#like no kidding she’s this desperate for love

[blood-bla-bla]

The morning after I killed myself, I woke up. I made myself breakfast in bed. I added salt and pepper to my eggs and used my toast for a cheese and bacon sandwich. I squeezed a grapefruit into a juice glass. I scraped the ashes from the frying pan and rinsed the butter off the counter. I washed the dishes and folded the towels. The morning after I killed myself, I fell in love. Not with the boy down the street or the middle school principal. Not with the everyday jogger or the grocer who always left the avocados out of the bag. I fell in love with my mother and the way she sat on the floor of my room holding each rock from my collection in her palms until they grew dark with sweat. I fell in love with my father down at the river as he placed my note into a bottle and sent it into the current. With my brother who once believed in unicorns but who now sat in his desk at school trying desperately to believe I still existed. The morning after I killed myself, I walked the dog. I watched the way her tail twitched when a bird flew by or how her pace quickened at the sight of a cat. I saw the empty space in her eyes when she reached a stick and turned around to greet me so we could play catch but saw nothing but sky in my place. I stood by as strangers stroked her muzzle and she wilted beneath their touch like she did once for mine. The morning after I killed myself, I went back to the neighbors’ yard where I left my footprints in concrete as a two year old and examined how they were already fading. I picked a few daylilies and pulled a few weeds and watched the elderly woman through her window as she read the paper with the news of my death. I saw her husband spit tobacco into the kitchen sink and bring her her daily medication. The morning after I killed myself, I watched the sun come up. Each orange tree opened like a hand and the kid down the street pointed out a single red cloud to his mother. The morning after I killed myself, I went back to that body in the morgue and tried to talk some sense into her. I told her about the avocados and the stepping stones, the river and her parents. I told her about the sunsets and the dog and the beach. The morning after I killed myself, I tried to unkill myself, but couldn’t finish what I started.

The morning after I killed myself, by Meggie Royer

i like to pretend i already died and asked god to send me back to earth so i can swim in lakes again and see mountains and get my heart broken and love my friends and cry so hard in the bathroom and go grocery shopping 1,000 more times. and that i promised i would never forget the miracle of being here

[mimiiiiiiiiisstuff]

"BIRDS OF A FEATHER"

Yall I am literally sleep deprived and I'm 90 percent sure im gonna fail my math exam. I wrote this to try and calm down but I feel like it sucks. I literally spent like 3 hours on this so be nice pls. Lmk what you think and if you have any questions! Send in asks! Love yall! Thank you for supporting my trash writing LMAO.

Prologue:,Chapter 1: Chapter 2: Chapter 3: Chapter 4:

The moment you stepped off the plane, a strange sense of dread washed over you. Gotham City. The place you had spent years trying to fit in. Here you were again, bound by some invisible force to the very people you had spent your life chasing after. "The Batfamily". The same family who had neglected you for years. Who had hurt you emotionally, time and time again, making you feel small and invisible. Making you feel worthless. And yet, now, they all seemed desperate to make things right. To make up for replacing you with Traitor Tiffany. Tiffany who stole your life, who copied everything you said and did to a T.

Tiffany who they loved for that year before she was exposed.

You were going to ignore them. For the next two weeks, you would just do your best to make it through, keeping your distance and focusing on the countdown to when you'd be back at boarding school in New York. That was your escape, your sanctuary.

But as you entered the manor, the familiar echo of its grand hall made you feel a strange weight in your chest. The vast space, once cold and intimidating, now felt like it was closing in on you. The walls, the grand staircase, and even the ancient floors seemed to watch you.

You barely had time to drop your bags in the entryway before you were ambushed by them. All of them.

“Hey!” Dick’s voice was light and cheerful, far too cheerful considering everything. You didn’t even look up at him, not even when he wrapped you in a tight hug. You didn't bother hugging him back. You weren’t sure if it was because you were tired, or because you just didn’t feel like dealing with his overbearing presence, but you kept your focus on your phone, fingers tapping away as you scrolled through messages from Ariel, Claire, and Rory

“You’re coming back in 2 weeks right? imy alr” “NYC is lame as fuck w out u. come back now.” “Call me literally everyday. two weeks is wayyyyy too long”

They didn’t know about this—your insanely weird family of spandex wearing losers. They didn’t know about Tiffany, or the spy drama, or how everything had shifted when you were 15 or that you were technically half snake. All they knew was that you were just you, and they loved you for it. This summer was the highlight of your life.

And now, here you were, trapped with them for two weeks, trying to figure out how to survive without completely losing your mind.

“Hey, kid” Dick repeated, taking a step closer, his words coming out strangely awkward and nervous. Good, he should be nervous. “come on. Let’s grab breakfast, yeah? You can’t be all that hungry, but we are. It’s family time. You wouldn’t want to miss it.” He smiled at you like you were a little kid.

You felt your lip curl into a slight frown, but you kept your eyes on your phone. Since when did this whole family breakfast include you?All you wanted to do right now was sleep. “I’m good. Not hungry.”

Bruce appeared from the shadows, his heavy footsteps echoing in the hallway before you saw his face. The expression on his face wasn’t the cold indifference you remembered. It was warm. Too warm. He tried to hug you, but you quickly dodged him like he had the cooties. He took it like a champ, brushed it off and acted like he was reaching for your Goyard.

“(Y/N),” he said quietly, like he was trying to be gentle. "We’re having breakfast together. You don’t want to miss out on the family time. It’s important that we all reconnect.”

You didn’t even look up at him. You could practically feel the weight of his words pressing down on you. Reconnect? How could they possibly want to “reconnect” after all the years of neglect? The years of pretending you didn’t exist?

“I’m just fine here,” you muttered, fingers still flying across the screen as you tried to walk up the stairs.

Bruce didn’t take the hint. “Come on. You should eat something. It’s good for you.”

You wanted to snap at him, tell him you were tired of being treated like a child. But you didn’t. You were too tired for all that. Instead, you sighed. "I said I’m fine. I ate on the plane.”

Jason’s voice cut through the tension, his ever-present smirk on his face as he sauntered into the room, tossing his jacket over his shoulder. "Damn, it’s already this bad?" He raised an eyebrow at Bruce, then smirked at you. “Come on, little bird, you’re too grown up for us now, huh? Don’t you want to at least pretend to like us? Have too much fun over in St. Tropez? Too cool to hang out with your big brother?”

You rolled your eyes at his antics, suddenly annoyed. "Actually, yeah. Ya'll are lowkey losers." You were harsher than necessary but you wanted to make sure Jason got the hint. Make it known you haven't really forgiven him.

They were all obviously taken aback by your new attitude and mean girl habits, all too shocked to say anything.

Tim followed behind Jason, his ever-curious eyes flicking from you to Bruce, then to Dick. He looked like he wanted to say something, but instead just shrugged, settling into a lean against the wall.

“You don’t have to join us, but it’s not like you have a choice,” he added, his voice calm but firm, like he was waiting for you to push back. “We’re not letting you hide in your room forever.”

You scoffed, "So i don't have a choice. Bit of a contradiction there, smartass."

Your sure you heard Bruce mutter something about language but Tim simply side-eyed you and brushed it off, his confidence unwavering.

Cass entered next, moving quietly, as always. But her gaze, there was something in it. A kind of quiet insistence, like she wanted to make sure you didn’t slip away unnoticed. You’d always hated how silent she was, how intense her focus could be.

“Breakfast,” she said, her tone not quite a question, not quite a statement. It was just her way of saying we’re doing this, whether you want to or not.

You groaned, slumping a little as you looked up from your phone. “I’m literally only here for two weeks. I don’t need to sit with you guys at every meal. That's so lame.”

At that, Bruce stepped closer. His hand rested on your shoulder, a touch so gentle you barely felt it, but the weight of it was enough to make your heart skip. “You’re staying here for two weeks, and we’re all going to make the most of this time,” he said, his voice soft but firm. “You’re part of this family. And that means we all spend time together. You don’t get to hide anymore.”

The room seemed to grow quieter, and you could feel the heat of everyone’s attention on you. They were all looking at you—waiting for you to say something, do something. It was unsettling. Unbearable.

You finally snapped, your frustration bubbling to the surface. “I just want to talk to my friends, okay?” You waved your phone at them. “We were actually having a conversation before all of you interrupted.”

A soft laugh escaped Damian's lips, but it wasn’t kind. “You’ve got better things to do than talk to those people. You have to make up for your misconduct from last time. And tell us what you did while in St. Tropez.” There he goes again, speaking like an 80 year old man.

You felt a sudden wave of unease as you glanced at him, then at Jason and Tim. They both seemed to be looking at your phone with a sharp intensity. What was that about?

You tried to ignore it. You had to. But the more you looked at your friends’ messages, the more you realized that even your phone couldn’t offer you peace here. Bruce was standing too close. Dick’s eyes wouldn’t leave you. Tim was still leaning against the wall, his gaze locked on you with that knowing, calculating look that made your stomach twist.

Jason finally broke the silence with a lazy, teasing grin. “Don’t be a brat. You don’t need to text anyone right now, you've been gone two months. You've got me now.”

You rolled your eyes again and you couldn't stop the words from slipping out, "Oh yeah jason? How long have i got you for? Till some shiny new sister comes in? Or will you expire before that? Do I get you for 2 weeks or 3 or-"

Jason's face fell, he obviously thought he was forgiven just because of your conversation the night before you left and because you replied to his messages occasionally.

Bruce stepped forward cutting you off, taking pity on jason, "Enough. I understand your frustration, but we are trying. Let us try before you shut us out." He said his tone stern, he was demanding a chance to redeem himself, not asking.

Before you could protest, Damian spoke up, his voice still a bit too soft for comfort. “You will stay here with us. You’ll see, it’ll be better for you.”

Punk. If he was a normal kid brother, you would've long made him stop talking to you like that.

You gritted your teeth, fangs coming out and stood up from the couch, locking your phone and stuffing it into your pocket. “Fine,” you muttered, “I’ll go to breakfast. But don’t expect me to start liking all this.”

Bruce smiled, just slightly. It was subtle, but there was something behind it. Something that made your skin crawl.

“Good,” he said, his voice almost too soothing. “We’re all here for you now.”

You walked toward the dining room with Bruce close behind you, his hand on your lower back as if ensuring you wouldn't runaway, a small, constant pressure that felt both grounding and suffocating. You wanted to shrug it off, but the thought of doing that in front of the others was too much. The others who were still watching, still waiting. You could almost feel their eyes on you like they were tracking your every movement, waiting for any sign of resistance.

As you passed through the grand entryway, you could hear Alfred’s familiar voice calling from the kitchen, his tone as warm and fatherly as ever. “Ah, there you are, Young Miss. I’ve made your favorite this morning. Scrambled eggs, crispy bacon, and Pancakes” He turned to face you with a soft smile, but it faltered when he noticed the scowl on your face. “I hope you’re feeling well. It’s important that you eat something substantial, especially after a long flight.”

You nodded noncommittally, forcing a smile. “Thanks, Alfred. I’m not really hungry, though…”

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll change your mind once you see it,” Alfred said with a knowing wink. “Come now, don’t make me chase you down for a seat.”

He motioned for you to sit at the table. Dick, already seated with a glass of juice, grinned at you like you were a little kid being coaxed into something.

“Come on, just sit,” he said, motioning to the empty chair next to him. “It’ll be fun. It’s family time, remember?”

You could feel the weight of their expectations pressing down on you. It was suffocating. You didn’t want to be here. You didn’t want to play along with their sudden act of being a family after years of neglect. But you knew if you didn’t sit, if you didn’t comply in some way, they would only dig in their heels harder.

You sat down, pulling your chair in with a slight sigh. You didn’t want to, but it felt like the lesser of two evils. Jason gave you a little smirk from across the table, while Tim and Damian were already deeply engaged in a quiet conversation, glancing at you occasionally as if waiting to see how you'd react.

He spoke again, voice bright, like he was trying to lift the mood. "So, … what’s new with you? I bet you’ve been busy, huh? Euro summer? Did you have fun?" He smiled at you, but there was something in his eyes, something that lingered a little too long, like he was waiting for a response he had already anticipated.

You felt like a child that stole cookies from the cookie jar, "Yeah pretty fun. Didn't do much though." You shrugged trying to sound casual.

Bruce sat at the head of the table, the others falling into place around you. His gaze lingered on you for a moment, almost searching, before he turned his attention to the food. He wasn’t pushing, not yet. But there was a quiet, insistent presence in the way he looked at you.

“You know, (Y/N), it’s not just about the food. It’s about spending time together,” Bruce said, the softness in his voice unusual, almost too gentle for someone like him. “This is important. It’s part of being a family. We’ve missed you.”

You didn’t respond immediately. You didn’t know what to say. It all felt so fake. The kindness, the attempts to bond—it was all wrapped up in a layer of suffocating control.

Dick spoke again, trying to make you crack, to bring out the oversharer in you he remembered, "Any plans? Got anything to do?"

You shrugged, offering him only a brief glance before focusing on your plate. "Nothing much. Just school stuff."

"School stuff?" Bruce’s voice cut through, the sternness returning as his eyes bore into you. "What do you mean by ‘school stuff’? You’re not getting into trouble, are you?"

Your eyes flicked to him, and for a moment, you could feel the weight of his gaze. It was almost protective, but you didn't want that anymore. You resisted the urge to roll your eyes. You were done with the overbearing dad act. You were 16 now—not a little girl who needed constant monitoring. You didn't need his attention, not anymore.

You picked up your fork and took a bite of the scrambled eggs, more out of habit than actual hunger. They were good, just like Alfred’s cooking always was. But the taste felt like nothing in your mouth.

