#the scene in the bridge really made me think though

[deliberatelyamnesiac]

i'm about to finish part two from c&p, raskolnikov's indirect confessions being taken as signs of insanity is so funny in a tragic way

[dunadaan]

I’ve been feeling Créa creep up on me as of late and today I went back and reread my little document where I type up random ideas for scenes/fics and I was like. Wow who wrote this. This is really good. Why isn’t there more of this damn. But also wow I really put miss créa through the blender and she is a fine red mist a lot. But that is the life of a ranger…and even when she’s not a ranger anymore I press blend on high and she is sadly used to that

[mcondance]

angel of small death. billy loomis

summary. billy’s finally found a middle ground between his needs, and your reservations. right?

contains. MDNI 18+, dubcon, fingering, unprotected sex (yay!), “just the tip” turns into full-on sex, billy’s being….. billy, creampie (yay! x2), he gets off on your pain (yay! x3), i say “believer” and “gospel” so if borderline blasphemy isn’t your thing then sayonara, title is from the hozier song “angel of small death and the codeine scene” but it is not required listening for this piece (though, if you want to listen, you can)

word count. 2k

— a word from your author: this started out as me just talking about billy telling you “just the tip” as a bridge into fully fucking you. but then it became me going into detail. but it was fun to write, as i enjoy writing dubcon. billy loomis, i’m ready to be taken advantage of <3

☆ ☆

“just the tip, okay?”

you’ve been holding back with him for a while, only really having sex with him of your own volition once or twice, and leaving him to beg the rest of the time.

he won’t tell you, but he likes when you make him beg to fuck you. when you make him lie and cheat, when he has to distract you from his hands pulling your bottoms off and by the time he’s lining up, you’re so worked up he has no choice but to fuck you. he likes having to play his way into your pants, or shorts, or skirt, when “yes” isn’t flowing readily from your lips like it sometimes is.

and, this time, he’s found a compromise.

“just the tip, okay? just a little, so it’ll still feel good for me and you.” me and you, he says, even subconsciously his pleasure comes first. and you. obviously, he knows you like being full of him. you like knowing what he feels like inside you, penetrating and owning the most intimate parts of you. he knows that, even if you try to contain yourself, you think about being under him or on top of him everyday.

“okay,” you nod, eagerly lying back on your pillows and spreading your legs for him. elation is written all over his face as he walks on his knees between your legs, the same smile that made you fall for him months ago spread across his pretty features.

leaning over you and caging you in between his lean arms, he hovers for just a second. leaning up, you finish the kiss, pulling him down with shy hands twisted in the collar of his shirt. he kisses you deep, the kind of kisses that make your brain fuzzy and have your body getting ready to let him in. he lingers on your lips, taking his time and fucking your mind the way only he can.

it’s a surprise you even agreed to the compromise, with the way your mind starts to call back how it feels to have him all the way inside of you.

he parts from your lips, placing a kiss on your jaw, and then the hot skin of your neck. there, he lingers again, remembering the sweet spot he found the last time he got you like this.

when he finds it, your hips buck against him, a little whine leaking from your throat.

“billy,” you murmur.

“yeah?” he gives back, kissing your skin again. you breathe out in response. it’s damning, and so pretty, and it has something between your legs pounding like your heart in your heaving chest. everything he says, everything he does, every look, every touch, is it for you. billy loomis has captivated and trapped you, and the danger you’re in only sets you alight.

moving farther down, he studies your face with just a quick glance, and, despite wanting to, he doesn’t push you on getting your shirt off. he plans for the future, the outcome he knows he’ll get, and decides he’ll like it better if you have your top on.

with his mind made up, he moves back to your face, positioning himself above you. he kisses you again, and that fire inside you burns anew.

one of his hands moves downward as his lips continue moving against yours, kissing you with such force that your heads move up with it. it’s a kiss like you always wanted before you met him, the kinda kiss you only saw in movies. he makes you feel like you’re in a movie.

that hand crests over the band of your shorts, caressing the soft skin of your stomach, right above the butterflies that flutter there. it moves down again, into your shorts and your panties, and you shiver. immediately, his fingers start on your clit, rubbing and circling and fuck, it feels good.

“billy, ah-” you whine, bucking up against his fingers. your head moves off the pillows, and he follows you, breaking the kiss to watch you squirm under him. his gaze is observing, like a predator and his prey, like a mad scientist and his experiment.

wet and ready, it only takes a couple more passes before he can slide his hand down and slip two fingers inside you, pumping in and out slowly. now, your eyes slip shut and you tangle your hands in his collar again, grinding down on his fingers.

“billy,” you sob, crying out for him like a believer.

and like that scientist in his lab, watching his creation form and morph, he watches you. he watches the furrow of your brow and the canting of your hips. you are his creation, the nasty things hidden inside you brought out by a boy with a sweet smile and sweeter words. he could sell a fur coat to an eskimo, a glass of water to a drowning man.

drowning. that’s what you’re doing. and he’s watching on with a smile, the same sickening smile that grows across his face as you get so wet that you can hear his fingers disappearing inside you.

at another whine from you, he hums “yeah,” a damning sound that your eyes roll back to. your body tenses, all systems overloaded and overcrowded by the sensation that he unleashes within you. it's burning inside you, lava swirling in your veins, red and hot and you can't think, you can barely breathe. his presence above you adds to it all.

like always, you're close so quick. billy knows your body from months of only being able to put his fingers in you, and the couple of times you've let him take you all the way. "i'm gonna—," you choke, squeezing your eyes shut tighter as you brace yourself for what you know will knock a couple brain cells loose.

he hums again, and through cracked eyes you see his head tilt to the side. with that, and the way his hand grows a little rougher, you come. it's good for you, like it always is, and it leaves you floating.

but for him, that obstacle is out of his way. now, he can get what he wants.

"you ready?" he asks, soft and quiet.

"yeah," you nod meekly, excited to feel him inside you.

he forgoes any further pretense, pulling his wet hand straight out of your shorts and hooking them in his sweats and boxers just enough to free himself, and you shiver at the sight of his fingers covered in your arousal. that same messy hand hits the middle of your shorts and pulls them and your panties to the side in one swift motion, made easy by how spread your legs are.

he looks up at you as his grabs his cock, nudging your clothes back out of place with his leaking tip. with his eyes locked on you he slips in.

fuck, it’s just like you remember. it’s just like you’ve played over and over again. the blunt, burning pain, the wet slide as he reaches just an inch or two deep inside you, cutting off before he slides in any farther. above you, you can feel those deep brown eyes watching and taking.

a soft breath escapes your lungs, all shuddery and shivery and even though he’s just barely inside you, he feels good. he buries his face in the hot skin of your neck.

he doesn’t take any input from you now. he’s already given in to your wiles in allowing this shy act, and he has no interest in asking you to allow anything else.

“billy,” you call as he starts to move slowly. perhaps the act of casting the crown of himself into you, so shallow, is more lewd than what you’re avoiding. lascivious, maybe, this compromise.

he rocks like this for a bit, taking in the feel of your walls kissing and clenching around the tip of him. fat and thick, he stretches you so perfectly, the searing pain being overtaken by pleasure until that’s all that’s left.

the middle ground is fine, for you, as he rocks in and out of you, groaning lowly.

but for him, it’s not enough. all of you belongs to him, and he wants to feel it. he wants to feel you.

this time, he rocks in a little deeper, opening you up farther for him. “billy. .” you say quietly, distantly aware of his cock pushing deeper than it’s supposed to be. a ragged groan pushes out of his chest in response, something pathetic and needing, like he’s groveling for it.

“billy,” you assert to the blank white ceiling, louder, trying to get him to stop his rocking. but a pang of pleasure shoots up your spine because he’s reached a little deeper this time, and you’re not sure if you want him to stop. this is always how it is with him, so confusing, like your nerves get crossed and the pathways to your brain are blocked by the boy above you.

he doesn’t pay you any mind, rocking father and farther. “ah-,” you breathe, cutting yourself off with a deep breath in as he starts to hit spots he’s only hit a handful of times before. it hurts, a little. the sensation has you squirming and bucking under him as he takes what he wants, forcing himself in and breaking down the barriers you’d set. he groans so prettily. you heat up, somewhat proud to be the source of his pleasure.

it’s rough, and you know it shouldn’t feel this good, but as your bed rocks under you and he fucks his cock deeper and deeper, you don’t know why you even tried to hold back. as he slides deeper, the pain intensifies, but ecstasy soon grasps it and merges with it, the two-sided feeling bringing you to the brink of insanity.

in his mind, billy thanks whoever’s listening as he listens to your sounds rise, listens to whines like you’ve been wounded, those pathetic, layered sounds, the kind he likes to hear from you. they’re the kind that blow his ego up, let him know that the hold he has on you is deep-rooted and ever-growing. he planted a seed of control in you the day you two met, and it’s been his absolute pleasure to water it every day.

finally, he’s as deep inside you as he can be, and he’s outright grinding into you, rolling his lean body down onto you while he looses low groans and grunts and heavy huffs. the discomfort that sits in the bottom of your belly has been relieved, turned into something that hurts in the best way. he feels good, even as your mind reels with the violation. he shouldn’t be doing this, a part of your mind tells you, but your body tells you that it’s fine.

you move with his movements, your body bumping up and down every time he bottoms out inside you. silvery whines fly out of your mouth every time his wiry hips meet yours, the force with which he fucks you tipping your whole being off balance.

it’s good. it’s so good. he’s good, hitting that one spot inside you that has you clawing at his back, your cells scrambling to find something to stabilize them. the sound of his body meeting yours fills the room and it’s heaven, in that moment you feel a new pathway being formed, something in you molds to herald billy loomis’s cock digging in you as gospel.

“shit,” you curse, utterly dumbfounded by pleasure. if billy asked you to give him everything you own right now, you’d say yes and ask if there’s anything else he wants with it. he can sense that in you, that devotion and yearning for him that’s begun to water itself without him having to do anything. you’ve forgotten what this even started out as.

when he moves his hand between the both of you and maneuvers under your clothes to rub hard at your clit, everything in you screams. from your mouth, you sob, your head falls sideways and you grip tight at him, eyes shutting down. he hums harshly. he wants you to come, and he wants you to come now.

and you do, for billy, you’ll come whenever he wants.

he follows soon after, slowing but never stopping his deep strokes.

after a beat of silence, he speaks.

“you okay?”

“yeah, i’m alright.” gratefully, in your voice, he no longer hears that barrier. finally, he’s broken you down.

[ohwaitimthewriter]

Look at me if you dare

Pairing : Noa x human!reader

Warnings: angsty fluff? Fluffy angst? (you chose!)

Words: 4.3k+ (for real?? 😳)

Requested:

A/N: So! I didn't plan it to be this long but HERE WE ARE. I had to remove the 'getting angry' part but for good reasons, and only if you'd be interested in,: I'm thinking about a part 2 🫣 I need some time to ponder about it, but it is still a possibility! Thank you for your request, I really enjoyed writing it and I hope you'll like it! 😁 (even if it took me forever and I'm so sorry for this 🥺)

Enjoy your reading 😁

Planet of the Apes Masterlist.

Crouching at the river's edge, you watched your reflection ripple with the waves of the peacefully flowing water. You observed the gap between your eyes and the shape of your nose, which marked the boundary between the two. The little dimple formed by your upper lip just below the bridge of your nose and the plump of your lower lip. The thin line they formed, neither a smile nor a sad pout, a straight line free of expression.

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The hunting had been good that day. A stag, one of the biggest bucks in the deer herd. Euphoria had spread throughout the colony when none other than Noa, the leader of the Eagle clan, had returned from a long day's hunting with a few of his own. Anaya and Soona, of course, were part of the group, and you watched the two friends squabble with Noa over who had the best approach to killing the deer. Anaya was certainly trying to take more of the credit, puffing his chest out, but he quickly shook it off when Soona gave him a light punch in the ribs, complaining that he had no right to take full credit for the success of the hunt.

It was, of course, a team effort, and success depended largely on following the instructions given to each individual after agreeing on the best strategy. And this time, the best strategy was Noa's.

You watched them bickering, bragging about their feat, and could only smile at Noa's proud face, knowing full well that he had been the most astute on this hunt. The most astute and therefore the best provider for his clan.

And then his gaze met yours.

The cocky restlessness that radiated from his stance subsided. He glanced at the carcass strapped to his horse's saddle before locking his green irises into yours again and untying the animal, which fell to the ground with a thud.

Noa grabbed the animal by its antlers and began to drag it with one hand behind him, as he made his way towards you.

It seemed you were the only one who didn't quite understand what was happening. Anaya wanted to follow Noa, but it only took one look for Soona to understand and stop Anaya in his tracks. Anaya gave her a quizzical look before his mouth formed an 'O' in realization.

Dragging the animal's carcass seemed effortless, even though it was obvious that Noa was trying to hide the uncomfortable strain he had to exert on his arm muscles. Despite his thick fur, you could easily see the strength he was capable of, his muscles becoming more prominent with the 200kg of inert weight he had to pull behind him. He moved on all four, really only using three of his limbs, and the force of the pull made his shoulders even bulkier. The whole scene was rather impressive, but you had question marks plastered all over your face as Noa drew closer and closer to you.

Earlier in the afternoon, you had sat down by the big communal fire to work on making a spear more suited to your build. You didn't leave the log you were sitting on until the hunt was over. For a brief moment, you thought Noa wasn't really coming to you, but rather dragging the animal to the bonfire to share it with the rest of the colony. You wanted to believe it, because the wrathful looks of some disapproving apes were beginning to weigh heavily on your shoulders and you didn't quite understand what you had done to endure their judgment.

The carcass fell in front of you, and at the same time you heard an ape… Ezio, if you remembered his name correctly, who had taken part in the hunt, utter a muffled growl of… protest?

If you heard it, Noa must have too, but he decided to ignore it, preferring to keep all his attention on you. His stunning green eyes landed in yours and, like every time he gazed into the immense depths of your irises, you were afraid he'd discover a secret you'd been keeping under lock and key ever since you'd discovered it yourself. A secret that drew you irrevocably to him, but which you suppressed and buried deep inside yourself when the eyes of apes like Ezio landed on you.

You chose to avert your gaze towards the dead animal in front of you and prevent him from discovering it. Noa placed his hand firmly on the beast, pushing it further towards you until it touched your feet.

Why… was he bringing you the carcass?

You looked up at him again, and though you tried to give him an unsure smile, the silent question could be read in your eyes as they settled back on Noa.

No matter how much Noa saw you doubting, he couldn't help but feel proud to have brought you such a trophy. He wanted you to see it, to realize the strength it had taken him to kill it, bring it back and drag it to you. He wanted you to see his qualities as a leader, his qualities as a hunter, qualities that made him a perfect mate and that he would be perfectly capable of providing for all your needs… whatever they might be. He'd killed that deer for you, as proof that he was the best match for you. And any doubts you might have had could only be swept away by those 200kg of fresh meat he'd hunted.

At least, that's what he told himself in the back of his mind. That's what he wanted you to acknowledge in him.

In front of his attentive and expectant gaze, you remained unable to understand why he had placed the body of this animal at your feet.

