#ok I’m done hijacking now

[ender-cloud]

JEKYLL????? HELLO??

Tgs spoilers

EXCUSE ME?? JEKYLL YOU CANNOT BE DOING THIS TO ME MAN! I AM NOT OK?? MY HEART RATE FUCKING SPIKED WHEN I SAW THIS UPDATE

I DONT KNOW WHAT TO SAY (just kidding, i have many many scattered thoughts)

Jekyll, why do you have to be not perfect now, why couldn’t you have done it sooner or any time that is not now

Your Giving into Hyde now??? Like bro i thought you were just going to seperate yourself from him, NOT LIKE, CEASE TO EXIST ENTIRELY

Also the like villain monologue???? “It will all be worth it to watch you suffer” holy shit Jekyll, I’m all for your villian arc, please it would’ve been so cool, i like the shadow scene because of it, you could’ve done it then why now?

This scene bring me so, so much pain, but, With that said, I think it’s my second favorite after the shadow scene, theres just something about Jekyll taunting Hyde that interests me, I clearly have a theme, like look at these two frames from the shadow scene and this scene

God I love the shadow scene

The first image is the one that made my heart rate spike and the second one is just really chilling and I just wanted to add it to this post and I didn’t know where else to include it so:D

I lowkey need Hyde having a breakdown after this, like bro, I would be so lost if I was him, he could barley handle being without Jekyll for 24 hours, How would he be able to function forever without Jekyll

How much do you wanna bet Lanyon is going to blame this on Hyde, like in a panic, because he wont want to think Jekyll could do this. He is still processing the fact that Hyde was apart of Jekyll and this is another thing to add to the shock

Jekyll’s self hate is crazy man, hates himself so much to not have the things he loves, but like I really like it, it gives him such a scary vibe when it comes to Hyde (which Sage wanted to do and I really like scary Jekyll!) theres a reason why any scene Jekyll is telling off Hyde will become one of my favorites, they are all so well written and seeing Jekyll in a light that he’s not normally shown in is just so satisfying

Anyway my friends hijacked my phone so heres their words(has almost nothjng to do with the update)

This is Lyn(@laughaprist): I love edward hyde and i am thinking that this means more hyde content and im hype

Hi iñ pierre i hqvent reqd it but i yeq qnd bir (He’s French and does not know english very well, be nice)

[thesweetnessofspring]

Do you think it was an oversight and plot convenience on Collin's part to have Peeta captured instead of Prim? Was Snow's decision genius or stupid?

Ok this is going to be long so let me explain.

Now, a couple things why capture Peeta instead of Prim? Because clearly it would've been easier to capture Prim, who was simply in the Victor's village when District 12 got bombed. In fact the why didn't he altogether bomb the Victor's village, it would've been a smart move on Snow's part to have Prim dead because Katniss would've been too inebriated to support the rebellion in any manner. Did Collins only do this because she wanted to kill Prim later on? Without a good reason I do not find it realistic that Snow would not have killed Prim at the first chance.

Now you could say that if Snow killed Prim he would have no leverage against Katniss so why not capture her instead. Why Peeta? Is it because romantic love is stronger than platonic. Because Katniss does eventually recover from Prim's death, while it's implied that Peeta's death would drive her crazy.

I can't find that quote right now but Katniss says something along the lines of never being able to leave the arena if Peeta didn't come back with her in the first book. I'm not sure how much this quote can support the statement of Katniss going crazy, because these words are administered by her guilt of leaving him behind in the arena. Would her feelings be the same in different circumstances? I'm not saying she wouldn't grieve just that maybe she would eventually recover from his death like Prim's.

I think what really determines Snow's the decision of capturing Peeta instead of Prim as genius or stupid is whether or not Katniss would've recovered from Peeta's death. And yes I know he gets hijacked but the hijacking was basically a death sentence to Katniss's sanity whether or not it was done to Prim or Peeta. I get that hijacking and killing someone is not the same but the ultimate question here is who's destruction would've ultimately damaged Katniss.

I'm torn between Katniss' reaction really

Peeta If I knew for sure that he was dead, I could just disappear into the woods and never look back. But until I do, I’m stuck.

I mean she's willing to leave everything behind and leave even when Prim is still alive. And the way she practically stopped living when Peeta was captured, again even with Prim alive.

Idk do you think Snow was a genius for capturing Peeta and not Prim?

Sorry this is super long but would love to hear ur insight.

Very interesting to think about!

First, Snow got Peeta no matter what. When Katniss shot the arrow into the forcefield, it was a race between rebellion and Capitol to get the victors. Snow got Peeta, Johanna, and Enobaria. The rebellion got Katniss, Finnick, and Beetee. If either could have gotten any of the others they would have, though the rebellion prioritized Katniss.

So in that way, getting Prim would be an addition and not a substitution. Since everything happened so quickly, Snow was likely making decisions not exactly on the fly, but more on his instinct and quick calculations. Also keep in mind that Prim is thirteen and the whole country loves her. Yes, the Capitol and Panem watch the Games and watch children as young as twelve get murdered. And the Capitol sits by as children in the District die of starvation. But thanks to Katniss, Prim becomes exempt from people not caring. So if Snow took Prim and tortured and killed her, he would be at risk of angering people. With Peeta he can use him in multiple ways:

To persuade the people in the district to not fight.

As an example of what happens to rebels.

To break Katniss.

Peeta is still young, but a big 17-year-old boy reads different than a 13-year-old little girl.

And really, Prim is Katniss's Tigris. It would hurt her, but you know that after 65 years, Lucy Gray was singing in his head. Snow doesn't need to break Katniss with her Tigris. He needs to break her with her Lucy Gray. Snow is playing out his situation with Lucy Gray over and over and over with Katniss and Peeta.

This might be unpopular, idk, but I think that Katniss could have lived had Peeta died, so long as Prim lived, just as she lived after Prim died because Peeta was alive. Yes, Katniss was ready to die while killing Snow and getting revenge on what he did to Peeta, but Katniss also tried to die by suicide after she killed Coin and Prim was dead, yet she came back from that. And she was more prepared to die than determined to die. Additionally, when Peeta was taken and hijacked they were in active war while after Prim's death the fighting had stopped and there was tenuous peace that grew more secure. It's impossible to heal from trauma when you're still in trauma and so I think that impacted a lot of Katniss's thought processes. She just wanted to get away from the pain and the fighting and the danger.

I'm not saying it wouldn't have been hard without Peeta and she wouldn't have major grief and additional complexities to her PTSD and serious need for competent psychiatric help, but with Prim I think she'd have made it through. It's not a contest of who she loved more, but that Katniss will fight and live for both Peeta and Prim, even when her instincts tell her to end the pain their hijacking/death caused her to feel.

Really, Katniss like most people is full of contradictions and exceptions and quick responses as well as love and hurt and this is what makes her THE main character of all time.

I hope that answers what you were looking for! Thanks for the ask!

[bitchsister]

UHHHHMMMM YEAAAA SOOO U R NOT GONNA TELL ME LUCKYCHARMS CURT WENT THROUGH A CASUAL BY CHAPPELL ROAN PHASE WITH BUCKY AND EXPECT ME NOT TO DEMAND ANSWERS ABOUT THAT

Alright anon…. Fine

I’m totally working out of order with my requests but i promise, I’m chugging along!!

Shoutout to Crosby for being a good roommate and bestie!

This kinda hurt my heart!!!!! :)

Also Alex I know this was u that asked this. Coward

Six months — Curt felt sick with it. He’d check his phone religiously, hoping a new text would arrive from Bucky and when it wouldn’t, his mood would reflect just that.

He’d start fights at the skate park for no real reason, even swung his cue stick at an annoying forty-something who couldn’t find anything better to do than judge of game of pool between a group of drunken college kids who were only there to have fun.

He was then banned from the only bar within walking distance with a pool table.

He laid in his dorm room, staring at the bottom of Crosby’s bunk as he contemplated sending the text.

We need to talk

Delete, delete.

Can we talk?

Delete.

“Just send it.” Crosby rolled his eyes dramatically, hopping up into his bed and draping himself over the side to watch him type another text out and delete it. “You’re both adults. Dude’s acting like a fucking child.”

Curt sighed heavily, switching the cheek in which he sucked on his lollipop. “He’s a lawyer, Harry.” He rationed, though he knew it wasn’t a decent excuse for not hearing from him for six days. “He’s just busy, m’sure.”

The last time they were together, Curt spent the whole weekend and everything was so devastatingly romantic in a way he wouldn’t expect the same person that cooked him dinner, laid Curtis down and massaged his entire body, sat with him in an obnoxiously large bathtub with champagne, to go ghost for almost an entire week.

“He’s playing the field, Biddy.” Crosby stayed where he was, hanging upside down over their bunks to watch Curt type out yet another text. “Better to get this over with now rather than later.” He’d done his fair share of back and forths. “Situationship with a man ten years your senior?” He huffed. “It’ll put you in the ward — take it from me.”

He slung himself back into his own bed, yawning loudly before he continued. “Send it. Tell him what you want out of this.” He flicked the little lamp clipped to his headboard on, a book cracked open in his lap. “Or suffer in silence, ‘cause I can’t do this shit with you anymore.”

Curt nodded slowly, having no true rebuttal as he knew full well Harry was making decent points.

“Full send.” He mumbled, thumb smashing the little blue send button, his phone tossed up to Harry into his bunk. “I ain’t lookin’. Just tell me if he responds.” He hugged his folded arms over his eyes, a loud sigh deflating him.

Five minutes passed by but to Curt it had felt like an eternity.

“Damn,” Harry opened Curt’s phone, his passcode memorized from all the times he’d hijacked Curt’s Uber account to order them rides from the bars or to drain all of his credits on his TouchTunes. “Probably waiting by the phone like you were, Biddy.”

Curt peeked from behind his arms, his voice muffled. “What’d he say?”

“He said —“ Crosby turned on his side, squinting at the screen that was spiderwebbed with cracks. “I can pick you up. Question mark.”

Another groan rolled out of him as he sat up, his hands covered in the sleeves of his sweatshirt scrubbed over his face. “Say yes. Say — uh, say yes, I’d like that, or somethin’.”

He scrambled to yank his clothes off, scuttling around to find another outfit.

“Ah, no.” Crosby laughed as he shook his head, typing out a simple and to the point ‘Ok’ and hitting send. “Let’s remember who ghosted you for a week, please. Right now, you like nothing he does.” His gaze landed on Curt who stared up at him. “Okay?”

“Okay.”

Bucky pulled up outside of the south hall where Curt climbed into his car and picked at the cuts on his knuckles. “Hey.” He said simply, looking over at Bucky who looked exhausted but still just as beautiful, his hand reached over to rest over Curt’s left thigh.

“Hey.”

Their spot wasn’t far from campus - only about a two minute drive away was an overlook near the river where Bucky put his car into park, his body turning toward Curt to really look at him. “What’s up?” He asked, biting back a yawn. “Thought you’d be getting to bed by now.”

Curt shook his head slowly, his fingertips tracing the veins in Bucky’s hand. “I couldn’t sleep.” I’ve missed you for a whole week. “Thinkin’ about you.”