“I was texting my friends,” you said quietly, breaking the silence, your eyes flicking to your phone where the notifications from your friends were still blowing up. “They wanted to check I got here okay. I—”

Bruce cut you off before you could say more. “We understand that, ” he said, his voice low but firm, like a quiet warning. “But right now, you’re with us. And this time, we don’t want you distracted by those friends. You were with them for 3 months. It's family time now.”

You blinked at him, feeling a little breathless at the sudden sharpness of his words. Was that... affection? It was subtle, but it was there, in the way he spoke. It made your chest tighten. There was never family time before, at least none that included you.

“Don’t be rude,” Dick interjected, his tone light but with an edge of something else. He was looking at you more seriously now, no longer the playful older brother. “You can text your friends later. But right now, you’re here with us. And you’re going to enjoy it.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but your phone buzzed again in your pocket, and this time, it was an unknown number. You pulled it out reluctantly, glancing at the screen. It was a guy from your European trip, the french prince, one you had been texting occasionally during the summer.

But before you could even open the message, Damian’s sharp eyes caught sight of the name, and his expression hardened just slightly. He straightened, his voice suddenly tight. “Who is that?”

You looked up at him, eyebrows furrowing. Nosy much? “None of your fucking business,” you snapped without thinking.

The room went quiet. Too quiet. Everyone’s eyes were on you now, and you could feel the heat of their gazes like a thousand little pricks against your skin.

“Don’t get upset, (Y/N),” Bruce’s voice was almost soothing, but there was a new intensity to it. “We just care about you. You don’t need to talk to them all the time. You’re not going to be alone anymore.”

It wasn’t just a promise,—it was an expectation. . You realized, with growing unease, that it was a practically a threat.

Suddenly, your phone buzzed in your pocket. Again. The sound was a welcome distraction, but you knew exactly what it was: a flood of texts from Ariel, Claire, and Rory. You hesitated for a moment, wondering if you could sneak a glance without drawing too much attention. Should you risk it after what happened not even a minutes ago? But before you could decide, Bruce’s eyes locked onto yours.

“Let me see that,” he said, his voice smooth but commanding. It wasn’t a request. “Who are you talking to?”

You froze for a split second, caught off guard by his intensity. The entire table fell silent, all eyes on you. You hadn’t realized how quiet they had gotten until now.

You hesitated before responding and quickly shoved your phone out of reach. “It’s just my friends from school, the ones I spent the summer with.”

Only after you explained did you realize that you didn't owe him an explanation.

Jason raised an eyebrow, his playful tone dropping just enough to sound dangerous. “Really? Because it looks like you’re texting someone from Europe, given the country code and all.”

Your heart skipped. You had been texting Ariel, and now your friends were practically spamming you in the group chat. "The girls!!" you named it that just to be petty after leaving the one with Barbra, Cass, and Steph. You didn't even think about how it might look to the family, who had all but cornered you into their web of attention. You didn’t want to admit it, but now you felt the pressure. How long would they keep this up?

“I’m not doing anything wrong,” you muttered, finally pulling your phone out and swiping away from the notifications, deciding to put it on Do Not Disturb around these psychos. You had a sudden, uncomfortable sense of guilt, like they were expecting you to explain yourself to them.

It was quiet and awkward for the rest of breakfast.

The morning after breakfast felt like an eternity. You had expected them to back off, to give you space after your little outburst, but no. The Batfamily had different plans. They were relentless. They didn’t just want to bond with you; they needed to bond with you. It was like a mission they had assigned themselves, as if they could somehow erase the years of neglect in just two weeks.

You knew better than to expect anything close to normal from them. But this was too much.

It started innocently enough, Bruce knocking on your room door, his usual stoic expression softening when he saw you sitting on the edge of your bed, surrounded by your belongings. You had been trying to shut out the noise of the manor, scrolling through your phone, ignoring the countless texts from your guys you met and the relentless buzz of Gotham in your head.

“Hey,” he said, his voice smooth, but there was a hint of something in it. Concern? Hope? You didn’t want to figure it out.

“Can we talk?”

You didn’t even look up, too busy focusing on the group chat from the girls. You weren’t ready to face him. Or anyone else. Especially not after breakfast. They all thought they had it figured out.

“You can talk to me while I’m on my phone,” you said flatly. “I’m busy.”

Bruce didn’t even flinch at your indifference. He took a step inside, shutting the door behind him as he sat on the edge of your bed. His presence felt heavy, like he was trying to make himself at home in a space that wasn’t his.

“You know, we’ve missed you, these two months felt like two years” he started softly, like that would somehow change the years of absence between you two. “I know this has been hard for you, but we’re trying. I’m trying. I’m just... trying to make up for lost time.” His hand hovered over the space next to you, but you didn’t budge.

“Stop trying so hard. You’re not going to fix anything, Bruce,” you muttered, your fingers tapping away on the screen.

“I don’t need to fix anything,” His voice was gentler now. “I just want to be here for you.”

Your eyes flicked over to him, and for a moment, you saw the guilt in his eyes. He was fighting against something, holding back. He was being real, honest. But you couldn’t let it get to you.

“I don’t need you to be here,” you said, your tone icy. “I’m not some little kid who needs you hovering over me, not anymore.”

He sighed, the disappointment in his voice sharp. "I know. I know, kid. But you are my daughter. And I’m not going to let you go through this alone. Not again. Especially with your..... abilities.”

The words felt like bullets, it hurt, the more he spoke the more you hurt. You just wanted him to go away.

The awkward silence that followed stretched on too long. Finally, Bruce stood up. His eyes lingered on you one last time before he opened the door. “Okay, but just know, I’m here when you’re ready to talk. I'll always be here.”

For the next two weeks, the family got more insistent on spending time with. The only thing that kept you going was that it would be over soon, or so you thought.

Damian was always the silent observer. The kid who knew how to push all your buttons without saying a word, the little brother who constantly attacked and ridiculed you.

One evening, he shows up at your door, a subtle shift in his body language telling you something’s up. His eyes soften, and you can tell he’s trying to break down the walls, bit by bit.

"Move over," he said, his voice devoid of its usual bite. Instead, it carried a strange urgency. He was holding a pillow, clutching onto it like a lifeline.

You narrowed your eyes, a growl rising in your throat. What the hell does he want now?

“No. What’s your problem?” You shot him a glare, rolling over on your bed, trying to make it clear you had no interest in him being there.

He didn’t move. He just stood there, waiting.

"Come on," he says flatly, crossing his arms, a rare hint of vulnerability in his tone. "It’s just for a little while. You used to bother me about this, don’t be so difficult now."

“Why are you always so insistent on being a brat? I've forgiven you for attacking me,” he muttered, stepping closer. “When we were younger, you always insisted on cuddling, begged for it even, always tried hugging me. You’ve grown up, yes, but that doesn’t mean things should change.”

When you refuse, Damian has none of it. He steps inside, closes the door behind him, and sits on your bed without asking. His demeanor is as sharp as ever, but his eyes flick to you constantly, waiting, hoping for some sign of compromise.

He walked toward the bed, pulling the blankets aside as if he was entitled to your space. You felt a flicker of that old resentment stir inside you, but the pressure of everything else, the family trying so hard to pretend everything was fine, Bruce’s repeated insistence on your bonding, the suffocating feeling that had followed you since you arrived, made you just want to give in.

You scoffed. “I grew up because you wouldn’t leave me alone when I was younger. You used to beat me up for trying to get close, remember? You literally threw me down a set of stairs. You never wanted to ‘bond’ then.”

He tilted his head slightly, his lips twisting into a brief frown. “Because you were insufferable.” His voice softened, a little, but still cold. “But I’m not the same as I was. Neither are you.

And then, without warning, he scoots closer, his shoulders stiff, as if awaiting your wrath. You almost let out a laugh; he still hasn't realized that maybe you don't want the cuddles anymore. But his face betrays something else: a quiet desperation. You could almost feel his need for connection, like he’s trying to make up for all those years.

He shifts awkwardly, a hand touching his hair, trying to mimic what you once did: the slight tap on his shoulder, the gentle nudge. But as he waits for you to break, you just stare at him, no words exchanged.

And that’s when he did something you didn’t expect: he laid down beside you, just like when you did to him when you were younger. He didn’t ask for permission, didn’t even seem to care that you clearly were about to strangle him.

You went still, your heart pounding as he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into an uncomfortable cuddle. You wanted to push him off, but you couldn’t, not when he was being so vulnerable.

Instead, you just shut your eyes, and let the anger mix with the humiliation. You wouldn't admit it, but it felt nice.

Dick was the first to bombard you with affection every morning for two weeks straight. He’s like the human embodiment of sunshine, and you can’t help but feel the weight of his unrelenting kindness. He tries to coax you into breakfast, brunch, lunch, dinners... you name it. His tactic? Overload you with so much “family time” that eventually, you’ll give in.

He makes it a point to show you that he’s willing to work on your relationship. Every morning he’s there with a bright, goofy grin, telling you stories of his past adventures. He tries, in vain, to get you laughing with ridiculous anecdotes about the circus, Batman, and his early days in the Teen Titans. He stopped once you asked him for Connor's number and another topless picture if him.

At night, he tries to “reconnect” by suggesting game nights or silly activities like arts and crafts. “Come on, you loved painting when you were younger!” he’d say, pushing a small set of watercolor paints toward you, clearly hoping for a nostalgic response. But you’re not having it. You just roll your eyes and text your friends, but he stays close by, watching. He doesn’t pressure you, but you can feel his eyes lingering, waiting for the moment when you finally break.

But the moments are few, and even though you keep pushing him away, there’s a slight glimmer in his eyes every time he talks about when you’ll finally bond.

You avoided Duke like the plague, hiding everytime he came too close looking to hopeful. His betrayal was too fresh.

Jason tried to appeal to you in ways that are typical of him: snark, sarcasm, and outright bad-boy energy. He brings up old memories he knows you cherish, things that will make you cave. He walks around the manor like he owns the place, tossing out insults and lighthearted teasing every time you pass by. He’ll try to lure you into movie nights, always choosing the most ridiculously bad action movies, or challenge you to random things in the game room.

“Bet you can’t beat me in this game,” he’ll say, tossing a controller at you. “Come on, I’m the pro around here.”

It’s his way of bonding, of trying to “get you” in his own unique, unpredictable way. He also, strangely, gives you random moments of tenderness, moments that remind you of the old Jason, grabbing your shoulder when you least expect it, offering a smirk that’s soft when no one’s looking. But like everything else, it’s hard to believe this is real.

Your trust and abandonment issues ran too deep to believe any of them were genuine, though they all clearly were.

After a particularly annoying spat one day, where you ignored him all day, he jokingly announced, “If you didn’t have that attitude, maybe we could actually have a decent time. Just saying.”

In moments like that, you feel the thrum of tension in the air, the frustration of someone trying to connect with you and the knowledge that you're just too far gone to care right now. Now he felt how you did. Still, Jason's persisted and it’s obvious he won’t give up anytime soon.

Your entire existence had become one giant performance for them. The two weeks finally came to an end and so did your torture. You and the girls spent all night calling as you packed and they planned you a 'freedom celebration' that would start as soon as you got to Rory's house.

The two weeks really were torture, from the moment you woke up to the moment you went to sleep, it was like you were the star of a reality show you never agreed to. Every time you tried to slip away, to find some peace of mind, they were there, trying to draw you back in.

Alfred had begun preparing “family dinners,” encouraging you to join in at the table, asking you questions about your life like they hadn’t been absent for years.

Dick insisted on taking you out on family outings, making sure you were included in everything from movie nights to visits to the Gotham Zoo.

Cass would show up randomly in your room with little presents, a sketchbook, or a necklace. “For you,” she’d say with her quiet smile, a silent plea for you to forgive them.

Tim’s persistent attempts to engage you in every intellectual conversation, trying to get you to talk about everything and nothing at once, began to feel like a strange form of manipulation.

And Jason? Jason kept throwing out random quips, trying so hard to get a rise out of you, until the sarcasm wore thin and left a bitter taste in your mouth. It wasn’t funny anymore.

You couldn't wait to leave.

The morning of your flight, Bruce called you into his office, a serious expression on his face. “Good Morning,” he began, his voice a little too calm. “I need to talk to you about something.”

You stared at him, confused. “What?”

“You’re not going back to boarding school,” he said quietly, locking eyes with you. “It’s not safe. Tiffany escaped and is working with Patience again. They’ll come for you. They’ll come for all of us.”

Your blood ran cold. Tiffany. The girl who had stolen your life. The one who had tried to replace you. The one who had made everything about her and who had tricked the Batfamily into thinking she was you. Now she was ruining your escape.

“No. I’m not staying,” you spat. “I can’t be here. I won’t be here.”

“You have to stay here,” Bruce said, his voice firm, unwavering. “For your safety.”

“You can’t do this!” you screamed, jumping up from your seat, your fangs flashing as your emotions took over. “I don’t want to stay here! I want to go back! I’ll be fine in New York! You can’t keep me here!

But Bruce wasn’t backing down. His tone remained soft, even as the finality of his words sank in. “You’re staying in Gotham. And you’ll go to Gotham Prep. It’s safer.”

“No!” You felt the weight of your anger burst out of you. The room seemed to shrink. “I’m not going to Gotham Prep. I won’t stay here. I won’t live in this—prison!”

Tears welled in your eyes, hot and angry, and you could feel the pressure building inside you, the need to break free. But as your eyes met Bruce's, you realized—he was immune. He didn’t look scared of your fangs. He didn’t fear your powers, he didn't fall into your manipulation.