On closer inspection, the stag was of impressive size, and there was no doubt that its remains alone could feed the entire colony. Your eyes followed the animal's shape and you couldn't help imagining its life before it unfortunately crossed the path of Noa and his hunting team. The animal must have been majestic. Its antlers were broad and you could count 14 points. An old creature. From the way its body was laid on the ground, you could only see one of its eyes, and the lifeless black iris squeezed your heart. A wave of empathy for this beautiful animal swept through your body and you instinctively leaned towards its corpse. With tentative fingers, you stroked its shoulder, as if to soothe the soul of the animal that had just given its life to provide for others. Its light-brown bristles were rough against the delicate skin of your fingertips, but it didn't matter, especially as you were certain to feel the gazes of the entire colony scanning your every move. Some approving. Others tolerant. And the last, disapproving.

You tried to push away the burning sensation in the back of your head caused by all those eyes on you, and uttered in a whisper addressed only to that deer, and perhaps, to Noa too, a heartfelt "thank you" for this animal's sacrifice.

Noa tilted his head towards you, seeking your gaze as he tentatively brushed your fingertips to capture your attention. A cloud of tingling ran up your fingers, from your hand to the hollow of your collarbone, creating a mass of tingles there that spread down your spine.

"He fought well."

Noa's gruff voice was meant to be reassuring. He understood your sympathy for the deer and wanted to be sure to let you know the animal had given everything to survive, but that Noa had been the strongest of the two.

You nodded silently and quickly wiped away a tear you hadn't felt rolling down your cheek. You took a deep breath, sharing a glance with Noa.

"Now it can rest." You say. " It'll serve us well."

Noa breathed through his nose proudly at your approval. It was all he needed, all he asked of you, and he grabbed the deer's antlers again to take it away in preparation for dinner.

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You ran your tongue over your teeth, and if you weren't showing them off to the little fish that passed by, oblivious to the giant you were compared to them, you made a mental note of the shape of each of them. Smooth, not particularly sharp, and even the teeth you used as canines weren't particularly well-suited to forcefully shredding any fish or animal flesh.

Not… suitable.

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That evening, Soona joined you for dinner. Sitting cross-legged, you had set a bowl of vegetables and fruit in front of you, and on a thick piece of cloth was a piece of meat from the deer that Noa had brought you earlier.

Crouching beside you, Soona was biting into the animal flesh, and you admired the ease with which she was able to detach the raw meat and chew it as she would on the juicy flesh of an apple. Your meat, on the other hand, was cooked.

Soona glanced at the sharp little blade lying delicately next to your meat. Even though she was used to seeing you use it to cut small pieces of meat or fish, there was still a kind of fascination in her eyes. The Echos jaws weren't as powerful and efficient as those of chimpanzees, and while she didn't think they were very practical for everyday life, she was fascinated by your ability to find tricks to make life easier.

Her gaze was always benevolent, and you were never afraid to show her all the human tips and tricks that enabled you to navigate your daily life without too much trouble. Even in the troubles your three friends sometimes got you into.

Something as simple as biting into a piece of meat became a challenge, in all proportion, for a human, and this was quite fascinating for Soona.

But tonight, there was a glitch. Like a feeling of discomfort towards this piece of meat. Normally, you would have started by eating meat, or fish depending on the day. Meat, then vegetables, then fruit. A very specific order that you followed at every meal, even if Soona didn't understand the point of always having to "start with what's salty and finish with what's sweet", as you'd explained to her when she'd asked you. "I prefer to have a sweet taste in my mouth as a last bite." Soona hadn't had the heart to argue otherwise, if that was what you preferred then so be it.

And tonight, you had left your meat aside.

How odd.

Soona briefly moved her hand to show you your meat before signing.

" Not eating?"

Your eyes fell on the untouched meat. Usually, you would have taken the time to cut it up before starting your meal. But not this time. The blade you had taken out of your satchel after cooking the food over a fire had drawn more than a few questioning looks, some almost suspicious.

How long had people been watching you like this? Had it been a long time? And if so, how had you managed not to notice before?

Maybe you'd been blinded by the kindness and acceptance that Noa, Soona, Anaya and even Dar - who more than once had left you stunned by Noa's mother's tenderness towards you - had granted you. Your human condition had never been called into question, and although it had taken several weeks - months for some - for your presence among the clan to become as natural as taking a breath, you had never felt… rejected.

So why now? Why were you suddenly aware that maybe… your mere presence was perceived as that of a virus that needed to be contained. Like an underlying disease that had taken several months to blossom into its first symptoms.

Ezio and his gang of three other apes were stationed right in front of you, on the other side of the communal fire. The contemptuous look they gave you knotted like ropes around your wrists and you found yourself unable to move them to grab your blade and cut your meat.

You didn't know what to say to Soona because you really weren't eating your meat. Not because you didn't like it, nor because you weren't hungry, but because the judgment weighing on your shoulders blocked any will to move a muscle in the pit of your stomach.

Your gaze stopped for half a second on Ezio, who took advantage of your brief attention to challenge you, a small huff piercing through his muzzle, letting his cheeks formed a light puff.

You chose not to dwell on it and focused instead on Soona, who was looking at you with concern. You hesitated over your words before blurting out:

"I… I wouldn't want to… wouldn't you feel awkward watching me cut up the meat?"

Your question was genuine, but Soona widened her eyes, astonished by the implication of your sentence. She almost wished she'd laughed at you, because in all the time she'd seen you do it, it was about time you started worrying if that was really how you felt.

"Why would I bother?" She asked back.

And you sighed. Point scored for Soona. Your question made no sense as far as Soona was concerned. Of course she didn't care, and if she had, you were almost convinced she'd have asked you about it by now.

Seeing your defeated face, Soona went on to sign.

"I understand." And she gestured to your jaw. "Weak. Easier in small pieces to chew." She paused for a moment to gauge your reaction, and you seemed to accept her silent words. "I understand." She repeated aloud this time, her voice slightly rocky on the edges. "Anaya understands." She went on, and as if she could read the real reason for your concern in your eyes, she finished by directing her gaze towards the clan leader who was sharing his meal with Dar. "Noa… understands."

But Ezio and his friends didn't understand.

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Your hand plunged into the river, shattering your reflection, which had suddenly seemed too hard to look at. You didn't like what you saw. The water seeped through your fingers and its coolness slid under your skin in a vain attempt to bring some sanity back to your brain.

The delicate nature of your skin suddenly jumped out at you. Your hand bore various scars, large ones from sharp stones, small ones from bramble thorns, scratches from tree bark…

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You'd looked for it everywhere.

Earlier in the morning, you had wished to go outside the village boundaries in search of a particular plant. It was about to be that time of the month when your period pains would start, and valerian, a plant with small white flowers, could help ease those painful cramps.

Soona would usually accompany you, but today she was busy with Dar. So you decided to go alone, but to your surprise, Noa refused. He argued that it was too dangerous for you to venture outside the territory of the eagle clan, almost forgetting that you had been living outside its boundaries for several months.

After extensive negotiation, he gave you permission to go, on one condition: that you take your spear with you and that Eagle Sun go with you.

But the spear you usually left at the entrance to your hut had disappeared. After spending an hour looking for it, Eagle Sun became restless and an unfamiliar ape, whom you'd seen hanging around with Ezio, informed you that he'd seen a spear… in a tree.

So you ended up right there, and the longer you stared at the top of the tree, the more you felt dizziness creep into the back of your skull.

Your spear was probably 8 meters, maybe 9, above your head. The ape who had shown you the way had pretended to have urgent business to attend to, and left you to ponder how you were going to climb a tree whose first branches were 3 meters above the ground.

After a minute's thought, you decided that with a sufficiently high first support, you'd certainly be able to pull yourself up onto the first branches and climb to your spear. There was only one effective way to do this: a horse.

Surprisingly enough, it had worked. It had worked so well that it had angered Ezio, who had been watching the whole scene in the hope that you'd end up making a fool of yourself and proving that you had no place among the eagle clan.

A split second was all it took. You had begun climbing down, having previously dropped your spear to the ground, when a sudden jolt made you lose your balance. The branch your foot was aiming for slipped away, and your hands suddenly clutched the trunk in a vain attempt to hold on to your body, which you felt falling like a mass toward the ground. The bark burned your skin and cut into its surface as you tried to slow your fall and, fortunately, your feet hit another branch before your body finally hit the ground with an impact you could only imagine would cause severe pain.

Okay, 5 good minutes.

Your forehead pressed against the rough trunk, trying to calm your suffocating breathing. You felt as if your heart was threatening to burst out of your ribcage, its beats hitting your ribs so hard. Your trembling hands, still clasped around the trunk, curled in on themselves, leaving only the bottom of your palm touching the bark that had bruised them.

You didn't want to make a move. You closed your eyes, unable to bear the sight of the ground a few meters below you. You didn't want to move, and anyway, even if you wanted to, the pain radiating from the inside of your hands prevented you from gripping anything. You didn't even dare examine your hands, for fear that the mere act of bringing them towards you would cause you to lose your balance again and end up on the floor.

And even when your name rolled off Noa's lips, you didn't react. You tried to breathe deeply, trying to calm the heart that had started a race faster than it could keep up with, but you couldn't get rid of the fear that had gripped your insides the moment you fell.

Fear. You felt it keenly now. It ran through your veins and forced you to hug the trunk as tightly as you could, undeniably tightening your legs around the branch you'd suddenly found yourself sitting on. It was fear, too, that made you jump when a large hand came to rest gently on your shoulder.

Noa.

Unlike you, he had climbed with incredible speed and fluidity. His build was made for it. His hands, his feet, all his muscles - everything was designed to enable him to pull himself up any structure without difficulty.

He gave your shoulder a gentle squeeze, urging you to look at him, but you stubbornly kept your eyes closed, your forehead almost wishing it could sink deeper into the bark which would most likely leave a mark on your skin.

A soft hoot escaped his mouth, hoping that this time you'd turn your head towards him, but fear gnawed at your stomach too much to dare move a muscle.

And yet, you had to.

You wanted to rage at yourself for your inability to move, for your stupidity in climbing that tree, for your stupidity in not being smarter and realizing that your body wasn't made for such a feat. For not having enough strength or balance or dexterity. But your trail of destructive thoughts ended when you felt the knuckles of Noa's fingers brush gently against your cheek, carefully beckoning for your attention.

His thicker, rougher skin turned out to be much more tender than it first appeared, and your eyelids fluttered at his touch before opening fully, allowing your eyes to look at him.

His cheeks puffed up slightly letting out a gust of air, twice as content that he'd got what he wanted and that you'd accepted his touch. How about thrice as content when his scent, faint as it was, had just mingled with yours in the exact spot where his knuckles had landed.

His hand clung to the tree trunk again, and your skin felt quite cold all of a sudden as it lost his touch.

"Come." His low voice danced in your eardrums.

He locked eyes with you and promptly adjusted his posture to match with where you stood, making it easier for you to slide onto his back. And if fear had made you reluctant to leave your pitiful safety on that branch, it was quickly swept away when Noa gently grabbed your wrist and wrapped your right arm around his neck.

The sudden proximity of your face to his enclosed you in a protective bubble that belonged only to the two of you. You couldn't remember ever having seen him look at you in such a warm, loving way, and the softness of his green eyes felt like a barely perceptible touch, only leaving you longing for more. A brief floating moment in which you were both ready to lose yourself as his fur tingled the skin of your bare forearm, and you almost thanked it for keeping your feet on the ground.

What could he possibly see through you to look at you in this way?

When you took the time to look at him, you saw strength, benevolence and an insatiable desire to meet the needs and expectations of his clan; you saw reliability, commitment and, more than anything else, safety. He didn't have to do much to make all these things shine through in his features. Through it all, Noa was radiant to your eyes. And you were easily swept away in languid admiration if you weren't careful.

And then there was you. Unable to climb a tree. So what did he see within you?

You left the safe mental bubble in which you'd both found yourselves entangled inside to finally hoist yourself fully onto his back, wrapping your legs around his slimmer waist and your arms around his powerful shoulders.

In less time than it took to say it, you were back on solid ground for an inspection of your wounds.

〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️

You hadn't been here very long, but you could already feel your thigh muscles screaming with discomfort, in this position so unnatural to you.

Not wanting to fight the tugging sensation, you let yourself fall on your bum, choosing a cross-legged position, more comfortable and less demanding for your… weak muscles.

The water clung to the fabric of your pants with little splashes, gradually flooding the inside of your shoes in the process. Although the coolness sent shivers down your spine, it didn't stop you from contemplating your body's constitution with a certain contempt.

An unsuitable jaw. Delicate skin. Weak muscles. It was an inevitable conclusion shared by many.

You could see them now. Those stares.

Those stares that said "weird".

Those stares that said "weak".

Those stares that said " not belonging ".

And the more you saw yourself in the waves of that river, the more you realized they were right. You didn't belong.

A raindrop slammed into your reflection, just above your cheek, creating a halo of tiny waves that distorted the features of your face. Then another raindrop clattered with a silent " splash ", and yet another, until it blurred your vision.

It was only when you had wiped the tears from your eyes that you noticed the reflection of a second figure appearing beside yours.

Without bothering to look directly at him, you let out a deep sigh when his shoulder brushed yours as Noa came to crouch beside you. His eyes were glued to your reflection as it danced in the gentle swell.

What did his irises see within your reflection?

You sensed a form of understanding, as if he knew what was going round and round in your head, and in a slight moment of comfort, you felt his shoulder press so lightly against yours that, if you didn't know better, you might have thought it a mere happenstance.

"you belong here." The light touch on your shoulder seemed to tell, and a tear dropped down your cheek again, "Look at me," it seemed to tell him. "I'm looking at you," his careful gaze told you. A second tear joined the first, " Look at me properly." and he huffed through his nose, confident but eventually his eyes acknowledged and conceded to your human condition. Another tear rolled down your skin, clinging for dear life to the tip of your chin before crashing into the water, "you see it now". Noa shifted his eyes away from your reflection, "I see it", putting an end to the silent talk.

His reflection disappeared from the surface of the water, leaving only a sensation of emptiness as his massive body moved from its spot beside you.

Noa glanced back at you, watching you curl into yourself, still sadly obsessed by a reflection he could only find beautiful.

[savannahsdeath]

hii i love ur stories, and i was wondering if you could do a one-shot where ellie won't admit it, but she LOVES being a sub and just listening to you 🫣

SUB!TOP!ELLIE WILLIAMS X READER

mdni please<3

warnings: 18+!! sub!top!ellie, oblivious!reader, making out, a liiiitttleee of thigh reading, js smut

writers note: im a sucker for dom!ellie but my first req was sub!ellie and now it just has a separate place in my brain.. yeah, i need both. switch!ellie lover i guess💪💪 also this ones sub!top!ellie because im soooo in love w her like awshhzhsv

you always saw ellie as the firm, rough and confident one. as the 'don't tell me what to do' one. and definitely the straight-forward one. you wouldn't even think it's the complete otherwise, especially not while grinding on her lap. your lips were connected for a few minutes now, and everytime you pulled away to catch your breath a line of saliva built a bridge between you. you were needy, ellie desperate and the whole situation really messy. quite a combo.

"ellie..." you whined after freeing your tongue.

she pulled you back into her, holding onto the back of your neck. "what is it, doll?"

"mhh-" a week sound escaped your mouth, as you struggled to calm down and not act as if you just ran a marathon (because you didn't, of course, but that's how you felt). "touch me..."

you didn't realize she kept her hands only on your head because she was shy. you never thought she could be shy at all. your request, though, awakened something in her. she hungrily slid her slim fingers beneath your shirt, where they rubbed soothing shapes into your skin.