If it wasn’t so dark, Curt would have seen Bucky’s cheeks and how they’d been painted all rosy. “That right?” He hooked his hand around Curt’s and pulled him into his lap. “What about me?”

Curt felt Bucky’s hands slide beneath his shirt, palms pressed to the soft and warm skin there. He couldn’t speak, couldn’t lay his heart out on the line like that so instead he kissed his lips, fingers threaded through his sleepy waves that had been in bed already, his poor brain completely obliterated by the workday.

“Oh,” Bucky whispered, “missed that.”

Then why haven’t you spoken to me?

Where have you been?

Why did you go ghost for almost an entire week?

Curt bit his tongue, too high on getting what he’s daydreamed about since the last time he felt it to sour the moment by demanding answers.

It’d dawned on Bucky rather quickly that the way Curtis tasted would stay with him for ages.

Sweet, artificial cherry where in the background somewhere a joint smoked on the sidewalk as he waited for Bucky to pick him up left its mark.

Days would pass, and Bucky could still taste him.

Curtis lingered. He made an impression, slathered over the brains of anyone he crossed paths with.

Loud, little, an electric shock to the system.

Bucky licked into his mouth, sucked on his tongue, chased the taste of him into the back of his own throat. He behaved as if he wanted to devour him. Like he’d been starved just as badly as Curtis had been.

So, why hadn’t he just said something?

Why didn’t he ask to see him?

Why, why, why?

A surge of adrenaline had woken Bucky up, his hands guiding Curt to lie his belly over the center console, his ass in Bucky’s face as Curt giggled. “Said you wanted to talk,” he whispered, pulling the elastic waistband of Curt’s sweatpants below the supple curve of his ass. “Or did you just want this?”

Curt groaned softly into the leather seat he hid his face in, his thighs spread apart as Bucky got into position between them, his tongue licking big, fat stripes over Curt’s hole that missed him so desperately.

No one, absolutely no one did it for him the way Bucky did.

His hands, his lips, his hair, his mustache that Crosby said was so Dilfy. His teeth, his eyes, his voice and the way he called Curt baby once after a bottle of wine.

He held onto it.

He replayed it over and over in his mind.

Ride that cock, baby.

Baby.

Baby.

Oh, please, can I be your baby?

“I told you,” Curt whispered softly through a moan once Bucky really began to eat him up, his thighs shaking as he rut his ass into Bucky’s face. “I missed you so much.”

Barely there, hardly audible above the obscene sounds Bucky’s mouth had been making.

A loud crack of skin pierced his eardrums, his left asscheek stinging once Bucky had pulled away and spread him just to get a look and soak him all up. “You’re just perfect,” what are you doing with someone like me? “Let me take you home with me.” His voice was rough and yet so gentle when he pulled Curt back into his lap.

Face to face again.

“I got class in the morning.”

“I’ll drop you off.”

Curt cupped Bucky’s cheeks, nodding slowly as he huffed to catch his breath. “I can’t skip.” He shuffled back into the passenger seat, his sweatpants throw into the back with his underwear, his big sweater long enough to cover him if need be. “Need this final to pass.”

Bucky had thrown it into drive faster than ever, trying his best not to become too distracted by Curtis who leaned against the passenger side door and faced Bucky as he drove, his thighs lifted and his toes curled as he fucked himself with his fingers.

“Fuck.” I’m so in love with you. “You’re filthy.” You’re too good for me.

“You want me, don’t you?” Curt shivered with another moan that ripped right through him. “Want me so fucking bad. Look at you.” He extended his leg to toe over the bulge in Bucky’s own sweatpants, his favorite ones for sleeping, not for concealing a hard-on.

Bucky stayed silent, his lip between his teeth as he drove.

“Don’t you.” Curt urged, the sole of his foot pressed against Bucky’s erection.

“Mhmm.”

Not good enough.

“Then why ain’t you talked to me for a week?” Curt was stroking himself instead, saving the fucking for Bucky.

This isn’t how he expected to ask, but some sort of confidence had taken over.

“I - I was just busy.” Bucky turned to look at Curt, his brows furrowed as he wondered how they’d so quickly ended up here. “Work, Curt.”

“You couldn’t send me a single text?”

Bucky swallowed the lump in his throat, staring at the red light that taunted him. “I — it doesn’t mean I don’t wanna see you..”

“Then why haven’t you?”

“I told you. Work.”

Curt scrambled to his knees, leaned over the console but this time it was to get closer to Bucky’s face with his own. “Try again.” His sights narrowed and his lips tugged into an annoyed grimace. “Why haven’t you?”

Bucky sat silent for awhile, driving idly as they caught every red light under the sun. “Listen — I —“ he blinked a few times, trying to arrange his thoughts “What do you want out of this, Curt?”

Caught off guard, Curtis slowly backed away from Bucky and sat on his folded legs in the passenger seat, his expression morphing from everything to nothing. “What do I want out of this?”

“Yeah, I - I mean—“ Bucky stuttered. “What do you want out of this? Out of us? Do you see this going anywhere?”

Curt was unsure how to answer that, absolutely certain that what he said next could make or break everything but he didn’t quite care.

Was Bucky who he thought he was?

Why’d he bring Curt to his home, make him dinner and eat him out like he was dessert the first night they met if there wasn’t something between them?

“These things, Curt. They get easier with age, you know..”

He wanted to throw up.

In fact, he was certain he would.

He scrambled to pull his sweatpants back on, scrapping his underwear in Bucky’s backseat. “Fuck this.” He grumbled, tugging his shoes on that were thankfully already tied. “And fuck you.”

{ending this here. Curt definitely gets out and walks back to campus but Bucky follows him all the way back and begs for him to come back and talk. Curt absolutely does not}

[ejzah]

The Other Shoe, Part 11

***

A week from the day Deeks accepted Sam’s offer, he, Kensi, and Sam all sat in Dr. Nehme’s office to complete the initial part of the donor process. Later today, they’d meet with Deeks’ entire transplant team to discuss the next steps.

“Mr. Hanna, since being a living donor comes with not insignificant risks and possible lifelong changes, there’s some things we need to go over,” Dr. Nehme told Sam.

“It’s Sam. And I already know the risks and I’m not having any second thoughts,” Sam replied calmly. While Kensi and Deeks were both obviously nervous, he seemed perfectly at ease. “Deeks has saved my life more times than I can count, gave me four more years than I would have had with my wife, and is one of the people I trust most. He’s my brother.”

Deeks squeezed Kensi���s hand, touched and overwhelmed by Sam’s words.

“I understand why you want to help him,” Nehme said gently. “It’s a courageous and selfless thing you’re doing. However, I find especially when it comes to friends and family, that sometimes the outcome and risks can be unexpected. I want to make sure we’re all on the same page.”

“Believe me, I’ve done my research. But go ahead; I know you have a protocol to follow.” Sam lifted his hand for the doctor to continue, and Nehme blinked a couple times in bemusement at having his meeting hijacked.

Deeks had a feeling Dr. Nehme was in for a trying time as he met more of the team. He’d have to warm him before he encountered Eric and Nell with their ever mounting pile of nephrology research.

“Ok then. I like to start by discussing the short term risks immediately following surgery. Obviously, there’ll be pain—”

Kensi snorted, pressing her lips together when all three men turned to look at her in sunrise. “Sorry,” she apologized. “Once you get into his medical history, I think you’ll understand.”

“I’ve had a few…incidents with work,” Sam explained vaguely.

“Yes, I noticed,” Nehme commented dryly. “Very impressive. Alright, moving on. There are also risks for infection, pneumonia, blood clotting issues, collapsed lung, issues with the urinary tract, and of course, death. Now, some of these are mitigated by your excellent health, prior injuries aside.”

“Do you have percentages for these risks?” Deeks asked.

“Not at the moment, but I can provide them if you’d like.”

“Relax, Deeks,” Sam said. “I’m not concerned.”

Deeks ignored him. “Thank you, doctor. I’d appreciate that. What about the long term risks. I read that some donors develop high blood pressure afterwards.”

“Yes, that and other chronic conditions are a possibility,” Nehme agreed.

“My family hasn’t had high blood pressure, cholesterol, or diabetes going back four generations,” Sam spoke up again. “And even if that happens, I can handle it better than you can with kidney disease. So hush up, and let the doctor finish.”

“Thank you, Mr. Hanna,” Nehme said wryly. “There are some other details you can look over before we meet with the entire team, but I did want to emphasize that this will likely impact your livelihood. I understand you hold a law enforcement position, and living donors are often restricted from that type of career.”

“I’m aware. I’ve made my peace with that possibility.” Sam glanced back at Deeks as he said it, as though he wanted to make sure Deeks hear and understood him. “I didn’t make this decision lightly or impulsively.”

“Well, then I think that’s everything for now. I’ll see you back with the entire team in an hour.”

***

“So, how’s it feel?” Sam asked as they walked out of the medical complex. After four hours, and multiple meetings, they had a plan to go forward. “In a little less than a month, you’ll have a new kidney. Well, slightly used, but in perfect condition.

Deeks smiled around a yawn; after everything today, he felt completely exhausted. Which wasn’t that usual these days.

“A little surreal,” Deeks admitted. Having resigned himself to being on the donor waiting list, it now felt strange that everything was now moving ahead so quickly.

Beside him, Kensi threaded her fingers through his, leaning into his side.

“I know I already said this, but, uh, thank you, Sam. This is such an incredible sacrifice. A gift.”

“Yes,” Kensi murmured, gratitude in her eyes. “Thank you, Sam.”

“Hey, I can’t have you going on without your shaggier half.” Smirking, he squeezed each other their shoulders, his sobering slightly. “I meant what I said,” he continued, speaking directly to Deeks. “There isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for you.

“Man, you can’t keep saying things like that,” Deeks muttered, clearing his throat roughly. “The medication has me crying at Folgers commercials.”

“Now, don’t get yourself too worked up, cause I’d do it for anyone on the team,” Sam said teasingly.

“Kilbride?”

Sam grimaced at Deeks suggestion. “Eh, I’d have to consider.”

“What about Rogers?” Kensi asked.

“Now you’re just being ridiculous.” Releasing them with a final squeeze, Sam nodded towards the parking lot. “C’mon, let’s get some food. You’re looking too damn scrawny, Deeks.”

***

A/N: After a very long break, I’m back with this story. I hope you still enjoy it. As always, I try to make the medical elements somewhat realistic, but there will be mistakes or irregularities.

[from-the-coffee-shop-in-edoras]

So I was writing an Éomer/OC story, and then Theodred decided he was going to live and not die at the Fords, and hijacked the story, and now I’m writing a Theodred/OC and Éomer/OC story (not the same OC). And I only have you and your wonderful commentaries to thank you for this! I’m in love with Theodred’s character! So, thank you for drawing more attention to this often neglected character 💕

I am IN LOVE with this message! More Théodred fics on the way for the world??? Amazing!!! ♥️♥️♥️

Thank YOU for being interested in him and for giving me chances to talk about him and now for loving him and making your own version of him and giving him pride of place in your story! He’s the best, isn’t he???

