#so i just hope you can see the effort that i put into it

[luveline]

hello might i ask for sassy badass reckless reader who is the #1 leading cause of aaron's gray hairs pls 🤞🏻 he is SO exasperated with her like he is TIRED™ but also tweaking bcs he's horrendously down bad for her he's gna throw up

Good morning. I hope you slept well, honey. Can you come to work early, say 6.10AM? I’d like to see you and talk about something in person. 

You squint at the text that’s just come through. Another follows as you’re finishing, lighting the dark of your room.

I love you. Sorry, I know you don’t like when I forget to tell you in the mornings. 

Your own response is sent without propriety. I love you too handsome. 6.10 is not gonna work.

Can you make an effort for me? he asks. 

You do your very best. 

“It’s almost seven,” Hotch says when you finally get there that morning, his frown audible and plain to see. 

You hold up the bag of sugar donuts you’d purchased from the truck on the square just outside of Quantico’s endless parking lots. “Necessary delay.” 

“Unnecessary. I asked you nicely to come early and you’re barely on time,” he grumbles. 

How adorable. You put the bag of donuts on the desk and ignore the paperwork laid out waiting for you in favour of his side of the desk. He smells like cedar, his suit sleeve starched under your hand. You lean back against the lip of his desk and pretend you hadn’t been thinking about climbing into his lap —he’s formidable and lovely and that’s the best combination for lounging about atop someone, especially when that someone is very good at pressing you backwards, and better at kissing your neck. 

He knows what you’re thinking. “You’ve woken up in a mood,” he murmurs. 

“A good one,” you promise. 

You take his coffee and steal a sip. Hotch, resigned, lays a hand on your thigh. “I have important things to talk about, you know? I thought I made that clear this morning.” 

“You made a couple of things clear.” 

“Don’t say it like that.” 

“Like what?” 

“Like I…” He tilts his head to the side. “Like I’ve been sending you dirty texts or photos.” 

“Is that an option? I don’t think I’ve subscribed to those emails.” 

“You make me out to be this salacious lark–”

“Aaron, I don’t do anything of the sort.” You can hardly hold back a laugh. “I’m sorry I implied you were sexting me, okay? I wish you had been.” He sighs a long-suffering sigh as you carry on. “But you were very formal. I’ll be sure to tell HR the same thing.” 

His hand slips between your thighs. Nowhere it shouldn’t be, just trapped between soft flesh. “Don’t tell HR anything.” 

His coffee is lukewarm and unsweetened on your tongue. Would it kill your uptight love to add just a dash of cream and sugar? Wrinkling your nose, you set aside the mug and press your mildly heated hand to his cheek. Just quickly, brushing a thumb up to the skin below his eye before you let it fall. “Tell me what you wanted me to come in early for. And, for the record, I’m sorry for not trying to get here before, just I didn’t sleep well, and my neck hurt too much to rush.” 

He looks like he wants to ignore your apology. He doesn’t ask you for much, and showing up when he’d wanted you to would’ve been the kinder thing to do —he can be annoyed as both boss or boyfriend. 

But he doesn’t have it in him. 

“Why didn’t you sleep?” he asks softly. 

“Thinking too much about my nice boyfriend.” 

“Really?” 

You slouch a little. Cover his hand where it rests between your legs. “I don’t know. It was really hot, and my mattress is getting old, probably.” 

He ushers you down for a sympathetic kiss. He’s always so sorry to hear about your minor ailments, he must like you too much. 

You attempt to crawl into his lap, curling an arm behind his head. He, disgruntled and yet far from reluctant, lets you take a seat. 

[yelenaslyubov]

Be My Baby

main masterlist || florence pugh || requests

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ pairing: florence pugh x fem!reader

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ warnings: MINORS DNI (18+), smut, reader receiving, fingering, reader starts story married to a cis man!, cheating

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ description: (inspired by florence’s new shoot with vogue and set in the mid-to-late 1900s), after moving to the suburbs for a quieter life, your next door neighbor turns out to be a sweet surprise. infatuated by her personality, you make it your mission to get to know her better, even if that means breaking the rules.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ word count: 2.8k

A thinly paved road and bushels of trees flew past on either side of the car. Being away from the city was a dream at last, as you had begged your husband for years at the opportunity. Now, he had the chance and he took it.

It was just as you had pictured it; perfectly wooded with plenty of neighbors around to keep you company. Your husband would work in the city, which was about an hour drive, but it was what you asked for with easy living.

As you neared the end of the road, you passed a large house coming up on the right. The sharp home was white with plenty of wood finishes. It seemed to fit just right in front of the trees.

Just like you remembered, your house was the last on the road and it looked just like the pictures you had seen in the mail. The accents of stone and black trim were to die for, and you knew the inside would be an even better satisfaction.

The car pulled into the driveway and it stopped with a squeak. The smile on your face could not be disguised. Your husband opened his own door but regretted not opening yours as well. Your smile faded as you helped yourself out of the car.

“Well, I hope it is everything you’ve dreamed of because I spent a pretty penny on it.” Even the sound of his voice repulsed you more than you could ever imagine.

Truthfully, this was all for you. You knew that getting the dream house you wanted allowed you to be in peace for most days. Your husband traveled for a living which left you in solitude to your heart's content.

When you walked into the house, boxes of your belongings littered the floor. The movers had gotten there the day before you and dropped everything off. The only thing put together was your bed, thank goodness.

“Hopefully this can all be unpacked by the morning, I need to leave tomorrow early for the airport,” your husband said.

“So soon?” you asked with an undertone of happiness.

He shot you a glare. “Yes, so soon. I couldn’t imagine you would understand.”

And so, the night was spent listening to records on vinyl after you were able to find the turntable, while each of you made a silent effort to unpack your life. By about midnight each of you called it quits and decided to go to bed.

Your bed felt just like it always had, but with a new view. Your eyes fluttered shut as you watched the tall pine trees dance in the breeze swooping by. How lovely it was to finally be surrounded by nature.

.

.

.

By morning your husband had already left with no trace but a simple note at your bedside that read “car delivery this afternoon. I will see you later.”

Later. Later could mean anything, so you anticipated hours or even days that he could be gone. Without a car until the afternoon left you stranded at home with no food, which seemed just like him.

You stumbled out of bed and threw your green, silk robe around you as you shivered. You nearly jumped at the sight in front of you in the mirror. The move had clearly been rough, with your disheveled hair and mascara smudges painted under your eyes. Luckily, with the unpacking you did last night you had just enough collected to take a shower and make yourself more presentable.

You made your way into your new bathroom that was covered with baby pink tile, along with a toilet and bathtub to match. You reached for the dial in the shower, but just before you were able to turn the water on you heard the doorbell ring. You waited a moment just in case you misheard, but it rang again.

Living in a new place called for precautions because you did not know what you would find behind the front door. You hoped for the car delivery, but you assumed that was slim.

You approached the door and peaked out the window beside it; no car. You walked closer to the door and jumped when the doorbell rang again.

“Hello?” a sweet voice spoke from the other side of the door. A woman.

Your chest became a bit lighter when you realized it was a woman. You wrapped your robe tighter around you since you did not know exactly what to expect when you opened the door.

The lock snapped to the left with a pop and you opened the door to reveal a blonde haired woman.

“Good morning! Oh, I’m sorry if I woke you up!” she exclaimed.

“You didn’t wake me, it’s no problem at all,” you responded.

You felt severely underdressed standing in front of her. She was wearing a light blue dress with white trim and shoes to match. Her hair was cut shorter but you could see the curls that were meticulously curved above her forehead. You became very distracted by the way she presented herself and the pretty smile she had.

“I saw you get in last night and thought I would just bring something over for you from my family. My husband and I live in the house on the right through the trees.” You looked in the direction she was pointing and it turned out to be the house you noticed when on the road last night.

“Oh my, well thank you very much, I appreciate that!” Your new neighbor handed you the glass dish of food. “My name is y/n y/l/n, it’s nice to meet you.” You held out your hand for her to shake.

“My name is Florence Pugh, it’s wonderful to meet you. It’s nice to have a friendlier face around here, most of the women I’ve met have been absolute vultures, but I can tell that we’ll get along just right,” she giggled and it warmed your heart.

“I appreciate you coming and introducing yourself to me. I’m new to the area and don’t know a soul, so having some company around here will be so lovely,” you expressed.

“Anything, my dear. Well, I best get back home and leave you to your day.”

You hesitated to protest her departure. “Well, my husband travels for work and I’m not sure when he will be back, so if you’re not up to anything…”

“I’ll be back in an hour to help unpack!” she said.