You later found out from Jason that Tim and Damian had been working on a serum, after what happened with Tiffany. A serum that made them immune to your powers.

There was no escaping now, not till you were 18 and Tiffany behind bars.

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[thepitlanepress]

A BET NOT SO BAD [1] –

↳ lando norris + singer!piastri!reader

⌗ :: masterlist

⌗ :: a/n: my first smau (series)!!! also i'm using random songs/artists bc im not creative or strict enough to find or stick to one artist lol. there is also no face claim js a mix of pics i found :)) and ik lando's insta handle rn is js "lando" but im not putting that, bc no i dont want to

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ynofficial

liked by oscar piastri, mclaren, lando norris, and 253,000 others

ynofficial congrats to my big bro!! i lost a bet so you suck ! i hate you so much kidding not really <33 great job to lando though cause he didn't make me lose a bet

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user1 she's so chaotic wtf i love it 😭😭

user2 i wanna know what bet she deemed good enough to take up (then lose) after swearing off betting last year 😭

user3 sameee last year's accident was .... yeah

user4 she's like an actual photographer that last pic is perfection

oscarpiastri i told you i would win the bet, the grid is going to love you

user5 WDYM OSCAR??? WHAT ABT THE GRID???

landonorris thanks 😉 liked by author

mclaren we can't wait to see you in the garage next race y/n

ynofficial im never losing a bet again 😭😭

user6 more info on this bet?!?!

user7 never LOSING a bet again??? what happened to never making one???

user8 usually i would be sad that we're not getting tour updates for a bit while shes on break but im loving this

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ynofficial

liked by oscarpiastri, mclaren, landonorris, gracieabrams, and 1, 572,000 others

ynofficial and since im wonderful while ur not getting tour updates, 2 hands welcome to the world! everyone go watch the mv now bc there are hints in there abt so close to what in case it wasn't already glaringly obvious from this post- [coming soon..... $p0rt$ (4r]

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oscarpiastri i am uncomfortable

ynofficial good.

user1 stop i just came from the mv and like?!?!? the imagery??? the dancing??? the f1 references????

user2 i stopped breathing when i saw the car

user3 no because the f1 references through out the mv have my jaw on the floor

mclaren nice car choice 😉 liked by author

madisonbeer i cant wait till the album is out omggg

user4 i am no longer functioning after that-

user5 SPORTS CAR COMING NEXT?!?!?! YES!!!!

landonorris we should hangout sometime...

oscarpiastri no.

landonorris you didnt let me finish - we should hang out sometime.... with oscar

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landonorris

liked by oscarpiastri, mclaren, ynofficial, and 6, 842, 956 others

landonorris recently.....

view all comments

user1 screaming crying throwing up what is happening these days

user2 im actually in shambles behind the scenes photos of something and yn posting and lando liking and lando posting and y/n liking and just everything i want it all give me it all

user3 real

oscarpiastri have a good day?

landonorris it was super fun 😏

oscaripiastri what did you do?

landonorris nothing!

oscarpiastri .... lando?

user4 i'm actually dying until this news comes out why is everyone being so secretive 😭😭

user5 well its safe to assume the bet and or y/n's news are f1 related

ynofficial r u majik how did u gess

user6 ... are you okay?

ynofficial oscar was missing out fr

landonorris that he was

user7 OH UM!?!?! EXCUSE ME?!?!

user8 IM SORRY WHAT

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f1unofficial

liked by 469,200 others

f1unofficial behind the scenes of something....

view all comments

user1 if you had told me last month that i would be eating up crumbs from a f1 gossip profile that has had that many problems its a known fact to avoid it i would not believe you oh my god

user2 no bc same i've hit rock bottom

user3 just tell us wtf is happening PLEASE

user4 im desperate i want to know anything pls

user5 u know ur desperate when you come here

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ynofficial

liked by oscarpiastri, mclaren, landonorris, oliviarodrigo, taylorswift and 11, 648, 752 others

ynofficial since im incapable of keeping a secret... and i lost a bet, here we are. so close to what coming out 13th of november!! also we go back on tour soooon cant wait to see you england <33

view all comments

user1 y/n releasing an f1 themed album on lando's birthday was not on my bingo card for this year

oscarpiastri hahahahaha

ynofficial you suck ass

user2 an f1 themed album???? YES PLEASEEE

user3 LANDO'S CAR BEING THE ONLY ONE ON THE COVER??? SOMEONE EXPLAIN RN

ynofficial oscar was a lazy ass and had a date w his girlfriend so only lando could make

oscarpiastri i believe what you mean to say is: "oscar had a meeting that he couldn't get out of so only lando could make the shoot"

user4 mclaren are real ones for agreeing to be on the cover

user5 its her brothers team ofc they agreed and plus shes extremely famous any of the teams would've agreed

user6 im an officially a lanyn shipper

user7 i saw this coming and yet im still shocked

user8 EXCUSE ME??? DROPPING IT ON LANDOS BIRTHDAY?!?!?!?!

user9 oh my god lanyn is setting sail

user10 THE NAMES OF THE SONGS IM OBSESSEDDDDD

user11 i cannot wait until she comes to london for the tourr

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landonorris

liked by oscarpiastri, mclaren, ynofficial, charles_leclerc and 8, 276, 949 others

landonorris i would make an excellent model

tagged: ynofficial, oscarpiastri

view all comments

user1 you would in fact make an excellent model

user2 wtf is happening in the house of commons rn

ynofficial u guys made me sick all afternoon

oscarpiastri how???

ynofficial the heart eyes were disgusting

user5 oscar and lando giving each other heart eyes confirmed

user3 yn drops an album announcement and then lando drops this im not okay anymore

user4 lanyn shippers where are youuu

charles_leclerc you need to upgrade your company maybe next time come to the better team

ynofficial i'll be seeing you soon charlie darling dont you worry

user5 screaming what is happening?!??!

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ynofficial posted

landonorris posted

charles_leclerc posted

and 18 other notifications

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2025 © thepitlanepress | please do not steal, use, translate or repost any of my works

– comments and reblogs appreciated

[yandereforme]

That non-neglected reader thing you reblogged... like what I really want to see is a bio kid reader whose mom is actually the shitty one so when her mom conveniently dies and she gets sent to Bruce she goes from being ignored to having a family that's a little too involved with her.

Like can you imagine going from being largely independent with no supervision to having 10+ people always wanting to be with you, know what you're doing, where you're going, and actually care about you? The sheer whiplash alone... plus, reader would have no idea its not normal for a loving family to install cameras in her room and make her wear a tracker. Just trying to tell her friends a funny story and then go "why are they looking at me like that?"

And Bruce would totally be yandere right from the get go with an abused bio kid cause what do you mean he missed out on holding his baby when she was born and her 1st steps and other milestones just like he did with all of his other kids just for her to be abused by the person who kept her from him!!

I just want more neglected but not by the batfam bio kid reader, but I'm not talented to write something like this myself yet... 😭

- 🔷️

First off, this is super cool, and I am in awe of your brain! Secondly, this is very well articulated.

No, but I also think about this sometimes because you also have to think of the fact that this reader would definitely cling to the affection.

Human beings need connections. It’s literally hardwired into our brain, and that coupled with the touch starvation would definitely lead to you also being very attached. Not Yandere, not anywhere close to the extent of your brothers and father, but enough that you overlook stuff that your friends might say are red flags because you have longed for that sort of companionship for years, and you are finally getting it.

About Bruce, it would arguably be worse for him mentally because the reader is a civilian. Damien was probably mistreated, that’s Cannon, but at least Talia was training. Damien came to him angry and ready to fight just like the other kids.

You on the other hand, come to him bruised and clingy with desperation in your eyes. You don’t want to fight, you are the innocent person he couldn’t protect. He wouldn’t break his no kill, not unless your mother approached you again after he took custody and attempted to take you back. As long as you are in his arms and away from your mother, he can convince himself that he managed to save you, even if it was far too late for his taste.

If your mother tries to come back, though, claiming that she’s changed or even just trying to take you away, he might not kill her himself but he would definitely let Jason kill your mother while he coddles you.

I will probably add more to this concept later because I really like this concept but that’s all I have for now. Thank you for requesting! Please send more of these, I might not have any motivation for my big series, but I do enjoy getting prompts like this. 

[beloveds-embrace]

I saw your single mom recs, and I got intrigued and have a few ideas!! I've been thinking about single mom reader who prioritized her kids after the divorce above all else, her ex was someone who was flaky + problematic and she knew her kids' childhood would be more stable if he wasn't in their lives (not like he was there much to begin, and he'd always give them false hope. No more of that!!) But because of that, she's lost a bit of herself - her mind has been in mom mode for so long, she hasn't really been feeling herself like she used to. But maybe a special guy changes that tho 👀

I'm just imagining the kids being the catalyst to the meeting. (I imagine the reader having a daughter who's in pre-school and a baby boy who's a few months old.) Maybe your daughter sees Ghost at the super market and asks him questions about his mask and tattoos and you're frantically apologizing to him, and he sees how beautiful you are and compliments you on it. He also notices the amount of groceries you have, you probably need help carrying those, right? Or maybe you're at the park, and your daughter accidently hits a ball at Gaz, the beautiful man only smiling and brushing it off. He insists on playing with your daughter after he notices that she's playing alone and you're occupied with your baby boy, and you can't help but think that he's actually prince charming irl. Maybe you're on the bus and are struggling with your bags, a phone call, and soothing your baby, trying to keep your daughter from being too loud or getting up from her seat, and Price notices, helping you out, telling you that it's no trouble - he'll even help you to your home, it's awful late after all. Or you're at the store, buying clothes now the it's gotten chilly, and your daughter begs for a new toy but you gotta let her down easy, explaining you don't have enough money on you rn, when Soap comes in, buying the toy for her. You insist on repaying, and he says you don't need to, a bonnie hen like yourself shouldn't have to worry about that, not when the lil princess is happy, cus that's what matters, right?

I'm sorry I rambled, I love men who are good with kids!!

I love men who are good with kids too 😩 god, I’m just imagining Simon- this big, hulking man- bending down to listen fully and attentively to your daughter and answering all her curious little questions, and then is still giving her his focus and attention even while carrying your groceries. Ovaries? Desperate.

ALSO KYLEEE YES his heart just kinda of aches when he notices how lonely your daughter looks, playing by herself because the other kids are all boys and told her she can’t play with them. It’s a great bonus mama looks great and has no ring on her finger.

God, anon, I love your brain 😭 john(x2)’s ideas got me blushing and giggling i love you

[nevereclipse]

There isn't enough Tim Bradford smut on tumblr.. Can you write a story where Tim gets hurt in the line of duty and Y/N comes to check on him and they do it in the hospital or something like that?

Baby Boy

Pairing: Injured!Tim Bradford x femme!reader

Rating: Explicit

Genre: Fluff and smut

Warnings: use of y/n, smut, p in v, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), tim's kinda rough, subby tim bradford (that's a warning in and of it's self), use of pet names, praise, tim refers to reader as "toy" once in passing, rough sex, emotional sex, canon typical injuries.

Requested Y/N: yes, above.

Summary: After a shit few shifts, Tim ends up in the hospital with a nearly-dislocated shoulder. He's wound up and stressed, and when you visit him in the hospital, he realises that all he needs is you.

Authors Note: I hope this is what you were after! I saw your request and all I could think was needy, kinda subby Tim. Enjoy! I don't write a lot of p in v smut (i think this is my first time??) so I hope its okay!!

---

Tim really wasn’t that injured. He’d tried to convince Lucy not to take him to the hospital, and she’d agreed at first. But then she’d seen the look of pain on his face when he’d tried to lift his shoulder more than a few centimetres and had demanded he get admitted.

So now he was sitting in the hospital, waiting for Lucy to come back with something from the vending machine, and wishing he was on patrol. His shoulder wasn’t dislocated, just tweaked. In all honesty, he was probably getting old. He’d never admit it out loud, but he’d never have gotten an injury like this in his youth.

Tim stared at his phone, considering texting you to tell you where he was. He really didn’t want you to worry, especially considering that if he had his way he’d be back on patrol in a few hours, but he knew you’d be furious if he didn’t tell you. You’d be especially mad if Lucy was the one to tell you. Which let’s be honest, she probably already had.

And frankly, he just really fucking wanted to see you.

So he texted you.

From: Tim Bradford

To: Y/N ❤️

In the hospital. Not serious. Room 267A. Should be out in a few hours. I love you.

Tim put his phone away, refusing to let himself stare at it until you responded. In the silence of the hospital room, the weight of the last few days finally landed on him. He’d spent his day yesterday looking for an abducted kid, and he’d had nearly non-stop domestics today. Until, of course, his last call, a simple 211 which had some how resulted in him nearly dislocating his shoulder. He scrubbed a hand (the one attached to his good arm) over his face, wanting nothing more than to see you. Everything hurt, in some dull, achy way, and his shoulder was throbbing a little and he just wanted to see you. He’d been good to go back on patrol as soon as he’d held you for a moment.

Your reply came through almost instantly.

From: Y/n Y/l/n

To: Baby boy 💞

I’m on my way. I love you.

Tim sighed in pure relief. You’d be here soon. You work was just around the corner from the hospital, less than 10 minutes, and you knew your way around the building thanks to Tim’s unfortunate habit of injuring himself. And knowing you, you’d speed to get to Tim.

As per Tim’s assumption, you were at the hospital in 6 minutes. 8 and you were in his room, leaning against a doorway with your arms crossed, as you looked over him assessingly.

“Hi, baby.”