"like that?" she laughed, or at least you guessed she did, because the sensations made it hard for you to tell.

your answer was a one word, but a keyword. "more."

with that, her hands unfastened your bra and threw it somewhere on the ground. she turned you around, making you lean your back on her chest. your shirt covered the scene - her playing with your hard nipples, that didn't feel so sensitive until now. her hair fell on your face, slightly covering it, as she bowed her head to kiss your neck. your pussy sent a needy impulse through the rest of your body, signaling you this is what you needed, before the pulsating changed it's message to a 'not enough'. ellie seemed to notice it, and one of her hands untied the knot of your cute pyjama-shorts. the elastic at your hips widened to make room for her hand, and it carefully slipped underneath the waistband, though stayed on top of your underwear. she followed the wet path with her middle finger, arriving to it's source. she didn't put any pressure onto your body, leaving you unsatisfied.

"please- please, do it." you nodded, fighting the urge to press her hand towards you.

she was more than happy to do it, her hand avoiding now also your panties and making contact with your bare body. you shuddered at the coldness she brought with her, but things quickly got heated.

your head found support in her shoulder, resting on it, as her pointing finger rubbed your clit and the next two lazily waited at your entrance, collecting everything that came out of it.

"do you want me to do it?" she asked. it wasn't the taunting, teasing, playful tone. it was a concerned, shy and hesitating one. one you weren't used to hear from her.

you frowned, wiping your wet, drooled mouth with the palm of your hand. "are you... really asking me that?" you wanted to add '...or am i dreaming?' but that was too much for you now, and your throat refused to work.

"i only want to do things you want me to do." she whispered, sounding almost ashamed about admitting that.

she continued the trail of sappy little kissed on your neck, somewhere where the vocal cords are, and you thought that's the main reason they're not working.

you couldn't hide your surprise but stayed quiet, though not really by choice. she thanked god you couldn't feel her own wet spot, which was probably bigger than yours and still growing each time you asked her to do something for you. even if your commands weren't out of your dominance, even if you had no idea how they turn her on, she only waited for you to ask for more, or less, anything would satisfy her, as long as she can satisfy you.

[captainkirkk]

A quick review: The Goblin Emperor

I binge-read the last of the The Goblin Emperor today and my brain is still buzzing. Everyone knows that I'm a big fan of stories about people in power choosing consistently to be kind, especially when it's hard and it does not benefit them, and this book DELIVERED.

I loved reading about Maia choosing, over and over again, to be compassionate, even though he was miserable and overwhelmed and it would have been easier to be cruel. Maia felt like the purposefully isolated, abused teenager he was, overwhelmed and powerless when he first came to court, but I adore that we saw the slow, hard-won changes that hebrought about: winning allies simply by being kind and honest, making REAL change for the betterment of his people

Maia has only been ruling for a less than a year (I think) but already the world is benefiting from the care of Emperor Edrehasivar the Bridge-Builder (and what a title!!!). All the birthday messages Maia received - not just platitudes but warm gifts from people whose lives he'd changed - made me tear up

And I also really liked all the hurt/comfort scenes with Maia being surprised by being liked and treated nicely, and winning the loyalty and affection of so many just by virtue of being himself :'))

Anyway if you haven't read The Goblin Emperor, you should definitely give it a chance!! Especially if you also read and enjoyed The Hands of the Emperor

[netflix]

Spotlight: Adam Stockhausen

Production Designer, The Wonderful Story Henry Sugar

Oscar winning production designer Adam Stockhausen (not pictured above, that’s Benedict Cumberbatch), whose work you may know from Wes Anderson films like The Grand Budapest Hotel, Asteroid City, The French Dispatch, Isle of Dogs, and Moonrise Kingdom, as well as titles like Bridge of Spies, and West Side Story (2021), took the time to answer some questions.

Which details from or aspects of The Wonderful Story Henry Sugar did you focus the most on while adapting it to the screen? How did you meld Roald Dahl and Wes’s worlds?

The details on this one started with Dahl’s writing hut! We matched the details pretty carefully and exactly. As soon as we step outside of the hut though we start to move through the world of the story and the world of the stage at the same time. Wes had the idea of how he wanted to do this from the very beginning. My main challenge was trying to figure out how to pull it off—making the parts move and getting each to have the right detail.

What’s a small change you made on a project that ended up having an unexpectedly significant impact? 

Lots of times this happens—where what seems like a small thing at the time becomes a very significant turning point. I’m in Berlin now writing this and remembering being here scouting for East Berlin for Bridge of Spies. We were struggling to find a section of town that still felt old enough to show the early 60s, and decided to take a chance on a quick search in Poland. That quick search changed the whole production plan and ultimately gave us the look of our East Berlin.

How has technology changed the way you approach your work? 

Technology has definitely changed the way we plan the work. We used to model everything in cardboard or sometimes just plan in two dimensions with pencil and paper. We can now plan in 3-dimensional space using modeling programs and see what real lenses will do.  This allows for more accurate planning and makes scenery moves like the casino set in Henry Sugar possible.

Do you have any signature easter eggs you like to leave? Any small details that you are particularly fond of? 

I wouldn’t say there are easter eggs in this one. But there are loads of special details! I think my favorite might be the levitation boxes where we painted a perspective view of the background onto a prop box. The actor sitting on the box appears to be floating in a very special and theatrical way.

Did you talk about reflecting the iconic Quentin Blake illustrations in production design? How would you go about doing that? 

Not really. They are such incredible drawings and I’d say they’ve been inspiring me since I saw them as a child! But for this the starting point was really the machine Wes devised to move us through the story—and pairing that to specific references scene by scene.

There is such an intentionality to the aesthetics of a Wes world. Is there a set or frame that took you a long time to get perfectly right? 

All of them! It’s a very labor-intensive process getting these frames right. Occasionally one will click right away, but usually it’s a process of refining and refining. The jungle for instance went from sketches to models to samples and back again several times before the final look settled.

If you had to present one frame that showcases the best of your work, what would it be? 

Oh my. Maybe the jungle? I really enjoyed making the jungle!

With all the moving sets in the trailer for The Wonderful Story Henry Sugar, it feels reminiscent of a theatre production. Are there distinct differences in approach between film and theatre and how much do you blur the lines between them in your work? 

I think the lines are blurred completely! Or maybe they aren’t even there. I love that Henry Sugar is so incredibly theatrical in its storytelling.  It allows us to show the artifice of the sets all the time which somehow makes them even more satisfying when they finally do line up and create a complete picture. I think the casino set is a perfect example—the pauses where it all lines up for a second are even more enjoyable because we get to see it broken apart and sliding away.

Thanks, Adam!

[onlycosmere]

BlackCoffeeBulb: you'll get him sued for copyright infringement for a few useless internet points, congrats

mpkeith :  It's free advertising...

"Where did the name Wind Runner come from?"

"Well, there are these amazing books..."

So far (to my knowledge) nobody has been sued for Bridge Four homemade stuff, fan art, 3D printed shard blades and so on.

I really don't think Brandon Sanderson is that kind of guy. Seems to me he's happy to share with all of us his work.

Brandon Sanderson: I have expressly permitted it, in fact. I had a lawyer draw up as liberal a fanart policy as I could make, and not scare away people like film companies. Basically, you can create whatever you want for your personal use, and can even sell some form of fanart so long as you're not using me or implied relationship with me in the marketing.

Do look at the official language in my FAQ, though, as opposed to taking my (flawed) memory on how it works. Either way, no, I'm not going to ever be bothered by individual fan creations, and instead encourage them. And something like this far is a huge mark of respect from the owner, toward me.

gsauce8:  So essentially as long as you're not saying something along the lines of "Officially licensed" or anything close to that, you're good to go? That's freaking awesome.

Brandon Sanderson: It's a little more tricky than that--I let the lawyers hash it out. But basically, you can't use our artwork, our branding, and can't say it's official. But you CAN sell art prints of art you made of characters/scenes from the books, even if they include things like Kaladin's scars or a Bridge Four patch. You don't need a license, and you don't owe us anything.

It's a legal grey area that I want to make less grey. I like fanart, and want to encourage it--and in so doing, feel like an artist making something transformative like this should be able to profit from their art. Yes, my books inspired that art--but other books inspired me to write, as did films and artwork. This is how art is created.

Mostly, this applies to thinks like prints right now. (We haven't authorized T-shirts, for example, as that kind of thing gets really tricky with movie deals wanting merchandising rights.) Again, read the exact language on the FAQ, but we've tried to be as lenient here as we can be.

Also, I have no problem with fanfic, so long as it remains in the fan realm, rather than being sold. (But if you write something awesome, and readers like it, I'd encourage you to change the names/setting and rebrand it as your own so you could sell it.)

[scribblesofagoonerr]

Ice cream might as well cure my depression | Inner Demons

⟫ Alphabet Challenge, I - Ice cream might as well cure my depression

Pairings: leah williamson x teen reader, arsenal wfc x teen reader

"There you are," Leah exhales a sigh of relief as she walks into the medical room where she found you lay on the one of the medical beds with Katie sat beside you, as one of the medical staff accessed the damage on your bloody and bruised hands. "Oh my God, what happened?!" she questions, horrified as she sets her eyes on the scene in front of her.

"Found the kiddo taking her anger out on the wall," Katie chuckles slightly and shaking her head.

"Spoiler alert, the wall won," You murmer sarcastically from where you lay on the bed, trying to inject a bit of humour into the tense atmosphere, although the pain in your voice was still evident.

"What?" Leah repeats in atonishment at the news of what happened before she crouches down to kneel in front of you. "Oh bubs, why would you do that?" she questions, her initial shock turning into concern.

"Don't know, guess I just felt angry about everything. I feel like I'm not even allowed to make my own decisions now," You admitted your true feelings about things. "I guess I just didn't think and just lashed out."

Leah exhales another sigh and lightly brushes her thumb over your broken skin, "That must hurt a fair bit, huh?" she wonders.

Trying to not flinch at the contact, you bite your bottom lip and shake your head, "Nah, it barely hurts at all," You mumble, gritting your teeth.

"Liar," Katie chimes in amusedly, moving her hand to try and poke your hand to get your reaction.

"Okay, alright. I lied, it hurts like a mother--" You start to say as you're cut off.

"Don't even think about finishing that sentence the way I think you're about to do, Y/F/N!" Leah tells you in a stern tone of voice, but its' one that you're all too used to now.

"Trucker," You playfully grin at the older blonde.

The blonde pinches the bridge of her nose and shakes her head, "You really are insufferable sometimes, bubs," she mutters before she turns her attention to the medic in the room. "So, do we know what's the damage then?" she questions, her voice sounding more serious than previously.

"Well, the x-ray shows it's not broken, but just bruised instead," The medic reports to Leah. "My recommendations are ice and elevation to reduce the swelling." They add on.

"Great, now I really can't play football after all, can I?" You question, sighing in frustration but you know you only have yourself to blame for this happening now.

"Guess not, I'm afraid bubs," Leah replies sympathetically in agreement.

"Wonderful," You mumble under your breath, now you really didn't have any choice but to not be able to play football.

"I'm sorry, I know this isn't what you wanted kiddo," Katie sympathsises with you, gently resting her hand on your shoulder.

"My own fault though, weren't it?" You ask rhetorically, although you still can't help but huff in annoyance about the situation.

Leah's gaze softens, "You know we're gonna need to go back in there and speak to Jonas, Kim and the rest of the staff still, don't you?" she reminds you.

"Yeah, I sorta guessed that," You mumble, exhaling a sigh.

"And you need to apologise for running out of there, as well, please?" Leah requests gently.

"Seriously?" You raise an eyebrow and resist the urge to scoff, however, seeing the look that Leah had on her face, it made you back down. "Fine, alright, whatever. Can we still get ice cream after this though?"

The blonde rolls her eyes at the mention of food, "Just as long as you don't go back in the meeting and blow up, then yes we can still go and get ice cream" she tells you in agreement, a small smile playing on her lips.

"Relax, I won't. I'm much more calmer now," You reassure her, shrugging her shoulders carelessly.

"Really? Cos' you just take your anger out on a wall. That doesn't really scream out 'fine' to me," Katie snickers, reminding you ever so kindly about the disagreement you had with the wall.

"I had my reasons!" You defend yourself over what happened.

"Right, come on. Lets' just head back in there and see what else needs to be said," Leah steers the conversation back on track with a firm but supportive tone of voice.

"No chance to escape out the side door?" You attempt to crack a joke with the blonde.

"Nope, not a chance. Come on bubs, it'll be fine," Leah reassures you, sending you a gentle and warm smile as you both head back to the room where you previously bolted before.

"We're back, sorry about that," Leah is the first to speak up and address the room of people that are awaiting your return.

You feel awkward walking into the room, you really hadn't mean to storm out in the way that you did.

Completely forgetting that you needed to apologise, you feel a slight nudge in your ribs, "Ow. What the--" Seeing the stern look from the blonde makes you remember what needed to be said. "Oh yeah, uh... I... I uh, I'm sorry for storming out like that. It weren't right and I apologise," You muster up the courage to apologise to them all sat around the large table.

"That's okay, Y/N. We can understand it's a lot to take in so far," Jonas nods in understanding, motioning to an empty chair. "Please, take a seat and we can continue with the meeting." he states.

Kim's eyes immediately are drawn to your knuckles as she furrows her eyebrows in concern, "Kid, what happened to your knuckles?" she questions.

"Oh uh that was just a disagreement with the wall," You give your captain a wry smile as you hold up your bruised hand. "Let's just say that the wall won this round."

"Y/N, we can understand what you're going through must be difficult and we want you to have the time to step back and focus on that," Jonas speaks up with a gentle tone of voice, his concern being evident.

You wonder if Leah can sense your uneasiness about the topic of conversation as she reaches out to gently take a hold of your hand, "It's okay, bubs. I've got you." she whispers quietly to reassure you that she's still there.

"What you've been through-- What you're going through is a lot to deal with, a challange, especially at your age." Jonas continues to speak his thoughts aloud. "As a club, we want to be able to help you in way that we can. So we have brought in a therapist, someone that you will be able to talk too--"

"Whoa, whoa, hold up!" You hold up your hand to cut your coach off from his concerned speel of speech. "A shrink... You want me to talk to a shrink?" You stutter in disbelief.

"Y/N--" Kim attempts to speak.

You whip your head round as you stare at the unfamiliar women in the room, "Wait, is this who this woman is?" You question, looking between all of the adults in the room.

"Bubs, just calm down," Leah chimes in, sensing your upset feelings very clearly right now.

"I'm a therapist actually," The unfamiliar women cuts in the conversation. "My name is Helen, it's nice to meet you properly, Y/N." she introduces herself.

You can't help but scoff lightly and shake your head, "You can call yourself whatever you want, I'm not talking to you," You state stubbornly, a bad trait of yours but who were you to just open up your feelings to this women? You didn't even know her, and now everyone thinks they have an opinion of what to do, who you should speak too?

It's your life, why can't people just let you live it the way that you want?

"It's bad enough that I already had to go through this talking to someone bullshit when I was on my spontaneous holiday," You snap in anger, you really didn't like this one bit.

"Holiday?" Jonas questions, confusion evident in his voice.

"She means when she was detained," Leah deadpans, shooting you a look.

"Yeah, sure, whatever, I was held in a psych ward against my own will, call it whatever the hell you want!" You fling your arms around in the air, feeling yourself getting worked up and you really fight hard against the idea of bolting out the room again. "I don't care who you are, shrink or therapist, I'm not talking to you."

"Y/N, come on. Please at least try and be open with Helen," Kim tries to reason with you. "You know that we just want to help you."

"Bubs, it might be good for you to talk to her," Leah chimes in with a gentle but still firm tone of voice.