I know you’re Anonymous, and I understand completely if you want to stay that way. But also, if you feel OK to share your story when it’s done, I would be nothing but thrilled to read it!!!! And either way—thank you, sincerely! This has been a long ass day with a bunch of frustrations in it, and your message just wiped all of that right out of my mind and left me with a warm and fuzzy feeling instead!

[buthearmeouttho]

if I was part of the mcu (Pt. 17)

Natasha: stay here. I mean it, no sneaking along in suitcases, no sneaking along in general, Stay. Here. Got it?

Me:

Me: what if Yelena says otherwise?

Natasha: IF I can FIND Yelena and we can trust each other, I won’t be asking for her opinion. You are staying here.

Me: k’ but I’ll be calling you randomly to make sure you’re ok.

Natasha, sighing: that’s fine, but I have to go be good.

Me: k

*literally right after Natasha got Yelena on her side.*

Me, right behind Natasha: your sister’s pretty:)

Natasha, spinning around faster that Pietro: I THOUGHT I SAID—

Me: I know, but I like Yelena and I wanted to see her, also I could give you information.

Natasha: you are grounded. I’m not even kidding this time.

Me: I can live with that, send me to Wakanda to be grounded when we’re done with this, it’s off the grid and T’chala has a sister that I’m friends with now.

Natasha: *sighing and rubbing her temples*

*bonus*

Yelena *as if she’s being interviewed later*

Yelena: this child.

Yelena: I like this child.

Yelena: I’m glad Natasha had enough sense to get an emotional support child.

Natasha, coming around the corner: what are you doing??

Yelena, ignoring her: Even if Natasha won’t admit it, I’m glad she adopted a kid I can teach to hijack vehicles and pick locks.

Natasha: Don’t you dare—

[sarah-dipitous]

Hellsite Nostalgia Tour 2023 Day 148

The Reichenbach Fall

“The Reichenbach Fall”

Plot Description: Moriarty hatches a mad scheme to turn the whole city against Sherlock.

Oh, Jawnnnnnnnn. Glad you went back to therapy over it though

Ok yes. He’s been ungrateful with his other tokens of gratitude, but to humiliate the man by making him wear the deer stalker cap after he’s just brought you interpol’s most wanted? Come on…

It’s an EAR hat, Jawn

The “confirmed bachelor” lines were no accident and just blatant queer baiting.

Jimmmmm!! Jim my love

I…made this scene a VERY large part of my personality for TOO LONG. Now I’m just gonna sit back and enjoy watching this man bring a country to its knees (this part of The Thieving Magpie was my alarm for years, and I maintain that I was correct to have it. It’s way better than what I have now)

Who’s doing it like him, I ask you

Wiggling, squirming. Oh man. I had THIS on playlists too (the song right before Jim’s trial…when I say my WHOLE PERSONALITY…stayin alive was also my ringtone. Would you believe I’m divulging this lore SOBER?? Because I am)

Do not be yourself in this trial, Sherls, omg…

There’s a weird nostalgic pang of “god I wish that was me” when he asks the one courtroom worker (truly, I don’t know her job title) to slip her hand into his pocket. Maybe it’s just the Irish accent. It’s just for gum but he’s so slutty about it

I can’t look at this actress without thinking of her as Jen from the IT Crowd. She can’t be anything else in my mind. She’s forever Jen doing a bit in a costume in different places (this is going to take forever to watch if i keep pausing like this)

The Sheriarty is jumping out right now. You don’t describe someone you know is definitely listening and watching you as “a spider, a spider at the center of a web. A criminal web with a thousand threads, and he knows precisely how each and every single one of them dances.” YOU ARE LOOKING INTO HIS EYES AT HIS TRIAL AS YOU SAY THAT ABOUT HIM. Were I a consulting criminal, I would be so flattered by that description

Oh god…don’t make the jury hate you. Yeah. Of course he finds it impossible to not show off

This tea scene omgggg when he…is it really breaking into 221b if Sherlock is expecting him??

Every once in a while, I do get the glimpses of how these three shows got lumped together. Jim telling Sherlock he’s boring because he’s on the side of the angels is definitely one of those things

He’s got the best little speeches “no such thing as a private bank account now, they’re all mine. No such thing as secrecy, I OWN secrecy. Nuclear codes? I could blow up nato in alphabetical order. In a world of locked rooms, the man with the key is king, and honey, you should seeee meeee in a crown” (did I do an embarrassing amount of that from memory? maybe so)

Oh shit…i forgot the fairy tale stuff Moriarty puts them through…I mean, you gotta fill 90 minutes somehow (I want to sleep so badly…but I’m not even half way done)

I fucking hate how he treats Molly. She deserves better than him and this show. God…she thinks she doesn’t count…fuck. I hate it

Riiiight. He made it seem like the kidnapping was Sherlock’s doing so he could then solve it and he the hero. Just planting the seeds of doubt

Oh the Tale of Sir Boast-a-lot

When villains hijack the airwaves>>>>>> (my taste has not changed a bit in 10 years lmaooooo) I know in this case, he’s actually the cab driver, but he’ll do it later in the series. For now, we’ll just enjoy this nice little story Jim’s telling

You can’t outrun………oh, that was one of the assassins that moved onto baker street

It’s so weird that he’s doing exactly what Jim wants him to do…..

He’s unbelievably precious as Richard Brook. Insisting he’s a children’s storyteller, he’s on tv. It’s on dvd. You do almost forget that he’s a criminal mastermind for a second, except for that one moment when Kitty can’t see him and he has that look on his face as he glances at Sherlock

John and Mycroft have such a good dynamic. No matter if they’re on the same side, on opposing sides…it’s always a good scene when it’s just them

Uuuuggggghhhhhhhh, we’re starting with the roof of St Bart’s scene…will it be as good and heartbreaking as I remember?

Reader, it is. Jim’s lament about how easy it was to beat Sherlock, his best distraction for the monotony of staying alive. Oh, bby. Andrew Scott is such a good actor.

The fact that there was no code, that it was always a few of those threads that Jim made dance to send the world crashing down around them.

(I’m currently living in a world where his character didn’t get absolutely fucked over by the last episode of the series…………….so far(?))

I do like that Jim underestimates the importance of Molly. She still deserves better from everyone around her, but it’s nice that she’ll get SOME recognition in season 3

Pausing because I know what comes next and I don’t want it to…

Can we not just stay like this??? (Not if I want to make it a true full rewatch…)

I STAY a “here’s how [villain] can still live/be alive” girlie. I DO NOT CHANGE LMAO

Oh the phone call… “nobody could be that clever” “you could” I hate everything

Mycroffffffffft. Jawwwwwwwwn.

John at Sherlock’s grave is just…heart wrenching. Always and forever.

This is the best and highest rated episode of this show for GOOD REASON

[songofmadness]

Dead-ended in Duskwood

The Duskwood chapter got hijacked by Darion being ridiculous, so now my brain has declared it Done even though its completely unusable. Doesn’t seem like there’s any workaround other than waiting out the clock on my ADHD.

So in the meantime, there’s drabbles! Because they’re low effort enough to not actually count as writing for brain-fooling purposes!

Also, Horatio is in serious danger of becoming the real main character of this entire exercise. Come the end of the Campaign, there’ll just be a single senile chicken perched atop the ruins of Crossroad Keep, screaming triumphantly at the sky. I’m ok with that.

Actually, if I could find a way for a Shadow Reaver to get smacked in the face with said idiot chicken, that would be ideal...

[kattartsblog]

Rated: M

Warnings: Angst, Implied Depression, Swearing, and Death

The year is 2009, Ilona travels to Sardinia to get some closure on Risotto’s death.

Soaring through the sky above the Tyrrhenian sea, Ilona looked out of the window to see the island of Sardinia down below. Giorno sat across from them and had a worried expression on his face. “Are you going to be ok?” Giorno asked. “I’m not entirely sure.'' Ilona said hesitantly. Radicchio held Ilona’s paw, “You sure you don’t want us to come with you?”

“Yeah, it’s more of a me thing. But, I appreciate you guys worrying so much about me.” Ilona replied. Radicchio and Mostaccioli felt a sense of unease from Ilona, as the small plane touched down in the Olbia airport. “We’ll send you a text and meet you at the hotel.” Mostaccioli shouted. Ilona waved goodbye to their companions and followed Mista and Giorno as they went to steal a cab.

Mista found a black Alfa Romero 159 and began to hijack it. As soon as Giorno came closer to the car’s driver seat, he stopped him in his tracks. “Oh no you don’t, boss with all due respect, I’ll be driving you.”

“Guido, it’s fine. Allow me-“ Mista shook his head, “You may have your license, but I’m not going to let you drive me into a body of water like you did on our way to Venezia. What if you traumatize poor Ilona even more!?” Giorno smiled and gave a sweet warm chuckle, “You’re still hung up about that, ok ok. I won’t drive.” Ilona had no clue what they were referring to but they supposed it was an inside joke. However it sounded familiar. As soon as Mista was done tampering with the wires, he opened the front door of the car and unlocked the other doors. Giorno sat next to Ilona in the back seat.

“Can’t believe it’s been 8 years.” Mista said as he started the car. Giorno hummed in agreement and then turned to Ilona. They felt an uncomfortable tightness in their chest. “Ilona. Do you perchance know where in Sardinia Risotto was heading?” Giorno questioned. Ilona looked out the window, then answered with unsureness. “Sort of, I think it was Costa something?” Mista almost pressed the gas pedal in shock, he realized what place Ilona was referring to. “Costa Smeralda, just up north of here.” Giorno said firmly, chills ran up Mista’s spine as he put the car in drive. The ride there was tense, Mista and Giorno knew that it was the same place Diavolo was born. But it was also the same place where their close traveling companion, Leone Abbacchio, had been brutally murdered.

They finally made it all the way up north of the island. Parking the car near the side of the road near the bottom of a cliff. They see a small patch of dandelions and an old stone pillar. Both Mista and Giorno were visibly uncomfortable at the site of this place. All of the memories of that day flooded back to them. Ilona began slowly walking around the beach, like a cat stalking their prey, lightly stepping around the patch of flowers. They turned back to see Mista and Giorno still standing in the same spots as when they arrived. “Hey, um… is there something you guys aren’t telling me?” Giorno hesitated to say anything but Mista finally broke the silence. “Do you remember meeting a guy named Leone Abbacchio?”

Ilona thought about it for a moment before remembering seeing the white haired, tall goth man once accompining Bruno. “Vaguely, I never spoke with him much.” Ilona answered. Mista pointed at the flower patch, “Well, this was where he was killed. We came to find him a few minutes too late.” Mista tried to hold back his emotions, Giorno placed a hand on his shoulder to try and calm him down. Ilona was shocked, no wonder they had felt so disturbed by this place. But now, a new question arose. “Why were you guys here?” Ilona asked. “What?” Giorno replied, raising an eyebrow. “I don’t mean to pry but, I’d like to know why you guys here.” Mista looked at Giorno and then answered, “After we betrayed la familigia, we heard that the boss grew up here. So we went to search for him.”

