#but in mysteries it’s the most apparent.

[thevoidstaredback]

Tim was curious. Maybe a little addicted to whatever the hell was in that coffee, he's still standing by the point that no other coffee will ever be enough, but that's not the point.

He wants answers. The Justice League want answers. No one has been able to get them. Because Phantom stays in the House of Mysteries, no one but the JLD can actually get time him. The Supers have tried listening out for him, but magic is something they're weak against and therefore can't hear through. Batman has tried to get into the House, but he's been sent everywhere else for his attempts. They would track him down as a civilian, but no one actually knows if he has a civilian disguise. It's very hard to hide hair that starkly white and skin pale enough to be blue.

Regardless, everyone wanted answers and Tim was determined to be the one to get them. Why does Phantom claim to be thirty-eight, fourteen, and eighteen all at the same time? Where did he come from? When did he die? How did he die? What the hell is in his coffee because damn was it good!

Off topic.

Tim had the rest of the Titans return to the tower while he stayed out. It'd be easier to track if he was the only one doing it. Besides, these guys work with Raven, they won't hurt him. Probably.

The fact that Phantom apparently smelled like death was another concern Tim had. Was it because he was dead? And what did Constantine mean that 'the smell lingers'?

More questions kept popping up like goddamn daisies, and there was no answers to clip them down. Tim was getting frustrated, to say the least.

***

Danny made an effort to at least try and help Constantine with the demon problem the building was having. Honestly, it wasn't even that bad, in Danny's humble opinion. The demon was just messing with people, not hurting anyone or stealing anything! He was, at most, planting minor inconveniences everywhere.

That's not technically his monkey, though, and it was most definitely not his circus. He figured he'd offer to be helpful, though, if only so that Constantine would owe him a favor. A favor he already knows how he's going to cash in.

"Why'd you really want to tag along?" Constantine asked Danny while they searched for the demon.

"What do you mean? You offered to bring me along."

"Yeah, but that's because you need to get out of the House more."

"Funny, coming from you."

"I spend more time outside of the House than I do inside." the Brit scoffed, "Now tell me why you agreed to come along. This is demon hunting. You only ever go ghost hunting."

Danny sighed and ran his left hand through his hair. Not that he could feel it, stupid nerve damage. "Deadman's been on my ass about my first trip to Gotham. I would've left to go find some place to crash, but the entire Justice League is also on my ass for some reason! I'd honestly rather not have to face any of them."

"You've been to Gotham?" Constantine asked, "When?"

Danny groaned, "Not you, too!"

"Whoa, okay, okay. You don't need to share with the class."

"Sorry."

"You better be."

"Hey!"

"Now tell my why the JL proper are after you?"

A sigh. "You remember at that meeting when Red Robin mistook my drink for his?"

"Yeah. Hard to forget. You freaked everyone out a little bit."

"Yeah. Turns out they all have questions that I don't want to answer. Avoiding them all has been the best way to not answer."

"You know you can't dodge them all forever."

"I know, but I really don't want to have to explain anything!" he whined, "The questions that they'll end up asking are gonna be really painful to answer."

A raised eyebrow. "How do you know what they'll ask?"

"Because everyone always asks the same things. Worded differently, but still that same."

"Then refuse to answer."

Danny met Constantine's eyes with a deadpan glare. "You're gonna look me in the eye and tell me that the Justice League and their sidekicks will leave me alone if I tell them 'no'?" He shook his head. "Lying's a bad habit, old man."

Constantine rolled his eyes as he went for his lighter, remembering they were were in a no smoke zone and retracting his hand. "Don't sass me, brat. Wonder Woman and Superman, at the very least, would back off. They'd get everyone else to, too."

"What about Batman and his brood?"

"Touche." the man said, "But you can't hide from them forever."

"I can try,"

"But you'll fail."

Another groan. "Can we just get this thing over with? I want to lock myself in the basement and wallow."

Part 5

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[theloneotaku158]

As of Batman: The Brave and the Bold #12, local precious-gremlin-who-I-would-die-for, Maps Mizoguchi, is now officially(?) the sixth Robin. Or at the very least, she's now "in" on The Secret™.

If this isn’t a set up for her taking up the Robin mantle officially then I genuinely don’t know what is.

As one of the twelve Gotham Academy enjoyers in existence, I am having the extremely normal reaction of "FUCKING FINALLY! LET'S FUCKING GOOOOO--!"

In all honesty, I'd be lying if I said I hadn't seen this coming from miles away. Like, Maps has appeared in a number of seemingly random cameo roles recently, including Batgirls (2021), and even technically as Robin in the backup issues of Batman (2016) #119-121, and in a short story in Batman Black & White. And most of those got collected in a standalone titled "Maps of Mystery", which specifically gathered all her appearances as Robin (and the Gotham Academy Belle Reve story).

And then, of course, her recent time-travelling Future-Trunks-esque appearance in Birds of Prey (2023), as the tech-based Meridian, from a potential future timeline where she apparently makes it as a superhero using gadgets she apparently designed, proving that she's hero material.

That's not something you do for a character for no reason. That's the sort of thing you do when you want to keep a character in the conscience of your readers for whatever reason, because you have bigger plans for them.

Also interesting to consider that, in the "Mother's Day" story where this took place, Alfred is standing right there and not lying down six feet under wood, dirt and a stone slab, and that Bruce is in the old Batcave under the manor so he still has Money™, I must assume this was some nebulous time in the past (after GA: Second Semester(?), but before City of Bane)... which I won't bother to analyse the exact timeframe of because DC doesn't care about the post-Flashpoint / New 52 / Rebirth / Prime Earth / idfk / Dawn of DC timeline, so neither should I.

But I think it's really funny that this presumably means Maps has known The Secret™ for a long time relative to present-day comics, but always acted like she didn't.

But if all her appearances are in chronological order, that means Bruce is only the fourth Bat whose identity she discovered.

Like, she discovered Cass' identity almost by accident on a trip to the zoo, Damian showed off his grapple gun and gave her an actual Batarang during the three hours he was enrolled in the school (as if she wouldn't immediately put two-and-two together even back then), and she even found out Terry fucking McGuinness would become Batman in a future via a time-travelling grandfather clock.

No I did not make that last part up. Read Gotham Academy istg.

Did Cass know that Maps had been acting as a Robin when she met her, both at the zoo in Batgirls and her future version in Birds of Prey?

Does Damian know the one (1) friend(?) he made in Gotham Academy is potentially in the running for his job?

Is Bruce himself aware that she knows as much about their identities as she currently does?

How is DC going to retcon this so it all makes sense in the barely-functioning canon of the modern DC universe?

I'm digressing. Where was I going with this?

Point is, she's destined to become a Robin, and I'm glad DC finally pulled their fingers out their asses and capitalised on that destiny.

Let's just hope it doesn't take another year for them to follow up on this plotline again.

Bonus: Jason Todd, after learning of Bruce taking yet another happy kid under his wing as yet another Robin, giving her some advice:

[gracefireheart]

✨Here comes Team Fortress - Pokemon [Mystery Dungeon] Edition✨

'Aight, so, let's go over who is what and why I chose said pokemon for them;

Pyro - [shiny] Heatmor: This one was chosen from a poll I made, which had a few different fire type pokemon in it for, well, obvious reasons. And honestly, I'd say Heatmor was a pretty good choice in the end. Also, their ability would be Flash Fire :]

Demoman - Druddigon: I'm gonna be truthful. Originally, I thought "it would be cute if he was a Druddigon since it looked like the dragon on the Scottish flag :)." And then, way too late into the drawing, I remembered that the flag I was thinking about (that has a dragon) is Wales, not Scotland o(-( But I just said fuck it, let the man be a (imo) cool af dragon. Oh, and his ability would be Sheer Force.

Sniper - Inteleon: The most obv pick for him as 1. He has the Sniper ability. 2. He literally has a special move called "Snipe Shot". 3. Has a Gigantamax that has Inteleon high up on it's elongated tail, staring down at it's opponent with a water sniper harpoon thingy. And 4. Inteleon is lanky.

Heavy - [Regular] Ursaluna: It's a bear. It's big af at 2.4m tall (or 7'10"). And it has the ability Bulletproof :)

Scout - Grafaiai: I first looked after pokemon with high speed stats, noted some of them down, then spotted Grafaiai, which is a mischievous fella that does grafiti. And since I like the thought of Scout being a good artist (because of Expiration Date), I thought it would be neat. His ability would be Prankster.

Medic - [shiny] Togekiss: Mainly, I wanted to choose a fairy type pokemon for him 'cause of the old "dragon slayer memes" that went around when the fairy typing had been announced and was shown to be super effective against dragon type pokemon, which used to only be weak against other dragon types pokemon. That, and Togekiss kinda looks like a dove (even if it's supposed to be a plane? Apparently?) His ability would be Serene Grace.

Soldier - [shiny] Rampardos: Not gonna lie, I just thought this pokemon would fit him well. Sure, I wasn't able to put his soldier helmet on 'cause of how dumb this pokemon's head is, but I still thought it would fit him. His ability would either be Sheer Force or Mold Breaker.

Engineer - Raichu: Another one I did a poll for, and again, I liked the outcome :) Raichu just feels like a very Engineer pokemon.

