#it may take years....decades even but hopefully not

[waffulaa]

.

#when will the day come when i find my artstyle? 🤔 #everything i've drawn so far has either been experimental or a style i'm familiar with #i guess i should explore more with brushes and styles until i find the right one #it may take years....decades even but hopefully not #i started using dense watercolor on csp a while back and i love how it renders #but i still need to get familiar with controlling it #hmm i will see..... #waffula talks

[writer-in-theory]

you're gonna go far, love — spencer reid.

“I’ve been ready for you to come home for so long that I didn’t think to ask you where you’d gone.” —Noah Kahan (Orange Juice)

Summary: After Spencer relapses, he takes the first flight out of Virginia with no plan other than to get a fresh start. Or, my take on where he was for Evolution. Pairing: Spencer Reid x Gn!Reader (not the focus, but it's there) Category: Hurt/Comfort WC: 2k Content Warnings: Discussions of relapse, Mentions of alcohol, Slight spoiler for the ending of Evolution S1 (despite the fact I still haven't finished it myself) Notes: This is for the New Beginnings challenge hosted by @imagining-in-the-margins and based on a prompt from @foxy-eva , so thank you so much to you lovely people. This fic comes 2 years after my last CM fic, and a few months since I've written anything at all, so thank you for the inspiration 💜

Spencer booked the first flight out of Virginia five days after it happened. 

The person at the counter may have said the destination, but it floated straight past his ears and was carried far away. Within hours, everything he’d spent the past two decades building was left thirty thousand feet below him. 

Emily would be hurt. Everyone would be, as each of them heard the news as they one-by-one came into the office tomorrow. But it would be Emily, who was the first to notice the cracks in his once carefully crafted facade all those years ago, who would feel the most betrayed by his sudden escape. 

You should’ve at least said goodbye.

It was what Spencer had been most upset by when Emily had faked her death. After everything they’d been through together, after all of the joy they brought into each others’ incredibly stressful lives, all Spencer had needed was the chance to say goodbye and know that she was out there, somewhere, happy. 

Hopefully, she’d understand why he had to leave now, though. 

Everyone in the BAU had figured out by now that the Spencer Reid who walked out of prison was not the same as the one who’d first stepped into it. Some piece of him—and even now, he wasn’t sure how large that piece was—had been laid bare and morphed beyond even his own recognition. The loss of that part of him ached in the way that losing a loved one did, that sharp stabbing sort of ache that would appear so suddenly that he didn’t know how to handle it. 

There was no way to explain it to the rest of the team, though, no matter how supportive they tried to be. The fact was that none of them had ever nor would ever go through what he exactly had, and for not the first time in his life, Spencer began to feel like a rip current was sweeping him away from the steadiness of shore. 

It wasn’t until he was far enough away from shore that he couldn’t see the relief of the sands that his mind recalled that he’d been prescribed painkillers several months prior. 

It wasn’t the same as what Tobias Hankel had given him so many years ago, nor was it the alternatives he’d managed to find in the months after, but it was devastatingly similar enough that he’d tried to convince the emergency room doctor not to order it in the first place. ‘Pick it up anyway, just in case. No one can recover from a gunshot wound without pain relief.’ 

He’d almost flushed the amber bottle’s contents the day he’d gotten them, but the bone-deep feeling that had eased with time but never truly gone away kept him from fully eliminating that option from his life. Why should one thing that had happened to him years ago deny him proper pain relief now, should he need it? So they’d sat untouched, locked away in his gun safe for months. 

Until five days ago.

After well over a decade in recovery, Spencer knew this was always a possibility. He’d seen friends go through the same thing and had been there to support them in whatever ways he could because no matter how many times it happened the initial feelings of shock, shame, and overbearing grief could be just as overwhelming as the first. 

A day after, when he’d woken up and realized just what had occurred, Spencer had walked himself to the nearest NA meeting. Like he was on auto-pilot, he moved through every piece of advice he had gathered through the years—the stories of success and the stories of forced learning serving as guides to him. It wasn’t the first time Spencer had relapsed (a word that still struck fear in him to even think about), nor would it likely be the last time he was forced to confront this part of his past. 

Still, this was the first time Spencer walked out of the building, packed a bag, and made a silent escape from the city he called home. There was something different about this time, though he had no idea where to even begin considering the specifics of why.

He ended up in Cincinnati, Ohio.

In all the years he’d been with the BAU, they’d never once been called there. It was like every other city Spencer had been in in many ways—the buildings towering above him as he walked, the river that bordered the city mirroring the home he’d just left, even down to the FBI headquarters that was quiet now in the middle of the night. Still, he couldn’t help but feel as though it were completely separate from everything he’d known before, because the melancholy Spencer had been sitting in for the last five days had suddenly turned comforting amongst the atmosphere of the city.

He ended up in a bar, of all places. It was the kind that only served nonalcoholic drinks, the kind of place where people like him could sit without feeling outside of the norm. Music was playing softly in the background, and though it was busy there was only a gentle rumble of conversation in the room.

“You’re staring at that glass like it’ll kill you. It’s safe, Scout’s honor.” The teasing voice surprised Spencer out of the careful contemplation he’d fallen into. It came from the bartender, who was busying themselves with wiping down a few glasses, stood just on the other side of the bar in front of him.

“You know, that only works if you were actually a scout,” Spencer returned, though raised the glass to his lips after. It was sweet—a little too sweet by his standards, though it was a comfort now after the week he’d had.

“I won’t tell if you don’t,” the bartender said back. They looked comfortable here, like this sober bar were an extension of their own home. At one time, the BAU office had been the same for him. “You look like you could use a friendly face, and that just happens to be my favorite part of the job.”

“Part of the job…?”

“Oh you know, bartenders are the therapists for the lonely, or something like that.” They were comfortable, and more open to an effective stranger than Spencer ever thought possible. It was refreshing in a way, to be able to talk with them without having to worry about what case information he could get out of them. It wasn’t often, anymore, that he could relax and talk to someone just to talk to them. “What brings you to the Queen City?”

“I moved here,” Spencer answered automatically, looking down sheepishly at his glass before adding, “today, actually.”

“Oh, congrats then. New job?”

“More like a new start.”

It was quiet for only a moment before the bartender asked in a softer voice, “How long had it been?”

Spencer almost asked them what they meant, until he met their gaze. They had their full attention on him now, glasses left abandoned on the inner part of the bar. They’d been kind from the start, but the look they gave him now was the sort of pure understanding that made Spencer realize all at once what they were referring to.

“How did you know?”

The bartender sighed, though there was no sadness to it at all. They pulled something from their pocket, sliding it gently across the bar so Spencer could see. A metallic chip was place between them, silver on the outside and filled in with a green-blue color and a “V” engraved in the middle of it. It was different from the ones he’d used, but he recognized the meaning of it all the same. 

“I opened this place because the day I relapsed, five years ago now, I’d had nowhere to go after. There wasn’t anywhere people like us could go and relax without having to answer the tough questions, like why I drank orange juice instead of ‘what all the other adults were drinking’. It seemed silly at the time, but I think I was just looking for somewhere I could feel normal.”

“My family were the ones who helped me get sober, and sometimes they still forget and will ask me why I’m not drinking.” Spencer returned the sentiment with a light laugh. He loved everyone in the BAU, and even though it had only been a few days he already missed them terribly, but it was nice to have someone there who understood what he was feeling, what he was going through now.

“Exactly!” The bartender said, following Spencer’s lead and letting out a laugh of their own. “Though I can’t say I ever moved to a new city because of it.”

“It was the most impulsive thing I’ve ever done,” Spencer admitted. “I…really needed a fresh start. I needed somewhere noone knew who I was, somewhere I could get a completely different job and…I don’t know, figure out who I am.”

The bartender nodded. “Sounds about right. This family you left behind, are you gonna go back to them?”

“Eventually. We’ve worked together for so many years. I spent more time with them than I’ve actually ever spent alone, and I think I just need…”

“Something new,” the bartender finished, “I’m starting to catch on. What d’you think you’ll do?”

“I’ve always loved teaching. Maybe that?”

“You know, I have some friends who work at UC. Depending on what you wanted to teach, I could see if they could get you an interview.”

“Just like that?” Spencer asked, wondering only briefly if there was going to be a catch somewhere down the line.

The bartender shrugged. “Why not? I never up and moved cities, but I’m no stranger to new beginnings.”

“I wouldn’t recommend moving cities without thinking it through,” Spencer laughed then. “I have no plan for what comes next.”

“Do you have somewhere to stay, at least?”

Spencer only winced, which he was sure was answer enough for them. He was expecting some kind of sympathetic response, but he never expected the bartender to shrug again and say, “Well, how about I be a little impulsive too. I’ve been looking for a new roommate, why don’t you stay tonight and see how it goes?”

“Really?”

“Yeah, sure. You seem decent enough not to be some secret axe-murderer or something.”

Oh, the irony. 

Spencer didn’t really know this person except for the limited conversation they’d had so far. It would’ve been safer, and probably smarter, for him to just find a hotel room for the night and come up with a plan later. But something was telling him that he should agree, that there was something more to this person that he wanted to get to know. 

So not for the first time that day, Spencer trusted his gut and nodded. “Okay, let’s try it.”

It wasn’t a fix for everything. The changes would come slowly, so slowly that sometimes Spencer himself wouldn’t even notice them happening. It would take time to get to a place where Spencer felt okay again, and a large help in that ended up being his new roommate who seemed to just get him in more ways than one. As time went by, Cincinnati truly began to feel like home. 

And two years after he’d left, when Spencer turned on the news and saw the BAU standing before a large crowd as they announced they’d finally caught the serial killer behind the shipping container murders, he finally felt the string tugging him back in the direction of Quantico.

His home was there in Cincinnati, with the person who’d become a friend and even more in the last two years and the professor job that he came to love, but Spencer knew—beyond a shadow of a doubt—that it was time to see his family again, too. 

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fandom #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x y/n #spencer x reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fanfic #hurt/comfort #angst

[mariacallous]

Earlier this month, the Alabama Supreme Court issued an opinion, complete with a wildly theocratic concurrence from Chief Justice Thomas Parker, that functionally outlawed in vitro fertilization (IVF) in the state.

In the wake of the ruling, Republicans have tried to unwind this mess, with the Alabama legislature considering passing a law to ensure IVF access and Donald Trump coming out to say he strongly supports access to IVF. 

All of this is a bit of rearranging deck chairs on the Titanic, as the damage is done. The entire spectacle was inevitable once the GOP gave the party over to anti-choice zealots decades ago.

In brief, the reason the Alabama Supreme Court’s opinion implicates and outlaws IVF is that the state has a Wrongful Death of a Minor statute, and the court decided this applies to “all unborn children, without limitation.” But there’s no language in the statute that says this. Rather, it’s just that over the last 15 years, the Alabama Supreme Court has issued a series of rulings saying that the undefined term “minor child” in the statute can be stretched to “unborn children” regardless of what state of development the embryo is at. Once the court created such an expansive definition, the decision that frozen embryos are people was inescapable. 

To be fair, though, the Alabama Supreme Court is entirely made up of conservative Republicans, they were a bit hamstrung in their decision. Alabama’s state constitution states that “it is the public policy of this state to ensure the protection of the rights of the unborn child in all manners and measures lawful and appropriate." But that doesn’t necessarily mean the court was required to, as it did here, extend that “unborn child” definition to what it calls “extrauterine children” — embryos frozen by people pursuing IVF. 

That IVF is even controversial is an indictment of the GOP

An IVF cycle is designed to produce multiple eggs that can be retrieved in one procedure. The more eggs produced, the greater the likelihood of a viable embryo that can be implanted, hopefully resulting in a pregnancy. Because of this, multiple embryos often remain, and people freeze those for several reasons. People may use them if the first attempt at implantation doesn’t work, thus avoiding multiple egg retrieval cycles. They may save them for later if they decide to have more children. They may donate them to other people struggling with fertility issues. 

For people not saddled with the misguided anti-choice belief that a tiny clump of cells is the same as a person, this is a non-controversial process. It enhances the chance of pregnancy and allows people to plan for future children without undergoing multiple invasive egg retrieval cycles. But if one subscribes to the notion of fetal personhood — that a fetus is quite literally a person, with all the attendant privileges that confers — then those frozen embryos are the same as babies. 

This is, of course, a religious, not scientific belief. Chief Justice Parker, in his concurring opinion, made clear that his vote, at least, stems directly from his religious beliefs rather than being grounded in the law. Citing Augustine, Thomas Aquinas, John Calvin, the Ten Commandments, and the King James Bible, Parker concludes that “even before birth, all human beings bear the image of God, and their lives cannot be destroyed without effacing his glory.”

Notably, none of those things are legal precedent. Indeed, in a country founded on the separation of church and state, they shouldn’t inform a court holding. However, since religious conservatives dominate the US Supreme Court, that separation has largely collapsed. This has emboldened conservative litigants and conservative state and federal judges to take ever more anti-choice stances. 

Reproductive health activists have been sounding the alarm about the anti-choice attacks on IVF for years, particularly in the wake of the Dobbs decision overturning Roe v. Wade. At least two prominent anti-choice groups, Americans United for Life and Students for Life, have railed against IVF. The chief legal officer for Americans United for Life, Steve Aden, called IVF “eugenics” and said that IVF created “embryonic human beings” that were destroyed in the process. Students for Life called IVF “damaging and destructive.”

These same anti-choice groups also hate birth control, and the Dobbs decision paved the way for them to mount a theocratic attack on it too. Christopher Rufo, who ginned up a panic over benign diversity initiatives and helped force out the first Black president of Harvard, Claudine Gay, has already telegraphed that this is his next attack.

Over on Elon Musk’s increasingly Nazi-fied social media site, X, Rufo is spewing rhetoric about how “the family structure disintegrated precisely as access to birth control proliferated” and that recreational sex is bad and leads to single-mother households. 

Rufo isn’t alone. The Heritage Foundation, which is also busy with a blueprint for a second Trump presidency that would destroy the administrative state and whose leader is still pushing the big lie that Trump won the 2020 election, has also called for the end of birth control. Also over on X, Heritage’s official account posted last year that “a good place to start would be a feminist movement against the pill and … returning the consequentiality to sex.”

And there you have it. Religious conservatives are calling for a return to a world where sex isn’t recreational or for pleasure but is instead fraught with consequences — namely, pregnancies that can’t be terminated even when the pregnant person’s life is in danger. To do this, however, they would need to succeed in getting the Supreme Court to overturn Griswold v. Connecticut, the 1965 case that invalidated restrictions on birth control. 

More importantly, Griswold affirmed the constitutional right to privacy. It’s that right that not only underpinned the right to an abortion in Roe but also underpins other cases related to the rights of Americans to pursue sexual and marital relationships without government interference. In Lawrence v. Texas, decided in 2003, the Supreme Court relied upon Griswold to throw out laws that criminalized sexual contact between members of the same sex. Twelve years later, that same reasoning was used in Obergefell v. Hodges to affirm a constitutional right to same-sex marriage. 

Justice Clarence Thomas hates the right to privacy and has made no secret he wants it gone. In his concurring opinion in Dobbs, he called on the Court to “reconsider” all these cases and overrule them as “demonstrably erroneous.” Justice Samuel Alito has been a bit more evasive about this, writing in Dobbs that “nothing in this opinion should be understood to cast doubt on precedents that do not concern abortion.” However, Alito’s Dobbs opinion is littered with references to “fetal life” and how abortion destroys an “unborn human being.” As recently as last week, Alito wrote a statement decrying Obergefell because he doesn’t think it’s fair that people who are bigots about same-sex marriage ever get called bigots. 

It isn’t just Thomas and Alito. During her confirmation hearing, Justice Amy Coney Barrett refused to say whether she thought Griswold, Lawrence, and Obergefell were rightly decided. In 2012, she signed an open letter stating that the Affordable Care Act’s required coverage for birth control was an assault on religious liberty. Similarly, Justice Brett Kavanaugh, in his confirmation hearing, also wouldn’t say whether Griswold was correctly decided. Justice Neil Gorsuch did the same. 

That makes five likely votes — with Chief Justice John Roberts a possible sixth — for a rollback of privacy rights in America. With that pillar of law gone, states would be free to outlaw same-sex marriage, get rid of birth control, and impose any other theocratic conditions they’d like. 

The dog that caught the car

Right now, Republicans are scrambling to undo the damage they’ve wrought, realizing that an anti-IVF stance is alienating to most. Last year, the Pew Research Center found that 42 percent of adults had used fertility treatments or knew someone who had. From 1996 to 2018, over 1 million babies were born as a result of fertility treatments. Mike Pence has spoken publicly about how he and his wife used IVF and that the procedure should be protected. 

In Alabama, Republican legislators are planning to introduce a law that would say the embryo isn’t a person until implanted in a uterus. But legislation doesn’t trump the state constitution, which means the Alabama courts could throw out any law they deem contrary to their fetal personhood interpretation of the constitution. Several Alabama fertility clinics have stopped IVF services, citing the legal risk. The state’s GOP attorney general, Steve Marshall, said he wouldn’t use the decision to prosecute IVF providers or people seeking IVF treatment, but that’s a slender reed to rely upon. What provider or patient wants to rely upon the vague assurances of the attorney general rather than a law that protects access?

And it isn’t just IVF. Elected officials in states that have banned abortion have openly mocked those people who have come forward with horror stories of being refused abortions even as they developed sepsis or faced the possibility of permanent future infertility. Doctors have no clear guidance on when they can terminate a pregnancy to save the life of the pregnant person, leaving them vulnerable to prosecution. People who currently have frozen embryos have no idea what to do with them, and nor do clinics. If the hardest-line anti-choice people get their way, access to birth control will become as spotty and politicized as access to abortion is now. 

This type of amorphous fear is a feature, not a bug, of the post-Dobbs landscape. When the entire spectrum of reproductive health is murky, and the threat of prosecution looms large, doctors won’t perform abortions or IVF treatments. Patients won’t seek abortions even as their health deteriorates to a level that could result in death. People who can get pregnant will have their lives narrowed to nearly nothing as they try to sidestep the landmines of an ever-shifting jurisprudence over their bodies. 

And that’s exactly the way conservatives want it, no matter their current feeble attempts to get out from under an IVF disaster of their own making. The GOP made common cause with the worst people in the country on this issue, and now we’re all stuck with the consequences. 

[hollandorks]

fright

battinson! bruce wayne x gn! reader

summary: in the midst of investigating a drug that kills people with their own fear, Bruce is drugged.

**not affiliated with middle of the night**

a/n: I'm back with something new, finally! I've been wanting to write this for a while, just for fun, because the battinson brain rot still hasn't gone away in over a year. Hopefully I'll be doing more oneshots from here on out! I tried to make this reader as gender neutral as possible but if I slipped up anywhere let me know so I can fix it!

word count: 7081

The abandoned subway station is cold and damp but comfortingly familiar. 

