#both attack first amendment rights

[bear-cubs-art-things]

Since when did our first amendment right become so "controversial" that the government aims to dismantle it entirely

What the fuck

[kykyonthemoon]

Red Stains

You've got a new lipstick and can't wait to test out the color,

on his face.

✧ — Character x F!Reader ✧ — 16+, MDNI, suggestive themes, established relationships, soft fluff, touchy, marking ✧ — Requested by Wytchie Pie.

✿ Masterlist

✿ Request a fic

𝑪𝒂𝒍𝒆𝒃

While Caleb was in the living room playing his video game, you walked in with a new lipstick. It was hard not to tease him more when you saw how committed he was to the game. Reaching him from behind the couch, you put your arms around his neck and raised his chin to meet your gaze. You leaned down to give his left cheek a kiss. Then you hurried out of the room.

Though a little taken aback, Caleb simply grinned to himself and carried on playing the game. Not even your scarlet lipstick on his cheek did he notice.

After a while, you returned to the room. You interrupted his match again like the first time and gave him another kiss, this time on the right cheek. With a scowl, Caleb warned you: "Don't be naughty."

But you did not listen. You went into the bathroom again to apply another layer of lipstick. When would he find out that his face was covered with your lip stains? He had such a cute and goofy expression. Should you not tell him, would people laugh at him when he got out at last?

Being laughed at was his punishment. For playing games all afternoon and paying no attention to you. You went back to the living room, sneakily behind the sofa again and encircled him with your arms...

All of a sudden, he grabbed your wrist, bending you over. He leaned his head back to touch your lips and locked it with a kiss. Surprised, you leaped back and attempted to flee. After hurling the console onto the chair, Caleb got up, circled the couch, and seized you.

His hands clamped around your waist, making you turn to face him. “I told you not to be naughty.”

As you looked at the screen with the large word DEFEATED displayed, you laughed. In response, you said:

“You lost because you're terrible at this game. It's not my fault.”

“You're still in the mood to tease me?”

Caleb made an angry face, but all you saw was a cute guy with two lipstick marks on his face. He still held you tightly in his arms to prevent you from escaping. He gently lifted you up so that your bare feet rested on his.

“You tried the lipstick marking thing on my face again, didn't you”

"How do you know that?"

“I can smell it.” Caleb smirked. He could position you against the couch with style in only one spin.

“Caleb?” You were a bit surprised. He still refused to let you go but pressed closer to you.

“Make amends.” Caleb said, his voice a bit coy, making you blush. Normally, it's you who wheedle.

"What kind of compensation do you want?..." You hesitated, but you had good reason to be concerned. Because as soon as you finished speaking, you felt a bit regretful when Caleb suddenly attacked you with a passionate kiss.

When he finally let go to let you catch your breath, he rubbed your head, causing your hair to go untidy. Your fingers still lingered on his shoulder, and your red lips seemed to be inviting for another kiss. Caleb could not let you win that quickly. He stepped back and said:

“Everything always goes your way. That's how it's been all along since childhood. I can't keep spoiling you forever.”

Feeling a little let down, you gazed into his eyes. Caleb's face had brilliant lipstick traces that your fingertips touched.

"Are you sure?" You inquired, and then you hurried to put both of your arms around his neck without waiting for him to respond. You raised your torso and enveloped his waist with your legs. All he could do was hold you, and then you would attack him with powerful, determined kisses.

Caleb laughed while you pulled your lips away long enough to take a breath. He was defeated, again and again. After all, he would always let you win.

𝑿𝒂𝒗𝒊𝒆𝒓

You finished your makeup that day with a little red lipstick on the lips. Satisfied with the new lipstick and cosmetics Tara had just recommended, you glanced in the mirror. But when you turned to Xavier,you saw him dozing off on the edge of the bed. He was still seated, but his back was resting on a stack of pillows and his hand was gripping the plush bunny named Bunbun.

You intended to wake him up, but as you approached, his innocent face and soft snoring made you want to give him a little playful nudge. You placed yourself on the edge of the bed, as quietly as possible so as not to wake him up. Then you pressed your lips to his cheek, leaving a red lip stain.

Leaning back slightly, you waited for Xavier to stir, but he remained deep sleeping. You impatiently placed a kiss on his other cheek. Then one on the forehead, another on the chin... Just like that, soon light and dark lipstick smears were all over his face.

You gulped back a laugh. He was certain to become uneasy upon awakening. Unexpectedly, you were taken by surprise as well. His eyes were barely open when his fingers snatched your wrists and pushed you against the bed.

"Xavier?" You let out a startled exclamation. You felt his body pressing on yours, immobilizing you. He could easily lock both of your wrists together, forcing them above your head and holding them there with only one hand.

You raised your gaze to Xavier's face which was covered by lipsticks. Gradually, he opened his eyes. He was still drowsy, but he was fully aware of the damage you had just caused to his heavenly face.

“I can't believe you sneaked up on me while I was sleeping.”

You giggled, looking apologetic: “I'm sorry. Because… you look so cute when you sleep!”

Xavier pretended not to hear your apology. He tightened his hold on the area that was holding your wrist, and you let out a quiet cry. His other hand freely explored your face and his fingers paused at your lips.

"Your lip color has changed."

Xavier was always sensitive to even the tiniest changes in you. It gave you the impression that he was concerned about you and valued you. You gave a nod.

“And you brought my face out to test your new lipstick?” Xavier questioned. You became aware that his body was gradually dropping and encroaching onto yours.

"I've already... apologized," Your cheeks heated with his breath.

"That doesn't count." Xavier gave a sulky reply. "There will be an equal cost for you to pay."

"H-Huh?

Xavier leaned down and pressed his cool lips to your cheek, leaving a scorching, tingling trail.

“One here.” Xavier said, then he proceeded to kiss the other cheek. “Another here.”

“X-Xavier…” You made an effort to resist and came very close to escaping him. But your wrists were held even tighter. The other hand Xavier was holding around your neck tensed as well. 

"Be good!" Although his voice was still very gentle, you caught his impatience, almost like a command.

And you lied still, submitting to his authority as he inked your face with his own lip marks. On the forehead, nose, cheeks and chin. He planted a kiss on your face in precisely the same spot and sequence as you had just given him. You started to get a sense that Xavier wasn't actually asleep, and you were naive to fall right into the trap that was set up by his innocent expression.

At the same time, you relished the sensation of being beneath Xavier, his body heat enveloping you, and the sound of his breathing in your ear blended with every kiss.

The last kiss just ended. As you struggled to catch your breath, you said:

“A-Are you done? Can you…Can you let me go now?…”

The truth was, you never want him to let go. Xavier simply glanced at you and felt your emotions. He lifted your chin again so you could look into his eyes, while he gently parted your lips with this thumb.

“Did I say I would let you go?”

Your eyes seemed to be blurred by the heat between you both. You arched your head back a little, longing for his lips to meet yours once more. Xavier smiled triumphantly as his finger lightly slid across your lips, smearing a small amount of your lipstick out.

“You should have known there is a price for waking me up like that.”

𝑹𝒂𝒇𝒂𝒚𝒆𝒍

That evening, while you were getting ready for the date, Rafayel showed up. He took a seat next to you and began fiddling with the makeup items on the table. His long fingers stroke the blush in the box, he waved it in the air, enjoying the color in his hand.

"Look at this. My hands are now the same color as your cheeks.”

You turned to look at Rafayel. He gave you a mischievous smile. With his other hand, he gently lifted your chin.

“Let me help you,” said Rafayel. You obediently sat still so he could apply the pink blush that was already on his hand to your cheeks, although you were certain that they were already pink even before applying makeup.

"Very lovely. The peach hue draws attention to your smile.” Rafayel exclaimed. "Even though you don't need makeup to look beautiful."

You smiled heartily. His lips were always so sweet, giving you more confidence. I had never seen yourself more beautiful than when you were next to him. Even without saying it out loud, the way he looked at you always made you feel like you were the most exquisite painting his eyes had ever laid upon.

“I'm almost done. All that's left is lipstick." You said while taking out a brand new lipstick from your purse. “Tara said this color would go very well with me.”

Rafayel took the lipstick from your hand and looked at its color through the transparent glass cover. Then he gave it back to you. “Go ahead and try it on.” He spoke excitedly, as if he was the one using this lipstick.

You twisted the cap open, applied a layer and pressed your lips together to spread the lipstick evenly. “Mmmh.” Before you could look closely, Rafayel anxiously put his palm on your cheek and drew you in.

“Let me see it...” Rafayel's fingertips playfully caressed across your face and ears while you held your breath. "Red. It truly does fit you perfectly.”

His thumb traced a line down the border of your lower lip, giving you a ticklish feeling. You could not focus because of how near his face was. You gently closed your eyes, then when he was too preoccupied staring at your lips, you leaned forward to kiss his cheek.

“You?!” Rafayel was startled. He withdrew his hand and touched the place you just kissed. A scarlet set of lips like a blossoming flower revealed itself on Rafayel's porcelain face.

"If you don't let me see my lipstick color in the mirror, I'll borrow your face to try it on." You laughed in response.

“What do you mean by that?”

As soon as he finished speaking, Rafayel was left with another lip mark on his cheek, just below the previous one. His eyebrows frowned slightly. His cheeks and ears were scarlet, he couldn't hide his embarrassment anymore.

“That is excessive.” Rafayel mumbled, yet behind that salty expression was a wry smirk. You applied another layer of lipstick on your lips to replace the first layer that had mostly faded. You commented:

“This lipstick tastes somewhat as sweet as candy.”

Hearing that, Rafayel immediately raised his face. He held your chin tightly in his hand and brought it very close.

“Really? I'd like to give it a shot as well.”

After saying so, he put his lips to yours. Before you could protest, you felt a slight pain in your bottom lip as you opened your eyes wide.

“R-Rafayel!” You gasped when he left your lips. Your lipstick was lightly on his lips as he licked it lightly.

“It does taste like candy!”

His mysterious expression confused you. You covered your mouth with both hands and reprimanded: "You just bit me!"

With a sly smile, Rafayel tipped his head and said, "I was only curious to taste your lipstick. Then, I realized something…”

Suddenly he came close to you again. His hand pulled yours down to reveal your red face and slightly swollen, color-smeared lips. He spoke again:

“You taste sweeter than any candy!”

Unsure of how to react, you observed Rafayel get back up. You followed him because you assumed he was going to head to the restaurant that you two had reserved. Just as you were getting up from the chair, Rafayel abruptly pulled you back and seated you entirely on the dressing table.

"Where are you going?" He asked while burying his face in your shoulder and hair.

“To our date?… We're already late…”

Rafayel's dissatisfaction was evident from his facial expression. He glanced back at you, his finger tracing across your lips as if he was painting a picture himself.

"The plan has changed."

He kissed you once more, and this time, the long kisses were broken up by little, painless bites that made you weak in the knees and found it hard to breathe. You pushed Rafayel back a little so he could slow down while leaning your back against the frigid mirror. However, the more you did so, the more he devoured your red lips.

“We can save that restaurant for another time… For now, let's stay here, okay?”

He said between rapid breaths. You nodded slightly. How could you refuse, when all your luscious lips wanted was him?

𝒁𝒂𝒚𝒏𝒆

During Zayne's lunch break, you stayed in his office to make sure he ate enough and on time. It could also be said otherwise; it's him who made sure you're full and rest well before returning to the headquarters.

After lunch, Zayne sat reading a book on the sofa. You thought you would get out your new lipstick and give it a little play since you had nothing better to do. You barely learned the fundamental techniques and were too busy fighting Wanderers to wear makeup frequently. But the other day, Tara had just given you a new lipstick and said that this color would look good on you.

You put on a light layer. Since Zayne's workplace lacked a mirror, you turned to him and inquired, "How do I look?"

Zayne merely gave you a quick glance before turning back to the book.

"Alright."

"Alright?!" You said it again. By that, what did he mean? It was "okay" rather than beautiful? Yet, he couldn't even look at you for more than a second. You were a little hurt. You twisted the lipstick cap again and applied another layer.

"What about this?" You inquired with him once more. However, Zayne quickly responded with a "Mmhhh" to end the conversation. You turned your gaze from him to the book he was holding. It took away all of his attention, which he should be giving to you.

Refusing to give in to such an inanimate object, you turned completely to Zayne, pulled him back and pressed your lips to his cheek.

You released your grip, revealing your trophy — a vivid red lipstick mark — on his icy face. However, he continued to glare at you without saying anything. His hand turned the book to a new page and as if nothing had happened, he ignored you once again.

“You…” You let out a sigh. You knew he had his own concerns, but were angry at the thought that you were not important, not attractive enough for him, unlike a medical book. You gave it another go, kissing him very close to the lips this time.

Zayne breathed heavily. Although the expression on his face remained unchanged, you caught his hands holding the book trembling slightly.

“There is a medical appointment that I must attend in an hour. This kind of abuse on my face is unacceptable."

You felt like you had won when he closed the book and put it back on the table.

“Okay, let me tidy it up for you.” Grinning, you got up to grab the tissue box.  But you were drawn back by a strong force that very moment. Suddenly you found yourself sitting completely on Zayne's lap. His sinewy arms encircled your waist securely.

“If you want to leave marks on me…” You heard Zayne whispering so softly from behind. “You need to be a little more considerate.”

You sat still and let Zayne turn you around, facing him. Your heart was beating very fast. At this rate, before another patient came to see him, he would have to treat you first. You tried to stay calm in front of him and questioned:

“More considerate? Do you recommend any other spot then?” Your hand briefly touched Zayne's cheek before descending gently. You stared intently, lifting his chin. As you cuddled on his lap, little against the toned shoulders he covered beneath his shirt, Zayne shifted both of your legs so they were more comfortably positioned on the sofa.

Your fingertips paused at his neck, verging on his Adam's apple. You caught it moving slightly. “Or this spot?”

Zayne was clearly making every effort to maintain the residual calm on his face. His eyes were staring at you intensely from behind his glasses, as though he was granting you permission to do that.

And you leaned up to place a kiss there.

You heard a cough come from Zayne. He looked at you, extremely miserable. But you put your hand on the lipstick mark on his neck as if admiring another of your trophies. It did not stop there. You still wanted more, wanted to know what he would do if you went a little further...

Your index finger slid from his neck to his chest and stopped just above his heart.

“Doctor Zayne, your heart is racing.”

Your laughter was as crisp as sunshine in the room, increasing the temperature. Zayne took your hand, neatly holding it in his scarred one. He spoke, but you caught his trembling even though he was very discreet:

“Can you... cure me then?”

Your finger gently tapped on his chest. "Of course." You would always like it when Zayne let me be in charge, asking you to take care of him little by little. His hand loosened slightly, allowing you to freely find the buttons of his shirt and undo them.

Then, you put another crimson mark on his bare chest.

[touchtheinvisiblestars]

Imagine going through relationship issues with Spencer and a scare at works sets you both back on the right path

This had been the eighth night in a row you'd slept alone. Opting to sleep in the spare bedroom of the place you and Spencer had bought together. Waking up hurt and sad with your partner was an exhausting way to live, and it was getting to you. The team had been back at the main office for the same amount of time. Having a big bust up on the aftermath of a case meant the journey back on the jet was awkward for everyone involved.

When he hadn't agreed with the way you dealt with the unsub, on top of you both disagreeing on when to start trying for a family. Had left you feeling put down and attacked both in work and in your personal life. Feeling like you couldn't do anything right, and that you were holding him back.

It was made worse by his lack of enthusiasm when you attempted to make amends. Wanting to talk about the issue, but finding it difficult when your boyfriend was a stubborn lump. Shrugging his shoulders and seeming totally disinterested.

After the fourth day of you trying to get through to him. You gave in. Telling yourself that if he wanted to make amends he would. Or he'd realise once it was too late.

Today though, you had a meeting with Garcia, she was going to show you an easier way of accessing some files. The way she does it. Getting yourself up and ready. The house sounded eerily quiet. Spencer did have a habit of impersonating the invisible man when he was home. But still, it was cold and felt empty.

Making your way downstairs, you called out for him, but got no answer.

Realising he wasn't even home. You felt another pang in your chest. Maybe he was done? The thought made your eyes sting. But on checking the time, you would be late to meet Garcia. You grabbed your breakfast out the fridge and grabbed your bag and keys.

Once in the office, you passed the bullring to see Spencer at his desk. Nose deep in some files.

"Hey, what time did you come in? We could have come together." You asked, approaching his desk.

"Early. Didn't want to wake you."

Nodding, you still wanted to push for you both to make up, "did you want to grab lunch somewhere? Would be nice to spend some time with you."

"I'm busy."

"Well I didn't mean right now. Later. When you're free? I'm in Garcias office if you-"

"Y/N, you're here!" Garcia squeaked, "for a moment I thought you were standing me up."

Realising he still wasn't ready to have a decent conversation with you. You gave up, again.

"Never." You smiled at her, before giving Spencer a sad look as he continued to read his papers.

You sat down in Garcias office and fully immersed yourself in the training. Pushing Spencer to the back of your mind.

Around lunchtime you saw Spencer walk past the room and you felt another wave of sadness wash over you.

"So, what's up with you and Sir Smarts-a-lot?" Garcia asked you while you were taking a break.