“You’re too kind, I appreciate you, and this food,” you laughed.

“It’s no problem at all! I’ll see you in a flash!”

She was gone just like she had come and you couldn’t help but watch her leave. The flow of her dress rocked back and forth with her hips and her hair bounced as she walked.

You went back inside and tried to resume as you were. You put the food in the fridge and tried to contain your excitement for the dinner you would be having.

That day, Florence came back over and helped you unpack for the rest of the night. You shared your stories with one another and laughed until your stomachs hurt. A real friendship began to blossom between the two of you, which helped with your boredom.

A couple months went by and your husband had been back to the house a couple times before traveling again for work, and Florence never left your side. You saw your friend almost each day and adored every second spent together. She made your world feel less lonely just by being there.

One morning while your husband was gone, of course, you decided to take a walk over to Florence’s house to see her. You noticed her husband stomping to his car with a look that could kill. He got in the car and drove away with only dust behind him. You tried to stay hidden until he was down the road, then you approached their house.

You knocked on the door and heard footsteps hurrying towards you. She opened the door and she was crying.

“Oh Flossie, what’s the matter? Is everything alright?”

She sniffed and wiped away her tears. “Yes, I’m alright.”

“You’re not alright and you know it.” You slid inside past her, closed the door, and took her hand while dragging her over to the couch. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

“We’re just having marital problems, that’s all. Just a rough patch.”

“You’ve seemed off the last couple weeks, so I wouldn’t say it’s all marital problems,” you said.

You poured the two of you a glass of white wine and brought out your box of cigarettes, offering one to Florence as well.

“Y/n, it’s 8 in the morning, we can’t drink yet!”

“Says who?” you smiled, which made Florence smile back.

The two of you talked for a couple hours and Florence poured her heart out to you, all of it that she could at least. She explained the indifferences between her and her husband, as well as her own personal indifferences.

You placed your hand on top of hers and squeezed it. “I’m sorry you have to do that all on your own,” you said.

“Believe me, you being here helps more than you will ever know.” Florence smiled at you, her kind eyes meeting yours and getting lost in each other.

She had been looking at you longer than anticipated, but you couldn’t seem to look away. Florence looked from your eyes to your lips; back and forth, and back and forth.

Before you could control either one of your impulses, each of you were leaning in close, meeting each other in the middle. Her lips found yours so easily and you closed your eyes. You couldn’t believe the comfort and softness you felt for her, even in this unexpected moment.

You were so wrapped up in the moment that you hadn’t realized what was actually happening. Florence seemed to gain consciousness the same time as you and you both pulled away quickly.

“I- I’m so sorry y/n, I don’t know what overcame me!” Florence said frantically.

“Please, don’t apologize, Flossie, it’s alright. Just calm down.”

Florence was pacing around the room, anxiously picking at her hands not knowing what to do. “This is so unlike me, I’m so sorry,” she kept apologizing.

“Florence!” you tried to get her attention. “It’s alright, I promise. No harm done.”

You grabbed her hands so she would start to calm down a bit. You smiled at her to reassure her that all was well.

“I believe you then,” Florence smiled. “You better be going, I’m sure you have things to do.”

“When do I ever have things to do?” you laughed.

“Well, you know…”

You could tell that one way or another, Florence was trying to make you leave, so you decided to go ahead and go before she kicked you out.

“You’re right… I should get going. I’ll see you later on, Flossie. You take care of yourself, you hear?” She nodded in response and you left her standing in the middle of the living room.

As you got home, you felt confused and disoriented as to what happened. You had to admit, you didn’t hate it, but you knew it was wrong. You both had husbands and you were both… women. Even with the doubts and differences in your mind, you couldn’t stop thinking about it.

Florence didn’t leave your mind all night, or for several days for that matter. You figured you were better off leaving the two of you with some space after what happened. Florence was clearly shook up about it and you didn’t want to push her. You wanted her to come to you first; and that’s exactly what she did.

One day, a couple weeks after the incident between you and Florence, you had just finished up cleaning the kitchen and vacuuming the house, so you decided to hop in the shower to clean up.

It happened almost the same as it started between the two of you. Before you had the opportunity to shower, your doorbell rang. You answered it to find Florence waiting for you.

“Hello, I thought I would stop by and see how you’re doing, but I can see that you’re busy-”

“Flossie, please don’t go,” you begged.

Florence stopped before she could leave. “I’ve missed that— ‘Flossie.’”

“I’ve missed you,” you smiled. “Come in.” The two of you made your way to the couch and sat down.

“I’m sorry I haven’t been by, I’ve just been… thinking a lot and I just feel bad for that day.”

“Please, don’t apologize anymore,” you told her. “It was just something silly in the moment, it meant nothing.”

Florence’s head dropped and she looked down at her hands. “Right, it meant nothing.”

You looked at her and saw the sadness that she expressed. You took her hand and she looked back at you.

“Unless… it did mean something?” you asked. Instead of sadness, her eyes were hopeful, just like yours.

“I know it’s not right, but I can’t seem to help it. I can’t stop thinking about you,” Florence said.

It was more forced this time, much more indeed. Florence crashed herself into you, knocking you down on your back against the couch. These two weeks left you hungry for each other, leaving you starved and grabbing for anything you could touch.

Her hands grasped your blushed cheeks, your tangled hair, and the spaces of your neck. You held her flush against your body, not wanting this secret moment to end.

Each of you couldn’t stop yourself, which is how you found yourself in the position of your robe being taken off. Your body was exposed to the brisk air, but you didn’t seem to mind.

There was no time for Florence to get a good look at you because she was too busy touching every part of you. She was quick to drag her hand down your front half and stopping down before your stomach.

Hesitation was not an option because you both knew you may never get this moment again if anyone were to find out. Without thinking, Florence drew her fingers through your center which caused you to squirm.

You let her do whatever she desired with you simply because she was Florence. Part of you had waited for this moment, but another part was taken by surprise that it was happening at all.

She began rubbing her fingers all through your cunt. It didn’t seem to matter what she did to you, your body was completely euphoric.

Florence’s fingers rubbed circles on your clit while you cried out of pleasure. You had never felt anything that had been quite of this measure, and you didn’t think you ever would again.

She picked up the pace while her lips were still all over your face and body. You couldn’t stop moving and reacting to the touch you were receiving from her, so Florence had to take matters into her own hands.

She barred down and put her weight on your body, preventing you from squirming too much.

“It’s so cute how much you move under me,” Florence said, turning your cheeks hot. Her words didn’t help you move any less.

You could feel yourself getting closer, as it didn’t take much for you to relinquish yourself to her completely.

“Flossie, I think I’m-” you tried to get out.

“I know, my dear. You can do it,” she whispered to you.

All it took was her words and the gentle but hot kiss she left by your ear that did you in. Your moans could be heard loudly over Sam Cooke who was playing from the turntable across the room.

You felt in a daze as your high came to a close, and all you could see now were the hazy eyes of Florence staring back at you. She rubbed the side of your face and swiped the hair out of your face.

You sat up out of surprise. “I can’t believe that just happened.”

“Me neither,” Florence giggled.

You stood up and got your footing before looking at Florence. She looked so naturally ethereal with the white pleated dress she had on, along with her messy royal looking hair. She stared at you and covered her mouth with her hand, laughing at you.

“What’s the matter?” you smiled.

“I didn’t even realize I did that much damage.”

You walked over to the mirror and gasped. There were dozens of lipstick marks all over your face and chest.

You smiled at her in the mirror. “That only means you have to help me clean it all up again.”

You took Florence’s hand and pulled her towards the bathroom while a trail of each of your clothes littered the hallway.

.

.

.

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[psychics4unet]

PAC: How the World Would View You as a Celebrity! 🌟🎤

PICK THE SELFIE HAND: THE LEFT (PILE 1) OR THE CENTER (PILE 2), OR THE RIGHT (PILE 3).

I put a lot of effort into this reading, so please show some love by leaving comments, likes, reblogs, and follow me! ❤️💬✨

Paid psychic reading (7 questions for just $7) is available here:

Pile 1: the Star 🌟 the Page of Swords 📖 the Three of Cups 🎉

The Star represents fame, admiration, and hope, indicating that the public would view you as a source of inspiration and positivity. The Page of Swords suggests a youthful, energetic personality that is quick-witted and curious, making you relatable and approachable. The Three of Cups highlights your social nature and ability to connect with others, portraying you as a fun-loving and friendly celebrity. Together, these cards show that you'd be seen as an uplifting figure, full of energy and charm, easily making friends and fans alike.