Alfred had simply waved you downstairs to get started on your work while Bruce was out on patrol. That was one thing about constantly being around a vigilante–it turned you into a night owl, the changes almost imperceptible until you can no longer fall asleep on your own before two in the morning, even in the comfort of your own apartment. Sometimes you aren’t sure if it was because you’re used to working late on your nights working with Bruce…

Or if you couldn’t fall asleep until you knew Gotham’s vigilante was home safe again after another night. 

So since you’re a night owl these days, you’ve taken to doing your work in the darkest parts of the night, comfortable with commuting after dark. Though Alfred and Bruce both insisted on you keeping a guest room in Wayne Tower when you work late, as neither of them are comfortable with you walking Gotham alone at night. Sometimes the city’s resident vigilante watches over you, but for those other times–those other times you stay in the drafty room set aside for you, one floor below Bruce’s bedroom. 

You aren’t sure you’re supposed to know where Bruce’s bedroom is, exactly. But unbeknownst to the man himself, you’ve helped Alfred twice now haul his huge frame to bed when he’d passed out from either exhaustion or severe injuries. And as it was, it never came up in conversation that you had seen his bedroom, the space just as cluttered as the subway station belowground was. 

You wouldn’t admit, either, that may or may not have snooped. His bedroom was neat, but organized in a way only his mind seemed to understand, the same as where he kept everything Batman-related. The bedroom closet was full of dark colors and clothes that were at least a decade old, and a full row of the black work boots he preferred to wear with his armor, some scuffed and torn beyond recognition, a couple of pairs almost new. 

It isn’t a secret, exactly, but you knew Bruce well enough by now to know he probably wouldn’t like that you’d seen his bedroom without permission. 

It’s his bedroom you think of now as you sit down to work at your designated desk in the abandoned station. The space was less lived in that the basement around you. Did Bruce prefer the bats for company? Or was the tower above too full of ghosts for him to face? Either way, he spends more of his time downstairs than up. There’s even a ratty secondhand couch shoved to one side where he seems to do most of his sleeping. You’ve seen him crash there more times than you could count. 

You stretch already-cold fingers and boot up the multiple computer screens that have become yours even though you only own the laptop. 

You’ve been working with him for a few months now, the connection pure chance, as most things in your life were. Your move to Gotham, your skill with computers, your meeting with a kevlar-covered vigilante. It was all chance, a force you believe in almost as much as you believe in gravity. 

It had been a beautiful night that night, which really should have been your first clue that it was all going to hell. You were taking a simple walk to clear your head after a long day at work. You’d hated the corporate job you were working at, which was, ironically enough, at Wayne Enterprises. 

That night was the first time you were acquainted with Gotham’s dark, violent underbelly. It was also the first time you met the man you’d thought was simply an urban legend–the Batman, a shadow turned savior at the moment you thought it would all be over. 

He’d disappeared as your thanks rose to your lips, swallowed up by the night before you could utter the words. 

The second time you met Batman was by chance, too. You’d gotten some information on a crime and, well, you had done the not-so-smart thing and used your computer skills to follow the lead. 

Batman had followed the same lead through different methods. 

Showing up at the same place at first led him to suspect you, but once you’d pulled out your laptop and proven how you’d gotten the information by using Gotham’s surveillance cameras to track the assholes down, he was curious. He wanted you to show him exactly how you’d done it. He’d revealed his curious mind to you that night, and that was the first piece of him you developed a crush on. 

The sharp jawline didn’t hurt, either. 

You smile to yourself as your fingers work over the keyboard to the computer in front of you. These days, he has you scouring surveillance cameras, police scanners, and internet forums for leads on cases. You also have your not-so-legal hacking skills to accomplish those things. And that’s in between the research you do on current cases. Not to mention the extra work you do behind his back to keep Batman’s identity from ever getting out–not that he needs to know that, not yet. It’s mostly deleting everything you can get your hands on that discusses his possible identity, whether it’s really far off base or a little too close to home.

It’s a lot of work, but you love it. You’d barely given it a thought when Bruce–before you’d known his identity–had asked you to help him. You’d said yes before the question had been fully finished. 

Tonight, Bruce is staking out the seedier parts of Gotham trying to track down a new drug. At least, you think it’s a new drug. Several people have turned up dead, their features marred by their own hands, with something unknown in their bloodstreams. The medical examiner said it seemed as if they had all been…frightened to death, the levels of cortisol and adrenaline in their blood sky high. 

Right now you have your computers working in the background to monitor police chatter, any hints from the dark web, and anything else you can think of to track down the source of the drug. While the program works to search for keywords and phrases on one of your three monitors, the other two screens are split between all of the ME reports and the information on each victim and real-time video feeds from every camera in the city you can get your hands on. 

Bruce doesn’t know that you’re trying to watch his back while working the case. 

You worry about him, even though he’s probably the most capable person you’ve ever met. 

The third time you’d met him he’d shown up at your apartment bleeding everywhere. He hadn’t even known he was bleeding everywhere. He’d gotten into a fight while tracking you down to get you to use your skills on another case and simply ignored his injuries in favor of keeping his goal. 

Luckily, a few days earlier you’d sliced your finger open while cooking and had some of the weird liquid bandaid stuff you’d been using. There’d been a ghost of a smile on Bruce’s face when you’d run and gotten it for him. He’d thanked you softly, and then gone back to being all-business as you worked on the gash on his arm. As you’d bandaged the cut, he told you about the case he was working, and how your computer skills would really help him out. 

He started turning up more frequently after that, asking for help on cases. Until the day he’d asked if you wanted a permanent position helping him–paid and everything. 

And now here you were, in his innermost circle, allowed to know everything about him. At least, as much of everything as he let anyone know. 

Your computer pings right as Bruce grunts over the comms. It’s another thing he might not know about, your nightly tuning in to the comms as he goes out. Not that you aren’t allowed, but it’s something you won’t admit to unless directly questioned. 

You sit up straight so fast it sends your desk chair rolling backwards. Fumbling for the edge of your desk to pull yourself forward, you frantically click through tabs to figure out where the alert was coming from. 

A connection. 

Your breath leaves in a rush as you scan the information. 

Then you’re scrambling back for the comms, flipping the mic on, and trying to string a coherent sentence together.

“I found a lead,” you finally manage. It sounds like he’s in the middle of a fight. Oops. You push on, knowing he can hear you even if he can’t respond. “They were all patients at Arkham Asylum at some point. And they all were treated by the same doctor, Jonathan Crane.” 

Bruce starts cursing. There’s a strange hissing noise over the comms. You lightly shake the computer, trying to figure out the source of the static. 

“I know,” he finally says. The hissing has stopped, but now there’s a new noise. A familiar noise. The sound of his motorcycle revving to life. 

“Wh–how?” you say, unsure how he found out before you did. 

There’s more cursing and the sound of the bike speeding up. 

“I’m–shit.” He coughs. “I’m on my way back. Tell Alfred to–” His breath stutters for a moment. “I don’t–” 

“Please tell me you haven’t been stabbed to death,” you say with more bravado than you feel. With one hand, you text Alfred to come downstairs with the first aid kit. 

But the comms have gone silent. Bruce is breathing heavily, the only way you know he’s still there.

“Where were you hit?” you ask. “What street? How bad is it?” 

No answer. Bruce makes a noise that raises every hair on your body. 

It sounds like he’s…afraid.

You scramble to pull up every feed you have and find out where he’s been so you could see what happened. 

In all your months knowing him, you’ve never heard Bruce make such a noise. You’ve never heard him afraid like that. Something about it raises every hair on the back of your neck. 

You search camera after camera on the streets of Gotham, looking for any sign of Bruce at the moment he said he was on his way back. You curse quietly to yourself, the sound of Bruce’s motorcycle engine through the comms filling the echoing space around you. 

Then–there. Grainy as all get out and the only angle is available from a building across the street. But it’s him–there’s no denying the hulking shadow that is the Batman. He’s helping someone, a woman who appears to be screaming though the video has no audio attached. She thrashes and hits at Bruce, seemingly hysterical. 

Then she goes utterly still. You realize that it was about this time where you flipped the comms on to listen. 

Someone steps out of the shadows of the alley in front of them and there’s a sudden small cloud of fog. 

Bruce darts away, hopping on his motorcycle as the figure moves fully into the light. He–because you can see now that it’s a man–looks down at the woman dead on the sidewalk. Then his face tilts upward and you see why Bruce said, I know. 

It was the doctor himself, the one who’d been treating all of the dead patients. 

Jonathan Crane. 

Even with the shitty quality, his face is a clear match for the identification photo linked to Arkham. 

You immediately save images of the video for Gordon to see. Here’s the proof you need–this and the Batman’s testimony of an attack surely are enough to at least get Crane investigated properly. 

Hopefully. 

The small printer starts to spit out the pictures as the roar of a familiar engine abruptly cuts off in the tunnels outside of the station. 

You straighten. 

“Bruce?” you call out uncertainly. Normally he comes tearing in, hopping the motorcycle up on the ramp to be worked on and showing off a bit as he does it, or parking haphazardly near his work tables so he can get straight back to work. In the months you’d known him, he’d never stopped outside of the station for any reason. 

Your heart is somewhere near your feet as you tentatively step forward. 

“Bruce?” you say again, this time much quieter. 

You’re suddenly yanked backwards off your feet as a gloved hand presses against your mouth. You squirm, panicked, trying to get away. You lament all the times you refused Bruce’s self defense lessons.

“Shh, be quiet,” a familiar voice says. 

You relax all at once. 

It’s Bruce. 

Even through his armor, you can feel his heart pounding rapidly. His breath comes in sharp gasps that he struggles to keep quiet. 

He lets you turn in his arms. His eyes are wild, panicked. 

“Where are you hurt?” you murmur quietly. Your eyes track over every inch of him. There’s no blood that you can see, but he’s still in his all-black armor and you’re both tucked in the shadows near the hangar door that opens into the tunnels. You probably wouldn’t be able to see the blood if there was any. 

Bruce is still panting like he’s been running. “They’re coming,” he whispers. You frown. You already checked all the cameras from his route home and the security cameras in the tunnel. He came in alone. 

There’s a quiet noise somewhere in the distance, probably just a bat going to bed for the day, but Bruce yanks you close against his chest and whirls with one fist raised. 

Now you’re afraid, too. Has someone followed him all this way and you missed it somehow? Has someone found his inner sanctum? Are you both in danger? 

Another noise startles you both. 

The elevator descending. 

Bruce’s eyes are wild beneath his mask. 

“It’s Alfred,” you whisper, but Bruce seems not to hear you. 

“I’m not letting you out of my sight,” he murmurs into your ear, dragging you along with him into the recessed shadows by the elevator. You stumble along, still tucked against his side, the feeling of his breath on your ear lingering and making you shiver. Even though you’re afraid, you feel safe. “We’ll get you help, I promise.” You’re not sure what you need help with, but you remain quiet. 

Bruce has always protected you, whether he knows it or not. 

He physically protects you, sure, watching your back as the Batman, keeping you safe in a city as turbulent as Gotham. But Bruce also has always looked out for your mental health, too. 

There have always been nights where things are just…bleak, whether or not for any particular reason. You withdraw into yourself during those times, much like Bruce himself does. Somehow he always, always knows how to draw you back out. Sometimes it’s a quiet joke, sometimes a request to help him with something, sometimes it’s only his quiet company as he sits and works next to you. 

So even now, as you fear every moving shadow, every noise, thinking someone might be coming after you…

Even now, you know you’ll be safe and protected with Bruce. 

It’s part of why you love him. 

Not that he’d ever know that. 

“Stay put,” Bruce says into your ear, making you shiver all over again. 

He pushes gently on your shoulders in a stay put motion and steps away on silent feet. Even now his grace surprises you, even after months of watching him, being around him. He is a wonder to behold, a massive shadow that becomes weightless in a single breath. It’s like he becomes incorporeal at will, turning into shadow and smoke before he strikes. 

The elevator gates rattle open and Bruce leaps. 

Alfred is on the ground, first aid kit scattering to all corners of the station with a clatter, in barely a blink.

“Bruce!” you half-shout, the instinct automatic. Your voice overlaps with Alfred’s, the echoes sending the bats into a frenzy overhead. 

Bruce goes utterly still, one fist raised like he’s going to hit Alfred. Alfred of all people. He flinches at the bats but his focus is on Alfred. 

Alfred is as calm as ever despite the figure looming threateningly over him. 

“Are you alright?” he asks. “Are you hurt?” 

“Alfred,” Bruce chokes out and the sound is agonized. He seems paralyzed. “I’m sorry, I was too slow–” 

The three of you don’t move. 

You approach slowly. “Bruce?” you say softly, like he’s a wild animal backed into a corner. Because that’s what he looks like–wild, feral, and most of all, scared. You think of the ME reports and have to bite your lip to distract yourself from the fear that brings. 

“You have to–you have to tie me up,” Bruce says, his arm trembling like he’s holding himself back. “He dosed me with–whatever it is.” His eyes dart around the space. 

You straighten as if shocked. “Dr. Crane did?” 

“Yes, he–” Bruce flinches and then refocuses on Alfred, still beneath him and as calm as ever as if it were an everyday experience. “Oh God. No, no, no. No. I’m sorry.” 

Then Bruce does something even more shocking. 

He sobs.

You startle as if a gunshot has gone off. 

You’ve never heard Bruce cry. You’ve never even really seen him sad. Angry, sure. And frustrated. Those seem to be his two main moods, other than generally quiet. The happiness is rare, but you’ve seen that too. 

But you’ve never, ever heard him cry. 

“Bruce?” you say again, uncertain. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he groans. “I couldn’t save you, I’m sorry.” He scrambles away from Alfred. His eyes are still wild, darting every which way, his expression frantic under the mask. 

Your brain works quickly through all the evidence you’ve been digging into. 

“It’s making him afraid,” you tell Alfred as the older man gets unsteadily to his feet. Bruce whirls and throws a punch, but there’s nothing there. “Whatever he was dosed with, it’s making him afraid.” 

What you don’t tell Alfred is that this drug most likely scared the other victims to death. 

Your heart pounds with enough fear that you wonder briefly if you’ve been dosed too. 

“If he’s like this, he won’t react well to being tied up,” Alfred says, but he starts moving efficiently, pulling zip ties from Bruce’s belt as he fights invisible foes. 

In one swift movement, Alfred grabs Bruce’s wrist, kicks him in the back of one knee, and grabs the other wrist. 

You gape as he tightens Bruce’s hands behind his back even as he thrashes. 

“No!” Bruce shouts. “Let me go! I have to get there before it’s too late! No!” 

“How did you–?” You stare at Alfred with your mouth open slightly. Alfred is a man of many hidden talents, apparently. 

“We need to get him more secure,” Alfred says, still calm as ever. And maybe, with as long as he’s been around Bruce, this sort of thing is normal. You’ve only been around a few months–Alfred’s been around since the beginning. You wonder just how many times Bruce has gotten himself into messes like this. 

Alfred grunts as Bruce tries to get away. Apparently, Alfred’s strong, even with an old leg injury. You hold the man in high esteem but it just gets higher as you watch him. 

“Tell me what to do,” you say as you straighten your spine. Bruce needs you, and that’s all that matters. You need him to make it through the night–that’s your focus right now. 

“See if you can calm him down long enough for us to get him upstairs. His bed should be sturdy enough for us to tie him to.” Alfred grunts and manages to shove Bruce back to his knees as he rises. 

You quickly kneel in front of Bruce and take his face in your hands. “Bruce? It’s me. It’s okay. Alfred and I are okay.” 

Bruce’s eyes roll around without focus. His breathing is even worse now, each breath rasping out of his chest, his whole body heaving with it. 

You try to push the memory of the crime scene photos out of your mind. Bodies twisted with fear. People who were dosed with whatever this was who died scared out of their minds. 

You’re terrified for Bruce, but you push it away. 

“Bruce, please,” you say, softer now, fingers pressed tightly against his cheeks. You can feel the slight scrape of stubble on your palms. 

Bruce’s brilliant blue eyes finally meet yours. “No,” he says and the desperate word is like a bullet to your heart. His whole body strains towards you. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Please don’t die.” 

“Bruce, I’m okay,” you say. Your hands fumble before gripping the mask and pulling it off. Bruce cringes away. “I’m okay, I’m not dying.” Your fingers card through his hair. Damp with sweat, it sticks up with the movement. Bruce leans into the touch, and his breathing seems to ease slightly. 

“Y/n,” he mumbles. His eyes close for a second. 

“Bruce, let’s get you upstairs,” Alfred says in a low voice. 

Somehow, the pair of you get him up, hands still tied behind his back, and into the elevator. Bruce keeps repeating his apologies, every sound from his lips pained and terrified. 

“Alfred we need to–to get the drug out of his system somehow, if we can. I don’t know what else to do.” You whisper the words because you’re worried about setting Bruce off even further. You hold tight to his armored elbow. 

“I can get an IV started once we get him settled, that might work.” Alfred furrows his brow. “Y/n…how bad is this drug? What have you found in your research?” 

You hesitate, staring up at Bruce for a moment. His arms jerk in their restraints, but there’s nowhere for him to go in the small space of the elevator. “I don’t know how many people were dosed with it and survived,” you finally admit. 

Alfred goes still and stares at you while absently wrangling Bruce back into the corner. “How many died?” 

“I don’t know. Five, I think. Three for sure. Bruce watched a woman die from it right before he got hit in the face with it.” You chew your lip. Your eyes fill with tears as you meet Bruce’s anguished blue eyes.

“Then we will do everything in our power to keep him alive,” Alfred swears. “After he’s secured, I’ll get the IV started first and then we’ll make sure to monitor his vitals. If it gets too bad…” 

“He won’t be happy if he has to go to the hospital,” you say, but part of you wants to insist that you take him anyway. 

“No!” Bruce shouts as the elevators open. 

You don’t know what he’s responding to, but suddenly he’s frantic again, whatever slight semblance of calm he had in the elevator abruptly gone. He aims a kick at the wall and somehow leverages his bound hands in front of him. 

Alfred curses and shoves Bruce against the same wall. He braces the younger man with his whole body but his bad leg trembles. 

“Go get the medical bag!” Alfred says. “We need to sedate him.” 

You pause. “But what if something reacts with the drug?” 

Alfred curses again. “There’s nothing else to do. We’ll give him as low a dose as we can and keep an eye on him. Go!” 

So you run. Your feet slip over dusty hardwood floors as you scramble as fast as you can for Alfred’s medical bag. The bag is full of everything Alfred might need in a Batman-related emergency in case Bruce couldn’t make it home or even upstairs. The first aid kit is for general injuries–this bag is for when things go to hell. 