"There's not really much to tell. We fell out over some serious and not so serious things. I've tried to patch things up. He doesn't want to know. Been trying for like 4 days now."

"I'm sorry. He does seem particularly cranky since you came back from that last case."

"Yeah. Happened while we were out there. I don't even-"

You were interrupted by the sound of shouting from out in the main office. Both you and Garcia looked at each other and wondered who the hell fell out with each other so bad they had to have a screaming match.

Both getting up and wandering down the hall. You just about turned the corner first. But froze in your tracks seeing two people, one with a gun, the other with a briefcase. The woman, with the gun, had the few people that were in the bullring huddled together.

"Shit Garcia go back to your office and lock the door. Call Spence and tell him to stay away. Now!" You whisper shout at her.

"Hey! Put your hands on your head. Get in here Miss now." one of them shouted at you. Not having noticed Garcia as she backed away to her office.

When you didn't move. The seemingly unarmed intruder marched towards you and attempted to grab onto you. As you went to defend yourself. He pulled out a knife and threatened you with it.

"Think very carefully about what you do next." He said lowly.

"What do you guys want. I can help you."

"No you won't. You'll just try and talk me down and I won't let them down again. Get in here or I'm going to make you. And it will hurt."

"What's your name? I'm Y/N. Why are you here? There's no weapons or money stored here. Are you looking for someone?"

"Shut up!" He yelled, you let out a gasp at the sharp pain in your side.

Looking down the blade he was holding embedded in your side. Crumpling down to the floor, you watched as the deep red soaked into your blouse. Spreading across your side.

"What the fuck Darren. You weren't supposed to hurt anyone." A woman came up to the guy and yanked him by his shoulder. "We need to set these charges now and go. Now!"

Charges, that meant explosives.

The pair rushed off and left you bleeding on the floor. Giving you the opportunity to make an escape.

Making it back to Garcias office. You burst through the door, scaring the life out of her.

"Y/N! Oh my god why is there blood. There's a knife hanging out of you."

"Did you speak to Spence?" You asked locking the door behind you.

"Yeah he's in the armory now. They-"

"Call him back! Tell them to abort. Do not come up here!"

"OK, what-why?" She spluttered while calling him back.

"Garcia? Is everything okay. We're just planning how we're going to do this." He answered. You could hear the sound of kevlar being secured. You managed to stumble your way across the room to Garcias desk before your legs gave out.

"Spence, where are you? Do not come up here. And keep people out of the lifts. Do not use them." You panted.

"Y/N are you okay? We haven't left yet. What's going on?"

"I'm fine. I just met the intruders. They're setting charges. Evacuate the rest of the building."

"What? They're going to blow up the building?" Garcia asked, her face paling.

"How big are the explosives?"

"I didn't see. I just managed to get away from them. I did see it was only a small briefcase though."

"That could still be enough to wipe out the whole floor. You need to leave now. Use the far stairwell."

"Garcia, you should go."

"What? I'm not leaving you."

"Both of you go. Now!" Spencer raised his voice.

You shared a look with Garcia, knowing you weren't moving anywhere fast enough.

"We should be okay here," Garcia nodded, "I'll stay with her."

"You're hurt aren't you." Spencer spoke quietly.

"A little bit yeah. Spence, I love you."

"Don't do that. I'm coming to get you."

"No do-" and then the call rang off.

Garcia came and sat next to you. You rested your head on her shoulder.

"I don't get what they were talking about. They said about setting charges. But when the woman saw I'd been stabbed she said they weren't supposed to hurt anyone. How does that make sense." You mutter, starting to feel woozy from the blood loss.

"Unless what they're trying to destroy is paperwork not people," Garcia mused.

"Hotchs office, he keeps loads of important documents in there." You guessed.

"That makes sense. He always takes Sunday's off. So he wouldn't be in there to get hurt."

"Garcia you really should go. Maybe you can get some help." You said quietly. Feeling very lightheaded.

Garcias phone started ringing, answering it she put it on loudspeaker.

"Go ahead. We're just sitting here awaiting our handsome prince's to rescue us."

"Garcia." Spencer answered, "how badly is she hurt? They won't let us get in yet. Not if there's a bomb threat. The whole buildings on lock down. They aren't holding hostages. The other guys from the office have run out already. Are they still there?"

"Woah, woah, woah. One question at a time. Y/N isn't doing great. I don't know what to do Reid. I'm not a doctor. But she's still bleeding."

"What? What happened."

"She got stabbed by one of them. It's still in there but it's-"

"We have to get in there Y/Ns been stabbed. Please. I volunteer to go in. Come on Hotch." He sounded desperate, it made you smile slightly. The irony that it took a near death situation to get him to act like he cared again.

A deafening boom shook the office, jolting you awake.

"Shit was that the-?" You asked.

"I think so." Garcia nodded. "We're okay. Spencer can you hear me?"

You slumped down against Garcias shoulder a bit more. Fighting the urge to fall asleep.

"We saw it. Blown the windows out of Hotch's office as well."

"Tell him..." You trailed off falling into unconsciousness.

Garcia looked at you, panic washing over her. "Y/N? Spencer she's passed out. I don't know what to do- I know I shouldn't take the knife out."

"Is she sat up or laying down?"

"She's sat up, do I lie her down?"

"Yes, don't knock the knife though- I need EMTs with me right now- Garcia, I need you to check if she's breathing." Spencer sounded out of breath, "I'm coming to you as fast as I can."

"Okay, she's laying down. And yes she's breathing."

"You're doing well Garcia. We're seconds away now."

Garcia still let out a scream when the paramedics burst through the door. Stumbling away from your figure, she bumped shoulders with Spencer as the experts dealt with you.

"Do you think she's going to be okay?" Garcia asked him.

"I don't know. But I feel like a prized jackass now. What if she's not? She will have died thinking I was mad at her."

"I don't know what to say Reid. She was trying. She thought you'd stopped trying."

"The argument was stupid. I was more annoyed us arguing had ruined some plans I had."

"Plans? What do you-ohhh." Garcia cut herself off as she clocked onto what Spencer meant.

He quickly pocketed the small jewellery box as the EMT turned to the pair of them.

[sguidwards-bestfriend]

So apparently pitchpearl is a thing, I've been on tumblr for a while and if you know any history then you understand why selfcest doesn't surprise me in the slightest

Anyway...

dpxdc Misunderstanding that becomes reality fic: 1.5k

part 1

Warning: I plan on a very melancholic ending, its a good ending but also kinda sad

...

When Danny moved to Gotham, he really had thought he wouldn't continue his hero work in this dimension.

But there was a little girl in the street that almost got hurt during a rogue attack.

But some kind of gas went off at the cafe he worked at and it's not like he really needs to breath and there were so many people.

But his University, Gotham U, was in a lock down from a random winter storm that definitely wasn't natural.

So he did what he could when he saw it and kept off of the news when he was doing class work, letting the other "vigilantes" pick up where he couldn't.

However, after a few more months of class, work, and being a vigilante (the news station that first showed him used the correct name!!), he was right back where he had been in Amity before he'd managed to close the portal.

Exhausted and failing at everything other than hero work.

The year after he had graduated high school he stayed in Amity and was able to make amends with the ghosts, being the crown prince definitely helped. He thought the ghost attacks stopping would have lessened his pa- Jack and Maddie trying to catch one. In reality they only became more and more frantic to catch the last ghost, "Mini Phantom".

Revealing he had a daughter, that that daughter was half ghost, hadn't gone well in the slightest.

The one shot Maddie managed to hit had almost destabilized her. He had grabbed her and ran into the portal. He wasn't sure how he'd done it, but in a fit of blinding rage he had destroyed both sides of the doorway to the Ghost Zone.

Frost bite had managed to get her to retract into her core. She'd need some time before she'd have a physical form again, and she'd need Danny to keep her stable for some time, but she would make it. She'd be fine in the end.

It felt weird to have two cores in his chest, but other than needing to take ecto shots it wasn't a huge change.

The last time he'd been to frostbite Ellie's core had some sort of shake to it. It could have been nothing, but a halfa was rare enough. A halfa making a never-born hadn't even been thought of. Add on, that that never-born could possibly be born a halfa was... concerning.

So here he was, in an entirely new dimension, nervously chewing on the end of his stylus, waiting to hear back from Frostbite. His study sessions lately kept being interrupted by thoughts of her. If she really was okay.

Then there was an earth shattering BOOM, that shook his entire building.

As he floated upwards and through the wall he caught a glimpse of something he had never seen before in his afterlife.

A daemon. An actual daemon with red skin and horns and a flaming tail crawling out of the ruble that used to be his front door.

Danny could sense immediately that the being wasn't from the ghost zone, but it held just as much power as one of the stronger ghost.

He transformed and landed in front of the being, "Hey! That was my front door! What gives, Rudolf?"

The daemon shook the dust off his head and looked at Phantom, then at his chest, and back at him. "I do not fight those that carry child."

"Oh... uh." He was not expecting that. "Are you okay?"

It was the daemons turn to look perplexed. "I am fighting a hellblazer, he owes me something. Refuses to pay."

"That's annoying." He looked around to see some guy in a trench coat at the end of the street. The yet to settle dust cloud making it hard to figure out any other features. "I can help if you-"

At that a massive blast of magic hit him and the daemon, sending them careening farther down the street.

Danny's vision went double and he thought he was going to throw up. All he could focus on at first was the pain as he tried to stand on wobbly legs, then it was the emptiness in his chest.

Ellie.

He closed his eyes and dropped back to the floor. He focused on her core. He found it quickly, checking it over, turning it every which way incessantly until he heard someone groan in front of him.

When he opened his eyes he was looking at two much smaller daemons, one a bright red, the other a darker wine red, sitting in a massive indent in the road. One he very luckily was on the very outskirts of.

The two immediately started to bicker, swatting at each other, but not actually fighting.

He heard footsteps on the wreckage behind him, some magic words were said and the daemons' were hand cuffed and poofed out of sight.

"Hey kid, you okay?" Trench coat asked him, not bothering to give him his hand.

"No thanks to you, you ass."

"I just saved your life." He said with a blank expression.

"The daemon wouldn't have done anything to me. Unlike you, they have a moral code."

Trench coat huffed, that seemed to ruffle his feathers. "And what would those morals be exactly?"

"They pay their debts, for one. And two, they don't magically attack people carrying children." Danny stood up and wavered. Trench coat grabbed his arm to steady him.

He stared at Danny for a few more seconds, "You're not human." It wasn't a question. He sucked in a breath, "You're not fully human."

"Ding, ding, ding." Danny tried to shake of the hellblazer's grip. "Let go of me."

"I know where to get medical attention for non humans. You need to be looked over." He said, starting the motion to make a portal.

"Nuh, uh. No. I'm fine." Danny said, patting the hand still wrapped around his arm. Trenchcoat let go and shoved him lightly, Danny felt the world twist around him as the pavement came up to meet his face.

Before he hit the ground he stopped in mid air, not by his own volition, and was gently propped back up.

"That blast spell is designed to not affect humans. You shouldn't have felt more than a breeze." Trenchcoat went back to opening up a portal, it glowed an eerie red. "Come on, well check the little one too."

Danny let himself get pulled through the red portal, it quickly closed behind them.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

His head was pounding.

"wha/t- morals- exactly?"

Talking.

"debts- two- atta/ckp/eo-ple- children."

Two voices. Two people.

"not human."

He feels empty.

"Letg/oof me."

He's hurt. His other half is hurt.

"You need to be looked over."

He opened his eyes, a man was holding his other half. His other half and his daughter.

"Nuh, uh. No. I'm fine." His other half swatted at the man.

The man pushed his other half to the ground.

He tried to reach out but his hand was barely a shimmering outline.

His other half didn't hit the ground.

There was ringing in his ears. The man would pay.

"Come on,- the little one too."

The man pulled his other half through a portal.

A sickly looking portal. A bloody color.

He floated up. Sped to the closing portal.

It closed too fast.

He wasn't fast enough.

...

It took Phantom 20 minutes to get his thoughts in order and another 10 before the ringing in his ears stopped.

He had been split in two before, but the ghost "dream catcher" the ecto-scientists made years ago had split his ghost half and his human half entirely. This was different.

He still felt a bit of his humanness. Transforming would suck though, he felt too low on ecto to do that.

His other half was in his human form when he looked. He still had Ellie nestled up against his core. But his core looked off. Although the silhouette was of a full sphere, he couldn't help shaking the thought that he saw some parts missing.

When Danny had been split before only his ghost had kept the core, it was what nearly killed them both. What made them promise to never split again.

Maybe if they both had bits of a core they'd be fine until they could reunite.

He tried to focus on his core but it made his head pound.

He'd have to hope his other half could manage as he tried to organize a rescue mission.

Although he'd managed to get a message from the Ghost Zone to Sam and Tucker, he wouldn't be able to get one dirrectly to their dimension.

He knew even trying to make a portal with his ecto as low as it was wasn't a good idea. And would be a waste of the ecto shots he had just chugged.

There was really only one hope of help he had left, one he really didn't want to ask.

A new friend he had made at the cafe.

Tim Drake-Wayne, son of Brucie Wayne. The very same Brucie Wayne that was definitely funding Batman's weird night life.

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

Wow this got away from me, honestly was planning on like 500 words. I want to continue this, but if anyone wants to pick it up and play around please feel free to add stuff in the reblogs! I adore reading peoples additions to posts

(As always please please please help me writing tags i never knwo what to do with them, the lack of structure here compared to ao3 confuses me)

[bookclubforme]

Fuck all of Xaden’s simp point of views. I would trade my left tit for Liam’s POV when he gets moved into Violet’s squad.

First of all, I’m assuming Xaden had an actual conversation where he asked Liam, but did he actually explain to him it was because Violet was attacked in her sleep? Did Xaden give Liam a run down on Dain being her childhood best friend? That she and Rhi are friends because Violet gave her a boot on parapet?

Because Xaden’s usual level of communication leads me to think that the extent of that conversation was “Liam, I need you to protect Violet, because if she dies I die.” “Sure, anything for you, Xaden.”

I’m just going feral imagining Liam trying to sus things out when Xaden dumps him in the squad.

First of all, Violet and Xaden get into a pissing match about Liam being added to the squad that has people gasping that she’s talking to a wing leader like that.

Then their squad leader is overly concerned about her very visible bruises, drawing attention from everyone around them about it.

And then there’s a wild turn out of nowhere, because while Panchek is setting up for the disciplinary stuff, they start teasing Ridoc about sleeping with the XO for 2nd wing, and with no prompting, Little Ms. Violet Sorrengail goes:

“I miss sex.”

Ma’am, you’re supposed to be the smart one. The commandant has just announced their was a codex violation, and you know that you just told your wing leader who has a vested interest in your safety about a codex violation against you last night, and you get so distracted by your own horniess that you don’t even think that it’s about you when you hear the announcement? Get it together Violet.

That is one of the very first things that Liam ever hears Violet say. The first five minutes that he gets to be around Violet, and see her around her friends and one of the very first things she does is publically admit she’s horny.

Liam is right behind her, and right beside Ridoc. So judging by the fact that Ridoc hears it and responds, Liam ABSOLUTELY heard her.

And Liam doesn’t have any context to know that when Ridoc offers to have sex with Violet, and Violet teases him back with amending her statement to ‘I miss good sex,’ that she isn’t teasing Ridoc because they had sex before! Liam could totally absolutely hear that exchange and think that Violet and Ridoc had a thing.

Liam is standing there, watching Violet have a weird moment with her squad leader, flirt with another one of her squadmates, all while the proceedings for a public execution are starting. That is his first impression of the woman he is now responsible for keeping alive.

And Liam probably also somewhat knows Ridoc and Violet from comments they make in classes. Violet’s smart, Ridoc’s the class clown. But the first impression they both make is “Horny and screwing around the chain of command”

Granted, both Violet and Ridoc get it together and both of them come to the marked one’s defense during the execution proceedings. Ridoc outright calls Nadine out for being biased against the marked one’s.

Just the idea that Liam’s first impression of his new squad mates is “horny, but good people” is so funny to me.

We were absolutely robbed of a scene of the iron squad sitting around talking about all their first impressions and Liam just absolutely teasing them about how horny they came across.

[ssa-atlas-alvez]

Heeey ! If request are still open, can I ask for a father!reader that have lost their children and take care of the BAU like of they were his children ? I'm bad for explaining, but it's basically a reader that don't want to see anyone in the BAU die and take care of them like if they were his children-

Ignore it if you don't want to write it

And have a good day !!

I've set it out a little differently, idk lol. But this is an amazing idea I love it!

Warnings: Reid's one mentions food and not eating properly, Morgan's mentions violence, JJ's mentions grief of losing a child, Prentiss' discusses nail biting and skin picking.

Reid:

"Hey, Spence?" You chime, turning to the younger man. Reid's head shoots up.

"Yeah?"

"Have you eaten breakfast?"

"Yep," Reid nods, sipping his coffee.

"And that breakfast was...?"

"A doughnut and this coffee." Reid looks at you, slightly hesitantly. You just raise your eyebrows for a moment and sighed.

You fish through your bag, pulling out a protein bar, a packaged croissant, and a water. "Here,"

"(Y/N), you really don't need to-"

"Don't wanna hear it, Spence." You sat in the seat next to him, sipping on your own coffee. "Breakfast is the most important meal of the day."