All the tension in Tim’s muscles released as soon as he saw you. The slight pounding of his head, and all his worries, softened when you put your arms around him. He practically melted into you.

“Hi,” He sighed, burying his face in the crook of your neck. After the last few days, your presence was more medicinal than anything the doctors had given him. He pressed a kiss to the slope of your neck, desperate to be closer to you. Tim Bradford was a clingy motherfucker, when you gave him the chance.

“Hi, baby boy,” You murmured and you ran your hands through your hair. You could feel the neediness radiating off him, and nothing meant more to you than his trust. That he let himself be soft around you. “Are you okay?”

Tim nodded. “I am now.”

You smiled softly, pulling Tim closer to you. You tipped up his chin and pressed a soft kiss to his lips and… well you probably should’ve seen this coming. Tim whined, a growly sort of sound in the back of his throat, and his hands were instantly on the small of your back, pulling you closer.

“Woah,” you said, pulling back from him and studying his face with a slight frown. “Are you sure?”

Tim’s nod was desperate bordering on deranged. “Yes. I need this, I need- I need you.” And he did. He had too much pent-up tension and worry that he needed to let off, and he couldn’t exactly go to the gym with his injured shoulder. Besides, that would involve being too far away from you. Your body (you, just you) could provide all the release and relief that he needed.

“What about your shoulder?” You asked, gently tracing your hand over the injured limb.

“I’ll be careful,” Tim insisted, kissing your neck again. He nipped at the slope of your shoulder and this time it was you who couldn’t help a little whimper. Convinced, you kissed Tim again, this time taking it deeper and allowing his tongue to slip into your mouth. You moaned when he nipped at your bottom lip.

Tim’s hands travelled over your hips, your waist, your back. He couldn’t get enough of you, and he knew he wouldn’t be satisfied until he was inside of you. He also knew he wouldn’t be able to hold you up properly in one arm, and so he walked forward until you hit the bed. A hospital bed wasn’t the most romantic location for sex, but compared to Nolan’s guest bedroom, it wasn’t that bad.

As he kissed you, hard and demanding, Tim slid a knee between your legs, allowing you to search for the friction you were desperately starting to need. You ground down on his leg, whining at the pressure on your clit.

 “Tim,” You moaned, your head bent back as Tim bit gentle at your collarbones. At the sound of his name, Tim snapped. All the pent-up emotion from the last few days came to a head as he ground out:

“Bend over.”

You obeyed instantly, unbuckling your belt and bending over the bed. Tim’s hands never left your hips. His grip was harsh, and you knew there would be reminders of it in the mourning. You grinned at the thought.

It wasn’t long before your pants were being pulled down off your waist and below the curve of your ass – just low enough for Tim’s access. The sound of Tim’s belt being pulled off filled the air, and you wriggled your ass in anticipation. You could feel the slick between your thighs, the aching emptiness inside you.

“You ready?” Tim bent over you, his breath tickling the shell of your ear.

You nodded. You knew Tim needed this, needed the release, which is why you whispered, “Use me, baby boy. Take whatever you need.”

Tim grunted, and he was fully sheathing himself inside you before you could take another breath. He groaned, the sound deep and guttural, and took a moment to adjust. You clenched around him, perfectly filled. You pushed your ass towards him, urging him to move, and that was all the encouragement he needed. He pounded into you, hips slapping against your ass. It was rough, and unrelenting and exactly what he needed.

“Fuck, y/n,” Tim moaned, reaching around to fondle one of your breasts. He tweaked your nipple between two fingers, and you whimpered, the sound falling from your lips.

“So good, baby, so good, fuck,” Tim was babbling a little, the sound combining with the wet noise of him snapping into you. “’m not gonna last,” he warned, refusing to cease. The sex was aggressive and harsh and so fucking good.

The hand on your nipples slid down your stomach and between your legs, toying with your clit as Tim continued to relentlessly pound into you. You moaned loudly, feeling your own orgasm approaching.

“Tim,” You almost shouted, “Fuck!” You pushed your hips to meet his thrust, his cock meeting just the right spot inside you.

“That’s right, baby, so good, so fucking good, good girl-,” Tim didn’t stop speaking, his thrusts getting sloppier as he neared release. “So fucking good for me, my good girl, such a good fucking toy, fuck-,” Tim bit down into your shoulder to silence his shout as he came. It wasn’t a worthwhile decision, as the pressure of his teeth and the feeling of his seed filling you had you yourself moaning loudly.

Your orgasm arrived soon after Tim’s, and when he slowly pulled out, you were both trembling and sweaty. He gently cleaned you up, his touch now all too different from just moments before.

“You alright?” He asked, looking at you with a softness that made you want to cry out of love.

You nodded. “I’m okay. Are you?” You turned around, running a hand across Tim’s glowing cheek. He keened into the touch, sighing softly.

“I’m okay. I just… needed you.” There was a hint of guilt in his words, like he regretting using you that way. “I wasn’t… did I hurt you?”

You shook your head and sat up in the bed. “No, my love. You were perfect.” Tim’s relief was visible.

“Now c’mere,” You scooched across on the bed, leaving space for him to join you. “You’ve had a shit few days, and I know your shoulder hurts more than you admit. Come cuddle me, baby boy.”

Tim was all too happy to oblige, curling against the one person who always felt like home.

[thehauntingofharrenhouse]

cersei's not 'evil' from the beginning, she's perpetuating tywin's abuse from a young age, which is unfortunately something that happens often in toxic family dynamics like these? the tywin lannister family dynamic is extremely common even in universe––it's actually kind of genius imo that all the evildads in asoiaf follow the same boring patterns of favoring one child and scapegoating the other (aerys, balon, randyll tarly aegon iv). cersei falls into the 'helper' role to jaime's 'golden child' and tyrion's scapegoat. she's desperate for his validation and everything she does, especially as a child, reflects that. jaime is the opposite; he does not want what tywin wants for him (and he was weirdly ok with johanna dying since she wanted to split up him and cersei, which made it easier for him not to resent or blame tyrion). cersei strives for what jaime shrinks from bc tywin doesn't give it to her and she's conflated it with love. she never had a chance and she never had an education. tywin set up all his kids to fail!!!

like jaime she never really matured after the trauma she experienced as a teenager, unlike jaime she doesn't have even the vague outline of a positive role model or ideal (knighthood) to aspire to. she doesn't seem to be friends with any of the ladies at court to the extent that she seems more comfortable confiding in sansa. she's just emotionally an angry teenager and absolutely destroyed by grief and panic by the time we get to her pov chapters. truly a tragic villain of all time!!!

why did martin made cersei evil from the beginning? tyrion and jaime are very fucked up but they still have some kindness and empathy in them. at age 7 she was torturing baby tyrion by pulling on his genitals and threatening the wet nurse her tongue would be cut out. she killed her friend at age 10. having all these negative traits baked in from the beginning makes her more flat for me. plus martin made her stupid and mockable. she has zero self awareness. she is dishonest with herself. even d&d had more respect for her. do you think cersei is a sociopath? i think martin doesn't like her. do you agree with me?

ok you pose several arguments here but I will try and reply as entirely as I can.

why did martin made cersei evil from the beginning?

I've questioned this choice sometimes but I don't think it was necessarily the wrong one?? the scene with baby Tyrion is to me a deeply disturbing but still very interesting one that says a lot about Cersei, her relationship with Tywin, and the greater part she's played in shaping her relationship with Tyrion.

here, she has obviously very quickly absorbed Tywin's 'the baby killed Joanna' narrative, and is punishing Tyrion in a manner that's like. both childish and horribly violent at once, like she doesn't fully understand how violence is usually applied (pinching is a really childish form of violence in my mind), but she knows how to make it hurt.

then there's also the fact that perhaps Tyrion now represents a rival to second place - her status over him is that she's able-bodied, but his over her is his sex. maybe Cersei has some vague understanding of this at seven, and that's another part of why she hurts Tyrion is this extremely particular way.

and also like. Tywin is ultimately a man of extreme violence, and Cersei has always been listening at the door trying to learn from him. it makes sense that she'd be trying to apply his teachings where she sees fit, and that this would result in disturbed behaviour like what she does to Tyrion. I think it's also interesting that we can distinguish this from what Joffrey does to the cat, for example. there's a kind of obliviousness to that act of violence in Joffrey's early childhood (making more the case for nature over nurture, though nurture plays its part). Cersei's childhood violence is a lot more intentional: it feels like she's trying to exercise power of her own, and that is very much fitting with adult Cersei's story.

however, I think Cersei herself identifies the Melara incident as something of an outlier in her childhood. I don't say this to suggest that Cersei was not a very violent child, but that she didn't do it out of pure evil. I think the key factor driving Cersei to do what she does to Melara is a fear for her own mortality - Melara points out that if noone talks of Maggy's prophecy, it needn't be true, and so Cersei kills the only other person who knows of it (besides Maggy). I do think spite towards Melara for yearning for Jaime factored insofar as this helps Cersei build just enough spite towards Melara that she's able to do what she does, but it is primarily an act of self-preservation, I think. I think many evil acts of Cersei's are self-preservation, though taken way past the line of what's justifiable to that end.

and ofc, Cersei as an adult feels some level of guilt about what she did to Melara. it does fuck with her a bit. I think the main reason is that Melara was a friend and confidante for a time, someone who she could have held close but instead cast out (same as how she briefly reflects on Sansa and how she might have done better by her). so..... again, it does come down to self-preservation in the end, but I don't think Cersei was a two-dimensional evil kid. you can find the sense in her reasoning, which is pretty absent in what Joffrey does to the cat.

tyrion and jaime are very fucked up but they still have some kindness and empathy in them.

i personally find the cersei/her brothers dichotomies kind of frustrating cos like. not every character needs the traits of empathy and kindness. Cersei is not the only character in ASOIAF who lacks these traits. Littlefinger, Euron, Roose, Ramsay, Tywin himself, etc, all lack these traits, and yet are not afforded anything close to complexity Cersei is. she is the only POV character among these villains. and whilst I do think that the whiplash between Cersei's occasionally-played-for-laughs foolishness and her sexual trauma is sometimes verging on ill-judged, fandom should take more accountability for the extent to which they relegate Cersei to dark comic relief. she was not written as this.

and as I've said before, whilst I do think it's notable that Cersei is our primary female villain yet written as often foolish and ridiculed as such, yet male villains comparably tend to be much savvier, it still makes sense that Cersei would lack these smarts: she wasn't taught them. still, sure, to some extent I agree that GRRM should not have played this for laughs so often.

returning again to Cersei lacking empathy etc - well, you have other characters who lack evil. Brienne hasn't really got a gram of darkness in her body, yet is enormously complex in other ways. then you've got characters like Asha, who have more of a balance of the two, and yet aren't even half as complex as Cersei (despite being a POV). GRRM has not refused Cersei complexity, and he has not written her, on his own part, without empathy. we see Cersei grieve, we see Cersei traumatised, we see Cersei frightened, we see Cersei humiliated. again, as I've said before, GRRM makes us hold Cersei's cruelty in the one hand, and Cersei's pain in the other, and reckon with both at once. neither excuses the other, as they might in a lesser story - like Game of Thrones!

and i'm not going to go deep into GOT right now, but I don't agree that d&d had more respect for Cersei as a character. d&d cannot conceive of Cersei as anything besides a mother. they reduce everything about her to motherhood, and when she runs out of children, they stick another one in her. they cannot imagine what might drive a character like Cersei beyond motherhood. it is essentially the final note of her story - 'I don't want our baby to die' etc. i don't think i need to say much more to explain that I think reducing a character like book Cersei to this, is deeply misogynistic. if you want to see that misogyny in action elsewhere, see how the finale ultimately frames a dichotomy between the childless Dany, a freak tyrant, and the pregnant mother Cersei, who the writers think we'll want to escape to Pentos to survive with her baby, and who we're supposed to weep for when she doesn't make it out. and now remember what happened like. one episode before with Missandei, the last black woman on this show. d&d couldn't respect a woman if their lives depended on it

do you think cersei is a sociopath?

GRRM says she has an 'almost sociopathic' view of the world, but obviously shies away from identifying her as such, and I think he's right to - these kinds of labels are far too prescriptive when what you're trying to write is a character in a book, not an article for a medical journal.

do you agree with me?

nah not really. ultimately I think whilst Cersei is written as unabashedly evil, this doesn't mean that that evil is two dimensional. she exists on the darkest end of the spectrum because I think that is the most interesting place for her to occupy - I don't believe Cersei's story would be improved with a redemption arc, or a couple of instances where she sneaks Sansa a sweet or w/e. grey characters are interesting, yeah, but they are not invariably more interesting than those in the darkest shades, and I don't think GRRM has done Cersei an injustice by not painting her lighter.

[asktheritochampion]

Soo... What's your true opinion on Teba, Tulin, and Saki? :)

Why are you so intent on ruining every half decent relation I have and obliterating my dignity in the process?

Tulin is the only Rito in the past hundred years who has been able to harness the winds as I can. Not only I am unbelievably proud of the kid, but this ability we - and only we - share, connects us. I wish to train him everything I know. I feel immensely protective of him and would give my very life to protect him – not that I wouldn’t for most people I suppose. I had a brother once by blood; Tulin is more of a brother to me than he ever was.

The wind connects our souls, and we are both her children.

Teba is the most phenomenal Rito Warrior I have ever met, past or present.

The intensity of his training is admirable, even to me. While he may never have mastered the skies, his archery skills are so advanced that I believe that if he didn’t hold back, he would defeat even me in a contest of skill – and that is not an assumption I would award lightly.