It feels as if hours have passed in the short amount of time it took to grab the bag. When you reach the elevator again, Alfred and Bruce are gone. You can hear them in Bruce’s bedroom now and hurry towards them. 

“Get his other arm!” Alfred says as he handcuffs one of Bruce’s hands to his massive wood headboard. 

You scramble up on the bed and over Bruce to do as Alfred says. 

“Let me tie you up, Bruce,” you say gently even though you aren’t sure he can hear you. “Please,” you say as he fights your grip. He’s so much bigger and stronger than you, it’s nearly impossible to even get the handcuffs on his wrist, let alone connected to the other side of the headboard. 

“Alfred,” you say around a grunt. You’re fully straddling Bruce now but he doesn’t even seem to notice. He’s seeing things that aren’t there. It sounds like he’s having an asthma attack, he’s breathing so hard and wheezing so much. God, what if he stops breathing and passes out from his panic?

It takes several more minutes of you and Alfred both yanking on Bruce’s arm–because damn is he strong–before he’s finally, finally secured against the headboard. 

You immediately start taking off the armor on his arms as Alfred preps the IV. You sit on Bruce’s legs to stop his incessant kicking, murmuring soothing words to him the whole time. You and Alfred will both be covered in bruises tomorrow, but you don’t even notice any pain at the moment. 

Bruce freaks out when Alfred sticks the needle in his arm. He shouts wordlessly and thrashes so hard the bed moves away from the wall. You curse under your breath and get off of him. 

“Hold this arm as best you can,” Alfred says. 

“Who knew he could cause so much damage while handcuffed?” The joke comes out wobbly, though, your worry seeping through your words. Even leaning all of your body weight on Bruce, he still makes it nearly impossible for Alfred to get the IV in.

You both breathe a sigh of relief when it finally goes in. Alfred works quickly and efficiently, still the perfect picture of calm even though he must be freaking out as much as you are–if not more. 

After another minute, Bruce relaxes marginally. He stops trying to escape and settles back into the pillows, still awake and staring with wild eyes around the room. Every so often he jerks one of his restraints, as if testing them.

You blow out another breath. 

“I’m going to monitor his pulse and blood pressure,” Alfred says as he pulls the necessary things out of the giant medical bag. “We’ll have to keep an eye on him until the drug passes through his system.” 

You nod, staring down at Bruce, feeling utterly helpless. How are you supposed to fight someone’s own mind? There’s nothing you can do that isn’t being done already–and there’s still no guarantee Bruce will survive.

As quick as it comes, you shut the thought down. Bruce will make it through this, even if it kills you. 

You finish undoing his chest plates and set them to the side. You brush Bruce’s hair back from his face. 

“You’ll be okay,” you say solemnly. “You’re too stubborn to die, and Alfred and I are too stubborn to let you.” When you look up, Alfred is frowning at the blood pressure machine and the pulse oximeter on Bruce's finger. “What?” 

“Talk to him again,” is all he says. 

You raise an eyebrow but turn back to Bruce. “Who knew Alfred was so strong, huh?” you say, aiming for lightness, but the words seem to fall short. 

You reach out and smooth his wild, dark hair. 

Alfred’s eyes crinkled in a smile. “I think you calm him down, my dear.” 

It’s your turn to frown. “What do you mean?”

“Whenever you talk or touch him, his pulse drops a little and his breathing gets easier.” Alfred gives you a knowing look. 

Alfred’s the only one who knows about your crush on Bruce. He’s told you, repeatedly, to admit your feelings, but you’re too scared. Bruce is so far out of your league it’s laughable. Just because he trusts you enough with his secret doesn’t mean he feels the same way you do. Bruce has so few friends–his only two are, in fact, you and Alfred–that you know he opened up simply because he could. Bruce needed a friend, a confidant, a partner. You were able to give him that. That’s all. 

You stare at Alfred then, resigned, climb up over Bruce to sit by his head. 

“How about a scalp massage?” you ask Bruce. “Because apparently it makes you feel calmer.” 

Alfred chuckles. “His mother used to do that. Rub his head to get him to sleep or to get him to calm down when he was upset.” The older man softens as he stares down at Bruce. 

Something inside you melts. You reach a slightly trembling hand out and run it over Bruce’s head. You feel for a moment like you’re taking advantage of him. You never get to touch him like this, to simply watch him, and you relish it. 

“Here,” Alfred says, handing out a small package. “For the black around his eyes.” 

You take a wipe with your free hand and gently rub at the makeup on Bruce’s face. Both of his arms jerk against the restraints at that first touch. He starts panting hard again. 

“The blood–” he says with a pained moan. “The blood–” 

“There’s no blood, Bruce,” you say. Each touch is careful, gentle. “Everyone’s alright.” 

But he keeps yanking at the restraints. His wrists underneath his long sleeve shirt are turning redder and redder with each movement. 

“I couldn’t save them,” Bruce says around a small sob. He stares at you but you don’t think he actually can see you. “It’s my fault. I couldn’t save them.” 

“Save who?” you ask with one final swipe of the wipe over his eyes. 

“My parents. Alfred.” A tear slips over his cheek. “You.” 

“Alfred and I are alive, Bruce,” you say as you sit back on your heels on the bed. You carefully reach over and tug each of his sleeves over his wrist underneath the handcuffs. 

But Bruce doesn’t hear. “Stop!” he shouts at an unseen foe. “Don’t hurt them!” 

His sleeves have ridden up again, exposing his wrists to the handcuffs. You can see a small bit of blood on the wrist closest to you. 

Alfred hands out a bandage. “This should help.” 

You each bandage a wrist even as Bruce continues struggling. His pleas fade to pained noises that rip your heart out each time. 

“We should give him more of the sedative,” Alfred says. He rubs a hand over his face tiredly. “Where are the autopsy records? Maybe I can find out what this drug contains and see if there’s anything we can safely give him.” 

“They’re all at my workstation downstairs.” 

“I’ll be right back,” Alfred says. He hurries off, his limp even more pronounced now. 

Bruce continues straining against the handcuffs. His face is red with effort, his chest still heaving, the veins on his neck sticking out. He brings his knees up and leverages himself so his back smashes against the headboard. It creaks and groans. 

Whatever Alfred gave him must not have been enough. He’s just as frantic as he was before. Except now he’s trying to break his wrists and the headboard at the same time. 

“Stop that,” you say calmly even as your heart pounds. You wouldn’t put it past Bruce to snap the entire thing trying to get free. You run your fingers through his hair again. He immediately settles somewhat, his tugs on the handcuffs slightly easier. 

You decide to use both hands and give him the promised scalp massage. The longer your fingers work through the tangles, the more he seems to relax. You glance at the small device on his finger. His heart rate is still too high, but it lowers slightly at your prolonged touch. It’ll have to be good enough, you decide. Anything to keep his heart from giving out. 

When you look back up, Bruce is staring into your eyes. 

“I thought–I couldn’t be afraid anymore,” he says quietly. He seems more lucid now. Maybe the dose wasn’t that strong. You silently pray to all the gods and entities that might listen that it’ll be over soon. “But seeing you die–” His breath catches in his chest. “I couldn’t save you.” 

“I’m here,” you say. You wish you could take his fear and pain away, but there’s nothing else you can do. “I didn’t die.” 

Bruce makes a noise in his throat that you can’t comprehend. “It’s my–worst nightmare.” His eyes close. He grimaces. 

You keep trying to sooth him with your fingers in his hair. “You’re hallucinating, Bruce,” you say. “I don’t know if you’re able to tell what’s real right now, but all the bad things? Those are hallucinations.” 

“You’re real,” he murmurs softly. His body is a lot more relaxed. 

“Yes,” you say. “I’m here. I’m real.” 

Alfred bursts back into the room, laptop tucked under his arms. “I think we can give him more.” 

“Are you sure it’s safe?” 

“No, but if this doesn’t work…He’ll need an ambulance.” 

“He seems a lot calmer,” you say. Bruce’s eyes are still closed but he hums. “I don’t think the dose was very strong. He probably took the guy by surprise.” 

Alfred injects something into the IV, and Bruce’s body goes slack after a few moments. Alfred checks his pulse and blood pressure for several quiet moments, watching each of them improve slightly minute by minute. 

“That should do it,” Alfred says. He brushes a hand over his salt and pepper beard. “You can go on to bed, my dear.” 

“No, I’ll–I’ll stay, keep an eye on him. You go.” You expect him to argue, but Alfred nods and leaves you alone with Bruce. 

Now that things are calm, all of your fear and adrenaline start to fade. Bruce isn’t completely out of the woods yet, but he’ll make it. You think.

You think back to the surveillance video you saw. Dr. Crane was likely experimenting on the woman who died when Bruce showed up–and used whatever drug he had leftover on him. So it was likely it hadn’t been a full dose, especially with the way he seemed to calm down some. 

It was lucky. Extremely lucky. You think about the way the force of chance, of luck, has worked in your life so far, and can’t discount this instance either. 

When Bruce wakes up, you’ll give him all of the evidence he needs to get Dr. Crane arrested. You’d call Gordon now, but it’s so late it’s early. It can all wait until you know for sure Bruce is going to be alright. 

Exhausted, you lean back against the pillows next to Bruce. You glance around and can’t help but laugh at the situation. Here you are, in the place you most want to be–in Bruce’s bed–in the least romantic way possible. You don’t even have permission to be here. Bruce will probably ask you to leave once he’s in his right mind again. 

You turn your head to watch Bruce sleep, your own eyes heavy. You want to undo the handcuffs, but you’re afraid he’ll wake up in a panic again. Better to leave them on just in case. 

Without meaning to, your breathing syncs with his. You watch his chest rise and fall and try to let the motion comfort you. You glance at the little device on his finger again and feel even better when you see that his heart rate has calmed significantly. It’s still a bit high, but it isn’t in dangerous territory anymore. 

You always knew being Batman was dangerous. You’ve seen him come back injured a thousand times. A couple of times he was half-dead. But something about this was worse. Maybe because it isn’t an actual injury–it’s his own mind fighting him. His worst nightmares come to life. Bruce is the strongest person you know and seeing him brought low is like…a physical blow. It was terrifying. Bruce had always seemed so…untouchable. Like a man who was never afraid. 

His fear is the most terrifying thing you’ve ever witnessed. 

Your eyes slip closed as you watch him breathe. His bed is startlingly comfortable. You half-expected Bruce with his martyr complex to sleep on a brick. But this bed…this bed is definitely the kind of bed a billionaire would own.

You wake with a jolt sometime later. 

Bruce is watching you. His breath catches and he lets out a long sigh. He closes his eyes and seems to gather himself. 

When his eyes open again a second later, they’re wet. 

“I thought you were dead.” His voice is rougher and lower than usual, like he’s been screaming. The sound of it scrapes over your skin like sandpaper. 

“I’m not,” you say, still struggling to shake off the cobwebs of sleep. The room is dim. You were pretty sure the lamps had both been on but now only one is lit–and you have a blanket over you now too. Alfred must have come in at some point. 

“I know, but–” He takes another deep breath. The handcuffs rattle as he shifts. “For a moment, I didn’t know if it was real.” 

“What did you see?” you ask slowly. You see the handcuff key sitting on the nightstand closest to you and grab it. 

Bruce shies away from you. “Don’t unlock me yet. I don’t–I don’t want to hurt you.” 

“Bruce,” you say. You soften towards him. He’s scared again, but it’s different. You don’t know if it’s a leftover effect of the drug or if it's his propensity for self-flagellation, but he’s afraid of hurting you. “You won’t hurt me. You didn’t even hurt me when you were drugged. You protected me. Granted, it was from nothing, but…” You flash him a smile. He doesn’t return it. “Have you been awake long?” 

He ignores the joke and the question, eyes staring into the middle distance. “I saw…every variation possible of the people I love dying,” he finally says as you unlock the wrist closest to you. He groans quietly as he stretches the arm out. He must be in a lot of pain from having his arms lifted for so long, but he says nothing. “I saw myself killing you. Or I saw someone else hurting you because of me, to get to me. You kept getting hurt and I was always too late to stop it.” He’s breathing hard again. 

You can feel his breath on your face as you lean over him to unlock the other handcuff. 

He catches your wrist and keeps you close, staring up at you. His lashes are long and dark, his blue eyes bright as stars. He’s so beautiful it takes your breath away, even in his disheveled state. You still aren’t used to the sight of him. 

“Y/n, do you hear what I’m saying?” he says, voice almost anguished. 

And your brain finally catches up. 

I saw…every variation possible of the people I love dying. I saw myself killing you. Or someone else hurting you because of me, to get to me. 

You suddenly can’t breathe. People I love. 

“Bruce–” All the other words get caught behind his name. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, and yet again you aren’t sure what he’s sorry for. “But seeing all of that–I couldn’t stand the thought of something happening to you without knowing…all of it. The way I feel about you. How badly I–” He shakes his head and presses his lips together. 

You want to pinch yourself. You’re still asleep, right? There’s no way in any universe that Bruce Wayne feels for you like you do for him. 

But he’s including you in the list of people he loves.

You’ve been silent for too long, still hovering over Bruce. His eyes shift away, a wall coming down behind them as he shuts himself off. 

“I just…wanted you to know. That’s all. I won’t mention it again.” There’s a slight pink tint to his cheeks. “It’s okay if you don’t…feel that way about me.” 

“Bruce,” you say again, softer this time. You sit back a little. “I–I’m sorry.” He deflates a little, rubbing one wrist absently. He still isn’t looking at you. “I’m not really good with words, but I want you to know I feel the same way about you.” His gaze snaps to yours. You can feel heat creeping up your neck to settle in your cheeks. “I was so scared last night. I thought–all the other victims we knew about had died and–I couldn’t handle it if you died, too. You are…so important to me.” Your voice catches slightly. 

He reaches for you, calloused hands soft as the touch of a butterfly wing against your cheek. 

“Please tell me this isn’t the drug,” he says after a long moment. 

You grin. “It isn’t. It makes you scared, remember? Are you scared now?” 

He smiles back. The sight of it steals your breath. “I’m terrified.” But his smile only grows wider.

You lean down, very slightly, going slowly so he has time to change his mind. Because it still doesn’t feel real, doesn’t feel possible.

But Bruce stretches his neck up and closes the gap between you. His lips brush yours and you feel a relief so complete you want to melt into the bed. His other hand comes up to join the first and he cradles your face like you’re something valuable, something breakable, something to be cherished. 

As his lips move against yours, your entire body seems to say, Ah, I’ve been waiting for this. 

His mouth parts slightly, an invitation that you quickly take. His hands are still careful against your face, but one of yours fists around his shirt. 

When you pull away, you smile at each other. 

“As much as I want to stay here like this,” you murmur with another kiss pressed quickly to his mouth, “I think we should get Gordon to arrest Dr. Crane as soon as possible.” 

Bruce sighs but nods. “You’re right.” 

“I usually am.” 

He laughs. “And maybe after that’s done with…we can talk more.” 

You can’t help but kiss him again. “Of course. We can talk and kiss.” 

Needless to say, it takes a long time for you and Bruce to get up to contact Gordon. 

#battinson x reader #battinson x you #bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne x you #batman x reader #batman x you #the batman #the batman 2022 #the batman x reader #the batma fanfic #fright #fright fic #bruce wayne #battinson

[rongzhi]

hi, i apologize if this is weird for me to ask, but do you have any resources that could help a foreigner with naming chinese original characters? im a white american who's writing a story that has southern chinese characters, and i want to make sure im properly naming my characters and not giving them nonsensical names. any criticism and advice is appreciated. thank you ♡

hmm with regards to naming Chinese OCs, I think if you are going into it with very little experience with Chinese names, it's best to first take a look at popular names based on year and gender, and then go from there.

Assuming your characters are Han Chinese/have Han Chinese names, check out these articles about naming trends:

What can we tell from the evolution of Han Chinese names?

Most Popular Chinese Names (trends in 2023 and across the decades)

Looking at appropriate names by generation is a good starting point just so you don't end up picking a name that sounds like the Chinese equivalent of naming a zoomer "Agatha" or "Gertrude" or something like that. This is a good method of quickly naming minor characters.

Beyond that, a lot can honestly be explained away by character back story/the intentions of the parents (although note: Chinese people are never named directly after senior relatives, as this is taboo). One thing to consider is that, sure, some people are just named after pretty words or whatever, but there can also be significant qualities/traits that give meaning to a name. So don't be afraid to choose characters that describe invisible/intangible qualities, because if it's just fluff, that can sound ridiculous too (my mom still laughs at all the ugly flower name suggestions my nainai came up with for me and my sibling, for example).

As the articles mention, some names have more feminine or masculine implications than others, but in general, Chinese names are gender neutral. If a girl has a more 'masculine' name, one could easily assume it's because the parents wanted to imbue her with certain traits. This is why it's worthwhile to consider which characters make up the names you choose, even if you never have anyone mention it.

Another thing I'd say is, while not a rule of thumb, I tend to give less important characters in stories monosyllabic names. No need to break out the Ruijie or Bairuo or whatever for a throwaway character.

If your characters are from southern China somewhere, then another thing to consider if how they are nicknamed; southerners more often give people nicknames like Ah-[syllable from given name], so this would be a clearer indicator to the reader as to where they are (similarly, how they address family members may offer these clues as well). For region specific names, you should also look to surnames based on regional prevalence, as certain names are more common in some provinces due to migration patterns as well as sinicization of non Han surnames throughout history.

Chinese Surnames wikipedia

Hundred Family Surnames wikipedia

Tangential but interesting article about the history of Chinese family names

Hopefully that helps a bit or maybe it's just treading over things you already know. If worst comes to worst, just ask someone you trust what they think about the names you've come up with.