"Oh, yeah? And what did you have for breakfast?"

"That's not- we're talking about you-" Spencer rolled his eyes, passing you back the protein bar.

"I don't want to hear it."

Morgan:

"He really kicked the shit out of you, huh?" You said softly, pressing the cold compress against Morgan's head.

Derek winced, forcing himself not to pull away, knowing the compress would help. He doesn't say anything, just gives a small snort.

"You give as good as you got?" You asked, raising an eyebrow at the younger man. When Derek gives a soft nod, you let yourself smile. "Good."

Garcia:

"There she is!" You give Penelope a soft smile, offering her a coffee. "I got decaf, hope you don't mind."

"You know, despite popular belief, I'm pretty good at dealing with caffeine."

"You literally vibrate. Like actually, literally vibrate."

"That's just a glitch in the matrix."

"...So you don't want the drink and cookie of making amends?"

"I said I can deal with caffeine, I didn't say I was an idiot, gimme."

JJ:

When you found out JJ was pregnant, it was a bittersweet feeling. On the one hand, you were so excited for the young couple to settle down, for them to experience all their firsts together. But then came the bitter side of this.

Whilst you were overjoyed for them, it hurt. It hurt to see a young woman who reminded you so much of your daughter start a family, knowing you would never get the chance to be a grandad.

Prentiss:

You could generally tell when it started to get bad for Prentiss. Or at least when it started to get too much. She'd subtly bite at her nails, sometimes picking at them instead. Pulling at the skin around her nails, barely even flinching if it bled.

After Doyle, her nail biting got worse. As did the skin picking. You had made sure to keep a close eye on her throughout the case. N the jet ride back, she continued to pick at her skin and nails.

You give Hotch and Rossi a small nod as you place the book you were reading down gently. You slide into the seat opposite her.

"Hey."

Emily pauses picking at her fingers to look up at you.

"Hey."

"How are you feeling?"

You watch her debate whether or not to say anything. "It's just... it's been a rough case."

You nod, taking a moment before you reply. "How about I make us both a tea - decaf because otherwise we'll both be bouncing off the walls-"

"Speak for yourself, old man." She quips with a smirk.

You mock offence, placing a hand over your heart.

"Careful, you might actually give him a heart attack." Morgan chimes.

You scoff, "Rude. Anyways, I make us a tea and we can talk about it. Or, we can talk about Sergio."

"Sergio it is." Emily nods.

"Alright, tea coming right up."

"Can I get one?" JJ asks, sitting up straight, you give a small nod, grinning when Spencer chimes in.

"I'll take a tea if you're making,"

"You did just say I'd have a heart attack..." You pulled an unsure face, "I'm not sure if I should be rewarding that behaviour."

Rossi gives a smirk as you continue, "Just this once." Morgan gives a soft snort as you grin at him. "Aaron, you having one?"

"I'm okay, thank you." You nod, throwing him a bottle of water instead.

"You look dehydrated."

"He means you look like shit." Morgan teases quietly.

"I heard that."

Hotch:

"Sir, respectfully, if you don't sleep, I will hit you over the head with something to knock you the fuck out." You chime, sitting across from him. You opened your book (the latest one Reid had suggested you read), raising an eyebrows at the 'children' - read 'other team members' - as they snicker. "Oi, no giggling, y'all better sleep too."

"Y'all?" Morgan smirks.

"Less backchat, more sleepy times." Is all you respond with.

"You know I'm only a year younger than you, right?" Hotch raised an eyebrow.

"And yet here you are acting like Morgan."

"Hey-" Hotch and Morgan both gasp.

"Now, shut up and sleep."

"Couldn't have said it better myself," Rossi chimes.

Prentiss snorts, "Yes Dads."

Rossi:

"Honestly Dave." You sighed, "Sometimes our kids can be a right pain in the ass."

"Tell me about it. We might have to ground them."

[devilfic]

❝right place, right time❞

XI. I only have eyes for you.

parts: previously plot: it's the day of the bachelor auction. who's taking bruce home? pairing: battinson!bruce wayne x gn!reader. cw: 18+ toward the end (MDNI), surgeon!reader, secret identities, slow burn, brief violence, sexual content (implied penetration, light dry humping), alcohol consumption, reader is going through it so i personally think they're allowed to be a bit messy, vicki vale slander... a little bit, gcpd slander a lot a bit. words: 8.8k. a/n: it has been a HOT minute and I totally meant to have this out in time for thanksgiving but alas. big girl has big girl responsibilities. regardless, I wanted to say thank you sm for 3k followers!!! ahhh!!! that's so many. love u all

“…Judge Mathers thankfully suffered only minor injuries, and while the culprit has yet to be apprehended, police say they’re confident the investigation will progress in the coming days. Further investigation into just how Mathers was attacked is also ongoing. In other news, Bridge Industries stock has fallen…”

The door to your office swings open, startling you, but Emily is rushing in with arms too full to notice. She shuts the door just as quickly as she’d thrown it open, and as you put the TV on mute, she begins to rattle off frantically, “Are you as excited for tonight as I am?”

If by excited, she meant “stomach turning in knots”, then she’d be right on the money. You ignore her question to point at the plastic bags draping over her arms, “What’s that?”

“With your help? My outfit for tonight.” You watch her gather them both by their hangers and unzip them, revealing two dresses in sparkly red and silky navy. The lighting in your office really fails to do them justice. “What’s Bruce’s favorite color?”

There is—unequivocally—only one answer. “Black.” Her eyelids droop at that, holding the red dress to her chest forlornly, and you rush to amend the situation. “I mean… but who really cares?”

That was not what you meant to say.

What you’d meant to say was that Bruce’s favorite color didn’t matter because Emily ought to dress for herself, and that you didn’t even have the marbles to think about any of this when the news had so thoroughly soured your mood.

Said mood was already fragile by the time you’d had your morning coffee, and in between paperwork and your own thoughts, you’d turned on WGOT for background chatter. It had been just your luck that the very first thing you’d seen was a report on the attempted murder of a local judge. As a Gotham native, these kinds of things don’t easily faze you, but the name had.

Her face had meant nothing to you when it appeared on screen, stern and clear, and her name would’ve meant just as much had you not been poring over Dimitri’s case recently. You never attended Dimitri’s trial, had heard only what Russo and co. had relayed to you, so you’d never had the chance to meet Judge Lydia Mathers or watch as she ruled on the fate of the arrested Vipers. The police weren’t saying who did it, but you knew what was left unsaid. It could be no coincidence.

What threw you for a loop was how it happened. There was no confirmation on the where, and the when being “sometime last night” didn’t narrow anything down. It was sloppy still—that much was evident, she was still alive—but it was also close. Way too close.

As far as you knew, anyone involved in your case that was still in Gotham had been informed beforehand of the threat, and she had the bodyguards to rival your own. How did someone doped up on venom get close enough to almost kill her?

You feel your desk vibrate as you receive a text, your heart speeding up, but you only get a quick glimpse before Emily draws you back in again. “I care. Look, I get that this is your life now and all of this utterly bores you, but this is fun for me. I want to enjoy this, and I want to look good doing it. Just… indulge me, okay? And don’t make fun of me for it.”

The twinge of sadness in her voice makes you wince. It wasn’t Emily’s fault you’d been having a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day since the night of Bruce’s party. It also wasn’t her fault that you had yet to be honest about why you really had cops and guards on your tail now, why you couldn’t meet at yours for drinks after work, and it certainly wasn’t her fault that you’d told her the night Dimitri attacked you, you'd actually been targeted by the gang of the guy who took you hostage all those weeks ago. As far as she knew, Mr. Wayne was just taking very, very good care of you.

You’d invited her to this auction to have a fun night out, something you hadn’t had in a while, and if you had to gather some marbles to make it so, you’d do it.

“I’m… I’m sorry, Emily. That came out wrong. I just meant that it shouldn’t matter what he likes because you’re going to look amazing in anything. And if Bruce has eyes, he’ll love how you look in the red.”

She doesn’t look quite as convinced. You see her look over the dress, scrutinizing.

You circle your desk, taking the dresses from her and setting them over the back of a chair. “How about this? I take a picture of both dresses, send them to Bruce, and ask which one he likes more. Won’t even mention you.”

Her eyes widen like saucers. “No! No. Don’t. It’s fine, you’re right. I’ll wear what I want, and I’ll look great in it.” You reach up to pinch Emily’s cheek and she bats at you with a laugh, ducking away to steal her dresses back. “What are you gonna wear?”

“Probably what I wore to our New Year’s party last year.”

“Saucy. You’re picking me up at eight, right?”

“Our ride will be courtesy of Mr. Wayne.”

“Must be nice having a driver and an entourage. Bruce is awfully generous for a patient.”

You think about the paperwork you’d been slogging through before you’d turned on the news, and you don’t have the heart to tell her that by the end of today, Bruce would no longer be your patient anymore.

You wave her goodbye, and when the door shuts behind her, you snatch up your phone to read the message you’d received.

Detective Gordon Can we talk?

Your shoulders slump. You'd hoped it was Bruce. You hadn't heard from him since last night, and after the news, you'd expected... well... anything. Really.

“I saw the news,” You start before James has even breathed a greeting into the phone. “I’m just glad she survived.”

There’s a pause on the other end. It’s long enough that your blood pressure spikes in response, and you assume the worst. “I… actually didn’t call to talk about Mathers. Have you been to your apartment recently?”

“What? No. What happened?”

“There’s been a break-in.”

It’s not the senseless destruction you’d been dreading. Your apartment had looked worse back in residency during finals week. You’d expected overturned couches and pictures knocked off walls, but if it hadn’t been for your very well-documented alibi, no one would’ve guessed there’d been a break-in.

It is clear, however—from the drawers thrown open about your apartment—that someone had been looking for something.

“So, again: the noise started around eleven this morning, and Ms. Fletcher says she came up to check on you since she wasn’t expecting you back without stopping by first-“

“And I was right.” Judith affirms from beside you, clutching her purse with conviction.

The cop who’d been debriefing you narrows his eyes, but otherwise doesn’t comment on the interruption. “Right. So Ms. Fletcher came to investigate. Knocked on the door, nobody answered. She used her copy of your key to get in, looked around and noticed things didn’t look right, called your name, and then saw someone rush past her out of the apartment before she could get a good look at their face. Mr. Fitz next door says he heard someone throwing open cabinet doors just before Ms. Fletcher says she arrived.”

You gnaw the inside of your cheek, eyes flitting over the mugs you’d left drying by the sink. They’re untouched, but the dish towels in the drawer beneath them have been rifled through to hell. “Yeah, the walls are thin in the bathroom. I’m always careful about that.”

“I know Ms. Fletcher said she didn’t see ‘em take anything, but it could’ve been something small. Something they could fit in their pocket or the bag they were carrying. Jewelry, cash, sensitive documents maybe.”

Dimitri didn’t give a shit about any of that, and he sure as hell wouldn’t have left a witness alive if he could help it. If anyone could even possibly identify him, let alone a little old lady, Judith wouldn’t be standing next to you today.

But that left you with more baffling culprits to consider.

You turn to Judith, "Did they look like they were part of any gang?”

Judith shakes her head. She reaches into her purse and pulls out her memo pad, showing you her neat recollection of the intruder. She’d made a marked list: young, wearing a shoulder bag, with nothing in their hands. Short, dark hair. Skinny build. Nervous. The description didn’t exactly strike you as someone looking to hurt you.

Your ears perk up at the conversation behind you, both members of your detail chatting with each other in hushed voices. They don’t do a good job of hiding what they’re saying, and as you listen in, you hear one of them complain about this being a “waste of time”.

You bristle. You catch the cop’s eye, recognizing him as one of the cops working your detail at the hospital the other day, and he turns to survey your living room instead.

James is sidling up to you in the next second, having done his own assessment of the place before you’d arrived. “Your bookshelves got a little rearranging, but nothing destroyed. You wanna take a look?”

You follow the detective through your apartment, poking through everywhere you’d left something even vaguely important, but all the valuables you hadn’t taken to Wayne Tower seemed to be perfectly intact here. You were more miffed about your underwear being strewn about now that that was clear. When you reach your bedroom, the one place void of any cops, you grab some of them off the floor and begin to fold them back into the drawer.

“Could it have been a… I don’t know, a pervert? Could’ve been looking to steal a pair of these.”

“Perverts know where to look. They wouldn’t ransack every drawer just for a pair of underwear.” James’ brow twitches. “At least we know it's not Dimitri. He'd have come here himself. But this? Whatever our guy was looking for, they knew you wouldn’t leave it in plain sight. It’s just… sloppy.”

You scratch your head, hoping some clue would reveal itself the longer you looked. A muddy footprint, a bloody knife, a syringe. Something. It was relieving not to see the last one, at least.

You glance around your room, at the drawers thrown open. You think about the front door (locked, Judith had to use her key) and how, if you didn’t want anyone to know what you were doing, you wouldn’t force your way in. You’d be quiet, pick a lock, put everything back where you found it. But if you couldn’t find what you were looking for, you'd be desperate. You'd make mistakes.

You feel James watch you from where you’re crouched on the ground, tucking away the last of your clothes into the drawer. You notice him knocking his pen repeatedly against his kneecap. “So, Mathers.”

You glance up at James. “It was him, wasn’t it?” James nods, solemn. “Where did it even happen? There’s no way he could’ve gotten into Bristol—let alone a guarded mansion—without getting caught.”

“She wasn’t in Bristol.”

“So, what? The courthouse? Her office?” You slam your drawer shut, drawing attention from the cops outside your bedroom door.

James notices. He turns and shuts the door, sealing you off from the rest of the apartment, and comes to take a seat on the edge of your unmade bed. There’s a severity to him all of a sudden. “It happened at the Iceberg Lounge.”

You’d heard things about the Iceberg Lounge. Loud, dark, dirty. As exclusive as any other shitty nightclub in Gotham. Somewhere a guy like Dimitri could slip into easily if he wasn't mid-high. “He’s attacking in broad daylight now? Then he… he doesn’t care if he’s caught. He’s losing it. He’s-“

“It wasn’t broad daylight, either. The lounge is one thing but there’s another layer to it, a club beneath the club for people like… like Gil Colson. 44 Below. It’s high-profile, hard to get into, a safe place to do dirty business. It’s where he found Mathers.”

Your mind reels. You remembered Gil Colson. You found him quite hard to forget. “He found her there? How?”

“Impersonated a waiter, maybe. Could've known someone who could get him in. All we know is that he couldn’t have been on venom at the time. He would've been tweakin', there’s no way he could’ve gotten in without someone noticing and those exclusive type joints don't really like the look of venom. He planned this out.”

“…Why was she there?”

James glances at your closed door, as if worried someone might be pressed up against it, listening. “I can't say much yet, but if we're right, Dimitri's only one of many kids like him who've been screwed over by Mathers.”

“We, meaning…” You trail off, and James nods once. “He wasn’t- I haven’t heard from him since last night.”

“Knowing him, he's probably looking into it right now.” James rises to his feet, then holds a hand out to help you up. “Until then, don’t go anywhere alone. This is heat Dimitri wasn't prepared for, which either means he’ll hide like before or he’ll be desperate to finish the job. And please, for the love of God, don’t talk to any more press.”

Your eyes flick up to James’ as soon as “press” slips from his lips.

You shoot up from the ground, rushing back into the living room where Judith’s reprimanding the cops from earlier. The second you breeze past her, she spins, reaching for your arm. “There you are. Where’s Mr. Gordon? These young men were complaining about—”

You know what they were complaining about. You almost—almost—unleash the mounting anger inside you onto the both of them, but that would be a waste. “They can stay here for all I care. I need to go.”

Both cops look about ready to protest, but Judith beats them to it. “Go where? What if whoever did this is waiting for you? What if they try to hurt you? What if-“

“She can try. I’m sure someone will get it on camera.”

Your detail doesn’t abandon you like you hoped, but they can barely keep up as you barrel through the doors of the Gazette, nearly mowing down an intern on the way inside.

There are rows of desks on either side of the newsroom, lined up against each other with computer screens illuminating the faces of tens of reporters. You scan each row, each wired and restless face, in the hopes of catching sight of Vicki Vale.

You’re about halfway through the room when someone catches you by the arm, barring you further entry.

She’s small, but her razor-sharp stare is enough to freeze you in your tracks. For now. “Can I help you?” She asks, looking you up and down, a swirl of curiosity laced within the stiffness of her tone. Her badge hangs against her chest, and you see the word "editor" printed beneath her name. Perhaps she wanted to know what story you were about to tell.

“I’m looking for Vicki Vale.”

She isn’t dumb. The way she straightens at Vicki’s name, the disdainful way you say it, means you've told her everything she needs to know about you. You feel her grip tighten around your upper arm and you know she’s going to make this difficult. “Is she expecting you?”

“It’d be stupid of her not to.”

You don’t think she knows. Her nose crinkles at that, and when she feels you begin to resist her, she scrambles to keep you in place, “Vicki’s busy—“

You don’t need to hear the rest of what she has to say, knocking into her shoulder as you shove past her. If Vicki was busy, you’d free up her schedule.

