#because obviously the whole process from finding an apartment to moving into one takes more than a day

[quitealotofsodapop]

That's an interesting thought. What are the differences between demon monkeys, specifically stone monkeys, and their none demonic counterparts? Obviously, the parent does abandon the egg but they may tend to expect their troop to take a larger role in raising the child, especially if they aren't sure if they'd survive the egg making process if they didn't have a mate. Also, I wouldn't be surprised if they mated for life since you can definitely see it with Wukong and Macaque even when they hated each other. So perhaps, with a normal pregnancy, a stone monkey would expect the majority of the parenting to come from their partner, not for lack of care, but rather because even a normal pregnancy is somewhat risky for the species.

There's a reason there are so few nowadays, and their struggles with pregnancy is a big part of it.

They have strong paternal and maternal instincts, especially those born of the more feminine side of the elements. That's why Wukong could never bear to hurt something cute like a bunny robot and why things like puppy eyes are so effective on him. He's of the Earth Element. Even if he himself identifies as primarily male, he will still have heavy maternal instincts.

It also is why he knew from a very young age that he wanted to be a parent.

referencing this post on Stone Monkey and Monkey demon social dynamics vs irl monkeys.

Stone Monkeys live in wide social troops with no clear ranking system apart from "who can do X task rn?" since they originated in a less kindly world (pre Great Flood) and having healthy babies was super taxing biologically. Family ties very important - older kids will stay with parental troop their whole lives save for when they search for a mate (sometimes they dont even have to do that since inter-troop mingling is encouraged) or when they hear the call of adventure/ leave to explore for potiential new nesting grounds.

Stone Monkeys also typically mate for life.

Which is *why* Stone Eggs evolved in the first place.

Consider this;

Monkey A & B are a mated pair. B dies due to illness or attack or old age, and A is super sad and doesn't have any cubs to care for. A then decides to bury themselves with their deceased mate so that they can reunite in some way. Add in some sympathetic death/life god blessing the species and you got an Egg! Formed from the combined dao of the parents - it gives the A & B a last shot in the dark to continue their genetic lineage! The troop can care for the baby, cus clearly it's part of the family, and the cub will (hopefully) grow up to pair up and make cubs of their own.

BUT...

Say the whole troop was wiped out by something that left Monkey A the last survivor? Illness, massacre, a certain Great Flood, etc...

Thats where the "*Stone* Egg" comes in again. By developing and incubating slowly underground and adsorbing natural life energy, the baby can stay cooking for a long time until another troop comes across it. Stone Monkeys you see, love digging and can sense odd sources of energy hidden beneath the ground. A troop member digs up a weird egg-shaped object within or next to the fossil of another monkey? Not hard to put two and two together. Also helps potientially "wake up" the parent whos body has been in biological torpor for a long time. The stone egg parent may be able to recover from the process and help raise cubs in the new troop. The egg's parent *may* be able to move on from their former mate and/or find one in this troop, but its uncommon for widowed stone monkeys to "remarry".

In terms of parenting structure; Stone Monkeys prefer to have it equally split between the parents/mated pair with older kids and troop members pitching in. In the case of pregnancy/surviving a Stone egg, the birth parent is allowed some vacation time from the baby as the other parent picks up the slack. +This is inspired by irl Golden Lion Tamarins and Pygmy Marmosets, where the dad and troop all pitch in to help raise the babies while the mom recovers from the very taxing birth. Dad monkeys even train to gain muscle so that they can carry the babies for Mom when they arrive. They even midwife for their mate when they go into labor.

And as for literally mating for life? Its the norm. Some Stone Monkeys simply never settle down or dont have a life mate at all. But the ones who do? It's almost supernatural levels of devoted.

Wukong and Macaque are unknowingly "soulmates" in the most literal sense of the word. Their Stone Monkey instincts tell them "this is the one" and to make it Work, because its the greatest chance for genetic success/survival in addition to genuinely being in love with one another.

So it was devastating for both when jealously, anger, and the interference of the gods caused the two to split so many times in their lives. Even when they "broke up" under the Mountain, they knew the other would be their only mate even without knowledge of Stone Monkey social structures. Which made it even worse due to a certain fight they had later on in the Journey...

As for maternal/parental instincts? Super duper high. Stone Monkeys again, pitch in to take care of the troops babies to give the parents a break. They also naturally adopt orphan cubs; makes more sense to adopt when pregnancy is so dangerous for the parent and there's a perfectly good baby without a parent right there! And those on the more "Yin"-side of the gender trigram tend to go full "mom-mode" on babies that aren't theirs, their bodies even reacting to an adopted baby as if it were born from them.

Which causes some issues regarding Stone Monkeys considering anything vaguely monkey-like without a parent to be potientally their new baby. Regular earth Monkey Demons probably have old forgotten nicknames for Stone Monkeys that roughly translate to "den mothers" or even "the nannies".

So SWK's reaction to the bunny mechs on the Moon? Typical Stone Monkey behavior.

Even if MK aint Wukong's bio-kid, he certainly became part of his troop the moment he saw him.

[love-toxin]

SPOILERS, for those who haven't seen atsv yet

so on the whole thing where we're basically a spider person without any of the powers, it goes over the whole thing where everyone has their canon of loosing someone, but our world broke before we got to live it, BUT! Id imagine that despite all of that we'd have a reason to help miles. Because he knows his dad is going to die and when and can stop it. Obviously us basically going against miguel would, i imagine hurt him immensely, he'd be even more pissed.

Imagine trying to hold him back from chasing after miles, obviously he's much stronger than us so he accidentally moves us out of the way too hard and ends up hurting us and breaking something and doesn't notice till its too late

Also ALSO! Miguel tiddies, i wanna bite em, squeeze em 🫴 and just how feral he was BARK BARK! 🐕🐕

MMMRRHRRGGGGGHGGH........ok......but......

(cws: gn!reader, more spiderverse spoilers, blood, injuries, displaced spider-reader)

Imagine, after that whole chase and Miles managing to get away and enter another dimension, Miguel throws you into one of those baddie-capsules the society uses to send their anomalies back to their own worlds. He's so pissed he can't even look at you--you are the last person he expected to take Miles' side because you know exactly what's going to happen to him, in his mind he thinks you're not doing your job of protecting Miles because you're giving in to this ridiculous fantasy of his. You know exactly what it's like to lose everything you've ever known, just like himself, and in part because of you now Miles is going to have to go through the same thing and potentially cripple the society in the process, affecting thousands of other dimensions with those selfish actions. That's what you're supporting.

So, despite the intended purpose of the capsule, you stay trapped in the society until he can decide what to do with you whilst figuring out this whole situation. But it's when he finally finds the strength to keep himself calm enough to speak to you does he realize what he's done to you.

"What's wrong with your arm? Show me."

"I-It's fine, Miguel, it's just a little sore-"

"Show. Me. Now."

Reluctantly, especially because you still feel the way you do about Miguel and you know where he's coming from, you turn yourself towards him completely so he can see what you've been hiding since the chase--and when he sees what it is, a chill washes over him as he pinpoints the exact moment you sustained that terrible injury, claw marks running deep down your arm and barely covered by a makeshift bandage you pulled from your sleeve.

Right near the end, when he was trying so desperately not to let Miles use the dimension portal, you had run up to him and grabbed his arm to keep him from tearing the very walls of space and time apart. But in his rage, he didn't just shake you off--no, when you wouldn't give up, Miguel had slashed at you in a fit of frantic desperation and sent you tumbling back across the floor, your startled cries and winces of pain finally loosening his hold enough that the kid finally slipped through his fingers.

At the time, he could've spat venom with how angry he was, that fury directed at you when the source of it had disappeared. He never thought he would hurt you though, and it insulted him to his core when Parker had put himself and Mayday between you two as if he was at all a danger to you. He would yell, and he would swear, but he would never hurt you.

But clearly he did. The blood soaking your sleeves proves it, and so does the pallid colour of your face as you look up at him from where you sit, eyes silently pleading with him for help. Him. The man who vowed to protect you from any more hurt and, practically in the same breath, nearly killed you in a violent rage.

"I'm sorry."

When that beautiful smile blossoms across your face at those words, it only sours his spirit even more because he knows with absolute certainty that it's nothing he deserves. He's going to get you help, and help is already on its way to your holding cell, but he can't stay long enough to hear you thank him for it. No matter how much you beg him not to leave, to stay because you want to be comforted by him right now, he just can't even look in your direction and has to block out your voice as he walks away.

At some point, maybe, he might be able to hear you out. But for right now he just has to send other spiders to keep you company, ones that you know and trust, so you at least won't be alone. He knows that's a weak spot of yours despite becoming a strength for him, similar circumstances from both your worlds cultivating different results. He's just got no idea how powerful your words are, and that the longer he goes knowing you're his greatest weakness and avoiding you because of it, the more you're planting seeds of doubt into his society to turn the tables from within. Miguel loves you so much, and even if you're helping to break apart everything he's built, there's undoubtedly going to be a little voice in his heart that sings when he sees you defying him just like he defied everything to bring you here. You're going to force him to eat his own words, and if it's you leading the charge, he might just be inclined to open his mouth a little.

[incesthemes]

hi bestie. it’s me. ❤️ monkey emoji 🙊 or whatever can i make you talk about stanford era sam again… for me for please…

you can do anything you want to me. i can take it

i guess i don't think about Sam At Stanford all that much really? before and after for sure, but college life is boring. cannot imagine why sam wanted that so bad 💔

i do generally think he would have felt very out of place there, though. he comes from a background so wildly different from the average student: i think there would have been a lot of jealousy and yearning as he made friends and learned about the lives they got to live, basic things which were so unavailable to him. he probably would have been angry about this for a while, and it likely would have kept him distant from people. humans seek connection and we do that through shared experiences; if sam has none of those shared experiences, he would naturally be alienated from the average person, even if just subconsciously and unintentionally.

i also prefer the version of canon where sam graduated from high school at 19 and is entering his 4th year of college in the pilot, which can tack on some latent shame and humiliation about being older than his peers, especially when he's had such different life experiences from them.

i like to think that in his first year at stanford, there was some kind of small haunting on campus (or equally low-risk hunt), and sam decided to take care of it—not like he can exactly ignore it when it's on campus, after all. he gets hurt in the process and can't help but miss dean and john, and he's never felt more alone in his life than at that moment. it's important to me that he spends his first year in college standing on a cliff's edge, trying to ignore the abyss below him as he struggles to fit into society (the abyss is hunting, the abyss is family). one wrong move will send him hurtling over the edge and right back into the place he fought so hard to escape. it's stressful and agonizing because he knows he doesn't belong here but he can't go back, and it rips him apart and this low-grade, routine hunt is almost enough to send him falling into the abyss. i want it to hurt.

ultimately i think sam's experience at stanford was a challenge to him, one that forced him to realize just how little he actually knew about a "normal" life, the kind he'd only ever seen from the outside. the show seems to imply that most of sam's positive strides occurred as the result of demonic intervention (such as brady introducing sam to jessica), and so it brings me great joy to imagine him really, really struggling to fit in and find a life outside of hunting—possibly to the extent that he wouldn't have been able to at all if he'd been left to his own devices. obviously he wasn't an outcast at school, but i favor an interpretation that most of his social circle was because of demons like brady interfering in sam's life. the kid's awkward and doesn't know how to throw away his trash, okay. he's not cut out for a normal life.

also i think he brought something of dean's with him to school. a shirt that he wore regularly, maybe. a trinket. their shared toothbrush. it probably made acclimation harder, but he desperately needed the comfort when he was alone and wanting. he's never been farther than a few feet from dean at any point in his life, and suddenly dean is all the way across the country and his dorm room is far too big and cavernous, like it'll swallow him whole. and he misses his big brother.

[ohallthecrushes]

You're a storm in a teacup and I'm starting to like the chaos.

I won't blame you if you feel as frustrated as Elias in this episode. But this is part 1 of this dance between them and I swear they're gonna finish it with fireworks in part 2.

Without further ado!

Summary: Evelyn is a young-troubled woman who’s just escaped a highly guarded psych ward (twice, but this time causing havoc on her way out)

Now she’s running through the city, hiding from police. A not-so-accidental encounter with a man named Elias Voit will change her life forever. And she’ll change his. His seemingly selfless help is laced with danger, hidden agenda, manipulation, endless tension, and…love? Slow burning inteligent-idiots-in-love trope. But mind you, just because it’s a love story, doesn’t mean it ends well.

General warnings throughout the story: Manipulation, illegal activities, murder(s), Stockholm syndrome, kidnapping, explicit content, language… The whole pack. It’s Criminal minds after all.

In this episode: He makes some amends and takes her on a mission. They have a job to do. One simple job that definitely don't include breaking his rules and dancing in a stolen dress.

Elias woke the next morning, all felt like a fever dream. He replayed the events of the night over and over in his mind, wondering if he had pushed her too far. But he had had to teach her not to play him in the most gentle way he could, and obviously he could had done worst than that and yet he hadn't. So despite everything that could had happened, he was sure he had done the right thing.

He started his day as usual, no regret of his actions and no pondering of what could had been. He moved on and expected Evelyn to do the same.

And yet...

She didn't. Instead she was acting like a trapped animal, hiding before him in her room. He let her be for some time, until it started to feel annoying. He paced the cabin, the silence growing more oppressive with each passing hour. Their usual banter, her sharp mind, their conversations—he missed it all.

He missed her.

He needed her to feel safe with him again, so he decided he needed to make some amends, to take a step back and give her some space, and hopefully, she would feel more at ease.

He sat at the small desk in the corner of his bedroom and pulled out a piece of paper. He took a deep breath and began to write, old-fashioned style.

Evelyn

I realize that last night might have been too intense. I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable or scared. That was never my intention. I understand that you need time and space to process everything, and I want you to know that you're safe here.

I have to leave the cabin for a couple of hours or so. Use this time to relax and think. When I return, we can talk if you’re ready. Or not. It’s your choice.

Elias

He folded the note and walked to her door, sliding it under with a sense of finality. As he walked to the living room, he reflected on his own feelings. How much this note was a simple manipulation and how much sincerity he actually put in it? He furrowed his brows not sure of the answer.

He gathered a few things, packed a small bag, and glanced back at the door of her room. He wanted to knock, to say something more, but he knew it wasn't the time. With a sigh, he turned and left the cabin, hoping that the time apart would help them both find some clarity.

As the door closed behind him, the cabin felt even quieter. Evelyn, hearing the front door shut, got up from her bed and retrieved the note. She read it slowly with a hint of disbelief.

Was he sorry? Really?

Or was he trying to lure her out?

She appreciated the gesture even if it wasn't complete genuine, but it also left her with more questions. She sat down on the edge of her bed, holding the note, and pondered what her next move should be. The silence now felt less oppressive and more like a space for reflection, though it felt unnatural as well. She looked at the door. Had he left? That would be a relief, wouldn't it?

Moving with cautious, she left her room and peeked into the kitchen, then the living room.

Empty.

A quick check confirmed the front door was still firmly locked. Elias wasn't playing any escape games this time.

She smiled slightly at the realization. For the first time since arriving, she was alone. Freedom at last. She came back to the kitchen and poured herself a cup of tea as a simple act of celebration before she began to explore the cabin. Now without him around she could check everything more precisely, hoping to find something interesting.

But she felt disappointment quickly. The cupboards yielded nothing but mundane supplies, drawers hid nothing besides the ordinary, and the walls were adorned with generic landscapes devoid of any personal touch. No photos, no souvenirs, no personal belongings... Was there anything real in this place, anything that offered a glimpse into the man who held her captive?

An hour later, she slumped onto the couch, the search was fruitless. Everything was clean, even sterile, a carefully constructed facade that revealed nothing. The answers, if any existed, were likely locked away in Elias's room.

She swallowed the disappointment down her throat with a tea. The man she was drawn to was still an enigma. She knew nothing more about him than what he'd told her. And yet he knew more about her than she'd ever revealed. It wasn't fair.

The last night...her plan to get revenge, had back fired at her in ways she hadn't expected. It was partly her fault for underestimating him and thinking that stepping on this man's pride and provoke him was a good idea, that somehow she'd be able to control the situation. But even with all the consequences that he'd warned about, and his possessive statement that she was his, she couldn't deny that the arousal she'd felt had overshadowed the initial fear.

Now that she was alone in the cabin, she could be completely honest with herself and finally admit it.

And honesty, the consequences were ricocheting in her mind between being a threat and being a delicious promise.

The sound of the front door opening halted her contemplation. Elias walked in, his dark blue eyes sweeping the room before landing on her. A hint of amusement danced in their depths.

"Thorough, aren't we, Evelyn?" He sounded almost amused. "Did you find anything… interesting?"

He knew. Of course, he knew. She forced a nonchalant shrug, trying to hide her disappointment. "Just looking around."

"And here I thought you'd just enjoy your freedom, relaxing with a book, maybe trying to pick up some locks..." he glanced at her, setting down a bag he had brought with him.

"It was tempting to try, but no, as you can see I'm still here." She smirked at him. "But It was nice not having you breathing down my neck for a change."

His eyes twinkling with self-content as he saw that leaving her alone for a while had brought expected results. "Good girl. I'm glad you didn't try to run. It shows you're beginning to understand the benefits of our arrangement."

She bristled at the patronizing tone but chose to remain silent. As she rose, ready to go back to the solitude of her room, he spoke.

"Hold on, Evelyn." he gestured her to stay. "I've brought you something."

She watched curious as he reached into the bag and pulled out something she didn't expect to see. Her old guitar.

He handed it to her like a very precious delicate gift and observed her reaction, reading the kaleidoscope of emotions on her face.

Hesitantly, her fingers reached out, tracing the familiar shape of the instrument. All those memories of songs she'd played when her life had still been normal, came back to her. She couldn't help but smile with nostalgia.

"Thank you." she said genuine. But her eyebrows furrowed slightly as she added playfully. "Don't expect me to play any love ballads for you."

"Not a ballad fan, sweetheart, don't worry." he chuckled. "But I would like you to play something for me. One song." He lifted his index finger. "After all, I went all the way back to your old flat to get this. Surely you can indulge me."

She hesitated for a moment, but then her fingers brush the strings, and she nodded. "Fine, I'll play you something, but not now. I... I need to adjust the guitar first. Maybe later."

"Ok, I'll take your word." He agreed, watching her holding the instrument tightly to her chest.

The guitar was a calculated olive branch that served a purpose, and a sliver of normalcy tossed back in her hands. He was pleased that his gesture had the intended effect, bridging the gap created by their last night's confrontation.

"Anyway..." He said as if reminding himself of something important. "We're hitting the road tonight, so your performance has to wait until we come back."

"We?" she repeated with surprise. "Me too?"

He slowly nodded. "I have a job to do and I believe you may prove yourself useful."

"Useful?" she repeated again, taken aback. "And what kind of job?"

"Don't worry, beautiful, nothing too dangerous." He paused before explained. "Let's just say that someone took something from me. Now, it's time to take something back."

His explanation was as little as ever, but by now, she was used to his veiled pronouncements. She pressed further however, wanting to know what she would be getting herself into.

"Steal something back?" she asked. "Another house break-in then I assume?"

"Something like that." he admitted, his voice devoid of remorse. "Are you in?"

She tilted her head in a knowing look. As if she had a choice. "How can I not be?" She asked with irony.

As the evening came, she changed her clothes to something black and tied up her hair. She was ready to go...eager to go to be honest. She knew that this road trip wasn't something she should be looking forward too, but it was a break from the monotonous routine of the cabin and getting out of here felt like a relief.

The sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in vibrant hues of orange and pink. She stepped out of the cabin and quickly settled down next to Elias in a sleek black car, ready to hit the road. The car purred to life, and just like that they took off into the night.

The dark highway stretched endlessly before them. They didn't talk much. He was focused on the road before him, while she was fiddling with the radio, skipping through various stations. One station after another buzzed to life, offering a cacophony of pop hits, grating news broadcasts, and static, before she found something interesting.

The music filled the car until the last note of the last song faded, leaving a charged silence in its wake. He reached out and flicked the radio off, his gaze focused on the road ahead. "We're almost there." he announced, his voice low and serious.

She straightened in her seat, her attention fully on the surroundings now. As they neared their destination, the landscape began to change. Sprawling suburbs gave way to a more secluded area, and finally, a large villa came into view. It was an imposing structure, surrounded by a high, well-maintained fence.

He pulled the car to a stop at a discreet distance, the engine idling quietly. He turned towards her, his eyes serious. "This is it." he said.

She couldn't help but feel uneasy. Even though she knew the house was probably empty, it still didn't feel right to just break in there.

Elias on the other hand wasn't fazed at all. He explained the layout of the house and the security system. "The alarm is electronically controlled." he said. "Disabling it should be a piece of cake for someone with my skills." He tapped his fingers against the wheel as he glanced at the house. "However..." he continued, gesturing towards the fence. "there's a dead zone near the back window I need to access. I need to plant a device there, but the damn fence is too high to reach from outside."

She eyed the fence with skepticism. "So, what exactly are you proposing I do?"