#text #answered ask #long post #language ask

[little-miss-dilf-lover]

please can I request soft/ fluff HCs with Peter quill? it’s sinful how little fics there are of him, so had to ask you :) 💕 preferably female but GN is fine too

hii! omg yess that’s so true, there is literally no fics of him! I have searched for so long to find some quill fics but often come up empty, so if anyone has recs, please please send them my way (I need them and him) ive never wrote for quill so hope these are accurate. thank you for requesting, hope you like it💌

headcanons/ imagines

peter quill x f reader

warnings || none

a/n || I may have done this first, sorry to all the others in my inbox, this was something fun to do and hopefully it might kick me into writing again

masterlist + rules

taglist

- it’s a given, but you guys talk about music ALL the time, it’s definitely a very important part of your relationship. maybe you share new songs with him from different decades, but you definitely prefer his music and he loves that you love his music

- he has an abundance of funky, fun and cool graphic tees, he loves to share them with you and probably prefers them on you

- he definitely fell first

- he loves to make you laugh, constantly cracking jokes. doesn’t even need to try and you’d just be laughing or smiling at him. his favourite laughs of yours are when you snort or cackle at his unintentional jokes

- it makes him feel special that you pay attention to the little things he says and when you react earnestly to them

- even though he LOVES the other guardians, he definitely prefers one on one time with you and loves to have you all to himself. he also loves your attention, and he definitely craves time with you

- he has major abandonment issues, so he doesn’t like you leaving his side. you’d be like his lucky rock, or a special penny that he always needs near. you are incredibly special to quill and he is often terrified that he’ll lose you too

- he craves validation, especially from you

- he is a lot smarter than he gives himself credit for. he’s definitely learnt tonnes from rocket over the years

- if he ever has to do a mission separately from you (would take a lot of persuasion and reassurance first) but he always brings back some special for you, something tailored and important to you, something that holds significance

- he’s incredibly sentimental, again not always showing it. he feels safe with the other guardians, but even more so with you. he doesn’t often like talking about his mother (he finds it too difficult) it took a lot of time, but he eventually shared that part of his life with you, and he was glad he did because your reaction was exactly what he needed

- an amazing hugger, he’s super comforting and safe. he has a very homely vibe and instantly makes you feel at ease

- you two have a very fun and easygoing relationship, it’s light and airy, but serious and passionate when it needs to be. a very sincere and genuine dynamic

- he taught you how to speak groot, he’s a great teacher but it took some getting used to

- he likes when you sit on his lap when he steers the ship, even though it’s not technically safe, he loves having you near when he is in the captain's seat (or just on his lap in the seat in general)

- but if need be, your seat is behind him, so it’s not too far away

- he loves teaching you things, he wanted to be the one to teach you about the ship and its buttons and controls

- I had this idea: that you take him to earth (he might not be too fond of the idea at first) but you surprise him with concert tickets so you both could see a band he loves. he’d never stop talking about it, and he’d keep the ticket stubs pinned up so he could look at them all the time

- he would do ANYTHING for you, he goes love blind (may have gotten himself hurt a couple of times to protect you)

- you both invented a special code/ encryption so you can talk to each other over comms. if he is on the other side of the ship (maybe tinkering) he’ll send you a secret message to let you know he’s thinking of you

- you guys don’t really argue (that’s not a bad thing either) if you have a disagreement it’s usually very light, and unserious, he’d probably accidentally make you laugh during it and then everything goes back to normal

- but if you ever do get into an argument, he can be quite stubborn

- he is a man-child (but the best kind!!) he can be immature and cocky but he’s always lighthearted. he’s just a fun-loving goof

- he loves when you call him starlord (but you don’t say it too often, so it doesn’t lose its meaning)

- you helped him process his grief, especially after yondu. once he felt comfortable talking about him again, he’d tell you all of these stories about him growing up

- he no longer drinks to forget, he now prefers a social drink after a mission with the crew instead. he doesn’t feel the need to drink himself silly now that he has you

- the guardians think you’re a great addition to the team and love that you make quill so happy

- you and peter share stories of earth with the others, sometimes you’d bend the truth and say wacky absurd things to joke around with them, but that being said it often flies over their heads, especially drax and mantis

- you two are definitely best friends as well as a couple, the perfect balance of friendship and romance, which is what makes the connection so special

#peter quill #peter quill x reader #peter quill x you #peter quill x female reader #peter quill x fem!reader #peter quill x gn reader #peter quill headcanon #peter quill fanfic #star lord #guardians of the galaxy #starlord x reader #starlord x you #marvel fan fiction #marvel #mcu fanfiction

[pedroshotwifey]

Joel Fucking Miller

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader (Can be pictured as either HBO or Video Game version)

Word Count: 8.1k

Tags/Warnings: NO use of Y/N, Smut with a lil garnish of angst, kinda mean Joel, Borderline Dark!Joel, but consent is given at a point, one singular spank, rough piv sex, exhibition kink, slight humiliation/degradation, possessive behavior, enemies to lovers-ish?, reader is a menace but we love her, spit kink, anal play, this is pure filth and I'm not sorry

Summary: You and Joel Miller have been sworn enemies from the very start, both of you at each other’s other's throats since the first glance. What he can't know is that you have been harboring a stubborn crush on him this whole time---It’s not until he has you up against a wall that you realize he feels the same way.

A/N: Now that I have all of my one-shots posted, I'm going to start posting my ongoing stories as well as some new works. I'm almost finished with the Frankie Sex Pollen fic so that will be posted sometime this week. I will also be working on creating both a masterlist and a recommendation list, so hopefully that should be done soon too. Thanks for reading!

***

Today has been a shitty fucking day—no pun intended. 

Not to say every day isn’t shitty here in the QZ, but this one really takes the cake. To start your fabulous day, you woke up an hour late, making you one of the last people in line to pick up jobs. When you got to the assigning station, you found that you had been left with two options for the week: janitorial service at one of the mess halls, and sewer duty—where you literally have to shovel shit. The only card left for the mess hall was an all-day shift. You took them both.

That's why you find yourself here now, below the city, finishing up sewer duty, covered head to toe in stench and sweat even though it’s the middle of winter. You’re pretty sure you are the last one down here; it’s been a while since you saw or heard anyone else. You aren’t surprised. You’re used to being the only one who cares enough to actually finish whatever job you were tasked with that day, no matter how repulsive it may be. 

You don't take pride in much, but you are willing to admit that you admire that quality about yourself. You are a damn hard worker and you aren’t afraid to show it. You have no idea where it stems from, maybe your stubbornness, or possibly your inner perfectionist. Whatever it is, you find yourself often wishing that more people would have the same mindset. God knows it would make your life easier at the very least. In the time you have spent in the Boston QZ, you have only had the pleasure—or maybe you should say displeasure—of meeting one other like-minded person. 

You became acquainted with Joel Miller within the first day of being in the QZ, which was about three years ago now. The first glance you got of him was as you were being hauled through the gates, lucky enough to have not been shot on the spot when a couple of FEDRA officers caught you hiding out in the woods. Your eyes met his before they met anyone else's, and he’d held your gaze, his expression anything but welcome, as if he were trying to evaluate you with one look. 

By the looks of it, he had to be at least a couple of decades older than you, but that didn’t stop the heat that started to simmer between your legs at the first glance you got of him. When his eyes didn't leave yours, you took it as a challenge and forced yourself to keep your gaze on him until he was completely out of sight. You knew what you were doing, and so did he, both of you deciding on the spot that you would be enemies until one of you either died or left. 

Sure, you knew that it probably wasn't the best idea to piss people off before you made any allies, but you couldn’t find it in you to care. From the first second you saw that man, you knew that one way or the other—one of them being a heated feeling you chose to ignore—he would be trouble. As per usual, you were right. If you didn't know any better, you would have said that he was dead-set on following you around, bumping into you at almost every job you took. At first, you had been convinced that he had been doing just that.

 The first couple of times it happened you considered it some stupid coincidence, some twisted kind of unluckiness. Granted, it wasn't every time, but it was more often than not, and that was more than enough for you. By the fifth or sixth time out of ten, you waited until the very end of the shift, until it was only Joel and yourself left working. You kept a close eye on him, and as soon as he started wrapping up, you cornered him. That had been the first time that you had ever actually spoken to each other instead of tossing nasty glances back and forth. 

You had immediately gone to work with your rushed interrogation, demanding him to tell you why he was following you, to tell you what his problem was. The most frustrating part of the whole ordeal was the way he had sat back, leaning on one leg with his arms crossed, his expression bored as he waited for you to finish. He said nothing until he was positive that you had nothing more to say. 

“I ain't followin’ you, kid,'' he had said, his voice deep and more pleasant than you would have liked it to be. His tone was hard, as you had expected it would be, but the tangy southern drawl and depth of his voice took you off guard, an unwelcome heat suddenly forming between your legs—which only pissed you off more. 

The stone-cold look in his too-pretty eyes only worsened the feeling, and suddenly you found that you weren't able to speak; you didn't even know what you had come up to say at this point.  “Don’t fuckin’ bother me again,” he muttered and pushed past you before you could realize you had been staring.

***

“You just gonna fuckin’ stand there all day?” A much too familiar voice pulls you out of your thoughts and back into reality. Speak of the fucking devil. 

“Just finishing up, Miller,” you spit, not bothering to look in his direction. You can hear him start to walk up to you but you ignore it, opting instead to actually finish what you had been doing. It only takes a few more seconds, and by that time, you can practically feel Joel staring a hole into your back, no more than a few feet behind you now. 

He doesn't move, so you continue to ignore him and start walking to the ladder so you can get out of this literal shit hole. You only make it a few steps before you realize that he is moving with you, following at the same distance he had stopped at before. Your jaw ticks as you spin around on your heel, so suddenly that Joel almost knocks into you.

“Is there something I can help you with?” you ask him as sweetly as you can manage, the fire in your eyes contradicting your tone. His own eyes narrow as he takes a step back, crossing his arms in his usual fashion. 

“Maybe you should learn how to help yourself first before you go offerin’ it to other people, princess.” He says the name as an insult, and you have to bare your teeth to keep your composure. 

“What the fuck is that even supposed to mean, old man?” You ask him, taking a step toward him. He doesn't back away this time, instead taking a step toward you in reciprocation. The two of you lock gazes and stare at each other for what could have been ten seconds or ten days before Joel breaks the trance and shoves past you instead of answering. 

You just stand there and let him climb the ladder to the street above you. You can see right through him, the asshole wants a reaction, and you're not going to grant him that satisfaction—not this time anyway. 

You wait for a few minutes until you can be sure that he's long gone before you grit your teeth and turn on your heel, walking to the ladder and hoisting yourself up. As you reach the surface you catch a whiff of yourself and scrunch your nose. You need a fucking shower.

***

The next day, you wake up in a sour mood, already dreading today's job—janitorial services. At least it's not scooping shit this time. You’re the first one there, as per usual. The hall is a mess after breakfast and you take a deep breath as you think about the fact that even after you scrub it spotless, it will be trashed again by the end of lunch and then again after dinner.

To top it all off, it's ridiculously cold in the room, the fire lit in the back of it not doing much to increase the temperature. You look down at your white cotton t-shirt under your flannel and find yourself wishing you had put a thicker undershirt on.

There aren't many people working with you on the first shift, only the usual other three this morning, not that you're complaining of course, it just means fewer people to get in your way. You keep your eyes to yourself most of the time, only looking at someone if they address you to ask for help or to comment on something. Before you know it, lunch has come and gone and you are preparing for dinner. 

You notice halfway through that time that your friend is working the second shift, and she approaches you so you can work together for the rest of the time, though she only has the after-lunch shift. Rachel is a hard worker for the most part, though she likes to slack off a lot, but you appreciate the help while you have it. The two of you gossip and joke quietly until it's time for her to leave and time for you to sit back and wait for the dinner crowd to flood in.

***

It feels like a week has passed by the time the last person clears out after dinner, and you breathe a sigh of relief—you’re so close to getting back to your apartment and into your welcoming bed. You immediately get to work on sweeping up the trash that collected underneath the tables, eager to get out of here. 

There are only two other people working with you this shift, which is weird because FEDRA usually has at least four people on each job, but you brush it off. They seemed to know each other and they blab amongst themselves as they work. At least the couple seemed like they were in the same mindset when it came to getting this job done, so you didn’t mind the fact that you are missing a crew member. 

Halfway through your sweeping, you hear the door slam open, startling you and the couple that is now busy with taking leftover dishes into the kitchen. The chill that sweeps through the large room makes you assume it was just a gust of wind, probably blowing snow into the doorway. 

Great, something else to clean, you think as you huff an annoyed breath. 

When you turn to face the sound though, you find yourself wishing that the problem had been snow, but of course, when did anything ever go your way? The supposed gust of wind is actually Joel fucking Miller.

Your mood immediately sours and you have to fight not to roll your eyes as you watch him slink into the room and follow the couple into the kitchen. You hear the girl inform him that he was late—as if he didn’t know, or care for that matter. He only grunts in response. You don’t bother to stop your eyes from rolling to the back of your head. If Joel sees it, he doesn't say anything. 

***

An hour later, Joel hasn’t bothered you, much to your relief. The only time you have to look up from your work is when the couple from earlier bids you farewell before they walk out the door. There is nothing left to do but scrub the tables, which you are doing now. 

You only have two to go, and then you’re free for the rest of the night. Now that you're the only one left, the room is almost eerily silent, the only sound being the drip of water as you dip your sponge into the bucket and wring it out. After the table you are working on is thoroughly cleaned, you move on to the last one. It sits right next to the busted window, and you shiver as you walk past it. 

“Cold, sweetheart?” The baritone voice sounding from behind you just about causes you to jump out of your skin, the bucket of water in your grasp suddenly spilling over your front. Of course, it was a huge fucking bucket, so it was enough water to coat almost your entire body. 

The white t-shirt you have on under your thick flannel is soaked through so that it’s practically transparent. Dropping the now empty tub to the floor with a loud clang, you swivel on your heel to face Joel, who is leaning against the wall to his right, arms crossed.

 If he sees the fire in your eyes, he ignores it as he smirks at you, obviously humored by your reaction—and likely by the fact that he can see your bra. Your mouth opens and closes repeatedly, every expletive or reprimand that comes to mind doesn’t seem to cover what you want to say. 

As you stand there soaked in dirty, soapy water, you find that you can do nothing but stare. Your gaze is stuck on the man still standing in front of you, not a twinge of empathy in his own, which he has trained on you in return. You have no idea how long the two of you stay rooted to the same spots, staring each other down, but it must have been at least a few minutes because you can feel your body start to involuntarily shiver as your drenched form begins to freeze. 

Of fucking course you had to have been standing right next to the broken, half-assed boarded-up window, and not by the fire that still rages into the chimney on the other side of the room. 

The cool air sweeping in seems to trap you in its frigid grasp, threatening to turn the grayish liquid that covers you into ice. You can't help it as you finally move, bringing your arms up to cross over your chest in a feeble attempt to warm your rapidly cooling body and cover your exposed undergarment. You flinch as your arm presses the freezing fabric closer to your skin.

The action seems to break the invisible spell that had set over the two of you because Joel takes that as his queue to take a step back off the wall and lift his chin. The movement makes him look bigger and you have to lift your own to look into his eyes again. You can only hope he sees the fury that burns on your own. If looks could kill, he would be dead on the floor right now. 

“You’re fucking joking,” you are the first to break the silence. The quiver in your voice would be embarrassing if not for the fact that it was placed there out of anger. The asshole who put it there must know it too because you can see the way he swallows as if trying to rid himself of his guilt, though if that’s what he is feeling, he doesn’t show it any other way. 

You can expect that the action will be the only sign of such a thing—if Joel Miller doesn't want to feel a certain way, he doesn’t, simple as that. You have never once met a man more rude, nor stubborn as the one currently in front of you.  

“Didn’t realize I was bein’ funny,” he says, straight-faced with that stupid southern drawl that you have come to despise. You don’t reply as you continue to stare daggers at him, and you can't tell what’s making you shake more at this point—the layer of fucking ice about to coat your body, or the unmatched rage that brews in your mind.

 Right now, you would place your bets on the rage, considering it’s actually starting to warm you up. The sight of Joel, arms crossed to mimic your own, still staring down at you like he's some fucking god, only fuels the feeling. Sighing quietly, your eyes shut as you try to calm yourself down before you say something you would really regret. It only takes a few seconds until you speak again, which might not have been long enough, truthfully speaking. 

“That was pretty fucking shitty, even for you, Miller.” You manage to get the sentence out through gritted teeth, but it sounds strained. Anyone would agree that it sounds like you are trying your best to contain yourself, though it’s obviously a task you are struggling with. He says nothing, and his body gives nothing away, so you speak again. He knew exactly what was going to happen if he snuck up on you like that, and he probably didn’t even give it a second thought.

“I mean really, how fucking immature can you be? You really thought scaring me while I was holding a tub of dirty water was the best way to get my attention?” Your mouth starts to let words out before you can even think about what threatens to escape, and there is nothing you can really do but allow it to happen. 

Your lips are moving far too quickly for your brain to comprehend at this point, your anger completely taking over. As hard as it can be to hold yourself back from an argument sometimes, you always managed—but this was the last fucking straw. 

“And why the fuck are you even here? You obviously don’t have anything left to do.” Your voice is quickly raising but you doubt you could do anything about that even if you wanted to right now. Of course, it doesn’t matter how loud you get, you could probably scream right in his face, it never seems to affect him.

“Seemed lonely,” he says simply, shrugging and shifting off of the wall. He looks at your bewildered expression and decides it would somehow make it better if he elaborated, though you both know that he only does it to dig further under your skin. 

“Never got anyone around, s’ all. Too fuckin’ stubborn n’ self-absorbed to make any friends.” His tone is condescending and nonchalant at the same time, like he is both stating a fact and trying to beat you down. You continue to stare at him as he finishes. This is a whole new level, one you wouldn’t even have assumed Joel would ever jump to. 

You’ll admit it, he’s managed to find one of your most delicate insecurities, and he knows it, too.  Even before the outbreak, you always had trouble making friends, your anxiety and general mistrust always got in the way. Every time you thought you were getting close to someone, you would push them away. It was your biggest fear, being betrayed by someone close to you—a worse fear, you decided, than being alone. 

To this day, you have only ever let one person really get to know you. When you met Rachel during your first week in the QZ, she showed you a sort of open kindness that let you know she was a good one. You knew then, and you know now, that she would never do anything to hurt you in any way. 

In the time that you've gotten to know her, she’s become the best friend you’ve ever had, and the only one you wanted. But she is only one person after all, and she can’t spend all of her time with you, so you find yourself on your own most of the time—and of course, Joel Miller, of all people, would pick up on it. 

“You are such an asshole, Joel,” you spew out after a moment. “And you have the audacity to call me lonely?” You can't help the tears that start to blur your vision, so you ignore them as you continue to rant, your hands now flying wildly. The pit of insecurity in your stomach is starting to grow to the point where you feel like it will swallow you whole. 

“You act like you’re so much fucking better than me! Who do you have?” Through your watering eyes, you can see the way Joel flinches slightly, and as much as it pleases you that you seem to have finally found a soft spot, it also eggs you on. You recognize it and think to yourself that he's a fucking idiot for pointing out the fact that you don’t have anyone in your corner when he has the same exact problem. 

“Huh? You say I'm alone, and maybe I am, but I’ve never seen you with anybody.” Your vision starts to clear as you feel hot tears begin to streak down your already-soaked cheeks, allowing you to see the deep scowl set on Joel's face. It almost scares you how mad he looks, but it's too late to back down now. 