Ilona’s eyes widened, they remembered that Risotto told them what he had been planning, avenge La Squadra by confronting Diavolo. This means that if Abbacchio had died here, then so did Risotto. Ilona’s heart began to beat fast, thinking of the possibilities. As if a light switch flipped on in their mind, they realized a horrible detail. “What day was it when he died?!” Ilona asked in a frantic tone, “It couldn’t be a coincidence if he-“

“Ilona, take a breath. Relax for a second.” Giorno said, Ilona took a deep breath and sat on the ground. Mista sat next to them, “Chill out. What is going through your mind?” Ilona looked down at their paws, “Risotto left for Sardinia 3 days after Ghiaccio died. If he came here… then maybe-”

“Are you implying that both Risotto and Abbacchio died on the same day in the same place?” Mista interrupted, Ilona nodded. “You’re kidding!?”

“I think they might be right, it wouldn’t be out of the question.” Giorno replied, “Maybe there’s something up higher on that cliff?”

The three of them trekked up to search for anything significant, they only found strange rock formations on the side of a road. There was no way they could find any clues from 8 years ago. Just then, Ilona saw something in the corner of the eye. A dusty golden, circular ornament with the letter R engraved on it. This was from Risotto’s hat, Ilona could recognise this thing anywhere! But where’s the rest of the hat? Ilona brought the hat charm to show Giorno and Mista, “Look, he was here! I can’t believe it! Risotto wore this hat everywhere and it had these charms on it. If we could find the rest of the hat, maybe we could find his body!”

The two mafiosi looked at Ilona with concern, they must have been desperate to find any trace of their old friends. “May I see that for a moment?” Giorno asked, Ilona nodded and gave the charm to Giorno. Using the powers of his stand, Giorno turned the charm into a sparrow and made it fly away. Ilona grew red in the face, “What the hell was that for?! Turn it back!” Mista knew what was happening and tried to calm Ilona down, “Ilona, chill man! Giorno will turn it back after we find the hat. For now, follow that bird!” They followed the bird a little down the way, there they saw a torn up hat. It had dried up blood stains, multiple bullet holes in it, and was practically a shred of dusty cloth with more of the rusted ornaments tied to the bottom of the hat.

Ilona knelt down and gingerly picked up the shreds of the hat. He was here, this was his final resting ground alright. Gulping air, Ilona tried to hold back the tears that started slowly falling from their face. Giorno and Mista were reminded how Narancia reacted to Abbachio’s death and his raw emotions bubbling over. Ilona stood up and slowly walked past Giorno and Mista, gripping onto the hat tightly. They followed them to the dandelion patch where Ilona placed a rock with the hat underneath it. Ilona placed the broken off charm in their pocket and petted the rock. Ilona sat there for a little bit, it felt like time was standing still until Ilona had spoken.

“Risotto, I just want to tell you that I’m ok and I kept my promise. You and the team believed in me, in your own way. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you this sooner but… grazie, for everything.” The ocean’s breeze made a sound that sounded like a whisper, it was as if Ilona’s prayer had been answered. The salty sent of the wind reminded Ilona of those happy memories they had shared with La Squadra. The sea’s breeze flew past Giorno and Mista, they too had heard a whisper that sounded familiar to only them. They turned to face the ocean, there on the horizon was the sun setting a golden hue where the sky met the sea. Ilona stood up from their spot and wiped their tears, “You guys ready to go?” They sniffled, Giorno looked at Ilona who still looked like they were going to cry.

“Yes I think we-“ suddenly Mista interrupted Giorno in a burst of tears. For the first time since they’ve known each other, Mista had never cried in front of Giorno. “Mista, calm down!”

“Sorry, it was a very touching sentiment. It reminded me of that one scene from “The Bridges of Madison County”. I cried a bit during that scene, where the mother Fransessca couldn’t find her husband and found out that he died 3 years prior.” Mista ran to hug Ilona, squishing their face to his chest. “It’s ok Ilona, you’ll find someone who can be the Clint Eastwood to your Meryl Streep!”

“Mista, my ribs.” Mista realized what he was doing and loosened his grip, “ Sorry about that.”

“I think we’re ready to leave too, right Mista?” Giorno asked, Mista nodded in agreement and the 3 of them walked back to the car.

[phantalgia]

10/12/24 - It's Too Much

I haven't been able to finish a blog I've been working on. My mind has completely distanced itself from it and I can't reorientate myself back. It's such an important piece to me though. I wanna get it done so I can move onto the next steps.

Regarless there's two things I want to talk about, one is more short and sweet and it's still an unknown. The other is much longer. First, the discovery that maybe I have vagus nerve issues. Then some emotional stuff. Going to go over the vagus nerve stuff.

Vagus Nerve?

This was the big discovery. Well, I don’t know if it's really that. However, I been doing this bag breathing thing, particularly last night. Just 5 mins after doing it. Boom, I get this feeling in my stomach of like a slug dropping down. I get that a lot with these episodes which is what it became.

I’m feeling dizzy, faint, very panicy, and my chest feels sensative, maybe some blood pressure sensativities too. This lasted for a while and all I could do was lay down with some xanax until it passed.

In the midst of it all I got curious about it. Why the stomach? That's not an arrythmia. I mean it should have been obvious. To me it wasn't. So I wrote what I was feeling on ChatGPT. And vagus nerve came up. I looked it up and sure enough my symptoms lined up with everything. And what's more?

A lot of it explains long term symptoms too, maybe partly. The headaches are associated with occipital neuralgia, with a throbbing sensation, fatigue, acid reflux, trouble breathing, nausea, and on and on. These are all symptoms I've had long term. Partly, there's more. But I think this might be more nuanced than simply "breathing patterns". Anyway. That was the discovery. Moving onto the emotional stuff!

My Own Cowardice

I really can't seem to move on from these past people. Haunting me, like crazy. It's just like part of me wants to know they're ok at least. But I just can't help but miss that proper and real connection and passion that I have never felt before from people. It's all gone now. I have never felt it again. Or maybe it's trapped with those people.

Anyway, it's just causing problems for me. I can't even make proper social interactions with people anymore. I mean, I never could. My disconnection with people has gotten much worse than ever. I’m just feeling like a rotting corpse unable to keep my life up. I want life and drive. I just can't find it anywhere.

I know much more of this is deeper than feeling disconnected, we can add just social awkwardness, anxiety, and perhaps something else? I’m not quite sure but I know something is amiss. I never ever could socialize ever as a kid. Even with the friends I made they never lasted and to me I never understood them as deeply. I recalled stories before.

There's a lot of fear when it comes to talking to people. But also a narcissism that I’m just unworthy of their time and push them away. Or is it just confusion? I don’t know what it is. Again, fear doesn't feel right. It's like whatever this feeling is enters my body first before being a feeling. Hijacking everything.

I kind of think there is some growing pains going on here. This is all painful, all new and I’m not getting it yet. The unfortunante thing is other people have to be at the recieving end of this too. I’m adding additional misery to others trying to figure this socializing thing. What a clusterfuck. But, I’m running out of time. Nobody can help me, I have to fuck up over and over and over again until I get it. I know there's something more out there at the end of this.

And this is ontop of other things I gotta go over and over and over and over again. Figuring out my health, figuring out my issues with perfectionism, my obsessions, my issues with thinking and concentration, TRYING to do my interests and hobbies, picking up the scraps of my life, And so on. It's so much shit. I can't and don’t want to do this alone.

I HAD people thst cared and didn't want me to be alone in it. But I screwed it all up. And now I have to be haunted by them in this endless torment. I get it I can get out of it somehow. I've learned so much about other stuff about me and I gotta do this too. But it hasn't been a priority. Perhaps because of how much it's nagging at me. Maybe I should tackle it. But sometimes I fucking can't because my mind gets distracted or REFUSES to think about it.

It's so damn frustrating. I don’t get it anymore. I don’t want to hurt anyone anymore. But I keep doing it over and over again. This is all probably growning pains, it's going to suck. I don’t know what I’m doing. But I don’t have much of a choice. There's so much going on in my head and body it's driving me crazy.

Ugh...I’m done. I’m scared...but man this is a ride. That's all.

[lemonluvgirl]

Anything

Based on the prompt: could you write a oneshot role reversal where Katniss is kidnapped in the Capitol and this is the everlark reunion scene?

In my opinion its not a real reunion between lovers unless they are both gettting naked! But I can’t just make it a Porn without Plot fic, so...Ok so, here’s the deal. Peeta went on the mission to free the captured victors in the Capitol and took his helmet off when he found Katniss in her cell. She then proceeded to strangle the shit out of him, because she was hijaked, but Boggs stopped her from killing Peeta and they all made it back to District 13. This ‘real’ reunion happens after moths of therapy and everlark fighting their way back through the hijacking. 

I find myself staring at him. 

Peeta’s full, plush looking lips are tinted a dark pink. I'm perversely proud of how swollen they look from my furious onslaught of kisses. I smile at him, just barely for a second and he gives me a heated but tender look. I flick my gaze away. Those mesmerizing lips of his quirk up at the corners, then he lowers his head past my mouth, skimming down my jaw. His lips are soft and reverent when he uses them to trace the column of my neck. 

Gently, feather soft kisses descend on my skin and ignite like live wires sparking and crackling with increasing intensity. Then, his hands, wonderfully callused from all that training, mirror the position of my own, tracing up and down my body. He feels strong and hard under my fingertips. I feel like I could touch him forever and forget about everything else in existence. 

There are a million unsaid words he exhales against my skin with each ragged breath he draws across the pulse point in my neck. I wonder how he manages to say so much with just the slight pressure of his hands or his lips? 

It's intoxicating and…different. I wonder why his lips feel so different from anyone else's.  

More importantly,  how can he still want to do this after everything I've done to him? After everything that’s been done to me?

I draw back just enough to look at his expression.  I'm startled to find his blue eyes openly staring into me, unguarded and suffused with longing and adoration. 

That look makes my breath hitch and my blood sing. 

I'm so impatient to have him naked and panting over me, under me, in every way imaginable, that it's unbelievable. 

But then of course, I'm certifiable now. 

I wonder if he's slightly mad too, or maybe he's just too naive to know when to quit. 

He stares back at me, letting me drink my fill of him with my eyes. And slowly, like peeling back layer after layer of false impressions and shiny memories I uncover the truth in his gaze. 

He's not insane. Or stupid. 

The distress of opening himself up like this again is evident in the crease of his brow, the uncertain tilt of his mouth, the tension in his hands as they shake just slightly while continuing to caress me. 

There's an impossibly deep look in his eyes, like a promise or a vow known only to himself. I wonder if he thinks that by coming back again and again he will somehow make up for leaving me to rot in the Capitol for so long. 

But the quiet pant of his breath and the wide sincerity in his eyes doesn't speak predominantly of guilt. 

He's got that look that Finnick gets when he looks at Annie. 

That wonderfully grateful look that silently screams of devotion. 

It makes me uncomfortable.  

But before I can shift away from him, his lips are back on my neck, and he's breathing soft words into my skin. 

"I'm yours," 

"Body and soul."

"Whatever you want, only if you want."

"Anything for you, Katniss." 

Even though his lips barely move and his voice is so light I have to strain to catch what he's saying, I hear him just the same. It's not quite an apology, (which is good because I don’t want one) it’s more an overture. Which I can handle infinitely better than a tear soaked 'sorry', and if for only that reason I find myself relaxing into him a little more. 