Spy - Zoroark: The most obvious one of them all due to the ability unique to Zoroark, aka Illusion. There's not really anything else I can add onto this lol

[babyyhoneyyyyy]

「✦ 🚨 𝙋𝙡𝙖𝙮𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝘿𝙖𝙣𝙜𝙚𝙧𝙤𝙪𝙨 🍷 ✦」 - One Shot [h.s]

Storyline: "Everybody knows that I'm a good girl, officer". Where Lizzie, a devoted homemaker, meets Harry, a police officer in charge of interrogating her after a mysterious fire at her mansion that resulted in the death of her husband. Word count: 4k+ Smut: 🔞 *ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚

A call to 911 is usually more than enough in emergency situations. 

Within minutes, the sound of sirens envelops you, with bright lights in red and blue hues cutting through the space as if they belong to it, receiving professional help from specialized teams while they try to talk to you and understand the situation. But after that, a sense of shock takes over, making you question whether what you're experiencing is part of a third-dimensional movie, distorting your own reality and transporting you to an alternate dimension for the most part.

That's exactly how Lizzie felt after flames consumed a large part of her property. She had sensed the smoke penetrating her nostrils, but what truly disturbed her was the buzz of screams. Cries from a man calling her name that quickly faded into whispers.

Lizzie found herself unable to react in any way other than trying to escape, seeking to reach him and see what was happening. However, the house seemed to be crumbling around her, and eventually, she fainted before reaching the door. That was the only clear memory she retained from that day; everything else started with a distant voice calling her, waking her up to find herself under a white ceiling and the scent of disinfectant.

Her stay in the hospital lasted just a day, more as a precautionary measure than for any injuries, of which, fortunately, she was free. She was in almost perfect condition, something that surprised even the doctors themselves.

But for that reason, when they confirmed her health, they chose to deliver the news to her without any euphemisms.

Contrary to her, her husband wasn't as fortunate. Apparently, the fire originated in his own studio, giving him no chance to escape and consuming him with the flames.

She had become a widow.

Her lawyer presented himself as her main support, assisting her in the necessary procedures to change her documents, update them, and allowing her to handle the move, the funeral, and subsequently, the burial.

Finally, when all that concluded, Lizzie was met with a sigh from her lawyer, who handed her a small envelope. She accepted it, while he observed her for a few more minutes before leaving his office.

A lump tightened Lizzie's throat; anxiety ran through her veins saturating all her senses as her hands trembled slightly when opening the envelope. And suddenly, everything around her seemed to freeze when she saw her name written alongside her original last name, followed by the phrase 'widow of Montecarlo,' and the text culminated with 'an entirety in inheritance'.

Lizzie closed her eyes for a moment. She knew the implications of that, beyond any property, money, jewelry, or cars, beyond any tangible thing she could conceive in her mind. This represented a new beginning, one she hadn't even imagined when she got married at the young age of eighteen.

She swallowed hard as she placed the envelope in the safe and let out a final sigh as she left the office, returning to her room. She walked through various rooms overflowing with classical décor.

Her heels echoed on the wooden floors, allowing their sound to reverberate through the rooms. The house was deserted; her lawyer had already left, and there was no trace of any household staff, as per her own request. She had decided to give them all a break, especially those who had also managed to escape unscathed from the fire in her previous property, which was already under renovation. She had determined that once it was ready, she would put it up for sale immediately. She couldn't bear the idea of walking through that house again.

The last door at the end of the hallway on the second floor housed her bedroom. It was a master bedroom that, at that moment, only contained her belongings still packed in suitcases, lacking any visible decoration.

However, as she approached, the sound of the doorbell echoed throughout the house.

Lizzie halted her steps and instinctively checked the delicate diamond watch on her wrist. It was six in the evening, and she hadn't scheduled any visits.

She hesitated for a moment, considering whether to go back to the first floor just to attend to an unexpected visitor, but the doorbell rang again, possibly indicating the urgency of the person. With a sigh, she turned her body and descended the wide stairs leading to the entrance and, finally, to her door.

The doorbell rang once more just as her hand reached for the handle, and she couldn't help but display a slightly annoyed expression when she opened the door, finding a tall man standing in front of her, causing her to pause for a moment.

The individual in question had a distinctive presence, with a young face and well-defined features, and although his hair seemed short, it revealed some curls. However, what unquestionably caught Lizzie's attention the most was his uniform.

It was an official attire consisting of a white shirt, a bulletproof vest with letters marked on the chest, and to add even more, a prominent badge was situated above it.

Lizzie felt her heart start to beat faster and chose not to say anything until the man interpreted it as a signal to introduce himself.

Unlike her furrowed brow, the young man immediately responded with a small smile, revealing dimples on his face. He glanced down for a moment, and Lizzie noticed he held a small notebook in his hands. Then, a husky voice spoke, "Miss Elizabeth?" Lizzie simply nodded. "I'm Harry Styles, the police officer in charge of your case".

The moment these words were spoken, Lizzie felt time speed up. She quickly blinked as she nodded and stepped aside at the door, allowing the man, whom she now identified as Harry, to step onto her property.

When they entered the main room together, she led the way and settled into one of the armchairs, gesturing for the young man to do the same before the door closed behind them. Lizzie avoided looking down to ensure her ring remained on her ring finger. Instead, she kept her gaze forward, watching Harry's subtle movements closely as he settled into the luxurious sofa and casually glanced around.

"Would you like some water?" she suddenly asked, catching him completely off guard. Although she didn't even know where that question came from, realizing that there wouldn't be another offer due to the absence of staff in the house, she thought it would be a kind gesture before they began.

"No, thank you". He finally responded after a moment's thought, grateful but with a half-smile, declining the offer. He had received strict instructions from his boss not to get distracted from his task. This was his first field mission, so he preferred not to mess it up.

"Cookies?"

Once again, his answer was negative, feeling increasingly embarrassed as he saw the woman's expression, who nodded gently and pouted slightly as she resigned herself back to the sofa.

Harry couldn't help but smile, clearing his throat before returning his gaze to the small notebook in his hands.

"Okay, I think we can start now".

The inquiries about that night varied in their formulation, from questions like "What were you doing when you heard the noise?" to "Were you nearby when you noticed the house was on fire?". Each one required an answer that related to and understood the situation.

Lizzie sensed that this was an interrogation aimed at connecting the loose ends, in case they found any evidence against her, so she made an effort to recall the events of that night accurately, inevitably reliving them.

At least an additional hour passed, she noted once again the clock on her wrist, confirming that more time had elapsed and that now only the dim artificial light of the living room illuminated the space. This incident was due to a malfunction, as she hadn't visited this house in many years and it was evident that there were still pending repairs. Despite this, she decided not to mention it to the policeman, preferring him to bring it up or simply ignore it. However, as the conversation became more casual, he didn't mention it.

The questions about the incident of that night gradually faded away, giving way to lighter questions, and it was only then that Lizzie decided to join him.

"Do you have a girl?" The question hung in the air as Harry observed her intently. Lizzie noticed how he ran his tongue over his lips, trying to alleviate the dryness of the conversation, ending with a soft bite on his lower lip before responding.

"No- Uh-" he paused, clearing his throat before continuing. "I've always been very focused on my work, thanks to my parents, so no, I really wouldn't have the time", he expressed, although a slight gesture of frustration crossed his lips before he continued speaking. "I mean, if I were truly interested in someone, I would find the time, but for now, there's no one". He concluded his explanation with a light sigh.

Harry awaited with some tension, anticipating a sarcastic response from Lizzie, considering the twists and turns he had taken to reach his explanation, however, instead of that, he saw her nod with a understanding expression on her face. A comforting relief washed over Harry in that moment, as if Lizzie's silent confirmation somehow validated his words and nerves.

Why did he suddenly feel so nervous?

"May I know the reason for the question?" he inquired after a few moments, waiting for a brief explanation of the young woman's interest, although in reality he showed more curiosity about her response. Harry watched as Lizzie's dark eyes settled on his face once again, subtly descending to his hands, still intertwined in his lap as he leaned slightly towards her. His heart began to beat quickly again as he followed her gaze.

"I don't see a ring on your finger". Lizzie responded with a slight shrug, initially downplaying the question, something that Harry found indecipherable whether he liked it or not.

"Aren't you too young to have been married?" he suddenly asked, on impulse as he tried to delve into the topic, although he almost immediately regretted the inopportune nature of his question.

Although the intention was good, the question came off as bold, especially given the situation he knew the woman was in. Harry lowered his gaze, feeling a lump in his throat as silence lingered, trying to find a quick way to change the subject.

Lizzy, on the contrary, continued to watch him, aware that the real question was implicit: «Aren't you too young to be a widow?» Still, she decided to answer: "Yes, I am".

"Excuse my boldness". Were the words she received barely after her response. Lizzie hesitated for a moment whether those apologies were genuine, for if they were, he wouldn't have waited for her response. However, this didn't bother her; rather, she found it entertaining..

"Don't worry", she replied with a nod of her head, maintaining a hidden smile as she looked down for a moment. "It's not the first time I've heard that".

Harry fell silent as he watched the woman rise from her seat, feeling his heart beat hard, fearing being expelled from the house for his audacity. However, he began to relax as he saw the young woman head towards a corner of the room, a little away from him, where a wide collection of bottles rested on a shelf. Her hand rested on one of them, dissipating the tension in the air.

"Would you like some?" Lizzie asked Harry, gently lifting a glass of whiskey. Harry was forced to swallow before answering: "I can't". He admitted sincerely.

Lizzie simply nodded and returned to her glass, taking another sip before sitting in front of him on the sofa. All while Harry watched her attentively.

"I understand", she replied after another sip. "I just wanted you to know that you're passing up the best whiskey in the country". Harry's smile was the response Lizzie was hoping for to continue. "But if that's not an option for you and that's why you're not having it, the offer of cookies still stands".

