#they were ROOOMMATES

[voidsentprinces]

Fandom: THEMIS AND ERICHTHONIS ARE THE BEST AND PROBABLY DATING! Me, in the background: ELIDIBUS STOLE ZENOS'S ASS! ITS THE ONLY THING THAT MAKES SENSE WHY HE IS CAKED UP LIKE A BAKERY EXPLODED ON SATURDAY NIGHT DURING STORMBLOOD AND THEN AFTER HE IS FLATTER THAN WISCONSIN! Roommate: It could of been the armor. Me: THEN WHY DID HE SHAVE ARDBERT'S GOATEE!? RHETORICAL QUESTION! HE DIDN'T SHAVE IT! HE STOLE IT! Roommate: I'm going to work. Me: HE STOLE ZENOS'S ASS!!!!!

[lesbiten]

not only can i hear the wind outside, but it is louder than the video im watching. yippee

[summercamp2007]

my roommates and I watched trolls for like the 7th time collectively in 2 weeks btw..

[kalmeria]

wow ibamugi are such a comedic duo actually

[bi-writes]

bestfriend!rooommate!simon finds out you've been lying.

more bff!roommate!simon (part 8/?)

cw: mature language and content, suggestive language and content, mean!simon (verbally), size kink (simon can move the reader easily, described as much bigger), praise kink, the mask doesn't come off, oral (m!receiving), fem!receiving touching, cumplay, soft!dom!simon, reader uses simon to get herself off (because there is no universe in which simon doesn't return his girl's favor), pet names (including pet and kitty)

you lied.

if simon had his gloves off, his knuckles would be stark white from how hard he was gripping the mail in his hands.

neither of you had checked your mailbox in a while--simon had only returned a few days ago from the harsh winter of northern russia after weeks away, and you seemingly had been busy with work. so busy, simon noticed very quickly, that you spent morning to late at night in your red and white uniform, coming home in the dead of night just to crash and do it all again the next morning.

now he held all the letters in his hand. stacks of them, with angry red stamps bleeding into the white of the envelopes.

NOTICE

WARNING

PAST DUE

LAST NOTICE

he stopped breathing for a moment. he spread the letters out on the table, flipping through each of them. he didn't open them, of course but these were all your bills. cell phone, last month's half of the rent, credit cards, your name written on the back and ugly red warnings pasted over it.

simon had spoken to you while he was gone. he had called you once, twice at least, and all he remembered was your soft voice telling him you missed him, to be careful, that you screwed up a new cookie recipe that you promised you would perfect before he got home.

you hadn't said a thing. your voice had been even and gentle as always. your voice had been comforting, saying only encouraging words. if simon was honest, your voice put him at ease; you always told him something to calm him, something to uplift him.

"i'm so proud of you, simon."

"i hate that you're gone, but there's no one else that could do what you do."

"um...hah...love you. be careful."

you hadn't said a word. your voice didn't reveal an ounce of the stress and the weight that must've been hanging over your head. there was no falter in your words, no strain as you spoke. just pretty, perfect, beautiful you, easing simon's demons while you battled some of your own.

simon crumpled one of the envelopes in his hands. it was thick with papers, but he still forced it into a ball, tossing it back onto the table angrily. he gripped the edge of the table, white knuckling it until he heard the key in the lock.

it was quiet as you came inside. you shut the door and locked it behind you, setting down your bag and taking off your jacket. it was morning; you had worked the night shift. your eyes were drawn low, tired and a dull. you said nothing as you toed off your shoes, letting your sneakers settle under the table. it was then that you noticed simon just sitting there, still, with his hands folded in front of him.

and all of your bills scattered around him.

you sucked in a shaky breath, looking up into his eyes. they were trained low, on the letters surrounding him, but he glared, boring a whole through them. he didn't know where to focus his anger; you were precious, you could do no wrong, you were soft and warm and his, and it wasn't your fault that everything was so expensive, that you were struggling.

but it was your fault that you hadn't said a thing--that you hadn't asked for help.

"simon, i...i-i can explain."

