#rutledge imagine

[the-marshals-wife]

Ain't No Grave (Edward Rutledge x Reader)

─ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ⋅☆⋅ 𝐀𝐎𝟑 ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─

MAJOR SPOILERS BELOW FOR G20, YOU'VE BEEN WARNED

A/N: Vengeful blond Aussie Antony Starr re-wired my brain and I needed more of him. Specifically, I needed soft!Rutledge, so here is an indulgent fic born from the idea "Yes he's evil, but what if I was his favorite?" I know this man would do anything for the woman he loves, even if that means cheating death itself. Also they did not do his backstory / trauma as a veteran justice at all in the movie, so I'm here to fix that too.

Description: Edward Rutledge x Fem!Reader, established relationship. Hurt + comfort, fluff, spice, extreme angst: eat up, y'all | Rating: MATURE, just to be safe. Warnings: kissing/making out, sensuality, pet names (endearing), blood and injuries described in-depth, partial nudity, mild language, alcohol, PTSD + trauma alluded to, suggestive themes, Reader is distraught for bit, Eddie gets patched up and all the loving he needs. | Word count: 4.2 k | Tagging: @hangmanscoming @walkingnearfoxes

Imagine Rutledge coming home to you after you believed him to be dead, and helping mend more than just his wounds

How could it have gone so wrong? What was supposed to the last stop on the way to freedom had become a nightmare that you couldn't wake up from. The remote safehouse where you had waited for Edward had transformed into a prison of shattered dreams. By the third day, the tears had stopped. A cold emptiness had taken their place, creeping into your bones and settling into your every fiber. You felt the ache of his absence with every breath.

It was the sixth day now. Time alluded you, but you were vaguely aware it was sometime in the evening because the shadows were growing long. You sit on the floor of the hallway with your knees pulled to your chest, utterly numb. This had become your preferred spot. The bed was hollow, and the sofa was haunted. Whenever your mind screamed at you that you should get up and try to leave, such thoughts were inevitably met with despair.

Of course, there was no rational reason to stay. You understood all the facts. No one was coming to save you. The food was almost gone, and there'd hardly been much to start with. You were going to die here alone if you didn't leave.

Edward was not coming back.

No, there was nothing rational about what you felt. You just couldn't let go. This is where you were supposed to wait for him. This is where he was going to come back to you. This is the last place that you were together.

Holding your head in your hands, another wave of grief washes over you. From the day you met Edward, you knew it was never going to be easy. You also knew there was no one else for you but him. His demons danced perfectly with yours, and you wrestled them better together. Even still, he had his own war to wage, and he had to fight it his way. As long as you could be at his side when the battles were over, you made peace with looking the other way.

Then, he found a way to win, once and for all. That's what he believed, at least.

You both agreed that the less you knew about the G20 Plan, the better. But being ignorant about the finer details didn't prevent you from worrying; if anything, it only made it worse. The knowledge that it would be the last time he'd leave you for a mission had been the only thing keeping you sane. That, and thinking about the future that awaited you when he returned.

You squeeze your eyes shut against the memories, but you were powerless to halt their coming. That last night before the summit seemed so long ago now. If only you'd known then...if only you could've stopped him...

★

The warm night air spills through the open balcony doors and clings to your skin. The smell of damp earth from nearby rain fills your nose, and the steady chirping of crickets evokes a familiar comfort. You recline on the sofa with your head propped up on your hand along the back, waiting for Edward to return with his 'surprise.' In the kitchen behind you, you hear him shuffling around and rifling through the cabinets.

"You're not peeking, are you?" he calls out.

"I'd never dream of it," you holler back, smiling despite yourself.

"I just got word from Titos. The boys are all set for tomorrow. Everything's falling right into place," he informs, no small amount of satisfaction in his voice as he draws nearer, "Now that the cryptowallet is in our possession, all that's left is to take the bastards down."

"No turning back now," you say to yourself, holding back a sigh.

You look up to see him returned with a bottle of champagne and two glasses, a grin spread across his face.

"Tada," he announces, placing them on the coffee table in front of you. "I know, not much. But we can't make a bloody toast with water, now can we?"

"Wow. What exactly are we toasting?" you inquire, sitting forward.

His expression twists with confusion, but he doesn't lose his smile as he proceeds to pop the cork and begin pouring. "Our victory, of course. What else, darling?"

"Don't you think that's bad luck? You haven't won yet, Eddie," you remind, trying to ignore the uneasy feeling in your gut.

"But we will," he insists, offering you your drink, "And since when have you been the superstitious type?"

"Since you decided to break into the most heavily armed place on the continent," you answer. You take the libation and stand up to join him.

"My poor love. Ever fretting over my sorry hide," he teases with pitiful affection, "Needlessly, might I add."

"Someone has to, Rutledge," you retort, glaring at him knowingly, "I've grown rather fond of that 'sorry hide', so you call it. Or have you forgotten?"

He bites his lip in amusement, noticeably trying to maintain his composure after your comment.

"Perhaps you need reminding," you suggest, bating your eyes.

You can't help but smirk, enjoying how easily you could make him flustered.

Re-establishing eye contact, he leans in closer and drops his voice to a whisper. "I think these ought to be empty before I can permit that kind of talk, girl."

"Agreed," you concede, pleased with yourself.

He raises his glass, and you do the same.

"To a new world," he declares.

"To a new world."

The clinking of crystal rings through the air. You swallow a generous sip and try to wash the words from your mouth. Edward downs half of his own portion before turning away and stepping out onto the balcony.

"By this time tomorrow, everything is going to be different," he exhales, peering out into the pitch black night.

You reclaim your seat and train your wistful gaze on him. You knew what he was doing. The nearest civilization was miles away, but that did not deter him from scanning the perimeter. You'd grown used to his vigilance; come to depend on it. Yet even in the middle of a moment of celebration, he could not fully let his guard down. You consider calling him back inside, but think the better of it. The moment would pass, as it typically did.

Instead, you reflect on the half-hearted toast you'd just made. Your playful exchange had distracted you from your troubled thoughts momentarily. But as sure as the coming dawn, they reappeared. You'd tried to put on a smile for him, but in truth, you were feeling far from jubilant. In the weeks since Edward first spoke to you of the G20 plan, it'd become a chore to keep your mind from wandering into the future, and all the dread that it held for you. There was no small part of you that was truly worried for his safety, a concern you attempted to convey to him time and again to no avail. It wasn't even the prospect of living in hiding that you found troublesome, as would be necessary after every nation on the planet saw his face tomorrow. You were already accustomed to one form of "off-the-grid" living or another following Edward around the globe for the past few years, so the concept certainly didn't bother you anymore. Your identity from before was long gone, and as long as you were together, the person you'd have to become next made little difference to you.

The reason for your dismay was much worse than that. You hated yourself for even thinking it, but deep down, you could sense that you'd begun to doubt him. You feared what would happen if his plan failed, and perhaps even more, you were terrified of what would happen if it didn't.

At last, Edward turns toward you, grinning once more. "The world is going to be our oyster, sweetheart. You've got nothing to worry about anymore."

You distractedly swirl around the remaining golden liquid in your glass. "Oh Eddie, you make it sound so easy."

"That's because it will be," he assures, pointing emphatically, "For the first time in my life, I have clarity of purpose. I know what I have to do. People have to be awakened to what's happening before their very eyes. They must be made to understand the truth so we can bring about real change. No one will stand in my way this time. And when the work is done, when we finally put an end to all the wars and deceit and corruption, I'm going to have everything I want. What we're owed."

"Oh yeah?" you ask, unconvinced by his impassioned oaths.

"Is that doubt, I'm hearing? Surely not," he says, sounding genuinely surprised. He walks over and sits beside you on the couch, awaiting an explanation. "Tell me I've not lost your faith."

