#no seriously does this idea appeal to anyone
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neonnoir-ao3 · 7 months ago
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AU where Gabriel does some actual boots-on-the-ground fieldwork when it comes to ending the human race.
As a stripper.
Like, God’s most beautiful angel and king of sin and lust… he’s practically in his element.
He also does a biblical themed routine as, well, himself (but obviously no one else knows that) and it’s got a storyline of him basically tempting the audience watching him to sin.
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duvewing · 2 years ago
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little pet peeve of mine is when a person’s only idea to make kyrie a ‘stronger character’ is to just give her a sword
#saint.txt#and before anyone misinterprets this i think that kyrie being given more agency by at least knowing how to physically defend herself#and her loved ones is good. there is no reason why she cannot be able to defend herself in some way#there is nothing wrong with making kyrie a fighter too#but also i am a bit ? when people seem to think that giving her a sword and making her be good at wielding said sword#is an inherent improvement over her current character#like yea it could at least give her more potential for agency but i just don’t think kyrie being a badass on the same level as the others#is my cup of tea. and i mean ‘badass’ in like the physical combat oriented way#bc i think part of the appeal of kyrie for me is the fact that she is ultimately the most ‘normal’ of the cast#i like her from a more grounded human perspective and how that interacts with the world and other characters around her#i am generally more interested in seeing kyrie’s pov abt this world and the everyday things she does to deal with it#and help others deal with it and playing her own role outside of the battlefield#and fighting only when necessary to defend herself#than i am in kyrie being made out to be the same combat focused badass that all the others are#like again before i get misinterpreted i think that ideas where kyrie is indeed a good fighter are nice#there is nothing wrong with them and i indulge in them from time to time too#it’s just this particular attitude about ‘kyrie must be a fighter to be a better character’#that i take issue with#and also i’m just generally not a fan of ‘generic girlboss kyrie’ when it’s taken seriously lol#that being said i think giving kyrie a sword would be funny#once again i just think there’s other approaches to take when it comes to building on kyrie’s character#but of course i’d much rather have that than the people who think kyrie is completely useless and boring#and therefore she should get killed off. instead of like idk. actually wanting the series to develop her character more#or the people who claim she has no personality and try to twist the canon#to make that personality ‘abusive to nero’
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gingerswagfreckles · 2 years ago
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I think people need to understand that when someone says the situation in Israel/Palestine is complicated they are not necessarily saying that the discussion of who the oppressor vs oppressed is complicated. The Israeli government has been oppressing the Palestinians for a very long time, that is clear, and it is not complicated to understand that at least since the 80s they have had dramatically more financial and military power to keep control of the territory in the way they like.
However, it is reductive and dismissive to insist that there is no complexity in the potential ways to move forward to bring peace to the region. Despite what people on tumblr.edu like to believe, "Israel should never have been created" is not a practical solution to an incredibly heated geopolitical situation in the present day. Israel was created and it does exist. 10 million people live there. 74% of the population is native born and the country has existed for 75 years. Hand waving these fact away with the opinion that "they should move back to where they came from" may make you feel good about being a Radical Leftist, but it does not give anyone a road map for how exactly millions of people without dual citizenship are supposed to just up and evaporate. Nor does it acknowledge the reality that 21% of Israelis are Arabs, the very people you are claiming to want to give the land back to.
Insisting that there's nothing complicated about expecting an entire country's population to willingly dissappear with no consequences is not a productive way to think about this conflict. It ignores the many massive superpowers that have an interest in proping up different states in the region, the power dynamics involved in any land back movements, and the inevitably negative consequences of totally dissolving an established state without a plan. It is also completely and almost comically unrealistic, so much so that it makes it hard to believe that anyone who's opinion starts and ends with this idea really gives a shit about anyone who lives in the area as much as they care about their online leftist clout.
There's nothing complicated in understanding that the Israeli government is and has been maintaining an oppressive apartheid state for decades. It is, however, very complicated to come up with a realistic way to resolve some of the most intricately entangled land disputes on the planet without plunging the region into total chaos. Not everyone has to be deeply educated on every geopolitical situation, but it is very hard to take people seriously when they know nothing about the politics or history of a region and yet insist that there is nothing complicated about it at all.
There's a lot of people on this website who are getting dangerously smug about their own ignorance, and are starting to go down Qanon type anti-intellectual paths in the name of being sufficiently radical. Not knowing the details of a very convoluted land dispute isn't something to brag about online as you call for intentionally reductive solutions. You can support the Palestinian cause and be aware of the oppression they have faced while also holding off on calling people trying to do real analysis and de-escalation work bootlickers. We need to get control of the urge to fit every global issue into a simplistic YA novel narrative structure that appeals to Western revolutionary fantasies.
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erwinsvow · 4 months ago
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i think, in the end, it's the dependability that really does night shift reader in.
it's so easy to fall into the trap of having a crush on your attending, just like in the cheesy medical romance shows that are your secret guilty pleasure. and honestly, jack abbot makes everything seem like a movie. you guess that you don't really, or maybe have never known, what it feels like to be chased. to be pursued.
not that whatever is going on between you and your superior is, in fact, chasing or pursuing. it's more like a dabble into that category, teetering on the edge of a black hole that you have explored from the safety and comfort of your bed more than once. in the early hours of the morning, when the entire world has awoken and there's children getting on busses and cars honking at each other, you shut the window, pull the curtains, and get into bed. you're averaging maybe six, seven hours of sleep since you changed to the night shift.
and it's a pretty good six or seven hours. except for, of course, the first hour of trying to sleep when your body just knows it's broad daylight outside. you are exhausted—nights are not easy for anyone, especially someone as new to it as you are. and the curtains help some, as does the white noise machine and lavender pillow spray that shen recommended. but none of it is really enough.
it must be that last cup of coffee. you can imagine it in front of you if you close your eyes. five am—two hours to go. yawning, but keeping an open ear for any incoming car accidents that are so common around this time. you really do need that last cup, you all do. sometimes you'll see ellis have half an energy drink instead, but the idea of drinking something cold sounds less appealing than just sucking it up and being tired.
and that's when he comes. when you hear the sound of the can being twisted open, when you see shen make a pit-stop to take a sip. when the nurses are finally taking a seat because it's that lull of the hour, the one that makes you even sleepier because for once, there isn't actually something to do right this second. you have a mug, yellow like your water bottle, that has a special spot in the second cabinet, tucked away so no one accidentally uses it.
(not that anyone would, with the way jack glares at someone who even tries to reach for it when the coffee's done brewing. it's a known fact that you think people are being sweet by not using your mug. they let you be oblivious—it's sweet that you even think caffeine-starved nurses and doctors care about your mug at dawn or midday. they care about getting chewed out by the attending, though.)
and so right on the dot, jack appears with a cup of freshly brewed coffee for you. milk, sugar, extra of both. sweet enough that you keep drinking it and are powered up for the remaining two hours, the drive home, breakfast, shower and finally, your bed. he knows your routine, inquired about it through tired conversations in between patients. you know his too, like the fact that he takes breakfast very seriously and thinks it's akin to a crime that you sometimes go to sleep without eating. you crack a harmless joke—well, you'll just have to come over and feed me if you want me to eat.
the way he looks at you tells you that he's not joking.
and so you lay awake in bed, after that shift and every other, thinking about that cup of coffee. it's so reliable. he is so reliable. every day without fail. you never have to remind him. some days he makes it earlier than others—like he could tell that you didn't get as much sleep or if that trauma earlier took it out of you. you don't have to say it. he just knows. some days it's a little late, like if there's a freak car accident and you're all rushed to the ambulance bay and the adrenaline is enough to ride off of for the next hour or so. you've never had to say it. like clockwork, jack is there with your coffee in your mug right at that time when you feel like you need it.
dependable. that's the word hovering in your mind when you can't sleep at nine in the morning. jack abbot is so dependable. he has his own routine—he drinks a cup maybe an hour or two before he makes one for you. and somehow, your cup is always fresh. you think you're going crazy, trying to put the pieces together. comments and jokes from shen and ellis, the nurses talking under their breath. and yet, the ceaseless buzz of the emergency room drones quiet for thirty seconds each dawn, when you see him walking towards you, the colorful mug not looking so out of place anymore in his hands.
he sets it down on the counter. you smile up at him, say your thank you, like every day. he gives you half a smile back, turning back to go check on his patient right away, not lingering, not giving anyone a reason to say anything.
he doesn't have to. they all know it anyways. and slowly but surely, you've figured it out too. the blare of heart monitors and footsteps and so many people talking comes back all at once. you sit down when you can, drink your coffee while you can.
and at seven-fifteen in the morning, you wait for jack by the exit. there's eyes on you, there always is. you ignore it in favor of not wasting another moment, spending another hour lying wide awake in your bed wondering what it would be like to have jack abbot lying there next to you. when he comes out, he smiles at you—a real one, like he's surprised you waited for him, even though you usually wait every day. like he knows today is different.
"can i take you up on that breakfast today?"
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thir10th · 1 year ago
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hi love! i'd like to req emily smut, maybe a little more on the rough side if you'd be comfortable with that, where she gets jealous over reader and shows that through sex
if you want something less vague, it could be when reader brings emily lunch to her office and morgan keeps flirting with her, leading to some action in emily's office
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I'll be doing these two together cause why not. I hope you don't mind! thanks for requesting, and I hope you liked it!!
jealousy - Emily Prentiss x fem!reader
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summary: see the asks, it's a mix of both, it kind of took a turn, but i hope you still enjoy it! tw: jealousy, a very poor try at dom Emily, fingering, breast play?, idk tws are so hard once you've finished writing🥲, i think that's it lmk if i'm missing smth a/n: no idea if there's a way for me to link both asks here, someone lmk if there is
It's only 8.00 am when you enter the police station, two bodies in the past 12 hours required the early hours, everyone had to be focused, your mind had to be only in one place. However, this wasn't the case for all the people on that room.
The local police officer at the head of the case had some other things in his mind.
He starts by boldly checking you out, looks at you up and down, stopping and staring at the short tank top you were wearing, which makes you uncomfortable enough to cover yourself with your arms as much as you can.
The look your girlfriend sends to him doesn't go unnoticed to you, you start to believe she will set him on fire just with her stare, she places herself covering your body to shake his hand, which she gripes a bit too harder than the usual.
If you didn't know her any better, you would say she is jealous.
But there was just no way, right? Emily Prentiss doesn't get jealous, she's too confident for that, she has you so well wrapped around her finger, she doesn't need to be jealous. Right?
─── ・ 。゚☆: .☽ . :☆゚. ───
"so you think this... unsub like you call him, could be on a killing spree because of his mother?" the agent asks you, staring at the last picture you just sticked to the board with a puzzled look.
"we're positive, we've seen this modus before, it's a clear pattern" you explain
"ugh, so talking about mommy issues" you can't help the little snicker that scapes your lips.
He looks triumphant, fully believes he's got you under his spell. He couldn't be more wrong.
The familiar hand that slides behind you on your lower back makes you jump, Emily comes around you, standing closer than she usually does.
"hey, what were you talking about?" she asks, tilting her head.
"oh, nothing just the case" you say, unbothered.
"just the case huh?" you turn your head to see how she's staring at him, as he walks away from you both.