You stare at him for a moment, waiting for him to say something, but it never comes. His silence only encourages you, and you know you probably seem immature as you continue to insult him, but it gets pushed to the back of your mind as you quickly realize it’s the least of your worries right now. Your tears are streaming freely at this point, your breaking point finally has been reached. The words are coming out faster than you care to stop them. 

“You have no fucking friends, Joel,” you spit out. That one definitely struck a nerve, and you watch as he takes a step towards you, his face giving you a warning expression as if he already knows what you are going to say next. You know his history, and you know it's a bad idea, you know it is, but you say it anyway.

“You have no friends…” You pause, your brain subconsciously trying to talk you out of what you’re about to do. Of course, you don't listen. “...and you have no fucking famil-” you get cut off as Joels hand makes contact with your throat, his grip crushing your windpipe as he pushes you back until you hit the wall and lifts you onto your toes so you are looking into his rage-filled eyes.

He says nothing for a moment as he lets you struggle in his firm grasp, watching you writhe and try to gulp in air. The panic that courses through your body is almost paralyzing, sending a hot flash throughout your entire body as your brain catches up with what's happening. 

You find yourself panicking even more when you realize that fear isn’t the only thing your senses seem to be overwhelmed with as his hand tightens around your neck. The wetness beginning to gather in your panties is suddenly the biggest problem you are faced with, an unwelcome feeling or arousal suddenly making itself known. 

Everything seems to be happening in slow motion as you feel your hands start to claw at the one wrapped around your neck, no doubt leaving raised scratch marks across his wrist. The man doesn't wince or falter though, as you struggle to try to pry his hand away. You can feel your mouth opening and closing, though you’re unsure of what you are trying to say. You suspect it's something along the lines of “Please”, but no sound comes out. 

Eventually, after you realize that nothing is going to come from your struggle, you let your body fall limp, the only movement left is the tears that still crawl tauntingly down your cheeks. Though some of them may still be from the anger that had overcome you before you felt his large palm on your throat, most of them are now evidence of your shame. 

Logically, you reason that there is no way for him to know what kind of response his aggressive actions pulled from you, but you can't help but feel like somehow, he can see right through you. 

Upon seeing you submit, Joel lifts you more until you are close enough to feel his hot breath fan across your face. He loosens his grip enough so that you are allowed to catch a breath, but not enough for you to fall away from him. He starts to lower his arm, letting your feet hit the ground, but he leans his body down with your own so that his face stays less than an inch away from your own the entire time. 

You know that realistically, he only had you in the air for a few seconds, but it felt like an hour with the fear—and unexpected lust—that was coursing through your veins. Though you are still trembling with the silent threat he delivered, you seem to be able to calm down a little as his hand loosens and slides around to the back of your neck, only holding you in place. 

You stare into his eyes because you have nowhere else to look, and are almost surprised to see the array of emotions on display. You see anger, impatience, annoyance, a hint of restraint, but the one that seems to dominate them all is the one that takes you aback the most. You see in his eyes, what must be a reflection of your own. 

Your mouth drops open again as you begin to place the look of longing and desire that burns in Joel's gaze as he stares you down, his mouth just centimeters from your own. You take a chance and allow yourself to look down at the way his lips almost brush yours, his own mouth parted as you both try to calm your ragged breathing. 

You have no idea why you suddenly feel this way—well, you do, you just refuse to admit it. You hate his fucking guts because he is the only man that has made you feel something since before the outbreak. Every time you look at him, it is evidence that you are still capable of letting your guard down, that you are still weak. 

You promised yourself the first time you understood what the potential problem with Joel Miller could be, that you wouldn’t allow it to become one. But this god-damned man makes it so fucking hard to keep that in check when he is staring at you like he wants to ruin you. 

You feel his hand tighten around you again, and you snap your eyes back up to his, suddenly blushing as you realize that you have been staring at his lips for far too long. For once, you are at a loss for words, you have no idea what to say that might save your ass from looking like you had been doing exactly what you had. Thankfully, you don't have to wonder for long because Joel cuts right back to the chase, seemingly shaking himself out of his own thoughts as he speaks again. 

“You want to try that again, little girl?” Fuck. How the fuck are you supposed to ignore the pit forming in your stomach when he says shit like that? You are too caught up in thinking of a response to answer him immediately, and he clearly doesn’t appreciate that as he shifts his position, pushing you back further into the wall behind you. 

When he moves, you realize that one of his legs is slotted between your own, and your eyes widen as you feel how close his thigh is to your center—one little movement and you will give yourself away. You must be dripping at this point, and if he's not close enough to feel the heat coming off your cunt from where he stands right now, he will be if he moves any closer. 

Steeling yourself, you opt not to speak as you bring your hands back up to grasp at his wrist again. Joel watches as you struggle to get a grip before he growls and uses his free hand to grab both of yours and place them on the wall above your head. Your eyes somehow widen even more and you want to shrivel up into a ball as you feel the blood rush to your cheeks.

You need to move now. You can't let this man see what he does to you, the way your body reacts to the way he so easily dominates you. You know that you have no time to plan anything out, so you do the first thing that comes to mind—you try to tug your hands out of his grip and you lunge to the side. 

You’re not sure why you even attempt it, you know that it won't get you anywhere, but you do it anyway. Of course, he overpowers you once again, and nothing changes but his grip, both of his hands tightening as he leans in even closer to you. The new position causes his thigh to crush into your throbbing clit, and before you can stop it, a whimper breaks through your lips.

Nothing is said for a moment as you stare at Joel with shame, and him at you with a newfound amusement. You can feel yourself melting on the spot, and you let your head hang in humiliation, your eyes trained on the ground next to Joel, who is now smirking as he stares back at you. You feel his thigh crush into you again, deliberately this time, and you have to bite your lip and close your eyes in concentration so as to not give away any more sounds. 

You hear Joel chuckle darkly above you, and the sound goes straight to your pussy. How are you supposed to resist this man when he sounds like that, when the rough denim of his jeans is rubbing you in all the right places as he begins to rock his thigh back and forth, making you bite your lip even harder. The hand on your neck suddenly releases its grip and you feel his thumb come to your mouth, tugging your bottom lip until it falls away from the punishing bite of your teeth. 

“C’mon now, princess,” you hear Joel speak again and you can't help but moan softly as he sets his hand on your hip, starting to guide you across his firm thigh. 

“You’ve given yourself away now, you ain’t gonna get outta this one.” His tone is taunting as he presses down on your hip, bringing you down harder against him. 

The pressure on your clit is almost overwhelming with pleasure, and you find yourself moving on your own, beginning to chase the orgasm that has suddenly come within your grasp. You can’t help it with the way your wet jeans rub you just right and the firmness of his thigh is just enough to push the seam of them onto all the right places.

“F-fuck you, Miller,” you say, opening your eyes and bringing your head back up to look into his eyes, hoping the anger is apparent in yours. He stares at you for a moment before he speaks again. 

“Yeah, I bet you’d like that, wouldn’t ya?” He doesn’t give you a chance to respond before he moves his hand down to where your cunt meets his thigh, and places his thumb right on your clit, rubbing quick circles. The touch is all you need to send you over the edge, becoming a moaning mess under Joel’s body. He’s right of course, you want him to fucking ruin you. God, you hate it when he’s right. 

He continues the circles on your clit as you come down from your high, riding you through it. When you are finally able to catch your breath, you look him in the eye to find him staring right back at you. His gaze is intense and full of want. 

“You want me to quit, darlin?” You can tell by the way he says it, that he asks genuinely. He would stop if you said the word. As much as you want to hate him, you know that he is respectful enough that he wouldn’t do anything to that effect without your consent.

Joel may be an asshole, but he would never put his hands on a woman in that sense if she showed any sign of resistance. Though he didn’t seem to have a problem with wrapping his palm around your throat. 

“I can give you more, all you have to do is ask,” Joel says after you don't answer him. His gaze is hungry as he waits for your consent, his eyes slowly tracing up and down your body, taking you in. When he looks back to your face, you nod slowly, watching as his already blown-out pupils seem to take over his irises. 

“I'm gonna need to hear you say it, darlin,” he says as he brings his chin up to the side of your head, nibbling your earlobe and making you shiver. 

“P-please, Joel,” you say, giving up the act. You know you want him, he knows you want him, and now you know he wants you, too. 

“I need you, please.” At your signal, he doesn't wait any longer as he starts to pull you away from the wall, his free hand traveling back to the back of your neck, the other still grasping your wrists. Before you can figure out where he’s moving you to, your chest slams onto one of the tables, the force almost enough to knock the wind out of you. You had expected him to be rough, but not this rough… not that you mind. He’s clearly done with being gentle with you now that he has free reign.

“Jesus, Joel,” you say, throwing him a look over your shoulder as much as you can with your neck still being pinned down. 

“You fucking mind?” You hear Joel chuckle behind you and feel him step closer to you, pressing himself against your ass and leaning over so that his chest is flush with your back. 

“Nope, not at all.” His breath tickles your ear as he whispers into it. 

“Now I'd be quiet if I were you, girl,” he tells you, his tone almost threatening. “Unless you want to wake the whole town, of course, cause now that I’ve started, I ain't gonna stop.” Your eyes widen and a whimper falls from your lips as he finishes his threat and pushes his top half off of you. 

“Maybe you’d like that, huh, little girl?” he pauses his sentence to rip your pants and panties down in one fluid motion, making you cry out.

“Let the whole town watch me fuck you, show everyone who you belong to, who this cunt belongs to.” He knows you too fucking well, knows that you’re thinking about it now, salivating over the thought of someone walking in on you like this, your pants around your ankles, him, balls deep inside of you, taking what he wants. 

“Dirty little girl, out here whorin’ herself out to me so quick. Slut’s just damn desperate for some good fuckin’ cock.”

You hear a sharp zip from somewhere behind you and you struggle out of instinct, pushing up on the hand holding you down. He ignores your protest and slams himself into you, sheathing himself in one fluid motion, giving you no warm-up or time to adjust. 

You expected him to be big, but you weren't expecting this. He's fucking huge, stretching you out and reaching depths you didn't even know existed. You scream out at the sudden burning intrusion and Joel moves the hand that isn't on your neck to your mouth, silencing you halfway through the outburst. 

The tears that fall from your eyes catch on the palm of his hand as he brings his cock almost all the way out before slamming himself back in, setting a brutal pace. 

“Tha’s alright baby, Ima take good care of you,” Joel assures you through gritted teeth. “Make you feel real good creamin’ all over my fat cock.”

Your fingernails scrape the surface of the table once he releases your hands, scrambling for purchase as Joel slams into you without remorse. You’re almost surprised at how quickly you feel the knot in your stomach start to build back up, the pain promptly turning to pleasure as Joel brutally shoves his cock into your already-sore pussy. 

The sounds of Joel's grunts, your muffled sobs, and the squelching of your cunt quickly fill the room, you would be embarrassed if you weren’t so cock-drunk on Joel. Right now, the only thing you can focus on is the way the head of his dick slams into your G-spot with every harsh thrust. 

The way his dick drags against your walls makes you clench with every swift pass. That combined with the way his hips slap against your ass might just be the best thing you’ve ever felt. 

Your body begins to go slack, your stomach and chest pressing harder into the table, you barely even register Joel's hand being removed from your mouth until you hear your unfiltered moans break through. 

“Jus’ wait one second, darlin,” Joel's voice is strained as he talks. You try to nod back at him but find that it's a bit hard when your bones have melted. His pace never falters as he reaches down to where he pulled his pants down just enough to free his thick cock and heavy balls. 

When his hand finds the open buckle of his belt, he tugs it through the loops and uses the edge of the table to fold it once before bringing it to your lips, pushing it toward you until you bite down on it. 

He tells you something, by his tone it sounded like a command, but you can’t seem to make out the request.  If you weren’t drooling before, you certainly are now with the taste of leather on your tongue. Joel smirks to himself as your moans quiet down with the help of the belt. 

“There ya go, such a good girl holdin’ on t’ that for me,” he runs his fingers through your hair as you keen at his praise. He can feel your cunt tighten around him as your second orgasm approaches once again and he has to steel himself so as not to come right then and there like some teenager. Instead, he brings his hand down to touch your clit again, not with his thumb, but with his middle three fingers, rubbing up and down, immediately setting a furious pace. 

The new sensation combined with the pistoning of his hips pushes you over the edge and you have to bite down on the belt so you don't scream as you receive the hardest orgasm you’ve ever had. It's like nothing you’ve ever felt before, the white-hot pleasure almost blinding you, and the force of it almost pushing him out of your cunt. 

You sob as you listen to Joel talk you through it, telling you how good you're doing for him, how you were made for him to stuff his cock into. His pace never falters as you gush around him, but he does push himself further into you so as to not be forced out of you. 

The strength of his thrust is enough to surge you forward, the table screeching on the concrete floor below you as it too is moved forward slightly. After you come down completely from your high, he grasps your hands and tugs them behind your back for leverage, fucking down into you to chase his own pleasure. 

“Goddamn, darlin, tight, young, little cunt, squeezin’ the fuckin’ life outta me.” His dirty words are almost humiliating as he throws them out, but you love every moment of it, the way you clench around his cock giving you away quickly. 

“Oh, you like that, little slut?” he almost sounds surprised as he continues rambling. 

“Filthy little thing, lettin’ some old man stuff his cock into your sweet little pussy. ‘F you didn’t take dick so good I would think you’d be a damn virgin.” You whine beneath him as much as you can with the leather between your teeth, a shameless request for him to keep talking. 

“Yeah, you like that, huh, little girl?” He grants your wish, spewing more filthy comments every few thrusts. “Like bein’ told what a f-fuckin’ whore you are f’ me?” You keep, drooling on the belt trapped between your teeth.

Suddenly, you feel the large hand that was pinning your neck disappear, only to reappear on your ass, making your eyes widen as Joel quickly slides to your other hole, his thumb right above the tight ring of muscle. 

Usually, you would want to struggle, but for some reason, the thought of Joel taking you there is something you find yourself wanting. He feels you squeeze around him again and he chuckles at your desperation. 

“Now, you’re just full of surprises, ain't ya, princess?” He says, his voice even more strangled than it was before. It almost sounds like it should be painful for him to talk. He stops talking for a moment to allow his saliva to drip down and slide down your ass crack. 

“You’d let me fuck you here, wouldn't you, little girl?” Fuck this man, you both know the answer to that. 

“Put my dick in this pretty little ass?” When you don't object, you feel him spit on top of his thumb again before pushing it into you. 

Your eyes roll to the back of your head and your toes curl as he slides his thumb into you until he can’t anymore. The intrusion triggers your third orgasm, your body melting into the table as you press back into him. It’s less intense than the first two, but you are still fully consumed by the waves of pleasure that wash over you.

If you had been standing, you would have fallen to your knees. You’ve never felt so full in your life, the feeling almost overwhelming as he leans on top of you again, continuing to whisper filth into your ear. You can tell he’s getting close by the way he lets go of your wrists and tangles his fingers into your hair, slamming himself somehow even deeper inside of you.  

“Tell me who these fuckin’ holes belong to, princess,” he spews out through gritted teeth, pulling the belt away from your mouth and throwing it somewhere off to the side. 

“Who makes you feel good, makes these little holes feel good?” When you don't answer immediately, your unleashed moans and whimpers making it almost impossible, he uses the hand that’s not fingering your ass to deliver a sharp slap to your left cheek. 

“Fuck, fuck Joel it’s you,” you practically sob as you tell him what he wants to hear, what you want him to hear. 

“T-these holes are yours Joel, you make them feel so good, they belong to you, all yours,” you cry out frantically. Satisfied with your response, he rubs over the red spot on your skin before returning his hand to your neck. 

“That's right,” he praises you softly and you soak up every word. “Such a good fuckin’ girl, knowin’ who she belongs to.” He thrusts into you half a dozen more times before his pace finally starts to falter. 

“W-where do you want me, sweet thing?” As he asks you, all you can think is “fuck this man for being respectful with shit like that.”  If he hadn’t asked, you probably would have shoved him away, but instead, you make another stupid decision—why the fuck not at this point? 

“I-inside, Joel, inside me, oh my god, fucking c-come inside me,” you’re only slightly aware of how desperate you sound as you beg for his cum, but again, you can’t seem to find it in you to care. You let your cheek rest on the cool surface of the table and close your eyes, too exhausted to hold yourself up any longer. 

You hear Joel groan and start to say something above you, but he cuts himself off as he releases inside you with a strangled moan, almost like he is biting down on his lip so as not to shout. 

A stream of curses laced with your name spills from his lips as he twitches and pulses inside you. The feeling of his hot cum spilling into you is unlike anything you’ve ever felt before. It seems like forever before he stills, practically collapsing on top of you, his cum dripping around his softening cock and down your thighs. 

Despite his weight on top of you, you think you could probably manage to fall asleep there. Your body has never felt so spent and tired, every muscle sore in one way or another. Joel waits only a minute before lifting himself off of you, and you attempt to lift your head to follow his movement, only for your cheek to be gently pressed back onto the table by his palm. 

“Jus' hold on a second, princess.” His tone is softer than you’ve ever heard it, and it makes your heart warm, but you can't resist the perfect opportunity to tease him as it presents itself. 

“You’re happier after you get your dick wet,” you say with a small smile as you follow his request, letting your eyes close as you bask in the feeling of euphoria that’s taken over your body. 

At your snippy comment, you expect him to scold you, or maybe to swat your behind, which is still presented for him. What you don’t expect is to feel his tongue on your spent cunt. Your body jolts and your eyes snap open at the unexpected feeling, your reflexes causing you to try to sit up again, only to be pushed down by Joel’s hand on your lower back. 

“I said to wait a second, darlin’,” he says as he pulls away from you, his tone more stern now. He waits until you nod your head to return to your pussy, dipping into your hole and lapping up your mixed release. You shudder as his tongue grazes your overstimulated clit, but do your best to hold still for him. 

After he seems to have gotten his fill, you feel him pull away again and stand up to lean over you. His hand suddenly grabs your chin, making you twist your neck slightly so that you are looking up at him. He keeps his mouth shut as he brings it to his own before squeezing your cheeks, making you open your lips, and drops his jaw open. 

You gasp as you feel the combination of his spit and your cum mixed with his own slowly spill onto your tongue. He keeps his eyes open and locked onto yours as he keeps your lips together and lets the liquid drip into your mouth. When he pulls away, he replaces his lips with his hand, forcing your mouth shut. 

“Swallow,” he commands. You obey without a second thought and let the substance slip down your throat. He smiles when he's sure you’re done and moves his hand, motioning for you to open up. You do, and he smirks as he sees every drop gone. 