Harry's eyes repeatedly slid over Lizzie's face. He couldn't pinpoint exactly what it was that drove him to keep looking at her. Perhaps it was her apparent youth, her glow despite her recent husband's death, or the feeling of prohibition by remaining in her house after the interrogation had concluded.

However, the time that had passed was enough for him to regret his decision.

"In fact, I'll accept the offer this time". He announced.

And for the first time that night, he noticed a similarity between her and himself: a dimple that appeared on her cheek when she smiled.

"Perfect".

For at least a quarter of an hour, time passed. Harry found distraction in admiring the architecture and luxury while Lizzie busied herself in the kitchen. In the distance, Harry caught the sweet aroma of the cookies, awakening his appetite as he waited eagerly. Finally, he saw Lizzie approach with a tray, possibly silver, and place it on the central table of the living room. It was then that he realized there was not only food, but also liquids.

In his eagerness to discover, Harry neglected the cookies as his hand quickly reached for the glass of white liquid next to the main plate. He contemplated the liquid for a moment, feeling its warmth on his fingers before perceiving a soft voice rising beside him, at the same time that the sofa slightly gave way under his weight.

"I refrained from adding alcohol. There's only milk", he heard her laugh as he held the glass between his hands, not daring to look to the side. "You can try it to confirm".

Harry closed his eyes briefly, letting the voice fill his senses.

From the moment she entered the house, he had ignored the sweet scent of her perfume. He avoided looking at her bare legs when she crossed them during the conversation. He even refrained from looking at her for too long while she spoke.

However, he ended up doing exactly the opposite. At this point, he had engraved in his memory the smell of her perfume and constantly wondered how significant it would be. He had memorized her posture, and instead of using his notebook, he kept himself busy by observing her intently.

"Everyone knows that I'm a good girl, officer".

His eyes suddenly opened.

His attention was inevitably drawn to her once more, finding her finally by his side, watching him intently. Time seemed to stand still around them. Harry couldn't discern with certainty what was driving him to act, whether it was simply Lizzie's close presence or the use of the expression "good girl", yet something inside him was beginning to flood him with a comforting sensation, making him feel warm and filled with a desperate longing to get closer to her.

Harry quickly turned, averting his gaze from Lizzie, and refocused his attention on the glass of milk and the cookies still on the tray. Suddenly his craving for food vanished, and he preferred to take a sip of the milk, savoring its sweetness, although it didn't quench his thirst. It wasn't until he had almost finished his drink that he mustered up the courage to face the somber gaze of the woman beside him again.

Harry had faced the feeling of intimidation on various occasions, especially in front of authority figures older than him, with serious countenances. However, this time was different. Sitting next to her, with her large eyes fixed on him, he experienced a strange sense of intimidation, although he couldn't understand why, but instead of rejecting it, he felt a growing curiosity that propelled his body forward.

Unconsciously, he found himself moving closer to her with a subtle motion, with his lips parted and close enough to brush against her face, and at the moment he thought he was about to break the tension, he found himself enveloped in a void.

His confusion was reflected in the widening of his eyes, which blinked a couple of times before returning to the front, where he found Lizzie standing in front of him. His gaze immediately fell, and he moistened his lips, preparing to speak, perhaps to apologize for feeling her distance as discomfort, but before he could say anything, he felt nails digging into his cheeks, lifting his face.

Harry tried to move forward, stretching his arms for more, although he was immediately stopped. His cheeks were released, while his hands were held back.

Quickly, Lizzie had taken the handcuffs that were still on his belt while he became aware of his now more extended position in space, with his legs spread apart, leaving room for her to position herself. Before Harry could understand what was happening, his wrists were trapped in the handcuffs, leaving him restrained in the armchair.

He tried to glance back, but the hands grabbed his cheeks once again, although with more force, ensuring visible marks were left. Forced to keep his focus on her, he could clearly distinguish her: her brown eyes, once bright from the room's light, now seemed darker, fixed on him as she sat on his lap, generating a warmth that consumed him.

He needed to be released. And not just from the handcuffs.

Then time began to pass quickly, just like the palpitations of his heart. His lips parted, seeking to catch his breath, but found only agitation, while small moans escaped from his throat at the wet kisses that left marks on his neck.

He wanted more.

He felt his shirt slipping off his body, feeling a slight coolness on his chest, soon replaced by the warmth of the kisses he received. A hand joined the game, caressing him as he tried to lower the fabric as much as possible, frustrated by the handcuffs that prevented his complete release.

He wanted more.

The hand descended, quickly unbuttoning his pants as he rose on the armchair, holding his weight and that of the woman on him. Both rose enough to pull down his pants to his calves, until he could push himself to remove his shoes and pants with the help of his feet.

But still, he wanted more.

He was beginning to experience a growing desperation as time passed. The palpitations in his chest kept him on edge, rising and falling just enough to provoke sighs, but just when they seemed to be heading where he needed them most, they rose again.

The moans filled the room as Harry began to move more forcefully, trying to seek something more than just a simple rubbing between his underwear and Lizzie's skirt. At first, he thought maybe she would feel sorry for seeing him like that, but seeing her eyes turn back to him without compassion, he realized he was wrong.

His breath caught when he saw Lizzie slowly unbuttoning her blouse, with agonizing slowness. Even when he prepared for his work as a policeman, he had not experienced such painful exercises as seeing her with her naked tits brushing his face, and not being able to feel them. 

"I saw you very thirsty", she whispered, her voice resonating in a softer tone than usual, awakening in Harry a sensitivity he could barely recognize at that moment. "Do you still want milk?"

His eyes brightened at the question, his head nodding before he could articulate a response; that was all Lizzie needed to pick up the half-finished glass of milk and pour it unhesitatingly over her breasts.

Harry paused for a moment, watching the white liquid carelessly spilling over the woman's nipples, seeing how the drops gradually disappeared over the edge of her skirt. He let out a barely audible sigh, unable to contain it, and then shifted his gaze to Lizzie, who looked at him with a mischievous smile, as if she had made a small oversight, although Harry received it with gratitude. He felt so grateful that, if necessary, he would have fallen to his knees to express his gratitude right at that moment.

"Oh, shit".

Lizzie let out a sigh of relief as she held Harry's hair, who finally decided to approach and take one of her breasts in his mouth. She could feel his tongue gently swirling around her nipple, alternating between delicate movements and firmer suctions.

Instinctively, her hands slid over his body, caressing his skin until they reached the edge of her skirt, which was already starting to feel too warm. She sensed Harry's lips slightly parting from her, which prompted her to immediately open her eyes to look at him.

She was met with his angelic face, with green eyes expanding towards her from below, his curly and disheveled hair, his moist face, and his lips with traces of white liquid at the corners. It was an image that was etched in her memory and urged her to act with greater urgency.

She took a deep breath before separating slightly from him, hearing a complaint starting to form on his lips before he fell silent upon realizing that Lizzie's skirt, along with her underwear, was disappearing. Despite feeling close, she had to take a few steps forward to return to Harry's lap, all while he watched her with his dark eyes, showing submission but pretending to hide something more. Lizzie wondered what it could be, but she didn't give it much importance as she returned to her position, feeling his cock more comfortably beneath her, although still covered by his underwear, brushing against her now naked cunt.

No more than a second passed before she refocused on her own pleasure, starting to move in circles around him again, while moans filled the room once more, both hers and Harry's, who, through his sounds, begged for mercy.

The rhythm intensified, leading Lizzie to abandon the circular movements and start with pelvic movements back and forth. Her excitement fluids facilitated the sliding over the cotton fabric of his underwear, allowing her to perceive more than she had imagined.

Contrary to his own satisfaction, Harry couldn't bear it anymore. A mix of excitement, desperation, discomfort, and anger invaded him as he couldn't feel completely satisfied. Although he had obeyed Lizzie's words, seeing her rubbing herself on him without really feeling her touch deeply frustrated him. He found no other way out than to start pushing forcefully, making the woman's body move sharply on top of him, causing her to open her eyes once more.

"Please", he managed to articulate, while his hips moved slightly.

Lizzie watched him for a few additional seconds before a mocking smile appeared on her face.

"Are you that needy for my pussy?"

Harry opened his mouth to respond, but before he could say anything, he felt three fingers invading his mouth, silencing him immediately as he sucked and moistened them. Then, as if his prayers had been heard, he felt Lizzie moving slightly away from his lap. He saw her kneel in front of him, taking off his underwear and exposing his erect member.

A sigh escaped his lips as the fingers, soaked with his own saliva and pre-cum, caressed his glans and began to masturbate him with the palm of her hand.

"Fuck me".

His voice emerged without hesitation, rough from the dryness in his tongue and throat, yet irresistibly enticing for Lizzie; eager for Harry.

"Is that an order?" she asked, teasingly. "What do you plan to do if I don't? After all, those handcuffs are in your hands, not mine". The massage on his cock became more vigorous, causing jolts from the fires he felt under her hand.

"Let's try again, officer", she suddenly mentioned, making his eyes close for a moment. His profession hadn't even crossed his mind until that moment, but the prohibition of the moment wasn't what affected him the most, but a fire that resurged within him, rising from his lower part to his chest, filling him with excitement as he heard her.

"Shit- Please, please fuck me".

A fleeting smile appeared on Lizzie's face and quickly disappeared as she sat in the place she had desired so much but from which she had refrained, not suppressing the moan that escaped once she achieved it.