"Em? what is it?" you ask suspicoisly.
"nothing, i just don't understand, what could be so funny if you were just talking about the case..." she says sarcastically
"oh my god" you try to keep your voice down, but the excitement is still noticeable "oh my god, Emily, you're jealous!"
"what? What do you mean I'm jealous?" her voice a couple octaves higher, making it so obvious to you she's lying.
"that's not even a real answer!" you say.
"ugh..." she lets out one of those little sounds she always makes when she knows she's been caught, you think it's adorable.
"ok, so maybe... maybe I just... don't like the way he looks at my girlfriend, so sue me!" she tries defending herself, but you couldn't take it seriously for your life, you find it adorable, the slight pink tinting her cheeks, her reassuring hand still resting on your lower back.
"Emily, c'mon, you know i love you" you kiss her cheek, she kisses you back but still doesn't look so convinced.
The thing is, you could not be any less attracted to that man, there was no way in the world you would find his flirting any appealing, but the idea of teasing Emily sounds too exciting.
A little fun never hurt anyone, right?
─── ・ 。゚☆: .☽ . :☆゚. ───
"...hellooo, earth to Prentiss?"
Morgan waves a hand in front of Emily’s face and she’s brought back to reality.
"what?" she asks.
"i said, could you please put your frown away, you're scaring Reid" Spencer doesn't even hear the comment, too focused on the case file to even pay attention to the conversation that was taking place right beside him.
"my frown is just where it has to be, thank you" she says raising an eyebrow at that.
Derek gives a scoff, and Rossi chuckles at the whole stupidity of the situation. “If y/n can’t feel your stare burning a hole in her back, when she turns and sees you, she’s sure gonna think you're planning a murder.”
"i might just be" she mutters
"I think I know what's going on" Rossi intervenes "she isn't looking at y/n" he explains pointing at you "I think someone might be jealous"
You are only a few feet away, discussing your last findings with the detective, trying to laugh at every little thing he says, making sure Emily is watching.
"I'm not jealous" she defends "she is so clearly not interested, but what if she needs me to step in?" her attempt to make up a good excuse isn't good enough for any of them to buy it
"if that helps you, but all i can hear is jealousy" a big, cocky smile spread on Morgan's face, it's only making her angrier
"c'mon, or we will too have to face the consequences of the territorial monster of jealousy when it explodes" Rossi says, dragging Morgan away
"yeah, mark your territory" Morgan laughs, while Emily gives him the finger "go get her lover!"
It's your loud chuckle that draws the line for her. When you finally get away from the persistent officer, you turn to see Emily isn't there anymore, taking your phone you see 2 new message from her.
From Em💕: you better knock your shit off baby.
From Em💕: That's it. You're so in for it later.
That one makes your heart throb, it shortly makes you wonder if you had taken it too far. This was not gonna end well for you.
─── ・ 。゚☆: .☽ . :☆゚. ───
Hotch decides to call it for the day, sending you off to start fresh in the morning, when a male voice you had heard enough already, calls your name
"Agent, I was wondering if you would be in for a drink with me?" he asks, eyeing you up and down yet again.
You are so sure you would find it just as disgusting if you weren't so gay, and so in love with your girlfriend.
"oh, sorry but no, actually, I-" a much more familiar female voice interrupts you "she's with me" Emily says.
He can't believe his eyes, Emily wraps her arm around your waist pulling you close to her body "hi babe" she says, kissing your lips, you return the kiss, a bit amused at her jealousy, but loving the possessiveness she was showing.
"Sorry, you were saying?" she asks, the man still open-mouthed, he can't bring himself to even speak.
"nothing... ugh, good night, agents" he dismisses you, and walks away defeated.
Emily and you head out of the bullpen, her arm still securely wrapped around your waist, she slides her hand on your back pocket, grabbing a handful of your ass possessively, making you chuckle.
"wanna talk about it?" you ask her innocently
"oh we are gonna be doing a bit more than talking you and me"
─── ・ 。゚☆: .☽ . :☆゚. ───
Emily doesn't even leave time for the door to close, and you have a split second to register your thoughts before she closes the door and walks over in one long stride and slams you into the wall.
Her mouth attacks yours in a hungry, desperate kiss, her tongue invading in a fight for dominance, that you just let her win, she is determined to have her way with you, and you aren't going to stop her.
She wasted no time in getting her hands on you, roughly rubbing her hands over your exposed skin. You, however, delicately placed your arms around her neck and when you both pulled apart to breathe.
"what's wrong, Em?" you ask her, breathlessly
"you know what? For starters, I didn't like the way he was looking at you" she starts, her breath warm against your skin, she lowers her head getting your neck, kissing it so sweetly you feel you could melt
she is quick to find your pulse point, mouth-opened kisses all over your skin, she nips all over your spot, which makes you moan
"but then imagine my surprise when i saw you, flirting back" her hand finds her way underneath your shirt, reaching for your breast, she finds no more resistance as you aren't wearing a bra, your other nipple peaking through your shirt in excitement.
She uses her free hand to grip your ass, you jump at the feeling whimpering on her mouth, her closeness only making you more excited.
"but you don't like him, do you, baby?" she asks, teasing you, she leaves a soft kiss on your lips
"he wouldn't stand a chance, we both know men aren't really your type" Emily says lowly, nipping at the tender spot behind your ear. 
She slips her leg between yours, a soft moan escapes your lips.
"so you just wanted to make me jealous" you're too deep in her dominance to even register anything, letting out soft whimpers every time her thumb brushes against the nub and grips the soft skin of your breast
"god... Emily" you let out, as Emily pulls your thighs apart with her hand.
"you know, baby, if you wanted me to fuck you, you could've just asked" she attacks your neck again, sucking hard enough to leave purple marks you couldn't care any less about now.
Emily presses her fingertips against the crotch of your jeans "your clothes. Take them off or I'll rip them off" she commands, taking a step back from you, leaving too little space to maneuver.
You knew better than to tease her when she was like this. A shiver of excitement runs through your back, and you comply.
You take your jeans off then, your shirt, quickly throwing them somewhere far on the room.
You move to kiss her again, grabbing her by the waist and pulling her in for a kiss, but she doesn't let you, instead she grabs you by your thighs, lifting you up.
You wrap your legs around her waist, she carries you to bed, laying you down just harshly enough to make you even more excited for whats to come.
"you are gonna do exactly what i ask you to tonigh, you know why, baby?" you hold your breath, you're not sure if she actually wants you to answer, but you try nonetheless "because I'm yours"
Your answer seems to satisfy her, as she begins kissing her way down your body, taking special care to nip at your collarbone and stomach to leave more marks than the one's on your neck.
The soft cloth of her shirt rubs against your skin and as if just now realising she was still dressed, you grab the hem of her shirt and help her take it off, throwing it somewhere in the vicinity of the room, like you had done with your own clothes.
And not a moment later, she is back to kissing your body, stopping suddenly when she reached the hemline of your underwear.
Her hand navigates down them, she dips low enough to collect your arousal on her fingertips before rubbing your clit forcefully. Your body reacts immediately, curling forward. "Em!" you moan
"what's wrong baby? Cat got your tongue? use your words, if you want me to stop the teasing, just say it"
"fuck...Em, please, I'm yours, please Emily, yours" you confirm, closing your eyes and letting your hips rock against her hand.
“Who are you this wet for?” Emily demands, nipping at your earlobe.
"just you" you whimper, desperation starting to build in your lower stomach
"that's right baby" the cocky smile on her lips makes your eyes roll. You obviously loved slow, romantic love making with your grilfriend, but you'd be lying if you said you didn't love this side of her just as much.
She continued to move her fingers inside of you and you met each thrust but you almost fell apart when she pressed her thumb against your clit and rubbed hard.
She uses her free hand to play with your breast, you let out a gasp when her tongue moves over it spurred you on and she begins to gently suck on it while her hand still caressed your other breast. 
You melt into the mattress at her words. "let go, c'mon baby, I got you" you cum on the spot, as she fucks you through your orgasm, she let's you ride your high.
Emily lays down beside you as you come down from the climax, she kisses your lips softly, lovingly this time, less urgent.
"you know i didn't mean any of it right? I was just playing with you, i love you. He didn't stand a chance" you try to clarify
"yes baby, i know, i love you too, i wasn't so harsh with you right?" she asks concerned. Sometimes you can't believe how Emily's mood changes so fast, from all dominating, incredibly sexy, to concerned, soft girlfriend.
"Em, it was perfect" you say, grabbing her face and pecking her lips "you are perfect" you kiss her again.
"well, good, because we're just getting started, i'm not sure you've learned your lesson yet" she grins.
"Like i said, I'm all yours, agent Prentiss" she sits to straddle you, and you grab her face to pull her in for another kiss.
Emily caresses your neck with her thumb, looking at the purple marks she had previously left "this will be hard to cover tomorrow"
"who says I'm covering them?"
─── ・ 。゚☆: .☽ . :☆゚. ───
Sitting on your usual spot on the plane, you lay behind Emily's amr, resting your head on her shoulder as she reads.
You aren't oblivious of the look on Morgan's face, right in front of you.
The shirt you chose had your neck and cleavage all on display, small and big purple marks cover your skin.
He stares bluntly at you, a cheeky smile covering his face "So y/n, looks like you and Prentiss had yourselves a good night. Care to share?"
Emily gives him the finger.
"in your dreams" you say.
─── ・ 。゚☆: .☽ . :☆゚. ───
wow! a lot longer than i expected it to be! finishing this one gave me a headache so please like and reblog if you liked it, and as always feedback is greatly appreciated! <333 reqs still open as always!
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outercrasis · 1 month ago
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Keep In Touch
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Pairing: Bruce Wayne (Battinson) x gn!Reader
Word Count/Rating: 8.3k // M
Warnings: canon-typical violence/injury (not graphic), guns, canon-typical voyeurism, reader uses gn!pronouns but does wear a dress, a couple demeaning uses of "princess" (not by Bruce & not to intentionally misgender), shirtless Bruce;)
Summary: You attend a charity gala. Bruce's paranoia pays off.
A/N: A continuation from Don't Be A Stranger (not required reading, but it will be better if you read that first).
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This is ridiculous. He doesn't need to be told by anyone else that what he's doing is absurd and over-possessive but he can't help it. Speaking with you, not just reading your words on a page, it unlocked something in him.
A regular correspondence started back up between the two of you; weekly letters being sent back and forth. He gave you his personal phone number, suggesting the switch to text may be easier, but you refused citing “tradition” as your reason. It still quieted his constant paranoia to know that you could reach him at any time now. 
Bruce peers through his binoculars, that same paranoia alleviated upon seeing you in your apartment. You're stretched out on the couch occupied with some show playing on your TV. You seem relaxed, which in turn relaxes him. Now he can focus throughout his night.
Being Batman is not nearly as thrilling as some news outlets would lead Gothamites to believe. In fact, a lot of his nights are spent sitting on rooftops and waiting. Waiting for his mark, to catch someone in the act, to see where money flows. There's always crime in Gotham and there's always information to gather before he starts throwing punches. Being more than vengeance is hard and lonely work.
Sitting outside a warehouse on the pier, Bruce allows his mind to do some limited wandering. He received your latest letter earlier today. Alfred left it beside his breakfast, a subtle encouragement to eat while he read. You and Alfred both would be thrilled to know it worked.