You stare down at your hands as you speak, unable to look at him.

"You haven't. I know you'll accomplish what you need to. You always prevail. It's just..." you hesitate, unsure if you should reveal your insecurity.

"What is it? Hm?" he asks, comfortingly resting his hand on your leg.

"You'll be the most powerful man on the planet. You could go anywhere, do anything, with anyone. And I'm just wondering where I fit into all of it."

He's silent only a moment before he replies with renewed resolve.

"Now you just listen hear, darling. I said I was going to give you the world, and that's exactly what I'm going to do."

Shaking your head, you set your glass on the table. "I don't need the world, Eddie. All I want is you."

He smirks, undaunted.

"You already have me," he says, pulling you into his lap, "You know that, don't ya?"

You nod distantly in response, proceeding to softly trace the tattoo on his arm with your finger as he continues.

"You've been beside me in the dark, and I want you right there with me in the light. It's gonna be you and me, just like always. The money won't change that."

"How will it not?"

"Because I won't let it," he vows, "Besides, I couldn't replace you if I tried for a million years. You are my one and only." He snakes his arm around your waist and meets your eyes before repeating the words, "My one and only."

"And you are mine," you reply, leaning in closer until your forehead rests on his. Just like that, he had silenced your doubts, and put in their place a hope that you could hold onto. "You sure have a way with words, Corporal."

"I know, I know," he chuckles, "How about just two more?"

Instantly, you detect a shift in his tone that makes your heart skip. You sit back and stare at him expectantly.

He beholds you with quiet confidence. "Marry me."

"Eddie, be serious," you begin to laugh.

"I am being serious," he says, his gaze softening, "I love you. With all my bleeding heart, I love you, Y/N."

Your heart swells at his confession, tears flooding your vision. "I love you, too."

"This is the final mission. I'm done. I know I've put you through it, and somehow, through thick and thin...you haven't given up on me."

"Not yet," you smile.

He follows suit, continuing his impromptu speech.

"I want to take care of you. Proper like, from now on. Let me prove that your faith in me has not been for nothing," he says, taking your hand in his, "When I get back from this, will you marry me?"

"Yes," you answer, beaming, "I will."

"Atta girl," he purrs through his smile, "Now what was this you were sayin' earlier? Something about a reminder..."

Before you can blink, he eagerly pulls you against him and closes the meager space between you, capturing your mouth with his own. You claw at his chest and kiss him back fiercely, tasting the champagne on his tongue when he parts your lips. You melt into his wandering touch as he then peppers kisses along your jaw and down your neck. The gentle scratch of his beard on the sensitive skin makes your pulse quicken as you close your eyes.

"Promise that you'll come back to me," you say breathlessly.

He pauses his fevered exploration to cup your face in his calloused hands.

"Nothing will stop me from coming back to you. I promise."

★

The memory leaves you reeling, Edward's voice still echoing your head. You could see it all so clearly, as if you were still there in the ecstasy of his embrace. But when you open your eyes again, you're met with the cruel reality. He was gone, and he'd taken everything with him.

The sound of the locks releasing on the main door of the safehouse pull your from your desolate stupor.

You scramble to your feet as quickly as you can, but consecutive days of sporadic food and water intake immediately catch up to you as you struggle to find sure footing.

In mere seconds, a thousand thoughts flashed through your panicked mind. This was it. They'd come for you. Someone somewhere had figured out your connection to Edward, and they were about to lock you away for the rest of your life. It didn't matter that your only true crime was loving him. They would say you were a terrorist too. Guilty by association. You'd never see the sun again.

What difference did it make? It held no warmth for you anymore.

Accepting your fate, you step out into the open. You expect to see a stealth squad of some kind, hoping to catch you off guard and take you in for questioning.

Instead, a lone figure staggers forward from the shadows. You stand frozen as they limp closer, and the waning sunlight spills across their battered visage.

The second those familiar blue eyes meet yours, the air in your lungs disappears.

His name falls from your lips in a whimper. "Eddie?"

"Hello, darling." He flashes a weary smile, holding his arm across his torso.

"Is it really you?" you whisper, afraid that you would make him fade away if you even dared to move.

"It's me, love," he answers weakly, wincing just to speak, "What's left of me, anyway."

"Eddie, oh my god," you cry, your fragile composure shattering.

You run to him and throw your arms around his neck, clinging to him for dear life. After recovering his balance, he holds you tightly, burying his face in the crook of your neck.

"You were dead. You were dead," you repeat through sobs.

"Shhh, it's okay. I'm here, sweetheart. I'm here," he consoles, stroking your back, "Everything's alright now. I'm here."

Now that you were sure he was not a ghost, you feel secure enough to release your grip, if only just a little. His arms stay firmly encircled around your body as he gazes upon you with glistening eyes.

"It was all over the news. They said you fell, that-that survival was impossible," you stammer in disbelief, "I thought you were gone."

"For a moment there, so did I," he replies, reaching to caress your cheek. "But I had a promise to keep."

With that, you pull him into a desperate kiss. He returns it fervently, his fingers lacing into your hair. You savor every sensation you thought you'd never feel again as your hand slides up underneath his shirt. He lets out a pained groan against your lips. You're keenly aware of his injuries once again and carefully surrender your hold on him.

"Easy, darling. I'm gonna need a little R and R before I can have too much fun," he teases, touching his forehead against yours.

"Sorry. Habit," you wince, "Are you okay?"

"I'll live," he chuckles, "I missed you too."

It's then you realize that your hand doesn't feel quite right, and you look down to see your fingers smeared in crimson.

"You're bleeding!"

He growls in frustration, "The damned stitches must have ripped, climbing up this bloody mountain."

"Put your arm around me, let's get you to the couch," you instruct, moving to hold him upright.

"Too bad we finished that whole bottle, ay?" he grunts, complying through the pain.

Adrenaline helps you overcome your own fatigue enough to bear his unsteady weight over your shoulders and hobble into the next room.

"You're not dying on me now, Rutledge. You owe me."

"What are you on about, woman?" he grounds out, followed by a string of curses as you help lower him onto the cushions.

"You owe me a husband. You can't die until after you've married me," you pant, your head starting to pound from the exertion.

His pained expression turns baffled. "You still want to?"

Between the immense stress and his audacity to ask such a thing, your temper starts to flare. "I know you didn't just ask me that."

Switching on the lights, you rush to the kitchen to run some warm water and retrieve the medical kit, trying to work out a strategy. You quickly return with the necessary items, noticing the sudden shift in his mood even in your frenzied state.

"Why would you want to be tied to a miserable ratbag like me? You don't deserve that," Edward mumbles, looking at his boots.

The weight of his failure had apparently started to crash down on him, but it's more than you can bear at present.

You clench your trembling fist and stand over him. It takes all of your remaining strength not to yell.

"For your sake, I'm going to blame what I'm hearing on the head trauma you clearly sustained. Because I know if it weren't for that, there is no way in hell you'd be saying those things to me after everything that's happened," you warn, finding your courage. "Now shut up, Corporal, and help me get all of this off."

As much as you wanted to slap him and scream about the grief he put you through, your focus was on keeping him breathing. Gritting your teeth, you help him remove his soiled clothing until he was stripped down to the waist. He's left in visible agony afterward, but makes no complaints, lying as still as he can manage. You reflexively cover your mouth with your hand as you realize the full extent of the damage. His self-sewn stitches on his abdomen were indeed torn open at the bottom of the evident puncture wound, and he had what appeared to be a stab wound towards the back of his left shoulder that had since stopped bleeding. On top of that, he was completely covered in bruises, all shades of purple and black that made your stomach churn. By the looks of his right side especially, he probably had broken ribs, but there was nothing to be done about it. Staunching the bleeding was your priority, but despite your initial scare, it didn't seem as bad as you'd first thought.