"no. y'r not gonna talk, luv." you had never heard his voice this way. so low and gravelly, an eerie lilt to it that reeked of disappointment and somehow betrayal. "y'r gonna sit down. now."

simon roughly pulled the chair from beside him out, an unspoken command for you to take a seat. your bottom lip trembled as you slumped into the chair, watery eyes avoiding his.

"how long?"

"simon--"

you jumped as he slammed a hand down on the table. the entirety of it shook, the papers ruffling and the dishes clattering loudly.

"a few months! a-a few months, just--"

"no!" simon snapped. "y'lied to me. y'lied to me! i asked! how many times have i asked?! how many times have i looked you in the fuckin' eye and asked you if everythin' was in order, how many fuckin' times?!"

you couldn't keep it in. the tears were hot, running down your cheeks and putting salt on your lips and a dryness in your throat. you were embarrassed. embarrassed that you needed help, ashamed that you were being scolded like a child, afraid of his loud voice and his terrible anger and the way he looked at you. when you decided to live together, you weren't meant to be his burden. you didn't intend to be his problem.

"i-i'm sorry, simon--i'm sorry..." you met his eyes. "i'm taking extra shifts. i-i'm gonna pay the bills, i-i'm gonna make it right, i-i swear--"

"is that what you think this is?"

he narrowed his eyes at you, two dark slits, and then as if a switch flipped, it was gone. his face softened, his eyes widening, and the tension seemed to dissipate just enough to let you breathe a little easier. you couldn't decipher this change, and you couldn't read what was in his eyes, not this time. all you could was sit there and try not to let your cries make any sound.

"do y'think i'm angry because y'didn't pay? is that what y'think?"

you shook your head, shrugging, not understanding his question.

"what...what other reason is there, s-simon?" you hiccuped. "i screwed..." more tears, they wouldn't stop falling, "i-i screwed up, simon, i-i'm so sorry, i-i--"

you jumped when his chair screeched against the floor. he stood up fast, taking a step to round the table to crouch beside your chair. he looked up at you, making himself smaller, and you looked down.

"simon, i'm sorry--"

"stop! stop fuckin' apologizing, fuck," simon interrupted you. his voice was gentle, trying not to scare you, and you closed your mouth, taking in deep, shaking breaths to try and center yourself. "'m angry because you didn't talk to me, luv--" your face fell when he reached up, two gloved hands cupping your puffy cheeks, "--why didn't you say anything? why didn't you tell me? why didn't you ask me for help?"

you sniffled, reaching up and caressing his wrists gently. you played with the edges of his gloves, your fingers skimming the hem of his sleeves and just barely teasing the bare skin under it.

"simon...how could i?" you asked, as if it was obvious. "after everything that's happened...after everything we've been through...h-how could i ask that of you?" "how could you not?" simon spit back, and when you tried to pull away, he tightened his grip on your cheeks. "no, no--look at me--" he rose up on his knees, pressing your forehead to his, "look at me."

your expression was pained, struggling to do as he asked, but eventually your eyes fluttered, meeting his own, and he grunted as he gripped the back of your neck and held you there.

nowhere to go. nowhere to run. no one else.

"y'r not my problem. not my burden," he muttered. "y'r m'responsibility. mine to take care of."

"i-i don't want you to have to do that--"

"what the fuck do y'think this is?" he breathed. "what we have, what this is, this is forever, has that not gotten through y'r bloody head?" you whimpered when he shook you a little, his hand in your hair as he pulled it tight. "y'r as good as mine. not up for discussion."

you swallowed hard as his hands came down, wiping the tears off your face. he brushed your hair back and away, so he could see you, and you smiled at him sadly, eyes glossy and bright.

"'m gonna take care of the flat from now on, yeah?" simon murmured. "'m gonna take care of everything."

your body visibly relaxed. your shoulders fell, your body sinking a little more into the chair, and there was something sweet in your eyes--something hopeful. simon's tone was definite, and there was no room for arguing. you nodded finally, leaning in slowly, pressing a delicate kiss to where his lips would be under the mask. his thumb swiped over your cheek, falling to trace the line of your jaw, and then you both closed your eyes at the same time.

there was an understanding here. it was as if simon was washing you clean--something refreshing and warm and gentle running down the length of you, rinsing whatever was hurting you right down some sort of sickening void that had gripped you so tightly. and he did it so easily--he did it without even blinking.