There was nothing of great importance in the letter. Little tidbits – the dog you saw on the way to work, the new recipe you decided to try. What you wrote at the bottom of the letter is what’s at the forefront of his mind.
Happy 20th Anniversary.
Has it really been that long? The majority of his life spent being pen pals with you. He remembers the way it began like it was yesterday.
+++
Alfred had coordinated getting Bruce involved with the pen pal program to start. He was too young to care or ask about the specifics and part of him thought the whole thing was ridiculous. If he participated though, Alfred had agreed to allow him to travel to Europe for the summer. 
The first letter he received had an orange envelope decorated with random stickers. You included drawings, highlighting what you deemed the most important parts of your letter. There was one more surprise in store for him. A scrap of paper written on with sparkly gel pen and clearly snuck in without your teacher's knowledge.
I hope we can be friends.
As young as he was, Bruce didn’t understand why that struck him so deeply. As an adult it's something he's thought over and rehashed many times. At that time in his life, Bruce didn’t have anyone he would consider a friend. He had acquaintances and peers, but he'd lost any true friendships he'd once had two years before. The idea of having one again appealed to him – especially since he got to determine how much you knew about him through what he chose to write. It made the decision to take the letters seriously a simple one.
He couldn't have known it then, but from that moment forward you were a constant in Bruce's life. No matter where he was, or what he was doing, he knew a letter from you would eventually make its way to him. 
When Bruce was sixteen he decided to take things a step further and seek you out. Curiosity and boredom compelled him, eager to know more about you than what you already shared. There was a voice in his head (that definitely didn't have a British accent) telling him this was wrong and hypocritical, which he readily disregarded. 
It wouldn't have been hard even if he wasn't a genius with seemingly endless money at his disposal. You never shied away from sharing personal details. That, and your full name and address was on every letter he received.
The apartment you lived in was quaint. A little two bedroom by the harbor, convenient for your father's job as a dockworker. Bruce stood on a building across the street and pulled out the binoculars he received when he was seven for Gotham Cadets. 
The apartment was bathed in yellow incandescent light. He could see a well worn couch, blankets and pillows strewn across it haphazardly. From his vantage point, houseplants and photo frames made up a significant portion of the decor, but it seemed more cozy than crowded.
Beyond the living room, your father was at the stove stirring a pot. Bruce imagined it was some kind of soup – perfect for the frosty autumn nights that were settling in. You often wrote about how much you loved your dad's cooking and helping him in the kitchen. That night you weren't playing sous chef.
Off to the left, your mother sat at the kitchen table. She had a few clothing items folded beside her and what looked to be your father's jacket in her hands. The binoculars weren’t strong enough to see clearly, but it looked like she was sewing a patch on the sleeve. 
A chill stronger than the cold breeze blew through him. What would his mother and father be doing on this night? 
Half a lifetime ago, he sat on the floor of the den with the fireplace crackling and soft music playing. He had just started reading The Hardy Boys books much to his father's joy. I loved these books when I was your age, chum. Bruce leaned back against his mother's legs, her hands preoccupied with her latest embroidery. He remembers his father joking that her hands were steadier than his own and that she should consider being the surgeon in the household.
His father changed the record playing to something slow but warm. His mom smiled, setting down her project as she knew what was to come next. Bruce put his own book aside, watching his parents gracefully waltz around the room. 
Three weeks later they laid lifeless in a dirty alleyway. His mother's embroidery was never finished. He didn't pick up a Hardy Boys book again.
Bruce shifted his attention to the next window over. It was obvious that this was your room. Bright colors, posters adorning the walls, an unmade bed with what was likely homework strewn across it. He couldn't help but smile. He had tried piecing the look of your room together before based on your letters and promptly forgot all his imaginings once he saw it for real. It couldn’t have looked any other way.
The door to your room opened, greeting Bruce with a sight he never anticipated. It was you, wrapped in a towel with your shoulders still damp and gleaming from your shower. Another towel wrapped around your head, leaving your face open and unobscured. Bruce couldn't make out the minute details, but he could see enough for his breath to catch. He looked up a photo of you before – he knew what you looked like. This was so much more.
Beautiful wasn’t the right word. Both of you were too caught up in the awkward latter throes of puberty to yet be considered stunning or refined. Limbs still figuring out their size, fat and muscle learning new ways to settle along your frames, bursts of acne still blemishing skin. None of that mattered. He was captivated, body frozen in place. Binoculars pressed hard into his eyes, taking in every move you made and every inch of skin. 
He should have stopped looking. It wasn't right. If Alfred would have had his hide for sneaking out and spying, Bruce shuddered to think what he’d do if he ever learned about this.
You moved to the corner of your room, out of his field of view, only to return moments later. Your mouth started to move and your head bobbed. There was no way for him to hear you, but he realized that you were singing. He wondered if you liked Nirvana or Soundgarden.
Your hand reached up to pull at your towel. Bruce reacted like he’d been struck by lightning, all of the energy he had stored exploding out of him at once. A quick step and he tumbled backwards onto the cold roof before he saw anything he shouldn't. The lens on one side of his binoculars broke under the sudden impact. 
He didn't write for three weeks after that.
When Bruce left Gotham two years later, he expected your letters to stop. He stopped writing to you – rationalizing it as being safer. The less you knew, the less dots you could connect, the better. Only you never stopped.
The letters kept coming with a constant irregularity. Somehow Alfred managed to get every single one to him. Sometimes they would reach him in batches and he’d have weeks or months of your life to catch up on, but not one was ever missed. 
Not writing back was a choice for your safety, but he would sometimes send you a sign that he was still reading. He’s not completely heartless like some would believe. Bruce will never understand how that was enough for you. You provided him with so much more than he ever deserved, and Bruce has many more years to make up for what you are owed.
20 years. Bruce hopes he can make it that long. 
+++ A few weeks later
“Sir, there's a call coming in on your personal phone.”
“It can wait,” Batman responds roughly, staring out at an old abandoned building. It's been two weeks of this, but the intel is strong. He knows someone is going to be making a move soon. There can't be any distractions.
“I believe this is a call you'll want to accept,” Alfred presses.
“Take a message.”
Alfred disregards him, answering the call and patching it through to his earpiece.
What comes through is completely garbled at first. It sounds like a butt dial and Bruce nearly ends the call until he hears it. Your voice.
Please, no one wants any trouble. We're here for charity.
His blood turns to ice in his veins and his decision is made. He tucks his binoculars away and grapples down to where his bike is stashed.
“Triangulate their location for me, Alfred.”
“Already done, sir. The Gotham Grand Plaza Hotel. Second floor.”
××××××××
A situation like this was probably inevitable. The fact that it hasn't happened sooner is honestly a miracle given the general state of Gotham. The crime rate has gone down but that doesn’t mean it's low.
You do what you can to limit your risk. You avoid sketchy locales when possible. Avoid going out after dark. Carry a self defense weapon that you actually know how to use. Share your location with a handful of trusted friends and family members.
Rogues are usually decent enough to avoid the shelters and outreach centers that you volunteer at. Even they know to not direct their ire at those trying to help. Go figure that the criminal element would finally reach you at an upscale event like this one. You've never even stepped foot in the Grand Plaza Hotel before tonight.
You were asked to attend the Gotham HELP¹ Charity function on behalf of the homeless shelter you primarily volunteer at. Typically this isn't an invite you'd accept. You find events like these largely performative and a way for the upper echelon to feel better about themselves without ever having to interact with those that are unhoused. You held a lengthy discussion with two of the event organizers before agreeing to attend.
No one else needs to know about any other reasons you may have had for attending. Bruce has been making more of an effort with public appearances, especially philanthropic ones, but rarely mentions them until after the fact. You’re not sure if they make him too nervous or too irritated to think about beforehand. Typically the letter that follows one of these appearances is full of his exact thoughts on the press, the people in attendance, and at times smaller details like the food or decor. Shrimp cocktail at an event for ocean preservation? How avant-garde. You have the impression Alfred doesn't listen to Bruce's complaints with the same friendly ear as you do.
Much to your disappointment, there's been no sign of him. Something else must have his attention at the moment. You don't doubt its importance. If you're lucky, you'll hear bits and pieces about it in his next letter.
The event was turning out to be quite pleasant. You were pleased with the amount of familiar faces you saw in the crowd – a healthy influx of other volunteers and community organizers in attendance to help drum up support and larger donations. Those that you spoke with were cordial and only a few make comments that made you briefly see red. You sometimes wondered if you’re truly living in the same city as some of these people.
The Grand Plaza itself is gorgeous. One of the oldest buildings in Gotham, but well-maintained over the years by taxpayer money and private donations alike. You would never know the seawall flood had even touched the building a few years ago. The high cathedral ceilings and large gothic tudor windows provide an elegance to the space that's otherwise been tastefully decorated with fabrics and florals. It's just the kind of place that makes a person proud to be a Gothamite.
When the commotion began at the door, you thought Bruce might be making a fashionably late appearance. He often relayed that part of his loathing of public appearances was the media circus that ensues. You feel stupid for heading towards the noise instead of away from it – allowing fantasy to overrule common sense.
You're now stuck along a wall of the main hall while the whackjob of the month twirls in the center screaming about Batman. So much for a night of glamour and philanthropy. 
The ringleader in his green beanie and his three goons waive their guns wildly, making demands but not yet taking any action. It almost seems like they didn't expect to get this far. You don't know if that's a good or a bad thing. Luckily, you're positioned close enough to one of the dark marble columns in the hall so that it occasionally blocks you from view. A plan forms in your mind. It's a risk, but one you know you need to take.
You slowly pull your phone from your pocket, keeping it hidden in the folds of your skirt fabric. Praise be to whoever created dresses with pockets. You consider dialing 911 first. That would be the smart choice, right? Easy to do with your phone's emergency functions and hopefully quick to bring first responders.
Tension is thick in the room. You glance around and take in the faces of the crowd. Plenty are scared, but you see just as many angry or hardened expressions. That's the one perk to living in Gotham – you're not the only one prepared for something like this. There must be others in the room taking the same risk as you are. You’re the only one who can do something more.
You keep a careful eye on the men. There will only be a small window to get your phone open, find his contact, and press call. Fifteen seconds if you're lucky. Thank goodness his contact is close to the top. Every second spent waiting feels like an eternity. The men’s yells are reaching new heights. You’re worried that things will soon escalate.
The leader turns his back to you, his underlings moving just so to provide the privacy you need. You've never used a piece of technology faster. Adrenaline must be the only thing keeping your hands from shaking as you navigate your apps and manage to start a phone call. You even think to turn your volume down to avoid suspicion of a disembodied voice coming out of your pocket. The possibility of him not answering isn't something you allow yourself to consider. 
The person beside you does not see the genius or flawless execution of your plan. 
“What are you doing?” he hisses. 
You glance in his direction. He's not someone you've spoken to tonight, but you can tell he's not part of the volunteer crowd. His suit is too tailored, physique toned to an uncomfortable level of perfection, and a spritz of too much cologne. The sweat beading at his paid for hairline tells you he's panicking. You don't say anything.