"I'm only here for you to talk too," Helen, your new therapist pipes in with her ever so cheerful voice and that's something you are definitely not a fan off.

"I guess I don't have much choice, either way, do I?" You slump your shoulders in realisation about the whole situation.

"Well..." Jonas hesitates to speak.

"Cut the bullshit, Jonas," You cut him off as the frustration begins to bubble up to the surface.

"Y/N!" Kim chides you.

"Language, Y/N!" Leah adds in.

"Geesh, calm down, Captain America," You mutter, rolling your eyes as you slump back against the chair you're sitting on.

"Y/N," Leah reprimands, shooting you a stern look.

"In order for you to return to the pitch, we as a club believe it's important that you attend these therapy sessions," Jonas continues his explanation, giving you all of his attention. "Until you have attended them, we think it might be best if you step back from training and games until you're in a better place."

"Right, so I really don't have much of a choice then after all," You mutter, the realisation hitting you clear on. "How many?"

"How many?" Kim repeats, confused.

"How many sessions of therapy do I need to partake in before I'm cleared to take part in training and games again?" You wonder, curiously.

If that's what it took to get you back on the pitch, then you'd fake a smile and spill whatever words that this so call shrink wanted to hear you tell her, if it meant getting back on the pitch then what's you would do.

"As many as it takes, Y/N. Healing has no time limit," The ever so annoying therapist in your opinion spoke up at the moment. "Once you attend the first session, we can begin to work and create a plan with set goals for your future." she explains in a irritating perky voice.

"Yep, so I really don't have much choice at all, that's wonderful," You murmer under your breath as you try and slump down further in your seat if that's at all possible.

Kim pinches the bridge of her nose and shakes her head, "Your sass is too much right now," she states.

"Haven't you missed me? I'm a delight to be around!" You cheekily grin at your captain, trying to mask your true feelings about it all.

"We get that you may not be happy with the decisions, Y/N, but as a club, we all believe this is what will help you the most," Jonas explains to you, trying to defuse the tension in the room.

"What would help me would be allowing me to play football," You remark, letting your frustration show.

"Anything apart from that," Another member of the staff chimes in, amusedly.

"I think when I preffered in I was in the pysch ward after all," You can't help but make the sarcastic comment about things, like your usual way to cope with things head on.

"Y/N!" Leah exclaims in disbelief, scowling at you.

"What? I like dark humour, sue me," Shrugging your shoulders carelessly, you turn and look at the blonde women. "So, can we go and get ice cream now? Cos' you promised after all."

Leah let's out a small laugh and shakes her head, ""Seriously, bubs? You and your obsession with ice cream." She states in amusement.

"You can't go back on a promise, Le," You remind her, having the blonde wrapped around your finger.

You were happy enough to sit in a small shop, enjoying the ice cream as promised, although your attempt to lighten the mood with a joke didn't go a miss with Leah, she noted the pain behind your eyes straight away.

The blonde frowns in concern as she sits at the table opposite you, "Bubs, I know you're trying to mask how you really feel. I can tell that you're holding back. Tell me how you really feel, please?" she asks.

You swirl your spoon around the pot of ice cream in your hand and do your best to avoid Leah's gaze for a moment before finally sighing, "I guess... I guess that I'm just frustrated, Le. The whole therapy, I hate talking to people like them, but it's like I don't even have a choice now when I can't go back on the pitch until I speak to her," You admit your feelings, exhaling another sigh. "I guess I didn't help matters either by lashing out at the wall."

"I get how you feel bubs," Leah nods sympathetically, reaching out to gently place her own hand in yours. "I know it hurts, but just remember that we're all doing this because we care about you so much-- I care about you so much, your like my own kid, you know despite the age difference, but you know, finding you like that in the way that I did, I felt scared and I thought I was going to loose you. I don't ever want to feel like that again."

Swallowing the lump that forms in your throat, you peer up slightly to try and hold off the tears from escaping, "I'm sorry... I'm sorry that I scared you like that," You whisper quietly, never fully realising how other people must have felt to see you that way. "I... I love you, Le. I'm glad that I have you around to take care of me."

"I love you too, bubs... So, so much!" Leah replies as she squeezes your hand reassuringly, "Even if I have to put up with your obsession with ice cream and dark humour. I know it's hard to accept the help, but you're not alone in this. I'm here with you every single step of the way, okay?" She tells you.

"Thanks, Le," You manage a small smile, feeling a bit lighter with the blondes' support and words. "I guess I can try and keep an open mind about this therapy thing." You state, shrugging your shoulders.

"That's all I ask my girl," Leah replies, smiling warmly at you. "I know it'll be hard, but you're strong enough to handle it and you're not ever going to be alone." She adds.

© scribblesofagoonerr

[ladytauria]

trick or treat !! 🍊

hello my dear orange anon <3

for you i have a canonverse jaytim fic! this would be early relationship or maybe gen? it's in my jaytim ideas doc though, so most likely shippy haha

the working title is "as you are" and is... more or less tim demonstrating that he accepts jason as he is, with a side helping of telling bruce off <3

A series of murders in the Bowery, Alley, and near the docks seem linked to Jason. Bruce certainly seems convince he did it, despite protesting his innocence. The others doubt, but, well. Jason’s killed before, and even if they may have privately (or overtly) agreed with his past decisions, it makes it hard to look at this and say, objectively, he didn’t do it—despite his claims.

Except for Tim.

He’s late to the Cave, for once—caught up in a meeting or research in the Nest. As soon as realizes what they’re arguing over, he disagrees. Loudly.

“Are you—?” Tim pinches the bridge his nose, then says flatly, “Jason didn’t do it, Bruce.”

Bruce’s lips thin. “You don’t know that, Tim.”

“The same way that you know that he did?” Tim’s tone is scathing. By this point Jason has fallen silent, and the others have dropped the pretense of trying to pretend they aren’t listening. Tim and Bruce have always seemed to get along—with disagreements minor, or behind closed doors. That they’re fighting now, over this… Jason isn’t sure what to think. “You’re ignoring the evidence.”

“I’m... ignoring the evidence.” Bruce’s response is slow, disbelieving.

Tim nods. His fingers fly over the keys. “First, the method of execution is the same across deaths—but none of the victims are connected. Jason only uses the same method when he wants to make a point—but I don’t see what ‘point’ is being made here.

“Second, the disposal. Jason doesn’t hide bodies—usually—it’s true, but he also doesn’t pose them. In most of these, the scene was tampered with. The only exception is number six—looks the murderer was interrupted… which brings me to three.

“Third, Jason has never denied that he killed someone. If someone shows up to a scene, he doesn’t bother leaving unless he’s ready, or unless he has reasons he doesn’t want to be caught up in a long-form confrontation. And then, when you askif he killed someone, he’ll confirm that he did, and then tell you why.

“And that brings me to my most important point: Fourth, Jason kills for a reason. The background checks on these victims reveal criminal backgrounds, yes, but only one of them has done anything that would get them on Jason’s radar—but he hadn’t done it enough times to actually earn his wrath.

“The only way Jason would be involved and not say something is if someone else had done something and he was helping them cover it up, for whatever reasons. And even then I’m vaguely sure that, if covering it up didn’t work, he would just take responsibility, even if it didn’t make sense.” He pauses, staring hard at Bruce before turning to Jason. He asks pleasantly, “Did you do it?”

Jason’s, “No,” is faint; eyes round.

Tim nods once, and flashes him a reassuring smile. It’s the same smile he used to give as Robin—the same smile he picked up from Jason, who had learned it from his mother; using it on her repeatedly during her final days.

Tim turns back to Bruce. “Four pieces of evidence you missed.” He pauses, and then says, “Except I don’t think you did.” His voice sharpens.

Off to the side, Dick’s expression changes. He starts forward—but Alfred stays him. Dick looks at him. He’s not surprised, really—not the way he can feel Steph and Damian (and Jason) are. Alfred rarely ever got in the way of a Tim-and-Bruce fight, never tried mediating it the way he did Dick-and-Bruce fights or Jason-and-Bruce fights.

Tim continues, heedless of what’s going on in the background. “You ignored it. Jason being alive, working with us, showing up outside of casework—all of that’s too good to be true to you, isn’t it? You’re waiting for the other shoe to drop, and the longer it doesn’t, the more paranoid you get. You can’t let him in, but now you’re just keeping your distance, you’re pushing him away. Except you can’t push too hard without looking and feeling like an asshole. You need a reason—and now you’ve got one, and that matters more to you than the actual evidence.” Tim crosses his arms. “Self-destruction has never been a good look on you, B.”

Bruce says nothing.

Tim nods. Pivots on his heel and snags Jason’s arm. “C’mon,” he says.

Jason starts—but finds himself turning and following anyway; almost disappointed when Tim lets him go. “Where?”

“The Nest. I’ve got some cases I’d like you to look over.”

“What about—“

“They can solve it.”

As they climb on their bikes they hear, faintly, Alfred’s voice—

“Master Bruce, I think you ought to retire for the night. Perhaps… take some time to think. I’m sure the others can handle things in your absence?”

Then Dick— “Oh, um. Yeah. Yeah, we’ve got this. Steph and I have been going over some alternate suspects, and Damian’s been running background on one we think is… really promising. And I don’t mind picking up your patrol with Robin for tonight.”

[herefortheships]

More thoughts about that psychic connection.

I know I've talked about the "psychic connection" between Lydia and Betelgeuse before, but since I'm a sucker for such soulmate links between characters, I thought I'd write a little more.

It's all speculative, and that might have been just a fun line for Betelgeuse to say there, adding to how hopelessly in love the poor guy is with Lydia. But what if they do share a connection?

In this post I want to speculate a little about how this connection formed between them, and when, and what it may mean.

If there is such a connection between them, I think it formed after their wedding in the first movie. Hear me out, the ceremony was basically complete; they just needed to be pronounced husband and wife, when Barbara showed up with the sand worm. So I believe there was a soul link between them that was being formed that night, which remains, although half-formed, until this day.

This ritual would have made it possible for Betelgeuse to have free access to the world of the living, so whatever metaphysical mumbo jumbo was going on there, it was powerful enough to bridge the world of the living and the world of the dead for Betelgeuse to cross from the latter to the former in full power (assuming he'd keep his ghostly powers upon gaining access to the world of the living; he might just become a regular guy, who knows. Still, restoring his body so he can walk as a living man again must require a lot of power).

When the ritual was only a step away from being finalized, it just left that link between Betelgeuse and Lydia which he eventually realized he could use to watch her from afar and try to reconnect with her. Call it a residual of sorts that was left when they were almost married the first time.

It may have only been possible for that link to remain or even form in the first place due to Lydia's own ability to see and communicate with ghosts, though.

As a matter of fact, as I mentioned before (because we all know how I'm a sucker for all the soulmate stuff lol), it may even be Lydia keeping that link between them alive, or even making it possible for it to exist. I have this headcanon that subconsciously she keeps calling him and allowing his presence around her all the time. She may sense a bond with him that she's currently unable to consciously notice. Betelgeuse feels the same bond and openly embraces it; he's an ancient, powerful soul, so he can see how the two of them are just meant to be together. But yes, I already totally talked about this in the other post.

More headcanon stuff: At the end of the sequel, when Betelgeuse shows up in Lydia's bed (and possibly in her nightmare, too, unless they were sharing the same dream), that it might've been Lydia's subconscious calling him right back to her after she banished him. There's a part of her that never wanted him gone. We can see how her face looks conflicted right after she sent Betelgeuse away. We can also see how her face went from scared and disgusted, to confused and surprised while they danced during the wedding scene. Lydia's heart was no doubt swayed, but she's struggling to come to terms with it. (You can clearly see how she's thinking "what the heck it was for real? This guy really loves me??" I totally didn't notice that the first time I watched that scene).

Anyway I'll leave this one up to here, lest I start repeating my points from the previous post (which I'm already doing, oops lol).

My Tl;dr for this post: Their psychic connection might have formed right after the first wedding, due to it being almost finalized. A link was formed and remained between their souls. Lydia might be keeping that link alive and calling Betelgeuse right back to her, subconsciously.

[agatharkn3ss]

Alice clues

If you didn't think this show has put an amazing amount of detail into their storytelling methods, may I offer you exhibit A.

This is a scene from episode 2 where we first meet Alice - doing her security gig at Hot Topic. Knowing what we know now... have a look!

Besides the obvious red aesthetic, there are so many little details packed into this one shot! First of all... Have you spotted the ouija planchette yet? (in the upper right corner)

They are telling us her story here!

There are also phases of the moon right by her knee (might be too tiny to see here). The shirt on the left has red skulls all over it and there is a poster of a red skull made out of cobweb - suggestions of death (especially as Aubrey Plaza's end credits have spider as a background). It looks like there is red firey dragon poster behind her too, maybe referring to her being the protection witch.

The image of a man behind her reminds me of Mac Fleetwood, but don't quote me on that. Does anyone recognise it? At first I thought it looked a bit like Jesus (resurrection?) but it's not quite the same.

There is also a sign that says "Time to cash in"... Any ideas of what this could mean other than another death prediction?

Things that make a bit less sense is the shirt to the right - it has mushrooms and fairies on them (and the fairy lights?). The only mention of fairies in the show so far has been when Jen questioned Sharon about the poison effects. "Do you hear the sound of fairies crying?" but I have no idea what that could mean.

There are soooo many different stories and interpretations as to what fairies could symbolise here (e.g. games, growth, deceit, illusions). But I wonder if this is maybe a reference to Fairy realm, or Otherworld, thought to be a parallel dimension ruled by Queen of the Fairies. Historically, there have been women accused of being witches for conversing with the fairies.

I say this because it could work with this next element. There is an image of a raven surrounded by red flowers (towards middle left). You can't quite see it in full here, but when Alice exits the shop, they show it to you again.

Ravens can again symbolise different things. For some they are thought to be harbingers of death. For others they are symbols of transformation. In general though, they are thought to bridge the "chasm between light and shadow" and e.g. in Norse mythology they were messengers between the human world and the divine.

This is even more interesting, because Ali Ahn's end credits have a background of a pentacle with candles around them. AND in a very brief moment, as the pentacle moves into the screen, we can also see the writing "Can you talk to the Dead?"

Now, I know this is a stretch, and more likely than not this is all just a simple reference to the fact that Alice dies in the episode where they try to talk to the dead.

But what if there is a bit more to it and Alice will act as some sort of a messenger for the witches? We know we will see her again according to the promos, but it looks like it will simply be a scene where Rio "wakes her up" to take her body? What will happen to her soul though? (seeing that Rio seems more interested in the bodies) So what if there is more to it?

Even Jac Schaeffer in her latest ep.5 interview, when she confirmed that Alice really is dead, she followed it up with these exact words:

"What I will say is that, it’s not the end of the conversation, is what I would say."

Oh and bonus photo - there even is a red pentacle drawn on the floor of the Hot Topic shop - we see it as Alice gets up to trip Teen when he runs.

[kou3218]

Commissioned by me, art by the always fantastic: @plastic-pipes

Story below

Lux was back in Democia after having spent several months in Piltover. She had been acting on behalf of the Illuminators as a diplomat. Trying to build bridges with Dempcia and the city of progress. Despite her country’s disdain for magic and all the things associated with it. They needed Piltover on their side should Noxus attempt further expansion. But, unbeknownst to her own country, Luxanna Crownguard was the very thing they despised most of all, a Mage. Ever since she was a teenager, she had done what she could to keep her magic hidden. Only her family had known the truth about her, and it was only her brother Garren who really accepted her.