You turn a corner and there’s a long hallway of offices on either side of you. You begin reading each door’s placard for her name, your patience thinning as the bustle of keyboard clacks and voices crescendo. You almost don’t pick up on her voice at first, a shrill and nervous thing through the crack of a door to your left. You shove it open before you give it a second thought.

And there is Vicki, a once-neat bun falling apart as she levels that same French-tipped fingernail at a stranger on the other side of her desk. They both turn to you in shock.

You don’t immediately notice it, seeing only red with Vicki, but you take in the stranger’s dark buzzed hair, slim cheeks, and… messenger bag. There’s a lanyard hanging from their neck with a smiling badge just like the one Vicki flashed you the other day. Their name is… something. You’re too furious to read it.

You beeline for Vicki’s neck.

She sputters when you take hold of the collar of her suit jacket, shoving her up against the wall where her journalism degree sways on the nail, threatening to slip and shatter against the floor. You hold her there. “Are you out of your fucking mind?”

Her lips part, pleas and excuses pathetically falling flat at your feet. You’ve never seen her scared, and something buried deep inside you preens for just a second. She tries to stutter something out, but it’s nothing discernible, nothing proper.

The stranger—who you’re certain now is her intern—grabs at your arm to pull you away, but you shove them off, holding Vicki steady. You hear the editor from before too, shouting something from the door to the office. You shake Vicki again, “You’ll do anything for a story, right? Including breaking into my home?”

“It’s not—” Vicki gasps, grasping at your hand. “I didn’t!”

“She didn’t, it was me! It was my idea!” The intern tugs on you again. “I swear, she… Ms. Vale told me to look into you but she never told me to go that far, it was all my idea. Please.”

Through your anger, you inspect the kid’s face and... yeah, to your utter despair, you feel certain they’re telling the truth.

They look more beaten up about it than you expected. It saps nearly all the rage right out of you, leaving you deflated but still boiling under the skin. Your hands slacken and Vicki inches off the wall a little bit, freezing when your eyes cut to her, and she holds her own hands up in surrender. “I was… I was just telling the kid off when you came in. Honest.”

After a few moments of catching your breath, you motion to the intern’s bag. “You didn’t steal anything off me, did you?”

“No,” they stutter, “no, I wasn’t… I just wanted to see if there was something… a lead to go off of. And then the old lady saw me, so I bolted.”

Vicki huffs. “I don’t know where he got the idea, but it wasn’t from me. I have more integrity than that.”

The woman at the door watches on with rage almost comparable to yours, and you wonder if Vicki is actually telling the truth or saving face. You spin to face Vicki again and she winces. “I’d think about what kind of example I'm setting if the kid thought this was even remotely okay. Don’t come near me again unless you want me to really knock some sense into you.”

You release her, and it takes a little more composure than you thought not to send her reeling into the file cabinet next to you.

One of your detail is hovering outside of her office when you come out, barely meeting your eyes as you make your way back out into the newsroom. He follows dutifully to the door, stretching to hold it open for you as you stomp out into the street.

Bruce’s guard is waiting by his car when you approach, going to open the door for you, and as you go to duck inside, the cop sidles up to you with a wobbly smile. “Didn’t know you had it in you, doc.” He jests.

You’ve got one foot in the car, one hand on the roof, and you really can’t help it when you look him in the face and spit out: “Fuck you.”

“Jesus. What is your life these days?”

The horrified look Emily gives you affirms your decision to pregame in the car, taking a swig from her flask on the way to the venue. “This isn’t even the worst thing to happen to me this week.”

It comes out before you have a chance to stop it, and the way Emily perks up makes your heart stop. After the night you were attacked by Dimitri, you had been extra careful about what you tell her. You wished you could say it wasn’t because you didn’t trust her with your past, but every time Alex’s name sat heavy on the tip of your tongue, you could not bring yourself to confess.

From the day those records had been sealed, you had done your best not to talk about it. Your past was always glazed over with vague stories of teenage-typical rebellion, Alex’s life omitted from your own as if you hadn’t seen it snuffed out right in front of you. It was easier that way, you figured. You promised you would never go back to that life, and you couldn’t if it never existed.

But like all wounds left untreated, the infection spread and spread beneath the surface until you could ignore it no longer. Until Dimitri came along to force it back open.

You hadn’t confided in anyone like you did Bruce. Bruce, who you still hadn’t heard from all day.

“Did something else happen?”

Your thumb strokes the polished steel of her flask and, after a few seconds of deliberating, you respond. “Bruce fired me today.”

Her eyes widen. “You’re shitting me. Today? When?”

You take another swig, sinking back into the leather seat. “This morning. I signed the papers first thing.”

"That's crazy. You’re an amazing doctor. And you both got along so well! Why—“ Emily frowns, cutting herself off.

“It wasn’t anything personal. After I was attacked again by that gang and Vicki found me out, we both thought he should find a more… exclusive doctor. For his own privacy and safety.” The lies come easy, and you’re drinking down the bitter feeling until the flask starts feeling light. “He’s letting me borrow his guards until they catch the guy who attacked me the other night, at least."

Emily watches you from the corner of your eye and you get the feeling she has something she wants to ask, but she settles on an impressed whistle. “Wow. He’s… really generous. How is he still single? He's gotta be a playboy, be honest.”

Should you even tell her he wouldn't be single after tonight? You remember Bruce's promise to introduce you as his date, and your stomach flips. You glance at her. “Answering that could technically be a HIPAA violation, so...”

She slaps your shoulder, but the way she tucks her face into her hair tells you everything you need to know.

Bruce is... nowhere to be seen.

You try not to make it seem like you’re looking for him, but after networking for a half-hour, your stomach turns at every black suit that squeezes by. You’d even gotten desperate enough to message the… Bat-Phone?—You hadn’t asked if that was what he wanted you to call it—but there was no response. It didn’t help that you’d spotted Vicki Vale five minutes ago, skulking through the crowd but keeping a wide berth from you. You supposed it was the singular mercy she could grant you. Her intern was, unsurprisingly, not in tow.

When you did introduce yourself, you introduced yourself as you—the general surgeon, a representative on behalf of Gotham General—and kept whatever small talk you could about Bruce to a minimum. Batman, however…

“Honest to God, I don’t know what else it’ll take. Does he need to stop a bus of orphans from driving off a bridge? All anyone has to say these days is that if he were any good, the city would be safer by now. Rome wasn't built in a day!” Your opinionated companion is the mother of one of the bachelors tonight. She’d proudly declared her son the most eligible: a 6’1 firefighter who’d worked his way out of Crown Point and had graced the GCFD’s firefighter calendar as Mr. December four years in a row. She even had pictures to show you, painstakingly scrolling through her smartphone that looked like she’d just pulled it out of the box.

She’d taken up the seat next to you after drinks were served, and had no intention of moving any time soon.

“People are fed up,” you reply, watching guests laugh and take photos with Mr. December by the open stage, “after that Riddler guy flooded the city, it was like a wake up call. People realize they have to rely on a stranger to keep them safe. Not the GCPD. Just someone who cares.”

Felicia—that was her name, and it took a great deal to remember it after she’d thrown it at you so haphazardly—rolls her eyes. “Well I, for one, am glad someone cares. If they didn't, you wouldn't be here and neither would I.” Her hand closes around yours and you feel a disgusting ache. It's the same ache you feel when Judith fusses over you: affection that was freely given.

The auction eventually starts, and while you try not to make a habit of it, you begin checking both phones under the table every so often for something. At one point, Emily accuses you of checking up on a partner she doesn't know about. That gets you to keep your hands to yourself for the first half of the night.

It's at least to your relief that Mr. December lives up to the hype.

He’s charming and cuddly, a real mama’s boy, and the bids go flying without further ado. He goes for a nice sum to a handsome man in a velvet suit, and Felicia leaves when they do.

The next few bachelors go by with varying levels of excitement, but with each bid, you feel yourself getting antsier. You sneak a peek at both phones again, but there’s still no response.

You start to expect him not to show up all, or to have called in an understudy to fill in for him while he scaled rooftops. You’d kill him if he left you hanging after all this, after he insisted you come. After he told you he’d introduce you as his real date. After he expedited that contract termination to the literal day of—

“You okay? You keep shaking your leg.”

Emily’s voice brings you back to. Your eyes had been burning holes into Dr. Dreamy in the lab coat, but you hadn’t processed anything about him in your frustration. You still your legs, trying not to flush with embarrassment, “Yeah, sorry. It’s just been a long day.”

Her brows pinch. “Is... whoever you're waiting to hear from being a problem? Do we need to head outside for a breather?”

“And miss your shot at Bruce? No way.”

The worry in her eyes doesn’t go away, but you don’t miss the little bit of relief she lets slip through.

Dr. Dreamy comes and goes, and it's getting closer to the end of the night with no sign of Bruce. The others at your table theorize they might be saving him for last. You check your phone every minute now, the incessant nagging at the back of your mind growing more prominent as the hour stretches on. You start to wonder if he's scaling those rooftops at all, or if he's bleeding out in an alleyway with no one to care. Perhaps he had been for hours, wilting away in silence, while you sat in this silly outfit at this silly auction waiting for him to show.

Minutes drag. The fifth bachelor takes the stage. Bids are placed. The fifth bachelor goes off with a pair of friends.

The auctioneer takes to the mic, and Bruce's name sets off a ringing in your ears. There's excited applause. Emily hoots and hollers. You hold your breath waiting for him to come out, to just put your nervous thoughts to rest.

You wait. And wait. And wait.

The smile on the auctioneer's face slips some. He looks off to stage left, mouthing something to someone behind the curtain. Applause turns to murmurs, and the jazz band that'd been playing low in the background picks up the volume. You look down at your phone one last time, at the messages left unanswered. The auctioneer laughs into the mic, "Sorry about that, folks. It seems our sixth bachelor is running a little late—"

You slip out of your seat, rushing down the aisle between rows of confused guests, the flip phone nearly crushed in your iron grip as you begin to dial the only number it knows.

You make it to the double doors at the back of the convention hall, both ushers on either side of the exit moving to open them for you, and as the phone begins to ring against your ear (heart thumping in tandem), that's when you hear it.

The audience is so loud that you can't hear the ringing or the thumping anymore. The auctioneer's voice just barely peaks over the raucous jazz band. You turn, one foot across the threshold, and see him center stage.

You almost want him to look pitiful. You want his hair to be drenched from the rain, suit askew, bloody knuckles and coal still clinging to his eyelashes: the very image of late and sorry and embarrassed for making you wait for him. But he's not. He's breathless, sure, but he looks less like he missed his train and more like he'd been having a few at the open bar. His suit is crisp, his hair neatly slick with one strand delicately—stylishly, infuriatingly—dipping into his eye. He smiles in apology at the crowd and his docility is not like the kind he displayed at the mayor's party, insincere as it had been.

And it overwhelms you that you feel, above the frustration… relieved.

You realize your phone is still ringing and the ushers are waiting for you to make a decision, so you end the call and head back to your seat where Emily immediately pounces on you. "Is everything okay? You almost missed him."

You tuck the flip phone away and put on a smile.

"And that, gentlepeople, is what we call being fashionably late." The auctioneer gets a round of laughter out of the crowd for that one. Even Bruce chuckles good-naturedly. "I almost had to step in for you myself, Bruce!"

"You are quite the catch." The crowd laughs harder, flattering him, already enraptured in his spell. You seek out his hands but he keeps them tucked politely behind his back.

"Oh, I disagree. No offense to our other fabulous bachelors, but I think I can confidently say you're the one we've all been waiting for. Am I right?" Emily stands in applause, whooping with her hands cupped around her lips. The edge from waiting for Bruce to show ebbs as you watch her. "Before we start the bidding, we ask all our bachelors to tell us a little bit about themselves. So, Bruce, what's the exclusive? What makes you one of Gotham's most eligible bachelors?"

Bruce looks out into the crowd, eyes sweeping over... everyone that isn't seated at your table. A grin plays at his lips, "I was told by our generous sponsor that I was alarmingly handsome, but those were his words, not mine."

"Oh, yes. Alarmingly handsome, alarmingly rich, and you even give to charity. But besides the obvious," the auctioneer leans in, brandishing a friendly smile, "What else can our bidders know? To help them make the tough decision to bid on you, of course."

"Well... I enjoy the rain and watching the sunset above the city."

"Above the city! Are we talking spontaneous helicopter rides here? Because if that isn't romantic, I don't know what is." Bruce doesn't clarify. He continues to grin, though it feels more private this time. Your finger twitches against your thigh. "What about any secret talents you can show us?"

Bruce thinks for a moment. You watch him straighten up, and without moving any closer to the auctioneer, you watch him remove one of his hands from behind his back. In it is a key ring that looks wholly unfamiliar to you. Bruce holds it up to the light, letting them plink! plink! plink! against each other as he dangles them before the auctioneer. "Do quick fingers count?" You watch the auctioneer's eyes widen, and though he laughs, it's tinged with a nervous air.

The auctioneer snatches the key ring from Bruce and stuffs it into his pocket, and the crowd is laughing so loudly that you barely hear him ask Bruce when he'd had the chance to swipe them. Bruce does not answer. That forces a shocked laugh out of you.

"Right, well, I'd be worried about you taking my car for a spin, but I'd be more impressed if you got it to start." You notice the auctioneer placing a little more distance between himself and Bruce as he continues, "One last question before we start the bidding: Bruce, what's your idea of a perfect date night?"

He really thinks about this one. You buzz, and so does Emily. You don't know why you're so interested to know. "A bit cliche, but I enjoy a quiet night in. Cooking together, listening to a record, enjoying each other's company. I've never been the fancy type. It means the most to me if it's just... us. No one else."

You sit up in your seat, and Bruce's eyes flicker near you. Past you. As if on purpose. You feel Emily rest her hand on your knee and you see her starstruck, eyes twinkling, but before you can see if Bruce is looking back, they're moving onto the next question.

You don't hear it. You see smiling mouths, the rumble of laughter on the breeze. Stage lights blink off his eyes, off his teeth as they shine at the crowd.

"A quiet night in. Cooking together..." It was cliche. Entirely unoriginal. You'd done it before, as had the majority of the dating population. It was simple, not fussy. Not special.

And yet.

It had not been long since you bumped shoulders with Bruce in his very own kitchen, cooking together, fingers colliding in the sudsy sink as you dried dishes and poured wine. The way lovers did, or the way almost lovers would.

The auctioneer quiets down the swoons that roll through the room at... whatever Bruce had said. "Alright, I think everyone's had enough of me tonight. Let's do what we came here to do, folks! We'll start the bidding at—"

Paddles soar into the air before the first number is spoken, and you're overwhelmed by the shouting overlapping as bidders fight to place highest. Emily is jumping out of her seat to be on top every time, and as the number steadily grows, your mind is still reeling.

You grip the fork on your plate, dinner having gone cold an hour and a half ago. You dig the prongs into the flesh of an uneaten brussel sprout as the bids begin to thin out, Emily rising above them all.

But you hear the last number and the sudden silence beside you. You look up to see Emily teetering, hesitant, as an elegant woman across the way stands with her paddle triumphantly in the air. The auctioneer asks for a higher bid, and your stomach twists at the quiet. Emily is not raising her hand.

"Going once..."

You turn your head to her, seeing the dejection in her eyes.

"Going twice..."

Bruce's smile is statuesque.

You grab Emily's paddle and jump to your feet, doubling the bid.

The elegant woman stutters on a retort, floored by the jump in number, and seems to weigh the cons of one-upping you. Your bid goes once, goes twice, and she settles back down into her seat.

The auctioneer whistles loud. "Sold! To the... lovely lady in red and her friend."

Bruce finally looks at you.

"So, just to confirm, you'll be the one paying the bid for number 26?"

You sign off the check with a flourish, ignoring the scary amount of zeros tacked onto it. “Yep.”

“And you understand the date is only valid for the name attached to the bid number? In this case, Emily Madison.”

“100%.”

The woman you hand the check to looks it over a few times, and you’d be offended if you hadn’t written down the absurd number yourself. Finally satisfied, she smiles at you, “Thank you. This will feed a lot of families this holiday season.”

It would, and it would make looking at your bank account later sting a little less.

You find Emily at the front of the stage, posing with Bruce for pictures, and the smile on her face warms you up enough that you almost—almost—ignore that recurring, uneasy feeling in your stomach.

As if she could sense you, Emily turns and finds you in the crowd, eagerly waving you over between photos. You think the meek hand you put up will be enough to deter her, but she continues to wave so fervently that it catches the attention of everyone else. You slip onto stage beside her just as Bruce's eyes flit over to you.

After two more pictures, Emily locks her arm against your side, "You are the best."

You glance up at Bruce to find him already staring at you, the stage lights casting a warm honey glow against the halo of his hair. It angers you how good he looks right now. If you were right and he'd just come off a Bat shift before getting here, you would actually be furious. "I'm sure Bruce would have been beside himself if you didn't win, especially after inviting you personally."

He nods, placing a hand on Emily's bare arm, and you watch her short-circuit in real time. "It's true. Although, I will say, that last bid was a shock. For a second, I thought..." Bruce trails off, cutting his eyes to you.

"I get enough of you at work." You almost say home instead. "Sir."