You both remain silent as you kneel before him and begin cleaning the surrounding area with a wet cloth the best that you can. Apart from the rise and fall of his ragged breathing, he remains unmoving. You glance up to see a thousand-yard stare plastered on his face. Better that than the nonsense from before, you think. You wiped away as much dried blood as you could before deciding it would have to be good enough. Before long, you have the antiseptic at the ready.

"This will hurt," you say calmly.

He closes his eyes and sets his jaw. Steeling yourself as well, you pour it over the wound liberally. He flinches, but only just so. As difficult as it was to imagine, you remind yourself that he'd been through worse than this.

While you carefully dab the area with gauze, your eyes wander to the scars you knew by heart. Like you'd done many times before, you attempt to picture where he was when those wounds were fresh, and who had been there to care for him then. He almost never spoke of his past, and whenever he did, it was only of the people he'd lost. Never of his own pain.

Having sorted through the supplies and found the suture kit, Edward raises his hand in protest.

"Leave it. It'll mend. Just the bandage."

"Are you sure?"

He only nods. You don't push it any further, too drained to argue. He obviously had far more experience with first-aid than you, and you felt better knowing you'd at least treated it against infection.

"I said I would give you the world. I failed..." he says solemnly.

"Edward, stop," you implore. You're blinking back tears once again, trying desperately to concentrate on your task. "Please. I don't want to hear about that anymore. I can't take it."

You secure the edges of the crisp white bandage in place, but your plea falls on deaf ears.

"I failed you."

You'd finally had enough, all of your emotions spilling over beyond the edge of your control.

"You really are the most thick-headed man I've ever known. Don't you understand? I never cared about any of it! All I have ever wanted is you. Not the money, not the politics, not the revenge. Just you!"

Your strained outburst echoes through the room.

"And I know that doesn't make sense to you, because you can't understand how someone could love you as you are. Accept both the good and the bad. But I do, Eddie. I always have. You're just gonna have to find a way to live with that."

"I'm broken, Y/N."

You open your mouth to dispute him, but the tear running down his scarred cheek steals your words away. He looks upon you with a tormented gaze that cuts through you like a knife. The devilish twinkle that you loved so much had vanished from his eyes. In some ways, he seemed like a completely different man than the one who sat in that very same spot only nights before and proposed to you. Yet in others, he was more that man than he'd ever been, and all you wished for now was to take the pain away from him.

You crawl into the seat alongside him and slowly turn his head towards you. "Then show me how to fix you, one and only."

Your offer destroys what remains of his fortitude as he breaks down into sobs, succumbing to his grief. You cradle his head to your chest and press kisses into his hair while he weeps. His numerous injuries don't prevent his unburdening, the pain deep inside clearly far greater than whatever he felt in his body.

"They're gone. They're all gone, because of me," he cries, "I failed them. I always fail them."

Suddenly, you're seized with realization. He didn't just mean the men killed at the disastrous summit. His meant his brothers in arms that he lost in the war. His best mates. At last, you understood. He felt responsible for their deaths, and the guilt was killing him. It had been poisoning him long before you'd ever met.

"It's not your fault, baby," you console, wondering if he'd ever heard those words before, "It was never your fault."

"Why did I survive? It should have been them. They should have lived. Not me...not me."

His anguished laments send shivers down your spine as your heart breaks for him. How quickly had it all reversed. Now he was the one that clung to you for dear life.

"Oh my love," you murmur, tears falling from your eyes onto his blond locks, "I'm so sorry."

He'd been through more suffering and loss than he had a right to, and you longed to carry that burden with him. But even in these throes of sorrow, you couldn't ignore the spark of hope you were now feeling inside. A sense of peace had begun to settle where the dread and despair had so recently been. For the first time ever, Edward had truly let you inside his darkness. He trusted you; not just to tend to his wounds, but to mend his heart. Indeed, it was the smallest of sparks, but it was a hope that you would die to keep burning for him.

You hold him in your arms for as long as he needs, and it feels like a lifetime before he finally draws back and looks to you with bloodshot eyes.

"Don't give up on me," he begs, his voice raw, "Please, I can't lose you too."

"Never," you pledge, taking his shaking hand and holding it to your heart. "Thick and thin, remember?"

He smiles a bit, some of the light returning to his eyes. The storm inside him was beginning to subside.

You continue on, "All of those men followed you because they believed in you. Just like I believe in you. And I'm not going anywhere."

He stares at you in awe. "What did I ever do you deserve you?"

"Your guess is as good as mine, Rutledge," you answer, overwhelmed with yearning.

"I swear to you, I will earn this second chance," he says sincerely, cupping your cheek, "If you'll still have me."

You smile.

"Always."

[whereismymindnow]

Hear me out...

Twin!Homelander?

Homelander x reader x Rutledge?

...my brain went places after seeing the G20 trailers the other week!

If I do make something of this, it's my first time writing a reader character and not OC so I may need to iron out some kinks throughout the process.

“Homelander, you’re taking this the wrong wa-”

“Wrong way? You’re trying to add another member to The Seven without even asking me!”

“He’s not joining The Seven! He’s here to deal with the less delicate matters… the dirty stuff that your pristine gloves can’t be allowed to touch.”

“What? He’s the fall guy?”

“No. He’s the shadow. He’s the man in the dark that no one sees until it’s too late. He’s the one that takes care of the things that your reputation needs to be kept away from. He’s the problem solver.”

---

Homelander stiffened as the new guy walked into the room. He heard Deep gasp and watched as Maeve went incredibly pale.

His shoulders were broad, like his. He walked with purpose, like he did. He didn’t acknowledge the lesser beings in the room. No, pale blue eyes were locked directly onto Homelander's face. His mirror image walked into the room and sucked all of the oxygen out of it. They were the same, but different. His hair was the darker, dirty blonde that John’s naturally was without the bleach. His facial hair was dark and kept short, whereas John shaved and plucked his daily to perfection. The smile… the smile was the same. As dangerous and toothy as a shark about to bite. For the first time in his life, John felt sick. His nostrils were overcome with the scent of gunpowder and blood, along with a masculine musk. Traces of something sweeter could be detected, but John was certain it wasn’t him that the scent belonged to.

“Homelander, meet Edward.” Madelyn gave a bright smile as she motioned towards the man in black.

“What the fuck is this?”

“Vought knew you were strong from a young age… but they needed to make sure there was insurance just in case they did accidentally go too far one day. So, Vogelbaum replicated your DNA."

“I-I don’t understand.” Homelander stood toe to toe with his doppelganger. He felt like he was drowning. He’d always been enough, he’d always been the best, and now he was faced with something that shouldn’t exist. They doubted him?

“Things have been getting muddied. The water is murky, Homelander, and we need that to stop.” He knew Madelyn was referencing the few instances where his publicity hadn’t been squeaky clean. “So, we use Edward to do things in the dark whilst you’re out and in the public eye. If someone decides to say Homelander did it then we have the evidence that that is impossible, because Homelander was right in front of all of those cameras.”

---

“Well, this family reunion has been fun, but I need my bag.” As if on cue, an intern lugged a black suitcase behind him. “Be careful.” Edward chided, his eyes flashing in warning, as they tugged a bit too hard and caused it to tilt. “I’ll take it from here.” He grabbed the handle and effortlessly hoisted the luggage on to the table. He waited for the intern to disappear before carefully unzipping the top.

“Holy shit.” Maeve exclaimed as he reached in and grabbed a handful of hair, a flushed tear-stained face became visible. The girl had a gag in her mouth but she took in deep breaths through her nose as she was finally released from the small, dark space.