Not only is he an unmatched warrior but a wise and confident leader to our people, and an incredible father to his son. He is the Rito all men should aspire to be. I admire him so much that it’s embarrassing. I feel pathetically desperate to make him proud and I don’t even know why.

He told me once that he would be proud to call me a son and I’ve been in an emotional war with myself ever since; both wanting to cling onto my title as his worshipped hero from the past, but also crumbling beneath the childish desire to feel wanted and loved. The notion should be terribly patronising shouldn't it?! I’m the Rito Champion and an adult grown man - I do not need a father or a parent of any kind. So why am I incapable of thinking of him without calling him dad in my mind? Why is it that all I want is for him to tell me he's proud of me all the time?! Why do I need that?! What is wrong with me?!

Then there’s Saki.

Ever since I awoke from my passing, I feel as if I’ve been broken. Consumed with grief and regret, remorse and guilt and devastation. I lost everyone I ever knew, I never even got to apologise for failing them, it has been tearing me apart from the inside out. At first she took me into her home as a kindness, as most anyone would do when a Rito turns up without a roof over their head – but even during my very worst days, in moments where I’ve wished I could have remained dead, where I’ve been unable to eat or even rise from my hammock like a useless, pathetic fool, she’s been nothing but patient and kind to me.

From day one, she’s been treating me as if I were a beloved family member - even when at my lowest moments I’ve been nothing but rude or disruptive or downright pitiful. Nobody has ever given me that kind of endless, unconditional care, not even as a chick. I pretend to myself and to any who pry that my family died in some heroic battle, but I’m not dense, I know they left me behind because I was unwanted – that perhaps I was simply too much effort for too little gain. I’m constantly afraid that one day I’ll awaken and be asked to leave because I am simply too inconvenient - too rude and unpleasant, that I’m too intense to put up with – that somehow, despite being the best, that I’m still not good enough.

I could move out at any time really, it wouldn’t take long to build my own nest. But she...she smells and sounds like the vaguest memories of my own mother and being close to her makes me feel safe in a way I’ve never felt before and I just...I don’t know how to handle going back to not feeling like that anymore.

Everything is terrible and I just... want my mom.

…And thanks to you, the lot of them will likely never speak to me again after this mortifying admission.

Now if you don't mind, I need to go and hide under a rock and never show my face in the Village again.

[6/10 🧪✨]

[simari]

Realization

Enzo stirred awake on the sofa, the morning light spilling through the curtains in soft beams. He had woken up early, partly out of habit, and partly because he wanted to do something special for Alessandra. The memory of their kiss from the night before lingered in his mind, electric and warm. With a smile creeping across his face, he slipped into the kitchen to whip up breakfast. As he toasted bread, he heard the gentle patter of feet against the floor. Alessandra appeared, her eyes still blinking away sleep. “Good morning,” she said, her voice a melodic whisper, a beautiful contrast to the clattering of pans. “Good morning, Querida,” Enzo replied, his heart swelling at the sight of her. “You look flawless this morning.” Alessandra felt a blush creep into her cheeks, the flattery warming her more than the sun streaming in. “Thank you,” she said, a shy smile spreading across her face. They settled down to eat, the plates steaming with freshly cooked breakfast. The food was delicious, but Enzo found his mind wandering to the events of the previous night—the kiss, the laughter, the feeling of being together again after so long. It felt so comfortable, like slipping into an old pair of shoes. As they ate, Enzo couldn’t help but scroll through his phone, his thumb flicking through social media as he savored the moment. That was when he saw it—a post that made his stomach drop. His heart raced as he stared at the glaring headline. “Alessandra De Laurentis caught kissing Personal Trainer, Enzo Santori.” The image was vibrant, capturing them mid-kiss, the intimacy of that private moment now blasted across the tabloids.

“Ally, you’re never going to believe this,” he said, his voice unsteady as he turned the phone toward her. Alessandra looked up from her plate, her brow furrowing with concern. “What? What’s wrong?” As she leaned in to peer at his phone, her expression shifted from curiosity to shock. Tears welled in her eyes, spilling over as she gasped. “What the fuck. You’ve got to be kidding me. That was a private moment between you and I.”

Enzo felt a pang of desperation as he watched her distress. He slid off the chair and knelt on the floor beside her, wrapping his arms around her. “Come here, Querida. It’ll be okay. It’s not the ideal situation, but we will be okay. On the bright side, you look breathtakingly beautiful,” he said, trying to weave comfort into his words.

Alessandra let out a soft laugh, though her tears still flowed. “I love you, Enzo,” she whispered, the emotion heavy in her voice. He leaned in, kissing her softly, feeling the warmth of her lips against his. “I love you too,” he murmured back, the words flowing from his heart. It was a promise, a reassurance amidst the chaos.

But the reality of the situation interrupted the moment of tenderness. The world's invasion of their privacy forced them to navigate its aftermath together. Enzo, determined to lighten the mood, suddenly lifted Alessandra off her feet, throwing her over his shoulder with a playful grin. “Let’s go watch some TV,” he declared, his tone teasing, trying to inject levity into the heaviness that loomed over them. Alessandra squealed in surprise, laughter bubbling up despite her tears. “Enzo! Put me down!” she protested, her heart racing with a mix of joy and indignation.

“Not a chance,” he said, striding toward the living room with a triumphant smile. “We need a distraction, and I know the perfect show to take our minds off this mess.” As he plopped down on the couch with her still draped over him, she couldn’t help but wrap her arms around his neck, feeling safe in his embrace. “You’re ridiculous,” she said, trying to sound annoyed but failing to hide her smile. “And yet, you love me,” he shot back, winking at her. “Now, let’s see what the world has to say about our little moment.”

[waynes-multiverse]

I see you've successfully saved the glorious Ross gif 🤣

Ahaha I love this mention! 😂

At least he's feeling well enough to eat again and stopped destroying the office lol

Ha! I love her, she's such a badass.~

Hahaha I was considering if it was too much, but I could totally see her going at it again. She's definitely a "goes down swinging" kinda type lol

Btw, everytime I work in a Friends reference I think of you like "Aww, Alex will get this" 😂🫶

Ugh, she's so much stronger than me. I'd be a blubbering mess on the floor, poor thing. 😭😭

Oooh, I don't know about that. I think we can surprise ourselves in those situations ☺️ (She also had the advantage of sorta being prepared for it due to all the videos she's seen)

But yeah, she'd kill any escape room after this 😂

I love those moments where you as the audience know there's an answer here somewhere, but you just have to watch on edge as the person works it out in desperation. 🥲

Aah, same! I love these little moments where you just sit there, biting your nails, and hope they make it 🙈

And on the flip side, this is torture for Beau, a man of action, to not be able to do anything. To just wait and see if anything changes.

Lmao yes! He was going a bit nutty again when she was just saving her energy till she figured it out 😅

This is so truly intense -- it's cinematic in so many ways, and I'm loving this suspense...

I truly worked ages on this scene 😅 I usually hate writing action and prefer dialogue, but I tried challenging myself with this one lol

GAH! This is the delicious White Knight-saving angst that I live for. 🥹

I loved writing this so much! 😍 We all know reader is clearly a strong badass, but even she needs a little saving sometimes (or big one in this case lol)

Lmaoo this kind of pudding??

Hahaha yes 😂 Exactly what I had been thinking of

Aww in a way I do still feel bad for Randy, but "dissolved;" I think that's the right word for it as well. I love that last line in the scene. 💙

They at least parted on good terms. And yeah, definitely hard for Randy. He lost his wife and his best friend in one day 🥲

But he can move on now and find his own happiness again ❤️‍🩹

Awww haha, they're so cute!! I would've loved to see that reunion kiss. 🥹 But I have a feeling these two are finally off to their happy ending...

Haha honestly I completely forgot about the reunion kiss in a way. That whole rescue scene took me tf out. The happy ending kinda became a blurry, blissful bubble afterward 😂

I kinda liked the open ending in the hospital and then showing them in a "sitting on the porch together" kinda way 🥰🥹💕

Lol that is peak Beau behavior there! I love the rambling and the adorable fussing. Makes my heart so full. ❤️ Especially how she's just like, "sit down and be with me, you fool." 😂

Reader was definitely in a super chill, zen state (must be the near death experience) and Beau's fussing was disturbing her peace lol

I also found it very interesting how they both decided to retire. They've clearly been through the absolute wringer, plus the whole matter of Beau probably never feeling safe in that office again, and the reader needing time upon time to recover from all that trauma. It's a lovely new chapter for these two to have a quieter life together, whether or not they have kids down the line (though I love that conversation they had. Beau's line of “Look, I’m already retiring from the job – I don’t wanna retire from life,” had me dead lol). 🥹

There was a lot of "we've done the work, but we know what matters most" weaved into their conversation and decisions. They're just ready at this point to enjoy life and each other and avoid all the other crap 😅 (So happy you liked that line, tho! I thought it was so fitting for him to say 💚)

Thank you so much for all your sweet, insightful, and funny comments and reblogs, Alex!! 🥹🫶 Part of the fun of sharing stories here on tumblr for me is always the theories, the clues, the jokes, the ramblings, and the thirsting (lol) we get to exchange with our peers, so thank you for indulging me yet again 🤍

Polaris – Chapter 13

Series Summary: When Beau Arlen moved to Montana, he left behind a past he wasn’t proud of. But when a series of murders requires the FBI’s help, Sheriff Arlen‘s ghosts come back to haunt him one by one. With a wrong turn waiting at every crossroads, it’s hard to make the right choices and find his way back home – back to you.

Pairing: Beau Arlen x FBI Agent!Reader

Warnings: 18+, major angst, kidnapping, confined spaces, violence, injuries, drowning, CPR, life-and-death situations, the fluffiest ending (If any of these warnings trigger you, stay away ⚠️🫶)

Word Count: 7.4k

A/N: We're here! Last part, babes 😘 Thank you guys so much for sticking with me on this one. I know it was another wild ride, but I appreciated your sweet, insightful, and funny comments throughout 🥹🤍

Ready? Don't forget to breathe 😉

Series Masterlist || Main Masterlist || Tag List

Chapter 13: Sure And Certain

“What’s she doing?”

With a mouthful of Donno’s Special of the Day sandwich, Beau came to stand behind a whole group of people who had gathered around a laptop screen propped up on his desk.

He threw another sandwich wrapped in paper on the desk in front of Randy, who sat comfortably in his chair and nodded a ‘thank you.’ Behind him, Jenny leaned casually against the window sill with an intensely knitted brow. Cassie and Denise, on the other hand, had grabbed themselves a set of uncomfortable, worn chairs from the break room and sat on each side of Randy, staring musingly at the screen.

“I think she’s meditating,” Denise put forth.

“No, I think she’s sleeping,” Jenny said dryly.

“I don’t know…” Cassie’s brow furrowed.

Beau frowned as he stepped forward, stealing a glance at the livestream himself. You were still lying perfectly motionless on the long metal table in the middle of the room. They knew you were alive, though. They had watched you crawl up there and lie down. Sometimes, your eyes were open. Sometimes, they were closed for long periods of time.

“She’s still doing what she’s been doing for eight hours now,” Beau huffed. Honestly, he’d be more worried if it wasn’t so damn frustrating.

“Maybe the poor thing’s in shock after everything she’s been through,” Denise suggested sympathetically.

Beau hoped she wasn’t right. Seeing you give up didn’t sit well with him. He couldn’t watch you lie there alone in the cold until there was no air left anymore.

In all honesty, he had a confession to make: He’d never watched a single of Diane’s videos to the end. He knew you’d probably watched them a thousand times, but he couldn’t do it. He had watched parts of it, sure, but never the bitter end. He didn’t know how you'd done it. He always figured you were a lot stronger than him.

But maybe you’d seen something on those videos he didn’t know but had to.

“Y/N?” Randy scoffed at Denise’s proposal with conviction and shook his head. “No, she wouldn’t give up, and I doubt Turner scared her that much. She put a screwdriver in the guy, for crying out loud,” he argued his objection. “No, she’s thinking.”

Beau hated to agree with Randy but hoped to hell he was right.

“Maybe,” Cassie mused and squinted her eyes at the screen. “I think she’s staring at the light above her.”

With narrowed eyes, everyone drew in closer to the screen and observed you.

“I think Cass is right,” Jenny said and retreated to her old position, smirking.

Beau frowned anew and flailed his arms. “Why?”

Fucking Hal Turner.

He got you with a shovel, tied your hands, hauled you back to the cabin and sedated you.

You woke with a few meager slaps across your face before groggily being dragged through the woods at night on unsteady legs. You slipped in and out of consciousness a few times, but you knew Turner wasn’t strong enough to carry you, so he had to keep you awake enough to walk, but sedated enough to not fight back.

You, however, tried to memorize and plan as much as your dazed mind possibly let you. You remembered how long you’d walked from the cabin to the bunker – about thirty minutes. You knew which direction you’d walked as you’d glanced up at the stars – north. And you knew you had hiked slightly up, but not more than twelve degrees. You remembered the faint sounds of a river splashing close by.

Most importantly, you could still feel the screwdriver tucked into your sock in your left boot.

Turner hadn’t frisked you again – big mistake.

As soon as you’d reached the spot of the supposed bunker, you frowned when Turner removed a pile of leaves, moss and dirt from the forest floor and opened the metal hatch that hid underneath.

Oh, hell no…

You weren’t getting in there. If you hadn’t known it before, you surely knew it now.

You would’ve been fine with the cabin because you knew Beau and the department would eventually find it. He’d get a list of their properties and find it. Denise had been in charge of those, and she’d been meticulous.