"Simple, my dear Evelyn. You're small enough to squeeze through that hole in the fence over there." He pointed towards a barely noticeable gap at the base. "Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to plant this device near the back window."

He pulled up a small, sleek gadget that looked utterly unassuming. "Don't worry." he said, a playful smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "Like I said before, the house is empty. The biggest threat you'll encounter is probably a bored guard dog… or maybe just a case of claustrophobia."

She glared at him, unamused by his attempt at humor. “Not funny, Elias.”

He shrugged in a nonchalant way. "There's always a dog guarding places like this. Just saying..."

She stared at the barely visible hole, then back at him. The situation was absurd, a scene ripped straight out of a bad spy movie. But deep down, her wild spirit she'd tried to suppress, urged her to accept the challenge.

Grumbling under her breath, she wore her gloves and snatched the device from his hand. "Fine." she muttered, the word laced with annoyance. "But if I get mauled by a guard dog or stuck halfway through this ridiculous fence, I'm blaming you."

"Don't worry, trouble." he said, his voice teasing. "I wouldn't send you if I wasn't sure you can do it. I wouldn't want to lose my most valuable… asset."

Whether his words were meant as a compliment or a veiled joke, she couldn't tell. With a sigh of resignation, she crept out of the car and towards the fence.

The hole was barely big enough for a child, and definitely not designed for a grown woman. She started to crawl through it, wincing as twigs and branches scratched against her skin. Leaves tangled in her hair, and dirt smudged her clothes. This was supposed to be a high-tech heist, not a scene from a children's comedy show.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, she pushed herself through the opening. Standing up and dusting herself off, she scanned the yard for any sign of the bored guard dog Elias had mentioned. Nothing. He'd probably been pulling her leg.

Shaking her head, she located the window he'd described. Following his instructions, she placed the device, its tiny antenna pointed directly at the window. A moment later, a green light flickered on, indicating a successful connection. Elias had hacked the system.

Now the waiting began. She scanned the yard again, the silence broken only by the chirping of crickets. The night air was cool against her skin, the adrenaline from the crawl starting to wear off.

After what felt like another eternity, she saw the front gate opening and Elias came through.

"Took you long enough." she grumbled.

There was a smudge of dirt across her cheek, and a stray leaf clung stubbornly to her hair. Her clothes were covered with dirt and debris.

He suppressed a chuckled, noting her annoyance. “You know, I had to be sure my entrance would make a good impact. Anyway you did well.” he praised her as he took off the stray leaf from her hair.

She sighted, his complement did nothing to make her feel less like a crappy burglar. She watched him as he held up his phone. No elaborate climbing or lock-picking for this modern-day thief. Just a few taps on a screen and the door swung open, welcoming them into the opulent interior. He handed her a flashlight and took the lead, not wasting any time. She followed close behind, her gaze wandering over the marble floors, the gleaming chandeliers, and the artwork that decorated the walls. For a moment, her annoyance at being dragged into this bizarre mission faded, distracted by the surroundings.

When he pushed open a heavy wooden door at the end of the hallway, it became clear what he was after: a computer. Or more precisely, what was in it.

He snatched it up, his fingers flying across the keyboard as he plugged a device into the machine, his movements sharp and decisive.

"Downloading something, I presume?" she asked, watching him.

"Something like that." he murmured without looking up.

He didn't elaborate, and she knew better than to ask. This was his world, and she was just a reluctant accomplice or an useful assistant. Whatever the role, she found herself drawn further and further into this dangerous web.

As he continued his work, a low hum of the computer filled the room, the only sound besides the rhythmic tap-tap-tap of his fingers on the keyboard.

She shifted from foot to foot, her gaze drifting around the office. The sleek furniture, the polished wood accents - it was all impressive, but it did little to quell the restlessness creeping in.

Her eyes landed on the desk, and there, nestled beside the open laptop, sat a half-eaten bag of what looked like chocolate chip cookies. Surely, a single cookie wouldn't hurt, right? The owner of this mansion wouldn't even miss one, besides, after her adventure through the fence, she deserved a little treat. She slipped off her glove, her fingers reaching for a cookie. Just one, she promised herself. But then, one turned into two, and two became three. The rich chocolate and sweet dough melted on her tongue.

Suddenly, Elias's head snapped up, his dark eyes locking onto her with disbelief. "Unbelievable." he muttered, his voice laced with a hint of exasperation.

She froze, mid-chew, a half-eaten cookie suspended in her hand. "What?" she mumbled with a sheepish grin. "They're delicious." she added defensively. "Besides, I've earned it."

He raised an eyebrow as he glanced at the screen. “You have a habit of stealing food, you know that?”

She rolled her eyes playfully. “Hey, you keep dragging me into these situations. A girl’s gotta eat, especially when she's bored.”

He leaned back in his chair and sighted. He couldn't help but be charmed by her brazenness.

"Alright, alright." He conceded. "You can explore a little. But stay close, and keep your sticky fingers off anything valuable. And for god's sake, put your glove back on before you leave fingerprints everywhere."

She finished the cookie and winked at him. "Yes, sir." she said mock-saluted him.

She ventured out of the office. The mansion was a labyrinth of hallways and grand rooms, each one more luxurious than the last. She kept her distance, as he had instructed, but curiosity, a persistent itch she could never resist scratching, propelled her further away from the office.

Following verbal instructions had never been her strong suit anyway.

She stumbled upon a room that undeniably belonged to a woman. The air hung heavy with the sweet scent of perfume. The sheer amount of jewelry and expensive accessories was beyond absurd.

Unable to resist the urge, she reached out and picked up a pair of oversized sunglasses. She held them up to her face, peering through the dark lenses. They weren't her style, not at all, but the sheer extravagance of it all was intoxicating.

One item led to another – a wide-brimmed hat, a chunky bracelet that glittered with diamonds. Each piece was like a part of a costume from a life she could never truly inhabit.

Flicking on a small bedside lamp, she caught a glimpse of a vast walk-in closet through an open doorway. The sight that greeted her was enough to make her jaw drop. Rows upon rows of designer clothing, each piece more luxurious than the last, hung with invisible try me tags.

One piece of clothes caught her attention – a black, lace dress that shimmered with a subtle, otherworldly glitter. Surely, just trying it on wouldn't hurt, right? Without hesitation she slipped off her dusty clothes and tried on the dress.

The fabric clung to her, fitting her perfectly. She stood before the large mirror, feeling like a diva just about to attend a luxury dance ball.

Except the music was missing. And this dress craved a soundtrack.

Her gaze fell on a vintage-like music player on the nightstand. She turned it on and hit the play button. a classic 80's slow jam started playing. Perfect.

Meanwhile Elias was nearing the finish line. Just a few more minutes, and he'd have what he came for.

But suddenly he felt a prickle of unease. He glanced towards the doorway, expecting to see Evelyn hovering nearby, but the space was empty. A frown creased his brow. He'd specifically told her to stay close. Curiosity was one thing, but blatant disregard for instructions was another. Great. Just what he needed – a rogue captive with a penchant for wandering.

Sighing in exasperation, he pushed himself away from the desk. There was no point in waiting any longer. He had to find her, and hopefully, she hadn't gotten herself into any trouble.

He stalked down the hallway. He called her name once, a low growl that echoed through the house. No answer. Then, he heard a sound, a faint melody, a slow, sensual tune that seemed to ooze from a room down the hall. His frown deepened. Music? What the hell was she doing? With a surge of irritation, he followed the sound until he stood before the right door. He pushed them open and his eyes fell upon the scene before him. There, in the center of the room, stood Evelyn.

And she was a vision.

Clothed in a black, glittering dress that clung to her body like a second skin, she swayed to the music. Her hair that had been pulled back in a messy bun, now cascaded down her shoulders.

For a moment, he stood there, speechless, his initial frustration forgotten. She looked... incredible.

Then, as quickly as it came, the spell broke. He remembered why he was here, and the reason she shouldn't be cavorting around in stolen clothes.

"Evelyn!" he snapped, his voice sharp with a mixture of annoyance and disbelief. "What the hell do you think you’re doing?"

She startled and whirled around, the black dress swirling around her legs. As her gaze met his, her lips curled into a mischievous grin. She began to sway towards him, her movements effortless and fluid. She spined around and her hand reached out landing on his chest.

"Dance with me, Elias." she said with a low voice. There was a playful invitation in her eyes that felt like a dare.

He stared at her, his initial annoyance dissolving a little. His lips parted, his first instinct was to refuse. The mission was paramount, and he should be reprimanding her, not indulging in a dance. But the way her hand felt on his chest, and the way she looked at him, made him hesitate.

"Just for a moment, please." she asked.

Her body came closer and he found himself at a crossroads. Logic screamed at him to pull away, to focus on the task at hand, but his resolve weakened. The memories from the previous night crawled back into his mind, awaking the desire in him.

With a sigh of surrender he took her hand off of his chest and pulled her closer, their bodies moving together in a slow, hesitant dance.

"Let the music take you." she breathed, her words laced with a playful innocence that belied the effect she was having on him. "Just feel it."

He wasn't sure if it was the music, the borrowed dress clinging to her curves, or the sheer surreality of the situation, but he started to enjoy it. For a few precious moments, the world outside the room ceased to exist for them and the lyrics of the song filled the room.

A safe night, I'm living in the forest of my dream.

I know the night is not as it would seem.

I must believe in something

So I'll make myself believe it

This night will never go.

Their bodies swayed closer, the distance between them shrinking. They could feel the magnetic pull between them growing stronger. His touch, initially hesitant, grew bolder, his hands more daring, hungrier as they tracing down her lower back. He spined her around and pulled her closer, pressing her body to his. Her lips parted slightly as if on the verge of a whisper, letting out a small gasp. He wrapped his arm around her waist and then, with a swiftness that surprised even him, he closed the distance between them completely. His hand found its way to her neck, their breath mingled, eyes locked. In a rush of urgency and need, his lips landed on hers in a hungry, possessive kiss.

She kissed him back with the same desperate urgency, letting his tongue slipped inside her mouth. It wasn't a gentle exploration, but a hungry claim. The kiss was fueled by the built up tension and lust, and the knowledge that this fragile connection could shatter at any moment.

Her hand tangled in his hair, digging into the dark strands as she pressed herself closer. Why was she responding to this man, her captor no less, with a such uncontrolled way?

A gasp escaped her lips, a sound barely audible among the melody of the song.

I never stop myself to wonder why

You help me to forget to play my role

You take my self, you take my self control

His lips left hers, trailing down to explore her neck. His hand, hungry and possessive, grabbed her butt as the other squeezed her neck. A voice, a faint echo of reason, whispered in the back of her mind, urging her to stop this madness. But the heat of his touch, the lust they both felt, were too powerful to resist.

He wanted more, it was evident in the way his hand dipped beneath the flimsy dress, sending a jolt through her. Suddenly he pushed her back onto the nearby bed, the dress pulled up showing her bare thighs. He let his body fall gracefully on top of her, hovering above her. He wasn't going to be gentle this time. The pressing need within him demanded a different kind of intimacy, a raw possession. His touch, rough and insistent, charted a path down her body, eliciting gasps that charged his own lust. A different kind of music to his ears.

I, I live among the creatures of the night.

I haven't got the will to try and fight,

against a new tomorrow, so I guess I'll just believe it,

that tomorrow never comes.

His hand found its way under the dress, revealing more of her body to him, giving him an access to her most vulnerable parts. She felt his hand pressed on her soaked underwear, his fingers started eagerly rubbing her clit through a thin fabric as his mouth attacked her neck, going down to her cleavage. He almost ripped off the dress with his other hand, to free her breast. His mouth found a nipple and sucked on it, his teeth half-gently nibbling it, making her gasped with overwhelming sensation.

There's a moment of resistance, of course, a whispered plea for him to slow down. But he didn't listen. He pushed past her defenses, his hunger a relentless wave that would eventually crash over them both.

She had no other choice than to submit to him. She clung onto him, her hands slipped underneath his shirt, pulling it up, her nails scratching his skin.

He reached down to his pants and unzipped it, his hard cocked pressed onto her clit as he lowered himself, pinning her down to the mattress. He was ready to take her, to finally claim her, to hold sway over her desires and needs in ways she couldn't even imagine.

But then, as abruptly as it began, the music stopped. The silence that followed was filled only with their rapid breaths and uncontrolled gasps. He tensed for a moment, his body pulling back from hers just a fraction as he opened his eyes.

What was he doing? Taking her on a stranger's bed in the house they'd broken into? Ripping off the dress that didn't belong to her? Was he really wanted to fuck her here? Leave his seed, his DNA all over the crime scene? Risking to be caught?

A frustrated groan rumbled in his chest.

He looked down at her, his eyes dark with desire and unwanted but unassailable realization. This wasn't the place. Doing it here wasn't an option.

With a muttered curse, he pulled back, his body tensed with self-restraint. He'd let himself get lost, be recklessly careless and taken over by his primal desire. Fuck.

It was deeply frustrating. He hadn't planned on this, on the way her touch would disarm him, the way her own recklessness would affect him in such way.

She was left laying sprawled on the bed as he got up. Her breath was caught in her throat, she felt disappointment, but it was quickly replaced by shame and confusion. She hadn't expected this to go so far, yet a part of her couldn't help but feel a pang of frustration at his abrupt retreat.

She propped herself on her elbows and looked at him as he zipped up his pants and pulled down his shirt. He didn't wear his usual mask of indifference, there were a lot of conflicting emotions playing on his features, frustration, anger, suppressed lust and something akin to disappointment.

His words when they came were clipped, harsh commands that startled her. "Get dressed. Change back into your own clothes. Tidy this room up, make it look like you weren't even here and meet me in the car. And do it fast. Don't make me have to come back here."

There was no room for questions, no space for arguments. His voice was a harsh rasp filled with danger and an unspoken threat.

She just watched him leave trying to figure what had gone wrong. She realized that he'd let himself get caught up in the moment, just like her. He'd forgotten the danger, the mission, all for a dance and a kiss and everything that this kiss had been leading to but hadn't meant to happen. He was angry, that much was clear, angry at her and perhaps, even more so at himself.

With a sigh, she rose from the bed and started to undress...

Inside the car he didn't spare her a glance, his jaw clenched tight as he pulled out of the driveway, leaving the mansion behind them. She sat beside him in silence thinking that this wasn't how it was supposed to end. Their moment of a raw unexpected lust had felt so good when it had lasted. Now, it felt like a cruel tease though this time it wasn't her intention at all. But did he know that?

The silence in the car was heavy. Finally, he broke it, his voice laced with a harshness. "You had one job, Evelyn." he growled. "One. Stay close, don't touch anything, and don't cause any trouble. You managed to break every single rule in the span of ten minutes."

His words were a whiplash, leaving a stinging mark on her pride. He was right, but his anger wasn't exactly triggered by her disregarding of his rules, but the unfinished dance between them. She couldn't help but feel resentment. This hadn't been entirely her fault. He, too, had been caught in the moment, momentarily forgetting his rigid control and rules. Yet, she knew that it wouldn't be wise to make him realize that right now. It'd only escalate the already tensed situation.

"I... I'm sorry." she mumbled instead, the words barely a whisper.

Tears for some unknown reason pricked at her eyes, blurring the passing scenery. She turned her head away with an attempt to hide her vulnerability.

He glanced at her but didn't say anything.

The miles slipped by, the memory of their dance, of their tangled bodies, vivid and pulsating, played on a loop in his mind. Her hand, warm and insistent, on his chest, the heat radiating from her body, the kiss, the lust that had ignited a firestorm within him... He knew he shouldn't had taken her invitation in the first place. It would have jeopardized their entire mission. Luckily he'd regained control over this mess before it'd have brought them into serious troubles.

Unfortunately he was aware that the problem they were facing now, the real problem that wouldn't just go away, was the lingering tension, the lust that required to be fulfilled, the unfinished dance that had started long before they'd entered that mansion.

The problem had to be resolved quickly before it got out of hand.

And he knew that they could defuse the tension in only one way.

But they needed to get back to the cabin first.

[stitch1830]

ok but what if kanto had to fake his death (even to toph) because of some dangerous and threatening stuff and then when things were safe again he suddenly comes back and appears at toph's door??

i feel like toph would break down and wouldn't be able to stop crying and shaking after seeing the love of her life standing right in front of her, alive.

oh, and what if toph was the one who had to fake death and then suddenly appears at kanto's door?? what would be his reaction??

Hi Anon, thank you for the ask! :D

And interesting question... 0-0 Happy to answer!

For Kanto disappearing (faking death) and then suddenly returning:

Obviously, he'd have a good reason for it, because if he shows up at Toph's front door Not Dead, there's a 50/50 chance the woman of his dreams will kill him LOL.

I feel like in this situation, it would where Kanto leaves because it's dangerous, but also so that he can get the person that's threatening him, maybe even Toph. There would be a reasoning behind why he left, like a mission of sorts. Because I think that if it was just life threatening stuff and Kanto was worried about his safety, with Toph is probably one of the safest places haha!

But "losing" Kanto is really difficult for Toph. She feels like she lost a piece of her, and she's never going to get it back again. He's gone, and there's nothing she can do to bring him back. (Although I might argue that Toph would be one of those people that just refuses to believe he's dead and either tries to find him, find out why he had to leave, or demands that she examine his body to know for sure that it's him. @krastbannert wrote a prisoner of war fic that kind of encapsulates that vibe!)

When Kanto finally returns home, she doesn't believe that, either. She feels like she's being duped, that there's no way that Kanto is standing at her doorstep right now. But she feels his heartbeat, traces the lines on his face, feels his calloused hands, and it's him. He's back.

She'd probably pound his chest, scream in his face about him being a dunderhead and scaring her and breaking her heart and leaving her, but she doesn't mean it. She's just so happy that he's alive, that he's holding her in his strong and sturdy arms, that he's home.

Kanto never stop apologizing for leaving her, for hurting her. But he had to do it, and Toph understands. She gets the dangers of the job, although part of her wishes she was in on the mission, because she knows she could've helped.

Things take a while to go back to a normal routine, because Kanto has to explain to people that he's not dead, and Toph has to trust Kanto again. She doesn't not trust him, but she let him in and fell in love with him and thought she lost him. That's... it's a lot to deal with, and she sometimes struggles letting people in. Kanto works tirelessly to earn her trust back, and he's very patient with the process. He gets her on a level that others don't, and so he's not trying to rush into things. Plus, Kanto's a bit of an optimist. He tells her that they have their whole lives ahead of them, so he can be patient when it comes to finding their sense of normalcy.

If we were to add some more drama to this, imagine if Kanto "died" and Toph found out she was pregnant shortly after? 0-0 Capital D Drama!

For Toph disappearing (faking death) and then suddenly returning:

Very similar to Toph being the "survivor", but Kanto struggles to move on, to get over Toph's death. A lot of loved ones from his past have died, and Kanto never thought Toph would be one of those loved ones. She was so strong and powerful and smart... he never even imagined a person or a thing that could take her down. It's a shock to him, and I think he'd struggle to move on and try to live life without her. He knows what life is like with her, and that's all he wants.

So when she returns, at his doorstep, at the apartment they shared... He's in disbelief. He can't believe that she's there, that she's alive and okay and—

Toph probably rambles and starts assuming that he moved on and everything, but then he pulls her into his arms and just cries because she's alive—

It's a very teary reunion that's for sure.

I think Kanto would also struggle to trust right away, but he'd be able to let her in quicker than if it was the other way around. Kanto's very happy that she's back and he wants to know all about the mission that kept her away from him, and after hearing the story a couple of times, he's able to rationalize and understand the why behind the mission and why he was left in the dark.

Okay! I think that's all I have for this! Thanks again for the ask, Anon. If I missed anything or you have other questions, feel free to stop by :D Hope you have a great day!

......

Send me asks about ATLA, LOK, or anything! :D

[kyriearashi-blog]

Aziraphale’s Pocket Watch Chain

There are a number of key aspects to Aziraphale’s pocket watch chain, which I wanted to ensure I replicated for my costume.

First, his chain is comprised of three different chains: fob, main, and watch. Second, there is a more aged appearance to the gold, when compared to the bright gold of the fob. I took this to be because he polishes the fob (and likely the watch), but not the chain. The color difference is a lot more obvious in person than my photos, but it is a nice, subtle difference.

Here is the breakdown of my costume process:

Fob

The fob chain was the hardest to try and replicate. If I can find a better alternative, I’ll replace it in the future, but as it was I worked with what I had. The main feature was the ribbed links, one of which is skipped. I found silver, ribbed spacer beads as the closest way to replicate this. I would have used smaller, thicker jump rings for the alternating links, but they didn’t fit in the tight hole of the spacer bead. The ribs are the most important aspect, so I had to make that sacrifice. The color of the different pieces didn’t matter, as the entire chain was going to receive antique gold Rub N Buff anyway. I used a random necklace bar closure as the piece that slips in the buttonhole.