“There’s my girl.” Her face looked tiny being cupped by his black gloves. “Tut. I told you not to panic, it was only temporary.” More tears spilled down her face as she tried to nod and agree with him. “We have a whole new life ahead of us.”

Homelander didn’t think he’d ever heard a human’s heart beat so fast.

[letternotekisses]

You huff - a soft exhale that puffs your chest out like a hen with its feathers ruffled - and Roadhog's head swivels to face you, the blank stitching of his mask staring you straight down in a way that usually had you silenced within seconds. Most of the time you'd back down, eager to have him reward you for your good behaviour when you would submit and roll over onto your back like the good little bitch you were.

But today isn’t one of those days, and Mako reckons you'll be coming on soon, seeing as you were practically fighting with his belt to get at his cock underneath, pawing and palming at his heavy balls through his boxers. He oughta teach you a lesson or two. Or knock you up, considering how badly you wanted to take him raw.

You pull him free from his underwear, and he throbs hotly in your palm, your fingers unable to meet around the sheer size of it. Roadhog grunts, an raspy wheeze leaving his chest that made the rippling layer of fat and muscle on his chest tense sporadically.

"That all f'me?" He rumbles, tugging down your panties to shove a thick finger between your legs. His meaty digit drags through your folds to feel the mess you'd made while his thumb busies with circling your clit, "How sweet."

Your cheeks grow warm when you realise just how wet you were, but you don't dwell on the matter when Roadhog suddenly sinks his ring finger into your cunt and you clench needily around it, the stretch pleasant and filling you better than your own fingers ever could manage. His free hand smooths over your exposed belly, the weathered skin of his palms coming to cup your soft tits. You almost double over, moaning softly, but Mako is always there to catch you, whether you'd been a brat or not.

"Roadie," You whine, and he cocks his head at the usage of his nickname, content with watching you squirm on his fingers while you try to spit out your words. "C'mon and fuck me already."

You squeal when he gives your ass a harsh smack, the flesh there would definitely be sore come tomorrow, but he was already palming the flesh to soothe it and you were already too horny to think when he barked a laugh and rasped down at you.

"You want me t'break that little pussy?" Mako grunts harshly, reminding you painfully of the sheer size difference between you as he scissors you open, your thighs shaking like leaves from his fingers alone. Your slick is coating your thighs and his hand, but he won't fuck you until he thinks you're ready. He gives your ass an appreciative pat, gentler than before as he murmurs into your ear gruffly. "You'll take what I give ya."

Your squirming only invites him to stroke rougher circles over your clit, over and over in a torturous pace until he makes you finish with a gush of fluid that coats his fingers in a slick sheen. Your brain is like soup when he pulls his thick digits free and uses your cum as lubricant to slick up his erection, the tip slapping wetly against his stomach when he pauses to manhandle you into his expansive lap.

Mako's cock twitches against your soft tummy, the weight of it alone intimidating, and you never get used to seeing how deep it appears to go. He could very easily hold you up with his own strength, but he preferred the fun in watching you convince yourself that you could take it all in one go.

Your fingers guide the fat tip through your folds deftly, and Roadhog reaches down to spread your cunt wider, nudging himself against your hole with an eager wheeze. Massive hands then move to grab your hips hungrily, kneading the doughy flesh as you sink downwards.

It's a snug fit. You feel every throb, every twitch of him as he bullies himself inside your wet cunt, and your walls cling to him, sucking him in deeper like they'd missed him. He twitches harshly, dribbling pre-cum inside your warm pussy.

"Oh, God." You breathe, feeling like he'd just buried himself deep inside your stomach, but you were nothing if not a little spitfire that was determined to take his thick fucking cock all the way to the hilt.

Roadie only rasped, laughing at your breathy attempts while he mused over how he was going to fold you in half later, how he was going to sink himself balls deep and breed your cunt until you whine and claw at the meat of his back. Until you grew fat and full with his cum.

He'd dump your birth control too, while he was at it. With his plans for you, he'd doubt you'd need it (or want it) anymore.

[jailbird-junkrat-writes]

Overwatch Handholding Headcanons Part 1

I just wanted to do something simple and cute to fuel my soul.

Part one of four

Ramattra He isn’t used to showing affection let alone PDA. The way he would hold your hand is simple. He would gently nudge your hand with his, brushing his pinky against yours, hoping you get the message and that he doesn’t need to ask for it. His grip can be a little harsh so he favors you wrapping your hand around one or two of his larger digits. You enjoy the cool smooth feel of his hands. You know this is a big step for him and you don’t outwardly make a fuss. Simply take his silent plea for the contact.

Hanzo Hand-holding is something he thought was silly, childish. Something lovestruck teenagers did. But after you took his hand a few times, he decided it was far from silly and he found that he enjoyed how your hand felt against his. You would hold his, waiting for Hanzo to take your hand fully in his, a mumble of half-hearted complaint under his breath. He might pretend to protest but you made him feel worthy and he adored it.

Roadhog You didn’t think he would be the type to want to hold hands, he was rough and fearsome. A reputation as a fighter, a criminal. But holding your hand reminds him of better times, of the man he used to be, the good man he was before the world changed and he was forced to change with it. His touch is surprisingly gentle, his hand feels warm, rough skin. He likes to place his over yours when you are sat together.

Junker Queen She pulls your arm damn well near off as she grabs your wrist and yanks you towards her. She smirked down at you, wondering how small your hand looked in hers. Rough skin and even rougher grip as she holds tight. Your hand will ache for a while after but you decide it's worth it. Everything about her is rough around the edges and how she lovingly crushes your hand is no different.

Venture They love to hold hands, soon as they see you, their face lights up and their smile streches into a big toothy grin as they make grabby hand gestures before taking both your hands in theirs, spinning you slightly as they laugh, content to be in your company. When walking hand in hand they can’t help but happily sway your arms back and forth as they chat excitedly at you.

[xmoonlitxdreamx]

that ask abt hog singing made me wanna draw some karaoke bar scenario.... altho the thing w drawing characters singing is that it'll never be as interesting looking (??) as in ur head bc songs are way too long and comics dont have audio bhbjvhbjh anyway.

context is theyre "undercover" and "gathering intel for a heist" at a karaoke bar (aka junkrat just wanted to have some fun for the night); this is late in the evening after most everyone at the bar has gone back home, roadhog's probably had a bit much to drink & getting sentimental, idk.

[u-x-o]

Baby Roadhog skin concept design

Initial idea from @actuallyroadhog-irl hehe

Just a sketch but such a funny concept, I'm gonna infiltrate blizz and make it real I swear guys🙏💪

[silliestcolressfan]

clapping my hands like a toddler as I read the signatures just to see it ended by him

[midnightsaboteur]

Ellen expected some kind of smart-ass quip or defensive remark from the male. So, when he simply told her his name, she blinked in surprise before doing anything else. However, it took just mere moments for a smile to return to her features. Of course, Cameron had to follow it up with a smart-ass quip, and to that, Ellen scoffed yet grinned too. “Not hard enough, but it’s a start,” she teased, adding “I’m Ellen, by the way.” She rolled her eyes when he mused about keeping their names from each other, to which she said “I like to know who I’m looking at and talking to. And you should always bow to a lady’s wishes, right?” Again, Ellen’s tone had a playful element about it, yet Cameron gave as good as he got with his act around his phone and ‘departing’. Instinctively, Ellen began to follow him, the action perhaps answering his question without a word before she said confidently “Well, seeing as we know each other’s names now… I could take a ride…”