Working for the illuminators at least made it easier for her to keep her magic a secret. Regularly spending time outside of Demacia’s borders on her own. The time she spent in Piltover had been wonderful. Seeing all the brilliant minds and creations that Hex Tech could accomplish. She even managed to find several texts on the possible applications of light magic, and to make a friend.

“Well, maybe more than a friend.” Lux thought to herself with a smile.

~

Lux had managed to sneak into one of Piltover’s archives at night to see what matter of new magical discovery the inventors had found. Even though she was trying to negotiate peace, she still couldn’t risk someone seeing her looking through texts on magic. If her aunt or the mage seeker caught even a rumor of her wanting to know more about magic, it could be the end for her.

Unbeknownst to Lux, Jinx had been preparing to blow up the very building the light mage was skulking about in. Thankfully for her, Jinx saw Lux and was curious to see what she was up to. Jinx spooked Lux in a dramatic fashion which revealed she was a mage. By attempting to blast the blue hair girl with a ray of light energy. She had missed and ended up knocking over a bookshelf, which caused a domino effect to knock over half of the archive.

Luxanna was horrified by what she had done, while Jinx was cackling like a mad woman before bombarded the mage with questions, “That was awesome! How’d ya do that! No device but that fancy stick of your’s. Can you do Magic? Are you a mage!? WHAT ELSE CAN YA DO!!??”

Lux could hardly keep up with the manic girl’s questions. The sheer wonder in her pink eyes was something Lux had never thought she’d see from someone. Before Lux could start to answer, the sound of the enforces cut their meeting short. The two of them fled the scene and managed to preserve Lux’s identity from Piltover’s Finest. Once they were safe, Jinx convinced Lux to stay with her for the night. Since it would have been too dangerous to try and sneak back to her hotel.

Lux eventually made her way back to her hotel, thinking over the time she spent with the blue-haired girl. She was eccentric, brilliant, inquisitive, and very physically affectionate. Lux wasn’t used to anyone being in her personal space so much as Jinx had, but there was something surprisingly comforting about it. As Lux continued to look over the “barrowed” texts, Jinx had managed to sneak into Lux’s hotel room. Once again surprising the young mage, but she was happy to see the gunpowder girl. The two of them spent more and more time together and found a surprising amount of similarity and solace with each other.

Eventually, Lux had to return to Demacia and hated having to leave Jinx, knowing the brilliant blue haired girl had severe issues with abandonment and separation. It took some serious convincing, but Lux promised Jinx she would see her again.

~

It had been three weeks since she had made that promise, and Lux couldn’t help but worry about her. Spending most of her time organizing the library to occupy her mind and avoid her aunt as much as she could. She missed Jinx terribly, wanting nothing more than to leave her gilded cage and stomp around in the sump with Jinx. Showing her all the best places to eat, drink, dance, and blow up.

Almost wishing for her gunpower girl to come sailing in on a rocket to cause a little mayhem and sweep her off her feet. Lux shook her head at the thought and went back to shelving books only to see the very girl on her mind pop right in front of her hanging upside down. Spooking Lux like their first meeting, but this time not attempting to blast her through a wall.

“JINX!?” Lux screamed in surprise.

“THAT’S MEEEEE!” Jinx said with the biggest inverted grin

“Wh-what are you doing here. HOW, did you even get here.” Lux asked with her heart pounding in her ears as she looked around. Hoping no one would come running because of her screaming.

“Got bored waitin’ and wasn’t too hard to sneak in. No one ever looks up.” Jinx said nonchalantly.

While Lux was happy to see Jinx again, she was worried that someone did see her. At best, Jinx would be tossed out or worse they would try and execute her. Jinx teased Lux a bit for worrying about her and that she better find a way to keep her occupied before she does something crazy. Lux decided to turn the tables on Jinx and kissed her while she was still hanging upside down.

This ended up backfiring almost immediately lux. Not realizing how much she missed the manic girl until her lips met with hers. It started off soft and sweet, but quickly turned to hunger. She couldn’t get enough of the loose cannon lips as the familiar smell of gunpower, smoke, oil, and the sump filled Lux’s lungs as she breathed her lover in.

“I-mmf-I missed you -mmph- so much!” Lux said in-between kisses.

“Mmph- missed ya too, mmf, flashlight!” Jinx said as she kissed her back with the same intensity as her hands still firmly gripped the shelves.

Partly to help support herself, but she also liked it when Lux took charge like this. Seeing the prim and proper mask that Mage wore shatter for her always gave Jinx a certain thrill. Despite how dangerous and unpredictable Jinx could be, Lux still accepted all of her as she was. The manic woman never thought anyone would miss her the way Lux did.

[devilfic]

❝right place, right time❞

IX. I'm the well they're gonna drag you down.

parts: previously / next plot: and they were rooommates. pairing: battinson!bruce wayne x gn!reader. cw: surgeon!reader, secret identities, slow burn, mentions of blood and stitches and drugs and alcohol, this chapter is fluffier because reader deserves a break, reader and bruce discussing their one-night stands, bruce thinks he's funny but he just can't hide how much he likes you okay, jealousy thy name is "disturbed". words: 6.9k. a/n: shoutout to allnurses.com contributing to at least 8 hours of research on how medications are stored in hospitals for one scene. any nurses in chat please do not stone me, I took creative liberties. also, in case there is any confusion, this chapter and the vignette take place all in (mostly) the same day.

The car gets about halfway down the street before Bruce observes out loud, "Something's bothering you."

You're clean and changed, but your hands are shoved between your thighs as you try to control their shake. Knowing what you know now, you have no reason to keep this from him. He is, by all means, the one person you should tell.

But you struggle to work up the courage without a mask looking back at you. The character of Batman you'd created in your head clashes violently with the character of Bruce. You'd written your own Jekyll and Hyde and tripped yourself up in the final act when it turned out they were one and the same, "You have a lot on your plate right now."

"So do you."

You resist the urge to grit your teeth, "It's about Judith."

Bruce thinks for a moment, "The old lady who doesn't like me."

"The very same. I... wasn't there for her last night, when I should have been. She was mugged on her way home."

Bruce doesn't make a big show of a reaction, though you notice he sits straighter, taking a break from gazing out of the window to glance at you every once in a while, "Is she badly hurt?"

"It could've been worse but... she's more shaken up than she wants me to believe."

"And her family?"

"Murdered." Bruce's car rolls by a street corner where a young mother wrangles her child back from the crosswalk, "I tried to convince her to have one of the deacons from church ride home with her from now on but she wouldn't listen. She doesn't want to be babied." Her stubbornness isn't at all unfamiliar.

"Did she see who did it?"

"She said some guys at the liquor store down the way. They hang out there every night," your eyes trail from the window down to the floor before finding Bruce's face. His profile is sharp and clean, the dark neck of his sweater stops just before the hair at his nape begins to cluster. Your eyes follow the bridge of his nose and it mirrors Batman's profile, a mix of pointed and blunt edges, "There's a... an heirloom in her purse. A lighter. She keeps it with her all the time. Her husband had it on him when he... well, he had an awful habit. She'd really like it back."

Bruce turns his head to you and you steel yourself. In the bright early morning, he is annoyingly resplendent. In the unfair way that all pretty people tended to be. It feels wrong to be asking him this. This is a stranger. You're begging for help from a stranger. You force down the sickness rising in your belly, "Please, will you-"

"I'll take care of it." He answers and it is final. He seemed to have made up his mind before you'd even asked.

The resolve in him is enough to slow your shake to nothing. There's a part of you that still doesn't quite believe what you'd seen last night, and so the certainty of Judith's well-being does not deluge you. It trickles down, dripping over your eyelashes, sprinkling off your fingertips.

You let yourself get caught up in his eyes the way you used to. You let the familiarity of them ground you and, though not with a sweeping acceptance, sigh in relief.

It's a small win in the grand scheme of steaming hot bullshit going on in your life.

You’ve taken things from General for Bruce’s sake before. Bandages and needles and disinfectants. This, however… this was a schedule II drug that could land you in prison if you got caught with it. And you were going to walk out of here with it like you were none the wiser.

A hand on your elbow forces you to slow down, drawing you back to your companion’s side. You don’t need to hear it so he doesn’t say it, but you’re embarrassed anyway. How Bruce maintains himself is enviable. “You’re a good actor.” Bruce peeks at you as you guide him through the first floor, “The thing with Gordon. You took it on the chin like a champ. You turned into a whole new person.”

“I avoid implicating myself when I can.”

“The party too. You diffused the tension, like, perfectly.”

Bruce hovers beside you as you call the elevator, a few patients and nurses lingering further behind. You can feel him probing your words for your natural line of thinking, “Couldn’t pull one over on you, though.”

No, you think, you just creeped me out while every bat-shaped clue flew right under my nose.

The elevator door slides open and the two of you squeeze into the back as the rest file in. You find yourself in a corner, braced against Bruce’s side as his hand reaches around your back to hold the railing. One of the nurses catches sight of him and swoons, the other trying (and failing) to look uninterested.

“Coming to see the new wing?” The swooning nurse asks, turning around to grin at Bruce. “Sounds like it’s coming along great. They make lots of helpful noise all day long.”

Bruce laughs good-naturedly, “Hopefully it’ll make up for all the trouble once it’s finished.”

The “uninterested” nurse nods, eyes frantically flashing from Bruce’s eyes to the floor and back over and over, “For sure! It’s really great you give back to General like this. Your dad would be proud.”

His face has no distinct reaction to it, nothing immediately telling that that comment hit too close to home. He smiles as he always does and thanks them as he always should do, and as they get off on the second floor, it’s just you two and an old man waiting for the next stop.

Bruce, to you, had long lived in his father’s shadow. The great Thomas Wayne who, despite his briefly smeared reputation, had been the face of the Wayne family for you. Even the some-twenty years after his passing had yet to shake that image from your brain.

It was his father’s legacy he was tending to here. All of the good and ugly that came with it. You couldn’t imagine how many times he’d heard his father would be proud. Did it comfort him? Frustrate him? Did he do this to make his father proud, or because it was expected of him?

Before the flood, you’d heard gossip about Wayne Enterprises going under, the reclusive in the tower giving no sign if he was alive or dead. Knowing what you know now, you wonder how much he truly wants to be a Wayne… with all the baggage that comes with it.

He’s wound tight. You can feel him against you.

Before you can talk yourself out of it, you find his hand on the railing beside you and cover It with your own. He’s shocked, judging by the way he jolts under your touch for a second. You think you’ve overstepped but when you go to apologize, he is already staring wide-eyed at you. Like when you’d caught him on the stairs.

The tension is still there, and his face has fallen in its warmth and friendliness. His hand had only partially slipped out from underneath yours, but as the seconds pass you feel it rest once more, not bothering to shake you away any further.

You both force yourselves to stare ahead until the elevator dings to let you out, but through the reflection on the door, Bruce is still looking at you.

You break first, distracting you both this time as you walk out, “You kept hitting me with your knee.”

Bruce, in a daze, asks, “What?”

“At the party. While me and Roberts were arguing, you’d nudge me with your knee like it was an accident.”

Bruce seems to remember who he is and where you are, because he quickly gets back to himself, “Guess I’m not that good of an actor.”

“Why’d you do it?”

“I knew where the conversation was going. I could feel you thinking.”

You remembered holding your breath as the mayor prepared herself for confrontation back then, “And the second time?”

“I was trying not to laugh.”

You flush. You’d been so impassioned that night, defending your hero who, unbeknownst to you at the time, was hiding a snicker behind his glass. You feared you’d be remembering a lot of moments like that over the next few days.

As soon as you both get into your office, you shut the door behind you, “I need you to wait here for me.” Bruce’s face tightens, “Don’t… argue. They keep extra vials of the antivenom down in the ER. I can grab one from the med room, but I can’t have you following me down there. It’s off limits for anyone without ID, let alone a patient and a donor.”

Bruce doesn’t look comfortable. Since last night, you hadn’t been anywhere Bruce or your police detail couldn’t follow. You hadn’t even been allowed to enter your apartment until the latter had deemed the place safe. A med room not much bigger than your office—locked behind an ID scanner—posed less of a threat than your two-bedroom ten minutes away.

But it was two stories down, and anything could happen in the time you were away from Bruce.

You can see the wheels turning in his head, trying to think up some plan that allowed him to remain by your side. You have to restrain yourself from feeling… flattered.

Flattery turns to bewilderment as Bruce reaches into his pocket and drops something into your hand. It’s a gadget the size of an AirPods case, shining in the light of the fluorescents. It looked perfectly unassuming and hid—lightweight as it was—a marvel of expensive technology. You could tell just by looking at it. “The hell is this?”

“It’s an EMP generator. Put it in your pocket and I can disable any communications within your vicinity, including cameras.”

“Okay, no. This is a hospital, and I’d be going into the ER with this thing. That’s too dangerous.”

Bruce looks offended. You can practically hear him say “You don’t think I’ve thought of that?” with his eyes. He silently holds his phone up to your face and you shouldn’t be as shocked as you are that it’s got live camera feed of the entire hospital. “I can control the radius. You said you trust me. So trust me.”

You swallow back your retort. You did say you were going to trust him on this. Whether or not it would be your doom had yet to be seen. You nod once, dropping the device in your pocket. “I’ll meet you back here in ten minutes. Fifteen at the most.”

Bruce’s lips purse together. He still doesn’t look settled with letting you go alone, but he has very little room to argue, “Ten minutes.”

You don’t waste time. You skip the elevator for the emergency stairwell, taking two steps at a time until you’re back on the first floor and walking to the ER. The med room at the very end of the hall would—if you were lucky—be as empty as the waiting room. All you needed to do was get in, grab what you needed and very quickly get the hell out of there. Without raising suspicion. You can feel the phantom pull of Bruce’s hand on your arm, begging you to slow down before you draw unwanted attention.

You round the corner to the med room, scan your ID, and head in.

The two nurses waiting inside greet you, analyzing you curiously, “Hey doc, need something?”

Words rattle in your brain like a d20 on a deception roll. You pray for something good, “I just wanted to grab some meds for my patient.”

One nurse sits at a computer, head titled in confusion, “Did you put in a prescription? You could’ve sent a nurse to grab it for you.”

Your eye catches the camera on the ceiling, its dark glass glinting at you, mocking you. A scrying glass recording your every move. And Bruce on the other side of it, hopefully buying you an alibi. “It’s a… special case. My patient needs it soon, so I thought I’d speed up the process and grab it myself.” You force a lightness into your tone, trying your best to appear apologetic and not at all suspicious.

The nurse hums. Then, she jabs the pen she’d holding over her shoulder, “Cart’s over there. Help yourself.”

You maneuver through the shelves separating either half of the room, keeping your head straight and eyes from wandering.

Your biggest hurdle was at the back of the room.

It’s a clunky cabinet on wheels with a monitor on top and an ID scanner on the side. In one of its many drawers, your golden ticket awaited, but these things kept logs of who checked out what, and if someone were to go through them later and find out you’d stolen a highly addictive drug without prescription…

You swallow. The generator in your pocket suddenly hangs heavy against your thigh. You glance at your phone for the time and note that four minutes have passed. You need to move quickly.

You approach the cart, fingers twitching at your sides, and right as you step up to the monitor, it flickers and goes dark. You give the power button a push for good measure but nothing happens.

Well, not nothing. You hear the cart drawers all click at once, like they’d unlocked by themselves. Tentatively, you try the top drawer and it slides out without issue. Glancing behind you, you check to make sure no nurses have wandered over, but you are the only one on this side of the room.