Love this post? Spread the positive vibes by reblogging with your favorite pile number! Remember to like, comment, and follow me for more tarot insights and spiritual guidance. By sharing this post, you'll invite positive energy from the universe into your life. Let's journey together towards enlightenment and fulfillment!

Pile 2: the Emperor 👑 the Eight of Wands ⚡ the Ten of Pentacles 💰

The Emperor signifies authority and leadership, suggesting that the public would view you as a powerful and influential figure. The Eight of Wands indicates fast-paced energy and excitement, implying that you'd create buzz and interest wherever you go. The Ten of Pentacles represents stability and legacy, highlighting that people would see you as someone who builds a lasting impact and wealth. Altogether, these cards portray you as a commanding presence with the ability to inspire and create significant change.

Love this post? Spread the positive vibes by reblogging with your favorite pile number! Remember to like, comment, and follow me for more tarot insights and spiritual guidance. By sharing this post, you'll invite positive energy from the universe into your life. Let's journey together towards enlightenment and fulfillment!

Pile 3: the Chariot 🚗 the Queen of Cups 💧 the Sun ☀️

The Chariot represents determination and ambition, showing that the public would see you as someone who is driven and successful. The Queen of Cups symbolizes empathy and emotional intelligence, indicating that people would view you as nurturing and compassionate, creating deep connections with fans. The Sun radiates joy and positivity, suggesting that your presence would bring happiness to those around you. Together, these cards highlight that you'd be recognized as a strong, caring, and joyful figure, making a positive impact in the lives of many.

Love this post? Spread the positive vibes by reblogging with your favorite pile number! Remember to like, comment, and follow me for more tarot insights and spiritual guidance. By sharing this post, you'll invite positive energy from the universe into your life. Let's journey together towards enlightenment and fulfillment!

Attention! This reading is for entertainment purposes only. This tarot reading does not give a 100% guarantee that all the described situations will occur or being ultimate truth. You build your own life and destiny and only you know yourself best. Remember to reblog, like, comment, and follow for more cosmic guidance and positivity!

Paid readings (7 questions for just $7) are also available for more in-depth insights and personal guidance! 🌟💫 https://www.tumblr.com/psychics4unet/757979541114372096/personal-tarot-readings-for-just-7

[jasmines-library]

If you still take supernatural request, can I request a Winchester!little sister (6 or 7) who has a really weak immune system, so when there is flu at school the brothers just know she will also be getting it, and afcourse she gets it and their in for a long week or 2...

Not sure if you write this type of fics so you can afcourse skip it 🤭❤️

⛤⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⛤

Word Count: 523

⛧ SPN MASTERLIST ⛧

⛤⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⛤

At the first sign of a sore throat, your brothers knew they were in for a long few weeks. There was a cold going around your school; a sickness bug that has been leaving kids sticky with snot. You had tried to avoid it. Your brothers had even tried to get you a day off school so you could avoid getting sick. Because once you got sick, with your weak immune system it was hard for you to shake it from your body. But despite all of the effort your family had put you in, you had still, inevitably managed to catch the flu. 

At first came the tickle in the back of your throat. It had been manageable at first; treated with some medicine or soothers. But that soon developed into a cough. One that seemed to tear up the back of your throat and knock the wind out from you and you practically coughed up a lung. And then came the sneezing and the fever which left your poor little frame shaking and bed-ridden. 

You gripped onto the blanket a little tighter as a chill racked through your body, trying to pull it a little closer to you. A think sheen of sweat covered your forehead, leaving you pale and clammy. Your lips were sore and chapped beyond the help of lip-balm and your sleepy little eyes drooped sadly. With a cough, your chest stuttering, you shifted as you tried to make yourself comfortable. Sam brushed your hair away from your forehead. His eyes were soft and doe-like, his lips downturned as he watched over you sympathetically.  Him and Dean had been taking turns watching over you making sure that your temperature didn’t get too high and that you had had enough to drink. 

There was a soft knock at the door before Dean's head poked around the frame, a stream of light from the hallway flooding into the room. In his hands was a steaming bowl of soup. 

“Here you are, sweetheart. Do you think you can sit up for us?” He asked gently as Sam moved to support your back as he eased you into sitting. 

He then placed the tray with soup and bread on your lap “there you are, kiddo. See if you can stomach some of that and then we’ll give you some more medicine, alright?” He said, running a gentle hand over your hair. Dean was very protective over you, especially when you were sick. 

The two watched as you took small spoonfuls of the warm soup, which did help to quell your stomach a little. They then topped up your dose of medicine before returning to sit by your side for a few hours, where they read with you or brought you things to draw with. 

Eventually, your eyes began to grow heavy, and your little sniffles drew to a stop as you fell asleep, wrapped up snugly in your blankets. 

“Goodnight, sweetheart.” Dean said switching off the lights. your brothers pressed a kiss to your forehead before beginning to move out of the room, hoping that tomorrow you would be feeling slightly better.

⛤⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⛤

SPN TAGS:

@defonotashleyr @xxrougefangxx

@hell-o-kittys @inlovewhithafairytale @harleycao @that-wannabe-vangoghgurl @rosecentury @thewhispersofthewaves

⛤⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⛤

[petalsscribbles]

22. until the end of time (final)

Yn waits at the meeting place, a nice spot in the park under falling petals of sakuras. Perhaps the dreamy, romantic atmosphere can somehow enchant Sunghoon into giving Yn a chance.

He put an effort and thought into his look to sway the odds in his favour. While he's almost sure his favourite reading spot will turn to a place of heartbreak, a reminder of a failed first love, he decided to not give up right away, so he foolishly granted himself a sliver of hope to cling to.

He sits anxiously on the bench, fidgeting with the small gift in his hands and going over his admitedly sappy speech. Perhaps he should've written it down. Or maybe even ask some kind of AI to write it for him. He's not here yet, maybe Yn can cancel last minute and ask to reschedule so he can prepa-

"Yn!"

Nevermind.

Sunghoon strides towards a petrified Yn, turn to stone by how needlessly handsome Sunghoon looks as if he just looked into the eyes of a medusa.

"Did you wait long?" He asks, sitting down too close for Yn's sanity's comfort.

"No. You're right on time."

"So, what are we doing? You were pretty cryptic about it." He states. he isn't wrong. Yn did ask him to meet at the most random time seemingly for no reason at all. Yn is sure Sunghoon is smart enough to know a surprise is coming.

Well, surprise is one way to put it. Yn would describe it more like a slap that came out of nowhere. Or maybe even an guerilla style ambush, depending on how appaled Sunghoon will be in a minute or two.

"There something I need to tell you." He says, getting up and picks a place in front of Sunghoon to stand on. He hands him the gift he prepared - small red box. Sunghoon opens it with warm yet slightly confused smile. There's a simple silver pendant inside, in the shape of the sickle moon.

"Yn, what is this?"

"I bought it because I noticed the Moon was always at this stage when some important things happened between us. The night I had a nightmare and you came to me, the night you kissed me, when I became your blood servant and..." He trails off and takes a deep breath to take the final leap.

"And?"

"And when I realized I have feelings for you."

"Y-you what?" Sunghoon asks and stands up so abruptly Yn takes a step back in surprise.

"I like you." He repeats, looking down on his feet. "I'm sorry."

Yn can't lie, he's a little mad that he wasted all the time coming up with a perfect confession for nothing, but at least the truth is out.

It hangs in the air between them, a big question mark burning right below it. Will Sunghoon accept his clumsy confession, or will he let him down?

Turns out neither option came true, because instead of talking Sunghoon invades Yn's space with one long stride. With his finger curled under Yn's chin, he makes him meet his eyes and connects their lips moments after.

It's very different from their kiss but not quite. It's all feelings and no passion, no lust or need but Yn feels butterflies in his stomach all the same.

Either way, it's the best answer Yn could hope for.

Much to Sunghoon's dismay, Yn pulls away the moment he hears someone approaching.

"I'm gonna go ahead and assume you like me too."

"God, you have no idea how much." He says, still sounding as if he can't believe the situation.

"I guess now we belong to each other completely."

A/n: another smau successfully and happily behind us. Thank you once again for all the love and support you've given Bitter Blood and I'll see you soon with lovesick Matthew in Intertwined <3

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[qwimblenorrisstan]

Surprise Pt. 5 | Soap x Reader

Summary: The boys learn that they don’t know you as well as they thought they did, while you find some newfound ‘friends’ in an American and his unofficial boss in Urzikstan.