You would’ve been fine with an above-ground bunker, or even halfway above, too. Once the team would find the cabin, they’d know Turner and you couldn’t have gone far. They’d find the blood and test it, realizing with relief that most of it wasn’t yours. They’d know you’d be in the general area, and Beau would move heaven and earth to find you.

But this thing? They’d never fucking find you here.

Roughly, Turner shoved you down the tight metal stairway, leading to a room you knew only too well from videos. Now, you were here and saw it all for real, like glimpsing behind the scenes of a movie set.

Why couldn’t it have been the Friends set in Hollywood? Instead, you had to visit Diane Newton’s arts and crafts project.

Hal Turner cut your ties – again. And you saw it as your perfect way to escape. Again.

Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.

With your elbows and shoulders, you shoved Turner backwards and bent down, quickly retrieving the screwdriver from your boot. You spun around and thrust it straight into his left carotid artery.

He gasped a breathless sound, his eyes growing wide and white. You let go and stepped back.

You’d never killed someone before – not like this at least.

But then Turner inhaled a deep breath of air – strained, angry, fighting. And you finally understood where the phrase white-hot rage stemmed from.

The roaring Grizzly kicked you right into your bear trap injury. With a painful scream and a searing pain, you fell to your knees and clasped your wound.

He then fled up the stairs like a rat through a sewer cover, tossing the hatch shut behind him. There was the sound of a thick lock before some shuffling followed. At least he couldn’t have done a good job on covering up the entrance. Maybe they’d find you easier this way.

Better yet, you hoped Turner would succumb to his fatal injury not too far from the hatch. If they found his body close by, they could find you too, right?

At least you’d gotten the bastard…

You wanted to scream till your lungs were depleted of all oxygen, but you didn’t have enough air for a breakdown in this bunker. You took one last deep breath to ground yourself and closed your eyes.

Then, you opened them.

The bright neon light flickered above as your eyes darted around the room. The space was sparse, concrete walls peeling in places, as though even the structure was trying to escape. You didn’t want to think too much about how long you would be trapped here.

You already knew this place by heart and what would happen if you didn’t get out.

At the edge of the corner, sat a row of rusty metal lockers. Shuffling over on your good leg, you opened the shrieking door and found that the lockers held various odds and ends – tools, cans, an assortment of chemical bottles with faded labels, and a single, cracked lightbulb resting on its side.

The other victims had received these items as well but never pieced enough of it together to escape. A few drank the chemical bottles for a quicker death out of sheer desperation. While you unfortunately couldn’t solve Diane’s little riddle either, you swore to yourself poison would never be a last resort.

You’d seen those deaths – they had neither been quick nor painless.

You found a first-aid kit as well and lowered yourself to the cold ground, bandaging your ankle. As you tightened the bandage to stop the blood flow, your eyes glanced up the shelves.

Your breath hitched. In the back of your mind, a vague memory from your 7th grade science teacher stirred – something about pressure, something about triggering a chain reaction. You tried to push it away but the thought wouldn’t leave. Maybe an escape was possible after all. There were things you could use – you just needed to figure out how.

The jar of white powder caught your eye. It was too fine to be salt. The label was half-scratched off, but you could make out the word "sulfate." Next to it, a small container of copper wiring lay scattered across the shelf – tiny, thin strands coiled tightly like little snakes, their sharp ends glinting in the harsh neon light.

You pulled at your sleeves nervously, staring at the broken lightbulb once more. If you twisted it carefully, the filament inside would snap. Maybe. Then there was the sharp wire… You let the idea float in your mind for just a moment longer before shaking it off.

And there was that other thing. Something buried deeper in the corner, an oily rag, half-soaked in a pungent smell you couldn’t quite place. You made a mental note. They weren’t much, but they were something.

If you could just piece it all together…

Tiredly, you heaved yourself onto the large metal table in the middle of the room. It was harsh, cold, and uncomfortable, but it was all you had. You lied down on your back and stared at the ceiling, at the flickering neon light above you. Then, you closed your eyes again.

Think, think, think…

For hours, Beau had now stared at the grainy footage, watching your unmoving form. The neon light flickered overhead, casting long shadows against the cold, cement walls of the bunker. His hands were trembling as he gripped the armrests of his chair, his body taut with the weight of helplessness.

The others had left his office a while ago, scrambling to find a way to get you out. There was a search going on, a team of skilled rescuers turning over every stone in the general vicinity of the cabin. Beau knew you couldn’t be far from there. And still, he feared he wouldn’t find you in time.

Truthfully, he knew the only one that could get you out was you. If you just stopped lying there…

Nothing. Not even a twitch. What the hell were you thinking about?

You were alive. He knew you were, reminding himself of that fact on an hourly basis. But for all the good it did, it didn’t matter. The silence on the feed was more suffocating than any sound.

But then…

A subtle movement. A shift in the shadows, so slight that at first, he thought it was just his eyes playing tricks on him.

His heart skipped.

Your fingers twitched, just enough to catch his attention. And then, slowly, agonizingly, you dragged yourself up, struggling to sit. He watched the quiet shuffle of your body across the concrete floor. You were alive. You were still fighting.

“Guys!” his gruff voice called loudly for the cavalry, but he didn’t wait for them to flood into his office.

Beau leaned forward in his chair, holding his breath. His heart hammered in his chest as you lifted your head, your eyes flicking briefly to the camera – aware. You knew he was watching.

Your movements were shaky, too weak for anything swift, but they were purposeful. You scanned the room with desperation. The broken lightbulb in the rusty locker, jagged glass fragments scattered on the shelf, caught your attention.

You reached for it.

Beau’s stomach twisted. No, don’t…

But it was too late. You pressed the sharp edge against the skin of your palm, wincing with the effort as blood began to bead at the surface. His breath hitched, fingers curling into fists at his sides. The blood flowed in slow, steady streams, painting your hand.

You didn’t flinch.

You moved with a practiced precision, grimly intent. With shaky fingers, you scooped some blood on your pointer finger and pressed the pad to the wall, your arm trembling as you began to write.

Seismograph.

Beau’s eyes locked onto the word, his brow furrowing.

Seismograph?

You were so weak. You could barely hold yourself up, and yet, you were still thinking. Still trying. Then you turned to the wall once more, collecting more blood on your finger as you struggled to form the second word.

3 hours.

You stopped then, your body slumping against the wall, too drained to write any more. You didn’t need to. The message was clear.

The feed cut to static for a brief moment, the camera buzzing with distortion, before it returned to the silent, unchanging image of your still form against the wall. But Beau wasn’t looking at you anymore.

His mind raced, blood thundering in his ears. Seismograph. 3 hours.

A tremor ran through him – an earthquake in his chest.

Seismograph. You were giving him a clue. Something seismic. A signal of some kind. His gut twisted. He was supposed to know what it meant.

3 hours. What did that mean? Three hours before something? Three hours after something?

He didn’t have time to analyze it. You were sending him a lifeline. And whatever it meant, he was going to find you.

“What’s going on?” Jenny was the first to thunder into his office, her heart beating fast in her ribcage. She came to stand behind Beau and glanced at the screen, her brow knitting at the crimson words on the concrete wall in the same way his had. “Seismograph. 3 hours,” the blonde read aloud. “What does it mean?”

Cassie stood quietly in the doorframe, listening and thinking. “What is in those lockers?”

“I don’t know. We never found a bunker before, and Diane sure as hell ain’t telling us,” Beau huffed frustratedly.

“But there are chemicals of some kind,” Jenny pointed out, squinting her eyes at the laptop.

“Maybe she’s building a bomb,” Cassie proposed.

Beau pondered the theory for a beat. Then, he nodded. “We already know the area of the bunker. We could probably find her exact location through the tremors.”

“With a seismograph,” Jenny finished the thought. “Well, let’s hope she doesn’t blow herself up first.”

Beau hoped that, too. He didn’t even know you possessed bomb-making skills, but he figured you hadn’t known that fact about yourself either. This was by far not a thoroughly planned undertaking.

“Alright, get a damn seismograph here. I don’t care where you get it or what it costs. We’ve got three hours,” Beau barked his orders with a racing heart.

Your message had just bought him time, and he wasn’t going to waste it. You were still alive. He could still save you. And he wasn’t going to stop until he did.

Your breath came in short, labored gasps as you hunched over the crude metal table in the dark, sterile bunker. The faint hum of the camera feeding into the livestream echoed through the silence, the red light blinking softly as its lens captured your every movement, broadcasting your quiet panic.

You knew Beau was watching. They all probably were. You could almost feel their eyes on you, their silent judgment, their hope that this would work. They’d see the sweat glistening on your brow, the faint tremor in your hands as you worked on your little science fair project.

But it wasn’t fear that made you shake now. It was the cold certainty that time was running out.

You carefully twisted the wire around the small, makeshift device you’d cobbled together from the limited supplies at your disposal. Every movement was deliberate, every breath controlled, even as your mind raced a marathon. You lifted the device to your ear, listening for the faint click as you tightened the final screw. Done.

The one thing they had to get right was the seismic readings.

The bomb was crude – imperfect – but it was all you had. The plan was simple: blow the door open if you could, cause a seismic tremor, and hope the team could triangulate your location. They would track the explosion on the seismograph, find your coordinates, and come for you.

If you were lucky.

Maybe you should leave another message behind for him. In those hours you had lain on the table and pondered, you had thought about your escape. You had also thought about various torturous ways to kill Diane. You had celebrated your little win against Turner. But most of all, you had thought about Beau.

Simple things. The color of his pine green eyes. The smell of his leathery cologne. The sound of his hearty laugh. The warmth of his large hands. Would you ever see, hear, or feel those things again?

A tear streaked your cheek that you swiftly wiped away. Sobbing would cost you too much goddamn air. You couldn’t afford it.

You stole one last glance at the camera, your face a grim mask of resolve. Then you moved quickly, setting the device in place. You looked at the door on top of the steps – solid metal, bolted shut, impossible to open without the right tools.

Tools you didn’t have.

You hurried down the stairs and pushed the metal table onto its side, using it as a shield from the blast as you hunched down low behind it. It had been a little over three hours. It was time. With a sharp breath, you pushed the button of the remote detonator.

The explosion hit like a fist. The sound was deafening, but muffled in the confined space. Your ears rang as the shockwave slammed into you, throwing you back against the cold, unforgiving concrete wall. Your head spun, and for a moment, everything went black.

Then came the tremor.

It rippled through the ground like a violent pulse. The bunker groaned – metal creaking, concrete cracking. The lights flickered and went out, plunging you into near-total darkness, save for the dim emergency glow above the door.

And then, with a deep, bone-rattling crack, something shifted above you.

You scrambled to your feet, disoriented. What the hell was that?

A series of sharp, cracking sounds echoed from the ceiling, followed by a wet, muffled splintering. Your breath caught in your throat as a large root – gnarled and thick as a limb – suddenly pierced through the bunker’s ceiling, splintering the metal and concrete. The roots of a large tree slithered down – a slow, creeping thing – and it didn’t stop. It tore through the ceiling like it had been waiting for this moment, its jagged edges scraping against the walls.

And then – water. Cold, relentless water began pouring in, cascading through the new hole in the roof, spilling across the floor in an uncontrolled flood.

Fuck.

Your heart pounded wildly as you stumbled backward, the water already rising around your ankles, creeping steadily toward your knees. You could hear the steady drip of water splashing against the cold, metal floor, each drop sending a ripple through your chest.

The livestream camera remained on, the blinking red light still steady, but your mind was running a mile a minute – panic rising like a tidal wave. You had no time. You had to move, had to act. But the water was already rising faster than you could think. The air was thick, the walls seemed to be closing in on you, and the roots above groaned ominously as if the earth itself was about to swallow you whole.

You ran toward the door, your boots splashing through the growing puddle. But aside from causing a giant hole in the ceiling, the bomb hadn’t done enough damage to escape. The root’s tendrils were still creeping down from above, twisting around the ceiling. You could hear the scrape of it, its thick fingers reaching into the dark corners of the room.

The sound of the water filled your ears as it surged up around your waist. You stumbled, falling to one knee as the icy liquid engulfed you. Your chest tightened, panic clawing at your throat.

It was too much. The explosion, the quake, the roots, and now the rising water – everything was converging at once. A part of you knew this was it. You wouldn’t get out. They wouldn’t get here in time to save you. But a small flicker of hope was still alive in your heart.

You clutched the camera’s wire, the blinking red light still visible in the murk, as if it was the last lifeline you had left.

“Please,” you breathed, although you knew they couldn’t hear you, but your voice was barely audible over the rush of water anyways. “Please, find me.”

The woods were dense, the trees thick with fog and shadows. Beau ran through the underbrush, his boots pounding against the damp earth, the scent of pine and wet leaves filling his lungs. Sweat stung his green eyes, his breath coming in ragged bursts as he pushed his body beyond its limits. His heart thundered in his chest, not from the exertion, but from the terror building inside him, growing with each passing second.

He’d found it.

The seismograph had done its job. The tremor from the explosion had sent ripples through the earth, and in those ripples, he’d pinpointed the location. There was no time to think, no time to second-guess. He didn’t know how much time you had left, but the second the signal went off and the icy water of a nearby river had wound its way into the confined space, rising like a tide as it flooded the bunker, he’d known it could only be minutes till you took your last breath.

Beau’s mind reeled at the thought.

He stumbled over a fallen log, his eyes never leaving the ground ahead of him. He was so close. It had to be here. He had seconds to make it. He knew it had to be deep. The bunker was buried beneath the forest floor, hidden like a trap, and there was only one way in: a hatch maybe, barely visible among the trees, the earth heavy with moss and years of neglect. He had to get there – now.