“Good girl,” he mutters as he lays back down on top of you, and you let your body rest on the table again, enjoying the feel of his body on top of yours. As the two of you stay there, catching your breath, you feel Joel's chest start to vibrate against your back in silent laughter. You furrow your brows and attempt to stand and roll him off you, but only succeed in the latter, your legs failing as if they were made of jello. 

Joel stands back and tucks himself back into his jeans as you slump back down on the table, temporarily accepting defeat. You see him take a seat in the chair next to you out of the corner of your eye, his chest still rattling the slightest bit. 

“What the fuck do you find so funny, bastard?” You slur your words, your tone is a lot less fierce than you had wanted it to be. He looks at you before answering, and you feel your both heart and your cunt clench at the almost adoring look in his eyes as he meets your gaze. Maybe the asshole will try to be decent for a moment, his expression promising. 

“Looks like your gonna have t’ scrub this table again, princess,” he says, his tone toeing the line of playful. You feel your lips tug up into a smile as you recognize the fact that this is probably Joel being friendly. Or at the very least, he’s not at your throat at the moment—in a bad way anyway—so you’ll take it. Upon seeing your smile, he sits back further and allows himself a small smile of his own as he continues to watch you sink into the polished wood beneath you.

“Fuck you, Miller,” you say. You erupt into a quiet yet delirious fit of exhausted giggles, Joel following soon after with his own gentle chuckle. 

“Might have t’ give me a second for that, princess.”

*****

Pt. 2 here

#joel miller #fan fiction #pedro pascal #ao3 #smut #pedro pascal smut #joel miller smut #bless this mess #the last of us #tlou #we likey? #exhibition kink #enemies to lovers #dark!joel miller

[jwirecs]

RECOMMENDED BTS FICS OF MAY-JUNE 2023💖

hello, hello! here are my bts recs of may-june! hopefully these beautiful stories get more recognition as well as the writers 💝

** anything in parentheses and bolded are my thoughts that can be disregarded if needed **

🔞smut || 💔angst || 💕fluff || ✅completed || 🔄ongoing || 💯favorite

Drink Champagne In my Airplane || @bangtanintotheroom​​​​​ 🔞💕💔✅

↳ Your friend Hoseok decided to use his excessive wealth for good and take the both of you on a much-needed vacation. The flight was meant to be relaxing until he broke out one of his most expensive bottles of champagne. (Turbulence was steamy and i fully enjoyed it entirely.)

Illicit Favors || @yoongiofmine​​🔞💕💔✅💯💯💯

↳ When your editor tells you to re-write the chapters of your book because the sex scenes are weak, suggesting you write them from experience, what do you do when you lack any kind of sexual experiences in general? You go to your friend and ask him for help with it.

Love Blinds || @angelikook​​💔✅💯

↳ You are his oldest and only best friend, but why do you leave him all of a sudden when he needs you most?

Rear View || @btsmosphere​​​​💕💔✅

↳ yoongi can protect you now, even if it may be too late. (part of the Highway to You Series)

Stay || @still-with-koo​​​💕💔✅

↳ when a creepy stranger follows you to your new job, your best friend jungkook makes sure he never does it again. but now he’s hurt and you’re determined to tend to his wounds, no matter how awkward if feels.

The Next Jack Frost || @ebonyinktea​​​​💕💔✅💯💯

↳ After years of hating winter, an event happens to Yoongi one night that changes the way he views the season forever.

The Retreat || @ugh-yoongi​​​ 🔞💕💔✅💯

↳ or, the one where namjoon just wants hoseok to take care of himself, but then there's a fake relationship, only one bed, a guy who doesn't talk, and maybe a weird cult.

Things We Don’t Say || @wintaerbaer​​​​​💕💔🔄

↳ Three years after graduating college, everything seems to be falling into place for you: stable job, cozy apartment, and a long-term boyfriend with a ring box hidden in his desk drawer. But when a mutual friend makes a remark that your best friend of nearly two decades is clearly in love with you, you realize that life may not be as simple as it seems.

Two Point Five. Part Two || @bratkook​​​​​ 🔞💕✅💯

↳ so what if jungkook had loosened your bathroom pipes and his friends loved to tease him about you and your friendship. all he could think about was why the hell you hadn’t text him to fix it yet.

A Good Daddy || @delukoo​​​💕💔✅

↳ in which jungkook comes home late and apologizes to your unborn baby whilst thinking you were asleep (AND IN COME JK SLEEPING ON HIS WEVERSE LIVES AND MY THOUGHTS CAUSE LIKE IMAGINE)

A Little Taste || @jeonqkooks​​​​​​​​🔞💕🔄💯

↳ It all started with a little oral fixation...

Adore You || @liqhtheartedd​​​​​​​🔞💕✅💯

↳ your boyfriend, kook, comes home from work. tired and frustrated. later, he fucks you till you can no longer think for yourself <33 you love it when he has his way with you.

All My Fault || @delukoo​​​​​​​​ 💕💔✅

↳ in which you pass out after an argument and find him crying when you wake up..

Baby Daddy || @i-am-baechu​​​​💕💔✅

↳ Being nine months pregnant is not fun nor is it easy. What makes it harder is that you're married to a K-pop idol, Kim Namjoon. What happens if you go into labor and he's on a schedule? Chaos.

Chapstick || @95rkives​​​💕✅

↳ jungkook had an undeniable fondness for your vanilla-flavored chapstick, so it came as a surprise to him when you decided to switch up the flavor one day. the unexpected change left him pleasantly taken aback.

Closer || @lizinthebox​​​🔞💕✅💯

↳ after you’re gone for a long day of work, your boyfriend wants to be as close to you as possible.

Me And Your Mama || @joonberriess​​​​​​ 🔞💕✅💯

↳ It’s hard to explain. The world that is supposed to be so beautiful makes you feel so ugly on the inside. Jin tries his best to understand everything and that’s all that matters, that’s all that Y/N needs.

Midnight Snack || @genkima​​​💕✅💯

↳ Jungkook wakes up to a sound of rustling in the kitchen and an empty bed. (yall already know that this is literally us as kids when we got hungry and we trying to stay quiet so our parents to hear us going through the fridge for food)

My Sun || @i-am-baechu​​​💕✅

↳ you like to remember both what life before the little one was and after with your loving boyfriend namjoon.

Our Time || @lavenjoon​​​​​💕✅

↳ Jeon Jungkook must be the luckiest man on Earth, coming home to his pretty girl making him dinner and singing her heart out to one of her newest favorite tracks, his track, My Time.

Surprise Visit || @genkima​​💕✅

↳ You ask your boyfriend, jungkook, to give you a tattoo. Who was he to decline??

Gangsta || @btsugarush​​​​ 🔞💕💔🔄💯💯💯

↳ ❝i’m a fucking criminal, princess.❞

The Dealer || @yoonlattesworld​​​​🔞💕💔✅ (i think its a oneshot but im not too sure!)

↳ you've heard about every nasty rumor surrounding him. It's like they follow him every where he goes. But something in your heart told you that after all, rumors were just rumors. You knew you were playing with fire. You knew that you shouldn't be anywhere near him. But after an incident involving your best friend happened, you found yourself getting closer to him. You tried to stop the flutter in your heart which increased every time he looked at you, every time he touched you. But of course the heart never listens to the brain. After all logic is irrelevant to feelings.

The Monsters Out There || @btsugarush​​​​​🔞💕💔🔄💯

↳ after running away with your newborn daughter to leave behind the life of sex work you were forced into 3 years ago, you're rescued by an oddly mysterious man named min yoongi who offers you shelter at his home. though it all sounds like a blessing, you begin to think that yoongi may be more dangerous than the monsters you were trying to escape.

Busted || @kithtaehyung​​​🔞💕💔✅/🔄💯💯

↳  when things go a bit south at your house party, decisions between you and yoongi have to be made.

Hierarchy || @persphonesorchid​​💕💔✅

↳ Requested by Anon: Saw you were looking for requests so I come nearing gifts!! I’d like to request an panther hybrid yoongi x bunny hybrid reader enemies to lovers college au!! yn goes to a uni where most of the students are preds, yoongi hates her for some reason despite her being really nice, ANGST PLEASE!!

In My Head || @sketchguk​​​​​🔞💔✅

↳ taehyung’s friends love you ー adore you. they probably want to fuck you, but they’ll never admit to it. instead, they’ll push taehyung’s limits in the middle of a frat party, testing just how close they can get to you before he takes you to bed in a fit of jealousy. and maybe, just maybe, one of his friends can have a taste too (if he’s lucky).  

Jungle Park || @jimlingss​​​💕💔✅💯💯💯

↳ The equation is simple. Hoseok needs to hire someone. You need a job. Except like any actual equation, it’s not fucking simple at all! Not when you have to add the fact that he was forced to hire someone he doesn’t want in his office, he has little respect for your job in general, and oh yeah…once upon a time you might have—*CENSORED*. (i dont remember how i stumbled across this one, but i am glad that i did.)

Purr-Haps I Like You || @taleasnewastime​​💕✅💯

↳ You have a no pets policy where you live, but when you find a tiny kitten in a box on the side of the road, what can you do but bring it home with you? The only problem? The landlord who made the no pets rule, also happens to be your flatmate.

Resurgence || @wintrbears​​​​ 💕💔✅

↳ After breaking up with your high school sweetheart and boyfriend of five years, you find yourself in a waking nightmare. And when his best friend alerts him of your possible troubles, your knight in shining armor struggles to find a way to save you.

Solace || @m-yg93​​​ 🔞💕✅

↳ Namjoon thought getting used to a new roommate would take time and adaptation but you fit yourself into his apartment with ease. He swears he only landed in your bed to keep you safe in his arms when you get spooked by the storm. Surely he can blame the eventual lack of clothing on the summer’s heat stroke.

The One With Seokjin And Without Complaints || @eoieopda​​​​💕✅

↳ you don’t want to arrive dateless to a wedding your ex is also attending. enter friend and local hero, kim seokjin.

Transference || @dark-muse-iris​​​​🔞💔✅💯💯

↳ Prolonged periods of work-related stress bring you to a crossroads in your life that leaves you prone to make impulsive decisions. During a routine visit to the local bakery, you stumble upon an intriguing business card belonging to a “tantric therapist” and take a risk. When you discover your therapist is an attractive young man with a penchant for shibari, you throw caution to the wind as he helps guide you to self-recovery. (i needed fcking jesus after reading this one.)

Victory || @fruitmins​​​💔✅💯

↳ Namjoon is a wolf hybrid who has a dark past with humans that ultimately landed him in a boxing ring, so he tries his very hardest to hate every single one of them. Even his mate, who happens to be a human nurse who works for the boxing ring. But everything changes when he finds you bleeding out with marks all around you..

Boyfriend For Hire || @remedyx​​​🔞💕💔🔄💯💯💯

↳ Unsatisfied with your life was an understatement. Being under the thumb of your father can have that effect. He wanted someone capable of running the company, but you wanted to pursue your passion. Countless unwanted blind dates and the threat of losing your freedom drives you to seek help from a group of individuals you'd least expected. (this fic updates so often that i lose track of which chapter i’ve read and i end up re-reading the same chapters AND THATS OKAY BECAUSE I WILL RE-READ THIS ENTIRE FIC FROM BEGEINNING TO END IF I HAVE TO JUST TO REFRESH MY MEMORY AND MY ROLLERCOASTER CALLED OF EMOTIONS. ily.)

Finding My Pack || @untaemedqueen​​​​🔞💕💔🔄💯💯💯

↳ Omegas are rare. Rarer than rare. Try one out of a hundred might possibly be an omega. So when the Euphoria Pack has a dinner meeting for a potential business partnership imagine their surprise when the find an omega being locked away like she's some sort of disease.

Let The Light In || @yoonnvrs​​​​💕🔄💯💯

↳ in which you’re a famous children’s book writer, one evening after coming home from a diner with your parents you find seven unknown hybrids making themselves comfortable in your living room, what do you do now?

Lone Wolf || @sopebubbles​​​​🔞💕💔🔄💯💯💯

↳ in a world where alphas, betas, and omegas live along side modern humans as second class citizens, you've fallen through the cracks of a society that wants to take everything wonderful from you. Luckily a timely encounter with the boys just might save your life.

Redamancy || @ya9amicide​​​​​💕💔🔄💯

↳ Hybrids were accepted in society to a certain degree. To some, they are for entertainment. Used as sex and money tools. To lock up and abuse whenever and however they please. Something to have control over. To others, they are companions. Just like regular animals are used for therapy or simply companionship, hybrids are too.

Red String || @purpleyoonn​​​💕💔🔄💯💯

↳ you figured it was too late for your string to solidify, used to the idea of finding someone on your own, who also never got their string. However, your string began to tug when you least expected it, to the last person or people you would have ever thought.

Holiday Inn || @bangtanintotheroom​​​​🔞💕✅💯

↳ If it’s not the loud music, it’s the constant rapping. If it’s not the constant rapping, it’s the hysterical laughter. And if it’s not the hysterical laughter, it’s the moaning and screaming women. How the hell hasn’t your neighbor been kicked out yet? Oh right; he’s a beloved rapper.  

I Remember You || @streetlight11​​🔞💕✅💯

↳ You grew up with your foster parents who found you at their doorstep when you were a newborn baby. They raised you up ever since and treated you like their own. When you turned 16, you started to keep getting the same recurring dream with the same scenes playing again and again. Until one day, it began to unveil more and more secrets to the dream which ends up showing you the bigger picture

Superstar || @jinkookspencil​​​🔞💕💔✅💯💯💯

↳ you, the quiet, lonely achiever, get paired up with the superstar new student at your university for a group project... and he needs all the help he can get

Trust Issues || @revkooks​​​🔞💕💔✅

↳ you’ve spent the past two years preaching about how much you enjoy being single and that dating was never a concern for you, until you meet jeon jungkook, the sweetest guy around, who completely changes that idea for you.

Do check out all of the other BTS Fics that i have reblogged as well!!

** if there is any fics that you guys would like to recommend, please do! i am slowly running out of fics to read **

#bts scenarios #bts fluff #bts angst #bts smut #bts strangers to lovers au #bts hybrid au #bts mafia au #bts friends to lovers au #bts established relationship au #bts fake dating au #bts fic recs #bts recs #bts roommates au #bts roommates to lovers au

[sparklypepper]

@hungarianmudkip69 recently asked @vaspider about the spread of HIV. The excellent discussion there focused largely on qualitative aspects, notably what was going on socially in the 1970s and 80s, HIV's subtlety and long incubation periods, and exponential growth (along with a great refutation of accidental needle sticks as a dominant vector).

I've got a math and physics background - I have some extremely relevant intuition, but I still prefer being able to find real-world numbers to confirm that I haven't misapplied it. I encourage checking out all the links in this post; there's a lot of great information!

We can't literally go back in time and test everyone for HIV, but it is possible to model and estimate, e.g. this 2021 report from the CDC (US-only).

The second graph of figure #2 is very close to what we discussed:

(MMSC is male-to-male sexual contact and IDU is injection drug use; see the article for other details.)

Again, these are estimates, so we can't take the exact numbers as fact, but let's look at the big picture. HIV likely first arrived in the US around 1970; it first gained public attention in 1981, when the CDC reported cases of what we now call AIDS. At that point, the estimate is an order of magnitude of tens of thousands of HIV infections.

The original asker was interested in the behavior of a "patient zero" (see also "Debunking the Myth of Patient Zero", an excellent video linked in that thread). These numbers help us see how little effect one hypothetical person's behavior could have had on the end result. As long as the virus was transmitted at all, it was going to reach the highest-risk populations eventually, and spread once there, whether it took one hop or ten. It was also essentially impossible to notice the pattern and infer the existence of HIV/AIDS in the US until multiple people in the same community developed AIDS and contracted unusual infections - which most likely means that it's reached that high-risk population, and ten years have passed.

Tens of thousands of infections is simply the result of exponential growth during those ten years; stopping it from becoming an epidemic would've required everyone's behavior to have changed. Different behavior, different transmission, different number of hops early on would more likely have changed how long it took to spread widely enough to become noticeable, not whether it did. (An unfortunately familiar concept, in the year 2023.)

The authors also mention that "trend data comparing subpopulations is likely to be robust for each period examined", so let's look back at those individual lines. Injection drug use (IDU) actually was a fairly significant means of transmission by the 1980s, and by the mid-80s, the spread among gay/bi men (MMSC) was beginning to decline. At the end of the decade, IDU may even have passed MMSC. Simultaneously, transmission was still rising among straight people. It shouldn't be too surprising that straight sex became significant; there are rather a lot of straight people!

The CDC also has us covered for a more current picture, as of 2017-2021 in the US:

This does vary greatly by country. Notably, as of 2022 in England, 49% of new diagnoses were among heterosexuals, compared to 45% among gay/bi men. (Do keep in mind that there are far more straight people, so still, a far higher fraction of gay/bi men were diagnosed.)

I personally find that I get the best understanding when I'm able to combine some direct evidence/data with an understanding of the history and social forces; hopefully this piece helps at least one person out in that way!

[Finally, as a footnote: trans women also exist (hi I'm one) and have historically been at high risk. I am unsure to what extent trans women are omitted versus misgendered in the above data. I wanted to focus on historical estimates over time here, and unfortunately wasn't able to find that for trans women, but this review article links to and summarizes some data from two meta-analyses.]

#hiv #aids #exponential growth #epidemics

[apomaro-mellow]

Part 2

This time around, Dustin let Will handle the camera. Not only because he was super busy on this day, but Will had also proven himself a talented director. He was currently capturing grade A gold of Steve deciding which hair products to pack away for the day.

He had packed and unpacked the bag at least three times while Dustin was making final arrangements in the kitchen by phone.

“Steve, I swear to god!”

“Hey! No yelling. You promised this would be the one day, no yelling”, Steve snapped.

Dustin huffed, then returned to his phone call.

“I think you’ll look fine”, Will said from behind the camera. “Eddie’s gonna love how you look no matter what.”

Steve smiled fondly at him for that. “Remind me why I didn’t make you my best man again?”

“Because Dustin would have skinned you alive?”

“Yeah, that’s why”, Steve nodded. He figured out his perfect products and closed up the bag. “Alright. I’m ready to get married.”

More like he was ready to begin preparing for the process to start getting ready to be married. But he was ready all the same.

Dustin was his best man. For the record, he had asked Robin first. But then she spent about an hour rambling about how horrible of a job she’d do with the planning and her anxiety and ruining his perfect day while being incredibly flattered and Steve decided to take her out of her misery.

“Just be where I need you”, he had said.

“Can do.”

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

While Steve went into a small room to get started on his hair, Dustin talked to Will, camera off.

“Okay, we’ve got a small window here. You ready for this?”

“You really think they’ll like it?”, Will asked.