Main

This was the part that kept messing with my eyes. At first, it appeared to be that the chain changed halfway from the woven links to a simple chain. After examining the way the light glared off the links in certain ways, and how my replication moved, I accepted it to be the woven chain the entire way to the watch chain. I took a photo into Procreate and traced the links to get a better idea of how they are woven together (this can be seen in the first photo collage of this post), then took apart a chain and relinked it to match. A round of Rub N Buff to match the fob chain, and it was done.

Watch

The watch chain itself was simple, but the problem was the watch. We never get a good look at his watch. We see watches on his desk in S1, but the chains on them don’t match what he wears. He takes his watch out of his pocket very briefly in S2, but he has it cupped in his hand and turns quickly, so we never see it clearly. That meant I had to take some creative liberties.

I researched different pocket watches through history, and decided to go for one of the ornate fronts. The watch I started with was a cheap, broken Harry Potter watch. I sculpted a replica of the angel on his fob on it, then sanded it down so most of the detail was gone and worn away, so it looks like he’s been taking it in and out of a pocket for 200 years.

For the interior, I printed out a watch face I liked to cover the Deathly Hallows face. I removed the second hand, because they were a relatively new addition in the late 18th century, so I figured Aziraphale would be slow on the uptake of new technology. I set the time to 9:13 as a nod to the GO canon of 9:13 am being when the universe was created. I also printed out, on photo paper, the da Vinci sketch of Crowley we see on Aziraphale’s desk in the Lockdown special. I cut it to fit and, after a run through the washing machine gave the photo a roughed up the edges without disintegrating it, I placed it inside as a sweet little extra. The whole watch received a Rub N Buff treatment (gold leaf for most of it, but antique gold for under the photo, because it seemed like an area that wouldn’t get cleaned regularly).

Once everything was assembled, the chaos coalesced to look like a decent replica. I may redo the watch at some point, and obviously will be on the look out for a proper fob chain replacement, but I’m happy with the overall look.

[honeydlemon]

I noticed that the posts you post here are all just complaining about me. It’s never a “I love my girlfriend” post anymore. That’s fine. I don’t even post here anymore.

There are moments in our relationship that make me think that I’d last with you forever-- just imagining the love and beginning of our life together (the whole shabang). In other moments, the obstacles of our relationship, one argument or misstep feels like it could be the end of us. I do feel like, even now, almost 5 years into the relationship, that I’m walking on eggshells-- dancing around my words and actions to avoid stepping on the landmine of your emotions. I feel like it’s even worse now, where at times, I’m frozen in fear that I end up saying little words or nothing at all. I don’t know how to comfort you. I don’t know how to make the situation better. At times, I feel like I can read you like the back of my palm. Other times, I feel like I don’t know you at all.  The longer we stay together and have our little arguments, the more that I realize that you shut me out. You no longer have any interest in talking about our conflict. And, that’s my fault. But, I’m trying. Trying to talk to you. But, how can I talk to someone who doesn’t want to talk? 

Tonight, I mentioned your dog. It’s always an argument about your dog, isn’t it? I guess now’s the time to lay it all down on the table. To be honest, I find it annoying and hypocritical to complain and worry about your dog not eating. Not only that, but complaining about how your dog is so annoying. Like, where do you think he learned these behaviors from? An enabler-- you. And I’m sure that you know this. Your dog has separation anxiety, food aggression, aggressive in general, whines constantly, wants to be let out all the time, and literally starves himself. I didn’t say anything at the table because I was honestly stunned at the words you said-- talking about how you didn’t ask for our opinion. Okay, that’s fine. Then, you complain about how no one wants to say anything and how we’re all talk and don’t even help you fix him. It’s like, how are you gonna say that when you don’t even listen to what we tell you to do. How are we supposed to help when you won’t listen? I just don’t understand. We’re telling you to stop feeding him human food. Feed him his kibble after we finish food. If he doesn’t eat his kibble after 10-20 minutes, that’s it. I get that it’s hard to watch him starve, but breaking an almost 8 year habit is gonna take time. Especially, if it is a severe case where he won’t consume anything that’s not meat. It’s a process and won’t happen overnight. But, how can we even start this process or help you help him when you throw a tantrum when we even say anything? It literally makes no sense. On another note, his separation anxiety. I don’t think it will be possible to move into an apartment with separation anxiety this severe. Literally screaming when you leave. Like, I understand that you love your dog to point that life would be pointless without him. But, I can’t think of a way that we can help you when you obviously just don’t want the help. Also, you even mentioned that he was doing good the other day and he stopped eating his food because we ran out of the air-dried food. Like, why not go and buy him so he can continue eating his kibble? 

Anyway, I’m done. I’m done trying to co-parent your dog. I’m just going to stay silent about it, because it seems like if it’s not your way, it’s not the right way and I’m just going to get backlash on it. That’s fine. You raise your dog however way that you want. I just don’t want to hear you complain about him-- his eating habits, his annoying behavior, just him being him. I don’t want to hear it anymore. Honestly, I feel like it’s the toxic relationship that you have with your dog and just your dog’s annoying traits that makes me hate him. It makes me hate you too. But, from now on, that is all behind me. I won’t care about your dog anymore. 

[notsosilentsister]

Letter to a new teacher

Your students looked a bit lost? I had students complain about me to my supervisor because my lesson had been so confusing that they had checked out after 5 minutes. They haven't done that in a while, so I guess, things can get better! Teaching can be hard on the ego; lord knows, it was hard on mine, especially during the first years. Got a lot of mixed feedback from the beginning, definitely cried about it on one occasion or two. But the truth is, finding a style that works for you is just a lot of trial and error, and you get quite a bit of a margin of error in most institutions. The stakes are not actually that high. Take a moment and consider, seriously, what is the worst that could happen?

So I've explained something badly, I've lost the class? Just means I'll have to explain it again. Maybe not the most efficient use of lecture time, but I'm sure some students would need a repetition anyway. If it's a key point, it's never enough to explain it just once. If it's just a footnote, I make a note not to put it on the exam and move on.

Honestly, the mere fact that you're paying attention to whether you've lost your audience already puts you heads and shoulders above some instructors I could think of from my personal experience. Explaining something in a confusing manner is an easy mistake to make, but it's also an easy mistake to correct. The students are bored? Well, some are going to be bored no matter what I do. The subject either holds some intrinsic interest for the student, or it doesn't, and if it doesn't, any bells and whistle I could use to get at least some momentary attention will only take a student so far anyway. It's true that a bad teacher can kill even the most motivated student's interest in a subject, but for that it usually takes somewhat more than just being dull. Also, ultimately every learner has to find their own way to the matter; to truly grasp something, you need to feel a personal resonance. I can tell you why something is interesting to me - I can't tell students why it should be interesting to them, because I don't know all their lifes and all their plans, and even if I did, I can't make that personal connection for them. If they're only here to get a certificate, binge all the knowledge the night before the test, to vomit it up on cue with the full intention to shed it all like so much ballast once they've handed in their exam, I'm not going to stop them, I actually think they should have that choice. (I've always side-eyed the sort of teacher who goes into it with the aspiration "to shape young minds"; I think the young minds should always be free to reject getting shaped. I've certainly had my share of students who clearly walked out of my lessons with perfectly pristine minds, and they should be free to do so - but of course they were clearly extremly bored!). You know which student is certainly not going to be bored? The student who's always on their toes, because they feel their instructor might call on them any minute and tear them apart in front of the whole class. They're not going to actually learn anything either, because the fear takes up too much mental capacity to process new information properly, but they are probably not going to vote that class "best class to nap through" in the yearbook (not gonna lie, I was pretty insulted about that one for a week at least). Obviously I'm not saying you'll either have to bore or terrodrize your students. Obviously good teachers manage to to do neither. But it can be a tricky balance to strike (some students are quite sensitive and feel easily over-taxed, others will feel easily understimulated if you don't challenge them once in a while, it's not always immediately obvious who's which type), and what I'm saying is, there's definitely a worse side to err on, in my humble opinion. You clearly want to see yourself as someone who holds themselves to certain standards. You might be surprised, but so do I. I actually think it's hugely important that teachers do. But these standards can't just be external standards alone - external standards are moving targets, in some ways you always could be doing more, there are some students who will always need more than you're capable of - your standards have to be internal ones, they have to reflect what's most important to you, and they have to be workable for you. My standards for example: Don't make students cry. I made a student cry once and it was the worst, it made every subsequent failure pale in comparision. Don't stand by while a student hurts (insults, mocks, undermines) another. Don't punish students for your own mistakes, always admit when you're wrong. Don't play favourites. These to me are the four mortal sins of teaching, the things that can really cause lasting damage. Dull and confusing is not optimal, but it happens, and the students will survive. These are the things that I need my students to trust me with: That I know my stuff That I give a shit That I don't take things too personally. Maybe they'll sometimes find me dull and confusing, but my experience is, if they trust me with these three things, I can work with them well enough.

[theterpenequeen]

Because I’m the fucking prototype, and you’re just a duplicate.

You could never make a copy, without first consulting a blueprint.

;]

>> oh! Is that why you're wearing long pink wigs now? Is that why all of a sudden you're an "outdoorsman?" Keep trying to flatter yourself, lol

What, I made you move a state away so that I am no longer a physical threat?

>> ....is that a threat? Or did you fail at studying me as hard as you think you have? This is where I am from, idiot. Lmao

Yet, here you two are, still just as obsessed.

I haven’t looked at your shit in more than two years- imagine my surprise- to see how much she is trying to be me.

>> i didnt know you invented alt girl aesthetic! 😂 please keep flattering yourself if that's what you need to do to sleep at night.

Obviously you've never gone through the process of lifting permanent black hair dye from your hair without damaging it. That's fine and all, but who's obsessed? I mean. Look at you. Tumblr is for teenagers and i literally just made one to post this response. But. Obsessed??? You've been using tumblr to write love letters to me for like, 5 years now?

You will never be as stable as I have been- and your bullshit threats are useless. What do you do- sit on the floor and cry, trying not to rip your own mind apart while sending me messages projecting your own desires? Sweetie, get real.

>> bold move to talk about how stable you are as you post a completely unhinged psychobabbling love letter to somebody you've been cyberstalking for years, publicly, for all to see.

What threats? Aside from asking you on ig, very nicely, might I add, to stop fucking cyberstalking me, and this, and ignoring your IG messages.. but I do see your tumblr is full of love letters and death threats to me. If that ain't splitting, sweetie...

You can mimic all you want, you will n e v e r be me.

>> ??? Nobody wants to be you? Look at this unhinged shit, girl!??!

Aren't you wearing pink wigs now?? Who is trying to be whom????

You can try your hardest to look like me so hat he finds your disgustingly fat [in all the wrong places…..], obsessive, bipolar, lopsided, and bow-legged self attractive, but you can fucking have him?!

>> 😂 by the time you wrote this we had already broken up. You're not even a good stalker. Christ.

...oh, nice body shaming, by the way. And mental health shaming! It means a lot, and it is super credible when it is coming from somebody who has a comorbid dx of schizoaffective, borderline, GAD, MDD, and cptsd (especially when they don't even know what the c in cptsd stands for 😂 or the definition of comorbid. LMAOOOOOOO). Super hurts when a person on antipsychotics tries to insult me. V ouch. Funny how that turns around, though... antipsychotics make you fat, sweetie.

DON’T YOU HAVE A FUCKING CHILD? Or did you fuck that one up, too?

>> "fuck that one up, too" implies that you know of something I have majorly fucked up before? I have not fucked up THAT majorly, though. I am, and have been for his whole life, the sole custodial parent of a 16 year old young man. Considering he doesn't drink or do drugs, stays out of trouble, takes his education seriously, and has maintained honor roll status since 7th grade... I can't really imagine what I would have fucked up there? Unlike SOME people, I actually love my child and have been emotionally present for him his entire life. :)

I don’t know why I ever wanted him and as soon as I snapped out of his absorption of everything positive in the world, I moved on.

>> but... you didn't. Look at you. You messaged me 2 weeks ago to try and talk shit about him and his new gf??

I attempted to be civil, tried not to hurt his poor little feelings BUT- what can I say, moved on to bigger and better things ;]

>>still, no you didn't. Look at you, girl. This is pathetic.

What I am trying to say, is that it’s okay, dude.

You can pretend to be me.

>> once again, nobody wants to be you. Literally no one. Not even your own self, lmao. Get real.

But I feel sorry for you girl, TBH- we could have probably been friends and talked about how much of a turn off and fuck up he is. How he wets the bed- glad I got rid of him and that mattress quickly. But why bother now- you seem fairly set on your target.

>> how many paragraph responses have I used to point out the projection, here? I'm the one with a target? Look at your post history. Holy shit. WHY are you so obsessed with me??

Just know- he only knows what I am partially capable of…

He hasn’t met my friends ;]

>> you have friends?

I'd have replied to you directly, but you blocked me before I got the chance 🙃

[esther-ti-designs]

ah, yes, it’s that time again.  the end of another term and i’m having another breakdown

[meganwhalenturner]

A Defence of Rubbish

Peter Dickinson

“The danger of living in a golden age of children’s literature is that not enough rubbish is being produced.”

“Nobody who has not spent a whole sunny afternoon under his bed rereading a pile of comics left over from the previous holidays has any real idea of the meaning of intellectual freedom.”

“Nobody who has not written comic strips can really understand the phrase, economy of words. It’s like trying to write Paradise Lost in haiku.”

* * *

The above remarks, and a few more like them, have now haunted me for five years. They were part of a digression in a talk I gave to the 1970 Exeter conference on children’s literature, and if I’d realised then what a powder-keg I was throwing my fag-end of thought into I would have kept my trap shut. I’ve no wish to be type-cast as the man who likes rubbish. On the other hand I did (and do) believe what I said then, and what follows is a more serious attempt to formulate my ideas.

I have always believed that children ought to be allowed to read a certain amount of rubbish. Sometimes quite a high proportion of their reading matter can healthfully consist of things that no sane adult would actually encourage them to read. But I had not, until people started asking me what I really meant, attempted to defend my position or to think it out in any detail.

Definition: by rubbish I mean all forms of reading matter which contain to the adult eye no visible value, either aesthetic or educational.

First, I believe that it is very important that a child, or anybody for that matter, should have a whole culture—at least one whole culture—at her fingertips. We make no objection now to those adults who spent their youth going two or three times a week to the cinema regardless of the merit of the films shown. They have the whole of the Golden Age of the flicks at their fingertips down to the last most trivial B film and it has immensely enriched their lives and their outlook in a way which a diet which consisted solely of plums could not possibly do. Nowadays one can say the same about the pop song culture. There is good stuff on the discs, mixed in with an enormous amount of trash, but both of these are necessary to a child who is taking a serious interest in pop. The child may not realise that the interest is serious but when she grows up she will then find, with luck, that it has been and that she is the better for it. As one teacher expressed it to me at the conference, it is vital that children should have ‘all that stuff churning around in there’, and he rubbed his belly.

Second it is also especially important that a child should belong, and feel that he belongs, to the group of children among whom he finds himself and he should feel that he shares in their culture. Inevitably the group interest will be mostly rubbish. For instance, my son at the moment reads two football comics a week. I love comics, but by the standard of comics these are not much cop. Even so I do not discourage him because this gives him that essential sense of belonging to a group. To remove these comics or to attempt to discourage their reading in any way would be a socially divisive move. A child should feel that he is an individual; but he must not, if possible, feel that he is somehow set apart, especially by family taboos which are not shared by the families of the group to which he belongs. Obviously one can carry this point too far, but in the case of things like football comics I am sure that laissez-faire is the only sensible attitude.

Third I am convinced of the importance of children discovering things for themselves. However tactfully an adult may push them towards discoveries in literature, these do not have quite the treasure trove value of the books picked up wholly by accident. This can only be done by random sampling on the part of the children, and it is inevitable that a high proportion of what they read will be rubbish, by any standard. But in the process they will learn the art of comparison and subconsciously acquire critical standards, so that in the world they are discovering—even the world of football comics—they will begin to work out why one strip is ‘better’ than another and seems more fascinating and is more eagerly looked forward to than another. They may even argue about this with their friends and so make the beginning of an effort at rationalising their appreciation or dislike of cultural objects.

Fourth comes a psychological point. Children have a very varying need of security, but almost all children feel the need of security and reassurance some time. For instance, in those families where boys are sent away to boarding school it is often very noticeable that, in the first week of the holidays, the boys do not read just the books they read last holidays, but books off their younger brothers’ bookshelves. One can often tell how happy or insecure a child is feeling simply by what she is reading. And sometimes she may need to reread something well known but which makes absolutely no intellectual or emotional demand. Rubbish has this negative virtue, and I would be very chary of interfering with a child who felt an obvious need of rubbish.

My fifth point is more nebulous. There is no proof, or even arguing about it. But I am fairly sure in my own mind that a diet of plums is bad for you, and that any rational reading system needs to include a considerable amount of pap or roughage—call it what you will. I know very few adults who do not have some secret cultural vice, and they are all the better for it. I would instantly suspect an adult all of whose cultural activities were high, remote and perfect.

Sixth, it may not be rubbish after all. The adult eye is not necessarily a perfect instrument for discerning certain sorts of values. Elements—and this particularly applies to science fiction—may be so obviously rubbishy that one is tempted to dismiss the whole product as rubbish. But among those elements there may be something new and strange to which one is not accustomed, and which one may not be able to assimilate oneself, as an adult, because of the sheer awfulness of the rest of the stuff; but the innocence—I suppose there is no other word—of the child’s eye can take or leave in a way that I feel an adult cannot, and can acquire valuable stimuli from things which appear otherwise overgrown with a mass of weeds and nonsense.

I am not of course advocating a total lack of censorship. I have no doubt in my own mind that there are certain sorts of reading which are deleterious, and from which a child should be discouraged. Rubbish does not have this quality. It has absolutely no quality. It is neutral.

Nor am I advocating that children should be encouraged to read rubbish. None of the ones I know need much encouragement. All I am asking is that they should not be discouraged from reading it.

The question remains of the children whose diet appears to consist solely of rubbish. Obviously, as far as possible, they should be slightly weaned. But not totally weaned. And besides, if they did not have this diet they would not be reading at all, and in a verbal culture I think it is better that the child should read something than read nothing. And perhaps, long after the child is out of the hands of parents or teacher, the habit of reading—even the habit of reading rubbish—may somehow evoke a tendency to read things which are not rubbish. I know two or three of my contemporaries who were, by cultural standards, total philistines in their boyhood, but they used to read a considerable amount of rubbish and have now, from the habit of reading, become considerably more literate than I.

Copyright © Peter Dickinson 2002

[hoodiewithhorns]

━  using your safeword scenarios p.3 !★

genre : hurt/comfort smut.

characters : f! reader x sakusa, matsukawa, kenma

p.1  + p.2 + m.sterlist + requests  

(please read the rules before requesting ty.)

▼ cw : not proof read, use of safeword, neglect , unprotected sex, degradation , clit spanking ( 1 ), impact play ( sakusas part ), mentions of exe(s), caught masturbation (reader) , pillow humping, thigh riding, implied punishment, kinda crybaby reader, implied cockwarming, cheating (?), angst, established relationship, all characters are 18+, MDNI ▲

different safewords used this time <3

- ty to the anons and user @/please-take-me-to-the-moon for the scenarios <3 

sakusa 

word count : 1.4k

you knew better than to do this, humping your dearly beloved boyfriends pillow with just your cotton panties, a loose shirt with no bra under, like a bitch in heat, desperate for friction of any kind. You knew if he had caught you like this he would punish you that was guaranteed. however, in the literal heat of the moment you didn’t care. sakusa’s constant pattern of coming home the minute you were already fast asleep in your shared bed, never being able to fill the void of need in your little cunt. 

〜　☆

Considering he’d let this slide since its been a month since you’ve two have done anything sexual, these thoughts only making you hump his pillow even more desperate leaving a pool of your arousal staining his pillow, with the occasional soft whimpers of his name. losing yourself in your own lust, You didn’t hear the sound of the door clicking open.

Sakusa, leaving his practice early since his performance was unfavorable by the shitty mood he was in, lashing out on his teammates for the smallest things they’d do and so many more. in short, his team suggested he’d stay home t’ill he cooled down. 

“y/n? i’m home.”he walked around the empty apartment accompanied by the muffles of your soft moans, trying to find you as quickly as possible, obviously knowing it was you. he opened the bedroom door slowly and quietly. his eyes grew wide at the scene in front of him. 

still not noticing his presence in the door frame you continued humping his pillow feeling your high approach, but leave you since you needed him. 

“tch.” clicking his tongue at you in disapproval. you flinched letting go of his pillow to face him, feeling your heart race when you made eye contact with him, arms folded and a look of disgust planted on his pale face. Your eyes already filling up with tears knowing what comes next. “m’ y-yoomi! w-welcome home-”

“who the fuck gave you permission to touch yourself?” cutting you off, walking towards the bed, he pinned you down to the bed, arms on your sides, hovering over you with his dead, cold, heartless gaze cutting through you, as you tried to look away in shame only earning you a slap to the face to make you look at him. the sting causing you to choke out a sob. praying internally that he’d let you off the hook just this once. you were just needy for him.he has to understand that, right?

“answer me, right.now.”

