spencer turned in his seat. “Everything all right?”

“No, everything is terrible,” he huffed dramatically. “Ms. Y/L/N was sick today. Mrs. Franklin was our substitute, and she smells weird.”

Spencer looked through the window at Mrs. Franklin, struggling to keep a few rowdy boys in the line. “I’m sorry, buddy. I’m sure Ms. Y/L/N will be back soon.” He was secretly relieved that he had a potential explanation for the unanswered email.

“I can’t take another day of Mrs. Franklin,” Michael sighed, buckling his seatbelt. “I hope Ms. Y/L/N’s back tomorrow.”

Spencer let out a breath and pulled away from the curb. “Me, too.”

…

JJ huffed out a breath, glaring at the stack of paperwork in front of her. Spencer was nose deep in a book, but he glanced up at the sound. “I can take a few of those if you want,” he offered.

“No, it’s fine,” she sighed. “I’ve really only got six left.”

He looked at his watch. “Each report takes you approximately 37 minutes. With eight minute breaks in between, you’re not going to be out of here until almost 6:00.”

JJ laughed. “I can’t believe I missed out on these scathing performance reviews for thirty days.”

“Suit yourself.” Spencer dropped his gaze back to his reading.

His first week back from sabbatical had been uneventful to say the least. The team had just wrapped a local case, and they’d spent the better part of the week going over consultations and potentials. It was finally Friday, and Spencer was finished with his stack of backlogged reports.

He was finishing the last chapter of the book when JJ dropped a string of quiet curses. He continued reading, waiting for her to ask. She was quiet for another minute.

“I forgot I’m on duty to pick Michael up today.” Spencer looked up at her, slight panic coming over him.

“I really don’t mind finishing your reports,” he offered.

JJ raised her eyebrows. “What, no offering to visit Ms. Y/L/N?”

Spencer closed his book. “I, um. I sent her an email a week ago, and she hasn’t responded.”

“So?”

“So…” Spencer ran a hand through his hair. “That’s weird, right?”

JJ laughed. “You don’t really use email, so I’d imagine your inbox is pretty orderly. But if you use it a lot, it can be easy for messages to get lost.” She looked at him pointedly. “I can almost guarantee that she’s not ignoring you, Spence.”

He sighed. “I guess there’s a quick way to find out.”

...

Spencer drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, watching the door of the school. He glanced at the clock, noting the class was later than they’d ever been. Without really understanding why, he pulled out of the loop and swung back around to park in the lot. He exited the car, and as he rounded the hood, he spotted them.

Y/N was at the front of the line, hands stuffed in the pockets of her jacket and mouth pressed into a thin line. The line behind her was unlike he’d ever seen it. No waving arms, no smiles, no giggles. Twenty small bodies followed behind her with absolute and total solemnity, and he felt uncomfortable just watching them. It would have almost been funny if it wasn’t so dramatically out of character.

The line weaved around the more rambunctious classes, maintaining their grave expressions and quiet pace. They reached their spot on the sidewalk, and Y/N didn’t even have to say anything. Spencer watched as the line took their spots behind her. She held one hand up to acknowledge parents as they pulled up, murmuring stoic goodbyes to students as they headed to their vehicles.

He hung back at the hood of the car until the majority of the class was gone, slowly making his way across the parking lot. Y/N’s line of sight was pointed in his direction, but her eyes were unfocused in the afternoon sun. He could see the moment that she registered his presence, her eyes widening slightly and bottom lip releasing from the place she’d been absentmindedly chewing. She shifted her weight as he closed the final few feet between them.

“Hi.” She held a silent hand up in greeting. He clenched and unclenched his fingers. “Rough day?”

“It’s not always sunshine and rainbows, despite what everyone thinks,” she snapped. She blew out a breath and rolled her eyes up to the perfectly blue sky, mocking her mood. “I’m sorry. Yes, it was a rough day.”