Word Count: ~ 4.6k

Warnings: Descriptions of death, knives, blood, guns, explosions, debris, gas, torture, kidnapping, shooting, choking, heavy topics, biting, it’s a lot yall

A/N: umm sorry ive been gone for a week here’s some food!! *runs away* this is a big switchup though from mainly 141 to Alex, Farah, and a few more pieces of reader’s backstory so lmk any thoughts or theories (yk I love them) hope you enjoy<3 (side quest: find how many characters you can recognize from cod!)

Requests are open!

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The first thing Captain John Price registered when he walked into the room, the rest of his Task Force following closely behind, was that they were in some deep shit. They’d just gotten back from a mission. The one they’d been called into during the volleyball game. It had been low stakes, but instead of going back to the apartment, they’d been told to get back to base as soon as possible.

Laswell was pacing back and forth, fidgeting, two things she never did unless everything was falling apart at the seams. The last time he’d seen her so worked up had been years ago. When she caught sight of him, there was no sigh of relief or relaxation, she breathed out four words.

”They got her, John.”

He tried not to let the tension in his body show, tried not to look just how internally panicked he was right now. Simon stiffened, hands balling into fists. Price knew it was a conscious effort to not lash out immediately.

”What.”

Ghosh ground out, eyes narrowed. Soap tried putting a hand on his shoulder, a hand that Simon only shoved off immediately. Laswell just shook her head, looking to be in shock as she only sat down at one of the chairs in the dimly lit room, pulling documents out from a drawer under the long table.

Price was the first to sit, followed by Gaz, then Soap, and finally, Simon who refused to relax, his leg bouncing impatiently under the table, hands on his knees.

Laswell opened one of the files, sliding it around to where they could see it. Lo and behold, it was a picture of you from a few years back, maybe when you’d been 14 or 15. You shouldn’t have been able to get in that early, it shouldn’t have even been possible. You wore a uniform, the file listing you by your first and last name, your callsign in the center. There was no official position or branch like there should’ve been.

“Wasp.”

Price stared at it for a few moments, reading whatever he could glean over in the file before glancing up at Laswell, who in turn pulled another file out. This one looked newer, the corners were not bent or warped yet. When she opened it, there was no picture on file. This time, it stated “Marines” as your branch. Your last name was listed as “Woods” instead of Riley.

To keep Simon from finding you on the database, most likely. Or someone else.

And the thing that caught his attention the most?

The “Captain” title right next to your first name.

”That’s nae possible.”

Soap said, jaw clenched as he glanced at Simon, the man refusing to meet his eye, glaring down at the files.

”It is,”

Laswell said, breathing out a shaky breath. Trying to calm herself, Price knew.

”They found her in a camp at 12, Frank Woods took her in, pulled some strings, and enrolled her early off record. He kept her mostly off base in a safe house until she turned 18.”

Gaz’s gaze was on Laswell now, narrowed, pinned on her. Interrogation was his specialty, after all.

”A camp?”

A nod.

”Essentially a POW camp, her relations to Ghost meant she was a valuable asset to bargain.”

Price didn’t need to glance over at Ghost to see the way he’d nearly stopped breathing, the shock being a common aspect among the group. Gaz let out a deep breath, hand going to hold the brim of his cap, his gloved finger running along the seam.

”Then how the bloody hell is she in high school?”

Simon asked, trying to reason with how this could’ve happened, how you could’ve lied to them, to him, for so long about everything and he’d never even caught on. It hadn’t been a volleyball camp keeping you from attending his mum’s funeral, it had been a POW camp, one you had been in because of him in the first place.

Simon asked, trying to reason with how this could’ve happened, how you could’ve lied to them, to him, for so long about everything and he’d never even caught on. It hadn’t been a volleyball camp keeping you from attending his mum’s funeral, it had been a POW camp, one you had been in because of him in the first place. And the new, somewhat stable foster home you’d been in? A safe house provided by your new foster parent, Frank Woods, an American Sergeant that Simon had heard whispers of.

He’d allegedly been a force to reckon with during the Korean and Vietnam wars, retired now and pushing 60 probably, but no less legendary by military standards.

”She’s 23, Lieutenant. It was a cover mission.”

Another surprise.

Another lie.

“Steamin’ Jesus…”

Soap muttered, the gleam in his eye dimming from what was most likely concern.

”It was an undercover mission, but with her gone, I don’t know how we’ll handle Nova…”

Laswell muttered to herself, catching herself just in time to shut her mouth then and there, probably realizing she’d already said too much, when Price stood up, staring her down.

”Nova? The hell is that?”

He asked sternly, and Laswell gathered the files in her hands, putting them neatly back into stacks, falling back into the controlled woman he usually saw her as.

”That’s classified, John.”

“Considering we’re closely involved with her, I don’t think it is, Kate.”

He saw the slight whiplash it gave her to call her by her first name, which made sense considering it was always Laswell. Her face grew stern, despite the worried frown lines already carving into her face.

”Don’t. We’ll get her back.”

The rest of the boys watched as she walked out of the room, Gaz muttering something sarcastic under his breath, Price pacing, Soap cursing not so quietly under his breath in his full unbridled accent, and Ghost sitting deathly still.

”I’ll talk to Briggs.”

Price said firmly, words stiff as he walked out of the room.

A moment of silence between the remaining three in the room.

Soap was the first to speak.

“Fuck!”

~

The sweet and irony smell of blood filled your nose as you shakily tried to move, limbs trembling for some reason.

Blinking to try and clear the blurriness in them, you opened your eyes, only to begin rapidly blinking as something small and grainy lifted from a sudden draft and blew into your eyes.

Sand.

You hated sand. The way it shifted under your feet, how it got under all your clothing and in your mouth, under your nails, and in your shoes. The grainy, grinding texture of it against your skin when you had a high-stakes mission and had to lie in it, waiting for the perfect shot.

But sand of this texture was in a handful of places, so at least you could narrow your location down a bit. Getting up and looking around would also help.

You were in a small room, from the looks of it, leaning against a wooden beam that dug at the clothing on your back with jagged edges. Textured, colorfully patterned quilts and blankets hung around, and shifting your head to turn right despite how it throbbed, you saw a corkboard filled with pins and images of people, locations, and notes. A few of the faces were recognizable, not in a good way though. Recognizable in the sense that you had seen those faces before you thought you’d killed them.

The sandy floor beneath you had wood underneath, by the feel of it. Your palms pushed against the floor, trying to get the leverage to stand up, only for you to slump against the wood again.

You needed to get up.

This time using your good leg to push against the floor, as well as your palms, you got almost halfway up the beam, nearly standing, when the sand made your foot slide back out and you fell onto the floor again.

A small, breathy chuckle from the other side of the room had you immediately turning your head, the quick movement making it spin slightly, even as you heard the sound of metal moving against the floor as well as only one footstep every few seconds.

“I don’t like the sand either. Hard on my leg, or what’s left of it, anyways.”

The American from earlier came in, maybe Alex? You’d been so disoriented when he’d told you that you could hardly remember. Fragments of foggy bits came to light, but nothing more than that.

His hair was a sandy color, dirty blonde almost, with a mustache and hair that was sticking almost straight up but short enough to not look ridiculous. His one leg was perfectly normal, but on the other, there was a curved piece of metal to replace the lower half of it where a nub was all that was left.

He offered you a hand, one you hesitated before taking. An American soldier wasn’t a threat, or at least shouldn’t be. He pulled you up as you stumbled to your feet.

“Where are we?”

Your raspy voice asked, throat dry. You tried to clear it to no avail. He grabbed a canteen from a table a few feet away, near the corkboard, and handed it to you with the lid already popped off.

“Zaravan City, Urzikstan. We’re not close to much anything, though, this is one of our safe houses.”

He spoke while you chugged the water, it flowing down your throat mercifully and filling your empty stomach, only serving to remind you that you were also starving. Food could wait, though. When you handed the nearly empty canteen back to him with a small sigh, you raised a brow.

“Our?”

A woman’s voice, thick with a familiar accent, spoke then.

“Yes, our.”

She was standing by the corkboard, glancing over the information with a sharp eye, before walking over to Alex. Her hair was dark and thick, tied tightly back into what seemed to be a ponytail beneath her dark garb. A gun hung from her hip, something semi-automatic. You weren’t sure if that was legal or not here, but couldn’t find it within you to care.

“Farah, in case you don’t remember, Riley.”