Your fingers drift down to the right drawer next and that one slips open too—by the grace of some god—and there you see it. It has an alien glow to it, a more subdued blue to its adversary’s green. The top of the tray holding the vials pops open with just as much ease as the drawer, allowing you to sneak one into your pocket. You shut the drawers, slowly backing away from the cart, but the monitor does not turn back on.

“What? This thing too?” You’re startled when the nurse from before suddenly jogs up from behind you, grumbling under her breath as she smacks the monitor.

You rush to cover, “It just went kaput on me.”

“Yeah, so did mine.” She maneuvers around the shelves and back to her desk where you see the other nurse at the desk scratching his head. Their monitor is glitching, having some gory digital stroke, “Here. You can sign out what you take for now and I’ll bother IT about this.”

You write down “Ibuprofen” and your name next to it, “Never seen that happen before.”

“Yeah. Thing froze up on me a minute ago. Guessing around the same time this thing died on you.”

Your stomach is still nervously fluttering, but you do feel a little smug. “Weird.” You hand her back the clipboard and go to grab a bottle out of a different drawer. “Good luck.”

You try not to sprint past the nurses as they fuss with the computer. You’re out and back upstairs before your ten minutes are up.

Bruce is sat leisurely on your couch, no doubt watching you scurry into the office on his phone. He looks from the pill bottle in your hand and back to you.

You toss the bottle into his lap, plopping down on the couch beside him. He frowns at the label. “For you,” you poke his injured leg and his eyes follow your every movement, “you’re favoring the other leg today.”

He can’t bring himself to deny that, even if the look he gives you from beneath his eyelashes says otherwise. You flash the antivenom at him as a peace offering. “How’d I look?”

His gaze flutters slowly from the vial to you before he shows you his phone. The screen is a recording of the medication room. It shows you greeting the nurses, walking up to the med cart, and then… nothing. Black screen for forty-five seconds. When it flickers back on, you're signing the clipboard and walking away. Your body sags into the couch with relief.

“You did good.” Bruce praises you.

“I thought I was going to go into cardiac arrest.”

“There are worse places to do it.” You look at him and he’s smiling just a little. You’re aware, though, that he’s aware of the toll this has taken on you. He takes the vial out of your hands and puts it in his own pocket, holding his hand out to you. “We should get going.”

Bruce follows dutifully behind you as you lead him back down to the first floor. You feel much better than when you'd arrived, but your heart stutters each time a security guard passes you by. Years ago, stealing and getting away with it was second nature to you. You were also arrogant back then, uncaring of what happened to you. How quickly the tides had changed.

You feel Bruce nudge you with his arm. He isn't looking at you, but you know what he's trying to tell you: you've got a few more hallways to turn down before the exit. You just have to-

Someone calls your name.

You spin around, nerves electrified, only to find Em running to catch up with you, "What are you doing back at work already? Is your arm okay?"

The adrenaline rush had done wonders for your pain tolerance. You didn't even think about it until she brought it up, "I'm fine, it's fine. It's-" You go to rush out some sort of explanation but at that moment, Bruce turns around.

You can see the moment of impact across Em's face as soon as she realizes who you're with, her back straightening and hand pressing down flyaways. In an instant, she has forgotten all about you. For better or for worse. She rubs her palm on her leg before holding it out to shake his hand, "Mr. Wayne! Hi! I'm surprised to see you here." Her eyes are twinkling, "Everything alright?"

"Just some leg pain, nothing painkiller can't fix." He flashes the pill bottle for good measure. You're honestly impressed he admitted to being in pain at all, "It's good to see you again, Dr. Madison."

Em's face droops into a frown, "Well, you look fantastic, but you've got a mirror," she pats your arm, "and I'm sure you're being well taken care of."

"Only by the best."

You smile (borderline pleadingly), preparing to dismiss yourselves while you still have your wits about you, but then Em asks Bruce a question and, to your surprise, Bruce is happy to entertain her.

It strikes you that you had landed in your situation with no prior interest in who Bruce was, and it shows in how you barely keep up with the topic of conversation.

It's like watching a tennis match between the two. The topic in Em's court, then Bruce's, then Em's, back and forth without issue. No awkward pauses or uncomfortable looks. She recalls details about him out of thin air, your knowledge in comparison merely fringes of what Em knew.

The longer it goes on, the more it weighs on you that aside from the strange man who'd circled around you like a frightened kitten, you really didn't know anything about Bruce.

You knew Batman. You felt you knew him. Even when his identity was still a secret, you had felt comfortable with him. Vulnerable, even. He'd let you touch him in your home, fixing him up and helping you with this mess and... outside of that, what did you really know?

You feel an odd twist in your chest.

Em's voice floats back in, disrupting your retrospection, "I've always wanted to go to Italy. You must get so sick of these places after having been so many times."

"They still have their magic," Bruce grins, "but I don't like being far from home."

"Really? You could go anywhere in the world and you'd still miss Gotham?" Em's tone is teasing, but curious. Something flickers in her eyes as if she'd just remembered something.

Bruce takes in the hallway, chest swelling with pride, "Lots of things to miss about it."

"Name one."

Bruce's eyes cut to the side as he thinks, "The noise."

"You can get noise anywhere. LA, Chicago-"

"It's special here."

"No, try again."

His smile turns sheepish, "The rain."

"Now you're lying. Come on, pretty boy. I know you've got something. Penthouse, nightlife- heck, I'd even understand the freaks and clowns giving everyone PTSD."

Bruce exhales, purses his lips. His eyes flit around the white walls, "Okay. I'd miss you."

What the hell?

You straighten up. The absurdity (blatant sweet-talk) of the line shouldn't work—seriously, it wouldn't work on you—but Em goes pink in the cheeks. A strand of dark hair falls from her bun and frames her smile just so, "Well," she snorts, "aren't you just a flirt?"

To your utter dismay, they are both eating this up. "You light up the room, Dr. Madison. Your patients are very lucky."

"My patients are usually seven and way more interested in the candy I bring them."

"Candy?" Bruce finally looks at you, all humor and charm, "I never get candy. I just get yelled at."

Something in you is disturbed when Em grabs onto Bruce's arm, hanging off him as she pouts at you, "Oh! You're heartless!"

"Very much so." Bruce is somber.

"I don't-" Your voice comes out strained, a little too defensive right off the bat, "I don't yell." But you'd gotten close, and you got closer everyday, "But if I did, you'd deserve it."

Bruce is amused. You watch as he pretends to cower into Em, even as he dwarfs her in size. They start joking back and forth, more teases at your expense, and you notice that the persona he puts on around others is practically nonexistent here. You'd watched it dissolve within minutes. It's refreshing, you realize, that he seems to really be enjoying himself right now.

You catch Bruce insisting that he ought to get going, sharing pleasantries and desires to visit once more. Em looks genuinely saddened to let him go. The second Bruce's back turns, Em reaches out and squeezes your hand, whispering, "Please tell me he's single."

You fluster. You imagine yourself in the car ride back to the tower asking Bruce what he thinks about Em, offering to exchange numbers between them, and you're disturbed again.

Twenty-four hours ago, you would've been warning her to run for the hills. Twenty-four hours ago, he was only Bruce Wayne. Now he was Batman and all that came with it and, well... once upon a time, you would've wanted nothing more than for Bruce Wayne to sweep Em off her feet. Batman had always been more your style.

Then, you realize, you don't actually know the answer to her question.

Em looks expectant. You shrug. She exaggerates her disappointment but releases you all the same, "Keep me posted."

"I'm comparing the samples from the crime scene to the antivenom. I should have something in a few hours." Bruce taps the antivenom vial, watching the remaining blue liquid slosh against the glass, before handing it off to Alfred.

You're mesmerized by this backyard (or, more aptly put, garage) chemistry lab. Beakers and flasks spread out on the long table as you watch from a stool a few feet away, "How'd you get so good at this?"

"College," after a few seconds of silence from you, he adds on begrudgingly, "I started messing around with stuff down here when I was 13."

"You had all this when you were 13?"

"Some of it, whatever I could get my hands on. I liked to see how things worked."

You have a unique opportunity to learn about Bruce here, so you take it with both hands, "You majored in chem, then."

"And biology, and physics."

Your eyes blow wide. "You had three majors?"

"I bounced from one to another, sometimes double majored if I liked the professors. I followed my interests and they took me everywhere," Bruce picks up the venom test tube, little drops of green pooling at the bottom of the glass, "I've enrolled in more universities than I have degrees."

Your eye twitches, just a little annoyed, "Must've been nice going wherever you wanted, whenever you wanted."

Bruce senses your tone of voice. He peers at you from the side, elbows resting on the table, "I spent a lot of time away from home. It must've been enough because I don't miss it."

"You said the same thing to Em earlier." You recall.

"I didn't think about it as much while I was gone, but when I came home for good... I just couldn't imagine myself leaving like that again."

"He barely liked boarding school," Alfred chimes in from the other side of the room, lazily reading a book at Bruce's desk. Boarding school was posh. You imagined little Bruce in a school uniform like the British boys in movies, "I should bring out the scrapbooks once we have a moment."

Bruce sets the test tube back on its rack with a bit of aggression, "Thank you, Alfred. You can go now."

Alfred chortles. He skims one more page of his book and then shoves it under his arm on the way back up. The elevator clinks and rattles up the tower until it stops some sixty stories up.

It's quiet now. You sort of appreciate the silence- the relative silence. There is the steady drip, drip, drip coming from here and there in the cave. The whirring of the machines, the humming of the lights, the very faint sound of a news anchor forecasting snowy skies this weekend. Bruce's breathing.

It's harder to hear unless you focus on it. His mountainous build hunched over the table—staring into the venom as it stares back—rises and falls in slow rhythm. You watch him being and it captivates you. For the umpteenth time since last night, you are struck with the reminder that this was Batman. In all his broody glory, an arm's length away from you, about a hundred feet under the city.

It's funny; you paid so little attention to the man before, and now you wanted to take him apart and examine his terrible insides. You have accidentally become obsessed with the man.

"I want to take you to Blackgate."

"Sorry?"

"Lucien is there," the name makes your blood run cold, "he was with the Vipers the longest. He could answer a few things for us."

You do your best not to immediately say no. Not because you think he'll force you, but because you know—somehow—that he won't, "What about Detective Gordon? Shouldn't that be his job?"

"I think he'll talk to you." Bruce turns slowly until his back is pressed against the desk, arms crossed over his chest and pulling his shirt completely taut. "He knows you."

You hadn't seen Lucien since the night Alex died. For once, you're kind of grateful Bruce can read you. He turns fully toward you, "I can go alone."

"You just said you think he'll talk to me."

"I can make him talk." His head droops a little to meet your eyes, expression impossibly understanding. You have no doubt he can. Your throat feels like it's on the verge of closing up. Somehow, sending Bruce alone to handle him felt worse.

"But you think I can..." You have to pause to force in a breath, feeling yourself go lightheaded, "You think I can get more out of him." Bruce doesn't respond to that. He's still watching you like you might start stress-sobbing. "Okay."

"You sure?"

"Mm."

Bruce calls your name. You'd been tracing the lines of his arms with your eyes to distract yourself, not processing how much closer he'd gotten until you feel his breath against your eyelashes.

His arms are uncrossed now, one hand pressing into the table beside you, the other hovering by his hip. His fingers twitch. Does he want to touch you? You were about to go three for three with the crying in his arms thing.

You force yourself off the stool and the speed at which you stand gives Bruce very little time to react. Your chest bumps against him, but you're already slipping behind him, "Lemme see your stitches," you rasp, hand ghosting over his shoulder, "need to... redress them, probably."

Bruce tries looking over his shoulder at you but you hide behind him and after a moment, he relents. His shoulders drop in defeat. You watch him drag your stool into the light and sit.

The dismal mood did you a favor. He looked like he'd be submissive today.

You're halfway through clearing away his dried blood when you ask, "Are you single?"

Bruce's shoulder jolts just the tiniest bit, almost driving your finger into the stitch. "What?"

"Em asked," you quickly explain, "and I realized I didn't know."

You don't know exactly what he's thinking, but his answer is as straightforward as you could hope for, "Yes."

"Oh."

"You sound surprised."

"I mean... I sort of assumed..." What did you assume, exactly? You couldn't see him with a long term partner, definitely not like this, but the idea that there wasn't anybody didn't sit right with you, "no flings? Situationships, even?"

"Why? Is Dr. Madison interested?"

Your jaw clenches. You force the muscles in your face to relax, "I just don't want any secret lovers of yours adding me to their shitlist if I go through with your plan. I can't stress how little I want to fake-fight over you right now."

Bruce huffs. You finish cleaning around his wound when he pipes up again, "I had something... someone. It didn't last."

"Oh. Are you... tender about it?"

"Not anymore. I don't have time for that kind of thing anyway."

He says it like it doesn't bother him, but in the way someone might brush off a scrape on the knee or a paper cut. Like it stung, but you had to be a big boy about it. The pain would go away eventually.

You press new gauze over the stitches, taping it down as gently as you could, "I assumed someone like you would have a whole lot of someones, a revolving door even," your eyes flit over his other bruises and healed cuts, "I never made time for relationships either. I was kind of just going through the motions."

"No one interested you?" Bruce rolls his shoulders once you peel away from him. He doesn't look at you when he asks that.

"Just... childish crushes here and there. Sometimes I'd let someone take me home..." Your voice catches in your throat for a moment. You recall a stamped down memory, one of you standing blindfolded in your apartment imagining the Batman with his mouth on your throat. That wasn't very long ago. Your breath shudders as you fit Bruce into the memory instead. You don't... know how to feel about it.

"Never back to yours? And here I thought Judith was just hard on me." You belatedly register Bruce standing, rolling his shirt up his arms before pulling the neck over his hair. His question hangs lightheartedly.

Your shoulders sag, "You're not gonna believe me if I tell you I was paranoid about letting one-night stands into my home."

"Why? 'Cause you let me in?"

The back of your neck grows hot. "What about you? You ever bring yours back to the cave?"

After he's done tucking his shirt into his pants, Bruce shakes his head at you, "No. Just you."

That was the second time he'd said that to you. You were starting to feel special.

You step out of the shower and you think, almost as soon as your foot touches heated floors, that you really despise Bruce Wayne.

The towels are warm too, waiting for you as you preen yourself in the mirror, a clean you staring back. You kept your toiletries bag on the bathroom counter, afraid to unpack anything as you rustled around for deodorant. It was massive and quiet. The water pressure alone had you swearing at the marble lining of the shower.

Bruce eventually lured you downstairs with the promise of making dinner. Alfred was skeptical, but had backed off and allowed Bruce full range of the kitchen, still possessed by his book next to the fire.

He'd asked you what you had the stomach for. Eventually he was copying something out of a celebrity recipe book with you beside him.

You argued that he hadn't really made you dinner given that you had helped him do half of everything, but it was his ingredients and it was his kitchen and the food tasted good so you didn't argue long.

After Alfred offered his stamp of approval, he'd retired for the night and left you and Bruce in the kitchen to clean up. Bruce had left the pots and pans to you when you proved too nervous to handle the porcelain, "Alfred won't kill you if it breaks."

"Alfred would kill me for less, I think."

Bruce gives a short laugh, drying off the last pot. He's pouring you a glass of the wine you'd opened last night when you slide his little gadget across the counter, "I forgot to give that back to you." You swirl your glass, admiring the color as Bruce packs away the leftovers. "You looked like you were enjoying yourself with Em earlier."

"I was. Your friend is funny."