and it was easy. simon never hesitated with you. his money rotted in an account anyways--it sat and stared at him, reminding him of the kind of hell he had gone through just to get it. it reminded him of the half of him that was someone, the half of him that he hated, the half of his being that came from a wretched, horrid, terrifying thing that manifested itself somewhere in his blood.

simon was half of something foul, and maybe he couldn't make up for the part of him that he didn't think was human, but he could make up for this, make up for you, make up for whatever half of you had left you here. because that was what you deserved--you deserved to be taken care of, you deserved not to worry, you deserved to sleep in soft sheets and eat until your belly was full and smile so much that your cheeks ached, and if simon had to become someone else just to give it to you, if simon had to die and come back again, then that was exactly what he would do.

simon had died once already. simon had seen it--seen how empty and unfulfilling and quiet it had been. simon had seen another side, and you didn't belong there. you belonged somewhere warm. somewhere a little noisy, a little bright, familiar.

it hadn't always been this way. when simon first met you, it hadn't been a good day--simon wore bruises, and you wore blood, and it was in that instant moment of understanding that made it clear you would be bound forever.

something invisible threaded you together. and simon had pulled himself out of his early grave, and after he had done it, you were the only thing that remained. and he hated himself--he hated himself for thanking some unspoken thing, because his entire family was gone, but you weren't gone, you were still here, there was still sunlight in your eyes and laughter in your voice and you were still warm.

it should've tasted sour to be grateful for it. he wanted to hate himself for this feeling. he deserved to die again and not return, but then he wouldn't get to see you anymore, and the selfish part of him, the other half of him, would never give you up willingly.

this love was visceral. this love was going to kill him. he was going to die with you on his mind, but maybe that would be the only thing worth really dying for.

because there you are. big, pretty eyes gazing up at him--fuck, why does she look at me like that?

why does she look at me like i mean something?

why isn't she afraid?

why can't i push her away?

what the fuck is wrong with me?

his beautiful girl. his pretty little roommate. the woman with flowers for eyes and silk as skin and a mind filled with starlight. the sweetheart pushing him to sit, forcing him backwards, getting on her knees in between his legs. and then her hands were on his thighs, sliding up against the rough denim as she laid one side of her face against it, those petals in her eyes trained on the way that his pants seemed to get tighter with every drag of her delicate fingers up his thighs.

and then she was pushing up his hoodie, exposing the relaxed muscle of his stomach, and then she was kissing it. soft lips warming the solid middle of him, a knowing smile growing on her face as she felt him twitch and jump and grunt. and then those beautiful eyes were looking back up at him, her neck tilted back as she undid his jeans and nestled the hem of them just low enough for her to reach in and fuck--

you knew simon was beautiful everywhere. you knew that there was no part of him that wasn't perfect. you couldn't remember being particularly religious, but kneeling in front of him felt like devotion--and you had much to confess.

he was thick, heavy, a weight in your hand that had you drooling without so much as seeing him. you were looking at the red tip of him with eyes half-lidded, and it took everything in you not to take him all at once. but this was simon, this was your version of perfect, and you needed to show simon how much you felt because words were not enough.

words would never be enough.

you started slow. you dipped your head, your eyes flicking up to watch him as you caressed the base of him with a wet kiss. you squeezed your legs together when you noticed his dark eyes roll back into his head for a second, a pained, pleasured reaction, and then you did it again.

a soft lick, the edge of your tongue sliding over a protruding vein on the underside of his length, and you closed your own eyes for a moment to revel in the deep groan that simon uttered. you sighed deeply, keeping your thighs squeezed together to relieve the sudden ache between them, before flattening your tongue and guiding it up his length. simon cursed under his breath, his hands gripping his thighs tight--but one of his hands flew to the back of your head when your greedy little mouth sucked the tip of him into your mouth.

you moaned softly, tasting the edge of him, something so simon and pleasant. a little precum, warm, flowing onto your tongue. you whimpered when you felt his fingers tangle into your hair, gripping you for stability as you sucked him in.