She was about to start more energetic circular movements, finding something to hold on to this time, but her actions were overshadowed by those of the man beneath her, who had taken the lead, pounding forcefully and swiftly, making her sigh softly as she allowed herself to be enveloped by the pleasurable sensation.

Then she realized that Harry's urgency was expressing itself in that way, and she let herself go, allowing him to take the lead even when his hands remained restrained.

Lizzie was forced to hold onto the couch when she found that simply leaning on Harry's shoulders was not enough to withstand the onslaught she felt inside her. Her eyes involuntarily closed, unable to keep her gaze on him for long, while her lips parted in search of air. She only found relief when Harry's tongue joined hers on her neck, leaving the same careless kisses she had given him at the beginning, but this time he decided to intensify the sensations with suctions. Lizzie had no doubt that the marks would remain there for at least a week due to the force with which he made them.

"God- You fuck me so good", she exclaimed, accompanying her groan with a whisper that made Harry open his eyes, becoming hypnotized by the sight of Lizzie's tits bouncing to the rhythm of his thrusts. He bit his lower lip to contain his own impending moan.

"I'm so close- Oh fuck! Fuck-". Lizzie's own moans intertwined, becoming more intense, filling the room with their sound, resonating even throughout the house.

Harry sharply inhaled air between his teeth, tilting his head back as he closed his eyes tightly, feeling the electric current running through his body, although he had been avoiding that moment, wanting first to observe Lizzie's reaction, wanting to absorb it completely.

"Look at me", Lizzie's voice pulled him out of his reverie, as she took his chin and forced their gazes to meet once more. "Come on, be good and let me feel you pulsating as you fill me with cum".

Harry struggled to keep his eyes open as he did his best to maintain his gaze on hers, intensifying his rhythm as much as he could, seeing her mouth open as she brought her face closer to his, brushing their lips.

"Harry!- Fuck".

Then climax came for both simultaneously, with their foreheads united and sweat sliding down them. Harry felt Lizzie's cunt walls squeezing his cock, which throbbed inside her, while she experienced a sensation of fullness and warmth, an excitement that ran through her whole body and left her trembling as she moaned softly.

As the minutes passed, their breaths calmed down. Although the atmosphere was still imbued with heat and disorder, Harry finally felt liberated, despite still having his hands handcuffed.

The large clock struck three in the morning when they woke up without realizing how long they had remained in that position. Lizzie noticed the weight on her eyelids, indicating the need for rest, but she was forced to separate from Harry when she felt the burning sensation in her thighs, and the first thing she saw when she got up was the slight smile on Harry's face.

"I don't know if you've had experience as a criminal before, but you look very comfortable with those handcuffs".

The comment only made Harry's smile widen before he opened his eyes and replied: "I can't feel my wrists".

Immediately after, Harry watched as the dimple on Lizzie's face reappeared, but this time accompanied by a genuine laugh.

After he revealed the location of the key that would unlock the handcuffs and she finally managed to free him, she walked to one of the utility rooms in search of a blanket, still naked and feeling the cold air brushing against her skin.

Lizzie focused on her destination, avoiding looking elsewhere, entered the room, took the blanket, and walked out without looking back, ignoring the shadow she had perceived slipping down the hallway.

Once they settled on the sofa in the living room, she watched as Harry's hand reached for the silver tray that had remained on the central table, and he took one of the cookies she had prepared. At that moment, Lizzie suspected that perhaps that action had caused her perplexity upon learning of Richard's death.

Because it hadn't fit with her plans.

The chocolate cookies had awaited on her bedside table in the previous room, expecting her husband's first bite upon returning from the office after a long day of work.

That would have been the culmination, the beginning of something new.

So she understood that this episode marked the real beginning, perhaps the prelude to a dangerous game she was willing to embark on once again. From scratch.

[noddaduck]

What gets me about Kipperlilly is that while her trauma envy is messed up, she really is facing an opposite problem to the Bad Kids.

Some people on here are saying that if she wanted to go on big adventures she should have done it herself and not expected some kind of plot hook to give her an opening. But we are seeing how that is going for the Bad Kids this season, and it clearly sucks. Fabian went on his first date with Mazey, yet so much of that conversation and role play was still about the mystery and the mission. Gorgug lost a chance to spend time with his bio parents because he was trying to get into a really learning heavy class. The Bad Kids are such good friends, but they can only spend time together in shared classes or as part of the mission. Why would you expect that of anyone?

Most Aguefort kids aren’t going on big real-world adventures like the Bad Kids cause that’s literally being in High School while also working a full time career oriented job. And yet some of these kids know that this is all just leading up to that real job that they’ve never really experienced or seen proof that they could handle. Is it so weird for a child to want confirmation that they’ll be able to do all the things they’re supposed to do as an adult, especially when they are seeing other kids get that confirmation?

Riz isn’t strong because he suffered, he’s strong because he has an amazing mom he looked up to and learned from and who taught him. Having that vision of his own best self, not just a copy of another person but really something he loves that he was able to really learn thanks to the support he was lucky to get DESPITE his and his mom’s financial situation. He chased his own dream of being a master detective, of dishing out justice, and he got so good at it that it let him kill an ancient red dragon.

Personally, I was one of the smart kids in class, but I wasn’t one of the gifted and talented. One kid was working with circuitry in a class where I was learning about screws and levers. In a photography class I got paired up with a kid in a lower grade than me who full on made his own model rocket fuel for homemade bottle rockets. Combining that with having ADHD that nobody properly educated me about, I always thought I was just missing something. I’m taking my medicine, I’m going to class and trying to join clubs, why is it that every time I ask someone to teach me they don’t have time for a total beginner? Why is being my own teacher the only way to learn these things, and why can’t I do that if apparently everyone else does?

I just don’t blame Kipperlilly for being upset when she is presented with the Bad Kids as an example to follow despite the fact that neither she NOR the Bad Kids are given proper time to actually work toward that goal. The Bad Kids don’t actually have the time for adventures on top of their regular lives, but they are forced to do it anyway. Kipperlilly allowed for time so the Rat Grinders could have whatever their normal lives looked like, at least until they all were taken by Ancarna. If your choice is to either work yourself to death and be told you did the correct thing, or to take your time and be shown that you are wasting it, why wouldn’t you be angry?

[zombiequeenblog]

Had a funny headcanon for SADGLO. In 'Bleeding Palms' when Mouse hugs Copia after he gets back the reaction from everyone around them seemed to be mixed. Though some gave knowing hums. I imagine those Siblings that knew,walk down the wrong hallway and finds Copia and Mouse in action. They turn around and decide in good choice to mind their business.

Mild smut below...

If you prefer to read on ao3

This entire abbey was a den of sin, the novice Sister mused to herself, strolling along in a quiet evening solitude. Her dark contemplation was sweet, and comforting as the Unholy Vespers, and nurtured a sort of joy she noticed blooming inside of her more and more often. She didn’t regret her decision to come here, and to stay. In fact, she felt rather proud.

Pride was encouraged here; wrath tolerated. Greed and envy understood; used to improve oneself if so wanted. Gluttony was celebrated in the form of seeking anything better; no shame in the gratification of the senses was bestowed upon siblings in these halls. Even sloth was tolerated, to a point, if one could avoid Imperator’s notice. 

But the sin most freely indulged here, was perhaps lust, for those who so chose to partake. Half of the abbey was fucking each other, their lust spilling over even to the fine denizens of the village below, at times. All a part of their corrupting influence, the Sister supposed, with a sly smile. Hail Satan indeed.

In persona Satan, the Papas certainly had their hands, and their beds, full. Papa Secondo had a growing entourage of favoured sisters, and Terzo had many relationships with many siblings, both long-term and casual. Even Sister Imperator would invite a select few who’d caught her eye, into her and Nihil’s bed for some sweet use as an occasional plaything. And the Cardinal? The musing Sister supposed he fucked, he had a certain lecherous air to him in the way that he skulked about the place. He looked damnably good in those suits too, and the cassock. But his probable partner or partners remained a mystery. 

Perhaps he enjoyed his carnal relations in his travels away from the abbey? Or maybe he had some naughty little secret down in the supposed laboratory below, a dark place he often holed himself up in for days; no one else was allowed down there. Porn or panty-sniffing or something detached of that nature; the Cardinal could have a way of looking at you, a corporeal body willing or at least curious to engage in something with him, like you weren’t worth his precious time. The Sister sniffed a little to herself as she stepped along.

Oh, but she was being a bit mean… The Cardinal was as fine a dark clergyman as the abbey could utilize. He was astute, thorough, and just in his work imparting the faith’s teachings to all souls present. He assisted the Papas probably more than they deserved, and apparently was instrumental in keeping other satanic dicasteries reigned in and on task, if Imperator’s quiet but firm praise was to be believed. Just because he had never been known to finger a girl while she queried him about devilish dogma in the pew (as Papa Terzo often did), didn’t mean he wasn’t fair and sometimes even austerely pleasant in his answering. He gave mass and advice, took confession with feigned concern, and even provided limited medical care around the abbey. He seemed to be highly educated; clearly occupied with himself and yet coolly interested in the further establishment of the place. A solid cog in the wheel, his polished teeth apathetic towards any sweet flesh he could find here. 

It was just too bad for the few siblings who would have followed him into his darkened office, if his sharp leather gloves had but gestured. 

Ah well, the Sister had a lot of time spread out before her to explore every earthly and carnal delight available to her here. Her titillating thoughts so occupied, she almost didn’t hear the curious sounds coming from around the next darkened and solitary corner, as she turned it silently…

There was the Cardinal, of all people! And he was… 

Cassock undone and hatless, he was fucking, clearly fucking hard into someone he was holding down on the narrow hall table there against the shadowed stony wall. The astonished Sister stepped back immediately into the sheltered darkness of an old columned alcove, but she couldn’t look away.