Emily snorts. Bruce's eyes flash, but all he does is grunt.

You watch him turn fully to Emily, "The organizers are the ones who finalize time and place, so I'll eagerly await our next meeting. It was a pleasure seeing you again, Dr. Madison." And, in a rather rakish move, goes to kiss her knuckles in a gentle bow. When his fingers curl around hers, you see the skin of his knuckles unbroken.

You can't help yourself. The second he pulls away, you snatch his hand in yours and shake it firmly, catching the both of them off guard. "Thanks for inviting us, Mr. Wayne. I can't wait to hear all about what you cook together." You press your thumb into his skin and swipe it across the back of his hand before walking away, a flustered Emily trailing after you a few paces behind.

On the way out, you rub your thumb against a dark, pressed napkin. It comes away with a cream smear.

"Is that-"

"It's me." You drop your things by the front door, shutting and locking it soon after. "No need to kick the door down."

Judith sighs through the phone. "What did Mr. Gordon say? Is it safe for you to be back?"

"The punk that broke in was some reporter's intern and he got quite the talking to, he won't be back. I'm just grabbing some stuff before I take off." You balance your phone between your shoulder on the way to the kitchen pantry. "And my detail's right outside. They'll come in if they hear anything."

"Do you want company?"

Your heart breaks a little bit. You know you ought to say yes; you hadn't had much time alone with her since you'd left, and you already felt terrible for up and leaving her by herself, but the last thing you want is to be around anyone. "No... no. I have to run soon, anyway. I don't want you to make the trip. Plus it's late."

It was late. It was nearing midnight, if your microwave could be trusted.

"That's why I offered, child."

"We can do lunch sometime instead."

You hear Judith pause on the other end, can feel her weighing the pros and cons of arguing further with you, but eventually she relents. "Alright. Be safe. Don't be stupid."

You hang up soon after, and another glance at your phone lets you know that Emily had made it home safe. You shoot off a goodnight text and set it aside, letting yourself lean into the sink-side with the full weight of the day on your shoulders.

The memory of Vicki's intern makes you wince. Vicki makes you wince. Your mind barely brushes over the topic of Dimitri and Judge Mathers before you're leaning over the sink and flipping the faucet on. You cup cold water to your lips, flushing out the wine from dinner.

Dinner, which you'd eaten only half of.

You hadn't slept in your own bed in days, and now you were loathe to. Strangers had been through here. You felt the need to scrub the hardwood until their footprints went away, to tidy until it looked like it did when your life was normal. When you didn't instinctively look to that living room window.

Bruce probably wondered where you were. Or maybe he was out again, back to saving lives, being busy. You feel a pettiness arise in you over knowing that he was out there, doing exactly as you'd expect (and even want) him to do, and yet in the short amount of time you'd gone without hearing or seeing from him, you'd experienced the full range of human emotion.

Maybe it also didn't help that Bruce had been the one to bring you into his world, and yet he'd sent his lawyer to deliver the severance agreement.

But you still live in his house. You know his secret, a secret he has told no more than one person. You sleep a few doors down from him every night. You've touched those scars on his stomach, on his back. Your hand has slipped beneath the armor where seldom anyone else has gone. What do you have to be upset about, really? What are you compensating for?

Your breath hitches. A heavy presence settles behind you, and someone shuts off the faucet.

You get lightheaded. Had the water been so loud that you hadn't heard someone enter, or your thoughts so consuming? You're still bent over, still clutching the sink, and you know that you're screwed from this angle no matter how you spin it.

A hand travels from your shoulder, fingers dangerously close to the neck, only for the hand to pull you up and turn you into their arms. It's Bruce—or Batman, rather—as he levels his severe gaze on you. You're still lightheaded, so you don't say anything.

You think he's going to say something, but all he does is let the hand on your shoulder slip away, leaving burning skin behind. Water runs from your lip down to your chin. Before you can, Bruce is slipping off his glove to wipe it away with his thumb. "Vicki didn't come anywhere near me tonight."

At the mention of her name, your hackles raise. "Her intern broke into my place. Did you know about that, too? Since you keep tabs on people like her?"

Bruce's eyes darken. You see the muscles in his jaw tighten. A few beats pass in which you stare him down, and he circles around an answer before he settles on the only one he can manage. "When?"

"This morning. Gordon came by, thought maybe it might've been Dimitri but... didn't have the right stink. So I paid her a visit." His eyes flicker around your face as you try to remain impassive. "Guess I must've scared her real bad, huh?"

You slip past him, kicking off your shoes by the door. You had a feeling this conversation would be a long one.

"I'm sorry. She's... never gone that far before."

You scoff. "Not your fault you were busy hunting the guy that wants to kill me," you say, and you mean it truthfully, but it still comes out bitter, "and it was the kid's fault, being stupid."

You feel Bruce's eyes trained on you, trying to pick you apart from behind. You feel him assessing every step you take to the living room, your eyes finding the window cracked open, letting in a chilly breeze.

"I'm sorry for being late." His apology is quieter as he makes his way into the room, keeping a sizable distance between you.

"I can't have you at my beck and call, can I?" Your question lingers in the air. You turn to look at him and see him working his jaw, thinking. "But it was... kind of embarrassing. I agonized over what I should say to Emily, if it would hurt her feelings, ruin her night even. And then you didn't show and I thought it was good, maybe for the best. But then you were late and I got... worried. Because I hadn't heard from you all day. And I had a really shit day.

"It crossed my mind that something could have happened to you, and I was seconds away from going to look for you when you suddenly appeared like nothing happened. I was relieved, it's just..." You feel that anger coming back, and however irrational, you level your gaze on Bruce's. "A quiet night in? You couldn't look at me once on that stage, but you had the gall to say—" You laugh. Bruce's head tilts just so, still watching you. "Is that what you wanted? My attention?"

In the back of your mind, you know it's unfair to do this now. For all you know, he hadn't taken a second to breathe after the news on Mathers broke. He'd done the same the night Russo was attacked. You were interrogating him like he'd thrown you to the wolves, and not like you'd just gone without him for a little longer than usual.

But you've had a shit day—really, a shit month—and there wasn't a liquor strong enough to soothe your wounds. You were prey, desperately clinging to some sense of control. Of course you were angry! "Anger" didn't feel like the right word for it, though, now that you really thought about it.

No, it was close. Eerily similar. Burning just as hot.

You stalk toward him. "Did you hope it was my number? Did you want it to be me?"

And this—you think—this enigma you've unraveled, has been at the center of everything. For better or for worse, you'd sealed your fate that night on your living room floor.

You think that if anyone were to fix this, it should be him.

Bruce is trying to figure out what to do. You can see the wheels turning. He's still, something in his eyes reaching for you. The thought of what it might be... oh. You're not angry.

You grab the back of his neck and bring his lips to yours, swallowing the tiny breath he releases into your mouth.

You feel him hesitate, but it's only for a moment. A moment long enough to make your stomach flip with budding regret—guilt at your own recklessness—but it's crushed beneath Bruce's heel when he gathers you into him by the waist, bordering on desperate for contact. The hand that had wiped the water from your chin cups your cheek now, and it's for the better because when he starts kissing back, it feels like he's trying to eat you alive.

You maneuver him away from the kitchen, following after him as you bump the wall, narrowly avoiding the heavy weight of Bruce's boots until you feel the plush of your rug beneath your feet. A thought forms in your head.

You press down on Bruce's shoulders until he gets the hint. His knees hit the floor, his lips separating from yours with a wet pop! and the ragged sound of his rough breathing. Bent at the waist, you pull back enough to see him looking up at you, hands still grasping for your hips. You don't like not being able to see all of his face right now, and so you slip your fingers underneath the neck of the cowl and tug it off, revealing his tousled hair that had looked so perfect earlier. You were the only one to see him like this. Your chest swells with pride.

You pry his hands off you and place them on his own waist instead, keeping his gaze the entire time. "Off."

Your command is but a whisper, and Bruce takes a second before he's peeling off his chest plate and utility belt and gloves, and eventually the under suit is hanging open at his hips like it had at your kitchen table not so long ago. He sits so pretty on his knees, chest flushed, waiting for you.

There are new scars on his skin. There would always be new scars. As your eyes trace each one, you almost laugh. His bullet wound stares back at you.

You shove him onto his back.

He falls to the ground with a thud and as you're straddling him, you hear a knock at the door. Bruce's hands pause in finding your hips as a voice carries through. "Hey, uh... you alright in there?"

It's the cop who couldn't be assed to look after you. "Yes." You hiss.

"You sure? Look, I know earlier—"

"Please fuck off." Bruce makes a noise from beneath you. When you look down at him, his eyes are lit up like they were at the auction. His hands finally settle on you, locking you against him, and a thrill rises within you. You wait for the silence outside to follow, and then you speak, hushed. "You never answered my question."

Bruce blinks away the haze settling over him, "What?"

"You wanted it to be me. You like when I... look at you. When I see what no one else sees. You like my attention or you wouldn't keep coming back." Your finger traces his bullet wound and you see his lips purse before any sounds could sneak past them. Your other hand travels up his chest, reaching until you can feel the edge of his stab wound.

Bruce's eyes narrow. You almost think you've struck the wrong nerve. "And you like looking at me."

You sink your weight against his lap and his eyelashes flutter.

You feel one of his hands sink into your hair when you bend to kiss the fading scars along his chest, feel his hips buck off the floor a little when your tongue presses into a purpled bruise. "We have to be quiet," you chasten, "I hear you pay your security well."

Bruce's breath warms the top of your head and he angles you away from his skin, eyes singling in on your puckered mouth. His other hand plays at your hip, fingers rubbing back and forth through the material until his fingers slip underneath and find the hem of your underwear. You shiver. His finger hooks underneath the hem and pulls teasingly, drawing a muted whimper out of you. "I'm sure you're creative enough to find a way."

Your eyes flicker to his. You rut your hips against his own for good measure, watching his jaw tick in an attempt to stay silent. "For me or for you?" Then, you begin to slip down his thighs, your kisses passing his navel and getting closer and closer to where his under suit still clings to skin. You feel something bump your chin.

The hand in your hair tightens just so. You feel lightheaded again.

You move back just as he sits up. You see the paint around the crease of his eyes beginning to run a little bit, the fingers stuck in your underwear now tugging with an urgency.

a/n: if I had a nickel for every time I wrote reader getting upset with bruce at a public function only to makeout with him when they got home i would have two nickels, which isn't a lot but it's weird that it's happened twice right. anyway bruce used ur underwear as a gag happy holidays

[serene-faerie]

What I hate the most about Fëanorian apologia is how the onus is always put on the victims who suffered from the Fëanorians. The Fëanorians are never held accountable for their crimes.

It’s always,

“Olwë and the Teleri should’ve just heard out Fëanor and handed over their ships to the Noldor.”

And not,

“Fëanor should’ve respected Olwë’s refusal and found another way to get to Beleriand, instead of slaughtering the Teleri and stealing their ships.”

It’s always,

“Thingol overreacted to the First Kinslaying, and he should’ve just trusted the Fëanorians.”

And not,

“The Fëanorians should’ve shown more respect to Thingol and actually apologized for slaughtering Thingol’s kindred in Alqualondë.”

It’s always,

“Thingol should’ve put aside his grievances and joined the Union of Maedhros.”

And not,

“Maedhros should’ve apologized to Thingol for Celegorm and Curufin trying to abduct Lúthien if he was serious about having an alliance with Doriath.”

It’s always,

“Dior could’ve avoided the Second Kinslaying by handing over the Silmaril.”

And not,

“Regardless of the Silmaril, the Fëanorians were wrong to attack a severely-weakened kingdom and murder innocent people— including leaving six-year-olds in the woods to die.”

Its always,

“Elwing could’ve avoided the Third Kinslaying by giving up the Silmaril.”

And not,

“The Fëanorians should’ve waited for Eärendil to return so that both parties could resolve this civilly, instead of jumping straight to slaughtering a settlement of refugees.”

It’s always,

“The Fëanorians were right to commit mass-murder because property rights are more important than people’s lives.”

Never,

“The Fëanorians were so obsessed with getting the Silmarils back that they prioritized those jewels over innocent people, and their victims have every right to hate and mistrust them.”

Why is there so much victim-blaming??? Why are they being blamed for the choices of Fëanor and his sons???

Regardless of who the Silmaril belongs to, the Sons of Fëanor always had a choice to do what’s right. They were never forced to commit mass-murder, they deliberately made the choice to commit mass-murder. If they’d treated the Sindar with a bit more grace and respect, perhaps they could’ve come to some kind of solution together. If they’d taken responsibility for their crimes and made proper amends, perhaps the Sindar would’ve been a bit more willing to ally with them.

They don’t do any of that. They expect the Sindar to just blindly respect them when they haven’t done anything to earn it. And then they wonder why most of the Sindar hate their guts.

All of the consequences the Fëanorians face are ultimately on them. Not their victims.

So please, let’s just tone down the victim-blaming already.

[spnbabe67]

Hold Me Tight and Don't Let Go

Kinktober Day 3: Make Up Sex (D.W)

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Fem Original Character

Warnings: Smut, Canon level violence, Wounds, Mentions of blood, Descriptions of a panic attack.

Summary: In the aftermath of a hunt nearly gone wrong Dean tries to make amends with Tori

Word Count: 1542

Authors Note: This is my first entry for @jacklesversebingo 2024!

Prompt: "I know you're mad at me right now, but will a kiss change your mind?"

Taglist:

@zepskies

Dean had fucked up, he knew that. Tori didn’t speak to him the entire way back, not even making eye contact even though his head rested in her lap, Sam driving the Impala. Sam, bless his little brother, had tried to ease the tension by babbling on about how it could have been a lot worse, that Dean was lucky Sam had sunk the Demon Blade into the demon theyd been hunting before it had a chance to slash it’s own knife across Deans throat. It was a reckless move, Dean had distracted the demon who'd had Tori pinned to the wall by shooting it, which had an effect akin to a pebble thrown at an elephant; which is to say, it only made it mad.

But it was those could haves and what if's that had Tori deathly silent. Because what if Sam hadn't been in a position to gank the demon? What if she had to be supernaturally pinned to a wall while she watched her lovers throat be slit? We had a plan. We all knew the plan. Why couldn't he have just fucking stuck to it?

To her credit, Tori did help Dean out of the car, hand placement careful of his probably broken ribs, bruises and small scrapes he earned himself going toe to toe with the demon. She couldn't bring herself to look higher than his chest, because then she'd have to see the thin red line across his neck, still occasionally leaking blood if Dean swallowed too hard. Because if she did, Tori knew the steadily crumbling dam keeping all emotion at bay would come crashing down.

Sam looked like he was gonna say something as Tori and Dean ended up at their room, but must have thought better of it, instead continuing down the hall to his own room. Tori gingerly lowered Dean onto bed, warily eyeing him just in case he started to topple forward. Once she was sure he wasn't about to go ass over tit, Tori turned from the bed, washing her hands and retrieving the med kit from the medicine cabinet above the sink.

“Tori-”

“Stop talking.” Tori cut Dean off, dark brown eyes cutting to his. “Just,” she sighed. “Don't talk.”

She knew she could have been gentler about it, but Tori didn't have the patience to deal with Dean’s attempt at placating her frustration. Tori pulled her legs under her as she sat on the bed, picking out a couple squares of gauze and a cleaning agent, dousing the first one thoroughly. Unlike her tone of voice, Tori’s hands were gentle, carefully cleaning the shallow wound. She had to scrub a little to get rid of the trails of red that had dried as they dripped down the tan column of his throat but Dean had sat still for all of it, the only sign of discomfort was the occasional wince, the crinkling of skin around his mouth and his eyes.

Tori sighed as she placed the bandage, if you could call a strip of gauze and medical tape a bandage, across Dean's throat, her thumbs sweeping back and forth over the tape, the adhesive warming under her lovers skin. Both of them sat in the quiet, Tori unable to bring herself to look at Dean. Tori didn't flinch as she felt Dean's hand cup the side of her face, tilting her head until she had to meet his emerald gaze.

“Sweetheart-” Dean started again, his voice raspy, eyes searching her face.

“No.” Tori pulled away from Dean's touch, standing from the bed, running a hand over her head, the other planted on her hip. “You don’t get to give me excuses. You knew the fucking plan, you knew I was fine!”

Tori couldn't stop the tears from flowing this time, and she wasn't sure if they originated out of anger or shock caused by fear. Her chest ached, the empty pit in her stomach threatening to swallow her whole. All of a sudden she couldn't seem to catch her breath.

“We had a plan.” She repeated it to herself over and over. “I was in front of the trap. All he had to do was walk another two steps! But you.” Tori jabbed a finger towards Dean, hiccuping as she sucked in breaths. “I was fine! But you almost weren't.”

Her tears came in wracking sobs now, blurring her vision and coating her face but Tori couldn’t bring herself to care. The solid expanse of the door met her back and Tori felt her knees give, sliding all the way to the floor. Tori sobbed harder as she felt Dean's warmth envelope her, strong arms pulling her into him, his familar scent adding another layer of comfort as he stroked her head.

“Breathe, Sweetheart.” Dean murmured into her hair and he pressed kisses there, rocking her back and forth, having pulled her into his lap sideways. “I’m here. I’m okay.”