"christ, luv--" just the sound of him so pleased was enough to have you dripping, "fuck--'s so good, 's perfect--"

she was so beautiful. she was perfect. of course she would be good at sucking him off, of course she would have the prettiest tongue and the warmest mouth, and of course she would have one hand wrapping around the base of him as the other slipped between her legs--

"fuck--y'r gettin' off on this, yeah?" he grunted, his eyes flashing with something dark. "'f course you are, such a good girl--"

good girl, good girl, i'm a good girl--

just as slow as it began, as quick as you became. one moment you were cool, composed, watching simon's eyes and listening to his voice as you tried to memorize what pleasure sounded like when it came from him, and the next moment you were sliding him further into your mouth, drool dripping down your jaw as precum spread across your teeth. he was so big--so much to take, but the strain in your jaw tomorrow would have to be a welcome side effect to making lieutenant simon riley cum down your throat.

so sloppy, what a mess you were making. simon's hand now cupped the side of your head, your hair in some makeshift updo as he guided you along his length. the sounds were filthy--soft, slobbering noises as you took simon just a little further down your throat, your tongue being careful to tease the slit of him, slipping between the fold of it to illicit the most gorgeous of moans out of him.

"fuckin' hell--the mouth of a fuckin' angel--"

"such a pretty girl...such a pretty sight...makin' such a mess, sweetheart..."

"y'like it, yeah? y'like it...y'r so pretty...s'pretty, luv, nnngh--th's it, just like that--"

and now you were bouncing pathetically onto your hand. you pressed your hand into the floor, trapping your thighs over it as you tried desperately to grind down on something as you sucked warmly on simon's length. just as you let out a frustrated whine, simon's boot knocked your hand out of the way, slipping the steel toe of it right there, right--oh!

you cried out as the tip of his boot pushed right up against your cunt. the perfect spot, right against your aching clit, because simon never missed--simon always hit his target, whether it was between the eyes of some muppet who had his gun aimed at johnny or exactly where to touch his girl to make her drool. and drool she did--with her mouth stuffed full of him, with her slick wetting her thighs, with that look in her eyes that could make any man lose his fucking mind.

and simon was losing it, he was crazy. he soothed the back of your neck, grunting and hissing and wetting the fabric of his mask with the way he spat and cursed for you. but how could he help himself? the most beautiful girl in the world was on her knees, looking at him like she was at the alter. confessing her sins, receiving her absolution, taking every bit of it like the good girl she was, is.

he was so pretty. he tasted so good. you could only see his eyes, but it was more than enough, you didn't need anything more. the way he scrunched them open and shut, the low drawl of his voice as he said your name--he was perfect. his cock filled your mouth so nicely; he was using you, but you didn't feel used.

you wanted this. you wanted him. you wanted him to put you between his legs, wanted him to finally feel something other than that sick, twisted ache in his bones.

you lifted your hand, the one that had been buried between your thighs, and you cupped the underside of him with them. the wet, sticky warmth of your fingers had simon choking on a breath, hissing when you began to work the length of him that you couldn't fit in your mouth.

"jesus fuckin' christ--!"

his chest was heaving, rising up and down as he scratched at your scalp and cupped the underside of your jaw. then he bent low, smoothing a gloved hand down your throat, needing to feel the way it constricted, the way you swallowed, the feel of your skin and the vibrations as you whimpered and moaned around the thick of him.

you were suckling so sweetly, letting pools of drool and precum slip past your lips and drip along your chin, your hands, against his boot. simon was getting close--you could tell by the way he tugged on your hair and the faltering of his breaths. and he was talking--talking so much, blubbering.

"aye, sweetheart--th's it..."

"fuckin' hell...nnnghh...feel like bloody heaven..."

"...see you in m'dreams, luv...aghh! fuck--fuck, fuck, fuck--"

you didn't think there was anything more attractive than watching simon lose control. but you weren't doing much better. as you sucked the salt from his cock, you slid your hips over his boot to relieve the ache between your thighs even just a little. you thought maybe it was a pathetic sight, but you couldn't bring yourself to care. you fit your cunt right up against him, nestling the tip of his toes against your clit so you could rock back and forth, soaking the leather with you.

simon grunted, chuckling a bit to himself as you watched you suck a little harder, a little sloppier, move your hips a little messier. you were like a sweet, doe-eyed puppy--all big eyes and soft mewls and nothing inside your head except suck, suck, suck--

you whined when he came into your mouth. you held out your tongue, massaging the middle of his cock as he dripped along your mouth, your lips, under your tongue, against your chin. and like the messy little girl you were, you kept suckling on the tip until simon gripped you by the back of the head and lifted you up off the ground, grunting as he roughly manhandled you into his lap.