You were glad she’d told you because you most definitely did not remember her name. Her gaze met yours, and you held it for a long minute, recognizable facial features coming to your mind, like a dream, you could reach but not quite hold. And then—you remembered.

“Karim,”

You breathed, eyes narrowing. General Karim had proven to be more than capable more times than once during the scandals throughout Urzikstan, especially to the boys.

The boys.

You’d nearly forgotten until now, but you wondered just how much they knew. Whether someone had spilled, or Laswell had told them everything. They would probably be biting at the leash, but there was nothing that could be done now, not with the mission having failed.

They were on their own now.

Farah nodded.

“It is not every day we find an American in a Mexican facility,”

A pointed glance at Alex, whose lips curled slightly up at that.

You grumbled, legs still shaky, probably from the gas that had managed to slip in before you’d put the gas mask on doing rounds through your body, the last of it yet to leave. Managing to stumble over to a chair near a small round table in the corner of the room, you sat down, it groaning under your weight.

“Not every day I see a group from America and Urzikstan in a Mexican facility.”

You shot back and watched as Farah and Alex exchanged a glance, a silent conversation happening right in front of you. Rude, but you couldn’t say you hadn’t done the same thing before.

Alex sighed, grabbing the chair with one hand and easing himself down onto it with his leg, propping the prosthetic up on a nearby crate.

His blue eyes met yours as he set one elbow down on the table.

“We were going after Santiago Garza, a key member of their cartel, which we have reason to believe has…”

He exchanged a glance with Farah, who gave a nearly imperceptible shake of her head.

“…access to things he shouldn’t.”

Alex finished. Farah spoke next, already sensing your oncoming interrogation despite not being in control of the situation.

“We answered yours, now answer our question. Why did he want you?”

Her tone was demanding, leaving no wiggle room for you to try and keep anything from her. If this whole arrangement was going to work out, you were going to have to be transparent with them, anyway. Or as transparent as you could be.

“I have a… personal history with the Garza family. Not a pretty one.”

Farah pressed her lips together but didn’t question further.

The American wasn’t as smart.

“What kind of history?”

He asked, brows raised in an almost innocent expression if it weren’t for the gleam of suspicion in his eyes. You shook your head. Not willing to talk about it. Not now. Woods was the only one you’d ever talked to about it, other than David when the bastard was even there.

Which hadn’t been often.

“What’s the date?”

You then asked. If you’d been captured in America, and then taken to a supposed Mexican facility, then to Urzikstan, it must’ve taken quite a while. Not to mention the travel from there to the safe house…

“The 24th.”

Farah answered, hands moving to idly wipe sand off of the barrel of her gun, back leaning against the wooden post. Her finger remained near the trigger. Untrusting.

It had been nearly four days.

By then, someone had to have noticed the body of Nalani in your room, and your obvious absence. A homicide and a missing person’s case as well, most likely. The boys had definitely heard of it then, despite what you assumed was a mission they were on, considering how early they left that volleyball game.

Had Woods been informed? Had anyone on your team been informed, or were they still too deep in their work in your absence?

Alex’s eyes snapped to the window as he heard something rustling outside, and within moments he was down on his haunches, you and Farah were quick to follow as he lifted one of the thin sheets lying over the windows from the bottom, glancing out for a second.

The pain in your limbs was barely even noticeable compared to the mini-adrenaline rush you were flooded with, mind and body sharp and alert. You’d performed while in much worse conditions, you could manage this one just fine, you were sure.

But without a weapon, you were defenseless.

Reaching for a gun that was laid out on the table, Alex’s hand grabbing your wrist stopped you and refused to let you grab it.

“We’ll handle this, stay inside.”

He said in a hushed tone, voice firm, even though Farah was the one with the most authority here over the both of you.

Farah slowly opened the door, peeking out, dark eyes scanning the dusty roads and markets, when several shots rang out, feminine screams following quickly as the sound of people running became all too obvious.

“Al-Qatala.”

Farah murmured, jerking her chin to Alex, before slipping her gun from her side and walking out of the door, the American man giving you one last glance that clearly said “Stay here.” before following.

Racking your brain, you tried to remember anything that might help you. Urzikstan. A small country in Western Asia. Violence wasn’t uncommon, by the sound of it. And Al-Qatala…try as you might, you couldn’t remember anything about whoever they were. Maybe some sort of gang? Probably, judging by the gunfire and angry Arabic being barked out in the streets.

But you weren’t going to be helpless, stuck in this tiny “safe house” that had two entrances and one large window a man could easily fit through. You stood up, careful to stay clear of the window to avoid catching any strays, only to find the gun that had been on the table gone.

Alex must’ve taken it.

They surely had more weapons somewhere, except for the fact that no matter where you searched, there was nothing to be found. Nothing except documents of blacked-out information, pictures on the board, and a small stash of food and water lying around. A lot of dates, too.

It wasn’t an ideal situation, but you could work with it.

A few strands of rope that you quickly picked up were lying around. Every lesson you’d overheard Woods giving to his team, drilling it into their heads, began repeating in your mind. Like a dream, almost.

“Can any of you boys tell me the five rules of guerrilla warfare?”

His voice, sharp and brusque but not hostile, asked the men in front of him.

You were crouched down, hiding in one of the small areas where the metal of the walls dented outwards slightly, giving you an area to lay down and peek through at him.

One of the men raised his hand in a salute, chapped lips opening to speak.

“Hit and run, sir!”

Woods nodded, hand shooting out to point at another man down the line of soldiers. Mostly young boys who stupidly enlisted, living for their country and dying for it. You didn’t see the point, even if Woods did. You’d never seen the point, not even when Simon had enlisted.

He could’ve been one of the dead.

He still might be. You hadn’t seen him in a while.

“Ambush, sir!”

You snapped back into focus at that, eyes watching keenly as the man nodded again. He had a habit of it; nodding very often. Even if you just inclined to take a bite of soup, he’d nod. The praise was sort of nice, you supposed. Even if you barely knew him, just having arrived here a few weeks ago.

They’d found you on one of the starving horses from the camps, near the front of the marching people, leading their way to freedom despite how sickly and beaten most were. You weren’t much better.

And when the bastard controlling that camp must’ve ordered his remaining men to circle like vultures and take out as many of the surviving prisoners as he could?

Everyone alive after the vicious attack had huddled together in a small cave, the people at the entrance usually being shot from overhead planes by the men too cowardly to approach.

They’d found you huddled up, a warm body on top of you, on one of the sides. Thrown you over their shoulder. Taken you away despite your hitting and biting, and brought you here to domesticate you again. They weren’t bad. They were just soldiers. And soldiers were all about duty and honor, two things you couldn’t find within yourself to care about much anymore. You wondered if Simon still cared about them, or if he’d been numb to it for much longer. After the death of his mother, and how pissed he’d been that you’d missed the funeral, you seriously doubted it.

Snapping out of your thoughts, you watched Woods nod again. You must’ve missed the others, but you knew them by heart by now. After watching and listening for so long.

Harassment.

Mobility.

And finally…

“Surprise.”

A hand grabbed you by the arm, yanking you forward and through the wall, through the hole you’d been watching from. Woods held you by the arm infuriatingly easily, which made sense considering how much of a runt you were. Or had been at the time.

The metal had scraped against your shoulder, cutting open a shallow scratch from collarbone to right arm. You glared at him, kicking at him even as his soldiers chuckled.

Laughing at you.

You despised how patronizing it felt, leaning forward and sinking your deceivingly sharp teeth into the wrist of his hand that held you. Blood drew, and he didn’t drop you, simply moving to hold you in his other arm, smiling warmly at you as his shoulders shook from silent laughter.

“Feisty, huh?”

He said in an amused tone, ruffling your hair while someone went to grab a medic.

The memory felt warm and fuzzy, a reminder of a long time ago, though it only felt like yesterday.

But you had more important things to do than have an existential crisis.

Spying a fan in the corner, you pried the metal caging off, wrapping both hands around one of the metal pieces on it, and yanking until a piece came off. Jagged and sharp. Just how you needed it.

Wrapping your little pieces of rope around the base to protect your hand, you crept towards the back exit, listening for the sounds of any footsteps nearby. It would be hard to overhear, especially with the sounds of yelling, screaming, and gunfire in the streets. You wondered if your little makeshift friends had joined the dead or not.

A near-silent step, a branch accidentally cracking under his step, and you were on him.

Hit and run.

The metal slid smoothly into his throat, a quiet wheeze being all he could get out before you leaned his body back, watching his eyes glaze over as the blood ebbed and flowed. You pulled the gun from his hands, searching and taking what was left of his weapons as well.