“Those saps? They’ll be showin’ it to their grandkids”, Dustin said. 

Will beamed. They could do this. And hopefully Steve and Eddie would appreciate the thought behind it.

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

Eddie had proposed on January 2nd, 1990. He definitely planned to do a whole New Year’s thing, but had both chickened out and gotten distracted (another story for another time). But when he finally nutted up, he had told Steve he didn’t want another decade to go by without Steve being his husband.

“I’ve wanted this since the first time I saw you in a mosh pit, babe.”

“Eddie, that was three years ago.”

“Three years of torture.” Of not really knowing what the future held for them. Of knowing that even if they belonged to each other in every other way, it wouldn’t be recognized in many people’s eyes. But Eddie finally decided that he officially didn’t care if it wasn’t official. It was real to him and the man he loved. That made it more real than anything else.

And now he was staring at him, with El standing as officiator. She had been the flower girl at her first wedding (Joyce and Jim’s) and had been very fascinated with the person who got to actually marry the couple. She cleared her throat and began to speak, welcoming all the guests in a voice that was strong and full of adoration for the idea of two people professing their love in front of an audience of family and friends.

Then it came time for vows and Eddie typically didn’t shy away from his feelings but he had planned wear even more of his heart on his sleeve. Not only had Steve’s parents responded to the invite, they had attended. And he was gonna let them know just how special their son was.

When it was Steve’s turn, he was definitely already tearing up, but he got out everything he wanted to say. He wondered briefly if Robin saw a similar future for herself or Will.

But then El was practically bouncing on her heels to say her favorite part of all this and anything pertaining to non-Eddie thoughts left his mind.

“I now pronounce you husband and husband. You may kiss the groom.”

It really was the sweetest kiss Steve had ever received.

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

The musical selection at the reception was probably the oddest playlist possible but both grooms had wanted everyone to have a chance on the dance floor. Once it into full swing, everyone was getting a little of the grooms’ attention. And if it wasn’t the guests, they had their eyes on each other. So they could be forgiven for not noticing when a few of their friends disappeared.

Will, Jonathan, Nancy, and Dustin had left the hall to prepare their gift for the couple. When it was ready, Dustin walked out onto the stage to get everyone’s attention.

“A few of us have made something special for the men of the hour. Steve, Eddie, with all due respect: I told you so. And without further ado, solid proof that I am always right.”

A video began playing on a projector. One with Eddie and Steve as the focus, with Dustin obviously narrating from behind the camera. It was a little shakey, but something in Steve’s heart cracked at hearing Dustin’s still cracky voice from years ago, putting his own little spin on his and Eddie’s courtship.

“That little shit”, Steve whispered when the scene of him in the bathroom came up. But it had none of the bite it normally did when he was tearing up. Eddie brought his hand to his lips and kissed his knuckles. He was feeling a little vindication seeing their romance from the outside. In some of the scenes, Steve looked just as nervous as he had been. He had just been too blinded by love at the time to notice.

But then it changed from clips of their budding romance to the current events of today. 

As Dustin had been busy with best man business, Will was handling the camera and Lucas was voicing over for Steve’s actions from outside a window.

“On this, the most important day of his life, Steve is attended by the most trusted members of his pack.” 

Steve sat in front of a mirror while Robin did his hair, slapping his hands away every time he tried to interfere. Dustin was using a lint roller on his suit. Steve’s face was a storm of emotion as he tried to fidget with his hair. But Robin was on top of her game today.

“In less than an hour, Steve will officially enter a pair bond for life. Now let’s check in with Eddie.”

The shot changed to Eddie’s preparation. And while Steve anxious feelings were palpable, yet under control, Eddie was letting them all gush forth in the adrenaline thick atmosphere among his groomsmen.

“I’m gonna marry him!”, he shouted.

“You’re gonna marry him!”, Gareth and Jeff shouted back.

Eddie was pacing wildly around the room, sometimes pausing to hop on his feet. “I’m getting married today. I’m marrying Steve. Let’s go! Let’s do this! Nancy! Hit me!”

Nancy obliged him with a slap on the face and that got him even more hype, lifting the energy of the room even more. The handler of the camera turned it towards themselves, revealing Mike was the one recording. And he was definitely wondering how he got here. Then he turned it back towards Eddie.

“Okay, I just gotta ask one last time...”

Nancy gave him a warning look. “Mike...”

“Why Steve?”

Eddie’s smile got even bigger if that was possibly. “He’s belongs in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, Mini Wheels. It’s like I’m in little league and I hit a home run against a pro. You shouldn’t be asking me ‘why Steve?’ You should be asking me how.”

Steve turned to Eddie and was trying to convey just how with only his eyes. As they had just described in vivid detail in words. Eddie got the message and kissed him again.

The video went on to show the actual wedding, Will and Jonathan handling two cameras and then a third, floating at an impossible angle. Leave it to El to work double time for such an occasion. 

Seeing it all again from the outside...It had really happened, hadn’t it?

“We’re married, baby”, Eddie beamed.

When the video ended, they were kissing each other again. And again and again and for once, Dustin’s self righteous attitude didn’t rain on their parade. If anything they were actually proud of him for seeing what they hadn’t. You’ll never get them to admit it though.

END

Tag Team

@henderdads

@lightwoodbanethings

@mightbeasleep

@beautifully-useless

#apo writes #stranger things #fanfiction #steddie #dustin henderson #i do wanna actually chronicle a whole steddie wedding day #but another time #tell me el officiating a wedding bc she's in love with love isn't precious

[loupy-mongoose]

Happy birthday ^^ I'm in my 30's so, glad to see some older peeps on tumblr.

(even if 29 aint old XD )

Don't worry, I know. I don't truly believe myself to be old, just relatively old. I could be wrong, but I feel like a majority of the people I interact with on Tumblr and Discord are younger than me. Sometimes not by much, and sometimes by a lot. One of my favorite artists is about a decade younger than me! (Which is admittedly wild to think about. XD)

I want to take a moment to be sappy, and hopefully not conceited. I don't want to sound or act like I have a big head; I just want to offer some advice as an older artist.

When I was a teenager, I dreamed of having what I've since gained through this blog. I wanted to tell a story, and have people interact with it and ask questions, primarily in the form of Nuzlocke comics. I only ever tried on DeviantArt and, in more recent years, Twitter (may it RIP), and never really gained any traction. I wonder if things would've been different if I'd tried Tumblr back then, but I kinda doubt it. I was a teenager. I was still a developing artist and storyteller with an underdeveloped sense of self-confidence. Now, that's not to say I don't think teenagers can do great things and tell great stories... But if you're trying and it's not working out, YOU. HAVE. TIME.

At some point I came across what I believe was an advice post from Tumblr, but I can't find it anywhere and don't truly know where it's from. It had some wonderful advice that I wish I could share verbatim!

The biggest thing I gleaned from it is, don't down-talk your own art! If you have trouble liking the art you make, look for the good in it! Find the parts you can be confident in, build on that, and love what you do!

Here, I'll get you started.

You are an artist, which is a wonderful thing! You have the ability to bring your ideas to life, and that will only get better with time! I'm way, WAY better of an artist now than when I was 16, 17, 18 when I first tried telling stories online. Your biggest hindrance will be yourself, so please don't let yourself get in the way. Perfection in art is impossible. Aim for loving what you do, and be patient with yourself.

Anyways, that's my random sappy spiel. Enjoy your art, lovely artists young, old, and in-between!

#hideoutfromreality #ask #but unconventional #A part of me wonders if I just happen to have a story premise people like. #But I'll never be able to know for sure. #Would the result have been different if I'd thought up this story with my teenage art skill? #I don't know. #I CAN'T know. #I'll just have to move forward with what I've got now. #info

[quartings]

Legends Z-A Thoughts and Theories!

Okay, I was pretty quiet on my opinions for Scarlet and Violet, but I'm confident enough to be very pleased and optimistic for this! Legends Arceus was the strongest Pokemon game we had in a decade, and to see them continue this, bring back Megas, and take an extra year to hopefully make it non-buggy? Makes me so so excited!

On Megas:

It's a bit of a surprise to see Megas back, but honestly? Not too much of a surprise. Even ignoring the inevitability of Kalos remakes, Megas are the only gimmick Pokemon kept around in their spinoffs. It was in Mystery Dungeon, Shuffle, Smash Bros, Pokemon Go, and probably more I'm forgetting! So it was always in the back of Gamefreak's mind and I'm glad it's truly back again!

With Gens 8 and 9 bringing back cross-gen evos, I think they'll focus on only giving Megas to three-stage lines, to not quash the potential of 2nd stage Pokemon getting regular evolutions. So starters and Pokemon like Flygon can get Megas since they can't evolve further, but Pokemon like Tropius and Chimecho probably won't, in case they get evolutions in Gen 10 (That then get Megas)

I also don't think we fully grasp how many more Pokemon can get Megas now, too. Barely any of Gen 5 and 6 had Megas (Seriously only 2 Pokemon between the 228 Pokemon in those gens) and we've had THREE more generations since then!!

Note: We went from wanting a Dunsparce evo, to wanting a Dunsparce Mega, to getting Dudunsparce with mixed fan reception. Now I'm going to be a selfish deluded clown bitch and get my hopes up for a Mega Dudunsparce.

Speaking of starters and Megas, do we think we'll get a mish-mash of older starters for this game that then get Megas (Say, Piplup, Snivy, and Scorbunny) or will we get Megas for the three Kalos starters?

Megas may mean Mega Stones return as held items, and held items weren't in Legends Arceus- new gameplay advancement?

Legends Arceus gave us 7 new Pokemon (most of them cross-gen evos) and a dozen new regional forms. Do you think we'll still get regionals this game, or will the design team be focused more on making new Megas instead?

On the world:

It's been confirmed the whole game is only in Lumiose City- how big is the map?? Hopefully we really do get lots of sidequests, biomes for wild Pokemon, and traversal options.

When is this? We're redeveloping Lumiose City, but are we in the past developing it into its current state, or are we in the present/future developing it into a new solarpunk city? Or neither, and this is a "Paradox" game set in a timeline which doesn't quite match ours?

This doesn't have to be an isekai (as in, we don't have to be time travellers again per se), just keep that in mind!

The "Z" in the logo represents Zygarde, with the black color and green hexagons. So who's the "A"? It's green with green scale/leaf patterns on it. What does it represent? The "Chaos" to Zygarde's "Order"? Is it a 5th Zygarde form or is it a whole new Pokemon?

Meta thoughts:

This further confirms my theory that Gen 9 will last until 2026, where they announce Gen 10 on that year's Pokemon Day for their 30th anniversary, and that's great! I'm glad they aren't overworking themselves too much compared to Gens 6-8.

On them "skipping" Unova remakes: I don't see this as skipping. We've been long overdue for a Z version since Kalos is literally the only Pokemon region to only appear in one release (no third version, no remakes, no sequels, no ultras, no DLC). So we're simply making up for the "deficit" of a third version here, and we can go back to focusing on Unova remakes for Gen 10.

Do you think we'll get any final updates to SV to tide us over until the next LegendZ trailer around August? Maybe a small DLC, mythical reveal, or free update?

Pokemon Adventures skipped the last Legends game, so they'll probably skip this one too? I'm fine either way- at least by skipping it, they won't be too rushed and stressed, and they'll actually have the time to flesh out SV and catch up with ORAS/SM/USUM/SwSh in the full volumes.

But on the off chance they do adapt Legends Z-A, do you think we'll get dexholders named Z and A??

Note for the future- the Yoasobi Pokemon song BiriBiri has a part where they namedrop all the game titles- one part has the lyrics "ABC to the XYZ". Long shot, but if Legends Z-A does indeed have an ABC theming, this could be a crazy bit of either coincidental or intentional foreshadowing!

#pokemon #pokemon legends #pokemon legends z-a #pokemon z #zygarde #q speaks #theory #pokespe #pokemon adventures #positivity #pokemon legends za

[valeovalairs]

A Riptide AU that I came up with

Some pretty big spoilers for Riptide Episode #109, please don’t read further you have been warned.

Okay, I know episode 109 JUST came out, and Niklaus is probably going to fix Chibo, -with a price and conditions blah blah blah most likely but like, hopefully he’ll be fine and get his heart back… hopefully, maybe, I hope he’ll be okay- but I had an idea. 

Or more like I came up with an entire AU in my head halfway through the episode as it really started to sink in that Chip is now undead (at least he’s not dead dead yk, thought he was for like two seconds). (Mind you I thought of this while things were really starting to seem hopeless and before Niklaus became a possibility.)

Okay first of all, Chip has a bandana that could change his appearance right? I’m pretty sure he still has that right? That’s going to be important later.

May I present to you: The Legend of the Immortal Riptide Pirate.

So say Chip never gets fixed. They’re able to successfully leave (idk how but they do) and eventually they escape the Black Sea (maybe they’ve fixed it, that would be great and ideal), but Chip is still undead, and for all they know they can’t heal him, he’s stuck like that forever. He begins to constantly use the disguise bandana to just look like himself. Alive. (So no one besides the crew knows he’s undead)

The Riptide Pirates keep going, but time passes. Everyone gets older, years go by, and Chip is still the same. He never will change. He’s 19 and he will always look 19. They live their lives. But eventually Chip is the last one (this gets a little sad I’M SORRY). He doesn’t take on another crew, and the Riptide Pirates become something of a legend. 

People begin to whisper about the Riptide Pirates, or Pirate. How he mans the ship alone, and some might even say he’s immortal, as people from decades ago remember hearing of him. And seeing him. He’s seen occasionally, docking the Albatross, and doing something piratey. Usually he helps people. (I just thought of this I don’t have specific details), usually he messes with the Navy and Raft (because they don’t die either apparently, so he’s made it his mission to screw them over as much as possible)

At this point where the AU really would kick off it’s been decades maybe even a whole century or more since the events of Riptide. There’s a Ferin descendant, and she’s heard stories of her ancestor Jay Ferin, who was apart of the original Riptide Pirates crew, back when there was a crew, and how she sailed with the Legendary Riptide Pirate. She’s her hero. Her family is trying to rope her into Raft, to send her off like to Navy school or whatever. She wants none of that but they aren’t really giving her a choice. So she’s there, probably in All-Port, and she’s trying to come up with a way to get out. She knows her ancestor used to be a Riptide Pirate, and she knows THE Riptide Pirate is still drifting around. So she has an idea. She wants to be a Riptide Pirate. She begins to plan her escape.

Meanwhile, the Undersea had a new Chosen One. She’s meant to do what the previous Champion didn’t do. She’s completely just for ceremonial purposes, and she isn’t actually THE chosen one, there was only one, but the Undersea pretends to have another one because they don’t know what else to do- the Elders keep this fact secret. She hates it, but she’s known nothing else. The Undersea decides to show her off, diplomatic stuff (what exactly, I’m not entirely sure atm). She’s in All-Port and above on land for the first time ever. It’s incredible. And for the first time ever, she sees a way out. 

The day the Champion is in All-Port coincides with the day the Ferin decides to make her break for it, there’s supposed to be a lot of commotion with the Chosen One and Undersea Elders which should help them get away and give them some time. The Ferin gets out and begins to weave her way through the city, heading for the docks. The Champion had got out too, but she hadn’t really thought that far ahead and doesn’t know where to go or what to do. She’s just wandering around late at night by herself, clearly lost and a little scared- because she can’t get caught she doesn’t want to go back. The Champion runs into the Ferin who instantly recognizes them as the Chosen One and is confused and panics a little because what is the chosen one doing here? The chosen one is supposed to be on the other side of the city and being the chosen one and distracting everyone not here. They both realize they’re trying to leave, and after a quick conversation the two of them run off together, because the Riptide Pirate had known the first Chosen One, they had been friends and co-captains. He could help her, help them both get away. He would understand. So they leave.

The Ferin has a small ship that she’d be able to handle herself, or maybe she steals it idk. They go off together. Eventually they dock at one port (I’m thinking Zero- they know from asking around that he frequents Zero) and then they wait. And once they know he’s there and docked, they sneak onto his ship.

Chip is very surprised to find the Champion of the Undersea and a Ferin together on the Albatross once again.

(That’s as far as i thought but I think it’s pretty cool- I may or may not work on this some more)

#I’ve been going nuts since the episode first dropped #Jrwi #chip jrwi #jrwi riptide #Jrwi episode 109 #Jrwi episode 109 spoilers #Jrwi riptide spoilers #jrwi riptide au #I could end up writing this eventually maybe #Or drawing it #I have so many wips already though #What’s one more #legend of the riptide pirate au

[astoundingbeyondbelief]

Kaiju Week in Review (January 7-13, 2024)

Hard to talk about the Monarch: Legacy of Monsters finale without spoilers, so if you haven't watched it yet, skip ahead to the next item. No flashbacks this time (time dilation aside), just our surviving heroes finally all on the same page to solve a seemingly impossible problem. The momentous reunion between Lee and Keiko got the space it deserved, although I was a touch disappointed that the obvious budding romance between Cate and May got shortchanged. And of course we finally got our first kaiju fight of the series, with Godzilla dispatching the Ion Dragon in a quick but ferocious battle. Fun to see this version of the character take on a low-stakes, low-power challenger for a change. I am routinely frustrated by TV seasons ending on cliffhangers (some of which are then never resolved), but they managed to conclude this season's storyline while setting up the next one, should they have the chance to tell it. Good to have some payoff to the Apex episode earlier in the series. I'm wondering if the series is planning to pivot to Kong now. Since Godzilla: King of the Monsters still hasn't happened yet, the Big G still can't make any public appearances without breaking continuity, which is quite the writing complication.

@bog-o-bones has blessed us with an excellent feature-length video essay on the history of the kaiju genre. Even for a walking encyclopedia like me, it was fun to have it all laid out so cleanly—the way the three genre pillars of Godzilla, Gamera, and Ultraman rise and fall in popularity, never entirely in sync and consequently keeping us steadily entertained over the decades. So many narratives about the genre in print are decades out of date and/or act like barely anything past the sixties was worth making. This one's up-to-the-minute and gives the seismic influence of films like Cloverfield and Pacific Rim their due. I have my quibbles (last-minute re-records accidentally omitted GAMERA -Rebirth-; the original Mothra deserved more attention), but I acknowledge the amount of works covered here is staggering and every fan would tell this story a little bit differently. Highly recommended.

IDW's biggest Godzilla comic ever is coming in May, a one-shot anthology called Godzilla: 70th Anniversary. It'll have nine stories over 100 pages, with the writers including Joëlle Jones, Michael W. Conrad, Matt Frank, James Stokoe, Adam Gorham, and Dan DiDio. (Some of these folks will presumably be illustrating their comics as well.) The solicitation doesn't offer many plot hints, given that scope: "From the American Old West to modern Tokyo and beyond, this collection features stories of the King of the Monsters fighting with its allies like Mothra, against old enemies like the terrible Mechagodzilla, and reshaping the lives of all who fall in its path!" I'm surprised they're not waiting until November—hopefully it doesn't get delayed into November.