“You're going to get us killed,” he adds at just the wrong moment. The sound of his whisper catches one of the goons’ attention, causing him to saunter over.
“We got a problem over here?” he asks. 
The rich guy glares daggers at you. The urge to punch him rises in your gut, but you quickly squash it. Punching him for his stupidity and misplaced anger will do nothing to help you right now. 
“Please, no one wants any trouble. We're here for charity,” you plead.
The goon sneers at you. “If you're here for charity what's with all the glitz, princess? Seems to us like that's the kind of money your charity could have used.”
You don't disagree with him. Almost daily you look into the faces of Gotham's most needy, trying to help provide for them and seeing that it's not enough. It's the exact reason you had reservations about attending in the first place. You open your mouth only to close it. This man isn't going to listen to reason or sympathy.
“Huh? You got something to say?” he asks, getting in your face. You can see the grease and dirt that’s layered upon his skin. The smell of his breath makes your stomach roll. A different day, a different place, you could help get him the services he needs. Instead today you’re both one of Gotham’s victims.
You make your voice as small and unintimidating as possible. “No. We're all just a bit scared.”
A lopsided grin overtakes his face. Your heart drops. “Scared? Princess, you don't know the meaning of the word yet.”
Screams erupt around you as the greasy-haired man grabs your arm and pulls you into the cleared center of the room. His sharp fingers dig into your bicep. Through some small miracle, you force your body to relax. Instinct screams to punch, kick, or claw. Rationale tells you resistance will only mean injury or worse. You have to trust that help is on the way – whether it be masked or uniformed. You squeeze your eyes shut against the fear and hope that you'll see a black cape when you open them.
××××××××
The darkness of the rafters keeps Batman concealed as he takes the scene below in. He clears all of his audio channels and ends your call, now able to hear everything for himself. The situation is no better than it sounded over the phone. 
There’s a man in a green beanie that’s clearly leading the group of partycrashers. He’s shouting the loudest and the other men keep looking to him for confirmation and reassurance. The only one not paying him as much heed is the one that is holding onto you. 
His arm is locked around your neck, forcing your body to follow his as he sees fit. Your hands are gripping his forearm, but you don’t look to be fighting. It’s more likely you’re trying to keep as much pressure as you can off your windpipe. He needs to act fast. Every nerve in Bruce's body is screaming at him to get down and save you. He forces himself to wait.
There are two other men circling the room, guns swinging about wildly. From what he can tell no one has fired a shot, but that offers no comfort. That means full magazines in a room full of hundreds. It won’t take much to do a lot of damage. Bruce loathes guns.
“Where’s your precious Batman now?” The man in the green beanie shouts at the crowd. This is the best opportunity he’ll get. He can’t waste it. Batman connects his grapple line to the ceiling, rappelling down faster than what’s reasonably safe. 
Everyone gasps as he appears. The moment of surprise and awe is exactly what he needs as his heavy boot connects with your captor’s head. The high speed means that Bruce lands hard on his knee, sending a shoot of pain up his nervous system, but it also means the greasy-haired man is out cold. Bruce manages to keep you from hitting the floor with the man by catching you around your waist. If he's lucky, everyone watching will think that was all meticulously planned and not Batman flying by the seat of his pants.
Cradled in his arms, your eyes snap open to meet his. He’s comforted by how alert they still are. You’re okay. He’s not losing you today. 
“I knew you’d come,” you smile. Bruce’s heart is beating harder than it should for the small burst of physical exertion.
As quickly as the moment is shared, it’s broken. The man in the green beanie fires a spray of bullets into the air. The entire crowd screams in fear and panic, cowering further from them. This isn’t over yet.
“Stay behind me,” he tells you. You keep close to him as you both stand. It’s enough to keep his head on straight, knowing that you’re there and alive. Now he just has to do the same for everyone else. Alfred would kill him if he ever found out how little of a plan he had. There was no time.
Batman's focus falls on the leader of this crew. He looks worse for wear. All of his men do. Whatever their goal is here, they aren’t working for anyone else. Anyone getting serious about crime in Gotham knows the value of a relatively healthy and happy crew. In contrast, these men are out for themselves, which might only serve to make them more dangerous.
“There he is!” Green beanie shouts, as he claps acrimoniously. “Here to save all the rich folks.”
One of the still conscious men spits in Batman's direction. He needs to keep them talking. Figure out their end goal. Right now, he isn’t seeing it. He stays silent, looking blankly from the spit back to the leader. It conveys his thoughts well enough without uttering a word.
“The people of this city think you’re some kind of hero,” the man seethes. “We know what you really are. You’re a sickness. Always protecting those who need it the least. Where are you when Gotham's poorest need you? When they're crying out for help and dying in the streets? Where were you at the bombing of Crown Point²? Funny when the Bat decides to show up or not.”
He knows this criticism. He's heard it on patrol. Read it in the papers and online. The Batman isn't blind to it, but he can't win this fight of public perception. There are detractors on either side – he's either not doing enough to help or he's over-policing, he's ignoring the “real problems” or he's too focused on the big picture. No matter what he chooses, there will always be someone who finds a way to view his efforts negatively.
It hurts him daily to know how much pain his city is still in. That for all he's done, there's still so much more to do. The infuriating, frustrating truth that he's only one man. He can't be everywhere. He can't save everyone.
Bruce keeps his face impassive, but inside the words sting. He understands now. This isn’t some hold-up gone wrong, nor is it part of some larger scheme. These are four – currently three – disenfranchised men doing what they think is necessary to cause change. He only wishes they hadn’t threatened innocent lives to make their point.
“What are you going to do now?” Batman asks.
“We’re going to show these people who you truly are.”
He takes a deep breath. At least now he knows what’s coming.
You're still close behind him. He can't do what he needs to while being worried about you or the other civilians.
He leans back, whispering his plan just loud enough for you to hear. “On my count, you're going to run towards the stairs. You'll be at the front of the pack, so you need to be quick. Kick off your shoes. The police should be waiting outside. Got it?”
He spares a glance at you. Fear is still present in your features, but so is a hardset determination. Hope is winning out. You give a small nod and everything is set.
“One.” The tension in the room builds. Quiet takes over as everyone waits to see what will happen next. The remaining men have all focused their attention onto Batman. The crowd is fading into the background now that their main prize has arrived. Their comrade remains passed out on the floor. 
“Two.” He rolls his neck and brings his hand to his belt. He'll have to be quick to pull this off. He can hear your skirt rustle and he knows you're getting ready too.
“Three.” All hell breaks loose.
Silence becomes discord as the room explodes with motion. Batman reaches into his belt, throwing two batarangs out. There's the arching thud of your shoes hitting the floor. The batarangs hit their targets, jamming into the barrels of the two goons’ guns. Your feet slap against the wooden floor as you run. Batman charges forward and kicks the leader's gun from his hands. A risky move, but one he is well rewarded for. The rest of the crowd shifts towards the stairs to follow you.
Now the Batman can get to work.
××××××××
You're temporarily blinded as you burst through the front doors of the hotel. Police spotlights and flashers are everywhere in the street, reporters right behind their barricade with camera flashes capturing the dramatic release of hostages from every angle. It’s likely you’ll be on the front page of at least three news outlets tomorrow.
You hardly get your wits about you before you're whisked off to the back of a nearby ambulance. The paramedic is kind and she doesn't allow any of the cops to approach you until her assessment is complete. You'll be bruised and sore but not much worse. 
“No permanent damage done. You're lucky,” she says and walks away. Her words register but don't ring true. Save for a few key moments, very little of tonight feels lucky to you.
You're kept seated with a thick gray blanket pulled around your frame. Between your bare feet and shoulders the extra warmth it provides is appreciated. From this position you're protected from the reporters you can see hovering like vultures at the fringe. Maybe Bruce's biting assessments of the media aren't all that inaccurate.
An older detective walks up and stops before you. He looks tired, like the weight of the world rests upon his shoulders, but his eyes are still bright and sharp behind his glasses. He shows his badge to introduce himself. 
“Commissioner Gordon. From what I'm hearing, you're the one I really want to talk to.”
Out of all the cops that could have approached to take your statement, you find yourself relieved that it’s this one. Bruce has never said so plainly, but you can tell the Commissioner has his trust. If he's good enough for Batman that certainly means he's good enough for you.
“I guess that you'd be right,” you reply.
“What happened in there?”
You lay it all out for him. The men storming into the event hall, your secret call, the man beside you drawing the attention of the nearby goon. Batman showing up to save the day. You skip over getting hauled around by your neck. 
Gordon takes it all in stride. You have to imagine it’s one of the tamer statements he’s been given in his career. No major injuries. No deaths. No strange gimmick with promises of more trouble to come. Just another bizarre moment in Gotham’s even stranger history.
As you finish answering some clarifying questions, a uniformed officer runs up and whispers something in the Commissioner's ear. His eyes widen and narrow, his focus falling squarely onto you. The feeling of being a teen caught in a lie by your parents washes over you. There’s only one detail you omitted. One he can’t possibly know. 
The officer leaves. Gordon takes a moment, allowing it to fester before speaking. Your skin feels like it's vibrating.
“You said you made a call. Our emergency lines don't have any record of a number associated with you connecting with a 911 dispatcher.”
You could lie. Tell him to check his records again or that your call must not have gone through. The look he's giving you says that won't be enough. He'll do the due diligence to get the answers he needs. So why start now?
“I didn't call 911. I called a friend.”
Your honesty catches him off guard, but doesn’t knock him off track. “Why would you do that?”
“I figured you were already on the way. I thought I'd try reaching out to someone else.”
“Must be a powerful friend if you expected them to help.”
“He is,” you affirm. There's a commotion at the hotel's front doors. You and Gordon look to see Batman dragging the tied up criminals out behind him. There's no way to tell from this distance, but he doesn’t look much worse for wear than when he arrived. A tension you didn't know you were holding onto dissipates and a tear sneaks out from the corner of your eye. You know Gordon saw it. 
You can feel his suspicion. The connections he's making in his mind to make the night's events complete. You don't think he ascribes your tears to your attacker. It makes sense why Bruce likes him. He’s sharp.
“He couldn't be here tonight, but I knew if something terrible happened he could do something about it,” you say, looking away from the spectacle.
Gordon’s brow furrows. You've thrown a curveball. He thought he had it figured out – and he did – but you've put him back to square one. Your phone dings before he can ask anything more.
“Excuse me, Commissioner.” You’re careful with the angle of your screen, tilting it once you’re sure you don’t mind Gordon reading the message. He’s polite enough to pretend like he isn’t looking. He’d be a bad cop if he didn’t.
Bruce W: Called you a ride. Black Rolls Royce.
You respond to the message with a simple Thanks and look back up at the Commissioner. “Am I okay to go?”
The shock is still present on Gordon’s face. You’ve done what you needed to get Gordon off any connection between you and Batman. You don’t know if you’ve made things better or worse by establishing this one in its stead.
He nods. “You’re free to go. We’ll call if we have any additional questions.”
“Thank you. I hope your night gets easier from here.” You genuinely mean it. It might lead to Batman's night getting easier too.
Gordon grunts, looking towards the pile of criminals for him to deal with. “Not likely.”