@highinfidelty

The playful quip from the woman caught him off guard, and he was momentarily surprised. She wasn't a meek wallflower, nor was she a shrinking violet. That much was obvious. His eyes narrowed and a sly smile played across his lips. He shamelessly continued to watch her, curve of her lips, the way she held her posture. He couldn't help but think about her, wonder what she tasted like. Would she taste like the cigarette she was currently puffing on? "Cameron," he answered, no longer interested in the nicotine fix, and instead he leaned against the nearby building, a lazy, smug expression plastered on his face. He knew this was all part of the game. The teasing, the subtle hints, the anticipation of the chase. The thrill was always in the hunt, the seduction and the pursuit. Though, perhaps he was just too arrogant for his own good. "Hard enough for you?" He laughed, not interested at all in trying hard. "Though, if you want my opinion, we could've done without the names, the niceties and all the shit. Keeps things interesting that way." His gaze shifted, eyes darting between her and the phone buzzing in his pocket. It was a message, or rather, a string of them. He pulled the phone out, skimming through the lot. "Mm, and there're my mates. Looks like I gotta run, gorgeous." He kicked off from the wall, legs guiding him backward as he kept his eyes focused on her. "Unless," he said, a hint of promise in his tone, "you change your mind about the ride." @midnightsaboteur

[spaceorphan18]

The Lady Whistledown Papers: 1x04 - An Affair of Honor (Part 1)

Welcome back, Gentle Readers, to The Lady Whistledown Papers, where I’m taking an in-depth look at Penelope Featherington and Colin Bridgerton’s character arcs and romance within the show Bridgerton!

For previous issues, follow tag : The Lady Whistledown Papers

Alright, episode four, some meatier things to sink our teeth into, and another Polin scene to dissect, finally!

Rutledge

We're getting into the baby drama really earlier in this one. Marina has spent the previous five minutes being poked at like prized cattle as Portia is trying to sell her off to the quickest bidder. Of course, it's a humiliating thing, especially when Lord(?) Rutledge is a crusty, old man.

When Penelope is leaving, she notices Marina is upset and asks if she should stay to help. it's one part gossip, sure, but I do think at this point, she considers Marina a friend and does care about how Marina is feeling.

I need to take a quick non-Polin moment and just say that we have the introduction of one of my favorite characters on the show --- Albion Finch, who is there to call on Phillipa. I love Finch and his sweet, awkward, adoring love for Phillipa. The fact that he's there for comic relief is a nice touch to a rather heavy season 1. But also, the fact that all of the Featherington sisters are going to find men who truly, truly adore them --- especially when their parents' marriage is cold and lifeless --- is really one of my favorite aspects of the show.

Quill

I love this conversation between Eloise and Penelope -- it's just a well written scene with the conversation turning from one thing to another in an organic fashion. Just as from a structure point of view, I think it's great.

We start off with the two of them looking at quills, and Eloise complaining about feathers in the hair, and how Daphne is closer to getting married which has ignited Eloise's fears that the attention would turn to her and her turn in the marriage mart, and Eloise just does not want that!

Pen finds it all amusing -- she is following all the Daphne stuff closer than she lets on (she has to for Lady Whistledown to be as good as she is!), but on a more personal level, she's always been amused that Eloise is so against it while she, herself, doesn't want to admit that she is a fan of all of it. Eloise continues on about wanting to be free and independent (and girl -- I do not blame you, I couldn't be a woman in this time period). Her line about how their options are to "squawk and settle" or "never leave the nest" while she wants to fly is really on point and essential to her character.

(Also, note the bird metaphors as they're talking about quills and feathers? it's a nice touch.)

But the conversation takes a turn when Eloise starts praising Lady Whistledown for her ability to make a name for herself without a man's help. The grin on Pen's face when Eloise notes "a brilliant woman of business, who fools the ton while pocketing their money". The irony of which is that Lady Whistledown is standing right next to her.

Penelope is grateful to see everyone buying her written words, and she is making money off it. But to have the respect and admiration of her best friend? That's just icing on the cake. Because Eloise is incredibly impressed. But Pen plays it down -- as gentle amusement. It's a wonderfully played moment.

The next line Eloise has about LW is really fascinating, though: "Imagine the life she must lead. Independence. You can be sure she is not simpering on the edge of a ballroom every night, praying a man might take a fancy and leg-shackle her into marriage."

Pen laughs, and says that it's quite the life Eloise has fabricated. She takes it with ease, though Eloise has described exactly what LW is really like. The fact that Pen is not independent and stuck in a verbally abusive and neglectful home. The fact that she does hide on the edge of the ballroom. And, while Pen does like romance, and would be open to suitors, let's be real, there's only one man she'd like to be leg-shackled into marriage with. ;)

Then Eloise gets it in her head that they should find her and Pen is so delighted by this -- the fact that having this secret is really a fun thing for her right now. The fact that Eloise, whom she admires so deeply is fawning over her is a quite nice thing for her ego.

And, I mean, it's a human thing -- that while Pen cherishes her friendship with Eloise, and they usually are on the same level, there are times when Pen probably does feel less than Eloise (something we'll get into later in the episode). So the fact that Eloise is so gushing over something she's done, something that can be admired in her, makes her feel prideful.

Eloise proclaims that they're the two most clever girls in all of the ton and if anyone could figure out LW it's the two of them. Of course, Pen does not want this to happen, and brushes it off, claiming family obligations. Which gets them into a conversation about Marina.

Pen has kept Marina's secret, by the way. We already know Pen is pretty good at keeping secrets, and although she does trust Eloise, she wouldn't dare bring scandal to her family, and specifically Marina. She does like Marina - and I kind of want to emphasize that Pen doesn't use LW gossip to purposely harm people (not really). Marina, as of this point, is someone she wants to continue to protect. She respects Marina enough to want to protect her.

The scene ends with Eloise claiming she is going to start her search for LW, which is going to be a huge plot line for the rest of the season and into the next. Pen is pretty chill about it, though she thinks her identity is pretty secure, and maybe since she is so close to Eloise, she feels like she has the situation under control.

The Boxing Match

Huh. Lord Featherington standing next to his future son-in-law. You know if Lord Featherington had any sense, he would have figured out how to snatch a Bridgerton up for his own daughters (instead of Marina) and it would have saved his ass. However, that might have ended up with Benedict married to Prudence or something, and that would have felt weird.

You guys notice this scene is one giant metaphor for the 'fight' going on in Daphne's heart between the Prince, who actually makes a lot of sense for her because he is cute and actually wants all the things Daphne wants and her burning desire for the Duke? Idk what's so wrong with the Prince anyway - he seems like a perfectly lovely guy...

Oh, am I supposed to be talking about Colin? Oops. Yes, he's in this scene. Continuing being the show's highest paid extra.

There are two Colin things I can pull out of his nothing to do in the background...

He has a front row seat to the asshat-ery that is Lord Featherington. And I have no doubt, had he lived, Portia would not have been the only one getting it from Colin over the treatment of the family and of Penelope.

Colin seems to be rather enjoying the match. While it may be much more subtle and lighthearted than Anthony, Colin does have a bit of competitiveness about him.

Cheese

I need to mention the LW voice over -- which sets the scene, discussing Lady Trowbridge, her recently dead husband, and the fact that the new widow is throwing a giant party in his 'celebration'. Pen, you are so saucy in these observations!

But more interestingly, LW goes on about how much of a scandal it would be if any unmarried woman dared do anything with a man it'd be her ruin. So, it's a testament at how little people notice (or take seriously) Pen (or even Colin), because their asses would have been married so fast if anyone had taken a moment to witness the shenanigans that go on between them.

Anyway... more to the point, Portia is once again shuffling Marina off onto Lord Rutledge, and Penelope feels terrible for her.