“n-no one yoomi... i’m s-sorry please don’t wanna be punished!” you pleaded to him only making him more angrier. he grabbed your jaw making you whimper at the tight grip. scanning you top to bottom, eyeing at the wet patch on your underwear. 

“then why did you huh? couldn’t wait until i got home couldn’t you? needy fucking thing.” he tutted, letting go of your jaw harshly, tugging your panties down to your knees already feeling impatient himself by how his cock hardened through his shorts. despite wanting to punish you, he wanted you. needed you to be precise.

 the man hasn’t felt you in a whole month how could he not miss his girlfriends tight slutty cunt? removing his volleyball shorts letting his cock spring free, he strokes himself a few times before lining himself against your cunt, letting a small sigh when you felt his hard tip touch your soaked entrance. 

feeling slightly relief you were finally gonna feel him after so long. That feeling of relief however didn’t last long when he slammed his fat cock inside you without warning. you let out a yelp, hands immediately going to his chest hoping for him to not bruise your cervix from how deep he was already. he growled when he felt your palms try and stop him, so he slapped your hands away roughly marking them red. 

“b-but yoomi please it hurts..it h-hurts” 

you figured he didn’t hear you. but he was too focused on punishing you to care if it hurt or not. so you pleaded again for him to slow down. finally getting a response from him.

“shut up you disgusting whore.you brought this on yourself, touching yourself while your boyfriends away.”

“...dirtying up his fucking pillow while he’s gone. how fucking pathetic.”  he spits, slapping your clit harshly in attempt to get you to shut up. his degrading not having a hint of reassurance anywhere like it usually does when he fucks you. normally, he’d call you his “slut” or his whore but never ever calling you a disgusting one at most, what did this mean?..you asked yourself, mind going hazy with fear. feeling like your boyfriend finds you disgusting for your actions, and not a single trace of love or concern for you, not even noticing how you tried inching yourself away from his pace. 

sakusa was a mean dom yes, but he cared about you and your boundaries and right now it seemed like he didn’t care about any of those.

too focused on his own pleasure, not realizing you slowly started to breakdown in front of him, hands to your eyes shaken from how hard he hit them, as more tears fell to stain your cheeks.

“n-no not disgusting..i-i’m...so sorry..sakusa..just missed you.” you muttered no longer feeling the long needed pleasure of his cock, only feeling a painful discomfort in your chest as if your heart was gonna burst out of it at any minute. he was caught off-guard by you calling him by his last name, but that didn’t stop the brutal pace on your sloppy cunt. repositioning his hand to your hips digging his nails in your sides, bound to leave marks to be seen in the morning. 

“addressing me by my last name? what you think thats gonna make things better?”he muses, his pace speeding up making you whimper. you’ve just about had enough.

“germs! g-germs! no more, i don’t like this!! y-you’re hurting m-me sakusa... please s-stop..stop.” screaming your safeword, trying to get him off you, you pushed with the little strength in you with your fragile hands. it wasn’t enough but he got the message. blinking a few times to make sure he processed the current situation.

he sighed pulling his cock out watching you with wolf eyes as you softly cried to yourself, turning to your side. he didn’t say anything he just laid down beside you. sneaking an arm around your waist, face buried in your neck. he planted some soft kisses onto it trying to make you relax. if he was being brutally honest, he didn’t know what to do.

you never used your safeword and even if it didn’t show in his face, he was pretty frightened. watching you tense up and shake around him all because of him.

“ y-yoomi..im sorry-”

“don’t be.”

he rubs your hands with his thumb in slow but comforting circles, seeing its still red from being slapped away by him, along with him kissing your cheek to simmer down the sting from earlier. god he felt so bad, but was so scared at the same time, all he wanted to do was hold you close..

..and thats what he did, watching you curl up to his chest. The room was silent for a few minutes that felt like hours gone by. you looked up at him with the look you always gave him. Full of love and adoration even with puffy eyes and hurt in your chest you still loved him.

He looked down noticing the soft smile you gave him as if nothing happened. Titling his head in confusion he asks

“why are you smiling? aren’t you upset..at me?”

you shook your head at him, “no yoomi I’m not mad. My body kinda hurts yes, but I’m glad to have you home...i missed you so much I’m sorry i touched myself without permission...”

he lightly smiles at you kissing your lips softly.

“it’s okay. tomorrow we’ll have the day all to ourselves and we can do whatever you want my love. I’m sorry i was so mean... i was having a bad day and I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.”

you paused leaning in closer to his chest as you mumbled.

“can we...take a bath together yoomi?”

“oh sure...here i’l carry you.”

needless to say, you forgave him and gave him one last kiss before going to bed.

kenma

word count : 886

kenmas work schedule was god awful since he was practically up to play games and just that leaving you feeling needy and neglected. you hated it. 

but tonight you were just, so needy and couldn’t stand this constant neglect.

No matter how many times you touched yourself of grind against something it couldn’t compare to the way kenma would stuff you with his cock.

he wasn’t a super harsh dom leaning towards a mix of soft and mean, but he still prioritized your needs before his. and tonight you were gonna get that version of kenma.

walking towards the couch he was playing his games at slowly, with nothing but his hoodie and knee highs. you bit your lip standing in front of him, fiddling your thumbs out of nervousness. He titled his head to remove you from his line of sight to see the tv screen better making your heart ache just a little, being so used to it already.

taking a deep breath you sat in between on of his thighs wrapping your arms around his neck making him let out a groan of annoyance to your needy antics.

he continued to play his game acting as if you weren’t there and nothing changed. it all came to a halt when he felt you grinding on his thigh, letting out small cries of his name.

“baby.... please” you mumbled facing his disinterested face not even sharing a glance at you as he continued to move his thumbs around his controllers joystick. He didn’t even pay mind to the fact you were borderline naked either.

“five minutes pretty girl.” he muttered still too absorbed in his game. You pouted shifting your legs to be wrapped around him now, wet cunt on top of his crotch rubbing against him lightly. Making him flinch at the sudden friction. giving you hope he’d give you what you want now. you smirked continuing to grind against him making him bite back a grunt. 

“ugh what are you doing?” he said clearly annoyed by your antics already.

your face became red while placing your hands on his shoulders slowly starting to grind against his growing bulge. “want your attention kenma please need you so bad.” you begged hoping he’d give you something anything really.

but being kenma, he went back to his video games. your pout returning once more. “but kenma, please i really really need you.” you continued with your antics and he paused his game, putting his controller on the coffee table. 

“fine you want me so fucking bad?” he grabs you by the hips making you yelp as he throws you down the couch. back hitting the cushions while he takes your legs and wraps them around his waist.

he pulls down his sweats pumping himself a few times as he rolls his head back, holding back his grunts. he slowly slides his cock into you, being easy to do considering how wet you were already for him. 

he groans as he bottoms out inside you starting steady, but slowly picking up the pace to be more..brutal.

“k-kenma..m’ feels good thank you thank you” you rambled out praises making him grab you by the throat to thrust into you faster. 

“god you’re so fucking annoying bothering me because you wanted to get your cunt stuffed like a little slut while i fucking work.” he scoffs making your eyes shoot open at him.

“such a fucking annoying little slut.” he continues his degradation thr grip on your throat not loosening. you felt you eyes grow teary as he continued to call you more vulgar names with the sprinkle of him calling you annoying. 

“ c-console...” you mumbled wrapping your hands on his wrists, making him let go of your throat. he froze getting closer to your face as he pulls out slowly.

“huh? Whats wrong does it hurt?” he asks rubbing away your tears with the pad of his thumb. 

your lip quivered as more tears started to form. “...i-im annoying...?” you looked him in his eyes as more broken sobs leave you.

“I just wanted some attention kenma...you’re always so busy sometimes I don’t even think you remember i exist..” you muttered feeling small under his cat like stare. 

he sighed kissing your cheek, falling to your. side feeling his breath hit your neck. “sorry baby i swear i didn’t mean it...you’re not annoying its my fault for not giving you attention.” he admits as you wrap around him. 

“y-you promise you didn’t mean it?” you ask once more. he sneaks a hand under your head to lift you up to his chest, patting your head softly. 

“ i promise. here why don’t you sit on my lap, we can do that thing you wanted to try last week...” he looks away embarrassed, you tilt your head in confusion but then realize what he was referring to. you nodded joyfully wrapping your arms around his neck, he adjusts himself for you to line up to take him. he  slowly puts you back down on his cock. hissing at the returning feeling.

He smiled kissing your forehead lightly as he hugged you tight. 

“better my love?”

“mhm mhm!” you said placing your head on his shoulder as you relax into him. slowly drifting away into sleep. its not much, but at-least it stuffs your very needy cunt.

matsukawa 

word count : 615

what lead to this? you two were just on a simple date together at a nearby mall shopping together, looking at upcoming movies, stopping by a few manga stores and bakeries to treat yourselves. overall, just enjoying the time shared together. 

that is t’ill the two of ran into your ex. issei watching the two of you talk to each other not realizing how uncomfortable you really were, hiding it with a friendly facade of course going unnoticed by him since he was practically death glaring your ex. 

he was basically third wheeling in your conversation with your ex. you would side eye issei hoping he’d pull you out of your situation but it was too late since his mind was cloudy with jealousy and rage.  

now, leading up to your current predicament. a heavy make-out now leading to a degradation fest.  

“aw whats wrong little slut can’t take me, fucking pathetic much?” he teases pounding you at a faster pace. “can’t believe my own fucking girlfriend was just there being all friendly to her ex..what don’t tell me you still want him?” he muses making you rapidly shake your head. 

“ no i don’t i swear issei..just wan’ you..”you muttered eyes growing puffy from how cruel he spoke to you as he continued to suggest away of how would get him back since it seemed like you missed him from how friendly you were acting.

growing quiet at his words trying to tune out his words. it’ll all be over soon anyways, you just had to hold on a bit you told yourself. of course you were an idiot for letting him keep going. 

“ maybe i should go ask how kimi’s doing act all friendly and nice towards her.” you tuned into what issei had said in horror at what he just said.

kimi, his much prettier ex who t’ill this day wasn’t over him and he knew this. throwing it in your face as he darkly chuckled at you. you removed your arms that were wrapped around his neck pulling him close. and cupped your face in your hands at the thought of your boyfriend going back to his ex. leaving you alone again.

he wouldn’t right? even though she was much prettier in every feature she had compared to you. he wouldn’t right..? right? 

“f-funeral...“you sniffled making him stop all his movements and lock eyes with you. your safeword ringing in his ears. 

“hey..hey no i didn’t mean it...” he quickly pulls you towards him, pulling you out of him and hugging you tight. he rocks you softly back and forth in his embrace letting all your bottle up feelings burst onto him.  he quick to comfort you and pepper a few kisses on your face.

“ issei..” you mumbled against his chest. he rubs your back looking down at you.

“yes baby..?” his voice shaken with worry hoping you weren’t too mad at him.

“ i-i don’t miss him.. i was only being nice..i was uncomfortable talking to him why didn't you..” he internally punches himself for being so blind and not being able to see by all your movements how uncomfortable you were just breathing the same air as your ex.

he was too blinded by his jealousy to realize his poor baby was scared. he mumbled a curse before apologizing.

“i’m sorry baby i didn’t realize he was making you uncomfortable i should've done something..” his eyes wander away from you.

“ i was just jealous..” he admits

“but issei.. you’re all i want.” you say kissing his cheek and he smiles gracefully. 

“am i-i all you want sei?”

“ duh pretty baby. everything  i want and need.”

matsukawas is so short i’m so sorry ahhhh but i hope u all enjoyed <3

[dancingazaleas]

eren yeager | best friend’s brother (smut)

ok i’m sure this is kind of surprising since i don’t really speak of eren

also no i don’t want to talk about how this is based off of victorious

warnings/notes: cursing, mikasa and eren are brother and sister, drummer!eren, modern au, secret relationship, everyone is 19, nsfw, eventual smut, slight dubcon, slight vouyerism, spanking, clit slapping, degradation, slight praise, choking, tummy bulge, edging, overstimulation, breeding kink, minors dni with this post pls, tell me if i missed anything

you know exactly who’s all going to be home whenever you call mikasa. but you still ask, like you always have, in order to lessen suspicion.

“it’s just me, eren, and zeke. i think zeke has pieck over tonight,” she sighs in slight annoyance, “wanna watch a movie when you come over?”

you tell her yes just as you turn on mikasa’s street. you both hang up with a goodbye, and you feel excitement bubbling in your gut as your car drives you closer and closer to eren. you practically jump out of your car whenever it’s parked on the curb of mikasa’s house.

you squeal while skipping up to the front door, punching in the numbers on the keypad lock without looking. you shut the door quietly after you enter the home, taking in the multiple smells from all three siblings living in the house.

you’ve got to hand it to zeke, he’s got amazing taste. whenever grisha and his mother died, he inherited a lot of money from them and decided to buy himself a home. however, it changed when he found out eren’s mother died and that eren and their adoptive sister, mikasa, would be going into foster care. and with zeke being 19, a legal adult, he managed to fit the roll as a guardian for the two of them. they’ve all lived together for a couple of years now, and you’ve come to enjoy the dynamic between them all whenever you’re staying there for a while.

“oh hey, (name). when’d you get here,” zeke asks whenever you walk into the kitchen, he’s probably getting himself those finger sandwiches he buys himself.

“just now. mikasa in her room,” you stretch and peek over zeke’s shoulder to see what the fridge contains.

“should be. can you get out of my fridge,” he nudges you back with his elbow, which you ignore.

“do you have any baby belle cheese,” you shove him aside with your hip.

“yeah, we do,” you turn to look over your shoulder to see eren walking into the kitchen.

you have to stop yourself from running into his arms, instead starting to rummage through the drawers of the big refrigerator. zeke leaves the kitchen, but you only know that because eren’s front his pressing against your back and warm arms wrap around your waist and his head head rests on your shoulder to whisper in your ear.

“didn’t tell me you were coming over tonight,” he mocks disappointment while you take a baby bell cheese.

“wanted it to be a surprise,” you smile, stepping away from the fridge and opening the packaging of the cheese. eren still clings to you.

“it was a nice surprise,” he kisses at the back of your ear while he squeezes you tight.

you turn your head to look at eren, puckering your lips for a sweet kiss.

eren, not being able to say no to you, obliges and gives you a sweet and lingering kiss on your lips. he pouts whenever you pull away and plop the cheese in your mouth, moving away from him to throw away the wrappings.

“ask mikasa to watch a movie with me,” he requests—more like demands.

“sure,” you nod, “i’ll see you in a few minutes.”

you trudge out of the kitchen and up the stairs, barging into mikasa’s dark room. you watch her jump in her bed, obviously frightened with the abrupt entrance.

“hi hi,” you chant while closing the door behind you, jumping onto her bed next to her.

“you scared me.”

“i know,” you roll your eyes, “wanna watch a movie downstairs?”

“depends... what movie?”

you hum, “maybe the addams family, something like that.”

“yeah, if it’s the addams family then i’ll watch,” she says, scrolling through instagram.

“wanna see if eren will watch,” she asks you while she likes a post by sasha on her phone. the picture was of her, jean, and connie.

“sure, i’ll text him,” you pull out your phone, immediately pulling up eren’s contact and messaging him.

luckily, you’re able to hide the lovey dovey messages sent from eren. you text that mikasa does want to watch a movie and to be downstairs in three minutes.

“he said yea,” eren hadn’t even replied yet.

mikasa and you get off of her bed, making your way down the hallway and down the stairs while talking.

“popcorn?”

“yea, sounds so good right now,” you sigh happily, “we gonna cuddle?”

mikasa snickers at your question, “of course.”

you laugh a little before pushing her in the direction of the kitchen, settling yourself down in the middle on the long sofa. you pull up the addams family on the tv, smiling gently whenever eren comes in the room with his phone in his hands.

“sit at my feet, i’m cuddling with mikasa,” he scoffs at the claim, but puts your legs in his lap.

mikasa comes back into the room with a bowl of popcorn in her hand and some sodas in her hands. she manages to flip the light switch off in the living room while on her way to put everything on the coffee table in front of you. mikasa sits down when you lift your head, welcoming the weight of your head coming down her clothed thighs.

before you start the movie, mikasa asks eren, “do you have rehearsal tomorrow?”

“yeah. jean and annie’ll be here at like 11,” he sighs in slight frustration just as you start the movie.

“sucks for you,” you snort absentmindedly, pulling the bowl of popcorn into your body on top of your stomach.

eren flicks your leg with his fingers while mikasa ignores the both of you and continues to watch the movie.

during the movie, you notice a text from eren that asks you to stay with him after his rehearsal tomorrow, claiming that mikasa and zeke should be out of the house.

you turn off your phone with a giddy smile. you have a good feeling about tomorrow.

————

you’re laying in eren’s bed while he practices his drumming with his band in a few rooms over. you text mikasa the whole time, who’s telling you about some drama between zeke and her cousin, levi. well, it’s not really drama, levi and zeke just have a love-hate friendship. it makes you laugh, especially since the usually cocky and narcissistic man known as zeke was usually getting his ass chewed out by levi.

“i’m so horny,” eren groans while he walks into the room. menace.

you roll your eyes at him, continuing to text mikasa. eren’s pouting as he flops down next to you, face pressing against your neck.

“didn’t you just get out rehearsal? how do you have energy after drumming for an hour and a half,” you ignore the nipping of eren.

“‘dunno,” he sighs against your skin, sending chills up and down your spine.

you shut off your phone, throwing it to the side and pulling eren from your neck. you kiss him, to which he reciprocates happily, while he goes to straddle your waist.

his hands are already groping at your chest and his breath is already heavy against your mouth.

you pull away, “have you been horny since the beginning of rehearsal??”

he grumbles out a yes while he bites and sucks at your neck. your laughter is interrupted by a gasp when eren bites particularly hard on your neck. his hands creep up under your shirt, only to find a surprise.

“you’re not wearing a bra,” he asks, pushing the shirt up over your boobs.

“didn’t feel the need to,” you mumble with embarrassment as eren’s eyes stare at your chest.

without a second thought, his lips are attached to one tit, sucking hickies onto the skin around your areola. you whimper when he punches and twists a nipple with his fingers, chest slightly bucking up and burying his face further into your tits. eren feels like he’s in heaven.

when eren pulls away, he takes a moment to admire your tits. bruised and abused, glistening with his saliva under the lights in his room.

“pretty,” he mumbles, finally pushing your shirt entirely off of your body.

you wiggle your hips as a signal that eren takes. he’s ridding himself of his shirt and pants before he takes off your own pants. his fingers just barely swipe across the outsides of your thighs, giving you goosebumps.

eren’s spreading your legs apart, staring at the wet stain on your panties. you try to push your hips in his face, but eren swings his left arm around your hips to hold them down. his right hand is teasingly stroking your clit through the thin fabric of your underwear. each swipe of his thumb has your whole body tensing, something that has him smirking.

“please,” you bite your lip while you stare into his eyes.

instead of indulging in your desires, he’s pulling his body away from the spot between your legs. only to take off your underwear, and then settle between your legs again.

“you’re all wet and i’ve barely done anything,” he comments, running a fingertip against your slit.

you whimper whenever eren shoves two of his fingers inside of you unexpectedly. he doesn’t give you time to adjust to his fingers, immediately setting himself a tempo as he fucks you with his fingers.

moaning and acting without thinking, your hand tugs at his long hair. he almost immediately pulls his fingers outside of you, fingertips slapping at your needy clit. your hips buck while you apologize.

“pull my hair like that again and you won’t get to cum,” he resumes his finger fucking, slightly smiling at how your hands immediately go to grip at the sheets now. he’s trained you so well.

“do you hear that,” he snickers while curling his finger, squelch sounds following after.

“cumming! cumming,” you pant a few moments later, eyes squeezing shut.

eren immediately pulls his fingers out of you, resulting in a cry from you. he laughs sadistically as he repeats the process over and over and over again, so much that you’ve lost count, tears now running down your cheeks. he lets you come this time, admiring the blissed out look on your face as you moan wantonly.

but his hand moves to your clit now, listening to your pleading that you’re too sensitive.

“shut up and take it,” he stops his maneuvers on your clit to slap your clit again.

you yelp and buck your hips, starting to open your mouth to plead until he starts rubbing your clit again. you orgasm quickly, back arching against eren’s mattress.

“eren,” you whimper, legs shaking while eren pulls his hand away.

“what do you want, pretty girl,” he sits on his knees, looking down at your crying face.

“more,” you sniffle, small hand reaching out for him.

“more of what,” he raises a taunting eyebrow, catching your wrist in his hand, “c’mon, use your words, you’re a big girl.”

“you... more of you.”

“that’s not an answer,” he reaches down to wipe away a tear.

“want you inside me,” you pout and wiggle your hips again.

“you want it or need it?” he smirks while tilting his head.

you whine, “need it. need you here, ‘ren.”

you guide his hand to your tummy while you speak and eren feels his cock throb in his boxers.