A man with silver hair in a suit is waiting beside the car. He looks calm and professional, but you slow your approach, some remaining nerves still clinging. Catching sight of you, he smiles broadly and says in a British accent, “Right this way, Mix. We’ll likely still be waiting a while for the master to get in tonight.”
The honorifics make you balk, but also tell you exactly who this is. Despite the urge, you don’t try to convince the butler to use your name instead of the title. That was a fight waged and summarily lost by a middle school aged Bruce. You reread those letters when you want a good laugh. He was so melodramatic about it.
“Alfred,” you greet warmly. “I can't believe I finally get to put a face to the name.”
Alfred smiles back, opening the door of the car for you. “Likewise. Your letters have been a source of joy for many years now.”
A flush of embarrassment flows through you as you duck into the car. “Oh, did you-?”
Alfred is quick to pick up on the implication. “Never, but they always seemed to boost Master Bruce's spirits and therefore, mine.” 
The car door shuts, cutting you off from the circus outside, and you finally feel like you can breathe again. It’s over. You’re safe.
+++
Alfred offers a number of apologies for not having a guest room made up for you. He guides you to Bruce's room instead, reassuring that he won't mind. You get the sense of there being ulterior motives at play, but Alfred's demeanor gives nothing away. Maybe it's just your own imagination running wild.
Somewhere in the back of your mind you know that you should be freaking out right now. You're standing in Wayne Tower – in Bruce Wayne's bedroom. People would pay exorbitant amounts for entrance to the residential area of the Tower alone. You can't imagine what they'd do to be where you are.
Bruce’s room is more comfortable than you would have thought. It's Gotham through and through with the ornate detailing and vaulted ceilings, yet cozy with its dark wood and luxurious furnishings. The large four poster bed is plush with soft black bedding and looks every bit the place for the prince of the city to rest his head. Large, heavy curtains in a dark shade of blue line the windows of the room. You wonder if they were here before or after Bruce took up his nighttime activities. The cleanliness of the room seems due to Alfred. A mess of papers and other items on the desk in the corner would not suggest Bruce is concerned with picking up clothes or making his bed each morning. 
There isn't much in the way of personal knick-knacks in the room, but the few items clue you into their importance. There's a photo on the dresser of his parents with a young Bruce between them, a massive smile on his face. They're all in a pool, likely cooling off from a hot summer's day as a family. Based on the photo alone, it doesn't seem to be significant beyond being a happy memory where all the Waynes were alive. Beside the photo is an old baseball emblazoned with the Gotham Knights logo. You wonder if Thomas had taken him to the game where he got it, or if Alfred might have brought the young heir there.
He's never been one to pontificate about his home or possessions but you can see the way he fits so seamlessly into these surroundings. They're as much Gotham as they are him.
A large chest catches your eye, off in the corner of the room. The lid is open, inviting you to peer inside it. Your heart skips a beat when you do.
Inside are black boxes, neatly labeled in gold embossed script with start and end dates. On the top sits one without a lid, filled with your letters. Looking at the amount of boxes and size of the chest, you come to the easy conclusion that Bruce has kept every letter you've ever sent. Tears well in your eyes as you let out a pleased huff. Past and present questions of what you mean to him answered in a single fell swoop – the proof laid out before you. Any lingering apprehension about being in his room melts away.
You move to the en suite, intent upon washing the events of the day off of you. The water pressure here has to be leagues better than your apartment.
××××××××
It’s late when Bruce gets back to the cave. He spoke with Gordon at the Grand Plaza and then managed to get back to the building he'd been staking out. After nearly two additional hours of nothing, he finally called it quits. Batman had seen enough action for a night anyway.
Alfred is there, patiently awaiting his return. “Welcome back, sir.”
“How are they?”
“About as well as one can expect. I can understand now why you've enjoyed communicating with them all these years.”
Bruce doesn't respond. Tonight’s footage is already on screen, flying through hours of tedium before getting to the big event. He releases the fast forward as the rafters come into view, allowing himself to relive it in real time. Alfred doesn't hide his gasp when he sees you trapped in the man's grasp. He leaves only moments later, taking Bruce’s discarded undershirt with him. 
As Batman, Bruce has faced far more organized and lethal foes. He's gone into battles that he's unsure he'll make it out of and ended nights with wounds that take weeks or months to heal. Watching it all back he can see just how disorganized this crew was. It's a failing of the hotel's security more than anything that they even got in. Despite all of this, his pulse is racing in a way he hasn't felt since first facing off with the Riddler.
He tries to keep his focus on the men. Analyzing. Making sure that he didn’t miss anything important that would suggest a motive other than the one he already determined. He can’t stop his eyes from drifting to you instead. 
Despite the terrifying situation, you remain relatively calm. The only real sign of your panic is how tightly your fingers grasp at the man's arm. Your eyes stay shut the entire time. He wonders if that was a tactic for yourself or others. He’s seen firsthand what someone's fear can do to those around them – probably talked about it in one of his more recent letters. Is that a lesson you took from him? Or pure coincidence?
He has to slow down the footage of his rappel in order to see things clearly. His boot connects cleanly with the man’s temple. It’s unsurprising that he dropped like a sack of potatoes after that. You start to slip out of his grip the second there’s impact, his arm going limp. Bruce can still remember the feeling of his own arm around your waist. How naturally you fit.
Your face fills the screen. Eyes wide as you take the new situation in. Bruce pauses the screen just as your cheeks start to lift, the fear gone from you for just a moment. He takes in all the details his binoculars never show. Your fine lines and freckles. The depth of color in your irises. An errant eyebrow hair. The plush curve of your lips. He feels like he's sixteen again.
After what feels like an eternity staring at the screen he shuts it off and heads upstairs.
Bruce opens the door to the bedroom gently, doing his best to diminish any creaks. With any luck he'll be in and out in under a minute with you none the wiser. He just needs a change of clothes.
Instead he finds you sitting up in bed, book in hand, with the bedside lamp on. Backlit as you are, he can’t see your face but he does see your head turn towards him. 
“Why are you still awake?” he asks softly. 
A ragged sigh fills the air. “Couldn’t fall asleep.”
You place the book on the nightstand and curl your knees up to your chest.
“I thought you'd be exhausted.”
Another sigh. “Who says I'm not?” When Bruce doesn't respond you continue. “I couldn't get my brain to turn off. Usually I'd write to you about what's on my mind but since you were there I figured… I don’t know, that I'd wait up for you instead I guess?”
Guilt crawls up Bruce’s spine and sinks itself into his head and his heart. An old familiar friend, tightening its grip on him once more. He never has enough time – can never be everywhere he needs to be. Forsaking one thing to accommodate another. It’s one piece he hasn't yet been able to figure out as Batman. 
His feet move toward you of their own volition. For once in his life, Bruce doesn't doubt himself or wonder if this is the right thing to do. It feels natural – like instinct. He comes around to the side you've chosen to lay on and perches himself on the edge.
You react to the change in pressure, gasping as you turn your head. Right. He was still without a shirt. Most people speak to each other with clothes on. Bruce hopes that the room lighting is low enough for you to not see his blush.
“Sorry, let me–” He moves to stand, stopping awkwardly part way when your hands wrap around his arm to hold him in place.
“No, I mean it's- you can- It's your room. I'm the one intruding,” you stutter, letting one of your hands fall.
Bruce sits back down, closer to you on the bed this time. Your hand is still searing around his arm, permanently branding him with your touch. His free hand moves to cover yours and keep it in place. He's unaccustomed to this kind of heat. Your eyes shine brightly, awaiting his response. It relaxes him somewhat to know that tonight hasn't taken you completely apart. 
The shirt you're wearing is familiar – a favorite of his own. You look as though you're meant to be there, wearing his clothes. You look at home.
“I would never call you an intruder.”
The warmth stirring in his gut starts to turn sour. Closer now in the dull lighting he can see the discolored marks that paint your throat. He reaches out slowly, thumb gliding gently over the tender skin. Your pulse is rabbit quick under his hand. He's not sure what he should do. 
Bruce wishes he would have had the chance to inflict more pain upon the man who did this to you. Vengeance is dead, but he'd resurrect him for a night for you. It’s certainly an easier way to deal with the maelstrom of emotions he’s experiencing right now. Comforting others is something Batman has gotten better at over the years, but it's not something he's had to do as Bruce. The closest he's ever come is holding Alfred's hand in the hospital. Would you like that?
He's suddenly flinching – body reacting before he can catch up mentally. He catches your wrist easily and brings your touch back to his shoulder. “It's okay. I wasn't expecting it.”
Your fingers are soft. They start at the bruise on his shoulder that's forming from one of the men hitting him with the butt of their gun. From there they travel across his chest. Every touch is careful. Reverent. Taking in every inch of his pale skin and making his own pulse start to jump.
××××××××
You think you might be dreaming. Maybe you did fall asleep on the astronomically high thread count sheets and goose down pillows instead of tossing and turning before giving up and accepting your sleepless fate. The luxury sleeping arrangements could explain the quality of your dream. Then again, his body seems far too firm and warm for this to be a mere byproduct of your subconsciousness.
Scars of various shapes and sizes litter his shoulders and chest. Some look old and faded and you wonder if you might know the stories behind those. Scrapes and stories from childhood that weren’t yet too revealing to share. Others are thick or gnarled and raised. Injuries that look as though they have an intense and dangerous origin attached to them. You wonder if Bruce will ever share those with you. There are a few fresh purple bruises like the one on his shoulder that you can only assume he obtained tonight. It’s not easy to see those. Knowing that on some level, he has them because of you.
You’re mapping out every detail of his torso. Committing it to memory as you discover the way a scar traces a line from his sternum down his abs. Or the medium sized freckle below his right nipple. The tremble in his muscles each time your fingers trace his side. The smoothness of his skin in the places that are still unmarred.
His gaze is heavy. You barely find the confidence to work your way back up, risking a touch past his collarbones to trace the sharp line of his jaw. Stubble tickles your fingertips. Sweat damp hair has fallen forward across his forehead. You push it back, tucking it towards his ear. His eyes are just as arresting without the black surrounding them. You’re not sure when the air of the bedroom got so thick.
Bruce’s thumb sweeps across your neck again. The look in his eyes is sad, heavy with something you can’t quite describe. “I’m sorry.”
“What are you sorry for?” you ask, perplexed by the genuine apology. 
The corner of his lip turns upward slightly, as though he finds your question humorous. Like it should be obvious. “For not getting there sooner. For not being there.”
You’re sure that Bruce had an invite to tonight’s event. He likely has a standing invite to any event within Gotham’s city limits and more. Whatever made him choose to pass on this one, you’re sure there was good reason for it – something else he couldn’t otherwise easily set aside. It wasn’t even as if he knew you’d be in attendance or that tonight’s events were going to happen. There’s nothing he could have done differently short of becoming omnipotent. 
“All that matters is that you got there. You saved me and everyone else tonight.”
It’s hard to know if Bruce believes what you’re telling him or not. His expression changes very little and you're compelled to convince him of it. 
“Thank you.” You lean forward, placing a chaste kiss on his cheek. There's no room for second guessing. You're already in his bed and wearing a piece of his clothing. He has every letter you've ever sent carefully organized and stored in his bedroom. You don’t know what any of this is anymore, but it feels just as right as any other step you’ve ever taken with him.