One flash bang.

One knife, the case of which you strapped onto your hip, the flash bang being tucked into it soon after.

Mobility.

You crouched down, glancing left and right on the street, and breaking into a low sprint to a building down the dusty road. A restaurant by the looks of it. You couldn’t read the Arabic on the front, it having been one of the languages you hadn’t learned, even in your training for Special Forces.

More if the men flooded the streets just as you ducked behind the counter. Letting them all know you were here with gunfire wasn’t beneficial yet, not when you were so badly outnumbered. You needed to find the central point they were getting in from.

You needed to move.

Waiting for the men to pass by, you eventually went out of the back exit of the restaurant, passing the cool chill of its freezer near the kitchen before jumping onto a ladder in the alleyway outside, climbing up, and falling prone onto the ground as soon as you were there.

Looking up over the ledge, you could see now how there were so many.

Trucks were spread about the city, men exiting them and taking cover for a few seconds until they got to where they wanted to be, and started opening fire. They communicated through their radios, but why they would be here didn’t make sense.

Why try to raid a city when you couldn’t gain much, if anything from it?

Unless they weren’t trying to gain but to take someone out.

Someone who had always been against what you assumed was their little group. And that someone was none other than Farah, judging by how quickly she recognized them, and the gleam of hatred in her eyes when she looked at them. She’d been a bit too eager to slaughter them.

And with how quickly the men were flooding the roads and streets, and their communication, it wouldn’t be long until they found her.

Unless…

Glancing at the rooftop a few buildings over, you saw none other than a large tower. Not just any tower, but an antenna tower.

You observed the crowd for a moment, scanning, watching everyone, until you saw it. Heard it, rather, the loud boom it made, the man yelling “RPG!”. It was the second story of the building across the street. You couldn’t get there in time, even if you got over there without being killed or without too many civilians dying.

You needed to buy time.

Gathering the fractures courage left in your body, you got onto the balls of your feet, and against everything you’d been told, to stay quiet and unnoticeable, you began a mad dash across the building, jumping, and not stopping to marvel when your feet hit the solid ground of the other rooftop, only running further.

You still hadn’t gotten his attention.

You were almost to the antenna tower. Now or never.

Harassment.

Slipping the flash bang out of your belt-ish thing, you pulled the pin out, throwing it up in the air. You heard it when it went off, your vision blurring white as you dove and hit the floor. He must’ve heard it too, considering that when you glanced over, the large weapon was aimed at you, and when he fired, you saw it sail through the air not only at you but at the tower as well.

Diving over the edge of the building, you heard the blast, and chunks of debris and wire began raining from the sky in your area. Your ankles burned when you stood, legs screaming against any movement. Ash floated into your nose and throat, as well as the smell of fire, and you took off into another run, diving into a building, only to run face-first into another man.

Ambush.

Your fist met his jaw before his bullet met your body, but barely. You both rolled to the floor, kicking and flailing around, landing hits on each other. He jabbed at you with his gun, his knife out of reach. You rolled him onto his back, your knife coming out, only to be knocked away by his calloused hands.

Your arm went around his neck, hand locking into place with your other elbow as your knee pressed on his neck. Your breathing was pants, more gasps than anything as he gave a final few kicks, before going limp.

You picked your knife back up, head jolting up when you heard a familiar female yell just a few streets down.

The members of the Al-Qatala seemed lost, some shouting to others in Arabic, others going on rampages against civilians just for the hell of it, seemingly. You didn’t doubt that Farah had a small army of her own, but they hadn’t been prepared.

Neither had you.

Sinking lower to not attract attention, you crept through the streets, watching carefully, or as carefully as you could through your blurry vision. Sand and dust blew into it, but you couldn’t find the strength to blink it away.

Your head was throbbing again.

You weren’t sure how you managed the journey there, brain taking a temporary lapse in recording memory maybe, but the next thing you knew, you were near an old warehouse.

Talking came from inside.

A raspy voice. Old, but not kind or warm, not like the voices of the old men you were used to. Harsh and sharp. Like a whip wailing as it flew through the air. Cut paths through it.

“Where is it?”

Silence. As you crept up to the entrance of the warehouse, where the door was just slightly ajar, you could see the outline of Farah tied into a chair. Multiple other men inside. Maybe three or four. Pulling your gun slowly out, you set the handle against your knee, putting your eye right on the scope.

“We know you have the gas, Farah, or should I call you Karim?”

Cruel.

Unnecessary.

But it gave you a kernel of information.

Information you would think about later if you had the time. If you didn’t die here.

A harsh hit to the face. Audible.

You could tell it stung, but she didn’t budge.

You lined the scope up with his head, finger closing in on the trigger, holding down, just not enough until.

Surprise.

The blast of the shot alone rang out through the warehouse. Except it wasn’t who you’d been expecting to fall to the ground who did.

It wasn’t who you’d thought it had been. Not Al-Qatala, not Cartel.

No, instead, Philip Graves, director of the Shadow Company, fell sideways in the dirt.

And the men surrounding Farah?

None other than your own team that had been handed off to Graves during your departure.

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[mynameisjag]

From a fic I never finished, Bruce and Damian enjoy a day out. That's it, just them having a good day.

It wasn’t often that Bruce went out into Gotham as well, just Bruce…not Batman or Brucie Wayne.

Just Bruce.

Changing into simple clothing, letting his hair air dry and just heading out like that and the public didn’t recognize him.

No slicked back hair or suits of any kind.

Just a t-shirt, his favorite throw over cardigan and what Dick insisted was mom jeans, a five o’clock shadow, and he was ready to go.

Just a quick trip to the shopping center to pick up some office supplies for his home office, a few groceries for Alfred, some snacks for the Batcave, and he probably needed to check the family chat to see if anyone needed anything while he was out.

A quick glance at his messages as he began to head out, already on his way to the garage, Dick was trying his best to convince him to get…strawberry flavored Batty-O’s with crackling and popping sprinkles…sounds horrible and right up his eldest alley…also full of terrible sugars…

Alfred would hunt both of them down if he brought this home.

He’ll just order it and have it shipped to Dick’s apartment…

Jason wanted him to fuck off…Bruce sent off a xoxo and a request to come over for tea in response to that. He got a thumbs up and a middle finger.

Tim…is either half asleep and texting or is trying to send out a code for everyone to decipher…both was possible…adding melatonin to the list…

Cass was sending happy faces, so it’s seems she’s good at the moment, sending her a heart, ballet shoes and a crown. His dancing princess.

Duke sent a thumbs up and got one back in return.

Steph was just saying she’ll just take what she needs from his place whenever…time to restock the “hidden” care packages then.

And Damian…Damian was staring him down from the passenger seat of the car…

“Damian…is there something you need that you couldn’t put in chat?”

“I am coming with you.”

“…you hate the public…”

“I will overcome my distaste of others and escort you, Father, you shall not face the scrutiny of the common by yourself.”

Aww, he just wanted to spend time together and Bruce could never refuse the baby of the family, “Of course, I appreciate your concern.”

His darling just puffed up with a smug smile, proud that he managed to get his way without any argument, “I’m glad you are agreeable.”

Look, they are communicating!

Not well, but it was a step forward!

Besides Damian even took the effort to dress more ‘civilian’, the green sweater with a little tiny bird stitched in with the words ‘just a bobbin like a robin’ was definitely a gift from Dick.

Adjusting the seat belt and getting the car out of the garage, Bruce just hummed happily, letting the silence settle between them comfortably. Mentally going back over his list, glancing over to see his son playing on an old handheld game. Something that was more then likely stolen out of Tim’s room, but with the older boy making his own place in the city, it would be awhile before it would be noticed it was gone.

Almost all his children had moved out…he was happy they were moving on in their lives, looking more into their futures but his heart hurt because his babies weren’t actually babies any more. They would have argued that none of them were ever babies with him but he would just ignore that.

He hoped this doesn’t result in empty nest syndrome…

“Baba, can we stop by the game store, I want to see if I can find more interesting games.”

“We can, after we get everything on the list, can you check my phone and see if anyone has sent in anything they want to be picked up-what in Lady Gotham is this?”

Bruce blinked as traffic was stopped to let a…small parade of Batman floats pass by…

“There are copycats out on the street, how dare they parade around as us!”

“…I think parade is the word, look at the banners…”

Batman Day!

“So they are not copycats…but worshippers…”

Bruce tried not to laugh at the thought, "I think the word is…enthusiastics…”

They both watched as a man walked past wearing a banner that said, “Priest of The Bat”.