I'm glad, infinitely glad, that he doesn't try to tell me I'm sexy or beautiful, or something like that. Those words would have made me gag after all the times I'd heard them repeated to me in the Capitol. 

And he doesn't try to touch my breasts or my ass right away, either. 

He just keeps kissing along my collarbone and murmuring how he'll follow my lead. 

And it's the best offer I've gotten in a long time. My core throbs, achy and enticed with the idea of a partner eager to give instead of take from me. 

Was he always this generous in bed? Or did he only become such an attentive lover in response to what he thought I needed after all I had been through?

I pushed the questions out of my mind and focused on the only thought that mattered. 

This is what I wanted right now. 

He is what I need. 

I don’t need to psychoanalyze his motivations. I just need him to show me why this strange connection we share hasn’t been severed, by time, distance, or even the mad science of the Capitol. 

It's with that knowledge that I pull his shirt free from the waistband of his pants, slipping my hands inside and ghosting my fingers over his skin.

He shudders above me. I watch as his thickly muscled arms tremble as they work to keep his body hovering over mine. I know it's not fatigue that's affecting him, but my touch. I pry his shirt off of him and toss it somewhere on the floor. He doesn't blink when I do, but his pupils dilate even further, the pretty blue of his eyes slowly being swallowed up by the black. 

It's an effervescent feeling that rises up inside of me, when I realize how much I affect him. I want to revel in it at first and touch every inch of him slowly. But I don't know if it's wise to draw this out. Who knows how long this clarity of need will last? 

What I do know is I want to feel the weight of his body over mine. I want it to settle into my bones and I want to taste the moans off his tongue when he slips inside me. 

I want to watch his blue eyes grow dark with lust and then roll to the back of his head when he floods me with his warmth. 

I want everything he is offering and then some. Because the hazy memories I have aren’t enough. 

"Take off my clothes Peeta." I command, in a stern voice. It might sound laughable to someone else, the bossy tone in my voice even though I’m on bottom. But it’s not really a laughing matter for either of us. We will be equals in this no matter who’s physically taking the lead. I can see it in his eyes and I feel it in the way he holds me.

But I must still catch him a little off guard with my boldness. 

Peeta’s eyes widen slightly in response and he searches my face for only a moment before he finds the certainty he's looking for.

Then, as if someone has thrown a switch, he's different. 

His hands are steady and efficient as they unzip the front of my jumpsuit. He doesn't fumble when he reaches behind me and  unclips my bra. 

Neither does he hesitate when he unbuttons my pants and drags my underwear down at the same time. 

And he doesn't break eye contact with me the entire time. Waiting for me to make the next move. 

I love it. His confidence, his patience, the practiced way he undresses me. He’s quick and efficient but not possessive or disrespectful. It’s hot, and I can admit that to myself before I attack him with my mouth again.  

I latch onto the spot below his ear, and swirl my tongue in light circles in between kisses before I begin to suck on his slightly salty skin. It's all I can do to not bite down hard, when I inhale the scent and taste that feels so familiar and delicious.  

Peeta's breath hitches and he mumbles something incoherent against my hair that sounds like 'I've missed you so much.' Since he seems to be speaking more to himself than me I don't let it phase me. I can do without the emotional declarations. So I kiss him again on the mouth to stop anymore from leaking out. 

 If he's put off by my one track mind he doesn't show it. He kisses me back with a fervor and passion that makes heat spread through me like colored ink bleeding onto a page. 

It's only when my teeth scrape against the large artery in his neck that he reacts adversely for the first time. He stiffens up, as a tremor of fear runs through him. Because of course, even though the bruises have faded, and even though he’s already hard as steel against my thigh, he no doubt remembers the last time I paid so much attention to his neck. 

Right before I strangled him. 

“Are you scared of me Peeta?” I ask him out of morbid curiosity, between breaths as I continue to lavish his neck with my mouth, albeit slightly more gently and without the scrape of my teeth. 

He automatically starts to shake his head, but pauses mid shake. 

“A little,” He admits in a breathless voice. 

“Hummm,” I murmur vaguely in reply, giving him no assurances or warnings either way. He’s bigger than me, stronger too. But I’ve been training the same as him. Harder and more frequently too, since he spends more time filming propos than practicing his hand to hand combat. 

“If you're going to try to kill me, I think I’ll be ready this time.” He adds, as he threads his fingers through the hair at the base of my neck and tugs just a little. I clench my thighs and bite my own tongue to stifle the moan that threatens to slip out and slowly cast my gaze upward until I meet his eyes. 

He looks as serious as he sounds. It’s a promise that while he is more than happy to keep getting naked with me, he’s also on alert. 

I grin lazily up at him, while deliberately brushing my leg back and forth over his erection, delighting in the tortured groan that springs from deep in his throat. 

“Good. That makes two of us.” I tell him with a smirk. 

He lowers his head to my shoulder and curses quietly and I continue to rub him through his pants. 

“Katniss, I never tried to kill you. You have to know that by now.” He tells me, in a flustered, out of breath tone. I stop stimulating him with my leg and give him a breather.

I chuckle in reply before slipping my hands slowly down his chest and back respectively, feeling every peak and dip, every muscle rippling and tensing as I recommit them to memory. I close my eyes briefly, indulgently. 

“There are a lot of things I should know, Peeta. But so many of them get mixed up when you’re near me. You’re like a drug, and I can never quite predict the side effects you’ll bring with you after the first hit. Sometimes it's an unbelievable almost unending high. Sometimes it's terrible, stress filled paranoia. Sometimes it’s painful lows that drag me into endless waking nightmares. But always, it's intense. And no matter how broken I feel afterwards, you still leave me craving more.” I admit. 

I feel his strong arms tighten around me, and he emits a soft mournful sound. 

I’m glad that at that moment I can’t see his face. 

I don’t think I’d like what I would find. 

So instead of searching his expression I reach between our bodies and unzip his pants. His fingers dig into my skin, and his tightened grip only serves to spur me on. 

I don’t want to stop. In fact I don’t think I could at this point even if I wanted to. 

I think it's the same for Peeta, because even though he doesn't help me remove the rest of his clothes at first, he does nothing to impede me. 

After I push his pants and underwear down over his ankles, he kicks them the rest of the way off. We’re both naked now, but he still holds himself gingerly over me, not quite touching. 

He sucks in a huge breath and finally looks at me. His eyes sweep up and down my body slowly and I allow him his time. 

I stare back at him unapologetically as well. My gaze linger over his well toned stomach, his trim hips, and his thick cock that bobs in the empty gap between our bodies, pointed like an arrow at me. I lick my lips in anticipation but when I look back at Peeta he seems withdrawn from the immediacy of the moment. 

“I wish it could be different. I wish there was a way I could wipe away all the fear between us.” He whispers as he tucks a loose tendril of hair behind my ear. 

I stare up at him, unblinking. 

I don’t think it needs to be said that I wish for the same thing. I’m sure that’s obvious. 

But I know I have to say something. 

“No one else's hands can make me forget the bad memories like yours can.” I tell him quietly. 

He gives me an unreadable look. I think he’s trying not to show how sad or happy that makes him. I know I shouldn’t be irritated by this, but I am. I don’t want his pity, if that’s what this is. 

He notices my mouth tipping down into a scowl almost immediately, and mumbles a shaky ‘sorry’, before his mouth descends to kiss the frown off my lips. 

Everything else is forgotten, and it's just him invading everyone of my senses. 

Taste first. 

His lips are clean and sweet, washing away the memory of rough mouths that tasted stale and bitter like too much alcohol and something rotten underneath the lingering traces of decadent Capitol delicacies. With each swipe of his tongue against mine he paints a different picture, of something pure and pristine.  

Smell next. 

The sweet and spicy aroma of his skin intermingled with the light sheen of sweat condensing on both our bodies makes me feel dizzy with pleasure. It's such an eroticly familiar smell. I’m so wet, and getting wetter by the second that I can distinguish the light scent of my own arousal that is slowly perfuming the room with its headiness. There’s also a small amount of fluid that must be leaking from his tip, that I can smell him too and I revel in the knowledge that our scents will ultimately combine to create something unique that is all our own.

Hearing directly after that. 

Peeta groans so long and low when my scent hits him, that I feel it rolling through my core like thunder. He inhales deeply, like I’m an aphrodisiac. He hardens even further, and seemingly can’t help rocking his hips into mine, his erection dragging hot and hard over my naked skin. A small whimper escapes my throat at the thought of him being so turned on. I claw at his skin, trying to get him closer, as close as I can. 

Then touch. 

He lowers himself over me until his strong chest touches mine, and the nearly invisible blond hairs on his chest brush against my beasts and tease my hardened nipples into harder peaks, making me gasp and urging me to rub up against him like a cat. The planes of his torso fit perfectly against my diminutive curves and I get the feeling we fit better together than most. I hook a leg behind his right thigh, the one made completely of flesh and close my eyes to enjoy the building tension and pleasure at every point where our  bare skin meets. With my other hand I reach down and caress what remains of his left thigh, dragging my blunt nails lightly over his stump and enjoying the feeling of his coarse leg hair. He doesn’t flinch, just allows me to caress him thoroughly. I toy with the idea of taking him in my hand and pumping him for a while, anticipating the velvety texture of the soft skin of his cock over the beautiful hardness it conceals. But I refrain, worried that he might get too worked up. I certainly feel overstimulated and we’ve barely done anything yet. 

Finally sight is the last. 

We both open our eyes to look at each other and I know he can read my silent request for him to skip the rest of the foreplay. I want him now, and I don’t want to wait to feel him filling me up. He holds my gaze for what seems like an endless moment. 

He’s amazingly focused as he looks down at me, hair golden and tousled from my wandering hands. I have a small flash of memory of him years younger, being backlit by a flaming cape and headdress while a crowd roars around us instead of the weak light from the overhead fluorescents and the silence that’s only broken by our ragged breathing now. 

But in my memory he’s looking at me the exact same way he is presently, like I’m the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. The memory fades, and I don’t try to catch it, preferring instead to live completely in the here and now. 

I suck in a breath before I lift my hand to trace the seductive outline of his lips lazily with the tip of my finger. He mirrors my actions by brushing his thumbs in circles over the tips of my breasts. Twin bolts of pleasure shoot down my body and pool in my core, swirling and tightening all at once.

“Don’t make me wait any longer.” I tell him as I exhale and close my eyes for a second before opening them again. He blinks at me, those impossibly darkened blue eyes inviting me to drown inside their beautiful fathomless depths. 

I don’t think I’ll ever get over his eyes. They entrance me. Especially after the hijacking. Looking headlong into them leaves me feeling like I’m staring over the edge of a great precipice. It's wonderful, frightening, and maddening all at once. For a moment I feel like a fly caught in amber, trapped within his hypnotic gaze. 

And it's only when his lips simultaneously capture mine at the same moment he pushes inside me that I feel like I can breathe again. 

“Fuck!” My shout is almost immediately stifled by his mouth, and my eyes tilt up to the ceiling of their own volition. He groans against my lips and twitches inside me and it makes my clench around him. He breaks our kiss and hisses my name, in a mixture of pleasure and strained warning. His eyes are screwed adorably shut in an expressoin that screams of tortured pleasure. All I can do is kiss it off his softly trembling lips. 