“fuck,” he groans, roughly flipping you over to lay on your stomach.

you yelp, reaching out to hold onto the pillow your head was just laying on. he’s forcing you to arch your back, and the way he forces you to do it is almost unrealistic. he’s tossing his boxers across the room for him to search for later, reaching down to pump his cock in his hand.

his hands lay heavy on your ass, spreading your plump cheeks apart to get a better view.

your cheek squishes against the pillow as you stare at him over your shoulder, needy pout on your face. he chuckles at your eyes closing whenever he finally shoves his huge cock inside of you.

“so big,” you sob, “so big, ren.”

he ignores you, pulling him cock out of you until the tip before slamming his hips against your ass. you yelp as soon as eren starts to thrust in and out of you ruthlessly. so hard that you’re sure you’ll have bruises on the back of your thighs for a few days.

however, his hips still whenever he hears the front door of the house creaking open and a voice calling out.

“eren! i’m home,” mikasa calls out while she shuts the door behind her.

you reach your hand back to shove eren off of you, not wanting to risk the chance of mikasa even hearing you. eren grabs your wrist with one hand while the other slaps your asscheek harshly.

“okay, i’m about to take a nap,” he replies to mikasa, knowing full well she’s already making her way up the stairs.

“okay,” she replies, going into her room. her room that’s right next to eren’s.

“eren,” you whisper, “she’s gonna hear.”

“don’t act so innocent,” he growls, “i bet you want mikasa to hear. to hear just how you’re getting fucked like the slut you are.”

you whimper, “no... no.”

“want her to hear how good you’re feeling,” eren smiles sadistically as you turn your head to bury your face in the pillow.

he hears your whining faintly whenever he starts to thrust his hips again. your moans are being muffled by his pillow, and even so, you’re sure that mikasa knows what’s going on by the sound of eren’s skin slapping against your own.

he puts his hands onto your shoulders, leaning his weight onto you as he speeds up his thrusts. you’re almost screaming in his pillow now, nails clawing at the sheets under you.

“gonna come,” he groans breathily, “you gonna come when mikasa’s in the next room over?”

he watches you nod your head, which makes him bite his lips while releasing a groan.

he whispers in your ear, spitting out a command for you, “go ahead. go ahead and cum like the slut you are. give mikasa a show.”

you moan loudly into his pillow, pussy fluttering around his fat cock as you orgasm.

he fucks you through it, not slowing down his fast and vigorous thrusting.

“hurts,” you cry.

“don’t care,” he says, reaching a hand around your body to grip onto your neck.

he’s pulling you up with him, back flushed against his front as he thrusts wildly. you look like a mess, saliva dripping down your chin along with your tears, eyes glossed over.

your hand touches against your tummy gently, whimpering at the feeling of the bulge that is eren.

“feel you,” you mewl quietly, “feel you here, ‘rennie.”

he presses the hand not wrapped around your neck against your tummy, groaning out. his thrusts speed up at full speed, something he does not do often, but eren’s eager to fuck his seed inside of you.

“gonna cum, gonna fuck my kids into your slutty pussy,” he grumbles, slapping a hand over your mouth whenever it opens to moan.

“you want that, huh? w-want me to fuck a kid into you? maybe then mikasa’ll get the hint,” his voice is shaky when he feels you tighten around him.

he snickers, “fuckin’ slut. tightening around me whenever i spew that shit. you want her to hear you being fucked stupid, huh?”

you shake your head while you shut your eyes again. another orgasm is approaching, and you’re not sure that you can handle holding it in.

eren notices and decides to take pity on you.

“go ahead, cum,” and you do. you gush all over his cock and sheets, hands scratching at his wrist as you scream into the palm of his hand.

“fuck,” he hisses whenever he feels his balls tighten.

he comes not too long after you, finally slowing his pace down to a grind. he lets you drop onto the bed on your tummy, spreading your legs open to admire how his cum leaks out of you.

you’re absolutely sure that mikasa heard, but you’re too fucked out to care. she’ll confront you if she knows, and that’s when you’ll worry.

but then again, your best friend’s brother is irresistible.

[wwinterwitch]

Omg I love your stories and I have something interesting in mind if you're up for it. I've been thinking lately about just how deadly and ruthless Yelena can be?! Maybe even more than Natasha, especially in her first scene in black widow (when she kills the widow that frees her), like, wow that was brutal XD. But anyway, that gave me an idea for a story. One where maybe Yelena met the reader in New York and they've been friends for a while now, and Yelena is in love with her, but it's still pretty shy about it so she hasn't said anything. And so the reader, maybe she has a vague knowledge about Yelena's past, but just from what Yelena told her, and so one day they are together and some people attack them (u decide who) and Yelena takes them out in her ruthless fashion, only after noticing the reader looking at her a little terrorized, because she never saw Yelena fight. And in the heat of the moment the reader runs away from Yelena and avoids her for a day or two just to process the reality of it all. But Yelena gets totally broken by it, thinking she just messed up the only good thing she had, but she was just trying to protect them. Only for the reader to come back to her, find Yelena crying in her room or something (love the feels) and comfort her, say she loves her still and Yelena spills her real feelings for her. Sorry that got long, but I would just love to read something like that. ❤️

yelena + angst absolutely kills me!! thank you so much for your request

UNCONDITIONAL - YELENA BELOVA

summary: you see a whole new side of yelena that you've never seen before

pairing: yelena belova x fem!reader

word count: 2.1K

warnings: unshared feelings, movie-typical violence, widow yelena on action, death, fluff at the end

a reablog is always appreciated!

my masterlist

Adjusting to a completely new life in New York wouldn't have been easy if it wasn't for you. Yelena is incredibly lucky to have you, as you were her personal tour guide when she first moved to the city. Even to this day, after a few months living here, she still need your help to get by on a city as crowded and complicated as New York.

But she was, quite to her surprise, finally feeling at peace. After living a lie, losing her sister and best friend, learning to be an actual human being again...it was hard for her to imagine a world where she could be genuinely happy. Luckily she found what she never thought she deserved. 

And she wouldn't admit it, but a lot of that new-found peace only existed because of you.

She never would've imagined to find someone like you. Ever. You taught her how to be herself and trust someone with her many demons from the past. In a way, you taught her to love herself again despite everything she has done. 

What began as a friendship soon turned into something else, as Yelena couldn't ignore just how much you have changed her life and how badly she wishes to have you by her side forever. It was an indescribable feeling she never experienced before in her life, but it has to be the most wonderful feeling in the world. With you life makes more sense.

You not only taught her to love herself, but also how it feels to fall in love with someone.

But for the moment, she decided not to say a thing. After all, it's an entirely new feeling and even though she's happy, she's also very scared. Yelena has never liked anyone before or been in a relationship, so obviously she had no idea what to do. Until she figured it out, it was best not to confess anything to you just yet.

Unfortunately for Yelena, her whole new world was turned upside down one night after having dinner with you. You have stopped by her apartment to grab a cup of coffee before heading back to your place. Of course, you would've never expected a little decision like that would get you in big trouble.

While she went to her bedroom to get changed, you walked into the kitchen with the intention of making some coffee, but never got to it as you felt something being held against your temple, making you freeze on your spot. As you turned just enough, you saw a man looking at you, raising his finger up to his mouth to warn you that you need to keep quiet. 

Him and other person dragged you out of the kitchen, still holding the gun at your temple. The guy held the gun even closer to your head, making you tilt your head a little as you let out a sob. He tilt his own head to the corridor where Yelena's room was, hinting what you needed to do now. "Yelena?" was all you could say, failing to hold back a whimper, your whole entire body shaking in fear.

Your friend walked out of her room as soon as she heard you, the tone of your voice immediately alerting her. That's when she realized someone had broke into her apartment and was holding a gun at you, ready to pull the trigger if Yelena attempted to do anything they didn't like.

"You're a very hard one to find," the other guy that wasn't threatening you with the gun muttered, a grin plastered across his face. "Lucky for us you made a new friend and let your guard down."

"Whatever this is about, she has nothing to do with it," was the first thing Yelena said. "Let her go."

"We will, but you have to come with us. Valentina needs your services."

"I told her I don't do that anymore," she replied. "I'm done."

"You're done when she allows it."

"No," Yelena insisted firmly, getting angrier by the second. "I decide for myself."

The guy laughed ironically. "Look at you, thinking you can just walk out of a deal whenever you want to! What, you have better things to do now? Pretending you can have a normal life here as if you're not one of the deadliest assassin to ever exist?"

Yelena's jaw clenched at the mockery, locking eyes with you. Her beautiful eyes were much darker than usual, her features showing so much anger that it almost looked like an entirely different person, not your bubbly and smiley Yelena that you care for so deeply. 

You were barely able to catch a glimpse of a warning before Yelena lunched forward towards the intruders. As you were being thrown to one side of the room, you took cover on a corner and curled into a ball, hoping you made it out of there alive. Never once crossed your mind to open your eyes, hearing the grunts, punches, stuff being thrown and breaking and gun shots of the intense fighting going on next to you. Each sharp noise made you jump in surprise, failing to control your shaking body and the tears streaming down your face.

Only when the fight seemed to be over, you dared to look up.

Yelena was adjusting her jacket and cleaning her bloody lip, breathing heavily as she looked down at the two people (most definitely dead) lying on the floor. She seems to remember you were there, turning to frantically look for you until she spotted you on the floor.

"Are you okay?" she immediately asks, worry evident on her features as she bent down next to you. It looks as if she wanted to reach out to touch you, but didn't know if you would want that due to how scared and shocked you looked. 

All you were able to do was nod. Despite Yelena being right in front of you, all you could focus on was the two bodies laying on the living room, a pile of blood surrounding them both. The scene was so gruesome, but you couldn't look away.

"I'm sorry," you heard, barely above a whisper. "This is all my fault, I...I should've expected she would try to find me."

Still, no response.

"You weren't supposed to be involved in any this," she continued. "Here, let's-"

She tried to hold your hands to help you stand up, but didn't finish her sentence when she noticed you flinched away from her, standing up by yourself. You could see Yelena was heartbroken by your reaction to her trying to touch you, standing up as well. 

With your back firmly pressed against the wall, you once again looked at the two bodies before your eyes focused on her. "I- I should go."

Yelena was quiet, feeling her eyes starting to burn just slightly as tears threaten to come out of them. "I'm really sorry, I-".

"I need to go," you interrupted, this time sounding much more decisive.

She didn't try to say or do anything, watching as you rushed to the front door to get out as soon as you could. The moment the door was closed, Yelena completely broke down as tears began rolling down her face. She practically collapsed to the floor, resting her back on the wall where you once were.

The fact that you had been there where she is right now, crying and shaking in fear as you heard her kill those two men crushed her. You weren't supposed to ever see this side of her. You weren't supposed to know the kind of monster she was before you came into her life.

And so she cried for hours, thinking to herself she has lost the one thing that gave her life a meaning.

--

A few days passed after the incident at Yelena's apartment. You have taken some time away from her to process what you witnessed before being able to talk things through with her. 

The time away from her also made you realize how incredibly miserable life is without Yelena around. You have missed her so much, you never thought you could ever feel a longing like this. You needed to see her again and talk it over.

You still were hesitant as you stood in front of the entrance of her apartment building. Things didn't end up exactly good, and you didn't know exactly how to start the conversation. She probably thinks you hate her or something like that. Truth is, you don't. As extreme as it sounds, you doubt you could ever hate her. No matter what she does.

You pressed the buzzer many times, but she never picked up. Thinking she wasn't home, you decided to give her a call instead. To your surprise, she immediately picked up.

"Uh, I'm outside your apartment," you said. "I was hoping we could talk?"

"Yes, sure," she says. "I'm...sorry, I thought you were someone else."

You noticed the front door unlocking, which meant she was indeed at home. "Thanks," you muttered before hanging up.

Yelena was waiting for you at the front door of her apartment. She looked miserable. Her hair was up in a messy bun? ponytail? you couldn't really tell because it was that messy. Just by looking at her you could tell she has been crying, her eyes swollen with bags underneath, hinting she hasn't been sleeping well either.

She looked hopeful, yet scared. She didn't know if you were here to fix your friendship or end it forever. The sight of her made you instantly regret not staying that night to comfort her.

"Sorry, I wasn't expecting you'd want to see me ever again," she confessed. "Uh, would you like to come in? It's still a little messy..."

"It's okay," you reassured her, entering the apartment. She wasn't lying when she said it was a mess. Broken stuff were still on the floor and the furniture was moved around a little. Only thing gone were the bodies and the blood.

"No, it's not," Yelena replied, not being able to look at you in the eye because she was too embarrassed to do that. "I should've known better. You didn't deserve to live through that."

"It's in the past now. I just needed a few days to wrap my heard around it, that's all. I'm fine now."

Yelena didn't seem to care about your words at all, shaking her head as she started to cry for like the millionth time already. "You see, this is what it's like to be me. I always mess things up. But that's okay, I guess. I don't really think I deserve to have a good life," she rambled. "You are the greatest thing that has ever happen to me and I still found a way to ruin it."

"You didn't," you insisted, walking closer to her so she would stop with her rambling and pacing around with no apparent direction, forcing her to stand still in front of you. "I'm here, aren't I? You didn't ruin everything."

Just then, Yelena looked up at you. She was still crying, so you wasted no time to clean her tears with your fingers, which made her close her eyes as she enjoyed your touch, thinking this was going to be the very last time she would get to feel you. 

She only opened her eyes to say, "I'm in love with you."

You were unable to say something back because it genuinely took you by surprise. She probably thought your silence and expression were signs of rejection because all she did was smile. But it wasn't any smile, it was the type of smile someone puts when they give up. It was almost as if she was thinking "I don't care you're about to reject me, because I just don't care about anything right now".

"I know I don't deserve you, and I know you don't feel the same. I just figured if this is the last time we talk, I needed you to know how much you mean to me. You have changed my life forever, and I just had to tell you before it was too late."

Yelena didn't look like she was expecting you to say something, so you didn't. Instead, your hands moved up to her face again, this time to cup her face to gently lean her closer to you, your lips meeting hers halfway. As soon as your lips connected, Yelena melted into your touch as she started kissing you eagerly, yet softly. Your whole body was on fire, unable to process how something as simple as a kiss could transmit so much. 

As Yelena kissed you and her hands held your waist, you felt more loved and cherished than ever.

"I love you too," you muttered after pulling away. "All of you. The good and bad."

This time, Yelena's smile was genuine. Not a drop of defeat visible in her features. She was glowing. Even with her eyes still swollen from all the crying and the small wound on the left side of her lower lip, she looked as beautiful as ever. And you couldn't believe you were so lucky to be loved by her.

[ellana-ravenwood]

The art of taking care of the woman you love - Bruce Wayne x Fem!Reader

Synopsis : You’ve always had really bad period pains. You learned to live with it, and to take care of yourself during those times...Up until a certain Bruce Wayne came into your life, and made it his mission to be there for you. 

For @meghan-maria​, who gotta be the sweetest out there :), and for anyone who ever had really bad period pains. I hope you will like it : 

TW : periods. It’s obvious given the theme, but I guess we never know and better safe than sorry. 

My master list : @ella-ravenwood-archives​

_________________________________________________

The First time it happened

It’s the fact you cancelled your planned date with him without an explanation that makes him worry. 

“Sorry, can’t make it tonight. Will see you tomorrow !” 

You never did that before, and you two were so busy neither of you would miss a date really. Not unless something bad or important happened. But then in that case, you would’ve told him, no ?

It made him so anxious. And he was starting to clearly overthink things. 

Were you maybe...having second thoughts ? 

You and Bruce made your relationship official not long ago, was the media’s pressure becoming too much ? You told him you’d be fine, but after a few months experiencing the plague that were paparazzi and invasive questions, did you change your mind ? 

Or maybe it was because of the whole Batman thing ? You discovered that a while ago, even before making your relationship official so...why would you change your mind about it now ? 

Maybe he came home with too many cuts and bruises. Maybe you were freaking out ? He would understand if you did. 

Or...There was a last option that came to his mind : he upset you somehow. 

It was entirely possible, sometimes he could get stuck in his own mind, and be a jerk without even truly realizing it. He knew that fact very well about himself. It was often the reason of how he ruined multiple relationships, friends or more. 

The way he sometimes just got too focused on his vigilante work. Too obsessed. And could be stuck in a “dark mode” like you’d say...

But, he also knew that you never took any of his shit. You would’ve told him if something was really the matter, right ? 

Right ?!

Should he ask Alfred if he noticed anything ? His butler, and surrogate father, always saw things that escaped him. Especially when it came to feelings. 

This was a less known trait about Bruce, but ever since he was a child, he’s always been anxious. He was usually really good at hiding it, and his “Brucie Wayne” persona made everyone think it wasn’t possible for him to be anything else but confident and cocky but...it wasn’t true. 

Especially when it came to those he cared about. Especially when it came to you. 

You loved him despite his flaws, accepted him fully, without any conditions. It was the first time it ever happened, that he LET it happen...So, with this simple plan cancellation that was quite unlike you, he freaked out a bit.

In the middle of the day, he finally decided to call you. One. Two. Three tones before you picked up, and oh. Oh he felt so relieved to hear your little “hello ?” 

At the same time, his worry peaked. Was it just him, or did you sound really weak ?

“Hey honey, just wanted to check if you were alright ? Your text was a little short, and I know you don’t owe me any explanations of course, but I just wanted to check on you. You know. I-um...” 

Clumsy Brooshy. 

It made you smile, the way he could be a little flustered and lose his words, when with you. And it made you smile even wider that he chose to call you to make sure everything was ok. 

Sweet Broosh.

If you really didn’t want to talk to him, you wouldn’t have answered. And he wasn’t the kind of man to “insist”. He would’ve left a voice message, and leave you alone until you felt like calling him back. Bruce was most definitely not invasive...but at the same time, you’d never leave him worrying for no reasons, knowing how anxious he could be.

The truth was, your text was short because...You didn’t know how to tell him the reasons you needed to cancel your date. You didn’t want to embarrass him. Men didn’t really like to talk about what you currently were suffering from. 

You also were a little embarrassed yourself, because the entire society surrounding you made you feel wrong for having periods. 

Periods. 

One week a month. Every single months. That was a lot. 

Especially for you because...you always had complicated and difficult periods. Painful. Making you feel like you couldn’t move. The pain making it impossible for you to even get out of bed for long. 

You and Bruce had been dating for a while but...weren’t periods sort of a taboo subject ? You didn’t really know how to tell him. Especially since most men really seemed uncomfortable with the all thing. 

Of course, you should’ve know Bruce wasn’t “most men”. 

“Baby, are you there ?” 

“Um yes yes, sorry I was lost in thoughts.” 

“Are you ok ? You don’t sound right.” 

The most observant man in the World was obviously going to realize your voice sounded weaker than usually. The truth was, you were trying really hard to keep it steady as pain filled your being. 

“Yes yes, I’m ok, just feeling a bit...under the weather ?” 

“Is there anything I can do ? Is it a cold or something ? If so, I can bring you buy some chicken noodle soup, and pick up any meds you might need.” 

You almost cried at his words. 

Super busy bee Bruce Wayne was telling you he’d go out of his way to bring you what you needed...It made you crack a little. 

He was too damn nice. And your hormones were in shambles. It was very easy right now for you to cry. 

This. How willing he was to help you, how he immediately asked if he could...Was what made you say the truth without thinking twice : 

“I’m-I’m on my periods. They’re usually- They’re usually bad.” 

“Oh.” 

His response scared you a little bit. Were you right, was this maybe too much, too soon ? You were about to add something when he said : 

“I’ll be there in about an hour, if it’s ok with you ? If you prefer to be alone I can send-” 

“No ! No, I would love for you to come. I just-I wasn’t sure-I-”

“It’s ok. I understand. See you in a bit, love you.” 

“Love you, too.” 

On that note, Bruce hung up and leaves you with a wild beating heart. 

************

Exactly an hour later, your doorbell rings. 

With difficulties, you stand up, and go open the door. Surely enough, it’s your boyfriend. 

“Hi.” 

“Hi.” 

He has a bag in his hand, and you melt a little at the soft look and smile he gives you (even if there’s clear concerns behind it). You let him in, and go sit on the couch, even if just sitting up is already too much. 

“Do you want to lie down ?” 

“No. No I’m fine. You came all the way here, I can’t just stay in bed haha.” 

“Of course you can.” 

There’s a small silence for a little bit. Not awkward, you’re just not quite sure what to do. Should you go back to bed ? You really want to. And clearly, he understands. He always does. 

“Ok.” 

You stand, and wince because moving really makes everything worst. He approaches you, worried, but doesn’t dare to touch you and just follows you into your room. You get back in your comfy bed, under your comfy comforter. 

Another silence. Until he breaks it, taking something out of the bag he was carrying and saying : 

“So. I wasn’t sure you had a hot water bottle, I don’t ever recall seeing one in your apartment. So I bought one on the way just in case. Sorry if you don’t like the color, I can pick another one up later. It’s just, the woman on YouTube said that heat pads and hot water bottles were great.”

“The...woman on YouTube ?” 

“Yes, I watched a video on menstruations on the way here.” 

For a few seconds, you just stare at him, stunned. Never EVER in your entire life did you think you would hear THE Bruce Wayne say those words one day.