"little kitty can't help herself...what a fuckin' mouth on ya..."

and then his fingers were gathering the cum on your face and slipping it back into your mouth--just as the fingers on his other hand plunged inside of you.

he was deep, thick gloved fingers taking up even more space, stretching your pulsing, gummy cunt as you gripped his shoulders and cried. little tears coming down your face as you chased that blissful high, begging simon to give it, give it, you need it.

it didn't take much. just a few rough touches of your puffy clit, and you were soaking his gloves, whining as you pressed your cheek to his and mumbled how good he felt, how everything hurt so nice.

a pounding, aching thing that was gone in a matter of seconds, throwing you in a pleasure-drunk mood, with your head rest against his shoulder and your breaths coming out heavy and languid.

your eyes fluttered, but your vision was just clear enough that you could see simon lift the front of his mask. you caught the line of deep scar, something a healed and vicious against his pretty face. then it was gone, replaced by the sight of him slipping his gloved fingers into his mouth and sucking on them, pink tongue coming out to taste them as he slurped at the gooey mess you made on them.

you saw the slightest hint of a smirk before the fabric came back down again.

"'s alright, pet--" simon's voice was low, a drawl to it that made his accent a bit more pronounced. and just as your eyes fluttered shut completely--

"'m right here, kitty."

[devilfic]

❝right place, right time❞

IX. I'm the well they're gonna drag you down.

parts: previously / next plot: and they were rooommates. pairing: battinson!bruce wayne x gn!reader. cw: surgeon!reader, secret identities, slow burn, mentions of blood and stitches and drugs and alcohol, this chapter is fluffier because reader deserves a break, reader and bruce discussing their one-night stands, bruce thinks he's funny but he just can't hide how much he likes you okay, jealousy thy name is "disturbed". words: 6.9k. a/n: shoutout to allnurses.com contributing to at least 8 hours of research on how medications are stored in hospitals for one scene. any nurses in chat please do not stone me, I took creative liberties. also, in case there is any confusion, this chapter and the vignette take place all in (mostly) the same day.

The car gets about halfway down the street before Bruce observes out loud, "Something's bothering you."

You're clean and changed, but your hands are shoved between your thighs as you try to control their shake. Knowing what you know now, you have no reason to keep this from him. He is, by all means, the one person you should tell.

But you struggle to work up the courage without a mask looking back at you. The character of Batman you'd created in your head clashes violently with the character of Bruce. You'd written your own Jekyll and Hyde and tripped yourself up in the final act when it turned out they were one and the same, "You have a lot on your plate right now."

"So do you."

You resist the urge to grit your teeth, "It's about Judith."

Bruce thinks for a moment, "The old lady who doesn't like me."

"The very same. I... wasn't there for her last night, when I should have been. She was mugged on her way home."

Bruce doesn't make a big show of a reaction, though you notice he sits straighter, taking a break from gazing out of the window to glance at you every once in a while, "Is she badly hurt?"

"It could've been worse but... she's more shaken up than she wants me to believe."

"And her family?"

"Murdered." Bruce's car rolls by a street corner where a young mother wrangles her child back from the crosswalk, "I tried to convince her to have one of the deacons from church ride home with her from now on but she wouldn't listen. She doesn't want to be babied." Her stubbornness isn't at all unfamiliar.

"Did she see who did it?"

"She said some guys at the liquor store down the way. They hang out there every night," your eyes trail from the window down to the floor before finding Bruce's face. His profile is sharp and clean, the dark neck of his sweater stops just before the hair at his nape begins to cluster. Your eyes follow the bridge of his nose and it mirrors Batman's profile, a mix of pointed and blunt edges, "There's a... an heirloom in her purse. A lighter. She keeps it with her all the time. Her husband had it on him when he... well, he had an awful habit. She'd really like it back."