He was fucking the maid that Imperator had brought on some far months back! The sweet young thing who barely talked and mostly kept out of the way; the Sister couldn’t even remember her name at the moment. But it was clearly her, panties pulled down to her knees and short skirt flipped up, bent over flush against the table with his gloved fingers tangled up in her loosened hair. The mousy strands couldn’t hide the flush on her tear-stained cheeks… she was crying! Well, for all his privileged station, he really was a bastard, wasn’t he? The Sister prepared herself to step forward.

The Cardinal bent his head down to the poor girl, and whispered something low, his thrusts into her becoming slow and deliberate. The girl gasped a little and then she smiled; she actually grinned through bitten lip, and then the Sister could see her cant her hips a little, attempting to grind back against the Cardinal’s cock. He gasped himself, clearly trying to be quiet, before he raised his hand to spank the girl sharply, forcing from her a little shriek she quickly stifled with her own hand. The Sister backed up against the wall in the darkness. 

Pulling out of his conquest, the Cardinal flipped her over, and she sat up herself to fling her arms around his shoulders, kissing him breathlessly while he unbuttoned her blouse in a reckless manner. With more of her pliant body revealed to him, he pushed her down again, grasping her hips within his gloves to yank her down to the edge of the table, and wrenching her legs open. 

Clearly penetrating her again, the Cardinal ran his hand up her writhing form to cover her gasping mouth, quieting her little moans with every one of his thrusts and trying desperately to keep his own noises down, his great pleasure apparent, and threatening to overwhelm him in this secretive little tryst. 

The Sister didn’t dare allow herself to breathe. As the Cardinal leant over his compliant prey, erratic thrusts intensifying, and the girl began to hug his waist with her bare knees, ecstatic sounds barely escaping his glove, the Sister thought she’d better evade herself from the intimate situation before its inevitable conclusion. 

Sliding back along the stone, she turned as soon as she felt able to, quickly and quietly returning in the direction she’d come from. Her serene musings had certainly been ruined, and rather uncomfortably exchanged for a bothersome stirring in her private regions. Perhaps she’d seek out a charming sibling for some specialized comfort, or maybe even bolster her confidence to approach one of the Papas tonight. 

Flushing a bit underneath her veil, the Sister let out a breath and tried to process what she had just witnessed. It wasn’t exactly forbidden, it simply seemed more illicit than it was because of their furtiveness and the long-running obscurity of the Cardinal’s lusts. Lust. The Sister certainly had this most popular sin on the brain, itching to get out of her rapidly stifling habit, as she made her way back into the more amply lit parts of the antiquated abbey. A den of sin, indeed, both illuminated and not. Hail Satan and All Sinners, she thought to herself. The unholy night went on. 

[tgmsunmontue]

Saga of Solitude 3/?

Nepo!Baby Bradley and his life at USNA and afterwards. DADT fully in force. Hangster AU. (Begun prior to 'It's not who you know' - the non-angsty version).

PROLOGUE (He remembers)

HANGSTER FIRST MEETING (Lonely Nights - set 2009)

Updating ~weekly (longer chapters).

PREVIOUS CHAPTERS

ONE (2000) TWO (2001)

2002

                The summer break is short. He doesn’t know how it’s been swung, but he fully suspects that Ice has something to do with it. Maverick has the three weeks off, leave timed perfectly with the weeks that Bradley is home. Ice has taken actual vacation time, apparently timed to coincide with his daughter’s summer vacation, but Bradley knows better, knows the coincidence of them all being together, in the same city, is too much for him to pass up and wants them all together. Sarah and Melissa take the opportunity to actually go away for a week just the two of them and the girls stay with Ice, Bradley and Maverick moving in to ostensibly help with the girls.

                He works out and runs, Mav and Ice taking turns to join him so that one of them can stay behind with the girls. He sometimes goes for a run again later, Tamsin and Petra on their bikes, a little wobbly, but they go to the park nearby and play on the playground. They introduce Bradley to their friends as their brother, and he decides he likes that title best of all, lets it settle around his shoulders like a warm jacket after years of not knowing whether they were his cousins, siblings or even nieces because of the age difference. Brother he likes most of all.

                When he’s out running, or even in the playground he gets a few appreciative looks; he lets that feeling settle in his gut, pleasure that other people think he’s attractive. He doesn’t let himself think about it when he’s at Annapolis, too intent on his studies and learning everything they put in front of him. Right now though it’s his summer break and he can enjoy being looked at. Can enjoy looking back. Not that he finds the mom’s looking very attractive or interesting, but he can hope that what they find attractive is something that others will also find attractive.

                He takes Tamsin and Petra for ice cream. They both call Mav Papa, which is adorable but he also worries about what people might think if they overhear them. He has to force himself to not overthink or worry about it. He has enough to worry about around his presence at Annapolis, about how many people know that Mav is his stepfather, legal guardian and just Captain Peter Mitchell in general. Not to mention how Admiral Kazansky is his secondary emergency contact. He’s glad no-one sees his paperwork other than the admissions office and the higher ups if there is an emergency. Not that they don’t already know.

                He doesn’t need to mention to Maverick and Ice that he wants to go out, they seem to sense it and they both just silently nod when he informs them he’s going out. None of them mention the box of condoms and little sachets of lube that mysteriously appeared in his bedroom both at Mav’s place and also at Ice’s his first couple of days home. He’s not going to raise it, simply takes it as acknowledgement that they know he’s sexually active and want him to be safe. At least, he’s hoping to be sexually active, even as his gut churns with nerves.

                All in all it’s pretty lackluster and he doesn’t know exactly why people would seek this out over and over. Part of him wants to ask Mav or Ice about it, but they’ve never been exactly open about their relationship, and he knows that’s partly because they have to keep it hidden, but Mav had taken him through the safe sex talk and said to come to him if he had any questions. Asking whether sex is meant to be good or not… well, he’s pretty sure it’s meant to be better then that.

                His nineteenth birthday arrives and when they all head out to an airstrip his eyes go wide. There’s a Beechcraft sitting on the tarmac and he turns to Mav and Ice, eyes wide.

                “Are you kidding me?”

                “Called in a couple of favors…”

                “Holy shit. Holy fucking shit. Oh my god. Are you serious right now?”

                “Language…” Ice says, voice tired and Bradley shoots him a quick apologetic look.

                “You’re only allowed to sit in the back, and it’s only a pop-up, but thought you’d like it.”

                “Does make the phone I got you seem a bit boring,” Ice says wryly, handing him a tidily wrapped package and Bradley can’t wipe the grin off his face.

                “God I love you guys,” Bradley says, wrapping them both in hugs.

                The flight morphs from what was likely meant to be a quick pop-up to something a bit longer and he whoops with delight as Mav does some shit that Ice will no-doubt tell him off for later but he loves every second of it, feels like if he gets to do this for a job then every second an boat school will be worth it. He gets out, his body still vibrating with the rush of adrenaline and he wants to immediately turn around and go back up, the look on Maverick’s face telling him he’d probably take him, but there are a couple of other people approaching, shaking Ice’s hand and then turning to Maverick, wishing him happy birthday and he thanks them profusely.

                “Only a pop-up huh?” Ice says, voice dry and the grin Maverick gives him is wide and unapologetic and Bradley can’t help the laugh that escapes.

                “Oh my god, flying is so much better than sex!”

                Mav and Ice look at each other before they’re both laughing and Bradley frowns.

                “What? What’s funny?”

                “Well. I’m just remembering my teenage fumblings and I’d have to rate flying above them too. But sex generally gets better with practice.”

                “Like most things,” Ice says, staring up at the sky so he doesn’t have to make eye contact with anyone and Bradley’s grateful. It also answers his unasked questions about sex, not all of them obviously, but okay, it’ll probably get better. No. It will get better, he just needs to practice. Of course, practicing having sex is a lot more difficult than working on his running times. Anyway, he’ll find a way, because obviously Mav and Ice figured it ou.

                He hasn’t really ever given their relationship much thought, other than knowing that they have one and that they’re together. They’re not physically demonstrative with each other, he’s never even seem them kiss, and he gets that maybe they’re hyper-careful because Tamsin and Petra are young and have loose lips, but not even in front of him. They’re obviously solid though, seem to communicate without talking and he definitely notices more now that he’s older. The silent communication with quirks of eyebrows, little smiles and eyerolls all seeped in affection. If he’s looking for it. Of course, there’s also yelling, which he doesn’t need to look for because he hears it and often, although it’s always short-lived.

                It makes him watch Sarah and Melissa, and they’re like the complete opposite of Ice and Maverick, physically demonstrative as well as verbally telling each other they love each other all the time. It makes him feel a little uncomfortable sometimes, like maybe he’s seeing something they don’t want him to, but they never seem to give him any mind and Tamsin and Petra are both equally physically demonstrative, wanting hugs and cuddles and he likes that. It’s probably good for them to see their parents like that.

                Thinking about parents has him digging, unearthing old home videos and he watches the videos of his parents, and it’s weird, seeing something almost twenty years old, and what he guesses is the only straight relationship he has as an example, and it’s more of a dream than something he sees everyday. Judging from the videos his dad loved his mom and wasn’t afraid of letting the world know about it. He wonders what he’d be doing if both his parents were still alive. Wonders what he’d be doing if his mom was alive, if he’d have listened to her wish to not become a pilot if it had been made to him from her directly. He’s so glad that Mav and Ice have supported him.