“A video on menstruations ?”

“Well, yes. Obviously, I don’t have periods. So I have no idea what it feels like. So I watched a video, to understand the process. And also so that you wouldn’t have to explain anything to me. You know what periods are, you don’t have to educate me on it. It’s not your job. And I definitely don’t want to sound patronizing about it. So I watched a video, and read a few articles. I won’t say I know how it feels, but I understand it more. Tell me if I ever step my bounds at any moment..” 

You can’t help but smile, even as your lower belly is on fire. Ah. Of course he would search things about it. Bruce was the kind of man to be thorough in his researches before tackling a problem. As Batman, he always tried to know everything there is to know about a situation before finding any solutions. But he was like that in real life too. 

And it particularly touched you that he did it so you wouldn’t have to explain...You had an ex, once, who sat down with you to talk about menstruations and it sort of drove you crazy. He thought it was nice, but your hormones were wreaking HAVOC and he was trying to explain to you how periods work and what it felt like ??? Give you advice about it and that it would be fine if you did what he said ?? Excuse me ??? As if you didn’t try everything already to feel less pain. And as if, as a woman, you didn’t know what it felt like or what it was exactly...

And there came Bruce. Reading up on it. And knowing he would never quite know how it feels. But educating himself so he won’t say something that could trigger you in any way. 

Sweet sweet man...If only people knew. 

He caressed your cheek softly, before whispering : 

“Then I-I watched something on endometriosis, because I read in a previous article it felt horrible. And you said your periods were bad, when we were on the phone. It sounds awful. Do you-...Have endometriosis ?” 

You shake your head weakly. Endometriosis was one of the reason why your periods were so painful and dreaded. And the worst ? It was a sickness many people said didn’t even exist. 

A woman being in pain during her periods ? Drama queen. Right ? It didn’t hurt that baaaaad. See, some women didn’t feel anything, just bled for a bit and moved on with their months. So obviously every women felt the same. Some were just being too sensitive...

Endometriosis was still, even to this day, a rather unknown illness and one that was rarely taken seriously. Some people just couldn’t even fathom you being in pain because of your periods, so much so that you couldn’t move. 

That you occasionally fainted, that you couldn’t eat much because it made you vomit, that you had awful migraines, stomach ache and back pain. That you couldn’t focus or sleep because of it. No. 

No those were just “made up symptoms” because you were “weak”...What awful things to say, right ? It was even worst to hear. Someone telling you this, as you felt like you were dying because of the pain, made you feel GUILTY to have painful periods. 

But it wasn’t your fault ? IT WASN’T YOUR FAULT ?! Nor were the moodswings, the cravings, the fatigue...

You hated going to the doctors when you were younger, because you knew he wouldn’t believe you when you said your periods hurt...

Anyway. Even without endometriosis, women who had bad periods pain were rarely taken seriously. Unless they met another woman who felt the same. Then they’d feel like they weren’t alone, or crazy. Like there were others who felt bad too. 

Every woman was different. And you unfortunately never met someone else with the same problems than you...

You felt very alone, for so long, and it was enhanced by your hormones going crazy and the pain being unbearable at times. 

And then, in come Bruce. 

Your Broosh. 

“Ok. Well. I brought you some of your favorite food. And um, I picked up some snacks if you want to do a movie marathon ? I brought all The Lord of the Rings extended editions. I got heat pads and a hot water bottle like I said. We can also just cuddle and relax if you prefer, I read that physical comfort was good ? Or, I can leave everything here, settle you in properly, and leave you alone. Just, tell me what you need my love ?” 

What did...you need ? 

Nobody ever asked you that. Nobody. Not even your parents. 

What did you need ? 

The answer came quickly. 

Him. You need him. His warmth. His large and soothing hands. His comforting presence. His calming voice. 

You knew you were in love with him since a while now. You exchanged “I love yous” already. But never did you feel as much love for him as right now, seeing him sitting in front of you, asking you what you needed...

A simple action. Simple words. And yet, it meant everything. 

“What do you need, honey ?” 

The concern in his eyes, and how he was very obviously ready to do whatever you wanted him to. 

It already made you feel better. The physical pain didn’t go down, that’s not how it worked unfortunately. But the emotional anguish ? Gone. 

Because he was there. 

Without even realizing it, you started crying. This was too much for your heart, too overwhelming. It meant the World, in that moment. 

It meant the world, to you and your overworked hormones. And so you cried. You cried hard. 

Without thinking twice, Bruce moved towards you. Taking his coat off and leaving it on the floor (Alfred would scold him about this for sure), he climbs in your bed and engulfs you in his arms. And it’s so warm and comforting, comfortable, too. 

“Just tell me what you need..”

He whispered to you, in his deep calming voice, his fingers running soothingly through your hair. 

“Could you just...keep holding me ?” 

He smiles softly, and says : 

“Of course.” 

He never, and never would, shy away from comforting you in any way. If you needed to have a good cry in his arms, so be it. And if you just needed him to be there, he would be there. 

You cuddled for a bit, the soothing circles he rubbed on your back doing wonders to make you feel relax. He brought some essential oils, that he massaged on your belly before filling the hot water bottle and laying it there...It relieved the pain a little bit, as you started a marathon of your favorite movies.

He took great care of you all day long, answering your every need even as you didn’t dare to ask...as if he could read your mind. You almost suspected he really could. You never felt so in phase with anyone before like you did with him.  

You had been together for less than a year. Although your anniversary was right around the corner. But him coming over as soon as he knew you weren’t feeling well. Him educating himself on what was it that hurt you...

If you weren’t sure yet that he was the one...You knew now. 

It sucks to be a woman, sometimes 

Bruce never knew periods could be that bad. Well, of course, he was a guy. And “periods” was never really a subject he talked about with anyone. He never really paid attention to it, like many men really. 

Until he saw you while on it. 

He knew you. He knew you were a tough lady. Once, you broke your leg while on a date with him. A silly accident really. Involving an ice rink, and an overzealous you chasing a hockey puck...Long story short, you ended up with a bad break. And you barely said a word about it. 

Bruce had his bones broken many times, he knew the pain of it. It was one of the pain he hated the most, along with burns. One he dreaded the most. And you took it like a champ. 

The break was bad enough you even needed surgery, yet you kept smiling at him (he might’ve feel bad that he let his over-competitive mind take over, “pushing” you to really want that puck...but of course, it was not his fault, after all, you too were very competitive, it was a pure accident). Saying you were fine, and that it’d be ok. 

He always hated seeing you hurt, it hurt him too. Inside. And scared the Hell out of him, to even think about you being harmed. So that day, he was rather frantic. You staying calm helped him, which made him feel a little guilty that even as you were the hurt one, you reassured him. 

But then you reminded him the roles were often reversed when he came back hurt from a rough vigilante night...You always had the right words to ease his mind. 

Anyway. That one time, after badly breaking your leg, you stayed rather calm and collected. But when you had your periods ? 

He never knew it could hurt so much. You couldn’t hide your pain, or pretend everything was alright. 

It was clearly a really bad moment to go through. 

He knew about the terrible migraines, being unable to sleep which made everything worst, feeling like your lower belly was being twisted from the inside, being sore all over for no reasons, not being able to move... 

Seeing you, was enough for him to know that periods sucked. 

“Being a woman is the worst, sometimes!” 

You’d often say during those moments, and he’d just soothe you, wishing he was in your place...

He hated when you were hurting. It hurt him too. Inside. 

And never. NEVER would he doubt that you were in real pain. Because unlike the doctors who kept telling you it was in your head, he knew you. He saw you get injured before. He knew you were tough. So for you to not be able to pretend everything was fine... 

You were hurting. Badly. And it was awful. But he believed you. He believed you and that’s all that mattered to you. 

Space

He also knew how to give you space when you needed it, though. 

He would be here if you needed him, bring you any food you craved, giving you relaxing massages, rubbing essential oils on your belly, filling up your hot water bottle etc etc. 

To be honest, his reaction to you being on your period is what made you sure he would be a great father one day...And you were right. 

Not a perfect father. 

But oh. Oh he cared. And wanted so much to do good...

And he knew. 

He knew exactly when he had to be there, and when he had to give you space. 

His hoodie

Bruce couldn’t always be with you when you had your periods, of course. 

He often took time off to be. But it was unrealistic to think he could be 24/7 with you the entire week. 

And sometimes, when he was away, you really suddenly craved his presence...So you came up with a trick. 

You stole his clothes. 

Particularly, hoodies he often wore when hanging out casually in the Manor. 

First of, they were very comfortable. And second, and most importantly : they smelled like him. 

They were warm, had his scent, and you could fall asleep feeling like he was almost there. 

Bruce couldn’t count the number of hoodies he lost to you....Then again, after a while, you’d ruthlessly abandon one because it stopped smelling like him, and would steal another one. 

Of course, he never minded. In fact, beyond the fact hoodies were nice and comfortable, he started to wear them a lot while in the house or during times he didn’t need to wear a suit (in every sense of the term), specifically because he knew you’d steal them when you felt lonely. 

It was cute. And it made his heart beat faster just thinking about it. 

Nobody. 

Nobody ever needed him that much before. Nobody ever loved him so much that sometimes him not being around was distressing. 

Of course, he felt the same. And the knowledge that you too, would sometimes feel lovesick when you were separated for too long...Filled his heart to the brim with the best feelings. 

For so long, he thought someone being dependable of him, and him being dependable of someone was bad...Oh, how he was wrong. 

It’s not because you open your heart to someone that you’ll get hurt, or that they’ll use it against you. You just have to find the right person... 

So. Yes. He will always cancel plans just to be with you. 

To bring you hot water bottles whenever you need. To cook your favorite food and snacks. To be there during all your mood swings, and endure even if you’re not the nicest to him (it’s not your fault). To watch your favorite movies. To let you sleep in and run your errands...

Periods sucked. 

He didn’t need to be a woman to know that. 

So he was there. Right there. For you. Taking care of you. And he would forever be there for that. 

But when he wasn’t ? 

Then he’d strategically leave one of his hoodie near the bed, so you could steal it, and comfort yourself with his smell...

Mood Swings 

“Brooooooooooosssssh...” 

You’re crying. You’re crying ! 

And it makes Bruce panic. You cry very rarely, so when you do it means something really bad must’ve happened or..or...

Bruce makes a quick calculation in his head and...Yup. 

It’s that time of the month again. 

Already ? Poor you.. 

This means that tomorrow, you’ll be a mess as everything will hurt too much, and today, the eve right before, you’re overly emotional. 

Hence you clinging to him right now, sobbing while repeating “I love you so much Bruce, I love you soooo much”. 

Hormones could really turn your head around. Right at the start of your period, before the pain, you had a rush of many emotions. 

You could either get very irritated for no reason (like “WHY IS THIS FLOOR ON THE FLOOR ?!”) or cry at everything. Right now, you were crying because you realized you loved your Broosh to death and you just had to tell him and you didn’t want him to go that night and...ah...

“It’s alright, it’s alright my love. You’re ok. We’re ok.” 

He lets you cry in his arms, of course. And already made the decision to not go out tonight, and stay with you. Kate could take over. He couldn’t leave knowing your emotions were doing quite a trick on you...

************

Your mood swings during your periods were particularly bad. 

You guessed it went in pairs with all the pain. Of course, not just one thing had to be exacerbated. Oh no. EVERYTHING bad about periods had to be turned to the max for you. Otherwise, were was the fun, right ? Sarcasm. 

You’d get irritated for no reasons. Then feel bad and cry for hours. To then feel ridiculously giddy once again for seemingly no reason...and then suddenly a burst of anxiety would attack you. 

It was a circus in your mind, and in your body. 

You couldn’t focus on anything. You couldn’t sleep properly. You felt awful all the time. Everything hurt. God...

And there he was. Bruce. Taking the brunt of your bad moods without saying a word. He knew it wasn’t your fault. That you didn’t mean it. That your hormones dictated your behavior against your own will. 

He knew. 

And he was there. 

He was there. 

“Every little moment is important, Son” - Thomas Wayne, to Bruce during the Flashpoint events.

“Bruce ? What are you doing here ? Thought you had important meetings ?”

“They weren’t that important.” 

“Really ? Lucious said-”

“Lucious is overdramatic. Anyway, Tim is taking care of it.” 

“...You’re letting our sixteen years old son taking care of the future of your company ?” 

“To be honest, he’s probably more competent about it than me.” 

“...That’s actually pretty accurate. But, why did you cancel things ?” 

“Because it’s this unpleasant time of the month, right ?”

“Oh. You don’t have to-” 

“I absolutely do.” 

Disappearing for a few seconds, your husbands comes back, wearing one of his favorite silk pajamas (and by “his” favorite, he really means : he knows you love them and think they look good on him, but won’t ever admit it because they’re “damn pajamas, it’s silly”...but he likes to please you). He then climbs in bed with you, and settles comfortable against you. 

“So, what’s the program today ?” 

This wasn’t unusual, for him to do this when you were on your periods. 

In fact, it was almost a ritual. Delegating his works to others, so he could take care of you. 

Ever since that first time, all those years ago, things didn’t change much. He would ask you what you need, you’d tell him, and he would do it happily. 

He knew it was a tough moment for you, physically, hormonally, mentally...Having your periods sucked. So he was there. Right there. 

The words his father...Well, not really his father. The “Thomas Wayne” of another dimension. What his father would’ve become if he died that fateful night, instead of his parents. Regardless, to him, it was his father. 

The father that never saw him grow up and became the man he was now...Yet who had important words for him. 

“Take advantage of every little moments, you never know when it’ll end.” 

Those words stuck with him. Because it was true. It only took a few seconds in an alleyway for his whole world to turn upside down...Why would it take any less for it to completely change now too ? 

What if something happened to you ? And he didn’t spend enough time by your side ? Or to his kids ? 

There was a time, being Batman was everything to Bruce. Because he was angry, lost, and devastated. 

But over the years...Over the years this role stayed important. But he expended his vision. He included others in it. 

So. Yes. He would treasure those small moments with you. And if it meant taking a day and night off to take care of you during a rough time, then he’d do it. If it meant missing work (both his works) because one of his children was sick, so be it. 

He was Batman. But he was also a husband. A father. 

And now...Now he knew his priorities. 

He’d never stop being Batman. Never. 

But he knew now. He knew there was more to life than this dark world he thought he’d get stuck in till the end of his life. 

“I was about to watch a movie.” 

“A movie it is. If you want me here, of course.” 

“Do you even have to ask ?” 

“To make sure you’re ok ? Always.” 

“-sigh- Yes. Yes Bruce, I want you here. I want nothing else, in fact.” 

“Ah, not even pop-corn ?”

“...Once we’ll have pop-corn, I’ll want nothing else.” 

“Um, why is there tampons in your drawer ??” 

One day, one of Bruce’s associate, Carlton, needed some paperworks to finish a deal, and came into his office. Bruce was on the phone, and gestured to him to just pick the papers up in one of his desk’s drawer. 

Only the man misunderstood and opened the wrong drawer and...

“What the-Why is there tampons and pads in your drawers ?”

He asked, half-bewildered half-amused. Bruce finished his phone call, and answered : 

“Why wouldn’t there be ?” 

“Um, are you a woman ?” 

“No, but my wife, who often come to this office, is.” 

“Jeez Louise Bruce, never pegged you to be such a simp haha ! Oh man, they’re even “organic”, how far can you go for one woman right ? Haha joking of course, or maybe..haha !” 

There was something in the tone Carlton took that brushed Bruce the wrong way. Something disrespectful and irritating. Not disrespectful to him, as if he cared to be called a “simp” (by a grown ass man by the way, which made it even more ridiculous). No. He didn’t care. But..This was his wife, they were talking about, in the end. 

“A...”simp” ? Because I have items who can be useful to my wife in my desk drawer ? A place in which she often comes, as I already said ?” 

His voice was cold, and Carlton definitely noticed. He always thought Bruce was an affable man, but sometimes...Sometimes he had something almost scary in his eyes. 

Ah, but Carlton wasn’t the kind of man to really take this things seriously. And he added : 

“Come on Bruce, don’t you think it’s a little ridiculous ?”

“No.” 

“I just think it’s funny you have a drawer full of those things.” 

“As I said, my wife comes by often, and might need it sometimes. I keep them here for her. It often came in handy you know.” 

“Don’t say that, that’s so gross.” 

“Why ?” 

“Just thinking about it.” 

“Just thinking about something my wife, but also yours by the way, have no control over ?” 

“My wife doesn’t- We just don’t talk about it.” 

“Well I guess yes. Or you wouldn’t react that way. Do you not take care of her when she has her periods ?” 

At the word “periods”, the man opened his eyes wide, which made your husband roll his. It truly TRULY baffled him that this dude was being grossed by OBJECTS and most likely didn’t take care of his wife ? How could you love someone and not want to comfort them ?! 

“Well, I don’t think she- I- She doesn’t - I ...It’s embarrassing, no ?”

“No.” 

“Well, maybe it’s not with your wife but with mine it has been. She asked me a few times to buy pads for her.” 

“Why would it be embarrassing ? I can assure you, nobody is going to think it’s for you.” 

Carlton’s face was steadily going red. He said : 

“It’s just something we don’t talk about.”

“Why not ?” 

“It’s just...gross and...” 

“Why is it gross though ? Why do you think that way ?” 

“I mean, you know what periods are right ?” 

“Of course I do. It’s something happening to a very large chunk of our population, and that is a natural phase in their life. Do you think your wife wants to have periods ? Most likely not. Mine definitely doesn’t. But she does. So I do keep pads and tampons here in case of an emergency, in case she has nothing else on her.” 

“Nothing else ?” 

“Do you think only pads and tampons exist for women’s periods ?” 

“I-”

“It’s not hard to read up on it a bit. Especially when someone as close as your own wife is a “victim” of it."

Awkard silence. Clearly, the man was uncomfortable. Bruce sighed, and said : 

“Just go take care of those papers.” 

Evidently relieved, his associate almost ran out of the room. 

Bruce kept thinking about how funny Carlton thought it was to have pads in his drawers. How he was about to mock him further before he got called out. “Simp”. If taking care of the woman he loved meant being a simp, then whatever. 

Bruce couldn’t stop thinking about his associate’s words. And it gave him an idea...

The next day, every newspapers and local news channel talked about how the (Y/N) Wayne Foundation gave millions of dollars to every school and public places in the country to provide free tampons and pads to women. And how Bruce Wayne became a huge advocate of the “period positivity” movement his wife started. 

“Periods shouldn’t be taboo.”, he said in his speech for the grand-opening of thousands and thousands of free pads distributors. 

When the kids are around. 

Dick 

Dick was little when he first witnessed what your periods did to you, and he downright panicked when you fainted in front of him while you two were shopping for Bruce’s birthday present ! 

That morning when you woke up, you knew you were going to have your periods. You always felt it in your bones, a little bit before it truly started...But you also promised little Dickie you’d help him chose a gift for your husband. 

You hated breaking your promises. Especially the one you made to your kid. He was just nine, and already experienced so many heartache...You couldn’t just break a promise you made to him, no matter what. 

So you went anyway, knowing there was a high chance you’d feel ill during the day. You were hoping, in fact, your periods wouldn’t truly start up until the evening, and so you could spend the day with your son. 

Alas...

“Mom ? Mom !? Someone help !!” 

Your fainting during your period never lasted long. Just a sudden drop of energy, feeling dizzy, and falling...you woke up fast. Opening your eyes to see your baby boy with tears in his eyes. You knew what happened, and reassured him immediately. 

You refused to call an ambulance, and instead called Alfred to ask if he could come pick you two up (you would NOT risk driving while in this state). 

And there you were, sitting on a bench with your son while waiting for Alfred who would be there as soon as it takes to get from Wayne Manor to Gotham’s City Center. 

“Are you sure you’re ok ?” 

“Yes, don’t worry, this is normal.”

“Fainting is not normal !” 

Dick looked so distressed...Should you tell him what was going on ? But he was such a young child. 

Ah. But you were amongst the people who thought that kids weren’t as stupid as many people thought. And that they could handle the truth, especially this kind of things. 

Understand what was happening to you would surely easy his mind. And make him understand, and act accordingly in the future. Wether with you, or a possible girlfriend ? 

So you do just that. 

You explain to him what is going on. You don’t give too many scientific details, but you explain as best you can so he understands. 

“And every women has it ?” 

“Every women have periods yes. But not everyone’s hurt.” 

“Why do yours hurt ?” 

“We don’t really know. I guess I wasn’t lucky ?”

“Scientists don’t know ?” 

“Well, research on it are rather recents to be honest.” 

“Why ? Women had it long ago too no ?” 

“Yes, but it was a little taboo.” 

“Why ?”

“Patriarchy.” 

“Oh, damn patriarchy.” 

You laugh. You knows he didn’t understand your answer, said as a joke to yourself. But it’s absolutely adorable how he immediately sides with you anyway. 

“When I grow up, I’ll be a scientist. So I can help.” 

“Ah, I thought you wanted to be an adventurer like Indiana Jones ? Or “whatever dad is doing I want to do it too” ?” 