Bruce turns his head to you and you steel yourself. In the bright early morning, he is annoyingly resplendent. In the unfair way that all pretty people tended to be. It feels wrong to be asking him this. This is a stranger. You're begging for help from a stranger. You force down the sickness rising in your belly, "Please, will you-"

"I'll take care of it." He answers and it is final. He seemed to have made up his mind before you'd even asked.

The resolve in him is enough to slow your shake to nothing. There's a part of you that still doesn't quite believe what you'd seen last night, and so the certainty of Judith's well-being does not deluge you. It trickles down, dripping over your eyelashes, sprinkling off your fingertips.

You let yourself get caught up in his eyes the way you used to. You let the familiarity of them ground you and, though not with a sweeping acceptance, sigh in relief.

It's a small win in the grand scheme of steaming hot bullshit going on in your life.

You’ve taken things from General for Bruce’s sake before. Bandages and needles and disinfectants. This, however… this was a schedule II drug that could land you in prison if you got caught with it. And you were going to walk out of here with it like you were none the wiser.

A hand on your elbow forces you to slow down, drawing you back to your companion’s side. You don’t need to hear it so he doesn’t say it, but you’re embarrassed anyway. How Bruce maintains himself is enviable. “You’re a good actor.” Bruce peeks at you as you guide him through the first floor, “The thing with Gordon. You took it on the chin like a champ. You turned into a whole new person.”

“I avoid implicating myself when I can.”

“The party too. You diffused the tension, like, perfectly.”

Bruce hovers beside you as you call the elevator, a few patients and nurses lingering further behind. You can feel him probing your words for your natural line of thinking, “Couldn’t pull one over on you, though.”

No, you think, you just creeped me out while every bat-shaped clue flew right under my nose.

The elevator door slides open and the two of you squeeze into the back as the rest file in. You find yourself in a corner, braced against Bruce’s side as his hand reaches around your back to hold the railing. One of the nurses catches sight of him and swoons, the other trying (and failing) to look uninterested.

“Coming to see the new wing?” The swooning nurse asks, turning around to grin at Bruce. “Sounds like it’s coming along great. They make lots of helpful noise all day long.”

Bruce laughs good-naturedly, “Hopefully it’ll make up for all the trouble once it’s finished.”

The “uninterested” nurse nods, eyes frantically flashing from Bruce’s eyes to the floor and back over and over, “For sure! It’s really great you give back to General like this. Your dad would be proud.”

His face has no distinct reaction to it, nothing immediately telling that that comment hit too close to home. He smiles as he always does and thanks them as he always should do, and as they get off on the second floor, it’s just you two and an old man waiting for the next stop.

Bruce, to you, had long lived in his father’s shadow. The great Thomas Wayne who, despite his briefly smeared reputation, had been the face of the Wayne family for you. Even the some-twenty years after his passing had yet to shake that image from your brain.

It was his father’s legacy he was tending to here. All of the good and ugly that came with it. You couldn’t imagine how many times he’d heard his father would be proud. Did it comfort him? Frustrate him? Did he do this to make his father proud, or because it was expected of him?

Before the flood, you’d heard gossip about Wayne Enterprises going under, the reclusive in the tower giving no sign if he was alive or dead. Knowing what you know now, you wonder how much he truly wants to be a Wayne… with all the baggage that comes with it.

He’s wound tight. You can feel him against you.

Before you can talk yourself out of it, you find his hand on the railing beside you and cover It with your own. He’s shocked, judging by the way he jolts under your touch for a second. You think you’ve overstepped but when you go to apologize, he is already staring wide-eyed at you. Like when you’d caught him on the stairs.

The tension is still there, and his face has fallen in its warmth and friendliness. His hand had only partially slipped out from underneath yours, but as the seconds pass you feel it rest once more, not bothering to shake you away any further.

You both force yourselves to stare ahead until the elevator dings to let you out, but through the reflection on the door, Bruce is still looking at you.

You break first, distracting you both this time as you walk out, “You kept hitting me with your knee.”

Bruce, in a daze, asks, “What?”

“At the party. While me and Roberts were arguing, you’d nudge me with your knee like it was an accident.”