                As his time at home comes to an end he isn’t expecting the round-the-table family discussion, with even Sarah and Melissa present. Tamsin and Petra are distracted with cartoons, and he wonders what they’re about to lay in front of him. He’s not prepared for them saying how much they all missed him. Even Melissa is nodding, and her job as an emergency doctor means she’s had the least to do with Bradley, but she ruffles his hair, tells him he’s part of their family and his heart swells.

                “So the last year sucked, not getting to see you at all.”

                “There will be enough times in the future when visiting you won’t be an option, you’ll be deployed for months at a time.”

                “We want to make the most of the fact that we can visit you while you’re at USNA. We promise that it won’t be often, but we do want to see you.”

                “We’ve maybe come up with a way to visit you more often.”

                Their voices all overlap and he listens as they explain, how they’ll look at his liberty leave schedule, how they’ll plan just a few hours of visiting, to have dinner, for the girls to see him and for him to see the girls. He doesn’t know what he did to deserve a family like this, although a cynical part of him reminds him that he’s an orphan, and that maybe this is the universe’s way of making up for all the loss he’s had to suffer. If it means he gets to have Maverick and Ice, Sarah and Melissa, Tamsin and Petra… well. Of course he’d like his parents to be alive and to know what they think of him and his decisions. But his family is what he makes it and he’s so grateful he has what he has with the people in this house right now.

                So they hammer out a plan. He comes home for Thanksgiving or Christmas. Spring break, what weird simile the USNA has, he can spend with his friends, even if he protests that he’d rather see them. They plan to drop him off again, even though it’s really not needed. It’s a long way to travel for a few more hours but none of them let his arguments be heard.

                The year back at Annapolis starts and god it’s good not to be a Plebe anymore. The familiar routine settles around him and it feels great, knowing what is expected of him and how to meet and exceed those expectations. He gets a few approving nods from his tutors and physical instructors when it becomes apparent to them that he’s continued to work on his fitness over the summer, leaving the vast majority of his class in the dust. There is one other that keeps up with him, almost effortlessly, although her eyes are narrowed.

                “Trace.”

                “Bradshaw.”

                She nods and slaps his shoulder so hard it hurts and he grins, thinks he might like her if she actually lets him get to know her, her own lips as tightly sealed as his own when other people are asking questions. It’s not until a couple of weeks in, they’re sharing a table in silence and a photo of Tamsin and Petra slips out of his address book and hits the floor, sliding under the table and coming to a stop beneath Trace’s chair. Then Trace is picking it up, glancing at the picture of him in his jean shorts and white tank, eating ice cream with Tamsin and Petra pressed in on each side also eating ice cream.

                “Your… kids?” Trace asks, sliding the photo across the table to him and he shakes his head sharply.

                “No. Sisters.”

                “That makes more sense.”

                “Yeah. I miss them. Tamsin and Petra.”

                “I miss my family too,” Trace admits, and it’s the first time she’s even admitted she had family so he just smiles and nods. He highlights every liberty leave weekend and folds the schedule into an envelope meant for Sarah and Melissa. He knows that Ice likely already has access to it with all his connections but he knows Sarah and Melissa won’t, that they’ll want to plan it all out and he feels the warmth suffuse through him that his family want to go out of their way to see him. He writes letters to Tamsin and Petra, invites Trace to also draw pictures with his box of crayons to send and she turns out to be far more talented than him.

                It changes something between them after that, Trace seeking him out at mealtimes, asking him if he wants to study with her. He knows there are rumors about them sleeping together, but that’s all they are, rumors, and he knows he can’t get in trouble even if they were having sex, as long as they’re never caught. Which isn’t a problem considering it’s never going to happen.

                His first liberty afternoon he’s not getting visitors, but decides to head off campus just so it’s part of his routine, so he can meet his family off-base in the future without raising eyebrows over out of the ordinary behavior. He takes some course work and finds a coffee shop several blocks away. It’s a Saturday afternoon so he has his customary call with Mav, talks about how he’s joined the drum and bugle corps as well as the glee club. He says he plays the piano when he can, but he’s nowhere good enough for the instrumental club, but he’s still got plenty of music in his life, which he knows makes Mav think of his dad, but he can’t help that it’s something he genuinely enjoys himself.

                “Anyone sitting here?”

                He looks up and the guy asking is a bit older and Bradley glances around the busy coffee shop, there are other seats available, but none at empty tables, so he’d have to be asking someone if he wanted to sit down.

                “Uh, no. Please. Have a seat”

                “Thanks.”

                The guy doesn’t say anything, reads a book and sips his coffee and Bradley does the same, reading over course work and when his ankle is bumped he looks up to find the guy looking at him, his foot still resting against his ankle. Oh. He blushes and looks away, goes back to studying and shifts his foot away slightly. The guys foots doesn’t follow, but when he glances up it’s to find he’s being watched. Okay then.

                “My name’s Kevin.”

                “Uh. Bradley.”

                “Nice to meet you Bradley.”

                “And you.”

                He shifts his feet a little further away and goes back to studying, tries to ignore the fluttering nerves. After a while he looks up and Kevin is closing his book, drawing back, but he’s sliding a piece of paper across the table and it’s got a phone number on it. He knocks his knuckle against it and gives Bradley a wink and then leaves.

                He stares at the number and wonders how it would even work. He sure as hell won’t be using it, he’s far too close to the USNA to be comfortable hooking up with anyone, and it’s not like he can seriously consider a relationship, not with DADT. Not that he thinks that was in any way shape or form an invitation to start a relationship. Huh. He wonders if that’s all he’s destined to have for a while, meaningless hookups which aren’t even that great.

                He throws the piece of paper in the next trash can he sees.

…             …             …

                Classes continue and he does get to see his family, his favorite time is when Tamsin and Petra visit and he gets to show them around the places that he’d tried to draw pictures of. He goes home for Thanksgiving, enjoys the time and goes out on the Friday night, determined to hook up and try and have a decent sexual experience. It’s definitely an improvement on summer, and he wonders if he was just more nervous before. He comes back to a book sitting on his bed, The Joy of Gay Sex and he knows it’s Pete’s way of showing support and love. He supposes he should be grateful that he’s not having to have actual conversations about it.

                Of course that’s when he realizes at Christmas that he wants to go somewhere for spring break. Somewhere he can hook up without worrying at all, maybe have sex in a bed. Maybe with the same person more than once, although that might be pushing it. He just feels an itch that he wants to scratch, and he needs to scratch it in such a specific way that he knows he’s going to have to ask either Mav or Ice about it. The more he thinks about it the more he leans towards asking Ice, feels like he’ll get considered answers that weigh up pros and cons and potential consequences, rather than throwing a dart at a map and hoping for the best, which is totally what he can envision Mav doing.

                “Hey Ice…”

                “Bradley. You okay?”

                “Yeah. I was wondering if I could talk to you about something?”

                “Of course. What is it?”

                “Uh, Okay. You know how we were saying I could go and hang out with friends for spring break?”

                “Yes.”

                “Well, I don’t particularly want to hang out with friends, but I wouldn’t be averse to, uh. God this is going to sound awful. But I want to go somewhere I can hook up and just… not have to care. You know?”

                Ice lets out a short huff of breath and looks at the ceiling, like he’s steeling himself.

                “Yeah. I know.”

                “I know I could come back and visit, but just the thing you said about it getting better with practice, and I can’t during semester time. I just can’t.”

                “Bradley. Stop. It’s fine. Trust me. I understand,” Ice says. “New York is good. And close enough that travel costs would be low. Because you’re going to need the money for a motel room.”

                “New York.”

                “Yeah. Lots of people. Good scene where you’d be anonymous. It’s lower risk, but there is still risk.”

                “Did you do this?”

                “Yeah, this was back in a 70s though and I hope you’re sure as hell safer than I was.”

                “Yeah, of course. Gee that’s a long time ago.”

                “I don’t need you pointing that out to me thank you.”

                Bradley grins. Ice smiles back but it looks a bit painful.

…             …             …

                Tom isn’t quite sure whether he should repeat the conversation he had with Bradley with Mav. Just because Bradley didn’t ask him to keep it to himself doesn’t mean he should then share it. He helps Bradley book and pay for a motel, picking one he’s familiar enough with that he knows the neighborhood isn’t dangerous, but neither will anyone look twice at two men together. He sends Bradley a letter a few weeks before his spring break, a carefully itemized list of places he could consider visiting when he goes to New York, all numbered. Then he sends a message on his phone, tells him that all addresses associated to the prime numbers are nightclubs he might be interested in checking out. He knows Bradley will read between the lines.

                The Saturday afternoon phone call that Bradley has with Maverick, that Tom shoehorns himself into whenever they’re close by, is due anytime and it’s become much easier to have since he gave Bradley the phone for his birthday. The ability to not have to wait for a free phone is so convenient, even if he hates having to carry one himself for work. He listens as Pete talks, asks Bradley what he thinks of Statue of Liberty and several other sights and Tom wonders how much of the city Bradley actually managed to see, or if he simply now has a deeper appreciation of the gay clubs in New York and all he saw really was the inside of his motel room. He holds his hand out for the phone when it sounds like Pete is winding up.

                “Oh wait, Ice wants to talk to you.”

                “Yeah. Love you too. Have a good week.”

                “Hello,” Tom greets, taking the phone and holding it to his ear, watches as Maverick walks off after giving him a quick kiss and he follows him with his eyes.