Godzilla x Kong: The New Empire will now release in the U.S. two weeks early—March 29. It's taking the place of Bong Joon-ho's Mickey 17, which is now undated. I can hardly complain about being able to see it earlier, though the move comes with some risk, as it's now opening the week after Ghostbusters: Frozen Empire.

SRS Cinema has opened preorders for their Yuzo the Biggest Battle in Tokyo Blu-ray. Or is it Yuzo: The Biggest Battle on Tokyo? That's what the product page says, but on the cover the title's unchanged. Oh, SRS. Anyway, bonus features are scant: just trailers and something called "A Brief Introduction To Ishii Yoshikazu."

Here's the teaser trailer for Volcanodon, a short film from Taiwan's Creator Union of Tokusatsu. They're aiming to have it uploaded to YouTube sometime this year, and I'll happily watch it. Obviously low-budget, but it's well-shot and it's nice to see a kaiju movie outside of Japan go all-in on practical effects.

#kaiju week in review #kaiju #godzilla #monarch legacy of monsters #volcanodon #yuzo the biggest battle in tokyo #godzilla x kong the new empire #idw

[lemonsprite]

𝐘𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐬 || 𝐁𝐢𝐥𝐛𝐨 𝐁𝐚𝐠𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐬 𝐱 𝐓𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐧 𝐎𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐞𝐥𝐝

Summary: idk Yule something something something bro I don't know what to write it's just a bunch of fluff and tiny Frodo content

Word count: 2K

A/N: This was cross-posted on my ao3!

Dearest Thorin, 

I regret to inform you I won’t be able to spend the winter months with you this year as much as I’d like to. Unfortunately, my dear cousins the Brandybuck-bagginses have passed in a terrible boating accident and as much as this time hurts for my family, they have asked that I may take in my cousin's only son, Frodo. Of course, I have agreed as is right to do. Poor lad lost both his parents in one day, I can only imagine what he’s going through right now. 

Yavannah knows this is the last thing I’d ever want but I must take care of the boy for now. I hope you can understand. Perhaps I can visit in the summertime, I’m sure Frodo would love to see Erebor someday. 

Your burglar, 

Bilbo Baggins

Bilbo looked down sadly at the sealed envelope in his hands. He’d been looking extremely forward to spending Yule with Thorin. Yet that was all a distant thought now, He has a boy to look after. Frodo sat next to him, only nine years old and inexplicably quiet. Bilbo had given him one of his books he’d picked up on his journey to the lonely mountain. Some sort of elvish novel filled with fantastical fairy tales and stories of yore. 

When Frodo had been younger he’d used to jump for joy when Uncle Bilbo came bearing gifts of books to family gatherings, now he sat staring at the same page for the past fifteen minutes his face emotionless and his eyes distant. 

Bilbo sighed and ran a hand through his curly hair, turning his attention back to the letter in his hand. 

“I’ll be right back, Frodo.” He said, giving the boy the biggest smile he could muster at the moment.

Frodo blinked in response, not even turning to look Bilbo in the eye. 

The hobbit pursed his lips and tucked the envelope into his waistcoat pocket. 

It was snowing hard outside and the windows of Bag-end rattled with the force of the wind. It was a true blizzard in the making. Hopefully, the bird would be able to make it to Thorin. 

Barely half a month had passed since Bilbo sent his letter. Frodo seemed to return slightly to his younger self. He’d begun asking Bilbo questions about his journeys once more, the young hobbit would stop in the hallways of Bag-end and pester Bilbo until he told him the story behind the map hanging on the wall or the set or dwarven battle armor sitting in the corner, long forgotten. 

They sat together at the dinner table two bowls of beef stew lay untouched before them, it was getting late. 

“Don’t you want your soup Frodo?” Asked Bilbo. “It’s one of your favorites.” He encouraged, attempting to get his picky-eater of a nephew to eat. 

Frodo scowled, poking at the meat in his stew with his fork. 

Their silence was broken by the loud noise of Bilbo’s bell signaling there was someone at the door. Bilbo cleared his throat and sat up from his seat. 

The elder hobbit walked gingerly to the front of Bag-end, wondering who in their right mind would be pestering a hobbit this late during supper of all times. 

Decades ago the last time his bell had rung at this hour he’d become an unwilling party member on a long and quite bothersome adventure. 

Bilbo threw open the door to reveal a quite serious-looking dwarf. Yet that was not the source of his surprise (He quite expected this to happen if Bilbo was being truthful, he had a tendency to attract unwanted visitors) What really shocked the hobbit was that the dwarf was none other than Thorin Oakenshield himself. 

“Thorin?” He gaped, staring wide-eyed at the dwarrow in front of him. “Wha? Huh?” 

“Where’s the little pebble, hm?” Asked Thorin a serious glint in his eye, trying to peer past Bilbo’s shoulder into the den. 

“pebble?” Asked Bilbo still trying to work out why Thorin was here in the first place. He raised his hands to back peddle their conversation. “Hold on- aren’t you supposed to be at Erebor?” 

Thorin waved his hand dismissively. “Fili’s got it under control, it’ll be a good experience for him.”

“Good experience? Thorin, that's an entire kingdom to run by himself!” Exclaimed Bilbo, flabbergasted at the dwarf’s carelessness. 

“And he has Balin to take care of him, he’ll be fine,” explained Thorin, putting a hand on Bilbo’s shoulder. “Besides, you need more help than him right now.” 

“I don’t think that's a very even comparison.” Laughed Bilbo, looking at Thorin as if he’d just magically turned into a monkey. “Look, come inside, I don’t want you catching a cold out in the snow.” The hobbit sighed, opening the door further for the dwarven king to enter. 

Thorin shook the snow off his thick fur coat and turned to Bilbo, giving the other a stern look. 

“It may not seem like that hard of an ordeal Bilbo but raising a child is no laughing matter.” He tsked. “When my brother-in-law died I helped Dis out with the boys every day, I essentially became like their father. I know what child-rearing is like.” 

“So you’ve come all this way to help me?” Asked Bilbo, looking Thorin up and down curiously. “Not to mention how fast you got here, I didn’t even know it was possible to travel from Erebor to the Shire in less than a month.” 

Thorin's face turned red, he looked everywhere but Bilbo’s eyes, muttering something unintelligible. 

“What was that?” Asked Bilbo, a smile pulling at his lips. 

“I also may have wanted to spend Yule with you,” Thorin grumbled, his voice deep and gravely, like a bear. 

Bilbo grinned at Thorin, the tips of his pointed ears turning red. 

“Uncle Bilbo, why is there a dwarf in our parlor?” Came Frodo's voice from the doorway, his curly head peeking out from the corner. 

Bilbo opened his mouth to speak but Thorin beat him to the chase.

“You must be Frodo.” He smiled, wrapping his arm around Bilbo’s shoulder and pulling him close to the dwarf’s side. 

Bilbo coughed, clearing his throat, denying the feeling of warmth that spread throughout his body at Thorin's touch. 

“Frodo, you recall Thorin from my adventures, hm?” He asked, waving a careless hand in the general direction of the dwarf. 

The younger hobbit's pointed ears perked up and he stared up at Thorin in awe. “The king under the mountain?” Frodo exclaimed in astonishment. 

“At your service,” Thorin replied, a soft smile spreading across his face. 

Frodo’s excitement was basically tangible, he was practically bouncing off the walls as he ran up to Thorin, the young hobbit twiddling his fingers in nervousness. 

“Did you really fight a dragon?” He asked in amazement, looking up at Thorin as if he’d saved his life instead of Bilbo’s. 

Thorin was about to answer when Bilbo cut him off. 

“Good little hobbits finish their dinner first, you can bombard him with all your questions after you finish your stew.” 

Frodo grumbled, frowning hard as he glanced back at Thorin. 

“You know…” Said Thorin looking around the room as if he was afraid someone would overhear him. “I brought all these toys from Erebor… But I was strictly told by my advisors to only give them to shirelings who finish their suppers.” He glanced at Bilbo, shooting him a small smile. 

Bilbo rolled his eyes in obvious annoyance, yet his smile told another story. 

Frodo gasped, looking back and forth between Bilbo and Thorin before making a mad dash for the dining room, determined to eat all his soup. 

“How about I show you around a bit? Before the little devil inhales his stew I mean…” Added Bilbo, his eyes still on the doorway Frodo had just sped through. “It's been quite a while since you last visited… Four years if I remember correctly.” 

“Four years far too long.” Sighed Thorin, pulling Bilbo even closer to his side. “If I had my way I’d visit you every year.” 

“You have a kingdom to run.” Rationalized Bilbo. “Besides, it takes three months to travel from Erebor to the Shire… Usually.” He continued glancing up at Thorin. 

The dwarf met him with an exasperated shrug. 

“I would like that tour, however,” Thorin added as an afterthought, looping his and Bilbo’s arms together. “Show me where I’ll be sleeping, hm?” 

“I see you’ve gotten a lot more books in your study since I last visited.” Observed Thorin as Bilbo led him into his office. 

“Elrond half-elven gave me them as gifts since I’ve learned to speak Sindarin and Quenya. told me they’d help expand my knowledge.” Bilbo smiled, patting Thorin’s arm which was still entangled in his. 

Thorin scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Damn elves, next thing you know they’ll be coming to Bag-end to join us for Yule.” 

“They might as well.” Added Bilbo smugly. “I’m told we bagginses are quite good at making foreign friends.” 

Thorin rolled his eyes playfully at the hobbit's remark as Bilbo continued. The hobbit led Thorin through a circular door into his bed chambers. 

Bilbo’s room hadn’t changed much since the four years of Thorin’s absence. A new quilt sat neatly on top of his bed, illustrating the shire and its surplus gardens. On the hobbit's nightstand was an assortment of parenting books stacked to reach a combined height of an average elf. One of Bilbo’s coats (An extremely well-made dwarven garment) sat draped over a cushioned armchair that hadn’t been there previously. Thorin had given the coat to Bilbo as a Yule present eight years ago, part of him melted seeing it displayed. 

“I assume you’ll be staying here with me…” Bilbo dawdled on, looking anywhere but Thorin, the tips of his ears turning red. “That is- if you want to.” He added hurriedly.

Thorin nodded his head furiously. 

“I want to.” 

Bilbo smiled sheepishly, tugging nervously at his copper curls. 

 A silence fell between them and Thorin faltered, grabbing Bilbo’s hand. 

“We need to talk, my burglar.” 

Bilbo stared back at the dwarven king, his smile hesitating. 

“I agree.” 

Bilbo busied himself by straightening invisible wrinkles on his bed sheets and sat down with Thorin next to him. The hobbit sighed, he’d had a feeling they’d be having this discussion one way or another. 

An uncomfortable silence filled the air with thick tension. Thorin was the first to speak. 

“Our original plan isn’t going to work now, isn’t it?” He asked, rubbing his thumb over Bilbo’s knuckles, making the hobbit's face flush and his ears ring. 

“I suppose Frodo does change some things…” Replied Bilbo, his gaze finding the ground much more interesting than Thorin at the moment. 

“Do…” Thorin faltered. “Do you wish to end our courtship?” 

Bilbo didn't waste a second to respond, his eyes darting up to Thorins within milliseconds. 

“No! Not at all! I still want to marry you, Thorin!” He exclaimed, anxiety filling his stomach. “It’s just, a lot changed with the addition of Frodo…” Bilbo pursed his lips. 

“We… Just need time to figure it out.” He sighed, turning to smile slightly at Thorin. “I swear I’ll never leave you. No matter what.” 

“I as well my burglar.” Thorin sighed contentedly, happy with the conclusion of their discussion as he cupped Bilbo’s face with his rough hand. “Aulë I love you.” 

They sat there for what felt like eons to both of them but was most likely a matter of a few fleeting moments. Both content to be held in each other's arms.

“Did you actually bring dwarvish toys?” Whispered Bilbo, almost unbelieving. He shifted in the dwarf’s arms, breaking the dramatic tension that had filled the air almost suffocatingly with their discussion. 

Thorin pulled away from their embrace and opened the pockets of his big coat, revealing a plethora of small (most likely enchanted) children’s toys, ranging from tops to stuffed animals, and dominos. 

“Don’t worry.” He smirked. “I’m planning to make his Yule present myself.”

Bilbo knew Thorin and Bilbo knew the dwarf was most likely to make something that would get Frodo in lots of trouble with their ever-nosy neighbors. 

“It better not be any hopefully safe and small Dwarven battle gear.” He scolded, looking the dwarf king in the eye. 

“How did you guess?” Asked Thorin with a devious smirk. 

“I had my suspicions.” Bilbo’s annoyance did not last as he laughed shortly, rolling his eyes and returning to Thorin's arms. 

The dwarven king brought his attention to the small trinkets in his pocket. “They were my nephews' favorite nick-nacks growing up. Now that they don’t need them I thought they could be put to good use again.” He explained shyly. 

“That’s an excellent idea Thorin.” Sighed Bilbo contentedly, restraining himself from burrowing deeper into the dwarf’s warm chest. It’d been what felt like decades since he was last able to embrace Thorin like he was currently. 

A harsh knock came from the door to Bilbo’s bedroom, interrupting their moment. 

“Uncle Bilbo, I've finished my soup!” Rang Frodo’s voice from behind the door. “Is Mr. Thorin in there?” 

Bilbo gave Thorin a knowing look as he got up from his arms to answer the door, readjusting his wrinkled clothing as he did so. 

“All of it?” He asked the little hobbit, raising a suspicious eyebrow. 

Frodo nodded violently, his eyes looking expectantly behind him to the dwarf still sitting on Bilbo’s bed. 

“Alright- But if you’re lying so help me Yavannah…” The hobbit sighed, opening the door further for Frodo to dash in, running straight to Thorin. 

Bilbo had a feeling this was going to be the best Yule yet.

I love them (༎ຶ⌑༎ຶ)

#the hobbit thorin #the hobbit bilbo #the hobbit #thorin x bilbo #bilbo baggins #bilbo and frodo #frodo baggins #thorin oakenshield x bilbo baggins #thorin oakenshield #king thorin #lord of the rings #bagginsheild #bagginshield

[strobichie]

just sae, forever.

♡⸝⸝ summary: poor you decided to replay ddlc, but instead you were stuck in an unideal situation. this is part two of just sae!

little note: i didn't expect my last post to get 30+ likes XD, i was never good at writing per se, regardless i'm delighted to see people enjoy my small short fic even if it wasn't that eye-catching. also, oftentimes i write for gn and fem readers and honestly.. i don't know which to use for this one. i guess it's up to you then reader ^_^ (small hints of inconsistent type of reader, reader's style and etc depends on her or their mood.)

your perspective:

huh, it's been a few days after that unfortunate event.

was i just pranked? geez, hopefully it was. the shit that 'sae' pulled back there felt real as hell. even his dialogues sounded real.

i heard a knock on my apartment door and froze in place..

i haven't gone out in days, i think i already became a neet.

my legs dangled from my bed as i stood up, rushing to the front door, i opened it, expecting to get ai hoshino's fate.. but instead... ---

"it feels nice to see you in real life." that.. was sae's voice. or more realistically AND honestly, takahiro sakurai's voice.

i perked my head up, oh... he was, tall. obviously. what am i saying?

he pulled me into a sudden hug, he wore the same clothes when he appeared in the manga and anime.

i was speechless, this... couldn't be real. i was just being pranked, was i?

"why are you so quiet? why don't you speak up, love?" he looked at me lovingly, gosh, my single ass felt blood running to my cheeks.

"no way, you're real? here?! in flesh and blood??" i said, absolutely flabbergasted. he looked exactly like sae, but i was still in denial.

"why would you think that my words were just empty nonsense? i was being true to my words... and you." he shyly admitted. why was he so out of character?

"and, i may not seem like the cold person i was in the anime and manga, but i.. since i'm with you, after all those times in the literature club, i actually found happiness with you." he continued to speak.

"...yeah, let's, like, settle this inside." i brought him in my apartment, it wasn't too small, rather it was quite big. my job paid me really well and i was able to afford quite a luxurious and spacious apartment. those years in school really did pay off, haha.

sae sat on my comfortable white couch as he looked around, surprised. i dug into my pantry desperately searching for.. something.

i was really warming up to sae now, i mean, judging from my tiktok reposts i reposted videos and edits of him way more often than rin, sorry... rinrin...

my eyes caught sight of my life long worth of candy stash, it could last for like, decades. or more...

i happily hummed as i took a big basket full of candy, walking to the living room and placing it on the glass coffee table.

"what are you staring for sae? come on, i didn't bring this big basket of candy here for nothing." i shot him a smug smile, urging him to take one candy bar.

"it's nothing, i just never expected you to be this welcoming and kind.. i'm... grateful. thank you." he took a candy bar and peeled the wrapper open, taking a bite into the soft chocolate caramel.

he was secretly enjoying the candy bar, so i took one for myself and swallowed the candy bar whole after peeling the tight ass wrapper.

"riiight, since you're a famous footballer back in the bluelockverse, i guess you need to get used to getting pampered and taken care of by me since you have no job now, whatsoever. but to be frank, i don't care. it's nice to have someone around me after god knows how long!" i said out of the blue, eyes star-struck. i didn't know why, i felt happier when people were around me. but when i was with sae.. i felt.. like i was on cloud nine.

"...sae, i don't know why. but i like you, a lot." two lonely bitches staring at each other, that was us.

"i like you too, {name}... i like you, a lot more than you'd ever like me." gosh, this stings. what was i thinking? am i hallucinating or just crazy? i eyed sae sadly, a evident frown plastered on my face.

"i'll love you till the end of time, {name}." he smiled, shit, i felt butterflies in my stomach. is this true love? ironic since he was a fictional character that broke the barrier between fiction and reality.

maybe.. life with sae.. wouldn't be so bad.

we can do many things together, like drawing and painting. playing video games, and going out together. like a real couple would do.

i found myself slightly blushing a soft pink colour, i actually felt happy, with sae.

"...i love you, sae." i smiled at him lovingly, and he shot me a loving smile back.

i finally felt true happiness!

author's note: might do a silly lil fic of reader and sae living life together as a happy couple, gosh, i'm a sucker for lovey dovey pairs wkdjskwksfr

#blue lock #blue lock x reader #x fem reader #x gn reader #x reader #gn reader #fem reader #sae itoshi #sae itoshi x reader #sae x reader #bllk x you #true happiness #true love #ddlc #doki doki literature club #monika #sayori #natsuki #yuri #ddlc x blue lock