“Oh Peeta…..” I whisper, reveling in the quiet satisfaction I feel. My voice trails off as he presses his forehead against mine and briefly opens and closes his eyes against the raptourus sensation of finally uniting himself with me. He’s bigger than I anticipated and I feel wonderfully, perfectly stretched. He holds off on moving though until he feels me relax completely. His teeth gritted and his eyelashes that go on forever fluttering while he waits. 

It feels like the universe is holding its breath along with me. 

He draws a shaky breath and retreats an inch or two.

Then he sinks into me again, and I’m as lost in him as he seems in me. 

And we’re burning, meeting, yielding, and combining in between each breath. 

My hands are everywhere, his shoulders, his back, his hips, and his ass as he moves in a deliberately slow and steady pattern where he alternates grinding his hips into me and thrusting deeply. 

I can’t fight the noises that escape me, soft and high and desperate as I lift my hips to meet him. 

And words tumble from his mouth. Confessions, adorations, and praise that’s so earnest and sincere that it rips away any pretense I have of guarding myself against his captivatingly open heart. 

I rush headlong into the all encompassing feeling of him worshiping me with his own body. And I can’t help but respond in kind. I comb my fingers through his hair as I kiss along his neck tenderly, trailing my tongue along his skin and nibbling on his soft earlobe. The strained sounds of pleasure he makes when I do are almost as satisfying as the feeling of him filling me over and over again. 

I moan his name while I arch against him, inviting him deeper, welcoming him to touch and fill me as deeply as I can stand. 

This kicks him into overdrive and he shifts my legs forward until I’m tilted at a different angle, breaking my mouth’s contact with his neck, before he begins driving into me with abandon, my name punctuating every thrust. It's just what I need, and after only about a minute I come hard, sharp and bursting, unable to even scream his name. All I can do is squeeze him inside and out, my muscles clenching around his hard length and my hands grabbing his thighs for dear life.

 Once the euphoria begins to subside, I stutter out his name and he licks his way into my mouth, drinking the blissful pleasure off my tongue, as if my orgasm was a shot of liquid adrenaline that energized him further. 

From the way he pulls me up, quick as lightning, into a sitting position on his lap as he moves me bodily up and down his cock, it might as well have been. He knows exactly what he’s doing. I can see it in the serious and determined look in his eyes. I can feel it in the powerful flex of his legs and hips as he pumps into me expertly. My thighs tremble and I can feel my mouth quivering as I stare at him wide-eyed and caught off guard. 

He knows me and what I like. He remembers everything apparently. He reads my expression and the signs my body gives off as easily as a child reading from their favorite book that they have lovingly memorized. 

 It takes just seconds for me to come again in this new position, and he rides out the waves with me with a joyfulness that makes me forget absolutely everything but his steadiness and his sweet tenderness underneath the power and strength he keeps humbly in check. 

It’s such a contradiction to the venom tainted lies that the Capitol force fed me. 

His hands affirm every secret pleasure that only an experienced lover could remember, and it doesn’t feel cheap or tawdry when he palms the cheeks of my ass, or when his mouth dips to suck one of my nipples in between his lips. 

It feels exquisite. 

I feel exquisite. 

I cling to him like he’s the only anchor I have in this seemingly endless sea of pleasure as he rewrites so many ideas I had of what sex between us was supposed to feel like. He holds onto me just as tightly, as if he never wants to let go. We fuse together until there’s no way to distinguish us as separate entities. My hands gripped his closely shorn hair and my breath came hard and fast against his ear as he increased his tempo, giving it his all, while our sweat slicked bodies slid against each other in a frantic push and pull that hurdled both of us towards a brilliant end. 

 “I’m close.” He says between gritted teeth, as his hands struggle to find purchase on my slippery skin. I dig my knees into the threadbare mattress and wordlessly throw myself into his pounding rhythm wholeheartedly, rising and sinking with him. 

“You feel so-” He tries to say, but shakes his head, drops of perspiration scattering as he does so. I merely nod. He doesn’t have to explain, I know what he means. 

“Please,” He whispers entreatingly against my shoulder, and it’s all I need. 

 I feel myself splinter into a thousand little pieces filled with sharp, bursting pleasure. Distantly I hear myself screaming his name. 

His hips snap against me, all instinct now as I pull him along with me, catching him up in the undertow of my climax. 

He comes with a startled cry, burying himself impossibly deep inside me. I feel every throbbing inch of him emptying hotly into me and for a single blissful moment the entire world feels good and right and clear while we fell apart together. 

We fall backwards until my back hits the bed and his considerable weight settles on me heavily. He’s uncomfortably heavy but I savor the solidness of him pressing me down into the mattress. It feels like he’s the only thing keeping me from floating away. 

I gently comb my fingers through his short hair as I try to recover. My touch seems to revive him, or remind him, and he eases some of his weight off me, by supporting himself on his elbows. 

We stayed like that for several seconds, just trying to regain our equilibrium. 

“Was it always that good?” I ask him, more out of curiosity than a real need to know. I had a feeling I already knew what the answer was. 

He’s quiet for a few beats, and when he speaks it is in a reverent tone. 

“It was for me.” He whispers, and exhales a long breath, “I think, it was good for you too. At least it always seemed that way.” He concludes before looking up into my eyes. 

I released a long held breath and nodded before returning to play with his hair. 

“I think you’re right.” I finally say before closing my eyes and letting sleep begin to claim me. I miss his reply, if he even gave one, and only frowned slightly when I felt him slip out of me, having grown too soft to remain.

My last conscious thought was of how I missed the feeling of him already. 

[punchdrunkdoc]

Just Breathe - Ch. 2

Summary: Six months after the events in Gotham Square Garden, Bruce is struggling to find balance between his role as Batman and his responsibilities as Bruce Wayne. His life is made even more complicated when he learns that someone knows his secret identity.

Notes: This is a multi-chapter Battinson/original female character story with romance, angst, and crime solving!

Chapter 1

Also available on AO3

I’ve ventured out of the shadows now. It was necessary; to give the City hope. To let the people of Gotham know that someone is out there for them. But the exposure has brought attention - from those looking to scrutinise my actions…and from those seeking revenge. 

Bruce flipped the journal closed and stared with frustration at the words scrawled on the cover:

                   The Gotham Project. Year 3.

He was in his third year of this life and he was still making mistakes. Those two Riddler acolytes should not have been able to get the jump on him last night. 

He'd arrived at the junkyard aware that it was no ordinary hostage situation. When he’d caught the social media coverage of the hijacking, his gut had warned him that there was something off about the set-up. And seeing the triumphant look in the gunmen's eyes as they'd stood in front of that bus full of people - all recording on their cameraphones - he'd realised it was a trap built just for him.

But in his arrogance, he still thought he could walk into it and get out unscathed.

And he nearly had.  Until they'd released that gas.

He should have anticipated this type of escalation. His bullet-proof armour rendered the preferred weapons of Gotham's criminals - guns and knives - essentially useless. So in response, they'd gotten creative.

And it had almost worked.

Lying on that cold, wet gravel...locked in his paralysed body, struggling in vain for the merest gasp of air...he'd thought his time on this earth was over.

He wasn't afraid to die.

He knew the life that he'd chosen was dangerous, and that a fatal end was always a possibility...he just didn't think it would happen like that. Laid out like a sacrificial lamb by two grandstanding, low-rate thugs.

Immobile and utterly helpless.

The burn of humiliation and self-recrimination he'd felt in that moment had matched the burn in his chest as his lungs had screamed for oxygen.

But then, a much stronger feeling had taken over.

Regret.

Regret for the failure of his mission. Gotham was no better than it was when he started; and he knew that he needed more time to undo the damage he'd caused by inadvertently inspiring the worst of its citizens.

Regret for the state of his family's legacy. He'd only just started to take a proper interest in the finances of the Wayne Foundation and, in particular, the Renewal Fund which had been too long neglected and corrupted.

Regret for leaving Alfred, especially when their strained relationship was finally starting to heal.

Regret for Selina, and the fact that he’d never see her again...

So yeah, he wasn't afraid to die.

He just wasn't ready to die yet. Not when there was still so much to be done.

He pressed play on the footage obtained from his contact lenses, determined to learn from last night's disaster. He paused at the moment the gas was discharged, studying the mist of red that filled the screen. He would need to ask Gordon for a sample from GCPD evidence so he could figure out a way to create a counter-serum.

He continued watching, even though his lenses recorded only the night sky and the falling rain as he lay motionless on the ground.

Then she came into view.

Her hair fell like a curtain around her face as she leaned over him. Her eyes were wide and full of tenderness as she tried to calm his panicked state. He remembered what she said to him vividly, could fit the syllables to the movement of her lips on the screen.

“You’re going to be ok, I promise. I know that you’re struggling, but I'm here. And I’m going to breathe for you until help arrives.”

He paused the recording, needing a moment to absorb those words.

I know that you’re struggling, but I'm here.

She couldn't have known how powerful that sentiment was to him. How much he wished for someone to share his burdens with. Someone to take his hand after a long night on the streets and offer solace and warmth…

I know that you’re struggling, but I'm here.

He shook his head.

He couldn't afford that, no matter how much he longed for it.

Inviting someone into his life, opening himself up to them...he couldn't risk it. The fear of losing someone else he cared about was too debilitating. The thought of going through that pain again was simply…unbearable. It was the reason part of him was glad that Selina had left, before he’d had a chance to fall for her further.

He restarted the footage and caught her lips moving again just before she bent over to press her mouth to his.

She'd said something else. Something that he hadn't caught last night over the sound of the pelting rain.

He rewound the video. Analysed it.

Rewound it again.

And again, sure that he was wrong.

But the silent words were clear.

'I'm sorry.'

Why would she be sorry? Why would she apologise for saving his life?

Because that's what she’d done. She had breathed for him when he was unable. He remembered the feel of her soft lips against his, the warm air passing from her mouth to his, the rise of his chest as her breath expanded his lungs and sustained him.

She’d saved his life…and he hadn’t even thanked her.

When the drug had cleared from his system and he was able to move again, all he could think about was getting out of there. He’d been shaken by his near death and that made him feel…vulnerable. He was desperate to regroup, away from the crowd of police officers and the prying eyes of the press.

So he’d jumped in his car and driven off…not sparing a glance or a thought for the woman who’d saved him.

Who was she?

The answer wasn’t clear from his own footage, her face obscured by the dingy light and the rain. He needed more.

He brought up the live feeds that were posted by the hostages on the bus. He searched through the videos, seeing himself fight with the gunmen from multiple different angles, seeing himself fall to the ground…but when she came to his aid, her back was always to the bus.

Who was she?

He found her in one of the last posts.

The footage was shaky, the hostage’s fearful nerves translating to unsteady hands. And the view kept swinging from the action outside, to the inside of the bus, in disorientating jerky movements. But that interior view allowed him to see her - finally - as she ran into the frame, calling out to the driver.  

“Let me out!”

“No! Are you crazy, lady?”

“Open the door! Now!”