He ignored the way his ribs complained, hugging Tori tighter, holding her head to his chest. From there Tori could hear the strong and steady heartbeat under her ear. The even thumping of his heart echoed in her head, overriding the virus of terror flooding her system. Gradually her ragged and uneven breaths slowed, ever so often hitching as her body reregulated itself.

“I know you're mad at me, but will a kiss change your mind?” Dean tipped her head back up.

Tori didn't deign to reply, instead just gripping his face and kissing him. It was equal parts soft and desperate, assuring herself that he was here, that the way his stubble scraped against her palms, the strands of his hair sliding between her fingers wasn't just a figment of her imagination. Dean ran his hand up and down her back and her sides, still in that comforting touch, the other worming its way into the plaits of her hair.

Head still hazy, Tori couldn't follow the avenues of how both of them managed to get off the floor, Dean laying her on the bed as if he wasn't the injured one. Somewhere along the way she'd lost her t-shirt, her flannel long gone during the hunt, Dean's shirt half off as Tori clawed at him to feel the unbroken skin beneath. Eventually that was removed too, tossed to the dark corners of their room.

Tori pulled Dean down atop her, needing to feel the weight of him. It wasn't enough. She needed to feel him inside her, needed to get as close to him as possible. Dean must have felt the same, aiding her in discarding his jeans and boxers. Dean’s mouth never left hers, his arms cradled her close to him as he gently pushed himself into her. He breathed in Tori's gasp at the fullness of him inside her, her nails digging into his back to steady herself. His forehead, beaded with sweat rested against hers as she hiked her legs higher up on his hips, sending him deeper into her.

Dean gingerly rocked his hips, sliding in and out of her as he swept his tongue across Tori’s bottom lip. Tori opened her mouth to him, her thighs wrapped around his waist as she moaned breathily each time his length bottomed out, that one veins along the top of his cock brushing against that sweet spot deep inside her. This slow, loving pace was a nice change to what had become their normal. By no means did they go fast and rough all the time, but this, this intimate and slow lovemaking was nice. Better than nice.

“I love you.” Tori mumbled it into his mouth, repeating it between long and sloppy kisses.

Dean propped himself up on one arm, only just enough to take in his lovers face, still red and puffy, tears still drying on her cheeks. His thumb trailed over her lip, swollen from their kisses. “I'm not going anywhere, my love. I'm right here. I'm sorry.”

Dean could see tears start to well back up in Tori's eyes before she pulled his mouth back to her, kissing him hard, ending the string of apologies falling from his lips. Tori could feel her orgasm slowly building, urged on by the hand Dean had snuck between their bodies to rub his thumb in small circles on her clit. Dean felt Tori clamp down on him, thighs gripping his waist as she came, swallowing her moans into his mouth, his own release not far behind.

Dean didn't bother pulling out of Tori, simply turning them both on their sides, Tori half over his torso. She shivered as his calloused fingers trailed up and down her sides, tracing the curve of her spine.

“I'm sorry.” Dean mumbled against her hairline, hugging her gently.

“What’s done is done.” Tori pressed a kiss to his chest, to that tattoo over his heart. “Just don't scare me like that again.”

“I’ll try.”

Tori huffed a puff of air out her nose, settling her head back over his heart, his heartbeat the last thing she heard before drifting off to sleep

[auncyen]

"Disappear...disappear, disappear, disappear...don't come back, don't come back, don't come back..."

M'dame Odile was right. You should have said something sooner.

Siffrin had been acting strangely since yesterday afternoon. When the bathroom break turned much too long, Mira encouraged Bonnie to share with you and Odile what they'd already told her: that Siffrin had run up to them while they were looking at the field and nearly grabbed them, only backing off at the last second, trying to laugh off the uncharacteristic behavior while looking sick to his stomach. Mira confirmed that she'd found Siffrin waking from his nap with a disturbed look on his face, and that beelining to the field had been the first thing he'd done. At the time, the explanation of a nightmare was enough for both Mira and Bonnie to not push further, and Siffrin had seemed back to theirself in the evening.

But Siffrin wasn't acting right again. They'd been tense all through the House, attacking Sadnesses at the slightest sign they might get close instead of skirting around and evading as they normally did, and at the same time listless, barely present when you all stopped and talked about something. They chimed in, yeah, but their tone had been flat nearly every time, even when they were beaming. None of those smiles had been real. All of them dropped the second they thought no one would notice.

"Something's wrong," Odile said before looking at you. "Isabeau. You should talk to them."

"Me??" You'd been trying to figure out what would snap Siffrin out of the weird mood all day and couldn't come up with anything. For all the work you'd put into expanding your emotional intelligence, it apparently was still lacking when you really needed it.

And yet Mirabelle nodded too, apparently convinced alongside M'dame that you were the one for the job. "They might listen if it's you!"

You'd really like to think that but also you didn't think that at all. "I don't even know what I'd say..."

"It doesn't matter," Odile said emphatically before amending herself. "Well, what's said does matter, but how it's said is important too. There's a reason I'm not volunteering myself for this, Isabeau. With how on edge he's been, he probably needs someone...gentle, at the moment. But being gentle doesn't mean passively standing by." Her eyes narrowed at you.

You could figure out what she meant easily enough. She was afraid she'd be too forceful for Siffrin right now, and you could agree you'd be concerned if she tried. She wasn't afraid to push you on this, though.

Before she could say anything more, though, you heard one of the bathroom doors swing as Siffrin finally emerged. "There you are, Frin!" Bonnie shouted. "Did you fall in?"

Sif laughed in the empty way that didn't meet their eyes, offering no explanation for how long they'd taken. "Let's get moving," they said, and didn't wait for agreement before proceeding down the hallway. Mira looked at them worriedly, then at you. Odile's eyes were burning holes in the back of your shirt as you all followed Sif to a rather...unique-looking statue of the Change God. It...offered you a Keyknife? Or a Knifekey? And teleported you back to the start of the third floor, right in front of the door you needed to get through???

It was more than you'd ever heard of the Change God doing, and your surprise (and slight disorientation--you weren't sure what the mechanics of teleportation were, but they made your head feel floaty) almost distracted you from Siffrin's hands trembling slightly as he sharpened the blade: "please be sharp, please be sharp, please be sharp".

But you did notice. You knew you needed to talk to him. And you did try when you all took one last snack break before approaching the King. You hadn't let Sif dissuade you with more empty smiles and a chirped "I'm fine, Isa!", the tone just slightly wrong in the way everything had been wrong today.

But you'd let the matter drop for the moment when Sif looked away, frustrated, and his shoulders dropped. When he looked up at you again, it was with a slightly sad smile. "You got me, Isa. There is something wrong. Can we talk about it after the King?"

You'd been so relieved he was admitting something was wrong. That they trusted you to support them. As long as they knew that they could rely on you and the others, sure, you could talk about it after the King!

...They'd

frozen

at the King.

Not in time, but in fear, their breath starting to hitch even as you all walked toward the King in a way that would have made you grab them and run if you'd been facing any less of an opponent. You were pretty sure there was no running from the King. They'd stayed behind you at the beginning of the fight as you jumped forward to try hitting the King. Normally Sif would be right by your side, the two of you both close range combatants when not using Craft. Something was wrong. You had to keep the King's attention off of them.

But the King was overwhelmingly strong, shrugging off your blows, and his eyes narrowed at Siffrin after Mirabelle's shield saved you all from an attack that you could feel would've otherwise been fatal in your very heart, still shuddering from the dread it'd inflicted. Siffrin had choked out a cry for her to make the shield at just the right time, like he'd somehow known the fearsome attack was coming. ...The King waiting beforehand was suspicious. You'd made a mental note to look out for that, and thanked Change Siffrin had realized beforehand. But right at that moment, the King swung out to hit Siffrin--or grab him?--and you sidestepped to push Sif out of the way--

The King's huge gauntlet hit you, and--

You must have blacked out for a few seconds. You came back to a throbbing head, painful breathing, and a teary-eyed Bonnie who was patting your arm anxiously as they swam in your vision. You tried to force a reassuring smile and push yourself up and immediately cried out. Your arm was broken. You think--the King must have slammed you into the wall, and Change, what a beastly strength he had. You felt like a cracked egg shell.

"'Za, can you--I have--" Bonnie was crying too hard to get the words out, but the tonic in their other hand was explanation enough. They'd been trying to wake you so you could drink. You nodded, tilting your head to drink the tonic they lifted to your lips. The sour taste cleared your head a little, and you tried to look past Bonnie to find Siffrin...

Sif...

Sif...was...

Sif's earlier hesitation was gone now. They were--they were tearing into the King with savage abandon. The mysterious strength they'd found against the Sadnesses today had returned, double what it was before, maybe triple, Craft attacks being used with no cooldown, Scissors and Paper and Rock and sheer fury. Or maybe it was still terror.

Odile had pulled Mirabelle clear of Sif's range, and they were both assisting with their support Crafts slowing the King, shielding Siffrin. Both their faces were tense, Mira's betraying more of her fear at how things had turned out. Now that you felt a little less like a rolled-out crepe, you pushed yourself up with the one good arm, trying not to breathe too deep, and staggered back toward the fight. Mira startled at your limping approach, but both women looked at you only briefly, their attention focused on Siffrin.

"I'll heal you soon, Isabeau!" Mirabelle said. "I think...I think the fight might actually be over soon. I can't believe Siffrin is--were they this strong all along?"

"No," Odile said. "They're running on adrenaline. ...Maybe something else, as well. This isn't natural."

She could have been right. There was a strangely sweet smell in the air as Sif struck the King again, unless you hit your head hard enough to hallucinate smell.

Siffrin only seemed to calm down marginally once they'd reduced the King to his own panic. Then, he glanced to the side, to the three of you, and you could see the immediate relief on his face as he saw you standing.

The pain as his eye swept over, noting your injuries. It distracted him for a long enough second to scare you over his proximity to the King--and then, in the next second, Mira and Odile stepped in, taking Siffrin's hesitation as invitation for them to finally go back on the offensive. Odile started a Craft and a chant for the King to "disappear!" Bonbon was still crying, but managed to throw their wok and the Craft energy they know how to control into the spell. You made a rock sign limply with your good hand, mustering the energy you could spare. Siffrin somehow still had the energy to add to the Craft, the air spiking with sugar like you were at the boulangerie in early morning. Mirabelle finished the Craft, and the King, off.

"Disappear!"

The King disappeared. Light returned to the House.

Siffrin sank to their knees like a puppet discarded. "Disappear...disappear, disappear, disappear...don't come back, don't come back, don't come back..." He started shaking. "...No more...I can't...I can't do this anymore... I keep failing, I keep..."

"You haven't failed, Siffrin," Odile said, her tone both worried and confused. You wanted to say something as well, but every breath still hurt, even as Mirabelle used her healing Craft with a focus on your chest. There was only so much Craft could do in the short term; you needed serious bed rest.

But you were alive, you'd heal. So you weren't sure why Sif looked so devastated, shaking his head. "I got Isa hurt."

You understood even less at what he next said.

"Last time it was Bonnie, and it was--" A dry sob. He needed to calm down and breathe, he wasn't making sense. When had he ever gotten Bonnie hurt?

"Who next? You, Mira? I can't do this again, I can't, I can't..." He gripped his hair, nearly yanking at it. "Please, please, please..."

The air seemed to stand still around Siffrin.

You realized what was happening, even though the King was gone, just as Sif went lightless.

At the very moment they froze, their expression seemed relieved.

[imaginejamesandsirius]

Could you do one where Sirius is a Gryffindor outcast after getting sorted and gets attacked/bullied by Gryffindors and Slytherins alike and James defends him :D

Sirius is a child, but he's not an idiot. He knows that, in addition to his parents being unhappy about his Sorting, Slytherins are unhappy about his Sorting. Gryffindors too. He's pissed off his parents-- and all the extended family-- a fair few times by age eleven, but it's something else entirely to have people his age upset. The adults in his family would get mad, but he knew exactly how to deal with that anger; the other students are cruel, and he's lost as for how to handle it.

Like he said, he's not an idiot. He knows that there's nothing he can do to make the other students like him. With his family, if he went to another room and waited half an hour, they'd be fine. With his peers, waiting doesn't seem to do anything except-- maybe-- make them think he's weak. He doesn't understand how trying to give someone space to stop being angry counts as weak, but when he gives them space, the next time they see him, it's twice as bad like they're having a contest with themselves.

The bright spot in all of this is James. They became friends on the Hogwarts Express, and when he Sorted into Gryffindor, it cemented their relationship as best friends. James is sticking with him and hasn't faltered, not for an instant.

When Sirius finds a massive nest of snakes in his bed, James helps him clean it up without a second thought-- though he, like Sirius, isn't thrilled about picking up so many snakes. They're both visibly nervous about it and pretending otherwise, and neither one pokes fun; if they both pretend that it doesn't bother them, maybe that makes it true. When ink explodes in his bag, coating everything in it and ruining his homework, James is right there beside him, telling the professors that he completed it and shouldn't be punished. When one shoe of every pair in his wardrobe goes missing, James lends him a pair of his own.

It goes on and on, these things charitably called 'pranks' by Professor McGonagall. Sirius thinks it's more mean-spirited than that, and while they don't talk about it, he knows James thinks the same. It's not happening to everyone. It's not happening to all the first years or all the Gryffindors, and it's not happening to all so-called blood traitors; it's just him. It's just him, and everyone's in on it except his dormmates, so no one even tries to hide it when they're the guilty party. 

One day-- after cleaning up a bucket of bugs someone dumped on Sirius's head-- James turns to him with a grin, teeth glinting, and says, "I have an idea."

Two hours later, O'Connell and Smith scream and run out of their dormitory, sending Sirius and James into peals of laughter. They don't get detention for it, even when the two fourth years go to Professor McGonagall with their accusations; "It's a harmless prank," she says dismissively, and Sirius likes her more knowing that it's how she responds to everyone, not just him.

"Mission one was a success," James says, chest puffed out in pride of a job well done.

"Mission one?" Sirius asks. "Is this going to be a habit?"

"Of course. We can't let them get away with it, the arseholes."

Peter and some bloke named Remus are the only dormmates in the room with them, and it's obvious they're listening, though they are pretending not to.

"The first one went off without a hitch. We make a good team," James says, elbowing him companionably. "And there's eighty-one more people we need to get. Well- maybe more like sixty?" he amends. He pulls a sheet of parchment out from his bedside table and squints at it. "Some people are on here more than once."

"You kept track?" 

"Of course." 

He's endlessly charmed by that, by how James cares so much about him that he's been keeping track of this from the beginning and never once faltered in believing they'd get revenge one day. Sirius peers over his shoulder at the list; it's not just names. "You wrote down the date?"

"And the offense."

Ink. Shoes. Snakes in bed. Bed is underlined three times. Paint-- red. Maggots. Snake-- one, big. Paint-- black. Dead mice. Black bird. Paint-- green. On and on the list goes, some with details, like the colour of the paint or the location it happened. Sirius skims the whole list and can't think of a single one that's missing. "Wow."

"What do you think-- chronological, or by severity?"

"Random," Sirius decides. "I don't want anyone to know if they're next."

They share a grin, an expression that promises not just revenge, but a puzzle that needs solving-- what exactly they should do for each of these, what will make the punishment equal the crime. They don't have time to plan before supper, which is a shame.

Sirius has it in his head the revenge is how they're going to operate, so he's surprised when-- after a passing upperclassman 'accidentally' spills burning hot soup down his back-- James flings a handful of green beans at their face without a moment's hesitation. Then, apparently deciding that wasn't enough, James throws mashed potatoes, which make a comical splat as it covers their eyes. It's enough to have Sirius laughing, forgetting for a few moments the pain prickling along his back.

James gets detention for that-- so does the second year instigator-- but he's unrepentant and winks at Sirius the moment Professor Grubbly-Plank looks away. Warmth blooms in Sirius's chest, bright and resilient and addictive. He wants it to be like this for the rest of his life.

[thewistlingbadger]

I've seen people make the argument that if you like/support Ellie Williams or Abby Anderson from The Last of Us Part Two, then you should be fine with Caitlyn Kiramman's actions in Arcane season two and I'm gonna break down why I disagree with this.

It's true that both TLOU 2 and S2 arcane are revenge stories and have similar story beats. Caitlyn Kiramman is a cop who comes from a privileged family and she ends up losing her mom, Cassandra Kiramman, in a terrorist attack against her city. The terrorist responsible for the attack is Jinx, the sister of Caitlyn's romantic interest. In the first season it's clear she has a good heart that ends up being corrupted by revenge in the second season. Caitlyn becomes so blinded by her hatred for Jinx she ends up pushing away those closest to her and she comes heinous, discriminatory crimes against the lower class.

Ellie Williams starts off TLOU series as a little girl who's sarcastic and lonely and also immune to a deadly zombie virus. She forms a father/daughter like relationship with a man named Joel Miller, the man tasked with ensuring Ellie makes it to a hospital on the other side of the country in order for a cure to be made for the virus. Ellie ends up living with Joel in a safe haven after they make it to the hospital, because according to Joel while Ellie was unconscious in the hospital, it was revealed that Ellie wasn't the only person who was immune and they didn't need her to make a cure. As Ellie gets older, she uncovers the truth: Making a cure from Ellie would have killed her and so Joel not only stopped the cure from being made, but he also killed everyone in the hospital. This causes a heavy strain on their relationship and Joel ends up being murdered right in front of Ellie before she ever got the opportunity to make amends with Joel. This makes Ellie go on a quest to kill Joel's murderer and in the process she ends up killing countless people and she loses everything to her lust for vengeance.