He could hear the team searching all around him, crying with calls of your name that echoed through the trees. As he stared up through the tops of the towering pines, he could see the North Star twinkling brightly above him. His heart twinged. His gaze dropped and then landed on the far beam of his flashlight. Something flickered in the distance, just a few yards away from him, buried in the moss.

He stumbled back onto his feet, his trembling hands picking up a small, golden band. His chest seized.

The ring.

His ears picked up the babbling sounds of water. The river was close, only a few feet away. That had to be it. You’d left him another sign.

Grabbing his flashlight, his hands hastily searched the ground. His fingers brushed a thick patch of bramble, and then – there. His breath halted. Metal.

The hatch.

He skidded to a stop, his hands shaking as he dropped to his knees and cleared the leaves and brush away. The metal was a bit busted and bent out of shape, probably from the bomb, but the bolt that kept it tightly shut was still in tact. His fingers fumbled for the lock, every second stretching longer than the last.

“It’s here!” Beau yelled loudly, calling the others for help. “She’s here!”

His mind kept circling back to you. You were trapped down there. Trapped and drowning.

I’m coming, darlin’. Hold on.

Finally, his fingers found the latch, and with a metallic groan, the hatch creaked open.

The stench of damp earth hit him first – the cold, stagnant air of a place that had been shut off from the world for too long. His flashlight flickered as he shined it down into the narrow opening. The steps below were steep, the darkness absolute. He could hear the distant drip of water, and with it, a rising sense of urgency.

He didn’t waste time. Without a second thought, he grabbed the flashlight and began to descend, the metal of the hatch scraping against the edges of the door as he pulled it wide open. His breath caught as he stepped into the narrow stairwell.

The moment he hit the bottom, the sound of rushing water was unmistakable.

The tunnel was flooded. The water was rising fast, covering the floor in murky, black waves. The small concrete room at the base of the stairs had become a watery tomb, the level inching toward the ceiling.

He shouted your name, his voice crackling in the damp air.

But there was no answer.

Beau pushed forward, his heart in his throat, eyes scanning every inch of the flooded room. Your presence was all he could feel – your spirit, your strength, your last message. He had to find you.

A sudden thud echoed through the chamber, the faint sound of something – or someone – shifting beneath the water.

Beau’s eyes locked on the back wall of the room, where the water was thickest, swirling around a pile of debris. His mind screamed. The seconds were melting away, and he couldn’t afford to waste a single one.

The wall was crumbling under the pressure, but the thing that struck him wasn’t just the damage. It was the stillness. There was no movement. No air.

His pulse spiked as he waded through the rising water, kicking through the murk with his boots, moving faster now, hands trembling as he shoved aside debris.

Please, please, please…

And then, beneath the surface, a hand – limp, floating like a ghost. Beau lunged, his fingers brushing against your wrist, cold and unyielding.

He cried your name again, his voice hoarse with panic as he pulled you to him, cradling your body against his chest.

Your skin was ice-cold. Your hair matted against your face, your body limp in his arms. You were unconscious – or worse.

Don’t you dare be dead. Don’t you dare.

Beau’s breath came in harsh bursts, his hands fumbling against you, trying to find any sign of life. The water was rising too fast.

He wasn’t going to lose you. Not like this.

With a single, desperate motion, he hoisted you into his arms. He didn’t stop. His feet pounded the water-soaked concrete as he bolted back toward the stairs, his lungs burning, the world blurring around him.

Get out. Get out.

He could feel the water rising behind him, flooding the room with the force of a tide. He didn’t know if the two of you would make it. He didn’t know if he could make it.

But he was going to try. He was going to fight like hell to keep you alive.

The hatch was there, just ahead, the only way out. He pushed harder, faster, as the water reached his knees, then his waist. Every breath was a battle. Every second felt like an eternity.

With one final push, he reached the top of the stairs, stumbling out into the fresh air, gasping for breath, his legs weak beneath him. He laid you on the ground, your limp body draped across the earth.

Beau’s hands were shaking as he knelt beside you. “Darlin’,” he whispered, shaking you gently.

Nothing.

Tears blurred his vision as he pressed his ear to your chest, listening for any sign of life.

A faint, fragile beat.

You were still with him.

He could barely breathe, panic threatening to swallow him whole, but he knew he had to keep it together.

He leaned over your body, his hands moving quickly. “Come on, darlin’. Come on…” His voice cracked as he positioned his hands, interlocking his fingers over your sternum. He gave two hard compressions, the sound of his palms meeting your chest too loud in the thick silence.

Still nothing. Your skin was frozen, your lips tinged blue.

His breath hitched, and he started again – one, two, three…

His heart hammered in his chest as he leaned down, pinching your nose and sealing his mouth over yours. He breathed into you, feeling the faint rise of your chest beneath him.

Please, please, don’t leave me.

He gave you another breath, then returned to the chest compressions – one, two, three…

Time seemed to stretch on endlessly, each moment more desperate than the last. His hands moved faster, his fingers slick with water and sweat as he pressed into you again and again. He wasn’t thinking. He couldn’t.

He hadn’t even taken note of the crowd that had gathered around him, watching the dire spectacle.

Finally – after what felt like a lifetime – your body jerked beneath his hands. You gasped, a harsh, ragged breath, and Beau nearly collapsed in relief. He cradled your head gently, his green eyes searching your face as you coughed weakly, water spilling from your mouth.

“You’re okay. You’re okay,” he breathed into your hair, his voice thick with emotion and eyes filled with tears as he kissed your crown repeatedly, his hold tight around your body.

You opened your eyes, just a sliver at first, and then you blinked, your hand weakly reaching for his cheek before it dropped to his chest.

“Beau…” you whispered, your voice barely a breath before you let out the first few sobs and coiled against him.

“It’s alright. I’m here.”

And for the first time in days, Beau let himself breathe as he steadied your trembling frame in his embrace.

Hospitals weren’t your favorite thing in the world. In fact, you had pretty much avoided them your whole life. You’d screamed your way through your tonsils surgery when you were five. You refused to get your broken arm cast when you were fourteen. But there was one thing you had always cherished during your involuntary stays:

Pudding.

Randy was the first person that stopped by early in the morning. You didn’t know if that decision had been a collusive one, agreed upon by the whole team, but you were grateful for the visit – more grateful when he brought you your sweet treat.

Something had been going on, though, while you were locked up – you could tell. As you’d clung to Beau’s chest last night in the forest, you caught Randy in the crowd around you before he ducked his head and retreated into the shadows. Your heart broke at the sight.

Beau didn’t leave your side, though, even riding in the ambulance with you while reassuring you throughout. He held your hand tightly, but his shoulders were stiff. And when they wheeled you out of the emergency room, the doors closed in front of him. You hadn’t seen or heard from him since.

You’d only slept for about five hours, but it had been a deep slumber. You had been out like a light. But as soon as you woke, you felt the aches of your body. There wasn’t a single limb or organ that didn’t groan in pain. Your ankle was the worst, though – the doctors told you you were lucky you got to keep it by the degree of infection it had suffered. The murky water of the river surely hadn’t helped cleaning it.

Sepsis, hypothermia, drowning, and lifelong trauma were just a few of the things you had to recover from.

There was also the dissolution of your marriage – you’d finally found the right term. Not widowed, not divorced – dissolved.

Randy stayed for three hours, and you had an honest and long talk. Oddly enough, being in his presence didn’t feel strange anymore. It felt familiar.

While your brain had adjusted, your heart remained steadfast. Randy had recognized it too and conceded. When he left your bedside, you sent him a smile with tears brimming in your eyes.

A chapter closed. A song ended. But your heart was at peace.

Beau’s heart pounded furiously in his chest as he stood glued outside your hospital room. Every laugh that echoed through the door felt like a gut punch.

Randy had asked to speak to you first. Beau had granted him the request – not that it had been really up to him. But Randy had been gracious last night, and the sheriff knew it couldn’t have been easy.

Beau had arrived at the hospital around noon, only to find you and Randy were still talking. Not only talking but laughing. While his heart murmured a tiny bit, he supposed it was a good sign. Who said you had to throw plates or the occasional vase at each other?

Twenty minutes later, Randy finally exited and ran straight into Beau around the corner, who had leaned against the wall and tried to answer the many nosy questions of the group chat. He didn’t know why the hell Cassie had invited him into this one…

“Oh, hey.” Randy chuckled lightly as he bumped into Beau, eyeing him with a suspicious brow. There was the flash of a smirk on his face.

Eager, are we? Beau could read Randy thoughts, even though his former friend refrained from saying them out loud.

“Hey.” Beau’s voice was low. He swallowed thickly as he tried his hardest not to avert his gaze to the linoleum flooring. “How is she?”

“In good spirits,” Randy replied but then paused. “For now. I think the morphine’s kicking in.”

“So, uhm–”

Beau didn’t know where that sentence would end. Flat-out asking Randy how your conversation went would’ve just been pathetically nosy – and rude. His mama had raised him better than that.

“I’m going back to Houston,” Randy still answered the unasked question.

“With, uhm–” Your name hung on the tip of Beau’s tongue before he bit down, noting Randy’s shaking head.

“Don’t push it.”

“Right…” Beau smacked his lips and cleared his throat, his hand scratching the nape of his neck. “So, what about you and me, huh? I know right now’s a stretch, but maybe down the road we could grab a beer?”

Randy’s lips pursed at first – unsure. But after a beat passed, he nodded slightly. “Maybe, yeah.” He hesitated. “Hit me up if you’re ever in Houston, alright?”

“Yeah, alright.” Beau’s lips twitched to a smile of surprise, but he still wished there was more he could do, more he could offer. It didn’t feel enough. “Take care of yourself, okay?”

Randy gave him a tight-lipped nod and patted him on the shoulder as he passed him. “You too.”

Beau watched Randy angle towards the elevators before exhaling a deep breath. Green eyes then drifted to your door. His heart was both elated and heavy. Questions circled in his mind.

What now?

The case was as good as over. Would you leave now? Where would you go? Beau knew your home was in Houston. Should he move back there, too? Would you even want him to? He’d broken up with you. Again. Were you still mad at him for it? He had tried to restrain himself last night, not knowing where the two of you stood. He held your hand in his, even though it was your whole body he wanted to keep holding in his arms.

You’d chosen no one. Maybe this was a day of break-ups for you.

Beau’s knuckles softly knocked on your door before he entered. Unsurely, he stood until your eyes glanced up and found his. A smile rose on your lips.

“Hey, there you are. You just missed Randy,” you said.

At a loss for words, Beau stared at you for a moment, his heart hammering in his chest. You still looked pretty rough – hooked up to IVs, your face and arms covered in bruises and cuts. But at least you were here – alive. There was some color back in your cheeks. Until a few hours ago, he wasn’t sure he’d ever get to see you again.

“Oh, uh, passed him in the hall,” Beau finally said and obnoxiously cleared his throat. “Said he was going back to Houston.”

“Yeah, he told me. I gave him my apartment,” you said, your voice a casual melody as you ignored the tension that was building between you two.

Beau’s brows shot up. “You gave him your place?”

“Least I could do. I sold his home.”

“Where are you gonna stay?”

“Oh, I don’t know yet. Guess I’m kinda homeless now. Again,” you said and hid the hint of a smile. You could see his wires were crossed.

“Hmm,” he hummed and shifted on his heels.

“Thank you,” you then said softly, trying to fight the tears that pricked your eyes. You swallowed heavily. “For saving me, you know? Bringing me back to life…”

“Don’t mention it,” he replied with a tight-lipped smile and a shake of his head, although a lump formed in the back of his throat at the haunting image of you, limb in his arms. He never wanted to see something like this again. He never wanted to feel that crippling, numbing fear ever again.

You snorted slightly at his understatement, fumbling with your fingers in your lap. “Feel like I have to. They told me you gave me CPR for three minutes straight. They said I was pretty much gone.”

“They’re exaggerating. It wasn’t that long,” he brushed off. “‘Sides, I wasn’t gonna let you die on my watch.”

“Like I said, thanks,” you reiterated and sent him a smile. “So, why are you standing so far away like I’m radioactive?”

Beau pursed his lips. “Well, you are kinda my kryptonite, darlin’.” He scratched the back of his neck, his boots still not moving closer. “Don’t really know where we stand, y’know? I mean, last time… that morning… I guess I’m tryna say I’m sorry for puttin’ you through that. So, on a scale from one to ten, how mad are you at me right now?”

“Well, if you put it like that… zero.” You grinned teasingly. “Hard to stay mad at you, considering you’ve saved my life, you know? I’m willing to forget your momentary stupidity. Well, if it really was momentary…”

“Oh, it was,” Beau confirmed, your heart expanding with a breath of relief. “Going with an insanity defense here. So… what does that mean?”

Musingly, you bit down on your lip. “I don’t know. Guess you’ll have to come closer and find out.”

Beau’s lips hiked to a wide, genuine smile for the first time in days. His feet began moving toward you.

Enjoying the warm rays of sunlight on your face, you exhaled blissfully as you sat outside the trailer, leaning comfortably back in your chair.

“There ya go – one extra black, extra strong cup of joe.” Beau handed you your favorite mug, his pine green eyes drifting to your injured leg, propped up on a wooden stool in front of you.

“Thank you,” you replied with a smile and practically inhaled the black liquid, its warmth filling you.

“How’s the ankle? That stool looks uncomfortable,” he noted, brushing his beard. His head tilted. “You need a pillow? Imma grab you one. Anything you need, darlin’. Officially retired since yesterday, you know? I’m here all day. Just say the word, and I’ll make it happen.”