“Well. I can do more than once things at the same time, right ?” 

“Sure you can. You can do anything.” 

He smiles at you, and get closer for a little cuddle. And that’s how Alfred finds you two, your son hugging you, and you hugging him back, on a bench in the streets... 

************

After the initial panic, Dick made it his mission to take care of you. He got really scared when he saw you faint, and would actually be a little...overbearing. 

When he knew you were on your periods, he’d literally forbid you to walk around, and would make sure you had everything you needed. 

His attentions, plus Bruce’s, made you feel like periods weren’t so bad in the end ? 

Even as a grown up, Dick would often come by the manor with your favorite cake, for example, when he knew you didn’t feel well. And he would still get strict with you if he saw you roaming around and getting too busy while he knew you were in pain. 

He’d do whatever you had to, for you. Wether it was cleaning things up, picking groceries...Running any errands for you, so you could rest. 

You were definitely grateful. Even if sometimes, you wish you could just tell him to ease up a bit...Ah. But how could you really ? 

The trauma Dick felt when loosing his parents made him overprotective and rather intransigeant. This was just how he was. And you always loved all your children unconditionally. You could take him being a bit too overprotective sometimes, because oh, oh he brought so much in your life...  

Jason 

You having really bad periods is the reason why when Jason, as a child or an adult, heard anyone say to a girl : “Jeez, why you so moody are you on your periods ?!”, would get mad. 

It was cute to see his little ten years old self lecture grown adults about it : “Periods are really tough on a girl ! It’s not their fault is they don’t feel well or have mood swings, be more empathetic !”. 

And it was still cute to see him as an adult glare at those who’d say this and give them a sermon about why it was wrong, and they better not say it again “or else” (and when a man like your son said the words “or else”, literally no one wanted to find out what he meant by it). 

Once, someone told him, sarcastically : 

“Wow, you drunk a lot of “respect women juice” huh ?” 

“What is that even suppose to mean ? I’m being a decent human being. You should try it sometimes. If respecting women is so foreign to you, that hearing me say what I said is funny and ridiculous, reassess your life mate.”

It’s really not like anyone really wanted to argue with your son. Besides the fact he was very tall, and as a vigilante definitely worked out a lot...he had a “dangerous” air about him. It was his eyes maybe, daring anyone to argue and making them understand he wouldn’t back down without a fight ? 

Ah. But if only people tried to look beyond that. If they only tried to know your son. 

They’d realize he’s the sweetest little buddy around.  

It surprised people that you still called him “little buddy” even as he was fast approaching his mid-twenties. But for you... 

For you he was still that little, sweet Jay he was before he died. The one that you could still see sometimes, behind all his anger, trauma and hurt. 

Ever since he was a child, Jason always felt everything more than anyone around him. He was an “hypersensitive” child. When he was angry, he was enraged. When he was happy, he was the happiest boy on Earth. When he was sad, it was hard to console him. 

When he grew up, and all those bad things happened to him...This trait of his got even more enhanced. It was sometimes hard to reach him under all those negative emotions...Yet. Yet you managed to do it. 

Bruce too...But that was another story. 

For now, you just always felt extremely proud that your son was actually not as harsh as some people thought (the same mistakes they all kept making about your husband...you hated this kind of assumptions). 

He always stood up for the underdogs. And was always respectful, and would voice his opinions. 

Like how he hated when people told women : “ugh are you on your periods ?!” if they were being just a tiny bit difficult (sometimes, not even). 

As a kid, Jason would worry a lot about you when you were on your periods. He hounded Bruce to know if you were ok, which your husband didn’t mind, of course. But he never quite dared to “bother you”. 

Of course, he would never bother you. But Jason was a complicated kid who always worried too much. He didn’t want to get in your way, or annoy you. 

So he had little quiet actions for you. 

Like getting your slippers warm when you’d wake up, by placing them near the radiators all night and putting them right beside your bed before you’d wake up. Or bringing you hot beverages. Baking your favorite treats, and leaving them in strategic places so you’d see it. Or scolding his dad when he thought he wasn’t taking care of you enough haha. 

Jason was a good kid. Nobody would ever change your mind on that. He was a good kid, to whom bad things happened. Yet he never strayed from his principles...No matter how people could see his recent actions. 

Jason was a good kid. 

He was your kid. 

As a child, he hated this week during which you had your periods. He dreaded them as much as you did. Just like Bruce, he had a hard time standing you being hurt...

As an adult. It was the same. And he still had little silent actions to make you feel better. To make your day easier. 

That was Jason for you. 

Such, such a good kid... 

Tim 

Tim, very much like his father, was a boy who needed to always have a plan, and to know everything before finding solutions. 

When you were on your periods, he’d always know. Because he kept a calendar about it. 

Some people might find it weird, but...Why ? He kept count of the days to know when you’d have your periods, so he could act accordingly. So he wouldn’t be caught off guard by one of your mood swings. And so he could take care of you ?? 

It was an act of care, to keep track of your periods. Sometimes, he even knew before you when you were going to have it. 

People who thought it was weird to kept such a calendar, were the same people who thought periods were gross and a taboo subject. 

Sure, it was definitely not very glamorous. But it was part of half of the World’s population life ?? Why keep it taboo and refusing to talk about it ? 

Tim immediately, just like his dad, did a lot of research on women’s menstruations...Which got you to be called in his principal’s office once. 

The man was worried, and unhappy that your son was reading a magazine “for woman” about “menstruations”, he thought the topic was vulgar and inappropriate. 

Your son was 13. Which was also the age many of his girl friends were experiencing their first periods. And that principal was out there, scolding him because he talked about it, making an entire generation of little girls thinking they were wrong for having periods ? 

Needless to say, you got rather mad. And the principle never called you ever again (if he had to call, he was always making sure to get your husband on the line, and not you).

And so Tim kept learning everything possible about it, in the hope also to find the perfect remedies to ease your pain. He tried a lot, to help you out. Gave tricks to Bruce, too. 

And so, kept a calendar. 

This allowed him to know if something was wrong, as well. 

He was the first one to guess you were pregnant with Thomas, because of his calendar. And one time, you had hormonal problems and he’s the one that told you you should check an endocrinologist because you’d been too irregular with your periods time ! 

Yes. Just like his dad, Tim needed to know a situation fully before acting. And seeing him trying to know as much as he could in order to help you was...why, it was the most adorable thing in the world. 

Cass

Cass’ periods were not painful, and you were so glad for her. 

To her, it was a mild annoyance, there was no pain, it was just irritating. And yes, she had mood swings and could easily get mad, but it was nothing major. 

She never even knew other women could have it so bad...The education about periods was really lacking ! They never talked about it anywhere ! 

Cass was a woman of few words...but she knew how to pass her emotions through her body language. Oh, how she knew. 

“Momma.” 

Just like your other kids, she’d come check on you when Bruce couldn’t take care of you. You wanted space sometimes, which they all understood. But honestly, during your periods, when you were so sensitive about everything ? You also wanted them around almost all the time. 

A paradox. Very fitting of those damn periods time. 

Cass would just sit with you, and make sure you were comfortable. She wouldn’t say a word. Lay her head on your shoulder, and hold your hand. Watch movies with you. Hold you close. 

She was delicate with you, as if afraid to break you. 

Just like your husband, her presence had a soothing effect ? As if nothing bad could ever happen to you as long as she was there (and that probably was right, Cassandra would never let anyone touch her “momma”).

She didn’t need to talk. She didn’t need to do anything more than stay with you when you didn’t want to be alone. 

She never experienced the pain you had, but if even to her, who had painless periods, it was annoying and a damn plague ? Then to you... 

She didn’t need to do much. 

Just her being there already meant a lot. 

Her holding onto you, even as she stayed afraid of anyone’s touch for so long. 

“Momma.” 

Cassandra was your only daughter. And oh you were glad her periods weren’t as bad as yours. That’s all that really mattered to you. 

“Momma.” 

You often fell asleep with the warmth of your kiddo right there. Next to you. Knowing she wasn’t going to leave unless you wanted to. Knowing she wish she could take your pain on. 

Ah. But no. No even if it was possible you’d never allow that. You were the mom. YOU were supposed to take their pains on. 

And knowing that Cass never suffered on her periods as bad as you did, was enough. After all, your baby suffered enough in the past...She could get a little lucky, right ? 

“Momma.” 

That word was music to your hear. Cass’ first word to you. 

She didn’t need to talk anyway. Being here was enough...

It was more than enough. 

Damian 

Everyone who saw Damian around you would notice that he wasn’t quite the same boy than "normally”. 

He was calmer, nicer, and sweeter. 

You’d argue that it was his real self. That this was his “normal”. That he was just never allowed to show his true heart before, and wasn’t used to trust others and open up. And you were definitely more than happy that he finally managed to do that after arriving into your home. 

That none of you ever gave up on him. 

You especially had a calming effect on him. After all, he never had a “conventional” mom, who could take care of him when he was sick, kiss him good night and make sure he always had everything he needed. 

Some would say you coddled him too much...And you didn’t care. Because that boy lived 10 years being the opposite of coddled. So what, if you’d cut the crust off of his sandwiches, or read him bed time stories every single night ? 

Damian loved it. As he often said, being a momma’s boy was “hardly something he was ashamed of”. He never felt loved and safe before, you bet he’d take every chance he got to be cared for. 

He never got to act like an actual kid. You allowed him to do just that, AND you made him feel like he belonged. Finally. Like he had an actual family. 

So...The day he heard about your absolutely awful periods, what did he do ? 

Every single day of your life with him, you had at least one nice intention to him. Wether it was baking his favorite cookies, or telling him how proud you were of him, you always had nothing but kindness for him, often going out of your way for your son. 

It was normal for you. Of course. And you did it with all your children...but you had to admit maybe Damian had just a little more of it, because he really never had anything like that to him. 

And to him, it only felt normal then, when you felt at your worst, that he’d be there for you exactly like you were there for him. 

During any mood swings, he’d have comforting words for you. He had little attentions for you that just made life easier. 

Again, it would greatly surprise anyone but his family, but when you had your periods, he did a lot of overly sappy little things. 

Like for example : every month, he wrote seven things he found extraordinary about you and would put them in a jar. Seven. The number of day in a week. And usually the number of day, give or take, your periods would last. 

The jar would be sitting right on your bedside table on the first day, with the indications you had to read one paper every morning, or every time you felt down (it was supposed to be one paper a day). Sometimes, you’d go through his seven messages in less than a day...and magically, the next day, the jar would be filled again. 

Damian made sure of it. 

This was just a small example. But it showed exactly what kind of boy your son really was. 

If he was heartless, a killer, someone destined to destroy the World...would he really put that much effort into making you feel love ? Into making you feel better any way he could ? 

You didn’t think so. The only way your son could ever “turn bad”, was if you (and Bruce) stopped caring for him. Left him alone (A/N : this is a CLEAR jab at current comics canon, if you know what I mean :I ). Only if he felt abandoned, unloved, and rejected. 

You knew your boy had, just like you, “rejection dysphoria”. It was hard for him to accept any kind of rejection, and it made him act out and hurt. But that was another story... 

Right now, all that mattered to you, is that you knew your son was always going to be there for you, just like you’d always be there for him. 

That he finally learned how to love, and care. That he would never unlearn it, as long as you lived. 

Your periods sucked. 

So bad. 

But Damian was a ray of light in the darkness of those seven dreaded days...

Duke 

Duke’s mom also had endometriosis. 

Over the years, he perfected a “special remedy” he always made her when she had her periods. 

He hesitated to make it for you. After all, it was something that made him bond greatly with his own mom...was making it for you, now, acceptable ? Did it mean he forgot about his mother ? 

No. No of course not. 

Duke scolded himself for even thinking that. You too, became his mom. He learned over the years that it was ok, to have two mom. That when they’ll find a cure for his parents, it wouldn’t take away the years you filled in for the mother role, and took care of Duke as if he was your own. 

So here we go. 

Some ginger. Some lemon. A dash of his little secret ingredients. Your favorite blend of tea. And it was done. 

He brought it to you, saying it always soothed his mom...

And just that. 

Just those words. It meant so much. 

“It always used to soothe my mom. Used to do it all the time, ever since I was five !” 

He said with a smile. 

It was something he used to do for his mom, and now he did it for you. Just this. Just that fact, it was enough to make you feel better. 

It didn’t take away the pain, but mentally ? It felt amazing. 

You drunk his concoction and...Oh god. 

Oh god it was disgusting. And...Ah. Yes. His mom probably pretended she liked it. “Ever since I was five !”. Ha. So cute. But also, it really was gross. 

At the same time, you felt a pleasant warmth spread through your body as the terrible aftertaste slowly faded. Duke smiled to you, and with a little mischief in his voice said : 

“It’s really gross, isn’t it ? But it does the trick haha” 

There was a few seconds of silence. During which you blinked at him, not quite registering what he just said. Until... 

You burst out laughing. The little mischievous smile, and the way he said “it’s really gross, isn’t it ?” was just too funny. 

Your communicative laugh spread to Duke, and as he laughs it makes you laugh even louder too and...You forget. 

For a moment you forget about your periods. The pain. The anguish. The emotional labor. This damn week of hell. 

You forget.

And you just laugh. 

You laugh alongside your son. 

Thomas (if you wonder who the H is Thomas, you can check my “Batmom” masterlists, he appears from the story “the great mall adventure” ^^)

Thomas must’ve been about four, when he first saw you having your periods. 

Your littlest baby was also one of the most sensitive out of them all (right along with Jason, the two of them cried their eyes out when they watched “Inside Out” and Bing Bong disappeared). Bruce always said he took that after you. And honestly, you couldn’t disagree. It’s true you could be very sensitive. 

So one morning, when he woke up and went to breakfast and heard you weren’t feeling right, he immediately went to you and...

Bruce found him an hour later, crying in his room. 

“Oh wow hey hey, what is it buddy ?” 

He asked, trying to hide the panic in his voice. Thomas might’ve been sensitive, but he rarely cried. He was just a very empathetic boy. But also a cheerful one, and he had a knack to see the good even in the worst situations. 

So seeing him sob like that, made Bruce’s heart drop. 

“Is mommy going to die ?!” 

It took Bruce a few seconds to get a hold of his racing heart. His son crying. And asking if you were going to die. It shortcircuited his brain for a few seconds. Until he realized what Thomas was talking about...

“Oh, oh no champ, no, mommy isn’t going to die.” 

Your kids were used to see you strong and fierce. Of course the first time your little one would see you on your period, he’d think something big was wrong.

He had just recently learned what death really mean (you can read about this here : The day he understand what Death means), and since then was so scared it’d happen to his parents. Or his siblings. Or anyone he knew, really... 

Picking up his son and slowly and softly tapping his back in soothing circles, he walked around the room and rocked him until the boy calmed down a bit, before trying to explain as best he could why mommy felt bad, without going in in too many details. 

Once Thomas understood this was just like when he got a fever that time, that it would pass, he felt much better. But also worst. Because his mommy wasn’t feeling well ! And it happened often ! 

Bruce reassured him that there were ways they could help you...And soooo : 

Thomas brought you hot water bottles, with the help of his dad (the bottles were almost as big as him), and ended up falling asleep  on one as it laid on your belly (he heard that humans’ body heat was very strong and wanted to “help the hot water bottle”). 

The water in the bottle became cold, and you removed it..Your son didn’t woke up, so you laid him back down on your belly. And he was warm and so tiny, and you loved him so much...It made you feel like the luckiest woman in the world, to be surrounded by people like this little one. 

And all your kids. Alfred. Your friends. Broosh...You fell asleep with sweet dreams made of warmth and cuddles. 

Not long after, Bruce came by to check on you, finding both you and Tommy deeply asleep and...An overwhelming feeling of happiness took him over. 

You weren’t the only one feeling lucky. Except for Bruce...For Bruce it was even stronger, because after his parents died, he never thought he would be happy ever again. 

This was why he’d always be there for you. You gave him another family... 

His schedule was freed, and he had a busy day. A nap sounded perfect. Especially while nestled against you, with his little one right there. 

Dick came by in the afternoon, and found all of you like this. Bruce holding both you and his son, Thomas taking way more space than such a small body would make you thing he’d take. 

Dick snapped a picture, and send it to the group chat he had with his siblings and some other close friends and such (like Clark, Wally, Conner, Diana etc etc they used the group chat to gossip about Bruce, mainly). With the caption : “Big bad bat tamed by a four year old”. 

Cass send multiple hearteyes emojis. Jason said it was adorable and send a crying emoji, and didn’t care one bit what anyone would think of him saying such things. Damian yelled at Dick that he should’ve put the comforter back up on his baby brother and mom because it wasn’t properly put on !! Duke send a : “I’m downloading that picture for the next time he gets mad at us and we need to soften him up”. Tim replied with a gif of Maes Hughes from Full Metal Alchemist saying : “dis dad”. Clark said “they look so peaceful, you wouldn’t believe he threatened me just yesterday to punch me because I made a joke” to which Diana answered : “that joke was so bad I wanted to punch you to. Cute pic btw, give kisses to Tommy for me, you should come see me more, I just stocked my freezer with nothing but ice creams”..Everyone send a little comment about it. 

Because even superheroes, could have normal conversations about those they love. 

Suffering alone is a thing of the past

It’s funny. You couldn’t even remember, now, what it felt like “before”. 

Before. 

Before you met Bruce.

Before that first time he showed up to your apartment to take care of you. 

How were your periods before that ? The worst. 

Definitely. 

Actual Hell.

Not that they were feeling better now. Oh no. There were time your overdramatic self exclaimed : “uuuugh just kill me alreadyyyy” when the pain was too grand...But you weren’t alone anymore. 

That’s what made it a bearable moment of the month. 

It still felt as bad as it used to when you were younger. 

But it wasn’t just you agonizing in your bedroom all alone anymore. 

It wasn’t you wishing you’d have someone to take care of you, and to try and ease the pain. Not anymore. 

It wasn’t you crying with nobody to dry your tears anymore...

No. You had an entire army of people right there just for you. 

Alfred, your children, and most of all...Bruce. 

Your Broosh. 

Ah. If only some people could see this side of him you and your family knew. The caring and loving one. In a way though, it was rather comforting and made you feel special, that only you and your kiddos knew the real Bruce ? 

Of course  nowadays, some of his closest friends like Clark and Diana weren’t fooled anymore either. But they’d never see him the way you did, when you were in unbearable pain, and he was right there, drawing soothing circle on your back, keeping you warm and safe... 

This was only privy to you. 

Your Broosh. 

Yes. 

Your periods were still as painful as they used to. But now...

Now you weren’t alone anymore. 

The end. 

________________________________________________

Hey guys ! I hope you liked this :). As usual, feedbacks and reblogs are always welcomed ! (Especially lately, the reblog ratio seems at its worst haha). And again, I really hope you liked this. I was finally able to sit down and write after weeks of  being stuck in a depressed mood, so I’m quite excited about sharing this. But as usual, always a bit nervous that you’ll be disappointed blahblahblah low self-esteem and all that haha... :). I just hope this is to your liking. Thank you.  

[mbluee]

Red - Thirteen x Reader

for @whumptober2021​

No. 3 - STICKS AND STONES MAY BREAK MY BONES BUT…

Taunting | Insults | “Who did this to you?”

Word Count: 4,715

Warnings: blood, lots of blood, injury, near-death(ish), abandonment, so much whump, exhaustion, choking, bit of possessiveness...eek

Summary: The Doctor makes the mistake of leaving you alone, and now she must face the consequences - and so must you. Red is an awful color.

A/N: surprise! i’m doing pieces of whumptober and told no one! yes i do have a schedule!! hahahaa. hahaha. ha. you all know i can’t resist a “who did this to you?’ feat. a pretty blonde time lord. on that note, read it and weep. xoxo

✩✩✩✩

The floor below you is red, and what a pretty shade it is. Deep, glistening, red. Wine stained, rose colored. Red.

Wet, warm.

In a puddle of it beneath you, a puddle of red. How funny. A puddle of a color? Hot, fresh, new. Odd. Pretty, out of context.

Your hands are covered in it, like a paintbrush had been brought across your palms, drawn onto each knuckle. You could see the lines and creases in your skin, each dimple covered in that color. Red. Pools of it in your hands, on your clothes. Oh, not your clothes. What an awful day to wear white. Now it was red, red, all of it, red. Overwhelmingly red.

Surrounding you, red.

Beneath you, red.

The people on the floor are red. They were breathing, once, you think. Not people. Bodies.

Bloody bodies, in pools of blood, beside you, now red.

She said she was coming.

You can’t breathe very well, too caught up in the smell. No one told you blood smells.

Did she leave you behind?

Your feet are entirely numb – they only feel wet. You aren’t wearing shoes, you don’t think; Your socks are drenched. Soaked. White turned red – oh, they’re pink. Pink is a pretty color. Better than red.

She forgot about you.

Your fingertips are wrinkly. Blood was thick. It hung heavy, it weighed down your clothes. Weighed down your heart, submerged your mind. You were under the blood like you were underwater.