Meanwhile, Finch continues courting Phillipa while they bond over cheese, and I dare say, Pen is quite enjoying it. Not only are they the epitome of dorkiness, but I think Penelope has a tiny iota of affection for at least one of her sisters, but also maybe Finch as well. I think she can appreciate a love match, even between two dolts, when she sees it. I also love at how off put Prudence is during all of this -- it's hilarious.

I just need to take a second and shout out to this dude who is just having the most boring time with the harp. Idk why but it makes me laugh every time they cut to him.

It also gives me a moment to mention two things slightly relevant to Pen and Colin... A) the fact that Lord Featherington continues to be an asshat and basically tells Finch he can't marry Phillipa and B) Eloise is continuing her search for LW by thinking its the servants, and we don't get a lot of class stuff in Bridgerton, but I do love the maid and how she's like you stupid, privileged child -- like we'd spend our little free time writing about you lot.

What a Barb

Finally! Another Polin scene! Let's do this!

At the beginning of this, Marina is being manhandled by Lord Rutledge, and basically mouthing to Penelope to get her the fuck outta there. Pen looks sincerely distraught over Marina's plight, and probably would step in if she could.

But more importantly, no one really notices or cares that she's there... except the one person who is always seeking her out at these social situations. I will point out every time it's Colin who starts a conversation, because most of the time, it is him. And yeah, social norms of the time dictate... whatever, these two don't care a flying fig about the Regency Era's social norms.

You know how in Season 3, Benedict goes on a long diatribe to the Mondrich's that once you're married, the rules don't apply and so who gives a flying fuck? These two are already there. One is just too dumb to realize it yet.

[Also - I have to note that he's wearing yellow in this scene. Granted, everyone is wearing the theme of creams and golds, but I think it's important here, as this is the real start of his integration into the Featherington family.]

Colin comes in with a joke about the new Lord Trowbridge -- a new born baby, and if he falls asleep they all need to leave. And Penelope is deeply amused. She appreciates his sense of humor, and he definitely gets a kick out of making her laugh.

And look, I'm just gonna say it, Colin's got real Lord Whistledown energy in this scene. He may not be indulgent in gossip the way Pen is, but he'll definitely make fun of things the way she does.

And then Pen ups his joke with a scandalous piece of gossip -- that it's clearly obvious Lady Trowbridge fucked around with her servant and produced an heir with that guy instead of her husband. Note the red hair? It's clearly obvious. And then we get's Colin's infamous line "Penelope, what a barb!".

He is amused by her and entertained by her and scandalized by her but it all impresses him. Her observation skills, her wit, her cleverness, he really is taken by her natural abilities -- and we see that the two of them genuinely enjoying each other's company, which is why he seeks her out every time there's one of these balls. They make the evenings more enjoyable for each other.

But also, Colin... my dear, sweet, dumbass favorite character of mine... (No, look, I love Colin to death so I feel okay pointing out when he's being a dumbass) THIS IS LADY WHISTLEDOWN! SHE'S STANDING RIGHT IN FRONT OF YOU IMPRESSING YOU WITH THE WONDERFUL BEING THAT SHE IS AND YOU ARE ENJOYING IT -- EATING IT RIGHT UP! SHE IS RIGHT. HERE. GO DANCE WITH HER -- DON'T BE DISTRACTED BY MARINA!!

Penelope and her 'omg, ilu so much and the fact that you get me and laugh with me and think i'm awesome, will you let me have all your babies right now? cause i'll seriously let you get me pregnant. right here. right now. in this ball room. i don't even care if everyone else is here' look.

The thing about this moment though? Is that it's a shared moment. Yeah, Pen takes a second to kind of stare up at him with her ever adoring look and her unrequited love glazed eyes and it's just a /moment/ for her. But Colin lingers just as long. In fact, it's a beat too long and they both know it, and suddenly, they're both looking away as if they're guilty of something.

The intensity of the moment spins them in different directions, however. Colin finally notices Marina dancing with Rutledge. And it's Pen who kind of uses the magic words to spark Colin's actions. She tells him that Marina needs rescuing -- and oh boy, is that going to kick in Colin's hero complex.

Colin, boy, you do have some prince charming energy going on in this moment.

Yes, I do believe Colin has genuine interest in Marina. But getting to jump in and save her from a terrible fate, really gets him going. And poor Pen -- she kind of knows what's happened after she's already said it, and she's left there alone while he whisks Marina away.

Colin, what's going on with your hair, babe? It's, like, going everywhere.

The thing about this is -- he jumps in with a joke, just like he had when he approached Penelope. Only, Marina doesn't quite get it. Not only do they not know each other -- and Marina isn't used to Colin's sense of humor, but she's so concerned with her own issues, she doesn't quite know what to make of Colin's levity.

But she is amused by him, too, and this is where she starts to see some potential. He's a nice guy, pleasant to look at, willing to get her out of sticky situations, and (unfortunately) easily played. Colin is a romantic and really does enjoy play the role of rescuer, and Marina's smart enough to pick up on that really quickly. It isn't going to take her long to figure out that he is exactly what she needs to help her situation.

Marina asks him to spin her away -- and he does so literally, taking her off and (he thinks) sweeping her off her feet. Daphne is going to mention to the Prince that Colin knows how to make things 'memorable'.

And there are a couple of neat aspects to this little moment. For one, they're giggling and laughing together -- which, is kind of fascinating for two very different reasons. For one, this kind of signifies genuine connection and while everyone else is taking all this courtship stuff so seriously, Colin again brings levity to it, which is sweet and endearing. But on the other hand, it speaks to his youth that he's so playful with his jokes and his dancing. He doesn't adhere to the steps he's supposed to, but instead whisks Marina around the dance floor not paying attention to what he's supposed to be doing (according to society). And it somewhat speaks to the fact that what's going on with Marina isn't as serious as he feels like it probably should be.

And... that's where I'm going to stop for now. Lots more to unpack in this episode -- including some really great Penelope scenes...

[victorluvsalice]

Valicer Multiamory Month, Day Twenty-Eight: Magic (Valicer In The Dark AU)

The end of Multiamory March (as made by @polyamships) creeps ever closer, and today's prompt is a simple but fun one: "magic!" I have a number of AUs where magical things happen, so filling this one? Not a problem. :p Now, one might have expected that I'd do something for the All The Fairy Tales AU for this one, or perhaps the Medieval Fantasy AU, or maybe even the Valicer Forgotten Vows AU --

But when it came time to figure out something for this prompt, the first thing that actually came to mind was my beloved Valicer In The Dark AU. Which does indeed have magic in it -- just, uh, magic you don't want to mess with too much. Which led to me thinking about what the trio would have learned about magic, growing up in Duskwall -- and what Alice and Smiler might think about Victor getting into it once he embraces being a Whisper. And so the story below was born! I hope you enjoy. :)

--

Magic was dangerous.

That was a fact of life one learned early on, living in Duskwall. Magic, and anything related to it, was dangerous. The old tongue of sorcery was the domain of demons now, who used it to torment all who opposed them – from freezing them in storms of ice, to drowning them in massive waves, to burning them with whips of fire. And rituals? Well, you never knew what mysterious, otherworldly force would consent to lend you a bit of its power – or for what purpose. The city was full of stories featuring those who had dabbled in what they didn’t understand, and ended up paying a terrible price. Who had discovered that the power they so eagerly sought was also their inevitable downfall. Magic was dangerous, and thus best avoided.

Alice and Smiler had known that too – they’d grown up hearing all the stories, all the warnings, after all. And for the most part, they’d followed said warnings – Alice had confined her interest in the fantastical to her imagination, where magic could run wild without hurting anyone, while Smiler had channeled their desire to accomplish incredible things into alchemy, which often ran up against the side of magic, but never quite crossed over. Even after Alice suffered the death of her family and ten years in Rutledge Asylum, and Smiler finally ran away from home and was cheerfully swallowed up by the Advocates, neither of them were tempted much by the mystical.