“You don’t need to apologize.”

“You don’t deserve my wrath.” She gestured vaguely in the direction of the students. “They didn’t either, but— too late for that.”

He watched as she lowered her head back down, rubbing a hand over her face. He desperately wanted to slay whatever dragons had given her normally brilliant eyes such a grey cast. “You have strong relationships with them, and kids are resilient. I’m sure they know you—”

“Please— don’t.” Her voice was thick, and she looked at him with desperate eyes. “I— I appreciate the thought, but I’m— I’m a frustrated crier.” Her shining irises proved her point. “And I’m just— I’m really just trying to keep it together for the last four minutes of my contract time.” Her words were practically a whisper, and she swallowed thickly and glanced down the line, just Michael and one classmate left, eyes downcast.

“I understand.” Spencer shoved his hands in his pockets to keep them from reaching out and touching her. “I’m sorry. I— I hope your weekend is better than today.”

Michael slowly left the line, murmuring a quiet goodbye to Y/N. Spencer put a hand on his shoulder and steered him toward the car, stealing one last glance at a crushed Y/N.

...

Y/N Y/L/N

Re: Re: Volunteering

Hi,

I meant to respond to this email, and then a bunch of things happened, and then I was out all week.

I don’t know if you even still want to volunteer after this afternoon, but it felt rude to not respond at all.

I’ve attached the background check form to this email in case you’re still interested.

Y/N

1 Attachment: Background Check

—

Hi,

I meant what I said this afternoon. Your students love you, and they know you love them. If my conversation with Michael in the car was any indication, they’re feeling rightfully embarrassed and guilty about their behavior while you were out.

Regardless of what happened today, your relationships with your students are strong enough that they will come to school tomorrow knowing that you still care about them. Children don’t hold onto things nearly as much as adults.

It would be a privilege to volunteer in your classroom, even on the worst day.

Spencer

1 Attachment: Background Check - Spencer Reid

—

If I wasn’t already crying, I would be now.

Thanks for that.

No sarcasm intended. Really. Thank you.

—

This might be inappropriate, and if it is, please just pretend like this email doesn’t exist.

I have a favorite cafe in the DuPont circle area, Soho Tea & Coffee. They have an excellent tea drink made with honey and milk that I like to order whenever I’ve had a particularly difficult day.

If you’re up for it, it’s on me.

———

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[twdmusicboxmystery]

Social Media Clues via Big Sky

Okay, so this is kinda small potatoes, but call it a social media weirdness for this week. (Actually, it was posted last week.)

At first, it caught my eye because Jensen Ackles. I watched SPN and I'm a big fan of his. I definitely don't follow what he does anywhere near as closely as TWD, but obviously I follow him on IG, etc. But if you notice the caption, it mentions "new sheriff in town."

Now, normally, I wouldn't read into that. His buddy Jared Padelecki (also of SPN) does the new Walker Texas Ranger show, and Jensen produces, I think, so I thought this was in reference to that. But, futher down, it says @bigskyabc.

That caught my attention. Why would there be a “new sheriff in town” quote paired with Big Sky?

If you’ve followed me for very long, you’ve probably seen a few of my Big Sky posts. I've talked about it a few times as having TD symbolism in it. ABC is a sister studio to AMC, so they routinely give actors from TWD jobs there.

Overall, what I see in Big Sky is intriguing, but also pretty small potatoes. I think they use similar themes as in TWD, and it does shed some light and also let us know that we aren’t imagining the things we see in TWD (not that most of us have thought that for awhile) but I also don’t recommend everyone go watch it because maybe Beth will show up there or something. No, not at all. It’s just a small side thing that’s…kind of interesting.  

Anyway, I wondered why Jensen had tagged them. Then I swiped to his second pic. This is why:

Now, I think that's great for Jensen! I'll totally be more excited to watch Big Sky moving forward if he's in it. (Yeah!) But once again we have a tie between not just TWD, but BETH and Big Sky. Obviously, he's going to show up as a sheriff of some kind, and they're using the "new sheriff in town" line to sell it. I'm just saying.