Ellie and Caitlyn have a few similarities but the similarity that's most important for the sake of this post is the fact that they lose a parent and end up losing their morals on their path to vengeance. For me personally, there're two reasons why I hold Caitlyn and Ellie on different levels.

1. Relationship

Both of the last of us games focus on the relationship between Joel and Ellie. In the first game alone you spend hours upon hours with the two characters. You're there for their ups and downs and you watch them go from strangers to people who genuinely care for each other. You can only really care about a relationship if you spend time with them, and in arcane, we spend no time with Caitlyn and Cassandra. We understand that their relationship is a bit strained because they have different perspectives on life, but this is the only thing we can really say about their relationship. The closest we get to them having some kind of positive moment is when Cassandra makes sure Caitlyn and Vi get an audience with the council and when Cassandra gives Caitlyn a nod to go after Vi after she leaves. This is all we have for this relationship. So realistically, outside of the fact that Cassandra is Caitlyn's mom, why should I care that Cassandra is dead? Like I said, we don't see anything substantial from their relationship. Not in flashbacks or during Cassandra's life or after her death. We never even see Caitlyn really grieve the loss of her mother. She never sheds a single tear for her. She talks about how her mom's death has left a hole in her and she talks about how it feels impossible to live up to her mom's legacy, but this doesn't really tell us anything about Caitlyn actually FEELS about her mom or her death. We never even see Caitlyn feel any kind of way to the fact that her relationship with her mom ended while they weren't on good terms. When Joel goes in TLOU 2, we see exactly how it impacts Ellie. We see her mourn his death and we see her frustration in losing him and how she struggles with remembering him exactly. We see how she's tortured by the fact they left things on bad terms and also by the fact that Joel maintained a lie for years. We understand exactly why she's doing what she's doing, even as she pushes to newer extremes. We don't have this for Caitlyn. For Caitlyn, it seems at the start that she's doing it for her mom and that makes sense, but then we see Caitlyn take on a much bigger role in society and it just seems odd and unnatural. It doesn't feel like it's about her mom anymore.

2. Damage

Ellie gets consumed by vengeance. She loses her friends, her girlfriend, her personality, everything. And she keeps going too, she keeps hurting her enemies and her allies. Ellie has killed so many people on all sides it's genuinely gross. But not as gross as what Caitlyn does. Caitlyn doesn't kill anyone in her mother's name that we know of, but Caitlyn uses her grief to oppress the lower class of the nation of zaun. She gasses the city which leaves its citizens sick and afraid. She sets up borders and checkpoints in the city and treats innocents like they're criminals. Caitlyn's heartbreak over her mom's death is used to discriminate against others and Ellie's grief is NOT used to do that at all. For Ellie, anyone who stands in her way for vengeance is against her but Caitlyn villainizes the entirety of the undercity.

I've also seen people compare Caitlyn to Abby Anderson, who in TLOU kills Joel in front of Ellie because years ago, Joel killed Abby's father. Although we don't see much of the relationship between Abby's dad and Abby, we can understand the severity of his loss because we see how it impacts Abby and we know his death was undeserved. Abby's dad was a good man and a doctor. He helped people and cared for those in his community. The only reason he was killed was because Joel shot him in order to save Ellie. Abby doesn't witness her dad's death firsthand like how Ellie does, but she does walk in on her dad's dead body, and we see her anguish at the sight. Cassandra Kiramman was not innocent. She was a member of Piltover's council, the political body responsible for the oppression of the lower class. We know she had prejudice against those from the undercity. This is another reason why I lack sympathy for Cassandra and her relationship with Caitlyn but have it for Abby and her dad. TLOU 2 shows us how the death of her father still haunts her years after its occurrence, and it also shows us how even after she got her revenge, she still felt the emptiness his death left her with. Again, Arcane really doesn't explore how Cassandra's death truly impacts Caitlyn.

[quietlyimplode]

ignite your bones

After the fall of General Dreykov, and the remnants of the Red Room still at large, Natasha first year at SHIELD is anything but healing. Labeled a traitor and a turncoat, Natasha tries to find her footing in a strange new world.

Whumptober 2024: Day 14 - Left for dead

Warnings: attack, blood, violence, being jumped/being beaten

Word Count: 1.2k (gif not mine)

Summary: Maria and Clint sort out the mess that is Shield and Clint goes to make amends for not visiting Natasha.

Masterlist.

Whumptober Masterlist.

<3 thank you for the comments - I hope you know who you are. You all get a very big hug and/or a crisp high five. <3

.

Clint knocks twice.

Maria opens the door, rolling her eyes when she sees his offering.

“Really? Kung pow chicken?”

Clint waves it in front of her face.

“Fine, you can come in,” she concedes.

“How’d you go?”

Maria shrugs, closing the door behind them.

“I’ve been working with Fury, more so than before, and I like the way he operates. He’s methodical. We think we’re getting closer to a full list. He’s been working with the WSC, but I fear Thompson knows something is up.”

Clint nods.

“Coulson said the same thing, there’s been less debriefs and we haven’t been sent on any more missions. He said it’s because of Natasha’s intel, but I don’t think so.”

Maria opens the box and the smell infuses the room.

“God I’m hungry,” she sighs, “have you seen Natasha yet?”

Clint shakes his head, guiltily.

“I don’t have an answer. I don’t know what I want from her. I know what I want for her, but I don’t know what I want for me. How I fit.”

Quieter, he whispers, “I don’t know if I’m up to helping her.”

Maria throws a pen at him.

“You’re an idiot.”

Clint rubs the spot where the pen hit.

“Ow.”

“You’re an idiot,” she repeats.

“Of course you’re not up to helping her.”

The bluntness makes him stare at her.

“What I mean to say is, that no one is up to that task. Why do you think in AA it’s one day at a time? None of the problems that lead to the addiction can be solved overnight, none of the problems that have come from her trauma can be solved in a day, a week or a year. It’s never ending. So if you help? Even a little? It all adds up. Just be consistent. This will be long, but it's not forever.”

Clint eats thoughtfully.

Her words reverberate in his head, and hold a truth he hadn’t considered.

“Yeah.”

Standing Maria offers him a drink.

He accepts and sips it, looking at the paperwork she’s compiled.

“Shrike’s dirty?” he asks, surprised.

Maria nods.

“Yeah, that one surprised me too. I liked him.”

“How do you know?”

“Money,” she sighs.

“I hate this,” Clint replies, flipping through the pages.

“Better to have them out, rather than relying on them and getting us killed.”

“I know.”

There’s a mutual silence that envelops the room as both finish eating and start sorting evidence.

.

Fury furrows his brow.

The hologram on his left flickers, then his right, and finally the one in front of him.

“This is highly unorthodox,” the one in front of him frowns.

There’s a sense of unease, and Fury hopes that none of the people in front of him are in cahoots with the Russians.

It was unlikely, but not impossible.

He presents his evidence.

The pictures of Dreykov standing and shaking hands with Thompson, and the one where they’re sitting at a table seemingly in a meeting, feel particularly damning.

Maria had done a good job making the information simple and concise, explaining the impact on the Council and all it stood for.

They’d need their resources if they were to have any chance at deposing Thompson.

Fury finishes on the plan for quiet infiltration. That each member would just… disappear and be replaced, to serve as a warning; he hoped.

The woman seated for the Oceania region nods along. She also fills in some gaps.

“We’ve long since suspected there was a mole in SHIELD,” she announces. “I am willing to back your cause.”

“Seconded,” comes another voice.

“Your motion is passed. We will provide the munitions and men you have asked for. The Raft will be set up for interrogation and imprisonment.”

Fury nods, pleased.

This was a good play, and he would tell Maria as such.

“Be careful,” the faceless woman tells him.

“We will be in touch.”

.

Clint walks the familiar route to see Natasha. The bag of donuts in his hand is a peace offering for not seeing her the past week.

Guilt presses down on him for it, but the reprieve and recalibration of himself was needed.

Now set up with a therapist, again, he knows that he can do better because he can show up for her.

It’s not an excuse. It's a fact.

Sharon isn’t on watch and a man he doesn’t know waves him through.

Clint doesn’t like it, but he hasn’t been here enough lately to know all the guards on rotation.

He continues on, wondering how she’s going.

A week had probably felt like a lifetime.

Maria had checked in, so had Coulson, even Fury; their report visits were minimalistic because of the circumstances.

Maria had said she was quiet.

He hopes it’s been okay.

He rounds the last corner and finds her sitting on the floor staring straight ahead.

He would say that she’s meditating.

She doesn’t move as he comes into view, she doesn’t even acknowledge him.

He waves to open the door, but nothing happens.

He looks up to the camera and waves again, not wanting to go back to see what’s happened.

Natasha is watching now.

Sharp eyes look on as he holds up donuts and smiles.

Clint hears footsteps down the hall. Automatically, he turns and sees it is the guard from down the hall, another man with him.

“Hey,” Clint greets.

They don’t return it.

The first lengthens his baton, the second shoots a taser, hitting Clint in the chest.

Pain and electricity alights his body as he tips forward.

He watches as it happens with a detachment, unable to react except to drop the donuts.

Natasha moves to the glass.

They close on him quickly.

The baton hits him, first in the body, then in the legs.

The second man just using fists.

They hit hard. They hit fast.

The beating is rough. Clint feels his breath taken away between blows and he curls himself up into a ball.

If he can wait...

If he can get control of one of them...

A blow to the head distorts time, and pain, never ending pain, radiates out. White, hot, searing pain.

He can’t hear their yelling.

His nose is bleeding, blood in his throat.

Natasha, he thinks idly, they’re going after her.

He hazards a glance up and sees her pounding on the glass. Her lips are moving, knuckles split and bleeding as she tries to break it.

It’s no use, he wants to tell her, it’s too thick.

But still she tries.

There’s a break as one of the men pauses. Clint has enough wherewithal to grabthe baton and pull it towards him.

He knows his ribs are broken.

Probably his face too.

His arm maybe from protecting his body.

Still he tries.

But the next blow feels like a car hits him.

He yells out.

As he fades into darkness, all he sees is Natasha yelling and punching the glass, blood on the wall, blood on the floor.

[coraniaid]

🔥 on fuffy's dynamic? or anything fuffy related

I think most Fuffy shippers – me included for sure – have a habit of making Faith seem a bit too … well, nice.

Don’t get me wrong: I like Faith a lot.  Not just as a character – and she is one of my favorite characters on the show, even if she only appears in less than two dozen episodes – but on a personal level too I have a lot of empathy for her.  I think she has a pretty rough deal in life.  I think she’s very badly let down by a lot of people, both before and after becoming a Slayer.  I think the narrative itself is often far less sympathetic to her than it is to other characters. I think she’s pretty miserably unhappy most of the time, and I think her redemption arc is genuinely very good, even with the little we see of her post-Sanctuary.

That said, it feels to me that a lot of Fuffy fanfiction is written by people who have decided, whether consciously or not, that the “real” Faith is the Faith we see awkwardly asking Buffy if she wants to go the dance with her in Homecoming since she already has the tickets, or showing up on Buffy's doorstep in Amends with some crappy Christmas presents, still not quite able to admit there was never any “big party” she could have gone to instead, however obvious it is at this point, and somehow managing to make a million different heartbreaking microexpressions when Buffy says she’s glad to see her. 

Yes, I like those moments too – I like them a lot – and I think that they are definitely indicative of a real aspect of Faith, one she tries hard to keep hidden most of the time.  But I think it’s an injustice to her character to make that the sum total of her personality.  If this were all there was to Faith’s character, she wouldn’t be half as compelling.

What about the Faith who, however troubled she looked at first, manages to shrug off the fact her new boss is planning to have Willow murdered when he tells her he’s also bought her a Playstation?  What about the Faith who attacks Joyce, ties her up and threatens to kill her?  What about the Faith who fantasies about stabbing Willow and taunts Tara by telling her how much Willow used to love Oz?  What about the Faith who, right from her first appearance, is perhaps a little bit too into beating up vampires and killing demons?  What about the Faith who threatens to torture Buffy, who tries to kill Angel, who definitely does torture Wesley and who kills Professor Worth while he begs for his life?  What about the Faith who probably was going to kill Xander? What about what Faith does to Buffy in Who Are You?

I’m not saying all Fuffy authors should exclusively write angst-ridden enemies-to-lovers in which for the first 100,000 words Faith really does seem to revel in being able to kill things without consequences even as she lets her obsession with Buffy Summers lead her into actively and deliberately trying to hurt her or bring her down to her level. (Though it would perhaps be nice if some of it was like this!)  I don’t have any moral objection if people would rather write fluff in which Faith and Buffy have an awkward first kiss at the Homecoming Dance, or AUs in which Faith never sides with the Mayor, or post-canon fic which takes for granted the fact that Faith is now redeemed and happily devoted to Buffy (it would make me a bit of a hypocrite if I did, since I’ve written all of these things).

But the sort of Fuffy writing and meta that I most enjoy, even if it doesn’t dwell on Faith’s worst moments or if it takes place in a continuity where they conveniently haven’t happened, always treats Faith as somebody who could do those things, if the circumstances were just a little bit different.  Always recognizes her as somebody who does have a lot of barely-suppressed anger in her, who is more likely to listen to an authority figure who tells her what she wants to hear than one who doesn’t, who is more than a little bit jealous of Buffy’s life, who does think, deep down, that being a Slayer makes her better than other people.

To me, that’s the appeal of Faith as a character and also of her relationship with Buffy. The two things are kind of inseparable.  Faith is a reflection of a lot of Buffy’s own worst impulses; she’s somebody that Buffy could have been if things had turned out differently (and if Buffy hadn’t had a certain inner strength and self-belief that Faith, for all her posturing, doesn’t quite ever have herself).  She’s the Buffy we’ll see hints of throughout Season 6, the Buffy we saw in Season 2’s When She Was Bad, the Buffy we see in Season 3’s The Wish. And, as a reflection of Buffy, she has some of Buffy’s strengths as well as exaggerated versions of some of Buffy’s flaws.  She’s not uncomplicatedly Evil, even at her worst, but she does a lot of things that are very hard to forgive, and she enjoys doing some of them more than some people like to admit.

I think if somebody’s going to try to write Fuffy, and get both Buffy and Faith right, that’s something they need to remember.  Let Faith have some jagged edges.  Let her be a little bit dangerous.  Let her be a little bit cruel. Let her be a little bit self-destructive.  Put simply: let her be Faith.

[wolfjackle-creates]

Bring Me Home Arc 2 Part 13

Happy Wednesday! This arc is over 20k already. How many of you didn't realize that? I've got a longer segment for you this week. There wasn't really a good place to end it and this brings us to the end of the scene. If you like banter, this segment is for you.

Story Summary: Tim and Danny are both neglected by parents who care more about their work than their families. They deal with this by spending too much time online and find each other playing MMORPGs. They keep up their friendship as Tim becomes Robin and Danny becomes Phantom and don't bother keeping secrets from each other.

First, Previous

Word Count: 2.2k

-----

Jeremy couldn’t help but add, “Be sure to mention us to your dad, Timothy. It’s been ages since we’ve last been able to meet at a gala!”

“Yes, sir,” said Tim. Not that he’d be following through. Assholes. Danny pushed him up a wide staircase that framed the entranceway to get to the second floor.

“Exactly like my parents,” he told Sam.

“I swear, if I didn’t have Gradma Ida, I’d go insane. My room’s this way.”

Sam’s room was so large that not only did she have a double bed and vanity, but also a couch and enough cushions that they were all able to spread out comfortably. Tim and Danny took beanbag chairs next to each other. His friends took the couch while Tucker took a space on the floor and promptly pulled out a laptop and two PDAs. Sam settled in a rocking chair.

Tim laid out the goodies they’d gotten from the corner store. “We brought snacks.”

Sam grabbed a bag of chips. “Thanks. So what’s on the agenda for the night?”

Cassie asked, “Is there anything we can do about the ghosts?”

Danny buried his face in his hands. “I don’t know. I can’t get a close enough read on them to see where any are. And there’s so many that even if I knock one out of a human, another would just take it’s place.”

“Any idea what they might be after?” asked Tim. “The ones last night were wearing uniforms like police officers. And we saw the news report from your school earlier. That one looked like a werewolf.”

“He was wearing a collar,” added Bart. “And his outfit also appeared to be a uniform of some sort, though not a police one.”

All of them stared at Bart.

“You don’t think he was there willingly,” said Sam.

Bart shrugged. “Didn’t look that way to me.”

Danny groaned and leaned over until he was resting his head on Tim’s shoulder. “What am I supposed to do with that? What do I do if he’s not here to attack the town?”

Tim wrapped his arm around Danny to hold him steady. “How much sleep were you able to get between last night and now?”

“Unno,” mumbled Danny. “Three, four hours?”