She started banging on the glass of the bus door. She looked frantic.  

“I need to help him! Please!”

It was a strange feeling, more than two years into this mission, to suddenly see himself as the one in need. While he’d been lying on the ground, at the mercy of criminals…a total stranger had been rushing to his aid.

It was an unexpected reversal.

He froze the video on the clearest frame of her, and frowned as he regarded the face of his saviour.

He recognised her.

That honey-blond hair. Those big, cornflower blue eyes. The freckles across her nose and the full lips…he’d seen her before.

He searched through his archives and selected the video from more than a year ago...and there she was. Her hair was tied back and her eyes were hidden behind gold wire-framed glasses…but it was the same woman. He watched as she bristled at his and Gordon’s questioning of her work.

“There weren’t photographs taken because this was a non-suspicious death. The bruising was incidental. She died of pancreatitis secondary to gallstones. Natural causes.”

“How certain is that?”  

“Why don’t you open her back up and check for yourself?”

"I think you pissed her off.”

Bruce jerked away from the monitor, suddenly aware that he’d been pressed up close to it, studying her face.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt,” Alfred said, placing a breakfast tray on the workstation.

“It’s okay,” Bruce replied softy, turning to face the older man. But Alfred was looking at the screen.

“She’s pretty. Who is she?”

“The woman who saved my life last night.”

Alfred raised an eyebrow. “Then maybe I should send her some flowers. Thank her properly for prolonging your existence for a few more weeks.”

“Alfred,” he sighed, preparing himself for the lecture.

“It was too close last night. There have been too many ‘too closes’ recently-”

Bruce bristled at the rebuke, just like the woman in the footage. “I misjudged the danger they posed. It won’t happen again.”

“You can’t know that, Bruce. You’re spreading yourself too thin. You’re going out every night, and you’ve started taking on more responsibility at Wayne Enterprises-“

“Isn’t that what you wanted?” he grumbled.

“Yes, but you need to find some balance between the two. Otherwise you’re going to get sloppy, and you’re going to get yourself killed.” With those words, he stalked out of the underground lair. Their relationship may have been on better terms that it was six months ago…but they disagreed so fundamentally about how Bruce could help Gotham that it was becoming a regular fight.

His family’s company was a powerful lever for change in the City, and repairing the damage done to the Renewal Fund was a good way to help the people of Gotham and restore his father’s legacy…Alfred was right about that.

But Batman was needed too.

He was becoming a beacon of hope for the City, just as much as he was a symbol of fear for the criminals that polluted it. It was a role that felt much more important than sitting in on board meetings and attending charity functions. So if the balance had to shift, Bruce knew which direction the scales should fall.  

He turned back to the footage in front of him, and rewound the encounter.

“How certain is that?”  

“Why don’t you open her back up and check for yourself?”

He allowed himself the small smile that he’d suppressed at the time. She had surprised him back then. When he’d first encountered her she’d reacted like most people, backing away and staring in fear. But mere minutes later she was squaring up against him, all because he’d challenged the quality of her work. She was on the tall side for a woman, but still several inches shorter than him and relatively slender…yet she’d held her ground against him better than many criminals.  

And last night she’d been willing to leave the safety of the bus, and confront two armed men, to save him. Did she remember him from that night last year? Is that why she’d acted as she had? Or would she have done the same for a complete stranger?

Either way…he found himself wanting to know more about her.

———

“Dr. Beth Carraway, MD. 32 years old. Born in New York City. Orphaned young. Grew up in the foster system. Got her medical degree from Ivy University, did her pathology residency in Central City then moved to Gotham where she’s been working at the City Medical Examiner’s office ever since. Unmarried, lives alone. Debt-wise, she has some student loans - but not much, scholarships took care of most of her schooling - and she recently started leasing a car. No criminal record, not even an outstanding parking ticket. She’s thoroughly ordinary,” Gordon summarised, tucking the print-out back into his jacket pocket. “So you wanna tell me why you needed background on her?”

“Just following up on something from last week,” Bruce replied vaguely, staring out at the city. They were at their usual meeting place - by the signal light - and the dusk-hued sky was bathing the streets below in a warm lavender glow. From this vantage, at this time of night, Gotham always seemed worth saving.

“Speaking of that incident, those two Riddler-wannabes are going for the insanity defence, so they’ll probably end up in Arkham next to their hero. Doesn’t seem like much of a punishment for them.”

“They’re off the streets, which is the main thing.” His response was distracted. He was thinking of the information on Dr Carraway.

Orphaned young.

Thoroughly ordinary

His personal experience of the former gave lie to the latter. Orphans were not ordinary. It was not an ordinary state of being to be deprived of the love and guidance of your parents. To grow up rudderless and alone.

It had shaped the man he was today - and he had enough insight to know that his choices were not ordinary. It had shaped the Riddler too, in even more negative ways.

How had it shaped her?

His two brief interactions with her had yielded more understanding of her character than the background check provided by Gordon. He knew she was intelligent. Proud. Compassionate and brave.

Was that because of her childhood, or despite it?

And why did he care so much?

That was the question he struggled with the most. He couldn’t seem to get her out of his thoughts, and he didn’t know why.

Riding away from his meeting with Gordon he decided to ignore the question of ‘why’ and indulge his curiosity further…now that he knew where she lived.

Perched on the roof of the apartment block opposite hers, binoculars in hand, he spotted her arriving home from work.

She was hard to miss, sitting in the driver’s seat of an electric blue Camaro, the convertible roof retracted and the low growl of the V8 engine bouncing off the concrete buildings lining her street. She whipped the car into the underground garage and disappeared from sight. Minutes later, a light went on in the third floor apartment and he caught a glimpse of her passing in front of the window as she shrugged out of her coat and loosened her hair from its bun.

Witnessing the normality of that action made him lower the binoculars, disgusted with himself for spying. There was no justification for what he was doing. He wasn’t following a lead or staking out some crook. He was straight-up stalking the woman, and he needed to stop.

He quickly packed away his gear, descended to street level and sped away on his bike.

But he returned the following night.

And the night after that.

It became a habit over the next few weeks.  

Only for a few minutes at a time. And never while there was a risk of seeing her undressing. Those were the flimsy moral boundaries he set to justify his behaviour.

His compulsion.

Because thats what it felt like. He couldn’t really explain it, but he was drawn to this rooftop like metal filings to a magnet. He would begin most nights here, hoping for a glimpse of her.

It was as if he needed a constant reminder of why he’d abandoned his mission of vengeance; in the beginning, when he’d first donned the suit, that’s what it had been. A purely selfish pursuit to punish and hurt every criminal in the city. They were nothing but proxies for the nameless man who had murdered his parents and destroyed his childhood.

But after the mess with the Riddler, he realised he wanted to be more than just an agent of retribution. He wanted to be someone the citizens of Gotham could turn to in their hour of need. Someone they could rely on.  Someone they weren’t afraid of.

Someone they would jump off a bus for in the rain, risking their own lives to save.  

He wanted to be worthy of that kind of sacrifice.

So he came here, night after night, to remember why he wanted to do things differently.  

And apart from all that, watching her quiet, peaceful evenings - even when she was doing something as banal as reading a book or cooking a meal - provided a peaceful counterpoint to the chaotic darkness he existed in. It was a moment of calm before each night’s storm that he grew to rely on.

Tonight she was doing chores.

He could see her through her bedroom window sorting laundry, throwing clothing into piles on her bed. Her lips were moving as she swayed to unheard music and he imagined her singing along to the song on her stereo.

She sang a lot.

It was another piece to her puzzle. Another facet to her personality that he cataloged and memorised, helping to build the picture of her in his mind.

She liked to sing. She read a lot. She had a weakness for muscle cars and Korean BBQ takeaway.

And she lived a very solitary life.

She worked long hours, came home late in the evening, and spent her nights alone. No drinks with friends. No dinner parties. No dates or one night stands. He never caught her on the phone to someone, or saw her chatting to neighbours.

Her seclusion reminded him of his own. And whilst he had her - for a few minutes a night - to ease his isolation…she had no one.

He returned to that thought in the small hours of the morning as he sped home to Wayne Tower. Was there a way to meet her in person again? To discover if she was happy in her solitude or just lonely like him. Was there a way to spend time with her…so he could complete the picture of her in his head and assuage the curiosity he couldn’t seem to shake?

He ran through the possibilities - for how he could contrive a meeting with her - as he dismounted from his bike and began his usual post-patrol routine. He was surprised to hear Alfred's footsteps on the stairs only minutes later - he was usually in bed at this time.

“We have a problem,” Alfred said, as he came into view.

“What is it?” Bruce asked, his fatigue morphing into alertness.

“This,” he replied, handing Bruce a folded piece of paper. “It arrived yesterday evening.”

Bruce opened the letter and the first three words sent a chill down his spine:

                                 To The Batman

He jerked his head up to look at Alfred. “Is it the Riddler again? Or a copycat?”

Alfred shook his head. “No. There’s no greeting card, and there’s no riddle. Its just a letter asking for Batman’s help. But it arrived in this.” He helped up an envelope.

Which was addressed to Bruce Wayne.

“Someone knows who you are.”

--------

CHAPTER 3

Taglist: @hollandorks @grunge-n-roses5 

If anyone else wants to be added, let me know!

[angst-is-love-angst-is-life]

Thank you for asking! I apologize in advance because this will be all over the place and as said— a ridiculous disaster but also a dumpster fire. Enjoy

Quick backstory: This was originally supposed to be an Arrowverse Civil War with Kara and Barry (among others) vs Oliver (among others) but almost instantly I realized that’s not how things would go down— at all

So here’s what happened instead (pretty long so I added a cut) ;

Supergirl is framed for attacking the president of the U.S. (how? Haha next question)

For some reason, the DEO sides against her (but no identity reveal), so Kara goes Oliver’s base so he can help her investigate. She shows up there, has a quick conversation with Oliver where he believed her a little too quickly for my taste but this was post-crisis so not that bad. Barry shows up there too and that’s when everything goes to hell (both for the characters and my original plan).

Long story short for this part— Eiling shows up at the bunker (which he somehow knows not only of its existence but exactly where it is???) with some DEO and misc. government agents (as you do). Eiling’s the worst, Kara gets hit with a kryptonite bullet but is pretty much fine for some reason, Oliver’s unscathed— anddddd Barry gets hit with a modified cold gun twice which gives him some really bad hypothermia so Oliver and Kara go on a not-very-quick sidequest to save his life (feat. The Legends and the waverider) yes. I whumped Barry in my first fanfiction but wait cause it gets worse

Quite literally minutes after Barry recovers (and the three of them are walking through a field for some reason???)— fucking THAWNE shows up and kidnaps them. (man, I nerfed Barry so bad— should’ve just said he was still weaker from the cold gun but instead Thawne just demolished him like it was 2014). Oh also Barry, Kara, and Oliver are each in one of Zoom’s glass boxes from 2x14 because apparently I couldn’t come up with anything better ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Then we get to my ridiculous plot twist where Thawne is actually working with Lex motherfucking Luthor of all people. The two of them framed Kara but here’s the funny part— to this day I’ve never written why. I think Lex may have wanted to destroy her reputation or smth but it made no sense why he didn’t just ya know, kill her. Also, Oliver was done dirtier than everyone because both the bad guys and I just kind of ignored his presence. He was only there because I had some belief that the fic needed that trio specifically (Ollie, I’m so sorry, you deserved better than that)

Now the only part I still kind of like about this fic (I may use it one of these days) is Thawne’s plan. This mf decided to hijack the entire plot by turning into Barry with that thing he used on OG Wells and attempt to steal Barry’s life. And when I say hijack the entire plot— I meant it. The whole premise with Kara being framed and all that? Haha, I have no idea what you’re talking about. This is a Flash story now. (💀🤦‍♀️)

The bullshit got more and more bullshitty when I decided to give Cisco his powers back with a flimsy excuse to do so (actually I’m ok with that. Cisco getting rid of his power was kind of ridiculous). He and Caitlin discover Thawne pretty much immediately, they trap him in the pipeline, scan the city for speedforce (don’t ask idk), find a super small signal somewhere in Star City—

And that’s where I stopped💀

Probably a good thing; I had ideas and they were really bad.