And then they met Victor. Who – after some initial reluctance – wholeheartedly embraced life as a Whisper. Who poured through ancient volumes of spellcraft and sorcery, studying distressingly complex diagrams and practicing words no human tongue should be able to form. Who asked his ghostly mentor what rituals he knew, and how best to perform them. Who eventually came up with his own spells, designed to translate any language or ward them against spectral attacks or even drag them all temporarily into the ghost field. All the sort of terrifying, dangerous activities that any sensible person would want to avoid.

But – well. One could accuse Alice and Smiler of being a lot of things, but “sensible” was not usually one of them. And things Victor did – first, they were genuinely incredible feats of arcane power. Second, he always tried to be as safe as possible, and only use them for the whole crew’s benefit. And third – whenever he spoke a word that brought lightning arcing down from the sky, or drew a symbol that lit up a ghostly map of the city, Alice and Smiler would see the joy on his face –

And think, how could they deny the man they loved such pleasure?

[fetchmearum420]

I was just watching Falsettos for the billionth time and while sobbing during “What Would I Do?” I started imagining Rutledge and Hall singing it. Like Rutledge is Marvin and Hall is Whizzer.

“Who would I be, if I had not loved you? How would I know what love is?”

I cried even more.

[whereismymindnow]

In the middle of trying to make a little photoshop image for my Rutledge x Reader x Homelander fic, so please enjoy some screencaps :)

[filmforager]

G20: Review

Viola Davis as a terrorist-fighting President? She’s got my vote

From Olympus has Fallen to White House Down, plenty of action films have seen Presidents facing up to hostage-taking terrorist attacks. But each of these films have been heavily male-focussed, relegating women to cowering hostages. Well, that was before G20. Starring Viola Davis as a formidable, gun-toting President, this is the most enjoyable film in the President-taken-hostage saga yet. 

President Danielle Sutton (Viola Davis) is a formidable woman who comes under fire after her rebellious teen daughter (Marsai Martin) overrides security for a night of partying. In an attempt to settle the media and her home life, she takes her family to the G20 summit in Cape Town, where she plans to garner support for her new initiative from world leaders - something vague about developing a new currency to support African farmers. But before she can even get her message across, the summit is quickly taken hostage by disgruntled ex-soldier Rutledge (Anthony Starr), who plans to manipulate deep-fake technology to crash the US economy, and make himself mega rich.

As you can imagine, the film isn’t really concerned with trivial things like plot. Focus too hard on the details - Rutledge’s plan does not make a lot of sense - and the logic of this film falls apart. But thankfully, director Patricia Riggen knows exactly what film this is. As Danielle is forced to take matters into her own hands to evade the terrorist threat, writers Caitlin Parrish and Erica keep things tense but also silly, with plenty of entertaining action sequences. It’s a film where Oscar-winner Viola Davis is able to whack a goon over the head with a frying pan, where a man twice her size announces ‘let’s dance, Madam President’, before a punchy fight sequence. 

Davis is clearly having a ball, commanding during the dramatic scenes as you’d expect, but also thoroughly believable as a woman capable of holding her own during a fight (handily, this President has prior military experience). She’s supported by a fun cast that include Ramon Rodriguez as her quick-witted bodyguard, and Douglas Hodge as a withering Prime Minister. Starr is essentially phoning it in as a villain who at least has more worthy motivations than his Homelander, but still offers a reliable face of evil.

There are small inroads made to address the alienating impact of US foreign policy on military personnel, before smartly deciding that this isn’t that type of film at all. G20 won’t change the world, but it will offer you a great time at the cinema. 

This fun action-thriller doesn’t do anything ground-breaking, but it does have Viola Davis as an ass-kicking President. What more do you want?

★★★

[jailbird-junkrat-writes]

Overwatch Characters Love Languages P3

Pharah Physical touch, trust me, she adores holding her partner's hand, picking them up, holding them close, lifting them to see things they’ve never seen before. Forehead kisses, either giving or getting them, makes her weak.

Rammattra Acts of service  He would do anything for those he cares about and he expects that level of dedication from his partner. He does not demand from his loved one but he wants total equality in his relationships. A very ‘give as good as you get’ sort of being. 

Reaper Quality time Might come as a surprise but Reaper enjoys being around the person he has feelings for. He might not talk alot, or be too busy to do much with his partner but he enjoys the comfort of being one another's shadow when in the safety and comfort of his own space.

Reinhardt Acts of service and physical touch He loves picking up his partner like they weigh nothing, twirling them around. He is 100% the partner that will dance around the kitchen with you. He will also do as many things as he can to make your life easier. 

Roadhog Quality time A man of few words but he’s grown so used to having someone glued to his hip that he doesn’t think he can go without it again. He just likes to exist in the same space as his partner, being the one to listen and nod. So used to being the passive voice in any situation.

[toomanyrobins2]

Back to School

Summary: An orphan all her life, Y/N is simply too old to remain at The Bowery Home any longer. That is where an anonymous patron has swooped in to send her off to college and all he requires…a monthly letter of her academic progress.

Based off the book and musical “Daddy Long Legs”

Pairing: Bruce Wayne x Reader

last part // series masterlist // next part

Notes: I'm finally getting around to updating this fic! If you would like to catch up and get more consistent updates to this story and others I would go to by AO3!

All of August, Bruce waited and waited for a letter and one never came. He’d driven Clark crazy asking him to call on his parents and make sure that Y/N was well. Hearing that she was indeed perfectly healthy only made him want to tear his hair out more. Everyone around him was waiting for him to boil over, and yet he continued to pace.

When halfway through September when Alfred appeared at his study door with a letter in hand, Bruce nearly crawled across the desk.

28th August 

Dear Batman,

I am so sorry for forgetting to write you this month of August. It seemed that every time I sat down to write, something else would arise and draw me away. 

I was weighed yesterday on the flour scales in the general store at the Comers. I've gained nine pounds! I no longer feel like a gangly orphan, drowning in someone’s leftover dress. Let me recommend Kent Farm as a health resort.

Yours ever,

Y/N

 

September 1st

Dear Batman,

I hope this letter finds you as well as I feel. I truly believe you have delivered me to an oasis and in it, I have discovered the meaning of happiness. Being offered such freedom after a life of rigidity has revealed to me that the secret to happiness is to just enjoy this ride. To not let the journey be tainted by pride and not to mourn the past.

I plan to enjoy this life and I will not rush to the end when there is so much good to discover. I want to run through the hills and listen to the wind rush through the trees. I want to see the world and write about everything I’ve learned and I have you to thank for such a discovery. 

Happiness, it seems, unfolds when we learn to be still amid the constant motion of life.

In essence, the secret of our happiness is not elusive—it is clear, near, and here. It is a culmination of these realizations, a blend of living in the moment, embracing challenges, and finding joy in the simplicity of being. I hope my ramblings make some sense to you and I hope that you have felt even a bit of the joy that you have given me.

Wishing you all the joy,

Y/N

 

September 25th

Dear Batman,

Behold me—a Sophomore! I came up last Friday, sorry to leave Kent Farm, but glad to see the campus again. It is a pleasant sensation to come back to something familiar. I am beginning to feel at home in college, and in command of the situation; I am beginning, in fact, to feel at home in the world—as though I really belonged to it and had not just crept in on sufferance.

I don't suppose you understand in the least what I am trying to say. A person important enough to be a Trustee can't appreciate the feelings of a person unimportant enough to be a foundling.

And now, Bats, listen to this. Whom do you think I am rooming with? Barbara Gordon and Harriet Rutledge Kane. It's the truth. We have a study and three little bedrooms—voila!”