Cassie clicked her tongue at him. “How about you get some rest tonight and we can figure it out tomorrow. We’ll take the night in shifts and if there’s a large-scale attack again, we’ll wake you up.”

Tim sighed. “Much as I hate to admit it, Cassie’s right. You need to sleep.”

Danny snorted into his neck and Tim couldn’t help the way his cheeks heated at the feel of his breath. “Like you’re one to talk.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Tim rolled his eyes. “We all know I’m not a good role model. Do as Alfred says, not as I do.”

“Wayne family moto!” Conner teased. Tim gave him the finger.

“Just one thing to do first,” said Bart.

“Yeah,” added Tucker. “I need to fix up Conner’s phone.”

“Two things, then,” amended Bart.

“What’s the other thing?” asked Sam. “I feel like I’m out of the loop.”

Cassie leaned back and looked up at the ceiling. “The Fentons gave us a tour of the lab. We want to arrange a system to get Danny out of Amity if things go bad.”

Tim noted how both Tucker and Sam tensed and exchanged a look. Then Sam nodded. “We’re in. And since you are who you are, which, Danny, we will be talking about how you kept Justice League connections from us later, we’ll trust you to be able to do it.”

“Don’t be mad at him,” protested Tim. “I made him promise to keep my secrets. It wasn’t safe for him to discuss it.”

Tucker waved a hand in the air. “We understand. Doesn’t mean we’re not frustrated with him. Don’t worry about it, though. Your secret’s safe with us.”

Tim bit his lip. “Please. It’s vitally important for my family’s safety that nothing gets out.”

Conner snorted. “Plus Batman would murder you dead if he found out you let anything slip.”

Tim groaned. “Don’t remind me. I’ll have so much paperwork. And would probably be benched for forever.”

Bart laughed and flicked a chip at him. “We’d kidnap you and help you prepare a new hero identity!”

With Danny still leaning on him, Tim couldn’t even catch the projectile and it hit him on the forehead. “I’ll take you up on that if I ever do get benched permanently.”

Sam cleared her throat. “As amusing as this all is, what’s the plan with Danny?”

Danny groaned, but didn’t move. “I don’t need one, guys. It’s not as bad as you think.”

Bart snorted. “Dude, your parents showed us an iron maiden.”

Danny shook his head. “Dad’s the only one who’s been shut up in that. And that was for threatening me and Jazz with it.”

“Um… what?” asked Cassie. “Why does everything you say make me feel more concerned?”

Tucker spoke around a mouthful of jerky. “Because his parents are mad scientists.”

Sam nodded. “No one lives in the houses on either side of his. And the value of every building on the street has plummeted due to proximity.”

Cassie shook her head. “How the hell have they been allowed to do all that? And why haven’t their driver’s licenses been revoked? We saw how they drove that tank of theirs.”

Tucker snorted. “No cop or city official is brave enough to go up to Jack ‘I can run through brick walls’ Fenton and tell him he’s not allowed to do something.”

Sam laughed. “And even if they were, Maddie Fenton has a blackbelt and will hold a grudge.”

“Last night it also seemed like she knows her way around that arsenal she’s got,” said Tim.

“Yeah,” said Danny. “Mom’s the one you’ve got to watch out for when my parents go on the hunt.”

“Okay.” Tim was already thinking up ways to neutralize them. “Us four should be able to handle them. What about Jazz? Is she someone we’d have to worry about?”

Danny pushed himself up and made sure Tim could see him rolling his eyes. “Jazz would never do anything to hurt me.” It was clear Danny believed his statement completely. And, honestly? After all the stories Danny’d told him and meeting Jazz in person, Tim was inclined to believe him. Though Danny wasn’t done. “And my parents would stop if they had any idea I was Phantom.”

Neither Tim nor Danny was as certain about that statement. Glancing around, everyone else seemed to have the same doubts.

“Well,” said Tim. “You know me. And I’ve told you about B. ‘Backup plans’ is my middle name. I’ll feel more comfortable if we have one.”

“Fine.” Danny flopped over until he was laying across Tim’s lap. “But don’t expect me to help.”

Now it was Tim’s turn to roll his eyes, but his fingers were gentle as they brushed through Danny’s hair. “Yeah, yeah. Whatever. So, it’s Maddie we’ll have to outsmart. I doubt Jack’s strength is any match for Conner or Cassie.”

“I can get you access to the Fenton house,” said Tucker gesturing to his laptop. “Even if they activate the home defense system.”

Tim nodded. “Thanks. I’ll also get you communicators so you can reach me in case of an emergency.”

“Perfect,” said Sam. “We’ve each other’s cell numbers, too.”

“Yep,” said Tim. “But phones should only be used for civilian identities. If you need the help of heroes, please use the communicators. It’s best to keep things as separate as possible.”

Conner nudged Tim’s foot with his own. “Yep. Tim here won’t let us refer to him by name when he’s in costume. Even if we’re all alone in our own base behind two dozen layers of security.”

“Need I remind you who trained me?”

Cassie laughed. “He’s even worse. You should hear my aunt go on about him.”

Tucker was watching them with interest. “Who’s your aunt?”

Bart disappeared from his spot only to reappear next to Tucker to whisper in his ear.

Tucker’s eyes widened and he stared at Cassie in wonder. “That is so cool! Could you get me an autograph?”

Cassie laughed. “Why so surprised? You know who I am. Did you think I wouldn’t know her?”

Tucker blushed. “Yeah, well. Excuse me for being distracted by the ghost invasion we’re dealing with.”

Tim cleared his throat. “I think we’re getting off topic. Now, we have a way into the Fenton house. Tucker, could you get us all the way into the lab?”

“Easily. I’m fully in all their systems and they’ve no idea.”

“How will we know he’s in trouble?” asked Bart.

Tim bit his lip. “Danny and I already have a system in place where if we don’t hear from each other within seven days without prior warning, we reach out to someone. For me, it’s B’s butler. For him, it’s you Tucker.” He nudged Danny only to realize he had passed out his lap. Tim couldn’t help the fond smile he gave and shook his head. “Tomorrow I’ll propose decreasing that to three or four days.”

Conner nodded. “If none of us hear from one of you for more than four days, we’ll come. Probably me, Bart, or Cassie since we can travel faster.”

Tim grimaced, but nodded. Sometimes it really sucked being the only baseline human in the group.

Bart gave a thumbs up. “I can usually be somewhere in minutes if I’m not tied up doing something else!”

Sam looked them over critically. “You know he’s gonna insist that goes both ways. If you guys don’t check in, he’ll go to you if he can.”

Tucker began typing away on his laptop. “I don’t know why I didn’t think of this sooner. I’m setting up alerts on the Fenton lab. If they start recording any experiments on an actual ghost, I’ll get a notification. If there’s any indication it’s Phantom, I can have the alert forwarded to you.”

Tim nodded. “Good. Do that.” He looked at his team. “We’ve seen the Fenton’s weapons and some of their fighting skills by now. I don’t think we’ll have any issues subduing them if necessary.”

“Nah,” agreed Cassie. “We can handle them.”

Back to Sam and Tucker, Tim asked, “Do we know what their weapons can do to humans? What risks they pose?”

Sam grimaced. “The small blasters are fine. But some of the bigger weapons? Like the bazooka or the missiles? Those have caused damage to the roads and buildings beyond what the ghosts do.”

“Have there been any casualties?” asked Cassie.

Tucker shook his head. “No. Thank God. It’s all been property damage so far.”

Sam nudged him. “Not quite. You’re forgetting Wes’s brother. Jack broke his arm two weeks ago when he shot at the Box Ghost and knocked over the pile of bricks that was being used to rebuild Mr. Nguyen’s store.”

“Ugh, right. I think I was trying to block that debacle from my mind.”

Tim sighed and shook his head. “I knew it was bad, but Danny really downplayed it.”

Sam shrugged. “Yeah, well, this is life in Amity right now.”

“I suppose so.” Tim looked down at Danny who was frowning even in his sleep. “I think I’m gonna get him in a bed. Where will we be sleeping?”

“Probably a good idea,” agreed Sam. “Do you want to share a room?”

“Yeah, if you don’t mind. We haven’t had any one-on-one time yet. Which is a shame for our first in-person meeting!” Tim laughed and ignored the looks his friends were shooting him as well as the grins Sam and Tucker were exchanging. “Though with our lives, I should’ve expected something like this rather than a purely civilian meeting.”

Sam laughed. “Yeah, probably. This is about par for the course for us. Take the room across the hall. If you need the bathroom, if you exit my room, turn left and it’s two doors down on this side of the hall.”

Tim shifted so he could lift Danny up. Despite the shuffling, Danny didn’t open his eyes, though he did grumble indistinct protests.

“Just getting you in a bed,” said Tim.

Conner grabbed the bag that had their belongings in it and opened the doors for Tim. While Tim settled Danny in the bed, even having to remove shoes and socks, Conner separated their things so he would have everything he needed.

“Thanks, Kon.”

“Anytime, Tim. Get some rest yourself, okay?”

Tim huffed a laugh. “Sleep is for the weak.”

Conner shook his head. “You say that and yet at the end of basically every mission, you pass out for twelve hours and are useless for two days.”

Tim stuck out his tongue. “I do have homework to do. And I want to keep my eye on the local news channels. And I need to check in with Bruce again before he flips. Let me know when your phone is working?”

“Will do. See you tomorrow.”

“Night.”

-----

Next

So! They now have a working system for how to find out if Danny's in trouble and to get him out. Hopefully they won't have to use it! (I mean, we all know where this is going. I presume you've all read the original prompt and fill that started this mess.)

Also, thanks to a comment on the last post, I wanted to clarify the relationships in this fic. If you've gotten Core Four (Tim/Kon/Cassie/Bart) vibes from this... Yeah. You did. If you've gotten Everlasting Trio (Danny/Sam/Tucker) vibes from this... Yeah. You did. I'm going to write those groups as a sorta QPR. Eventually, we will have romantic Danny/Tim (hence I've been tagging this Dead Tired) on top of those QPRs, but that won't really happen for a while. First Danny will date Val and Tim will date Steph. Danny will have another relationship, too, that I'm keeping secret for now. None of those are likely to get any page time as I am planning a time skip after this arc. But they will be referenced by characters. The actual Danny/Tim won't happen until after the rescue scene from the original fill. (Which I'm sure you can imagine will be changed quite drastically now that all these characters know each other.)

I no longer do tag lists, but if you head to the Subscription Post, you can set up notifications for when this updates!

[mephistopheleswasrobbed]

There's a dagger in my heart, but I'm here anyway with episode 6 of Peaceful Property.

As suspectet there was much gay angst this episode but gay angst is still gay so here we go:

1

Home dreams of Peach in his bed.

And this is what dream Peach says to him:

It takes Home a while to remember that Peach's not supposed to be there. But before he does, the scene that his sleeping mind paints is very domestic. Peach looks right at home sleeping in his bed. Not like a friend staying over but like a partner who's always there. Dream Peach reacts to Home telling him he had a nightmare with the reassurance that he's here so Home doesn't have to be afraid. You know, like a partner would do. Because Peach is safety and comfort to Home. And then he pulls him back to lie down with him. And Peach is laying down turned towards Home and he looks completly unguarded. And that's how Home wishes them to be.

There's two common dream phenomena in this part of his nightmare. The waking up but you're actually still dreaming and the good dream that turns into a nightmare. This moment, before Peach starts bleeding and attacking Home, is the good part. This is what Home wishes would be reality and it's clearly a level of intimacy that goes beyond platonic. And even when the dream turns back into a nightmare, they're still in Home's bed, Peach is straddling and choking him.

That is quite an intimate method of killing someone. So even in Home's guilt induced nightmares, there is a big emphasis on the closeness he feels to Peach.

(Also when he wakes up for real, the first thing he does is look/feel for Peach in the spot where dream Peach was sleeping, so.)

2

Home keeps seeing Peach all bloody so he's jumpy like Peach used to be.

Peach is worried about Home, but now Home can't find comfort with Peach in those moments because the very sight of him is a reminder of the guilt that haunts him.

3

The next time we see Home (attempt to) sleep, he uses both pillows and sleeps right in the middle of the bed

perhaps in an effort to not let himself dream of a certain other man in his bed?

And yet, when he realises sleep won't come, Peach is still the person he calls. (And Peach answers without hesitation)

4

Home has a contact picture for Peach. And not just any picture either. It's one that looks like he took it from either Pangpang's stream or Peach's social media. And because the picture was taken during the events of the frst episode, it seems like Home has had that contact picture for Peach pretty much from the start. And maybe other people feel differently, but in my opinion, going through the trouble of setting a contact picture for some random guy you just barely met seems strange ... unless he was already kinda crushing on Peach, of course. And to choose one where/cut it so that you are the only other person fully visible in the picture? Alright, Home.

(Compare that with his ex gf who was saved as Baby #13, no pic. I'd say it's pretty clear whom Home is more serious about)

5

Home wants to know Peach's dream.

As soon as he learns about it he starts planning its realisation. And while part of this is definitely him trying to make amends before he even tells Peach the truth, he's also genuinely excited to help Peach with this. And he even goes the extra step, because Peach said nothing about getting a do-over with Chai-Un. So that part is Home knowing how to help Peach without needing to be told. And it's Home wanting to add something extra to Peach's wish to make it even better.

He is so excited

and proud that he gets to do this for his boyfriend.

And when they succed? Well those are truly some heart eyes

He even gets a Peach-initiated hug as a reward

6

At this point Home and Peach regard each other (and Pangpang) as family. They protested it when Pangpang initially brought it up but by now they have fully accepted it.

Look at Home's happy little smile as he's watching their antics.

And Peach's reaction to Home taking on Chef Hong's mantle again

No more annoyance or exasperation at Home's antics. Now it just makes him happy.

Happy family group hug. Kan isn't part of the family yet because she's still holding back (and she's also about to break apart this happy family so the red is quite fitting), and we'll see what happens with Suradech. But for now it's Peach and Home and their youngest child Pangpang.

Again Home allows himself to be vulnerable with Peach. And just like Home helped Peach to achieve his dream, Peach is giving Home what he always wanted. A family.

7

They CHOSE to walk like this. Peach could have just closed his eyes, or they could have blindfolded him if Home wanted to make extra sure he wouldn't peek. But no, they chose the option with the most touching. Obviously.

8

Pangpang has long dreamd of her brother bagging a rich man. And she certainly seems to approve of this one.

9

Peach really trusts Home now. (Because of course we need to build them high so the fall hurts more)

He asks him to help with the cooking even though Home barely knows a pan from a pot (remember, Peach inviting Home to cook with him was a big step symbolising Peach letting Home in, at the beginning of their relationship.)

He trusts him with his carrer and cooking future in general when he trusts Home to tell him which the fake chickpeas are. And he states that trust explicitly when introducing his dish

Even when everyone else is panicking his trust in himself and Home remains steadfast.

Home's insistence last episode truely allowed Peach to take a major step in his growth.

10

Obviously the thing Home wants to confess is the hit-and-run thing but it is still interesting that he is prompted to do so by Chai-Un ccoming out to his dead mother

11

Pangpang is back to streaming and her viewers are back to shipping

12

He can have 1 (one) husband instead.

13

And now to the tragedy. (fitting number I guess)

In the first place it was heterosexuality that lead to the crash because he picked up the phone after his ex gf? kept calling him. (Seriously, Home? Baby#13? Wow.) (also there's that 13 again)

But more importantly, it was looking good. Home was ready to confess, Peach was in a state of mind regarding Home that was probably as good as it was ever going to get to receive that confession.

And yet it seems like everyone outside of their little family conspired against them. Kan didn't give Home the time, Kid took his agency, Suradech and the evil lawyer enabled Kid. Even fucking Best had to chime in so Home wouldn't get his chance to confess. The only one who tried to keep them together is fellow family mamber Pangpang.

Unfortunately the manner in which Peach found out naturally left him feeling very betrayed by Home. And so he doesn't let himself hope that Home wouldn't just hide this from him, that he wouldn't send his lawyer after him. He gives up. Walks away like the unpriviledged heroine of an inter-class romance he is. Head held high. Not taking the money to show that's not what he cares about, to show the heroines moral superiority over the evil rich family. Not giving them the satisfaction of seeing him cry.

And meanwhile Home is running after him, held back by his evil rich environment, struggling but ultimately unable to do anything but watch his love walk away even though he was ready to risk it all for him. (We get a punch again, here. But this time not out of fear but out of anger and with full intentionality. Because this is the last straw for the rich love interest. It's the only way he can express his frustration at having everybody else act on "what's best for him".)

But that's ok! (Yes, this is cope but I'm also serious.) Because it just makes more obvious than ever that their's is a love story. This whole last part follows romance tropes, exactly. And BL conventions state that Home was never going to get the chance to tell Peach himself. Home needs to run but be too late anyway. They need to be separated and alone and crying tragically! And so we end with both of them alone, Peach crying in the shower, Home back to eating fast food by himself. All of this is episode 11 standard fare. The only difference is that we're getting it in episode 6 already. Which gives me hope that they'll give us a proper exploration of how they will inevitably get over this that's deeper than the usual "they kiss so everything's ok now".

Lesbian Corner

gets its own post today because I reached the picture limit and couldn't bring myself to get rid of any of them.