                “Hi Uncle Tom.”

                “Did you have a good spring break?”

                The pause and then the burst of laughter has his lips twitching.

                “Oh my god. Yeah. Good and then some.”

                “Better than flying?” Tom asks, amusement in his tone.

                “Sometimes. Yeah.”

                “Good. I’m glad.”

                “You, uh, didn’t tell Mav about what I was doing.”

                “No. Did think about it. Decided I’d leave that to you if you wanted or needed to share that with him.”

                “Thanks Uncle Tom.”

                “Anytime.”

…             …             …

                “MIdshipman Bradshaw!”

                “Sir, yes sir.”

                “Your presence has been requested in Admiral Naughton’s office. Better get along there.”

                “Yes sir. Thank you sir.”

                He’s never been called to the Superintendent’s office before, and he knows that’s a good thing, but of course he’s having to go there now and he’s racking his brain for anything he’s potentially done that might warrant being called to the office of the USNA Superintendent. It’s been a couple of months since spring break, he only has a few weeks before the end of the academic year. He’s been looking forward to having three weeks at home before starting his six weeks at sea, having passed on the SEAL and Marine Crops joint-operation option. He knows where he wants to be.

                He knocks on the door and hears the instruction to enter, opens the door and steps inside, closing it behind him. The tightness in his stomach immediately eases as he recognizes the profile of Tom. Probably not in trouble then. Doesn’t explain what Tom is doing here exactly, but he also needs to remember to not call him Tom. Or Ice. He’s in his uniform, so potentially been nearby for work and of everyone it’s been Ice he hasn’t seen much of, his work keeping him busy, and his spare time spent with Tamsin and Petra, his young kids even if he is divorced.

                “Admiral Naughton sir. You wanted to see me?”

                “At ease Midshipman Bradshaw. Sorry for the potential scare, however Tom asked if he could maybe see you and it was too easy a request to deny. I’ll let you two catch up.”

                Bradley blinks, because this is odd. Out of the ordinary even for Tom, although he guesses if Tom wanted to see him he’s not going to refuse. He hugs him, and he knows he must have grown more, because Tom feels a bit smaller than usual, although no less solid. He’s getting hugged back hard, firm slaps to the shoulder and getting looked at with pride and he feels so good when either Ice or Mav look at him like that.

                “You’re still growing, Mav’s going to be able to fit under your chin when you come home.”

                Bradley laughs.

                “It’s so good to see you. And yeah, think I’m doing growing upwards, just building on the strength now. Be able to leave you in the dust when I come home.”

                “Like you didn’t already last summer. But about coming home, I wanted to come and tell you in person, because of what you went through with your mom –”

                Oh god no.

                His whole world stops.

                He doesn’t need Tom to say any more, feels his knees buckle a little before he catches himself.

                “How long?”

                “A week.”

                “What? A week?”

                “Shit. No. Not left to live. Fuck. Bradley. Stop filling in the blanks and let me finish.”

                He hardly ever hears Tom swear, and he just sucks in a breath and nods.

                “In a week I’m getting an operation to remove a tumor. It’s in my throat. Then some directed radiotherapy and drug cocktail. I just wanted to let you know I potentially won’t be up for much when you come home for summer. No work outs for me.”

                “God Ice, like I care about what we do. So the prognosis is… good?”

                “Yeah. It’s not terminal, just Stage One they think. Sarah and Melissa, mainly Melissa, kept on at me until I went in and got checked out. It’s been caught early they think.”

                “Yeah well, Melissa is smart. I’m glad you listened to her.”

                “So am I. She also forced Mav to get a full check. He’s as healthy as a horse.”

                “Of course he is. Is this why you came to see me?”

                “Well, I had business in Washington. I was offered a promotion and had to decline it. For now.”

                “You declined it?”

                Tom winces then, and Bradley knows it must have hurt, but also with the restriction on the number of Vice Admirals allowed it makes sense.

                “What was the position?”

                “Director of the DLA. Also involved a relocation to Virginia.”

                “Oh. Leaving Sarah and the girls.”

                “Yes.”

                “So multiple reasons to politely decline.”

                “Yes. I just have to hope it doesn’t impede future promotional opportunities.”

                Bradley nods, because this is another proper adult conversation they’re having, and he feels very adult all of a sudden while also feeling like a little kid. It’s weird for so many reasons but he also likes it he thinks.

                “So when you say you had business in Washington you had to politely tell the president thanks but no thanks.”

                “Yes I did. Nice summation.”

                Bradley laughs and hugs him again.

                “Would you like a tour of your old stomping grounds?”

                “Sure, why not. Show me around.”

[anamelessfool]

Outlaw F!Reader x "The Ghoul" Cooper Howard (18+ MDNI) Full Fic here on AO3

Chapter 2: A Good Word (AO3 Link Here)

You're not running away from your sins, you're running towards the truth.

The expectation of an Overseer is to be of pleasant temperament, with a neat and well-manicured appearance. You are the friendly face of your Vault, a representation of the hospitality and amiable atomosphere cultivated here at Vault-Tech Industries. And the family at Vault-Tech Industries knows that the best leaders are in their hearts the most dedicated followers.

Tags: Read Em All on AO3, Blood and Gore, Gunplay, Broken Bones, Bandits & Outlaws, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Dystopia, Blood and Injury, Mystery and Intrigue, Western

Full Chapter because it's small below the cut!

White sails…white sails against the blue steel of the vault doors. Dangling like the shattered wings of a seagull. Or at least what you think are seagulls. You have read about them and it is important to keep oneself in the know when it comes to extinct creatures.

Your breath coats the glass of your hazmat helmet while the RAD meter on your PiP boy crackles, whines. It's the historic fog of the estuary. The wind off the ocean blows the moisture almost daily across the land. Fog thick with radiation. The foliage has responded in kind, growing small and meek and clinging to rocks like slime. Around you are the blackened bones of ancient trees, some you knew were hundreds of feet high and thousands of years old. Some of the oldest life forms on the planet. Now their remains stick out from the soil like toothpicks on a cheese platter.

But back to the white sails. You see them now as you come close. It was some sort of glider. A ridable kite.

Your surface recovery team had discovered the craft after hearing a loud bang across the outer vault doors this afternoon. The crash was soon after the thick fog rolled in. The occupant was dying, but he requested to see the Overseer.

He requested to see you. Alone.

And the moment you see him lodged in the ruined cockpit you freeze. He's wearing a gold jumpsuit with blue striped details, an unmistakable mark of authority. An executive. An Overseer of overseers. If the Vaults in Area 33 are little hives of productivity and human civilization, the Executives are the beekeepers. They have their own vault in the center of the molecule that is Area 33. And from there they do what they please. And apparently that includes joyriding gliders along the coast.

You know, rich people stuff. Successful people hobbies.

Your heart starts to pound, but it's not with dread or fear or despair for the pilot.

The executives give out promotions sometimes. Transfers. And even though this one's dying, you always want to give a good impression. You have been working on your resume for a while now, anyway.

“Hello! Welcome to Vault 66!”

You try to be friendly and upbeat, even though the man has been slowly dying from a shattered spine and skull injury for two hours now. “This fog sure is a real chestnut, isn't it?” You chuckle. “Although I bet the views of the ocean from up where you were flying were spectacular.”

“They….were…”

You cheerily give him your name. Your title. You would shake the man's hand if it wasn't permanently pinned under some sort of crumpled control panel. “You wanted to see me, sir?”

“Yes…” He coughs, groans. “Come close. Closer.”

You position yourself as deep into the cockpit as your clunky hazmat helmet will allow.

The executive winces and recovers. “Unzip my jumpsuit.”

“Uh…” Your brow furrows as you search your mind for protocol. You don't remember this being a scenario from the training slideshows. Is this considered workplace harassment? Quid pro quo? Personal space issues? To be fair, the destroyed remains of a vehicular accident could be classed as a hostile work environment. You give him a small, polite smile. “Repeat that again, sir?”

“Unzip my jumpsuit. That's an order, Overseer.”

“Sure thing, sir,” you laugh nervously, and unzip the front to expose his stained undershirt.

“Inner…left…pocket….” He screws up his eyes in pain, expelling air across the glass of your helmet.

“Heh, right away,” you say, reaching a little too close to a man you just met. That pocket is usually reserved for private things. Vitamins. Tissues. Feminine products. Fertility Tablets. Anti-fertility tablets. Intimate….devices. Not really something that another person reaches in unless they have a headcold or are busy repopulating the planet. What comes out of his inner pocket is an item you've never seen before. It’s small, half the size of a PiP boy screen, and thin. Made of a gold material. The front has a small digital panel that displays a long serial number that as you stare at it, wipes away and reconfigures every thirty seconds. You flip the little device over and a shine slides across it— you're convinced it's made of pure gold with some sort of tiny nuclear battery inside. A pocket atomic clock. To tell what, you're unsure. On the back is stamped a few mysterious numbers:

34.8559704, -111.7801052

You flash him a friendly smile but you feel the strain behind your eyes. “Um sir, what is this?”

“Vault Tech Company Property. Absolutely top secret. Override previous protocol. You are to keep this in your intimates pocket until further notice. You are not to inform a soul.” He coughs again, and blood flecks across the glass of your mask. “Got, that Vault 33-66 Overseer?”

You throw on your professional service smile, nodding with gratitude. “My pleasure, sir! Would—”

You start to request that he put in a good word for you but then you suddenly remember that the only other executive he's going to see soon is his own Maker.

“And another order, Overseer.”

“Hmm? What's that?”