Barbara and I decided last spring that we should like to room together, and Harriet made up her mind to stay with Barbara—why, I can't imagine, for they are not a bit alike; but the Kanes are naturally conservative and inimical (fine word!) to change. Anyway, here we are. Think of Y/NAbbott, late of the Bowery Home for Orphans, rooming with a Kane. This is a democratic country.

Barbara is running for class president, and unless all signs fail, she is going to be elected. Such an atmosphere of intrigue you should see what politicians we are! Oh, I tell you, when we women get our rights, you men will have to look alive in order to keep yours. Election comes next Saturday, and we're going to have a torchlight procession in the evening, no matter who wins.

I am beginning chemistry, a most unusual study. I've never seen anything like it before. Molecules and Atoms are the materials employed, but I'll be in a position to discuss them more definitely next month.

I am also taking argumentation and logic.

Also history of the whole world.

Also plays of William Shakespeare.

Also French.

If this keeps up many years longer, I shall become quite intelligent.

I should rather have elected economics than French, but I didn't dare, because I was afraid that unless I re-elected French, the Professor would not let me pass—as it was, I just managed to squeeze through the June examination. But I will say that my high-school preparation was not very adequate.

There's one girl in the class who chatters away in French as fast as she does in English. She went abroad with her parents when she was a child, and spent three years in a convent school. You can imagine how bright she is compared with the rest of us—irregular verbs are mere playthings. I wish my parents had chucked me into a French convent when I was little instead of a foundling asylum. Oh no, I don't either! Because then maybe I should never have known you. I'd rather know you than French.

Goodbye, Batman. I must call on Harriet now, and, having discussed the chemical situation, casually drop a few thoughts on the subject of our next president.

Yours in politics,

Y/N Abbott

 

17th October

Dear Batman,

Supposing the swimming tank in the gymnasium were filled full of lemon jelly, could a person trying to swim manage to keep on top or would he sink?

We were having lemon jelly for dessert when the question came up. We discussed it heatedly for half an hour and it's still unsettled. Barbara thinks that she could swim in it, but I am perfectly sure that the best swimmer in the world would sink. Wouldn't it be funny to be drowned in lemon jelly?

Two other problems are engaging the attention of our table:

1st. What shape are the rooms in an octagon house? Some of the girls insist that they're square; but I think they'd have to be shaped like a piece of pie. Don't you?

2nd. Suppose there were a great big hollow sphere made of looking-glass and you were sitting inside. Where would it stop reflecting your face and begin reflecting your back? The more one thinks about this problem, the more puzzling it becomes. You can see “with what deep philosophical reflection we engage our leisure!

Did I ever tell you about the election? It happened three weeks ago, but so fast do we live, that three weeks is ancient history. Barbara was elected, and we had a torchlight parade with transparencies saying, 'Gordon for Ever,' and a band consisting of fourteen pieces (three mouth organs and eleven combs).

We're very important persons now in '258.' Harriet and I come in for a great deal of reflected glory. It's quite a social strain to be living in the same house with a president.

Bonne nuit, cher Bats.

Acceptez mez compliments, 

Tres respectueux,

Je suis, 

Votre Y/N

 

23rd October

Dear Bats,

I find myself once again pondering your appearance. I know you are not bald, so now I am destined to wonder what color your hair is? 

How old are you? I know you won't tell me but you can't stop me from wondering

Where are you now? How goes your day? And are your sporting silver or grey? What are you like? Who could you be? 'Cause I have imagined a kindly old man of at least ninety-two. 

On my own I can only imagine. But if we could meet It would lift my heart beause I'd know the colour of your eyes.

The silly thoughts that dance through my mind,

Yours in curiosity,

Y/N

From the desk of Mr Bruce Wayne

The dim glow of the Wayne Manor study cast long shadows as Bruce Wayne found himself unable to escape the haunting thoughts that lingered in his mind. The weight of his deception, the web of half-truths and concealed identities, weighed heavily on him, disrupting any chance of finding solace in the embrace of sleep. Frustration gnawed at him, and in the quiet of the night, he decided to confront the turmoil within by putting pen to paper.

Seated at his desk, Bruce began to write, the ink flowing from the nib of his pen as he poured out the thoughts that had plagued him for far too long.

Dear Y/N, I've been meaning to write to you for quite some time, but with no success. It felt rather dishonest writing to you as Bruce Wayne when all your letters were being written to me as Batman. So I put it off. I shouldn't have done. But I did. Your discovery of my connection to Kent Farm has made a confession all the more necessary, yet I still don't know whether to write to you as Bruce telling you I'm Batman or Batman telling you I'm Bruce. Either way, I feel I shall be a terrible disappointment to you. What can I say? What would make sense? I've made a mess of things at your expense. My little deceit is haunting me now. All I want is to tell you the truth, but I just don't know how. How can I manage to soften this blow when you know the color of my eyes? I am in agony, guessing what you might do once you find out I have thoroughly lied to you. Would you forgive me? I write this to you only because it's late and I can't get to sleep as I think of the hurt in your eyes. I feel like an idiot, knowing the color of your eyes and not revealing to you that you already have the answer to every question about my appearance. Yours in the sincerest of regrets, Batman Bruce Wayne Bruce

Folding the letter with a sense of finality, Bruce tucked it away in his desk, knowing that he couldn't send it. As dawn approached and the night's shadows slowly gave way to the light of a new day, Bruce found himself still grappling with the uncertain path that lay ahead, wondering if he could ever find a way to bridge the gap between the man behind the mask and the person he longed to reveal himself to.

[angie-j-kay]

For Storyteller Saturday! 🌼

🌼 Pick an OC and put them on blast. Call out their flaws, complain about what makes them difficult to write, etc.

Okay, I was given Ser Elias. I won't give away any spoilers (AND I COULD OMFG THIS MAN IS SO PROBLEMATIC), but here we go.

Elias. You asshole. I'd love to complain that you're difficult to write, but you're legit not. All I have to do is imagine what the cheesiest, most cliché, romance-novel Prince Charming bullshit move would be, and boom: it's you. Seriously. Come up with something original for once in your eternal life.

Listen, we KNOW this is all for show. Nobody whose entire career has been focused around combat for the last thousand years wears white, let alone the absolute catwalk nightmare that you sport on the regular. Embroidered silver wings on the shoulders of a white silk suit? Waist-length gothic supermodel black hair? Dude, you are in Coal Miner Country, you could have floored everyone by wearing literally anything that was clean, this was like using a jackhammer to break an eggshell. And everyone knows that the accent is fake, because Fae don't have accents. YOU JUST DID THAT TO SOUND SEXIER, YOU ABSOLUTE FUCKING WALKING EUROPEAN STEREOTYPE OF AN ELF!

There is a reason why your only real friend is an eldritch abomination, dude. Reli may be the stuff of nightmares, but at least they're not YOU.

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What You Cast Out: A Tale From Little Egypt (Novel Masterpost HERE!)

A small college town is rocked by a horrific murder, with only one suspect. Officer Gabe Nelson knows Tracey Rutledge can't possibly be guilty, but the only thing more incriminating than the woman's behavior is everything else that his investigation reveals.

Why does the case trace back to her childhood home, and why did she run away from it eight years ago?

Why is the FBI as interested in Tracey as they are in the murder?

What smells like wet dogs?

As the case closes in on Tracey, so does the real killer. Gabe will have to choose between the life he has always believed in and the values he has always held, while the world he thought was real starts to fall apart.

Chapter 1 will be released to the public on March 1, and Chapters 3-5 will be available to Patreon and Ko-Fi followers!

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NO AI WAS OR EVER WILL BE USED IN THE PRODUCTION OF MY ZINES.

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