Bruce looks bewildered but not upset when you pull back. You take it as a good sign.
“I think I might be the one who owes you an apology,” you say, looking down and studying his hand. He has elegant fingers. It’s easy to picture them writing in his neat and tight script.
“For what?”
“I may have implied to Commissioner Gordon that we’re close friends.”
“Are we not?”
“Yes, I mean no. I mean-” you sigh exasperatedly. Your mind is swirling – trying desperately to process everything that's happened tonight. You're not sure you know how to define this relationship anymore. “We are, but I don’t know that you wanted it known. It’s not something I wanted to force upon you.”
Bruce’s large hand gently squeezes your own. “I don't mind. I wouldn’t have sent Alfred if I did.”
You're not sure what to say. This is not the night you had imagined. You thought you might see him at the charity event, share a drink and a few laughs and end the night separately. You back on your couch in front of the TV and Bruce off somewhere as the city's caped crusader. Not holding hands in Bruce’s bed, half undressed. 
“You should get some sleep,” Bruce says, breaking the loud silence. He guides you back towards the pillows, pulling the blankets up to tuck you in. As he reaches for the lamp, your hand finds his again.
“You should too,” you tell him. The dark circles under his eyes tell you of his exhaustion.
“I will. I'll be down the hall in the study.”
“No.” The speed and force of your response surprises you both. You scramble for a reasonable follow up that doesn’t freak him out or make you sound like a lunatic. “I am not kicking you out of your own bed. Stay.”
“Are you sure?” Bruce asks. If you didn't know better, you'd say his words sounded a little breathless.
“Please. I don't want to be alone.”
××××××××
Bruce nods and turns out the lamp. In the darkness of the room everything else is amplified. The pad of his footsteps walking around to the other side of the bed. The rustle of sheets as he climbs into them. The sound of your breaths, not yet evened out.
He's careful to leave space between you. For once in his life, he feels out of his depth. This isn't something he's ever done before. There wasn’t much time for it in all his years spent training and crime fighting, despite what rumors may say. The fear of crossing a boundary keeps him straight and stiff. His eyes are wide open, staring up towards the ceiling into darkness. Has his room always been this quiet?
The mattress shifts slightly as you readjust, the memory foam absorbing most of the movement. You must be getting more comfortable, settling in to finally get some much needed rest. Bruce’s breathing stutters when your fingers intertwine with his. An innocent and all-consuming touch. 
“Goodnight, Bruce,” you mumble, already halfway to falling asleep.
“Goodnight,” he whispers back, unsure if he can continue to hold up that sparkly gel pen hope you wrote to him so long ago. Bruce may not have many others to compare it to, but this feels like something past friendship. 
He tries to stay awake, puzzling over tonight’s developments in his mind. If there's one thing he hates, it's not having a plan, and he's currently in the middle of uncharted territory. It's not five minutes before exhaustion and the comfortable warmth of your hand take over and pull him into slumber. He hasn't fallen asleep that quickly in years.
With any luck, he'll get this figured out before another twenty years pass him by.
++++++
¹ HELP: Homeless Education and Legal Program (made up for this fic)
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² Takes place in The Penguin show
💕 thanks for reading! Comments and reblogs are appreciated:)
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zoshizick · 2 months ago
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bunnydoll can't become a healthy pairing mostly because of ragatha, not jax. ragatha is the true catalyst for their tense relationship. it's clear that jax has a very complicated personality, but ragatha's character isn't easy either
ragatha is obsessed with the idea of pleasing people not because she wants their happiness. she does it for herself. that's why jax doesn't want to engage in more emotional conversations with her; he feels her insincerity, and he has normal conversations with pomni because pomni has been genuine and unbiased from the start. ragatha may have wanted to get along with jax from day one, and it might have taken years, but jax didn't want to interact with her because of her pretense
ragatha and jax are fighting over pomni like a toy for different reasons. ragatha doesn't want to lose to jax and would feel literally crushed if she can't keep pomni close, because if she doesn't appeal to someone, in her opinion, it makes her useless. jax wants to have normal relationships with someone, and pomni is his last chance to avoid being completely alone. jax is annoyed with ragatha because she doesn’t take his problems seriously and understands that ragatha needs pomni not for noble reasons. jax wants to establish a sincere relationship with pomni, unlike ragatha, who just wants to impress her to feed her own ego. this is what makes jax and ragatha multi-dimensional characters, and this is precisely what complicates their understanding of each other
ragatha and jax both feel equally lonely, but ragatha clings to everyone to avoid loneliness, trying to be useful (even though in reality her attempts to help haven't helped anyone), while jax, because of his loneliness, further worsens his relationships with others by pushing them away. i think this will be one of the reasons for their conflict in tomorrow's episode
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emmg · 11 months ago
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Imagine for a second everyone ends up happy and Lavellan and Solas get back together. Cue Dorian popping a blood vessel.
Dorian: “You’re back with this fuck?"
Lavellan, flustered: "I can explain—"
Dorian: "With this living omelette?"
Lavellan: "It's not—"
Dorian: "This balding crypt keeper with the emotional range of a brick wall and a wardrobe that makes him look like a discount drapery store threw up on him? The same one who poofed away after saying some cryptic shit about I WiSh iT CoUlD vHenAn?"
Solas: “The mark would have—"
Dorian: "Shut the fuck up, cue ball. I don't care if the mark was going to explode, you still look like you wash your clothes in your own self-pity. And you—" jabs a finger at Lavellan, "what’s your excuse? Has it really been so long that the sight of a naked skull and endless 'mystical' speeches turned you on again?"
Lavellan: “It’s more than that—"
Dorian: "More than that?! He abandoned you, took your fucking arm, and now you’re letting him back in your bed? Are you out of your mind or just starved for terrible decisions? You could’ve had anyone. But no, you pick the fade's worst motivational speaker.”
Solas: “Master Pavus, this is between—”
Dorian: “Oh no, don’t even try that ‘Master Pavus’ nonsense with me. You’ve got the emotional depth of a wet mop and a sex appeal that makes a mud pit look enticing. And yet here you are, again, trying to guilt-trip your way back into her pants with your world-saving speeches. What is it, Solas? You gonna whisper sweet nothings about 'the averted apocalypse' this time? Maybe throw in a lecture on why she was just not woke enough to understand your big, tragic plan but it's fine since everything worked out?"
Rook and Emmrich in their happy, non toxic relationship: :0
Solas: "Dorian—"
Dorian: "No, no, shut the fuck up. Seriously, what do you even do that’s remotely appealing? What did you do for the past ten years? Did you just sit there, staring at a wall, philosophizing about how it’s not 'connected to the Fade' while Lavellan was over there, not that far, mind you, actually trying to live her life?"
Lavellan, miserably: “Dorian, please—"
Dorian: "Do you know how many tears she cried over your wrinkly, bald ass? The sleepless nights? And for what? So you could show up with the same damn sad expression, like a dog that got kicked, expecting her to fall right back into your arms? Well, congratulations, you manipulative little twat, it worked. You got her again. But if you think for one second I’m going to sit here and let this farce play out without letting you know exactly what I think—"
Solas: “This is not your concern—"
Dorian, grinning viciously: "Not my concern? Oh, it’s my concern now, you ancient, egg-headed disaster. You took her arm, and now, what? You’re back for the other one too? What’s next? Gonna steal her dignity too? No, wait—" He flips both of them off. "You already did that. Honestly, Lavellan, were you that desperate? Did your standards drop so low that this walking mid-life crisis seemed like a good idea AGAIN?"
Lavellan, trying to hide: "I just thought—"
Dorian: "No, no, you didn't think. You never think when it comes to this pointy-eared monk reject. You just let him walk all over you with his cryptic, brooding bullshit and now here we are—again. Tell me, Lavellan, how many bad life choices does it take before you finally learn not to open your legs to misery?"
Lavellan: “Dorian—”
Dorian, rounding on Solas: "You’ve got some nerve coming back, Solas. You with your ‘oh woe is me, I didn't fix the world so I'll ruin this woman's life instead again’ schtick. And for what? What do you even have to offer besides a fucking headache and a masterclass in celibacy?”
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coraniaid · 15 days ago
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Actually, not only do I think Willow did nothing wrong in bringing back Buffy in Season 6 (something that people criticize her for more than they do anyone else even though Tara and Anya and Xander all 100% willingly went along with it; as they should have done since it was obviously the right thing to based on the information they all had), if I'm being honest with you all I don't think much of Tara's argument to Dawn against trying to bring Joyce back in Forever either.
I'm sure there are good arguments against it -- beyond "a fictional world in which the dead could be casually resurrected would be too different from our own and would prevent the writers from telling stories like this specific one about the protagonist losing her mother" -- but I don't think Tara offers any of them up. Actually Willow's attempts at offering up reasons against trying ("it's too dangerous"; "I guess the spells ... backfire?"), for all I see them criticized on here as somehow halfhearted or missing the point, are much more pertinent.
I mean: the reasoning Tara offers is that "Wiccans took an oath a long time ago" not to "alter the fabric of life for selfish reasons". Now -- glossing quickly over the fact that if my mother died when I was fourteen and somebody told me I was "selfish" for wanting her to be alive again I'm not sure that person and I would be on speaking terms ever again -- what sort of pathetic excuse is this? A group of women Dawn never met decided "a long time ago" on her behalf that it would be wrong for her to see her mother again, and she's just supposed to accept that? We're seriously just going with the appeal to tradition and long-dead authority?
Surely that flies in the face of the whole theme of the show? Buffy doesn't give a big speech in Chosen about how important and good it is to respect the arbitrary rules people who died thousands of years ago made up, does she? Why should Willow or Dawn consider themselves bound by oaths that other people swore? Or by collective decisions made by groups of people the two of them had no say in choosing to represent them?
Again, I'm not saying that Season 5 would be better if Joyce had been magically brought back to life or that there are no reasons in-universe it might have been a bad idea. I like Forever a lot, and I think the events of the episode itself -- which strongly implies that whatever crawled out of Joyce's grave wasn't really Joyce -- bear that take out.
But if you create a setting where the dead can, in theory, be brought back to life (as happens not just to Buffy, but also to Darla and at least arguably Spike and Angel and nearly the Master too) and you want to write a story about the fact that (in the real world) death is not exactly something people get better from, I think you have to be extremely careful about you square that circle. And I really don't think telling a child "yeah, maybe we could bring your mom back to life if we tried but I think that's a pretty selfish thing for you to want, don't you?" really cuts the mustard.
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elysiansparadise · 1 year ago
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I love the way you interpret things. Your work is amazing.
Can you do Sun in the 5th house, please? <3
Hello love, thank you so much for your words! Of course I can write about this beautiful placement.
Sun in the 5th house
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These natives have a strong need to show themselves authentically to the world and never be limited by whatever is happening in their environment. Throughout their lives they learn to develop self-love and self-acceptance, without needing to prove anything to anyone or meet other people's standards and/or expectations. They know how to value themselves and will know how to walk away if someone tries to have them by their side but wants to change something about them. These natives know their place and worth and won’t tolerate disrespect directed at them. They have a strong need to express their individuality and be recognized for who they are. They like to stand out and be unique in their way of being and doing things. Likewise, it is very easy for them to attract the attention of others and attract compliments or people who admire them/ want to be like them. These natives project confidence, great self-love, independence, creativity and light-hearted vibes. They have a natural charisma and personal magnetism. They attract others with their vibrant energy and their ability to make everything seem more interesting and exciting. They possess a high level of appeal and physical attractiveness, most particularly their facial features. There’s a big tendency to attract admirers or people that fall for them. 