Long story short: I tried to write Arrowverse Civil War but decided not to. Changed it to the trio teaming up. Had a bit of a plot. Then that plot got demolished by my psychological need to hurt Barry. (There was some more misc. whump but it wasn’t relevant)

Also it was called “Superheroes Most Wanted” 😀. Yeah. That’s what the plot was past me. sure…

Anyone want to hear about the ridiculous disaster that was my first fanfiction?

[alkalinefrog]

Hello! Although you’re not leaving this blog, I’m feeling kind of emotional that you’re done with Death Note, but I wish you all the best! I will stick around and enjoy your new content (although i have literally no knowledge about rotg and only a bit about httyd). I just want to let you know that you were a huge inspiration, not just with your art, but also with the way you were just so kind with your interactions with people. Your watching of Death Note with your brother also inspired me to get my parents to watch it, which resulted in them loving it and embarrassingly bringing it up to their friends who don’t know anything about anime, but it was nice to watch it with them nonetheless (English also isn’t their first language and they both have bad eyesight, so reding the subtitles with the immense amount of the dialogue was a struggle for them but they loved the show). I just think you’re awesome and although I’m going to miss your Death Note art, I can’t wait to see what you’ll draw in the future. Good luck!

AWWWW ngl I reread this a couple times while giggling out of joy! It's ok dude, I'm not dying LMAO but I'm really flattered that my Death Note stuff could leave such an impact on you! And I'm SO GLAD you and your parents watched it together and now have something new to bond over (I love that they tease you about it, that's adorable). Thank you so much for sticking around even if you're not familiar with the new stuff! There's no need... to get into Hijack.. it's fine... Spare yourself the cringe LOL. I'll always be around to keep hanging and having fun! Swing by any time you like! ❤️❤️❤️

[spiltscribbles]

He definitely learned it from Hope as a technique to distract himself from the night before and day of the full moon, a relaxing but repetitive task that is easy on his aching bones, made especially more helpful with the weed and records lol

And the first time he knit Sirius a Gryffindor red hat was the start of sixth year after he left Grimmauld, and he notices how Sirius is trying to grow out his hair as a final “Fuck You” to Walberga, but the strands keep catching in the autominal wind— getting in his eyes and mouth. So he thought the hat would help.

And sirius’s heart literally shattered, because it finally felt like they were back as Moony and Padfoot after the prank and weeks of silence and even more subsequent that were just stilted snippets that could never compare to what they were before that.

So Remus is offering the hat with a slightly cocked head and pinched lips in confusion because he swears Sirius’s eyes are getting glassy, but he doesn’t get to ask about it because Sirius almost immediately collects him into a huge hug and they fold into one another with the hat between them and so so much unspoken love.

And Obviously Sirius wears it practically everyday, and cherishes it as something more valuable than gold. And it’s the hat that he’s wearing when they have their first kiss and their first date and the one he has on when they move into their first apartment after Hogwarts



Remus Lupin knits, fight me

[bignaz8]

Todd: Hello… Operator…listen to me…I can’t speak very loud. – This is an emergency. I’m a passenger on a United flight to San Francisco.. We have a situation here….Our plane has been hijacked…..can you understand me?

Lisa: (exhaling a deep breath to herself) I understand… Can the hijackers see you talking on the phone?

Todd: No

Lisa: Can you tell me how many hijackers are on the plane?

Todd: There are three that we know of.

Lisa: Can you see any weapons? What kind of weapons do they have?

Todd: Yes…. they don’t have guns….they have knives – they took over the plane with knives.

Lisa: Do you mean…like steak knives?

Todd: No, these are razor knives…like box cutters.

Lisa: Can you tell what country these people are from?

Todd: No…..I don’t know. They sound like they’re from the mid-east.

Lisa: Have they said what they want?

Todd: Someone announced from the cockpit that there was a bomb on board. He said he was the captain and to stay in our seats and stay quiet.

He said that they were meeting these men’s demands and returning to the airport… It was very broken English, and… I’m telling you…it sounded fake!

Lisa: Ok sir, please give me your name.

Todd: My name is Todd Beamer.

Lisa: Ok Todd….my name is Lisa…Do you know your flight number? If you can’t remember, it’s on your ticket.

Todd: It’s United Flight 93.

Lisa: Now Todd, can you try to tell me exactly what happened?

Todd: Two of the hijackers were sitting in first class near the cockpit. A third one was sitting near the back of the coach section. The two up. front got into the cockpit somehow; there was shouting. The third hijacker said he had a bomb. It looks like a bomb. He’s got it tied to his waist with a red belt of some kind.

Lisa: So is the door to the cockpit open?

Todd: No, the hijackers shut it behind them.

Lisa: Has anyone been injured?

Todd: Yes, ..they…they killed one passenger sitting in first class. There’s been lots of shouting. We don’t know if the pilots are dead or alive. A flight attendant told me that the pilot and copilot had been forced from the cockpit and may have been wounded.

Lisa: Where is the 3rd hijacker now Todd?

Todd: He’s near the back of the plane. They forced most of the passengers into first class. There are fourteen of us here in the back. Five are flight attendants. He hasn’t noticed that I slipped into this pantry to get the phone. The guy with the bomb ordered us to sit on the floor in the rear of the plane……….oh Jesus.. Help!

Lisa: Todd….are you ok? Tell me what’s happening!

Todd: Hello…..We’re going down….I think we’re going to crash……Wait – wait a minute. No, we’re leveling off….we’re ok. I think we may be turning around…..That’s it – we changed directions. Do you hear me….we’re flying east again.

Lisa: Ok Todd…. What’s going on with the other passengers?

Todd: Everyone is… really scared. A few passengers with cell phones have made calls to relatives. A guy, Jeremy, was talking to his wife just before the hijacking started. She told him that hijackers had crashed two planes into the World Trade Center……Lisa is that true??

Lisa: Todd…..I have to tell you the truth…..it’s very bad. The World Trade Center is gone. Both of the towers have been destroyed.

Todd: Oh God —help us!

Lisa: A third plane was taken over by terrorists. It crashed into the Pentagon in Washington DC. Our country is under attack….and I’m afraid that your plane may be part of their plan.

Todd: Oh dear God. Dear God…….Lisa, will you do something for me?

Lisa: I’ll try….if I can….Yes.

Todd: I want you to call my wife and my kids for me and tell them what’s happened. Promise me you’ll call..

Lisa: I promise – I’ll call.

Todd: Our home number is 201 xxx-1073…….You have the same name as my wife…Lisa….We’ve been married for 10 years. She’s pregnant with our 3rd child. Tell her that I love her…….(choking up)..I’ll always love her..(clearing throat) We have two boys.. David, he’s 3 and Andrew, he’s 1…..Tell them……(choking) tell them that their daddy loves them and that he is so proud of them. (clearing throat again) Our baby is due January 12th…..I saw an ultra sound…..it was great….we still don’t know if it’s a girl or a boy………Lisa?

Lisa: (barely able to speak) I’ll tell them, I promise Todd.

Todd: I’m going back to the group—if I can get back I will…

Lisa: Todd, leave this line open…are you still there?……

Lisa: (dials the phone..) Hello, FBI, my name is Lisa Jefferson, I’m a telephone supervisor for GTE. I need to report a terrorist hijacking of a United Airlines Flight 93….Yes I’ll hold.

Goodwin: Hello, this is Agent Goodwin.. I understand you have a hijacking situation?

Lisa: Yes sir, I’ve been talking with a passenger, a Todd Beamer, on Flight 93 who managed to get to an air phone unnoticed.

Goodwin: Where did this flight originate, and what was its destination?

Lisa: The flight left Newark New Jersey at 8 A.M. departing for San Francisco. The hijackers took over the plane shortly after takeoff, and several minutes later the plane changed course – it is now flying east.

Goodwin: Ms. Jefferson…I need to talk to someone aboard that plane. Can you get me thru to the planes phone?

Lisa: I still have that line open sir, I can patch you through on a conference call…hold a mo…..

Todd: Hello Lisa, Lisa are you there?

Lisa: Yes, I’m here. Todd, I made a call to the FBI, Agent Goodwin is on the line and will be talking to you as well.

Todd: The others all know that this isn’t your normal hijacking. Jeremy called his wife again on his cell phone. She told him more about the World Trade Center and all.

Goodwin: Hello Todd. This is Agent Goodwin with the FBI. We have been monitoring your flight. Your plane is on a course for Washington, DC. These terrorists sent two planes into the World Trade Center and one plane into the Pentagon. Our best guess is that they plan to fly your plane into either the White House or the United States Capital Building.

Todd: I understand…hold on……I’ll…….I’ll be back..

Lisa: Mr. Goodwin, how much time do they have before they get to Washington?

Goodwin: Not long ma’am. They changed course over Cleveland; they’re approaching Pittsburgh now. Washington may be twenty minutes away.

Todd: (breathing a little heavier) The plane seems to be changing directions just a little. It’s getting pretty rough up here. The plane is flying real erratic….We’re not going to make it out of here. Listen to me….I want you to hear this….I have talked with the others….we have decided we would not be pawns in these hijackers suicidal plot.

Lisa: Todd, what are you going to do?

Todd: We’ve hatched a plan. Four of us are going to rush the hijacker with the bomb. After we take him out, we’ll break into the cockpit. A stewardess is getting some boiling water to throw on the hijackers at the controls. We’ll get them….and we’ll take them out. Lisa, …..will you do one last thing for me?

Lisa: Yes…What is it?

Todd: Would you pray with me?

They pray: Our father which art in Heaven

Hallowed be thy name,

Thy kingdom come, thy will be done

on earth as it is in heaven.

Give us this day our daily bread,

And forgive us our trespasses

As we forgive our trespassers,

And lead us not into temptation

But deliver us from evil

For thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory

Forever…..Amen

The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want…

He makes me to lie down in green pastures

He leads me beside the still waters

He restores my soul

He leads me in paths of righteousness

for His name’s sake

Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death

I will fear no evil, for thou art with me…..

Todd: (softer) God help me…Jesus help me….(clears throat and louder)

Are you guys ready?……..

Let’s Roll……………………