Bruce seems to remember who he is and where you are, because he quickly gets back to himself, “Guess I’m not that good of an actor.”

“Why’d you do it?”

“I knew where the conversation was going. I could feel you thinking.”

You remembered holding your breath as the mayor prepared herself for confrontation back then, “And the second time?”

“I was trying not to laugh.”

You flush. You’d been so impassioned that night, defending your hero who, unbeknownst to you at the time, was hiding a snicker behind his glass. You feared you’d be remembering a lot of moments like that over the next few days.

As soon as you both get into your office, you shut the door behind you, “I need you to wait here for me.” Bruce’s face tightens, “Don’t… argue. They keep extra vials of the antivenom down in the ER. I can grab one from the med room, but I can’t have you following me down there. It’s off limits for anyone without ID, let alone a patient and a donor.”

Bruce doesn’t look comfortable. Since last night, you hadn’t been anywhere Bruce or your police detail couldn’t follow. You hadn’t even been allowed to enter your apartment until the latter had deemed the place safe. A med room not much bigger than your office—locked behind an ID scanner—posed less of a threat than your two-bedroom ten minutes away.

But it was two stories down, and anything could happen in the time you were away from Bruce.

You can see the wheels turning in his head, trying to think up some plan that allowed him to remain by your side. You have to restrain yourself from feeling… flattered.

Flattery turns to bewilderment as Bruce reaches into his pocket and drops something into your hand. It’s a gadget the size of an AirPods case, shining in the light of the fluorescents. It looked perfectly unassuming and hid—lightweight as it was—a marvel of expensive technology. You could tell just by looking at it. “The hell is this?”

“It’s an EMP generator. Put it in your pocket and I can disable any communications within your vicinity, including cameras.”

“Okay, no. This is a hospital, and I’d be going into the ER with this thing. That’s too dangerous.”

Bruce looks offended. You can practically hear him say “You don’t think I’ve thought of that?” with his eyes. He silently holds his phone up to your face and you shouldn’t be as shocked as you are that it’s got live camera feed of the entire hospital. “I can control the radius. You said you trust me. So trust me.”

You swallow back your retort. You did say you were going to trust him on this. Whether or not it would be your doom had yet to be seen. You nod once, dropping the device in your pocket. “I’ll meet you back here in ten minutes. Fifteen at the most.”

Bruce’s lips purse together. He still doesn’t look settled with letting you go alone, but he has very little room to argue, “Ten minutes.”

You don’t waste time. You skip the elevator for the emergency stairwell, taking two steps at a time until you’re back on the first floor and walking to the ER. The med room at the very end of the hall would—if you were lucky—be as empty as the waiting room. All you needed to do was get in, grab what you needed and very quickly get the hell out of there. Without raising suspicion. You can feel the phantom pull of Bruce’s hand on your arm, begging you to slow down before you draw unwanted attention.

You round the corner to the med room, scan your ID, and head in.

The two nurses waiting inside greet you, analyzing you curiously, “Hey doc, need something?”

Words rattle in your brain like a d20 on a deception roll. You pray for something good, “I just wanted to grab some meds for my patient.”

One nurse sits at a computer, head titled in confusion, “Did you put in a prescription? You could’ve sent a nurse to grab it for you.”

Your eye catches the camera on the ceiling, its dark glass glinting at you, mocking you. A scrying glass recording your every move. And Bruce on the other side of it, hopefully buying you an alibi. “It’s a… special case. My patient needs it soon, so I thought I’d speed up the process and grab it myself.” You force a lightness into your tone, trying your best to appear apologetic and not at all suspicious.

The nurse hums. Then, she jabs the pen she’d holding over her shoulder, “Cart’s over there. Help yourself.”

You maneuver through the shelves separating either half of the room, keeping your head straight and eyes from wandering.

Your biggest hurdle was at the back of the room.

It’s a clunky cabinet on wheels with a monitor on top and an ID scanner on the side. In one of its many drawers, your golden ticket awaited, but these things kept logs of who checked out what, and if someone were to go through them later and find out you’d stolen a highly addictive drug without prescription…

You swallow. The generator in your pocket suddenly hangs heavy against your thigh. You glance at your phone for the time and note that four minutes have passed. You need to move quickly.