“…and we will be investigating that later, let’s see if we can park and look around.”

“Time for some detective work, Father?”

“Undercover detective work.”

Damian was eagerly typing away on the phone, “I shall keep the others off our trail so they won’t interrupt our investigation, also according to the online advertisement, the parade will end in the park where the “Batman Day festival” will begin. They will have bat themed mooncakes at certain booths.”

“Are the mooncakes important to the investigation?”

“One must keep all possibilities open, we must check each booth for clues.”

Bruce kept the smile that was threatening to grow held down, he was sure the boy wouldn’t appreciate being cooed over his want of treats being disguised as being extra thorough, more so that he didn’t want his siblings interrupting their day. He was going to have to order everything online and have it shipped to the manor then, mundane chores could wait.

His baby wanted mooncakes.

He will get mooncakes.

It didn’t take too long to park and follow the short parade to the fairgrounds, even with them stopping and staring at the lookalikes, a man giving them a balloon with the bat symbol and the words ‘I believe in Gotham’s local cryptids’, and someone clipping tiny bat wings to the back of their shirts at some point.

Soon the entrance was in view and by that time, Damian was now on Bruce’s shoulders, taking in the crowd, head turning back and forth at the bright lights, the performers in bat themed outfits, wide eyed as a child runs in front of then in a Robin costumes.

Bruce is humming thoughtfully to himself as he eyes a group in clown makeup done up in a Gothic theme, so far all they seem to be doing is some parlor tricks for the crowd around them. Some people even taking selfies, it was a rare sight for a Gothamite to get close to a clown without violence.

He was wondering if he should text the others, surely by now they would be aware of this festival happening, Barbara had to have known…

“Darling, do you want to text your siblings?”

“I can tell them to be on alert for any suspicious behaviors while we blend into the crowd…like the one over by the dart game.”

Bruce could only blink as his head was forcefully turned toward a booth with a bunch of balloons tied to a backboard, “Dart game?”

“Yes, obviously it’s a skill test but what kind? We must investigate.”

Hmm, a skill test that totally didn’t have to do with the giant plush animals as prizes.

“I think I remember Dick saying how these games were rigged,” he watches as a parent carries off their crying kid, wincing in sympathy as the cries get louder.

“No amount of trickery could possibly stop us!”

[ilovetheriddler]

egon spengler fluff alphabet please?

I've never done one of these alphabet ones before, but I'll give it my best go, I hope that you enjoy it!

Egon Spengler Fluff Alphabet.

A: Attention (How much attention do they regularly give you?)

He gives you a fair amount of attention, as much as he reasonable can in between his research and his work as a Ghostbuster.

B: Bedtime (How do they prepare for bed with you each night?)

Egon is a very straightforward man. He showers, brushes his teeth, makes sure his alarm is properly set, and then lays down. However, you do have to remind him to take off his glasses every time, a small oversight on his part.

C: Cuddles (How much do they enjoy Cuddles/How good are they at giving them?)

He doesn't necessarily require them, but he understands that they make you happy, so he allows you to cuddle with him whenever you ask to. Despite not needing them himself, he's very good at giving them.

D: Date Night (Where would they take you on a date?)

He's done a fair amount of research into what would commonly be viewed as the best place to take someone on a date, so he gets a reservation at a nice restaurant for the two of you.

E: Effort (How much effort do they put into what they do for you?)

A lot more than you'd think, in fact, he has an entire list of things about you that he's noticed and how you overall like things. If he's asked about the list, he will deny its existence.

F: Fun (What fun activities do they like to do with you?)

He lets you help him organize all of his charts and research notes. And after that he enjoys reading to you.

G: Gestures (What sweet gestures do they like to do for you?)

He's compiled a list of everything that you like and will regularly do research into it so that He's always able to share in your interests.

H: Hugs (How good are their hugs?)

It's a bit stiff and sometimes awkward if you hug him first, but if he's the one hugging you, then he's a bit more relaxed about the whole thing.

I: Infatuation (When did they first realize that they loved you?)

He definitely knew that he found your presence enjoyable, but he didn't realize that it was love he felt until quite a few months into knowing you.

J: Jokes (How funny are their jokes?)

He believes his jokes are extremely well thought out and educated. You sometimes find them funny, but most times, you don't even realize that what he said was meant as a joke.

K: Kisses (How often do they kiss you?)

He gives you kisses on the cheek quite often, but he's not a big fan of PDA necessarily, so he prefers to save anything more than that until you're both alone.

L: Love Letters (How would they write you a love letter?)

It's extremely well thought out and well written, however, decoration wise.... let's just say that for a moment, you thought he was handing you a document.

M: Movies (Their favorite type of movies to watch with you)

Other than documentaries, he doesn't really have a preferred genre. He'll enjoy whatever you want to watch, most likely.

N: Naps (Do they ever really take naps?)

He's not too fond of napping. He has a planned out schedule, and he intends to stick to it, and resting outside of his scheduled seven hours of sleep each night would throw everything off.

O: Observations (How perceptive are they when it comes to you?)

He's extremely perceptive most of the time. However, sometimes he's a bit blunt when asking how you're feeling.

P: Presents (What type of gift would they give you?)

He regularly gifts you interesting mugs that he finds. It was really sweet at first, but now you have 30 mugs and are running out of room!

Q: Quirks (Something specific that they do)

Instead of stopping giving you mugs, he gets you another cabinet. It would be easier if he'd just stop, but he won't.

R: Resentfulness (How likely are they to hold a grudge against someone?)

He doesn't really hold any bitter feelings for anyone for that long. He doesn't see a beneficial reason to do so.

S: Stress (How do they handle stress?)

Egon has gotten fairly decent at working under a lot of stress. He can handle that just fine, but stress related to his personal life? That's more draining for him.

T: Trust (How much do they trust people?)

Most people? He averagely trusts them. You? He's given you his spare key, a list of his medical history. If you told him something, he would trust you without much question.

U: Unexpected Kisses (How do they react to sudden kisses?)

Once again, he's not a big fan of PDA, so if someone else was around, he'd be a bit embarrassed. However, if no one was around, then he'd expect another one.

V: Valentines Day (What do they do for Valentines Day?)

He got you a whole bouquet of flowers! Lilies, Roses, Marigolds, a bunch of different kinds, because he believes that you deserve them.

W: Wishes (What do they hope for from their relationship?)

He has a 27-step plan for your relationship. No, he will not disclose what exactly is all there, but the important thing is that step 19 is marriage.

X: X Ray (What goes on in their mind regularly?)

"How can I implement this into our ghost busting? Hmm..."

"Reasonably that wouldn't make much sense.... however...."

"They really seem to like it when I cook dinner, perhaps I should do it more often?"

Y: Yearning (How much do they miss you while away from you?)

He sees no reason to really spend too much time thinking of you while at work. After all, he'll see you afterward, and you're fully capable of taking care of yourself, so why worry?

Z: Zzz.... (What do they dream about?)

His dreams tend to consist of him capturing ghosts, so, surprisingly, pretty much the exact same as his work every day.

[detransdamnation]

I am not the same anon but i hope you dont feel any ounce of guilt even if you answer this days later, take good care of yourself as much as possible. Onto the question. Do you have some ideas on what could be the main reasons for dysphoria to develop in a young person and why? Do you think things like same sex attraction could be a big factor to sparkle up dysphoria? Even though i struggle to understand how some people stay okay being same sex attracted and in their bodies and some want nothing to do with their body. And in the more tragic case, CSA could have some impact on developing it as well? Or maybe you have some other takes on it, i would be very curious to hear (well. read)

Thank you for your kind words and patience in my getting back to you, Anon.

To zero in on the same sex attraction aspect since that is what you specifically inquired about, yes, I do think that it could be a factor in some cases. However, as the saying goes, correlation does not necessarily equal causation and I think we need to be careful in not inadvertently insinuating that when having these discussions for a couple different reasons. From a gender-critical perspective, I can look back on my childhood and conclude that my dysphoria developed partially because I grew up in a homophobic environment and (unconsciously) further perpetrated that homophobia onto myself. It was not my same sex attraction that was wrong, but “society,” if you will.

However, I was not always able to do this, simply because I have not always been gender-critical. Many transgender people—and especially youth—come from a place of (often severe) internalized homophobia as same sex-attracted people. So, when someone states that same sex attraction may be a factor in dysphoria and transgender identity without explaining (or even mentioning) the why behind that, I view that as flippant—because someone with internalized homophobia can interpret that to mean, “I am dysphoric because I am bi- and/or homosexual.” Our sexualities become the reason for our turmoil—and through that, they, once again, become something for us to hate.