Throughout their lives it is likely that they were either surrounded by drama or that they saw a lot of drama around the people they interacted with. They have an enthusiastic and passionate approach towards love and romance. They look for relationships that allow them to express their love in an uninhibited and authentic way. In love they will always look for a connection where they are loved for who they are and in return, they are capable of faithfully and passionately loving their partner. They know how to give their partner their place, even going so far as to recognize them as one of their highest priorities. These natives expect the same treatment and cannot stand the idea that their partner does not give them the same importance that they give, they will never settle for little and will walk away if the other person does not show sufficient commitment and dedication to the natives and/or the relationship. Despite their taste and fascination with romance, they know how to be alone and will always prefer it to being with someone who is not worth it.
This placement is a good indicator of success, especially if the native decides to pursue one of their passions. They are very ambitious people who want to go far on their own, often preferring to achieve things independently. Charisma, artistic talents and an attractive way of expressing themselves, these natives can not only catch attention but retain it. There is a preference for fun and breaking monotony and overwhelming routines, they are spontaneous and can border on the witty. They have a passion for their hobbies and recreational activities. They can spend a lot of time and effort developing their personal interests. Many of them take seriously the phrase "love yourself first before you decide to love someone," not only to recognize their own value, but also to recognize what treatments and behaviors they cannot tolerate from others. Despite this strong and autonomous attitude, many of them enjoy or seek to keep their inner child alive, being deep down curious, gentle and very generous. If this native decides to become a parent, they will not only make sure to give everything to their children, but also help them develop strong self-love, being a great influence on them. One of the most important things for them as parents is to see that their children are happy, celebrating their achievements as if they were their own.
-> Go back to the masterlist
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badbugbotblood · 11 months ago
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Mini conspiracy to do with lrt actually because this has been rotting my brain. The timeline doesn't necessarily make sense because there is like a small ocean of time between the unplugging of TurboTime and Turbo's incursion into Sugar Rush, BUT HEAR ME OUT!
So we know that the visual design, vocal flair and body language of King Candy is HEAVILY inspired by Disney's Mad Hatter from their original animated Alice in Wonderland (1951). The resemblance is extremely deliberate. The hair, the high collar, the iconic lisp, the presentation.
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But if we look at King Candy's visual design when compared to the other human avatars of SUGAR RUSH, our little faux monarch here does NOT STYLISTICALLY MATCH UP!
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The racers of Sugar Rush are very clearly emulating a typical cutesy Japanese 'chibi' style. Round heads, big eyes, little noses, and legs that (while not so long as to be anatomically realistic) fit the proportions of their bodies. Their outfits are sleek and their silhouettes are quite thin.
King Candy does not follow this same design philosophy at all (and it's for this reason that I also personally believe that King Candy's appearance as a whole was a fabrication of Turbo's, rather than an unfinished NPC character whose model he commandeered).
I think an interesting in-universe explanation for King Candy's appearance could come from another game. One which Turbo would have known well.
After all, TurboTime had had a neighbor in Fix-It Felix Jr.
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While their design language definitely does not line up 1:1, I see more of Felix in King Candy's appearance than I do the likeness of any Sugar Rush avatar. There are some commonalities in the facial proportions of King Candy and Fix-It Felix. Their heads are taller, eyes are smaller, and their mouths are wider. And then there is the nose, which is to me and my delulu brain the most obvious visual similarity between these two.
So. Say you're a societal pariah after doing something seriously taboo, and you need to blend in with a group of newly-arrived strangers in order to avoid being caught and punished for your misdeeds. There's not much time, and you need to get your affairs in order before anyone realizes what you're doing.
I think that, with his take-over of Sugar Rush being an extremely time-sensitive ordeal, Turbo had very little chance to devise the perfect disguise. So he cheated just a bit, took inspiration from a place that was familiar to him.
His own appearance, ghoulish and grey, dressed in blazing red over stark white, that would never fly in such a whimsical world. But he once knew a cast of characters with designs that all the Players found appealing at that time, and he fell back on that knowledge to craft his royal façade. All he knew for sure was that his avatar had to be cute, colorful and coherent.
The end result definitely doesn't scream Sugar Rush when you really scrutinize it, but it held up for fifteen years. Fifteen wonderful years full of racing and ruling and winning to his heart's content. Turbo was satisfied, maybe even truly happy.
I wonder if part of his apparent surprise during the Big Twist Villain Reveal(tm) came from him not immediately recognizing the ashy grey skin beneath the mask he'd built more than a decade ago. After all, he'd spent right around half of his entire life as the one and only King Candy, the benevolent monarch and best racer of Sugar Rush.
He would have been more than happy to leave his loathsome original avatar behind with the rest of the eight-bit era. It had done him no favors even when he wasn't old news just yet.
How unfortunate for him that the pesky Glitch had different ideas.
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lakesbian · 1 year ago
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you know what. im going to follow my heart so we can move on with the wormread and just copy-paste what i said about danny in chapter 6.9 on discord with some minimal editing because it's not pretty but the general thesis is there and i don't feel like making it into proper paragraph form
okay so the thing thats fucking killing me abotu 6.9 is that danny is literally like. he tries to call taylor a nickname only her mom called her once he realizes he's fucked up bad and is trying to recover whichi s insane [because it's obviously going to be upsetting to her by reminding her of her mom being gone, and it also indicates that his fall-back for something going wrong w/ taylor is to try to appeal to her by poorly copying someone else's parenting style] and he also randomly tells her about how her mom wanted to move her a grade ahead but he wanted her to stay in school with emma to make her happy. and he's been Stewing On That despite knowing it's objectively not his fault (and i am reminded of how in his interlude he spends time Stewing about how he wishes annette were there to give advice) and he also cops up to the fact that that the whole thing about "being her parent and not her ally" (<- demented thing to say for obvious reasons) wherein he locks her in a room and demands emotional vulnerability from her even as she's becoming visibly upset & compares his actions to emma's was her grandmother's idea and then. here's the real kicker. once lisa shows up and prepares to take taylor away there are any number of actions a parent confident that they're doing the right thing for their child would normally do in response--not, like, Good actions, but things that a parent would be likely to pull. threatening to call the cops bc blah blah you're my daughter, wanting to speak to lisa's parents, any form of power move pulled over these two teenage girls but instead he speaks to lisa like she's an equal authority over taylor and seriously asks if she's "okay with this" (i should remind you of the concussion chapter where lisa is doing some insane power move shit over taylors dad covertly establishing herself as more competent at caring 4 her than him lmao) which is just like. it's so glaringly wildly obvious how this guy has Zero confidence in himself as a parent so he generally does nothing and then while he's doing nothing he oscillates btwn rationalizing it to himself as allowing her privacy/dignity, getting angry at himself/calling himself a coward, or getting mad at TAYLOR and blaming HER for not being the one to take initiation to be vulnerable with him and, like. he literally does make functional decisions prior to this for a bit! he's good and supportive at the meeting with the school board about the bullying!!! but it doesn't immediately solve literal years of distance between them that have led to taylor having to take decisionmaking for her wellbeing entirely into her own hands w/o being able to tell him about it [& having literally no route for human connection or support other than the undersiders] so he just completely crumbles on his own calls and seeks out/takes completely shit advice from taylor's grandma instead so i very much think what's insinuated here is like. especially given that he knows he has anger issues and never wants to Be Scary with them. he might have frequently leaned on annette for parenting decisions before she died and/or is really fucking haunted by the time(s) he didn't listen to her and it went wrong and now that she's gone he's just kinda floundering and trying to toss the baton for parental decisionmaking onto anyone else, including, at one point, the literal teenage girl who shows up to help taylor run away from his house. insane ! also. thinking about how taylor says her grandma (maternal) never liked her dad. that man would literally rather talk to the mother of his dead wife, who hates him, and take her advice than go 'yeah ithink im gonna keep using my own judgement for compassion towards my daughter' fucking worst anyones ever done it this guy has the spine of a twizzler it's great
...and then doing All That & severely triggering taylor's trauma from the bullying in the process completely shatters any trust he had built with her, catalyzing her realization that she wants to be able to have meaningful relationships with the undersiders & leading to her running away to leave with them! i don't think anyone can say for sure whether or not danny Not doing this would have led to taylor turning the undersiders in before realizing that she would regret it, but oh fucking boy does he make SURE she doesn't go thru with it. and it would be bad to call the cops on a bunch of systematically neglected traumatized teenagers regardless of how much crime they're doing so you know what maybe we should actually thank danny for his Shit Parenting stopping taylor from being a narc
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smileposting · 8 months ago
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what are your feelings on inspekta being both a sympathetic character and a (now former) fascist?
WELL. first of all, i think it's Probably worth noting that even while GGG's representation of the conditions that can give rise to fascism are Uncannily accurate at times (as outlined in this very excellent post by elkian) it is Also a story in which the central message is "maybe talk to your friends instead of conspiracy-posting when you start to feel bad about yourself, dipshit," and therefore its representation of fascism/fascist thought As A Whole is very... how do i say this without sounding disparaging. "saturday morning cartoon"-esque. i think this is pretty apparent in how the worst that the bizzyboys' reign of terror ever gets is banning The Concept Of Art and not, like. genocide. the only Actual fatal threat (the rift) is saved for the very end, and inspekta/hector is talked down before it can actually cause any fatalities -- otherwise, inspekta and the bizzyboys would be very different antagonists that would require the narrative to treat them much more harshly, and this would result in a very different game overall (although not one i would be opposed to playing.)
second of all, i wanna talk more about the idea of GGG being less of a game about taking down a single power-hungry fascist and more an examination of the conditions that can eventually lead to fascism if left unchecked. for just one example, we can see that even before inspekta came into power (or at least, before he started his corruption arc) and even in a world where every god is genuinely kind and just and deserving of their position, it was generally The Norm to not really call them out To Their Face - any displeasure a character voices with a god's (apparent) decision is directed to each other and the godpoke, not to the god themselves, even when that god is perfectly open to visitors and/or feedback. and this is bad because despite the gods no longer being Physically human, they are still just as fallible - they have a tendency to jump to conclusions, they let their devotion to their interests or one another cloud their judgement, they struggle with showing vulnerability (which, ironically, makes them more vulnerable than they would be otherwise.) not only does the grove benefit from regular contact with the gods to make sure that their needs are being met -- it benefits the gods, too, by way of keeping them from getting lost in their own heads and losing touch with their own humanity.
i think it's also worth noting that the bizzyboys are not the only characters we see buying into fascist rhetoric, or at least stuff that benefits fascism in the long run. you could argue that anyone who bought into inspekta's framing of king in the first place also counts, given that to do so would probably Also require one to believe that the gods are infallible. it's also worth noting that a Lot of the more notable supporting characters who fall into this are also doing so out of a profound sense of alienation; saul can't remember the last time he talked to any of his friends and he thinks nobody takes him seriously, pollina's students don't sound like they're being taught much of anything about milldread's history and therefore they have very little to actually connect them to milldread, nobody likes rick brick and he has no interiority to speak of By Design, etc etc. all of these characters, however, are also treated with a fair amount of empathy - ol' bloom turns out to be Correct in believing that saul doesn't have what it takes to kill him and once the issue of the harvest is solved, he's welcomed back with open arms, pollina's students are like 8, and even rick brick's story ends with him beginning to realize that maybe it's okay if a story only appeals to its author and nobody else.
tl;dr: if ggg was even Slightly less cartoony than it actually is, this aspect of inspekta would come across as pretty jarring, but given the aspects of fascism that GGG chooses to focus on and how it treats smaller antagonists, i can't really imagine inspekta's story ending any other way. if i Did have any actual concerns, i'd say maybe it's that the bizzyboys being from the drain + the drain having such a negative connotation can get kinda dicey? something about the idea of fascism being an Evil Foreign Entity and not something that can just as easily start at home doesn’t sit quite right with me. but ofc a lot of emphasis is placed on the bizzyboys' humanity and potential to do good if not for inspekta's own Complexes getting the better of him (and even inspekta's own genuine capacity for leadership before that happened) so that's probably more of a potential bone to pick with fanwork, given how little exploration drain actually Gets in canon.
also i hope this doesn't Need to be said but just to be clear: i'm not trying to like, call out limbolane or Inspekta Himself, just examining what this aspect of his character was trying to Accomplish + how it relates to the game's themes and such. with that said i am very much still a novice when it comes to political analysis of media so if anybody more well-read than me wants to chime in, Please feel free to do so lol.