Amused, you laughed a little. “I don’t need a pillow. The ankle’s fine. Just sit down next to me and enjoy the sun, will you?”

“It’s freezing.”

“I like how the snow twinkles in the sun,” you said and patted the chair next to you. With a groan, Beau sat down, wrapping his suede jacket a little tighter around himself while you sat cozily draped in the Sherpa jacket you had stolen from his closet. It was big and wide and warm and smelled heavenly like him. “‘Sides, I have a pretty nice jacket to keep me warm.” He frowned a little at you, but an amused smile twitched on his lips. “You said I should make myself comfortable – anything I wanted.”

“Didn’t think you’d raid my closet,” he huffed playfully.

“Hey, I only came here with a tiny carry-on.”

You’d been released from the hospital last night after spending a full week there. In the meantime, Beau had decided to hang up the sheriff’s hat, handing the badge off to Jenny – you’d fully agreed with the decision. You knew his heart hadn’t been in it for a while now.

He’d also asked you to move in.

And moreover, you’d finished your last reports and then handed in your resignation at the FBI. One serial killer kidnapping was enough for you. Diane had showed you where your limit was, and that was okay. You looked forward to a quiet life with the man beside you. It was its own adventure. God knows Diane’s life wouldn’t be as happy and peaceful behind bars.

Neither of you had spoken to her since your rescue. Sheriff Hoyt had handled all things on that end. By the amount of evidence they had to go through, Ted even surmised her trial wouldn’t start until three years from now. Until then, Beau and you had promised each other you wouldn’t waste another thought on her.

Well, you supposed you had to waste some thoughts on her. A big publisher from New York had already approached you about a book deal – and the money was more than good.

“Guess we’ll have to go down to Houston to get your stuff once you’re back on your feet,” Beau said.

Musingly, you scrunched your nose and hummed. “Not sure that’s necessary. It’s not gonna fit in the trailer anyways – not with your extensive closet.”

Amused, Beau pursed his lips and chuckled. He rubbed a hand through his beard. “Yeah, I was thinking about that… Maybe we should move. Get a bigger place, you know?”

“Do they make bigger Airstreams?” you murmured teasingly into your mug, cocking an eyebrow.

His tongue poked the inside of his cheek. “I was thinking more along the lines of a house. A ranch, maybe.”

“What about a houseboat?”

“Nah, that wouldn’t work with the kids. Try keeping a toddler in a life jacket all day,” Beau quipped, shaking his head. He didn’t even seem to notice what had slipped out of his mouth.

Your brow creased. “Kids?”

His wide eyes found yours, mouth opening and closing. He let out nervous breath. “Yeah, uh, something else I wanted to talk to you about…”

“Are you pregnant?” you joked and snorted into your coffee. Then, your brow furrowed. “Wait, am I? Did the doctor say something to you? Why would you smuggle tequila into my room if you knew?”

“No one’s pregnant, darlin’…” Beau laughed softly, his hand reaching out to cover your thigh. “I was just thinking maybe more a down-the-line kinda thing. In the, uh, near future, you know?”

You narrowed your eyes suspiciously. “Well, uhm, I didn’t think that was on table. We’ve never talked about it. I mean, I honestly didn’t think you’d want to…”

“Kinda gettin’ tired of people always assuming things about me,” Beau retorted with a little smirk. He squeezed your thigh. “Kids are on the table, darlin’.”

“Huh.”

Clearing his throat, Beau leaned forward in his seat. “You know, I had a little chat with Randy…”

You scoffed in surprise. “He actually told you?”

“Bigger question is, why didn’t you tell me?” Beau’s brow raised almost scoldingly. He was a pretty great dad.

“Honestly? Because it’s none of your business. That was between me and my then-late husband,” you replied with a sharpness that matched his look – there was a playfulness lying underneath, though. You both knew the other had a point. You exhaled a long sigh. “Look, that was four years ago. A lot has changed since then. I haven’t really thought about it since Randy’s funeral. Then Mexico happened. God knows we were nowhere near ready for a conversation like this…”

You gave him a shrug of your shoulders and sipped on your coffee.

“So, you don’t want kids?”

“Do you?”

Beau chuckled lightly, his fingers tapping the chair’s armrest. “Look, I’m already retiring from the job – I don’t wanna retire from life,” he said. “Sure, for a long time, I wasn’t thinking about another kid, but Emily’s almost off to college. Would be nice to feel needed again, do it all over… I don’t wanna fish every day till I drop.”

You snorted a laugh.

“So? What d’you say?”

Biting down on your lip, you glanced behind you at the Airstream. Then you found his green eyes and grinned. “Yeah, I think we’ll definitely need a bigger place. Maybe something between a houseboat and a ranch?”

Beau could barely contain his smile but played along. “And what would that be?”

It ended up being a lake house. Beau fished every morning. You watched him and the sunrise from the window as you wrote your novel.

The baby arrived by next Christmas.

THE END

I think reader would be unstoppable in an Escape Room 😂

I so hope you enjoyed this last part, loves! What a wonderful journey it's been. Thank you to every single one of you from the bottom of my heart 🤍

And PS: I do have a little future one-shot in mind for them 😉

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[thefluffyrailway-official]

Hi,

Got any Head cannons that we don't already know about?

K Fluffy answers this lol.

I don't really remember which headcannon i already showed and which one i didn't. Specially little individual facts.

So here's a little list of some i think i didn't show and i'd like to explore soon :D (Warning most are sad-)

-Harriet, Sandy and the newbuilt engines: I could make a whole story about this on my tumblr made for the infection part but here's a resume.

Harriet wasn't the only fankid engine. Actually, some others like Edward, Sir Handel, Flora and even Hiro had their own kids. They were built to be similar to them. But most of them, due to being very young, passed away during the infection. Sir Handel's daughter was the first one, she was very new yet but very enthusiastic and wante to help in the railway in everything she could. She was one of the first victims on the Skarloey railway. (Followed by Rheneas)

Harriet and Sandy were the only children engines that could survive to the infection, but of course, due to be very young when they got infected, their bodies will have a price to pay... (Sandy living a short life, around 40 years or less, which is nothing for an engine (That's why she looks like a hamster), and Harriet... It's still unknown her fate, but her parents refuse to believe she will have troubles.

-Salty is trying to warn Mavis about Diesel 10: And you know what this means... Specially if she doesn't trust him...

-Alfred and the loaves: Since they can move by theirselves now, they always wait for him in the morning, and when he appears, they both pounce into him and start nuzzling and licking him like if they hadn't seen him in years! He doesn't really like this because they're a bit heavy, but he can't say no to those fluffy loaf sheep :3

-Diesel 10 sings to Diesel: This may sound cute, he's his father and something like this would be very cute to see! But no... It isn't... Just read one of the parts of the song:

«Close your eyes, drift away,

Hear my voice, let it stay.

Trust in me, let go of fear,

Open your mind, you'll find it clear.»

He sings this everynight, and repeated it a lot after his little fight with Thomas to convince Diesel that everything he did was for the diesels' safety (LIE)

Of course this is slowly making Diesel more and more submissive and easily influenciable. Sir Topham Hatt is starting to worry and keep an eye of him more often.

-Cranky is desperate for Sandy's attention: We all know Sandy is much closer to Carly, whom she already calls "mama", and she always goes to her when she needs help or something. As Cranky already developed a paternal love towards the child too, he wants to be there to help her too, but it looks like Sandy only goes to him when Carly isn't there. And there you have Cranky excited because the little cube called him and then she asked " Where's mama? I wanna ask her something". He then answers with a soft growl "Ask your mother".

Then why does Sandy never ask you anything ol' snake? -^-

-Aiden's first word: Yep! You heard it right! He said his first word already and i will make a post about it surely. (It was "Escwape!" by the way. Great job Oliver! I bet you told him that story too many times!) Though, Aiden barely says it anyway, he just wehs all the time, too smol yet.

-Dallas and her obsession with Aiden and Claire:

She've been obsessed with visiting the other western pups all this time! And she has reasons for that. They're the only other smol engines like her. She likes Aiden specially, mostly because he's able to roll and play a bit, while Claire is still next to mama loaf all the time.

Donnie is a bit tired of her insistence but likes the idea of her bonding with other pups.

-The Nursery: The Steamworks have now a little place specially for pup-care, apart of the main entrance to make it a bit more quiet and calm. Ashley is still there. She likes to help Kevin with some of his works, actually, Kevin wants to be in charge of the "Nursery" and is still begging Victor to let him. But Vic doesn't really trust him such a sensitive job like that.

Dieselworks have it too :)

That would be all! Which ones were your faves? :D

(AU inspo creds: @steam-beasts <3)

[paperglader]

i watched that one scene in novitiate for the first time a few days ago and I’m pretty sure that my brain chemistry has been altered for good

[snakes-of-the-undercity]

Vi is gifted kid burnout but in the english major way

[aerinmoriarty]

In the current cultural climate of “eat the rich,” more and more ultra-wealthy are turning away from recognizable luxury brand logos in favor of subtle quiet luxury. And in fairness, the ultra wealthy have always tended to be less flashy in their flaunting; they keep their money because they don’t waste it on garish trend cycle pieces that convey a desperate need to be seen as rich.

There is no way Taylor is unaware of this fact.

Likewise, there is no way she doesn’t realize that a LOT of her fans would prefer it if she toned down some of the more obvious displays of wealth.

Why, then, come to so many recent coworking events… I mean romantic evenings with Travis in such obvious displays of brand? Especially since her fashion (or at least her logo flaunting) seems to err away from plastering herself like a NASCAR car most of the time.

Again, I have to assume this is to try and force her more critically-minded fans to look at her involvement with Travis, and the way she’s molded herself into a wholly different person for him and for the NFL games especially.

And that’s not to mention the number of times she’s shown up to events with Travis, red-nosed and glassy-eyed, head craned back in the “fawning posture” Fundie-wives like the Ofduggar’s affect.

People have such a powerful ability to fall in love with the idea of something; it’s how I was able to beard the way I did. I didn’t love the men, I loved the idea of the relationship. No one around me loved the men either, but they fell in love with the idea of the relationship. And so they didn’t pry, even as it became ever more obvious that things were not as happy as they seemed.

The idea of Taylor and Travis is powerful in a way the details we can see are not; it is a polished turd, a gilded cage. But a polished turd is still a turd, and a gilded cage isn’t even gold, it’s just gold plated. And it’s still a cage.

And her relationships with men often function as cages too, especially when even her own fans will cheer louder for Travis than Taylor, get more excited about his brief appearance than her extended performance, and view the career that she loves more than most other things in her life as something she should treat as secondary to her “real priorities” of pushing out babies for a man who cannot convince me he likes her that much.

And there’s this interplay, where often her fan’s internalized misogyny prevents them from liking Taylor as much as they like the man she’s dating. Or they like Taylor more while she’s with the man because she’s doing what she’s supposed to do: being a Good Girl. They want her to settle down and get married and have kids because that’s what’s been expected of THEM.

And as a Gaylor, as someone who has observed the fandom’s opinion of Travis, Karlie, Dianna, etc… I believe one of the points of the performance art is that many of her own fans would be much happier with her entirely submitting herself to a man and engulfing herself in his image than being happily accepted as herself with a woman.

They would rather Taylor chisel off the points of her star until she’s a cog who can fit a man’s plans than find another star in a woman and exist in one another’s orbits.

And I could go on for thousands of words about why that is, but I do think it is emblematic of the fact that a good number of women in our society are accepting less than they should from their relationships. If Taylor does the same, it makes them feel more comfortable about the decisions they’ve made.

And people don’t typically like being pushed out of their comfort zone.

I woke up and chose violence so lemme give my thoughts on Performance Artlor:

I believe one of the points of the current PR spectacle is how much people will happily eat up TNT because it’s being posited as this perfect relationship based on appearances alone.

Taylor very often clothes herself in his team, his color, his numbers. And while he’s worn eggs, we don’t see consistent support of her career. The media claims he knows every lyric. The only song he seems to care about is the bearding one and the one people think is about him and the one she re-wrote a line in to refer to him (but Scott Swift has to move him onto his mark for his big moment)

We hear promises of him throwing big parties for her, celebrating her, “he’s going to spend the whole Europe leg with her,” only for him to spend most of it drunk with his coworkers, and when he is in the same place as Taylor he spends most of his time with Ross.

The Eras Tour party. A wrap party for that performance.

Him coming on stage in the most problematic role she could place him in, and the fans RECONTEXTUALIZING THAT SCENE to be romantic, instead of wondering if Taylor is trying to convey something about TNT

Her accepting awards for her work, work that she poured so much blood, sweat and tears into… and getting some cheers…

Her saying… “my boyfriend Travis” and the room erupting with excitement…

So many of her fans being glad Eras was done so now she can be barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen or on the sidelines…

If you cannot see Taylor’s validation in her own achievement, career, friends and family, and you can only see validation when she’s accepting THE BARE MINIMUM from this AGGRESSIVELY MEDIOCRE MAN…

… how can you demand better for yourself?

If you cheer when your favorite pop star subjugates herself and submits herself to a man, are you going to demand ANYTHING for yourself?

I believe the story she’s telling is a tale of how many EXCEPTIONAL women get eclipsed by the most mediocre, low effort of men….

And how much media and what we see in the media impacts our own beliefs about our own lives and happiness.

And because of that I also believe it’s an attempt to impart media literacy on people; to teach us to pay more attention when media narratives don’t add up with the evidence we’re seeing.

[messangerforthestars]

“We need more morally gray characters” you guys can barely handle topaz and jade.

[anna-scribbles]

once adrien and marinette figured out how to date each other they got too powerful and are now dating all their other friends one by one