It also just gives way too much room for people who don’t actually have anyone’s best interests at heart to be homophobic. When we say that most dysphoric and trans people are homo- or bisexual and just leave it at that, what do we think a trans-critical homophobe is going to think? I can tell you they’re not going to reflect on their own biases. They’re going to take that to mean that same sex attraction is some sort of mental illness and that dysphoria is a symptom of it. It shifts the blame from homophobic societal structures to the person who is the victim of them. These are different sides of the same coin: When we fail to be mindful in analyzing and discussing the links between dysphoria and sexuality, both groups receive confirmation that same sex attraction is a problem.

I want to both clarify and emphasize, Anon, that I am not making a direct criticism of your own words but rather providing a general commentary on what I have personally seen and how I think it may affect people in ways we may not immediately realize. I feel that consideration of how these statements may come off is sometimes lacking, and as someone who was affected by that when I first started questioning my own transition, I felt it appropriate to mention here. I wish that more emphasis was put on social attitudes, rather than personal attraction, when discussing dysphoria and how it may be linked to sexuality—because that puts the focus on society as a whole rather than singling out one single aspect of a person that they are, very likely, already deeply struggling with. Same sex attraction is the correlation in dysphoric people; hatred of that attraction is the cause of that dysphoria. There is a difference between the two. It is essential we do not overlook it.

To address your other inquiry, I can also speak from personal experience in that my history of abuse did play a significant role in my dysphoria in retrospect. At the age I started identifying as transgender, I was not yet emotionally mature enough to understand that I was being abused. I just knew that people who were supposed to love and protect me instead harmed and took advantage of me, and I did not like that. My upbringing caused me to become passively suicidal from a very young age, which I then understood as wanting to “start over”—and it just so happened that transness eventually gave me that chance. I guess you could say that dysphoria was an expression of that pain and transition was an attempt at escaping it. Myself, as a child, was an abuse victim, a pawn, a pet—but myself, as a trans adult, was who I was outside of that. I fought so viciously to protect my transness because to criticize it felt—and still feels—like killing who I could have been.

Of course, I can only speak for myself, and frankly, that is the only person I want to speak for when it comes to abuse—but this is not just a personal thing. Virtually every single person in the trans community that I was in was also an abuse victim and abuse victims consistently remain(ed) a shocking majority in the communities outside of my own. I do not believe that that is just a coincidence.

I think that the need for control is a significant factor that unites both of these scenarios. I did eventually learn what homophobia was and came to terms with the fact that I had been abused. What I didn’t want to accept was that these things contributed to my pain—because I could not change them. I could not rid the world of homophobia. I could not keep my abusers from being abusive. But if I was the cause of my pain and the solution to that pain was right there, that meant that I could fix it. If everything was “just” dysphoria, that meant that I could heal myself without waiting around for those who hurt me to change. To consider the influence of anything that existed outside of my own mind was to lose hope because it shown a light on everything that I had no power to change as an individual among billions. When so many of us are already disadvantaged in some way from the get-go and we have absolutely no say in any of it, it only makes sense that we would turn that pain inwards and develop dysphoria—and when transition feels like (and is marketed as) the obvious solution, of course we will go through with it. It is our way to have a say. It is no wonder so many of us view transition as empowering when you look at it like that.

So, to finally address your leading question, “Do you have some ideas on what could be the main reasons for dysphoria to develop in a young person and why?” I believe that a variety of factors could be at play and for different reasons for different people. This is not just my own personal opinion; it has been shown that dysphoria and transgender identity tend to be especially concentrated in specific demographics and it would be ignorant of me to discount that. However, beyond citing what is demonstrably obvious and sharing my own experiences in an effort to offer perspective, I do not feel I am in a position to theorize what may or may not have caused someone else’s dysphoria. I strongly believe that dysphoric people need to come to that understanding themselves.

I also do not personally believe that there is a “main reason” on as to why dysphoria may develop in a young person in all cases. I suppose my own “main reason” would be that I fell into the trans community because I never thought seriously about transitioning prior to that time—but the thing is, even if I hadn’t, I would still be dealing with everything else that influenced my getting to this point. I cannot completely divorce all of the things that feed into my dysphoria because they also feed into each other. If I were to take the trans community out of that equation, it would just be the influence of the trans community missing. It is impossible to say whether or not I would have still gone down this same path without that. I honestly think it is just as likely that what remains would simply replace what no longer applies. Dysphoria is like a web. Webs are sticky things.

And as to why some people develop dysphoria while others do not, who knows? Throughout my medical transition as a teenager, every second or third person I talked to either had a full-blown eating disorder, or was on their way to developing one. I was under constant unconscious influence to go down that same path. I struggle with all of the known psychological risk factors in eating disorder development and was also raised in ways that are known to encourage them to develop overtime. Meanwhile, dysphoria was essentially unknown to everyone outside of my bubble. Why, then, did I develop dysphoria when it would have made more sense for me to develop an eating disorder? I don’t know. I don’t think there is a way to know.

At the end of the day, I truly do think whether or not one goes on to develop dysphoria is just a matter of luck (or rather, lack thereof). That is the unfortunate nature of mental illness. Sometimes you get it, sometimes you don’t, and there’s really no “reason” on as to why you have it while someone else with similar experiences might not. But even if there were a reason for it, even if I could pinpoint exactly what caused my dysphoria, I can honestly say that no comfort would come from my knowing—because knowing would not change the fact that I have it. I cannot go back, only forward, and in doing so, I have made peace with that ambiguity.

I sincerely hope this answer makes up for how long I made you wait for it.

[puppyeared]

i feel like im not making any sense but does anyone else feel like there are stories that let u run with them and ones that spell everything out for you

[maxthesillyy]

thinking about. i dont know how to phrase this really but. chloe and frank.

like. when Chloe killed Frank i (, personally,) feel like her guilt from it was less because she killed Frank, and More because she Killed Someone (and their dog).

but!!! thats not to say she didnt feel guilty for killing Frank. because she definitely did. because on some level. despite everything. despite all of his shitty behavior. a part of her still cared for him. that tiny 15-17ish year old part in her still cared for him.

because that 15-17ish year old with intense abandonment issues in her only had. a small handful of people in her life that actually cared for her, and when THOSE few people aren’t even doing the best job at it— it’s no shit that Chloe’s standards for Good Friends are going to be Immensely dropped.

and so. it’s kind of like what happened with Rachel, but WAY less intense. when she found someone who didn’t hate her, and was willing to hang around her—after so so long of people hating her and not wanting to be around her— it makes sense that part of her would kinda latch onto them a little bit.

and so, even after all of the shit she’s learned he did— even when Frank starts to hate her— even when he threatens Max and her’s lives— part of her keeps remembering him as one of the few guys who stuck around when no one else did.

it’s just that. no matter how bad the person— if you’ve known someone for years, and they were one of the only nice people to you in a town where theres like. four people that are nice to you— it’s gonna hurt if you kill them. even if it was self defense. even if it was entirely their own fault— even if you two aren’t on even remotely good terms anymore.

ESPECIALLY for such a sentimental person like Chloe. taking that in consideration it makes me wonder. maybe she didn’t feel bad for killing Frank. maybe she felt bad for killing the person Frank used to be to her. but maybe she realized that That Frank already died long ago.

but yeah. im mentally ill. take everything i said with a grain of salt considering it is 12:07 AM.

[jessamine-rose]

*lovingly tackles Aine*

Read my Yandere! Pierro longfics first ♪( ´▽｀)

Last week, my beloved mutual @ainescribe surprised me with Savior! Darling fan art and AHAI9232@2-!/! CRYING SCREAMING I WANT TO LOOK AT THIS ART AND WORSHIP YOUR VERSION OF SAVIOR THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR BLESSING ME WITH YOUR ART—

*clears throat* Anyway, now that I finally have the time to properly sit down and comment on the fan art, I’ll do just that. Feedback will be in the tags and it will be unhinged. Once again, thank you so much to Aine for drawing this <3

[skeletalheartattack]

i am taping your leg to the ceiling fan and turning it to max power :)

you're gonna what now? huh? wait. oh shit-

WAAAAHHHHHH!!!

[gunstellations]

to love and be loved

[ame-to-ame]

there are things that you don't do for a year or more and pick up just right where you left off and these days i fear loving you might be one of them

[seventh-district]

several days and 15 thousand words later, i am relieved to report that the suffocating urge to Write Something has been sated and no longer has me in a chokehold