“I'm giving you authorization to put me out of my goddam misery.”

“Oh…right.” You laugh nervously, pulling your gun from its holster at your hip. Lucky for him it was mating season for the RAD Seals and without a solid authentic piece a topside forager would be a pile of bone and jelly on the beach. You cock it and press it to his head, leaning back and getting into Stabilized Proper Armament Form (SPAF). “Well, sir, it's been a pleasure. Thanks for stopping by.”

And you pull the trigger.

My Fic List (Oops all Ghost!)

[sleepdepravity]

This is a bold thing for a whodunit writer to say.

[unproduciblesmackdown]

fr is he, you know.............................................repeatedly described as being Impersonable and Lacking Charm and Pedantic and confused / bothered by things he supposedly shouldn't be while inspiring confusion / botherment in others in ways he supposedly shouldn't and like 99.9% of the grief he's given is over All That while he's just sitting or standing there rather than the like intimidatingly efficient hitman georg thing he has going on. which is in fact The Skill That Makes Him Useful Despite It All and also perhaps the least foothold in interactions because [worried he can & may kill you] affords power when otherwise just being the weird guy nobody likes(tm)

bonus mordecai balling

[sophieswundergarten]

I applaud Book Curtain for thinking he'd be able to keep up his act of stealing Mr. Benedict's identity for more than five minutes. /s

Even if he had gotten rid of Number Two and Milligan and the kids and somehow gotten Rhonda to be quiet (Maybe by threatening her/the others because he's scum), the whole scheme would have fallen apart so quickly.

Unlike Show Nathaniel, Book Curtain can't act to save his life. He's a complete disaster and would miss some vitally important detail because he's a narcissist and thinks everyone else is so stupid they won't notice.

I mean, seriously, what did he think was going to happen??? The time it took to set up his plans wouldn't be enough for someone to reveal him like a Scooby Doo villain?? Captain Plugg wouldn't notice something was up??? The people Nicholas regularly interacted with in town wouldn't be weirded out by his "personality change"??? The few government people who actually liked him wouldn't think something was up??? Violet Hopefield or John (You bet I'm dragging them into this. Everyone gets to get in on insulting Curtain for his stupid plan) wouldn't get upset he hadn't written to them and come check??? Noland, the one guy who actually kind of knows what's going on but is also under Curtain's radar wouldn't sound the alarm????

I know @acollectionofcuriousreblogs and @mvshortcut were talking about how desperate he was earlier, but come on. This man is so bad at plans. Literally gets beaten by children and the family he looks down on for, like, four whole books and not once does he change his plans/pattern. The man deserves to be railed on for his idiocy every once and a while

[temporal-espeon]

A good bit late for this one, but I did want to get a quick holiday related drawing out as I thought it would be fun to do one! The piece includes my ocs Dravena the Deino and is also the drawing debut of Rye the Eevee, the main character of a oneshot I’m currently working on (and will hopefully eventually finish and post). I’m also hoping to get more art of both of them out in the future.

[icewindandboringhorror]

my personal Media Genres tier ranking and also Neopets Species tiers. put together in the same post just due to being adjacently related because they're on the same website lol

links to the specific tier makers: Media Genres --- Neopets

[icicleteeth]

POV you’ve handed 600 gold to Withers JUST TODAY because stuff (glitches?) like this keeps happening 🥲

[carewyncromwell]

“Is it rude to say I’d volunteer  For a day of fun just once a year? I’d fly the coop, if only I could... But I've got a really bad case of being good! I’d go find trouble if there was some to get in: Ask a friend to play if I had one to let in... Nana’s rocker sawing through the floor -- Every day just like the one before --  We lock ourselves behind that door... Is it wrong to wish for something more?

~“Good Girl Winnie Foster” from Tuck Everlasting (musical)

x~x~x~x

Carewyn’s gingham dress based on this design // original photo used for the background, edited with Lunapic! 💚

x~x~x~x

If asked about her childhood, Carewyn Cromwell would always say that even if her family was poor and she had to wear a lot of second-hand dresses when she was growing up, she, her mother Lane, and her brother Jacob still were nonetheless able to manage all right. What Carewyn often did not talk about was at just how young of an age she was forced to start looking after herself -- something that many people would look at with quite a bit more dismay than Carewyn herself did, looking back at her own circumstances. 

Now to be clear, Lane Cromwell was a very loving and caring mother -- but with the abandonment of her husband Evan and the abrupt lack of financial income that came with it, Lane had to take on the role of both breadwinner and caregiver simultaneously. While Carewyn was a toddler, that forced Lane to do menial laundry and seamstressing work from home, as well borrow some money from her good friend Judy Castine to help make ends meet until Carewyn could start public school. Once Carewyn did start school, however, Lane still couldn’t afford childcare -- and so, after doing a lot of research and preparation, Lane made the difficult decision to teach her nearly-five-year-old daughter how to walk home from her new primary school. Understandably worried for Carewyn’s safety walking anywhere by herself, Lane used both magical and Muggle means to ensure she would know Carewyn’s location at all times, on her way coming home from school. Lane made contact with several trustworthy adults along Carewyn’s route, like the elderly owner of the local ice cream parlor, Mrs. Sackett, and introduced Carewyn to each of them, so that they could help Carewyn get home in case of an emergency or even call Lane if they didn’t see Carewyn walk by at a specific time. Lane also taught Carewyn about the Knight Bus, which she could always call by sticking her left hand out over the street, just in case anyone tried to hurt or grab her. Judy even gifted Lane a small Magical-Child-Monitor watch from Diagon Alley in preparation of Carewyn’s first year at school, which could always tell Lane whether Carewyn was at “school” or “home,” whether she was “traveling,” or even whether she was “lost” or “in distress.” (The last feature Judy customized to make the watch chirp loudly, just in case Lane didn’t notice it immediately. Lane kind of had wished she hadn’t, given how loud it was, but appreciated the sentiment.)

Most children about to turn five would’ve been petrified at the thought of walking anywhere by themselves. Carewyn, fortunately, had always been a rather brave and independent child -- and considering that she knew her mother needed to keep her job in order to provide for all of them, the little girl took the responsibility onto her tiny shoulders like a champ, walking home with her head held high every day with no sense of fear or resentment. She and Jacob were all their Mum had now, after all, and with Jacob away at school, Carewyn knew she had to do her best to help take care of Lane, just like Lane did her and Jacob. Jacob always made her promise to take care of their mother and flat before leaving for Hogwarts every year...and Carewyn would never break a promise to her brother. 

So every day, from the age of 4 all the way to 11, Carewyn Cromwell walked home from school every single day by herself, straight home to her mother’s and her flat, where she’d lock the door and stay safe inside until her mum came home. And to Lane’s relief, in that entire time, the single mother never heard her Magical-Child-Monitor watch chirp once -- for truly, Carewyn had always been a rather risk-adverse child. Her brother Jacob used to break into the kitchen cabinets and try to drink bleach as a baby, but Carewyn? Lane herself would often compare her daughter to a “little angel,” never starting trouble or getting into anything she shouldn’t. And because Carewyn knew Lane was working so hard trying to do well for her and Jacob, the last thing Carewyn wanted to do was make things more difficult for her mother -- so she stoically followed the same routine every day without complaint, going to school just for her classes and then heading straight home, all the while trying hard to not to let any accidental magic slip out that could make anyone side-eye Carewyn or her family any more than they already did. 

This didn’t mean that Carewyn didn’t ever quietly lament the arrangement, of course. What child wouldn’t? It was hard having to see other kids getting picked up by their parents in their cars when it was wet or snowing outside. It was hard to have to walk straight home when there was an exciting football match going on in the field near the local secondary school. It was hard to sit cooped-up inside when Carewyn could hear all the neighborhood kids riding their bikes on a sunny Friday afternoon. 

But hey, Carewyn told herself gloomily -- she didn’t even have a bike to ride on next to them anyway. And really, she thought more stubbornly, they’d probably just think she was a freak like everyone else did, which meant they’d only say nasty things that would make her upset and make her cast magic by accident anyway. And then she’d scare everyone, and the Ministry would have to come in and fix things...and her mother would worry. Carewyn couldn’t worry Lane...

And so Carewyn stayed inside dutifully, day after lonely day, soldiering through with no complaint. Because really, all of that silence was worth it, the moment Jacob would come home for a holiday break. As soon as he was home, Carewyn wouldn’t be alone, and with someone else around at home, it was safer to go outside without her mother. She and Jacob could walk to the park or the library -- to Mrs. Sackett’s ice cream parlor, or maybe even take a trip to the beach. Even being inside some of the time wasn’t so hard, when Carewyn didn’t always have to be by herself. And then once Lane was home too, they could all eat dinner together, the way Carewyn wished they could every night -- laughing and talking and sharing and bonding the way they all loved doing. And once Carewyn started at Hogwarts herself...well, then she’d be able to go wherever she wanted, whenever she wanted -- be the great witch she wanted to be, instead of the “freak” ginger that the Muggles in her neighborhood would never understand. She’d be able to play out every single wild daydream Jacob and Lane had sparked to life inside of her through all their stories about the magical school -- cast spells, brew potions, visit all the shops of Hogsmeade village...play Quidditch, sing for the Frog Choir...maybe even tame a real-life dragon! 

Carewyn held fast to this thought and never let go of it. Once she could go to Hogwarts and chase her dreams, Jacob and her mother rooting for her all the while...all those silent, cooped-up, lonely days of the past would be worth it. 

[britneyshakespeare]

David Copperfield describes flirting from the perspective of an alien