More clues to TWD themes in Big Sky. And throw in Jensen Ackles to boot. I’m totally down!  😁

One other thing, and we’re not totally sure it’s related, but worth mentioning at least. Here’s a short conversation we had:

@galadrieljones​:

The thing about Jensen just made me think about how Emily tweeted recently about moving to Montana. I don’t think it’s related, because Big Sky is not actually filmed in Montana, but it does take place here. The show Yellowstone is filmed here, the big ranch where it’s partially filmed in my county, toward the park. Our friend Anne works on the production, but Yellowstone has nothing to do with Big Sky. Idk why Emily would ever imagine moving here lol unless there was something she was filming here. Isn’t she from Nebraska?

@twdmusicboxmystery​:

I didn’t think about her Montana tweet. I don’t know what it means either but (and maybe this is a stretch) if it’s a coordinated marketing effort where the hints are concerned, I could see her Montana tweet pointing toward Big Sky. Not because Emily will necessarily have anything to do with that show, but because it’s part of the AMC umbrella and they’re using it to drop hints. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ Very convoluted, I know. 

But the other thing I was thinking about is that, a LONG time ago, Jensen and Michael Cudlitz put out a funny pic together. I bet I could find it. It was right after Abraham died and MC left the show as a character. 

Bc Negan killed him and JDM played the dad on SPN, it was just this funny picture of the two of them. Truly just them being funny and entertaining the fans. But if Jensen is working for ABC now, and we know MC does work for them and AMC both in front of and behind the camera, and may return in the Tales spin-off, there are some interesting ties here.

I really don’t have an overarching theory or anything. Not saying Jensen will be on TWD. He’s a busy guy and probably not. But since JDM joined the show, I’ve always thought it would be fun to have both Jensen and Jared guest star. Just as minor characters who get eaten by walkers by the end of the episode. They’ll both totally love that, I think, and if they shared the screen with JDM for even a minute, all the crossover SPN fans would jump for joy. Lol. It would just be fun. That’s all.

@galadrieljones:

Omg I would die if this happened lol. I’ll also say when I first read this I read it like, characters from “Lost” will be in the spin-off. Unrelated but there are a lot of crossovers. Kim Dickens being the most obvious, but Cudlitz was also in an episode of Lost in season 2. He was in one of Ana Lucia’s backstory episodes, played her partner on the LAPD. Question—Is AMC affiliated w ABC? I didn’t realize Big Sky was under the AMC umbrella?

@twdmusicboxmystery:

It’s more that AMC and ABC are under the same umbrella. Sister companies bc the same studio owns both of them. That’s why you see actors go between the two channels. Emily, Lauren Cohen, MC, and the actresses that played Asha and Cyndie (Oceanside) have all done ABC shows during times when they weren’t active parts of TWD. I think the studio does that to give them work until their characters are needed on TWD again. And that’s exactly why it’s so suspicious that Emily had done multiple small show for ABC, but not taken any other major parts for other networks. It shows she still has a contract here. And all the other characters who’ve done this have reappeared at some point, so… ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

@galadrieljones:

Oh okay. I got it. Kind of like how old characters from the WB days have made a lot of appearances in CW shows, SPN in particular. Ah. That’s actually very interesting!

Maybe there will be “Lost” characters in the spin-off then, as Lost was in ABC (just kidding but according to the insane time traveling universe in Lost I wouldn’t be surprised lol).

@twdmusicboxmystery:

Okay, so obviously we’re all having some fun head canons about our favorite shows. But the first part—the fact that Jensen actually used the phrase “new sheriff in town” can’t possibly be a coincidence, in my opinion. If anything comes of these other connections (and truly, nothing may) it would just be icing on the cake.

Thoughts?