"I... also noticed something you said. When she asked you what you would miss about Gotham, you mentioned the noise and the rain. Would you really miss all that?"

Bruce glances at you, popping a top onto a glass bowl, "Of course. It's part of what makes the city."

Your eyes narrow, searching for the lie, but there isn't one. He's being sincere. "Is that why you became Batman? Because you love this city that much?"

You can feel the mood getting doused with ice water. It forces you upright in your chair, makes your hand clench around the stem of your glass. Anyone with eyes could tell you'd just touched a nerve.

But he answers you, intense as it comes out, "I hated it." The loathing is a mere shell of what it used to be, you can tell, "I hated what it took from me." His eyes cast down to the countertop. "At first, I was aimless. Everyone was worried about the future of the company but Alfred and I were just trying to make it through the day. Over the years, I boiled up with this... restlessness. I still didn’t know where I was going but I was full of something for once. I studied, I traveled, I learned from all manner of teacher. And when I came home, I was... determined."

His words sit heavily on you. You can see flecks of that restlessness in his eyes, the slight tremble of his hands as he rests them against the countertop. "Why a bat?" You whisper.

"They're what I feared the most."

Past tense. "Feared?"

"I got over it. I won't let them close enough to bite, but..." The humor in his voice breaks the intensity of his expression.

You mull that over, "You became what you feared to strike fear."

"Not anymore," his head shakes, "fear is a tool, but... there's enough fear in this city. I wasn't making a change, I was making it worse."

You remembered the first time you'd ever heard of the Batman. Back then, he was just "Vengeance". In the grand scheme of fucked up things this city had to offer, someone running around dressed as a bat didn't register as abnormal. Another Tuesday, maybe. You awaited what they'd say about his crimes: a mugger beaten and strung up on the street, a gang felled and dropped at the GCPD's door. You remembered something stirring in you when he put away the Joker.

"I remember when you became a hero. Like really, to everyone. When you took shape… they were flying in people. I was rushing in patients while you stood on top of the Garden and pulled people out of the flood. I hadn’t felt hope like that since… yeah."

Your admission moves something in Bruce. His eyes find yours, "I was just doing what you'd been doing for years."

"But I never left that hospital. You transcend boroughs, the gangs, everything. I used to think you couldn’t possibly be one guy. I still can’t believe it. How are you not dead on your feet by now?" Bruce smiles knowingly at you and you feel yourself flush, "Besides that. You’ve been doing this for longer than I've been around to patch you up."

"That would be Alfred."

"You should tell him, you know. That you appreciate him. I think he'd like to hear how much he means to you more often." Bruce's eyes soften. He doesn't debate you. "Anyway. How's that sedative going?"

"I'll take another look before I leave tonight."

Oh, yeah. This guy is Batman.

You don't know when next you'll get this chance, "Can I ask a favor? Can I... watch you put it on?" Bruce wobbles to the side, genuinely confused. "The suit?"

He examines you, mouth almost curling up into a shocked smile. He hadn't expected you to ask that, that's for sure. "All of it?"

You grip your glass so hard you think it might shatter, "No." And then, when he has the audacity to snicker, "Asshole."

He stays true to your request.

You watch with your back pressed up against the wall. His under suit hangs undone at his hips while he leans over his desk, digging his fingers into a can of black paint. He uses the reflection of his computer screen to smear it over his eyelids and under his eyelashes until the white skin beneath disappears.

Next is zipping up the under suit. You barely resist rushing over to hold his bandage steady as the suit catches on it, but he manages to get it up and over without pulling it off. Then come the plates of armor. Each piece clips into place, clinging to his waist and chest and arms. You've seen it up close enough times to know the quality of it, a wonder how he'd gotten his hands on that kind of stuff until now.

You don't ask him to, but when it's time to put his cowl on, he turns sideways so you can see.

His gloved hand combs through his hair, pushing back the longer strands so he could fit the cowl over it.

It's kind of embarrassing how it takes your breath away. Bruce had quite literally transformed before your eyes, and now there was no denying it.

Bruce stands still as your eyes bore into him.

After a few seconds of admiring every piece of the suit, your eyes flit up to his face. He's not looking at you, almost shy. Apart from Alfred and, perhaps, his someone, Bruce has probably never put on the suit in front of anyone else. Is it weird you missed seeing him shy? "It fits perfectly." Your voice is barely above a whisper.

Of course it does. You know it's dumb to say. Bruce doesn't say that, though.

He waits a beat before turning away from you, his cape sending a breeze of cool air up against your legs. His car awaits on the train tracks, headlights beaming into the near endless darkness as he approaches and you follow.

The car thrums eagerly with life at the push of a button, sending vibrations through the ground, all the way up to the ceiling where you hear a sudden flurry of wings and chirping. Bowing your head close to Bruce, you watch about a hundred bats scurry about above you, disturbed by the sudden rumble of the engine. Bruce holds his cape over your shoulder, though none of the bats fly low enough to concern him. "They don't freak you out a little bit?"

"They haven't bothered me."

"Well, when you dress like them I guess they get confused."

"I'll be back before sunrise," Bruce promises, "and I'll look into Judith for you. Maybe you should... call first."

You're tickled by the discomfort he's so desperately trying to hide, "Scared of a little old lady?"

He pointedly ignores you. You step back as he throws open the door and settles into his car, but before he can pull off into the darkness, you shout his name to get his attention over the roaring engine, "Hey! Be safe."

Bruce looks at you and... you don't know what he's thinking, only that the muscles in his jaw relax a bit. Was he used to that? Did Alfred often stand on the cold, empty train tracks before every patrol and wish him luck on another night of beating criminals to a pulp? Was he used to the worrying? Annoyed by it, even?

He doesn't say anything. The car leaves in a spray of dust and you hide your face in your shirt to shield yourself from it. By the time the dust settles, you can only see two red lights blurring into the distance.

[swimmingismywholelife]

Noel (No Faith)

Summary: You wanted more from John and he couldn't care less. So why then was he at your door on Christmas Eve?

Warnings: fwb-to-lovers!John, angst, SMUT, arguments, soft domJohn, unprotected sex (don't be silly, wrap your willy!), creampie, fingering, pussy licking, playing with nipples, missionary, honestly it's all very soft sex, HAPPY ENDING

WC: 3.8K

A/N: 🎶On the second day of Ficmas my writer gave to me, some angst and smut with dear old Johnny🎶 Hi my name is Janelle and I'm ashamed to say I love John Stones 🫣. The song that inspired this fic is "Noel (No Faith)" by 7 Minutes in Heaven! This is one of, if not, my favorite Christmas song bc it's just so good and I really think you should give it a listen. And this is I think my longest fic to date so I hope you all enjoy!

Link to the Song: Noel (No Faith)

"Noel, Noel, I wish that you would come home for Christmas (for Christmas)