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erwinsvow · 2 months ago
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Okay okay it doesn’t make sense within the context of the show but shhhh
Arranged marriage with pope.
Please hear me out. He’s so awkward and off putting and you’re so nice and innocent. Everyone is scared for you because well… look at him. But pope is just so obsessed with you. Staring at you 24/7. He touches you because he can. I imagine him trying so hard to delicately brush hair out of your face to be romantic but he just kinda ends up looking like the terminator
you have truly appealed to my ancestral roots. how did you know arranged marriage is my favorite thing in the world. there is really no canon context in the show where this makes sense but youre right, we are rolling with it because that is what i am here for. it'd have to be some sort of business transaction/deal with some other family... definitely some family that does not care about you and very old schooly decides to trade you away in order to get the codys to do jobs maybe... or a really big job where they can't have anyone snitching on them so the traditional way to go about it is to tie the deal with marriage.. idk. unnecessary context! the real answer here is just as you said—hulking, lumbering season four jacked andrew. there's no real 'wedding' which he doesn't know if that's a good thing or a bad thing. it has to be him because duh he's the oldest. they probably try to get j to do it after a brief moment of thinking maybe it's not the best idea to give pope a wife but i think i could imagine j spinning it around and convincing the others it would be the best for andrew because it'd be stable and whatnot. i think andrew assumes you'd be some bad-tempered spoiled child of criminals like his own family. gets very uneasy at first seeing how quiet you are and how you can't meet his eyes and just little things that tell him you were not what he was picturing at all. maybe you made dessert for everyone and help clean the table after eating and while everyone's talking you just go start washing dishes to escape the conversation. and he'd already be in there cleaning so maybe you both realize you were very mistaken about the other. i like that a lot! i loooove arranged marriage aus gaaah. the niceness and innocence only grows. maybe you two get to see each other a few times before going to town hall to sign papers—you wear a white skirt with a pretty top but he was really itching to see you in a white dress. it's okay though, once you two are married he envisions a future where he can get you whatever you want in the security of your home with him. everyone's cracking jokes about you and him but he has a new mission in life now, which is protecting his wife. i imagine he takes it very very seriously. i can imagine reader being very very nervous and not sure what andrew's personality is really like because she hasn't heard the best things. mean taunts about how her new husband is a beast and she'll be lucky to stay in one piece. i mean you have to consider his reputation to outsiders too. he's just a big softie inside though once he trusts her and i think he innately does since they're bonded together now.
fondness has to grow and fear has to leave before anything happens. you unlearn flinching when you turn around to find him waiting for you already, realize how much he cares about you when he comes home with something you had mentioned in passing yesterday. and since there's a new small home for you both, he tells you to decorate it how you'd like and helps you with house hold things like putting up curtains and moving furniture to lay down a rug. just very cutesy domestic life. i think it would soften you both up a lot. and also i think he wouldn't sleep with you right away, even if you were open to it. he sees it as something more special than that since you two are married. in fact i imagine a month in, after lingering touches and lots of staring (all the time, when he's supposed to be laying out the rug he stops since he got to where you're standing and gets distracted by your legs and your hand hovering and especially distracted when he sees the wedding band on your ring finger. in the store when you're holding up two options asking him to pick his favorite, doesn't answer just keeps staring. when you're washing dishes and ask him to bring you his coffee cup and he just stares realizing this is how domestic bliss feels) anyways after a month of that and andrew trying to be a cutesy husband but it's more of an endearing sort of awkward (let's be real, would this not work on you?? it would on me) i think you'd be begging for it (you've been begging for it since the first week when you saw how big his arms get when he's lifting something for you and how veiny they are at night when you fall asleep next to each other) and only then would he complete his duties as a husband. alternatively, the entire house is so cute and set up now and it just feels like a home and you two have a routine and you feel like a real husband and wife and now with everything in place he finally feels ready to give you a baby because isn't that the point of marriage after all <3
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idontmindifuforgetme · 2 years ago
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how do you fall in love with yourself
unlearn the idea that confidence is conceit. i see this belief imposed on women especially, that if they’re very unapologetic about loving themselves it automatically means they’re narcissistic / think they’re better than everybody else. that’s not true at all. you can love yourself while also acknowledging you’re not inherently better than anyone else. you can love yourself while also being kind & supportive to others. it’s okay to be both of these things at once.
let go of the scarcity mindset. women (everyone really, but especially women) get pitted/compared against each other all the time. you see it w female celebrities in the media, but it’s very prevalent in real life as well. this is very much years of societal conditioning & both women & men partake in this behavior. ignore it. rest easy knowing that there can be multiple beautiful women, multiple smart women, multiple funny women in any environment at any given time. there is enough clout to go around; you don’t need to feel like if there’s another pretty/smart girl it means you no longer have the space to also be a pretty/smart girl. instead operate from an abundance mindset: always (alwaysss) be happy for other girls when they succeed, when they’re praised, when they’re loved, whatever. see them not as competition but as inspiration. envy is such a colossal waste of time bc nobody else’s accomplishments have any bearing on your own!!
get to know yourself more. i love the analogy of dating yourself bc it’s true. i went through a rough period of being around my ex 24/7 to the point i didn’t even know myself, and then i spent the post-breakup year hanging around everyone else constantly to numb my thoughts. now i’m spending more time alone than ever & i’m getting to know myself so much. learning about my taste in fashion, music, everything. and i’ve had so much more time to invest in hobbies & skills, which is very instrumental to building healthy self-esteem. ofc there’s a more balanced way to do this, but make sure you’re not running away from yourself!
what do you like outside of everybody’s opinion? don’t interpret this the wrong way—it’s completely fine to be inspired. every single person you know has copied someone else to an extent. but if you find yourself going too far, not trusting yourself to make the simplest decisions, just following trends blindly and nothing else, you’ve left the inspiration territory and started crossing into plagiarism. move from a place of self-direction and really think about what is naturally appealing to you. it doesn’t matter if it’s not popular or nobody else likes it. if you like it & if it makes you happy, that’s all you need.
practice self-love! i had to do this lol but it works wonders. i started intentionally telling myself that i trust my own taste, that i trust my own choices, that if i think something’s cool it’s good enough, talking to myself kindly etc etc. eventually all this stuff will become natural to you & you won’t find yourself having to expend so much energy into simply loving you for you. don’t give up even if it’s hard to believe at times.
don’t give a fuck. seriously. just don’t give a single flying fuck what someone else has to say. there will always be That One Person who tries to tear you down, belittles you, gaslights you etc etc and if you know in your heart you’re not doing anything wrong, just ignore and keep it pushing. you can’t be everyone’s favorite person (nor should you want to be). think of your favorite celebrity. anyone ever. they probably all got subjected to hate. now think of how they’re successful still & how it didn’t take anything away from them. there you go <3
if literally everyone on this planet starts hating you, loving yourself is still the antidote. to clarify, how others perceive us does hold weight. but if legit every single person i know started hating me, and i still loved myself, i’d probably still live a full life bc my perception is all that really matters in the end. i don’t need anyone else to be my #1 fan—i can do that myself just fine. it technically is actually your world & everyone else is just living in it. so enjoy that! stop giving a hard time to the one person who will always be w you through thick and thin (yourself). eat good food & watch good shows & read good books & just have fun. i love u
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awesomebutunpractical · 7 months ago
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making a fan-character: why and how also I didn't plan this.
Here's a thing to remember, a fan-characters is every bit yours as any of your other characters. I feel like this is obvious but some people who are not me do not know this and I am trying to remember not everyone is me.
A fan-character is indulgent play. There's no obligation to do it well. I enjoy doing it as well as I can because that's part of the play for me, but I promise literally no one is going to grade you. You can't fail here.
The people who don't like fan-characters are not your target audience unless you're me and there's a very real little gremlin in you who wants to prove them all wrong.
In fact get any ideas of mass appeal out of your head right now. You're gonna learn how to play with your imaginary friends on your own. Not because their inherently not fun, but because YOU should have fun doing this whether anyone else is on board or not. (see point 2)
Also get the idea of avoiding cringe kicked to the curb. You need to be all in.
Alright now that I have walked you through five points I did not think through I'm gonna tell you how to actually do the thing. Step one, love the source material. The main difference between making your own character in your own world and fan-character crafting is the sandbox. Love it for what it is.
The Big Thing is going to be how your character relates to the world. This is where knowing the basic themes you're playing with comes in handy. Think it through. How seriously would the world you're playing in take an Edgy Sword Man? Does the character have traits that they wouldn't have in any other setting? Does the backstory Involve the World?
We want to have the fun of interacting with the source material before we even drag the canon characters into this. This particular version of the character shouldn't be able to exist in any other setting.
Let's drag the canon characters into this. They should hate your guy.
No, I kid, but the best dynamics are going to have a natural point of conflict and contrast. There should be something they would argue about, and there should be room for both or neither of them to be right.
Go ahead and make them related. Try it. See what happens. Maybe the world will explode.
Try to give your character a perspective on the canon character we don't usually see. One trope I like to play with is "grown up friend for the Mom of the Group."
Don't make a character to be the Better Version of Canon Man and expect people to think your guy's the Cool One. Remember when you're writing conflict that people already have a basis to love and root for the Canon Man. Your new guy is on hostile turf.
Make NPC style background characters. Now make them think they're the main characters and the canon characters are the weirdos that they avoid eye contact with. Explore the world from a mundane perspective. Make them wait in line at the bank.
Let the fan-character BE impressive. Let them fail. Let both things be dramatic and over the top. Stretch your muscles a bit. Your character is not you. You're the director and you want a good story. So let them lose if that's what it takes.
Go ahead and let them smooch someone. It's fine. I have it on record you'll survive.
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