She left you alone.

You swallow, your mouth feels full of red. No, not red. Blood.

“She left me alone,” You think you say, but it doesn’t sound like your voice. It’s shattered, garbled. Bloody. Was that you?

Did she leave you alone?

In the sea of red comes lilac. A coat, whipping about the destructive battlefield, contrasting so sharply with the darkness of it that you almost have to close your eyes; Something tells you not to. That color, that presence. The vibrancy of it. Familiar. Safe. Home. You don't process ever saying her name, but when that bright figure whips around to face your crumpled body, you realize that you must have. A plea, a calling.

She said she'd protect you.

There was so much blood.

Her fuzzy figure breaks into a jog, boots thudding quickly across the rivers of red below. Red footprints left in their wake. It makes you sick, and your body aches; It burns red.

The Doctor kneels when she’s close enough. You want to move closer to her, to be comforted by her. She looks warm until you look to her eyes.

"What's wrong? Is this your blood?" She's demanding, her voice dark. Not light, not by any means. The color of blood, of destruction, of a deep and brewing storm. Her eyes weren't red, but they might as well have been. She says your name. A hand to your cheek.

"Who did this to you?"

Voice darker, growing bolder. Angrier. Her hand is hard against your skin, and you whimper involuntarily. You need her to be your home, and she was becoming someone you didn't recognize. The rainbows of her personality were replaced by thunder and malice. It scares you.

You startle.

She scares you.

And she stops.

It must be in your eyes, you think, or the way you flinch back at her sharpness and the cut of her touch. Usually so soft, suddenly so tight. You can’t understand it in this state of panic – maybe you would later – but right now it’s unbearable, and you just need her. Not whoever this was. Her.

“I’m sorry,” She says – guilty, regretful. Her hand softens just before it pulls away, and no, no – come back, you need her back, need that softness she just teased you with – and you reach up to grab her only to cry out in pain.

“No, no-“ The Doctor strains, falling to a pile beside you and ruining her clothes. Her knees stained red, palms turned wet. When she swipes the hair from your face, blood is left behind from the floor. You don’t care. You need her.

“I need you,” You say, without thought, automatic. It still isn’t your voice.

“I’m here.”

Her eyes are kind. Not red. Not dark, not hidden with something terrifying like before. Transparent, compassionate, home.

There she was. Your Doctor. Yours.

“Doctor,” You plead, and it is your voice – more than it was before. Bubbly, covered in stress and intensity, but it was yours again. She was yours again. “I can’t move.”

Her hands come to your side only for you to gasp in shock. It burns, sending a jolting snap through you as if her fingers shocked a painful current of electricity through your broken body, and it hurts more than it should because her hands should never cause you such pain. But it burned, and you didn’t want it to, and that fact hurt so bad that you crumble before her. The Doctor’s touch was always safe. She was safe.

But she left you alone.

And just as much as it hurts you, it burns straight through the Time Lord before you. The whirr of her sonic is all you can process through the blinding pain, and she looks at you as though her whole world is falling apart.

There’s a quick and final buzz, the flick of her wrist, and an analysis of results.

“Broken ribs. No open wounds. Oh, sweetheart-“

She catches herself, but still stares at you. Your eyes are weak and blurry when they meet her figure, but she’s so pretty against the backdrop of battle and blood, and she calls you such sweet things. Her clothes are ruined, her shoes red, and you whine without meaning to. Pathetic, maybe, but all it does is light a furious fire inside of her that you can’t quite see.

Behind that worried and gentle gaze was an impending hurricane; Eyes of lightning, steps of thunder. The Doctor pushed back that anger for your sake.

You were crumpled on the bloodied floor, and she had been ready to ravage galaxies to find you.

“I’m okay,” You tell her, trying to reassure the worried edge that covered her face with lines and regret. Your hand lifts, however slow, to touch her cheek. You’re lying to her. She knows. Your fingertips leave behind a bloody smear, and it only makes your tears fall faster – proves your false reassurance. “You’re here.”

She hushes you, leans into your desperate fingertips. You need to feel her, she needs to feel you. It’s unspoken.

You’re alive.

You found me.

“You’re here,” You repeat quietly, broken. “Don’t… Don’t leave me again. I can’t-“

“I won’t. No, never. Couldn’t.”

Each word is punctuated with a touch to your arm, your shoulder, your cheek. She leans forward, kisses your forehead so gently you must see stars. No – galaxies. Not just red. Rainbow.

“We need to move now. I’ll take you home.”

Home. When would she learn?

With her hand to your cheek and her lips to your skin, you were already there.

“Alright, then. Let’s get going. Can you do that for me?”

You could do anything for her, now that she was here. You almost forget about the blood, and so does she.

The Doctor begins pulling you to a stand.

“Slowly, now. That’s good, you’re-“

The words stop in her throat, eyes suddenly flickering down.

The Doctor freezes.

Along your neck are fingerprints. Crescent shaped marks in your skin from filthy nails, purples and blues mixing to ruin your perfect skin. Bruises. Indents. Clashing with your delicacy.

Someone touched you.

Someone who obviously didn’t know who the Doctor was, who didn’t know precisely what she was capable of. Someone who wrapped their fingers around your throat; Someone who left ugly, long-lasting marks. Someone who has just made a very, very bad enemy.

Someone who hurt you.

And her eyes go black.

“Who…” She’s straining, resisting. Body nearly shaking with the rage that suddenly ignites her, softness receding but trying desperately to keep it in place for you. You deserved that. She’d give it to you. “Who did this?”

Her fingers touch your jawline, so carefully trailing to your neck. You flinch back. Why did you do that? It’s her. Yet when The Doctor’s fingertips brush a certain spot on your skin, you cry out and drop your head against her chest before you. It hurts. You know it wasn’t her, but it hurts.

“Tell me,” She says then, tense. Withholding. She speaks through her teeth and forces herself to stay level, though you can feel her heartbeats echo rapidly in her chest. Her fingers are purposely careful against your wounds, yet you can’t help a sob when the memory returns.

His hands had covered your throat, squeezed your windpipe while you tried to scream. It was her name that came from your shrieking lungs, you think, before waking up on a blood covered floor. You needed her. She’d left you alone.

One of her hands is placed on the warmth of your cheek, the other now pressing your face into her chest. Her shirt is wet. No, wait – You were crying. Those were tears, on her shirt, making it wet. Your tears.

“Oh, no,” You say tiredly, mixed with sobs, muffled against her. “I’m sorry.”

You’re slightly delirious; Pained and needy. Her thumb grazes your cheekbone when she pulls you back, sliding across your face gently, keeping you grounded and perhaps doing the same for herself when she looks into your eyes.

“No, not sorry. Never sorry. What are you sorry for?”

You sniff again, louder, and collapse back into her chest. It’s safe there, hidden, and listening to heartbeats was steady in contrast to the terror around you.

“I’m ruining your clothes.”

The darkness in her subsides slightly, looking down at her shirt, looking down at you tucked into her.

“You…” She starts, head tilting almost in confusion before shaking it with a blink. “My clothes?”

“Yeah,” You sigh. Defeated, exhausted. You pull your head back up, straining with how heavy you feel. Your eyes are glued to the mesh of wet drops and splotches on her chest. “Messed it up. I like that shirt.”

“Do you now?” The Doctor responds softly, that sharp edge dissipating, being pushed back for another moment. Simply soft, now. Hard when she needs to be. Never hard with you.

She smiles slightly, just a tiny bit. It’s enough to brighten an entire galaxy.

“Yeah,” You tell her again. “Yeah, nice color.”

“Ah,” She settles on, smile growing. Oh, you liked that. You wanted more of that. “Nothing to worry your pretty little head over. Have got a closet full of them, and it’s certainly bigger on the inside.”

She brings a palm to your cheek, soft as can be. “Besides, you worry about the silliest things.”

You lean into her. She’s still crouched down beside you, knees on the red floor. Red floor. The feeling of dried blood covering your hands returns, and you wished you hadn’t looked down, wished you’d stayed in that moment with her and that beautiful smile. The tears on her shirt were nothing compared to the blood on her boots. You’d clean them, you think. When you got back. And you’d do laundry. Simple, soft, kind, for her. You’d erase this, rid yourself of red.

You hate red.

“Up we go,” The Doctor announces, interrupting your single-colored thoughts and filling them with iridescence. She comes to your side, slides her arm behind your shoulder blades. You lean the rest of your weight into her when she lifts your fragile form, but it still burns, and you still cry out.

The Doctor stays silent, jaw held tight. When she catches a side glance to your crumpled expression, it seems as though she’s going to say something, but she doesn’t.; It’s as though she can’t bear to speak. The hot tears that slide down your freezing face gather at your chin and drop to the red ground. Stop, no. Not red. Bloody. So bloody.

As you move forward, your eyes stay on that blood. It trails across the floor like a devilish painting, like a swift masterpiece made entirely of misery, and you feel suddenly sick. Dizzy. The red room is spinning, and the Doctor tries her best to keep you still. Her tight jaw loosens. If not for anything, just for you.

“Stick with me, alright? Got a ways to go, and I need you present. Let me get you safe.”

But you left me.

It isn’t until she stops, halts both of your moving bodies, that you realize you’d said that aloud. Your one hand is clutching to the fabric on her back. Blue. Such a lovely color.

The Doctor pauses and stares at you, taking the time to think before she speaks. Her face is furrowed, though her eyebrows have slightly risen, eyes scanning over you and looking between yours. Searching you and searching for her words. You’d never known the Doctor to do that.

There’s silence for a moment, a long second of contemplation and pain on both of your parts. Her eyes are reflective as her body stays still. You might’ve mistaken her for a statue, a paragon of grief and yearning, and something else you’re all too afraid to place. She’s as still as the dead that rest on the floor.

“I know,” She murmurs. Simple and with finality. “I know.”

You stare at her, the two of you stuck in red. The blood is tacky beneath your feet. The bodies lay limp, you stand still.

“And I’ll spend the rest of my existence vowing to never do it again.”

Your next breath is shaky. The depth of her words are deeper than the shade of blood staining your world, yet it suddenly feels blue.

“Thank you,” You tell her, because you’ve no idea of what else could suffice. Nothing could, but it’s enough for now.

The Doctor adjusts her hold, bringing her hand down from your shoulder to support your waist instead. She simply looks at you. And that’s enough, too.

Your side is melded into her hold even as you clench through the pain, not caring in the slightest because that pressure reminded you she was here. It was all red, before, but now it was blue, and lilac, and blonde; There was a rainbow on her shirt and the brightest stars in her eyes. When you’d meet her gaze, she’d smile comfortingly, like home, or a window of escape and peace. The blackhole of anger within the Doctor would dissipate slightly.

“Almost back! We’ll turn a corner there, then straight down. TARDIS is hidden in a perfectly-sized closet. Convenient, isn’t it? All spaceships seem to have TARDIS sized closets.”

You trudge forward and focus on her words, calmer than the sea of vicious pain coursing through your poor body. How did it ever get this bad? Tear stained cheeks accompanied only by grief and shock. Had it all hit you, yet? The pain was stark, but the memories were blurry. You remembered them as though it was someone else.

It had been a blast, a bang, a number of rapid shots as bright red beams of light shot through the walls. Silver weapons firing into bodies, causing casualties, missing only you. How had they missed you? Bodies strewn across the floor accompanied by your own, curled up in a ball pathetically and pitifully. What could you do? Could you have saved them, all of them? Could you have been the Doctor?

You tried. Forced yourself up from the floor as it first became bloody, faced the men who burst into the complex and reigned hell upon it’s occupants. You spoke with authority and you spoke like she would. You were the Doctor, you tried to be. And it hadn’t been enough.

“Alright there?” The Doctor asks, and she already knows the answer, but she asks anyway. Maybe a piece of her hopes it’s something it isn’t. When her eyes linger on your neck again, you have to shut your eyes and block the memory. How long did bruises last? Would the divots of fingernails leave scars?

Her hand raises, slowly, you feel it. She places it on your neck and tightens her hold on your waist as best she can without hurting you. It didn’t matter, because everything hurt. She just didn’t want it to be because of her.

“It’s foolish, really,” The Doctor says, suddenly sharp. Your eyes snap open in confusion, but her eyes remain kind as she looks to you. You blink twice and open your mouth to question her, but when she looks back down to your neck, her gaze eclipses into pure, unaltered darkness, and the words stop in your throat. “Did they think they would get away with this?”

You stare at her, her eyes still locked on the damage to your throat, and she doesn’t move an inch. Stopped in this less bloody hallway, the landscape of your pain physically behind you yet still leaving an underlying imprint. You blink, swallow.

“Away with what?”

Her eyes rise slowly, dragging across your injuries, up the span of your open neck with catastrophic analysis. She notes every detail, every prick and every discoloration, and finally reaches your eyes. They’re ruinous. Possessive.

“Laying their hands on you.”

Your lungs constrict suddenly with a tight hitch and the widening of your eyes. You think your heartrate spikes, or maybe it completely stops, or maybe it flies out of your chest. She continues to stare, and you continue to freeze under her glacial expression. There’s a warmth in the hand that wraps protectively around you, so contrasting to her forbidding eyes, so much so that you almost flinch. But you stay still, trying and failing to breathe, and waiting for her next move without knowing what to do with yourself.

She shifts. The hand on your neck comes up, thumb against the front of your chin, fingers beneath your jaw, and she tilts your head to the side in order to scan you further. Her head leans forward slightly in what you assume is a way to find any other points of impact upon your skin, but it only puts her closer to you, warmer against you, breaths on your bruised neck. You freeze entirely, not even taking the time to breathe. What was she doing?

Then she leans in. You can smell her, then, the comfort and warmth and kindness of her entire being overwhelming your senses and replacing the stale stench of blood. Your palms are wet with sweat and that devastatingly red liquid when she moves even closer, and her dark eyes glow. Really, actually, glow.

You feel an exhale against your neck before she presses her lips to that specific spot, and you gasp with a flinch. Her hand on your waist tightens once, a reassurance, and your body feels suddenly light. It’s that feeling when you first wake up after a good night’s sleep, or when you climb into a bath set at the most perfect temperature. It comes from her kiss against your skin. Igniting like a steady fire, a bright glow emitting from where she made contact, and you feel completely light once more just before the feeling dissipates. It’s rejuvenating, or fulfilling. It’s… Regenerative.

You push her away, even with weak arms, and you watch as her glowing yellow eyes recede back to their almost normal hazel. They’re abnormally grave, with an extra feign of confusion. Your hands remain on her upper arms and she keeps her body close to yours.

“Doctor, you shouldn’t have done that,” You almost snap, feeling much more alive what with the very risky regenerative energy that just coursed through you without your permission – without her better judgement. The Doctor shifts, looking between your eyes as if she never even heard you, before something with finality sets into them.

“You’re going back to the TARDIS.”

She steps forward, almost crowding you, hand still supportive on your waist in a now tighter grip. Her head tilts and leans purposely into your space, and when her eyes flicker down to your neck once more, you freeze, and she notices. Her gaze is ruinous when it returns to your own. Protective. No, more than that. Possessive.

“And before that, you’re going to tell me who did this to you.”

You scoff, blinking rapidly in complete shock at her near – no, complete – arrogance, and that twinge of something else you’d very much like to ignore during this inopportune moment. Yet you can’t help but admire her, in some strange way, even through the shock of her slightly pointed words.

You’d be lying if you didn’t admit she was a sight to behold. Emotions that had never been previously directed at you were now in the forefront of her analyzing view, and in the same way that your previous moments were tainted red, her current thoughts seemed to be covered in it. Her words were precise, sharp – not cutting into you, rather – cutting into the idea of anyone ever laying a hand on what was hers. What was hers.

It should scare you.

Up close and personal with the infamous Oncoming Storm, the same hurricane that just pressed a glowing kiss to your damaged skin. So quick to switch between holding the most immense amount of compassion for you, and then lacking any sliver of it for those who even dreamed of harming you.

It should scare you.

But look at her. Rainbow in a stripe across her chest, royal blue fabric clashing with the disgusting and tired red surrounding the two of you. Her boots are perfect for running, her pants held up by bright yellow suspenders, and her smile is like the sweetest sunshine on a particularly rainy day. You’d bask in the sunlight when it came.

For now, you’ll stand in this downpour of her and revel in that instead. Two sides of the same wondrous, unpredictable coin that is the Doctor, these two sides you’ve come to…

Oh. That could be saved for another day. Perhaps it’s simply best to ignore that tug of yearning and let her care for you in the best way she knows how. Defending you, acting as a shield – knowing well that you could stand up for yourself, knowing that you’d probably tried – and dealing her own doses of karma to those who deserved it. No, she didn’t simply interfere with time; The Doctor owned it. She could pretend all she wants about being avoidant, about keeping out of history, but you knew. When something hurt the Doctor – no, when something hurt you – there was no stopping her. It was an inevitable thing. A struck nerve turned vicious.

The nerve was struck, the damage done. So here came the storm.

“I don’t know,” You admit honestly, slightly quietly. Did you wish you knew, or did you wish you’d forget all together? Was the fleeting memory better left blurry? Or would the details help you cope with the truth of it all, and the security of now? “I’m not… I don’t know. He was cruel, and disgusting. His teeth were almost brown when he- he-“

You swallow hard, avoiding the Doctor’s gaze. “When he smiled.”

Your eyes can’t bear to raise and see her reaction, but you feel the grip on your waist tighten until you hitch your breath in pain. Only then does it soften, a thumb running over your side in subtle apology even as fire runs through her veins. Anger so hot that it was palpable. You still didn’t need to look at her to know that she was staring down at you, assessing you, mind running with every possible course of what you’d call vengeance and what she’d call retribution.

The words flow out of you now, unable to stop it when the hazy memory bombards all your previously calming senses. It burns in your throat when you speak. You hope she can’t hear the painful strain, or the clench of your teeth, but you know she does. That’s just something she knows. You.

“I tried to be like… like you,” You stress, body fatigued, worried eyes needing the comfort of the Doctor’s gaze; She was safe, though the current blackhole-like-state of her eyes reflected otherwise. “I tried so hard. So you’d be…” You take a shaky breath with your eyes closed, “So you’d be proud of me.”

You laugh, then, a dangerous thing, an almost angry thing. Pitiful, perhaps, was the better word. Embarrassed, maybe. Your head shakes in frustration. At your own failure.

“But I didn’t do it right, or I’m just not cut out for that certain thing, or they just thought I looked too… pathetic,” You ramble, eyes bouncing about the room now, looking at absolutely anything but her. You don’t know the exact expression that she wears. You worry it may be of pity. “I was alone.”

You feel her inhale take a pause, slightly, barely noticeable. A guilty exhale through frowning lips that follows.

You shift again, not acknowledging the pain of your side, or the pain in your heart. Alone. It left scars a lot deeper than the ones on your skin.

“Doctor, I don’t…“ You take a breath even if you know it won’t help. Your vision becomes fuzzy, like seeing through stained glass, and you realize that it’s the gathering of tears.

You swallow. And you look up at her.

“I don’t know why they didn’t just kill me,” You whisper. The tears brimming at the edge of your eyes simply spill at that sentence, at the assertion that you could be dead. Was it ridiculous, then, to complain about what happened? To complain that you had these bruises, because you had the privilege of being alive while others didn’t?

At least you were away from the bodies, now. But they were left alone instead of you.

The Doctor’s hard eyes soften just slightly. They still hold that impending danger, the oncoming storm you’ve come to know, but it’s gentler. Not pity as you had feared, but compassion. Kindness. Understanding. You revel in it, take that sweetness in while it lasted, appreciate the mercifulness.

But your words hurt her. Your words that told the story of fear and misery, words that told the story of when she couldn’t keep you safe as she always, always promised. You knew it hurt; You saw it in the way she didn’t know whether to step closer to you or back away. Because beneath the tender care was worry, and beneath that worry was pain, and beneath that pain was guilt. Guilt that pooled in the irises of her eyes, that tinted the hazel of them a gloomy blue. Guilt at breaking her promise. Guilt at letting someone do this to you.

“I’ll be okay,” You tell her, because what else could you say? It was true, and it seemed good, and with her by your side it was attainable. Beyond that. It was close. She healed your wounds in ways no one ever could, healed your heart even if she broke it. She fixed her mistakes, she made up for her faults – she cared about you. She cared about you.

And she hadn���t meant to leave you.

You knew that, now. You were reassured of it. The red had blinded you, but with her you could see.

“I’ve been worried about the wrong things,” The Doctor concludes, looking down at you in her arms; Her vengeance pushed away, her vibrance returning to the light. “Been so focused on who hurt you, I wasn’t even considering that you’re hurt.”

You just look at her. You know you don’t have to say anything; She’s chastising herself, replacing her actions to better suit your needs.

“Alright,” She continues, a new sweetness in her eyes, a soothing apology to your pains. “Home, then?”

You nod, and she takes a breath, and you take one too.

She hadn’t meant to leave you.

What had she said before?

I’ll spend the rest of my existence vowing to never do it again.

“Yeah, Doctor,” You say softly, and something about it is rainbow. “Home sounds good.”