Don't make me wait another year

Noel, Noel, I can't be left alone

You can unwrap the truth, my dear

You're all I want for Christmas this year."

~~~

You sighed with content as you finished putting up the last of the lights on the Christmas tree. You took a step back and smiled, proud of your work. You'd spent the weekend decorating your house, trying to cope with the homesickness of your first Christmas in Manchester away from your family. The star was centered perfectly on the top of the tree, stockings hung on your fireplace (mostly for decoration), and even though it was already Christmas Eve, you were happy to see everything come together. Now you truly felt ready for Christmas.

Well, almost.

Christmas was usually your favorite time of year. But this would be the first year you would be spending it alone. And the first year spending it along with a broken heart. You still replayed the scene in your head every night since it happened. Since the night John Stones left your heart in pieces.

"I don't know why you're mad," John scoffed, rolling out of your bed. "We had an agreement."

"I mean, yeah we did," you said quietly, sitting up.

"So then what's the problem?" he asked, beginning to redress himself.

"The problem, John, is that you treat me more than this agreement was originally supposed to be!" you said exasperated. "You act jealous when I'm around other guys, you basically live with me at this point, you call me even if nothing special is going on just because you wanna hear my voice. What am I supposed to think about that?"

John pinched the bridge of his nose huffing. "Listen, things were outlined pretty clearly when we first started this. You didn't seem to have an issue then, nor last night when you were screaming my name."

"You're full of shit, John, you know that?" you said as tears began forming in the corners of your eyes. "Things can change and feelings can change. And I'm sorry I fell in love with you. I didn't intend to! It just happened and I'm being honest. You've known how I felt and you did nothing but treat me like you wanted it to!"

John sharply turned to face you. "I've been clear from the beginning that I wasn't looking to commit. I wanted some fun and that's what we got and that's all it's gonna be."

"So all of our little outings alone? All of the nights where we poured our hearts out to each other? Inviting me to all your games so I could proudly wear you jersey? That all meant nothing you to you?" you asked.

"Look, if you wanna stop just say so and be done with it," he said.

A tear fell from your eyes.

"I guess that's it then," you said quietly.

Despite the fact that this happened months ago, you couldn't find it in you to move on. John made you feel so special, so different. You knew what the boundaries were when you agreed to be friends with benefits, but you couldn't help but fall in love with him. Every day that went by, you only missed John more.

Still, John didn't have to be such a dick about the whole thing. He was the one you led you on and left that night, not once looking back. It wasn't like you ended with solely unrequited love and he let you down gently. He made you feel like shit for catching feelings, like you didn't matter to him. You felt used and it felt disgusting.

So why did you find yourself missing him more than ever? Why were you holding out hope for him? Why were you still keeping your faith in him when he had no faith in you?

"Please come home," you whispered, looking at the star on top of your tree illuminating the room. You knew your wish was futile, but maybe this year would be your year for a Christmas miracle.

As you turned back upstairs, a knocking on the door stopped you in your tracks. You cocked your head in confusion. It was Christmas Eve and everyone you knew was spending Christmas with their families. You weren't expecting anyone to come visit. You were even more confused when you opened the door to find the very man you'd been wanting to see.

"John?" you said puzzled.

"I know it's Christmas Eve and we haven't spoken in weeks, but I just really needed to talk to you. Is that okay?" he asked, the words rapidly leaving his mouth as his body shook from the cold.

"I-" You hesitated. "I'm not really sure if that's a good idea."

"Please? I just need you to know and if after that you never wanna see me again, then I'll leave you alone," he replied desperately.

Letting the spirit of Christmas overpower your overwhelming urge to kick him in the face and leave him in the cold, you opened your door wider to let him in. John quickly stepped into the warmth of your home, rubbing his hands together.

"Let me start up the kettle for some tea. You wait on the couch and I'll grab you a blanket too," you said, gesturing to the living room he was more than familiar with.

"Thank you, Y/N," he said gratefully.

You took a deep breath as you made your way into the kitchen. "Dude, I know I said I wanted a Christmas miracle, but I wasn't emotionally prepared for this," you muttered to yourself as you filled the kettle with water. Once the stove was on, you grabbed a blanket from your closet for the man sitting in your living room.

"Here," you said, handing it to him.

"You remembered," he said quietly. You almost asked what he was talking about when you saw the familiar checkered pattern on the blanket. You grabbed the first one you saw, not realizing you'd instinctually grabbed John's favorite blanket.

"Truthfully, that was an accident," you said, trying to lighten up the mood. It didn't really work as the air grew awkward and thick, neither of you really knowing what to say.

"Um, I'll be right back and get your tea," you said awkwardly, quickly getting up.

You took your time, trying to mentally prepare yourself for the conversation. Why was he here? What did he want? Why Christmas Eve? So many questions rolled into your mind as you made his tea just the way he liked.

You came back and handed him the mug, John muttering a thanks before sipping on the tea.

"John, why are you here?" you asked exasperated, finally breaking the silence.

"I…" John sighed. "I wanted to talk."

You crossed your arms. "Well, you're here now. So talk."

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the tops of his thighs, setting the mug on the table. "I know that I fucked up, really fucked up. And I left you hanging after leading you on for so long." He turned to look at you. "And I just wanted to say I'm sorry for ever treating you so horribly. You've never deserved it and you were right, you can't help how you feel about someone."

"Thank you," you said.

"I thought I'd be fine after walking out that day," he continued. "To me, it really was just a thing that we did and nothing more. But days turned into weeks turned into months and something was wrong. It didn't matter who I tried to get with. I just couldn't do it. Every single girl just reminded me of you. At first, I didn't really I was comparing everyone to you until one day when it hit me. And I haven't been able to stop thinking about you and how you make me feel."

"And how do I make you feel, John?" you asked, curling your legs underneath you.

"Alive. You give me that drive and passion to do what I love, to be a better man. I miss the way you pretended to be asleep just so I would kiss you awake. I miss the way you play with my hair after a long day at practice or a late night game. I miss the way you felt in my arms. I miss the way your eyes light up at the sight of the stupid festive cups at coffee shops. I miss how I didn't have to fear who I was or who I wanted to be because you always brought out the best in me. God, I just miss you so much and I can't believe how stupid I was for not seeing it until you were long gone," he said on the verge of tears.

Neither of you said anything for a while after his confession. The tension only grew thicker as John anticipated your reaction, mentally preparing himself for the worst.

"You still hurt me, John," you replied after a while. "I haven't been able to stop thinking about what you did that day. How you left me feeling used and stupid and dumb. I thought you and I were on the same page and I couldn't have been further from the truth."

John gently took both of your hands in his. You allowed him to gently lace his fingers through yours, shivers running down your spine as he thumbs stroked your hand.

"I know," he said. "I know, and I'm sorry. I'm sorry I took you for granted. I'm sorry I didn't appreciate you while I had you. But if you give me a chance, I swear to you I'll make it up to you and show you how much you mean to me."

"John…." you trailed off. "I don’t know. I don't know how I can trust you again after what you did."

He tightened his grip on your hand. "You don't have to give me an answer today. You don't even have to give me an answer for the rest of the year. I'll wait as long as you need. Even if you decide no, I'll still be waiting here for you."

"Johnny, I don't want you to be waiting for me," you said softly. "That wouldn't be fair on you."

He shook his head. "No, Y/N, I'm the one who hasn't been fair to you at all. Waiting is the least I can do for you."

A silence fell, the two of you lost in your own thoughts. John was wondering if he'd been too late to fix things, if his chance was gone. Meanwhile, you were thinking if he even deserved another chance. It had taken you months to even fathom getting over him. Was this a test to see if you truly belonged together? Or was this a red flag that was being blatantly waved in front of you?

All the while, you never thought to release your hand from John's. It felt right for your hand to be there. While your head was in turmoil, it was also the calmest it had been since the day he left.

"Why did you come here tonight?" you asked, breaking the silence. "Why tonight specifically? Why didn't you come earlier or later in the year?"

"Because I know how much Christmas means to you," he replied. "I knew I was risking ruining your holiday, but I wanted to show you that I'm serious about this, more serious than anything I've ever done in my life."

"Will you stay?" you asked him with hopeful eyes, still being unsure of your feelings but not quite wanting him to leave.

"Baby, I'll stay as long as you want me here," John said, looking into your eyes. His hands moved from yours to cup your cheeks. "Would you like me to stay?"

You nodded. "You can stay in the guest room for the night so we can have some space. I'll grab you more blankets."

Too quickly for your liking, you pulled away, his hands lingering on your face just a little bit longer. While you wanted him next to you, it probably wasn't the best idea all things considered. You grabbed some spare blankets, alongside some spare clothes of his you couldn't bare to part with, handing them to him.

"I'm really surprised you still have these," John said.

You shrugged. "I still have everything you gave me quite frankly."

John's heart stopped for a moment. Maybe there was still a chance for you to have faith in him again.

"If you need me, just knock on my door, okay?" you said, leaning against the doorframe.

"I will. Good night, Y/N," he answered.

"Good night, John," you said softly.

You quickly got ready for bed, turning the light off in your room. You made yourself comfortable underneath the warmth of the blankets, but you still felt cold. How could you sleep properly knowing John was next door? Knowing that he wanted you back? You tossed and turned for a few hours, but you knew you wouldn't be getting any sleep that night, especially because you just wanted to be in the comfort of his arms.

You got out of bed to get some water, wanting to walk a bit to clear your head. You opened your door to come face to face with John, whose hand was raised indicating that he was about to knock on your door. You nearly screamed before you realized who he was.

"Jesus Christ, John! You scared the shit out of me," you said panting, putting your hand on your chest.

"Sorry," he apologized. "I didn't mean to scare you."

"That's okay, I only just lost a few years off my life," you joked. "But is everything okay?"

"Yeah, I just couldn't really sleep," he answered, "and honestly I just really wanted to see you."

The two of you stared at each other for a moment, not really knowing what to say. You got lost in his eyes, that feeling you've always had with him returning.

Acting purely on instinct, both of you reached for each other, lips smashing desperately against each other. You felt like you could breathe again despite how hard the two of you were kissing. It just felt right that he was there with you. It felt right how his body was perfectly molded to yours.

John closed to door behind you, gently pushing you against it. His kisses were passionate yet still soft and gently, almost like he was afraid to hurt you. His hands were firmly around your waist as yours were around his neck, your fingers running through his hair.

"Jump," he whispered against you.

You obliged, wrapping your legs around him. He walked you to your bed, gently placing you on it as he climbed on top, your lips not parting once. He pulled away only to remove both of your shirts before returning to kiss you. His hands moved to your tits, gently squeezing them. You let out a breathy moan of his name.

"I missed his so much," he said just as breathlessly. "I missed your pretty little moans, baby." He squeezed a little harder, making your moans grow louder. "That's it, Let me hear you, Y/N."

His kisses started trailing down your jaw to your neck, his teeth nipping the skin. Little red marks were left in his wake until his mouth hovered over your nipple. He gently blew on it before taking it into his mouth, making a loud moan leave your body.

"You like that, baby?" John asked.

"Yes, John," you answered, your body squirming underneath him. "I love it so much."

John switched sides, your hands guiding his head there. He sucked harder, causing your hips to roll against his, groaning when your clothed cunt made contact with the bulge under his pants. His lips trailed down once again until he hit the band of the sweatpants you were wearing, noting that technically, they were his.

"Can I take this off, Y/N?" he asked, looking up at you.

You nodded your head frantically. "Yes, please take them off, please."

His hands grabbed the band and pulled down, moaning when he realized you weren't wearing any underwear.

"No underwear, baby? Are you trying to kill me?" he growled.

"It's comfortable, okay?" you squeaked out. "You know I've always preferred it that way."

John licked his lips as he laid his eyes on your pussy, the folds glistening with your wetness.

"Can I-" he started, but you cut him off.

"Yes, yes please!" you said desperately. "I need to feel your mouth on my pussy, John!"

He chuckled before licking your pussy, making you moan, your hands flying to grab his curls. John took his time licking from the bottom all the way to your clit. He repeated this motion several times, loving the way you tugged on him in desperation.

"Fuck!" you screamed when his lips sucked on your clit, your hips bucking into his face. "Fuck just like that!"

He sucked harder as one of his fingers teased your entrance. Your chest was up and down rapidly as your heartbeat quickened. You moaned loudly when his finger entered you, immediately hitting your g spot. He wasn't moving fast, but he was pressing deep into your pussy, making everything more intense.

"That feels so good," you said, "please don't stop. So good."

You hadn't slept with anyone since John. You couldn't possible bring yourself to. The only pleasure you'd gotten was from yourself, meaning your body more sensitive than usual. You felt your release coming fast.

"John, I think I'm gonna cum," you moaned out. In response, John picked up the pace, adding another finger. "I'm right there, baby, I just need a little bit more." John shook his head back and forth as he finger fucked you hard and fast. You screamed out, pulling his head further into your pussy as your release hit you. Your back arched against the bed, John taking one of the hands from behind his head to lace them together. You squeezed his hand as a wave of cum flooded his mouth, John happily licking all of it up.

You brought his face back up to your lips, needing to feel them against yours once again. You moaned slightly at the taste of yourself, John's hand gently cupping your cheek to kiss you deeper. He quickly took his bottoms off guiding his cock to your entrance. He tapped the head against your clit and your hips rolled.

"Is this okay?" John asked. "Are you sure you want this?"

You nodded desperately. "Please John, I need to feel you. Please."

He ran his cock through your folds before slowly pushing in, his body leaning over yours. You almost screamed at the way he was stretching your pussy.

"Fuck, baby, you're so tight," he hissed out. "When's the last time this pussy was touched by someone other than yourself?"

"Not since the day you left," you answered meekly. John's dick got even harder inside you.

"Yeah? This pussy is mine right baby?" he asked, bottoming out and stilling his hips.

"Mhm, all yours," you whined out, your body unable to stay still as he filled you.

"Are you okay?" he asked, looking deep into your eyes. "Do you need a minute?"

"Mhm," you answered. "I'm okay. Are you okay?"

"I'm more than okay, baby," he answered as he stroked your hair lightly, making your heart swell.

"John?" you asked.

"Yeah?"

"Give it to me please," you whispered. "I need it please!"

"I got you, baby," he said, kissing your forehead.

John moved his hips keeping a slow but deep pace. Your legs wrapped around him, needing to feel him pressed against you as you kissed him. John normally had you screaming at the top of your lungs, but this was different. This felt different. Nothing more was needed but breathy moans into each other's mouths, John really only picking up the pace slightly.

"It feels so good, Johnny," you moaned breathlessly. "So fucking good."

"Yeah? Feels good baby, doesn't it?" he asked. You nodded, eyes rolling back. "This pussy was made for me."

"Mhm. So big," you babbled. "Fucks me so good."

"You're taking it so well," he praised softly. "You look so fucking beautiful when you take my cock like this. Like you were meant to be here with me."

Tears started to form in your eyes, making John still.

"Baby, don't cry," he said worriedly. He wiped away the tears that were falling. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that. I'll stop if you want me to."

You shook your head. "No, don't stop. I've just wanted you to say those words to me. Please keep going."

"Are you sure? We don't have to keep going if you wanna stop," he said unsure.

"Johnny, please," you begged. "I want this. I want you. I don't want anything but you."

"Me too, baby," John replied as he moved his hips, keeping the same deep pace as before. "And I'm sorry it took me this long to realize it." He brought his hands to yours, pressing you into the bed as your fingers intertwined. "Do you hear me? I love you, Y/N. So. Fucking. Much," he said, thrusting as hard as he could to emphasize his words. "And I'm never fucking letting you go again."

"I love you too," you moaned. "I really do."

"I'm close," he said, rubbing your clit.

"Fuck, me too," you said.

"Cum with me, baby. That's it. Cum for me."

You back arched as you had the most intense orgasm of your life, squeezing John's hands as you let out a loud moan. John groaned at the feeling of your pussy clenching around him, triggering his own release. He came deep inside you, gently thrusting to get every last bit of his cum in you.

You both laid there panting for a moment staring into each others eyes, foreheads resting against one another.

"I think that's the hardest I ever came," he chuckled. "I don't think I've ever cum that much before."

"It felt really good," you admitted, "to be filled up like that."

"I love you, Y/N," he said again.

"I love you too, John."

John rolled off of you, getting up to grab a towel to clean you up. He gently ran it over your body, not wanting to hurt you. He cleaned himself before tossing the towel into the laundry and climbing back into bed.

"God, you're beautiful," he whispered to himself in awe of you.

"Will you stay?" you asked.

"Always," he replied.

John looked over at the clock to see it was past midnight.

"Merry Christmas, baby," he said. "Thank you for being the best present I could've ever had."

"Merry Christmas, Johnny. Thank you for coming home," you said, your eyes fluttering shut.

"I wouldn't wanna be anywhere else but with you."

John held you tight that night and every night after that. And you were glad you kept your faith in him. For John Stones was your Christmas miracle and that was all you needed.

Taglist: @thoseboysinblue @neverinadream @chilwellspulisic @lizzypotter14 @pulisicsgirl @lovelynikol16 @notsoattractivearenti @nyctophilic0vitnir @shadowscorch

[armageddon-generation]

The Bear Season 3 is a bridge season that feels weird on purpose, but also has some big problems: A review/ramble

Season 3 is clearly a bridge season, and suffers from having been written & shot alongside season 4. As a result, unlike the seasons 1 & 2, it doesn’t feel like a distinctive or complete chapter of the restaurant’s life. Just half of one.

This is partly because there’s no ‘end-goal’ like in S2, or clear progression/visible improvement to the restaraunt like in S1. Season 3 is about stagnation. Most of its storylines are left unresolved- the review, Sydney’s job offer, Tiff & Frank’s wedding, Marcus being inspired by his mother’s death, Tina and the dying farmer’s market, Carmy’s conflicts with both Claire and Ritchie. All these threads will roll into Season 4, and Season 3 suffers from that.

PACING, FLASHBACKS AND TONE: FORM REFLECTING FUNCTION

HOWEVER. This being a ‘bridge’, character-focused season isn’t inherently bad. Individual episodes of The Bear still tear when they want to. Episodes 1, 2, & 3 are a very strong setup for the season and establish good momentum. Episodes 6 & 8 are fantastic character pieces, and 8 in particular made me bawl. Even the finale, though bogged down by masturbatory celebrity chef cameos, was a strong episode.

The problem is all the stuff in-between. The actual day-to-day running of the restaurant feels hollow and empty now. There’s a distance between the characters and it feels like they don’t interact as a group anywhere near as much.

Part of this is absolutely deliberate. People joke about S3 'method acting' its way into bad reviews to reflect the restaraunt, but losing steam and the connections between characters is genuinely a formal reflection of the kitchen crew's moods, as the day-to-day grind of running the restaurant wears them down.

The use of flashbacks in 3x1 is excellent, but Season 3 quickly becomes way over-reliant on them (episode 9 especially, oh my god). Again, this feels like a conscious choice to reflect Carmy’s state of inertia/the fact he’s perpetually trapped in the past. It makes sense, but that doesn’t give the show a pass for being boring, and 3x9 was the first time I’ve ever felt genuinely bored by this show.  

FUCK THE FAKS & NEGLECTING POC CHARACTERS

My other problems are much more clearly the fault of the show; I do not give a flying fuck about the Faks. Neil is cute in small doses. The brothers are great as soundboards for other characters; Theo getting Sweeps to talk about his backstory in baseball, the brothers comforting Donna at the end of 3x8 Ice Chips, or the haunting argument finally forcing Carmy to talk about Claire.

But on their own? When they’re just bouncing off each-other? These guys aren't half as funny as the show seems to think they are. And their scenes drag on so long. For example, the B-plot of 3x5 Computer wastes half of an otherwise strong episode with pointless fucking around, propped up by a pointless celebrity cameo. I do not Give. A. Fuck about haunting, Mr. Cena, why the fuck are you here.

The aggravating time-wasting is made worse by The Bear continuing to neglect and underuse its POC characters. This is the second season in a row where I’ve felt Syd only got the bullet-points of an arc. She is the LEADING LADY. Ayo is now the show’s biggest breakout star. USE HER.

I really enjoyed Tina's focus episode, but unlike Forks and Honeydew last season it doesn't move the plot forward, and unlike Fishes the flashbacks don't contextualize Tina''s actions in the present because she's barely doing anything in the present, despite the show setting up her struggles in the kitchen early in the season.

Meanwhile, Ebra got crumbs again and Sweeps got a single scene, which is tragically at least better than he had last year.

Marcus’ arc this year is a fascinating microcosm for the show’s themes, but it barely gets a second to breathe because we have to cram in another five minutes of the Fak brothers arguing about that time Neil got taped into a cardboard box. It’s ridiculous. And then they showcase Nat being all protective of Marcus in an episode he’s barely in, when she barely interacts with him. It feels unearned & disingenuous, using Marcus as a prop for a Hell Yeah gotcha moment.

I liked Josh Harnett though, that casting had purpose, and both Chef Terry and Luca were used excellently.

CAMEOS

The surprise celebrity cameos this year felt distracting and indulgent in a way last year’s didn’t. In Fishes the slew of cameos were a dramatic tool meant to disorient the viewer. This year, John Cena is here to distract you from how pointless this B-plot is, and we've brought in a bunch of famous chefs to tell you direct-to-camera why cooking and the service industry are so important.

The chefs in particular are bizzare after season 1 spent most of its time telling us how evil and toxic the fine dining industry is. But now it's actually just the fault of a few bad apples, and these guys are really rad actually?

CLAIRE

Much has been said about how Claire was an underwritten archetype for Carmy to project onto. Now, I don’t much give a fuck about shipping in this show, but it’s clear Claire & Carmy’s romance didn’t connect with most people. It felt hollow. At the time, I thought this was deliberate, like the tone and flashbacks this season; Claire’s writing reflected Carmy’s perception of her as a saintlike childhood daydream who could deliver him from all the stresses of his life.

But this season, not only does the show refuse to let Claire go, it doubles down on objectifying her as a prop for Carmy’s self-loathing, trapped in his memory.

Again, this might work thematically if I knew Claire as a person, or was at all invested in their romance, but I don't and I’m not. As it stands, the multiple extended flashbacks with Claire feel like futile attempts to plug the holes in Season 2's weakest storyline, and drag their episodes down. If we’re supposed to root for Carmy to find happiness outside the kitchen, this is having the opposite effect, and it’s made worse by it all being left unresolved by the finale.

Either do something with this character or move on, because right now every time Claire appears I clock out emotionally, and that’s not her fault, it’s the way the show treats her.

CARMY THE ASSHOLE

All this contributes to an overriding problem that I again think is deliberate, but risky; Carmy isn’t likeable this season. He causes his conflicts with Ritchie and Syd, to whom he has passed down his generational trauma. Carmy's menu is the biggest thing dragging the Bear into bankruptcy. Carmy has stopped working to resolve his familial trauma like in seasons 1 & 2, just as Nat starts making headway. He functionally doesn’t exist outside the kitchen, entirely preoccupied with the past & a girl the audience doesn’t care about.

Unlike previous seasons, the few times Carmy is called out for his bad behaviour he doesn’t make much effort to listen or improve. Again, I get that this is the point. Carmy is on a low, self-destructive ebb, and hopefully when things start resolving in season 4 he’ll snap out of it. But him dragging the show down with him has consequences.

EPISODE COUNT & FINAL THOUGHTS

A lot of people are saying that S3 only had enough plot for 2-3 episodes, and while I think that’s disingenuous- The Bear has always been a character-focused, vibes-first show- I do think it should've returned to the 8-episode count of season 1. You can consolidate the same amount of ‘plot development’ into fewer episodes while maintaining the deliberate sense of inertia. Cut back on the Faks and flashbacks to give more time to the kitchen crew, and many of the complaints would disappear.

Anyway, all this to say that The Bear season 3 is not Bad like some are saying, but it is a step down from its first two seasons. It feels like it’s got lost in its own head and lost a part of itself along the way, and while a lot of that is deliberate- formally reflecting Carmy’s internal conflict- it exacerbates existing problems (underwritten POC, Claire) and creates several new ones (celeb cameos, overusing flashbacks, unresolved plotlines) previous seasons were able to sidestep.