You approach the cart, fingers twitching at your sides, and right as you step up to the monitor, it flickers and goes dark. You give the power button a push for good measure but nothing happens.

Well, not nothing. You hear the cart drawers all click at once, like they’d unlocked by themselves. Tentatively, you try the top drawer and it slides out without issue. Glancing behind you, you check to make sure no nurses have wandered over, but you are the only one on this side of the room.

Your fingers drift down to the right drawer next and that one slips open too—by the grace of some god—and there you see it. It has an alien glow to it, a more subdued blue to its adversary’s green. The top of the tray holding the vials pops open with just as much ease as the drawer, allowing you to sneak one into your pocket. You shut the drawers, slowly backing away from the cart, but the monitor does not turn back on.

“What? This thing too?” You’re startled when the nurse from before suddenly jogs up from behind you, grumbling under her breath as she smacks the monitor.

You rush to cover, “It just went kaput on me.”

“Yeah, so did mine.” She maneuvers around the shelves and back to her desk where you see the other nurse at the desk scratching his head. Their monitor is glitching, having some gory digital stroke, “Here. You can sign out what you take for now and I’ll bother IT about this.”

You write down “Ibuprofen” and your name next to it, “Never seen that happen before.”

“Yeah. Thing froze up on me a minute ago. Guessing around the same time this thing died on you.”

Your stomach is still nervously fluttering, but you do feel a little smug. “Weird.” You hand her back the clipboard and go to grab a bottle out of a different drawer. “Good luck.”

You try not to sprint past the nurses as they fuss with the computer. You’re out and back upstairs before your ten minutes are up.

Bruce is sat leisurely on your couch, no doubt watching you scurry into the office on his phone. He looks from the pill bottle in your hand and back to you.

You toss the bottle into his lap, plopping down on the couch beside him. He frowns at the label. “For you,” you poke his injured leg and his eyes follow your every movement, “you’re favoring the other leg today.”

He can’t bring himself to deny that, even if the look he gives you from beneath his eyelashes says otherwise. You flash the antivenom at him as a peace offering. “How’d I look?”

His gaze flutters slowly from the vial to you before he shows you his phone. The screen is a recording of the medication room. It shows you greeting the nurses, walking up to the med cart, and then… nothing. Black screen for forty-five seconds. When it flickers back on, you're signing the clipboard and walking away. Your body sags into the couch with relief.

“You did good.” Bruce praises you.

“I thought I was going to go into cardiac arrest.”

“There are worse places to do it.” You look at him and he’s smiling just a little. You’re aware, though, that he’s aware of the toll this has taken on you. He takes the vial out of your hands and puts it in his own pocket, holding his hand out to you. “We should get going.”

Bruce follows dutifully behind you as you lead him back down to the first floor. You feel much better than when you'd arrived, but your heart stutters each time a security guard passes you by. Years ago, stealing and getting away with it was second nature to you. You were also arrogant back then, uncaring of what happened to you. How quickly the tides had changed.

You feel Bruce nudge you with his arm. He isn't looking at you, but you know what he's trying to tell you: you've got a few more hallways to turn down before the exit. You just have to-

Someone calls your name.

You spin around, nerves electrified, only to find Em running to catch up with you, "What are you doing back at work already? Is your arm okay?"

The adrenaline rush had done wonders for your pain tolerance. You didn't even think about it until she brought it up, "I'm fine, it's fine. It's-" You go to rush out some sort of explanation but at that moment, Bruce turns around.

You can see the moment of impact across Em's face as soon as she realizes who you're with, her back straightening and hand pressing down flyaways. In an instant, she has forgotten all about you. For better or for worse. She rubs her palm on her leg before holding it out to shake his hand, "Mr. Wayne! Hi! I'm surprised to see you here." Her eyes are twinkling, "Everything alright?"

"Just some leg pain, nothing painkiller can't fix." He flashes the pill bottle for good measure. You're honestly impressed he admitted to being in pain at all, "It's good to see you again, Dr. Madison."

Em's face droops into a frown, "Well, you look fantastic, but you've got a mirror," she pats your arm, "and I'm sure you're being well taken care of."

"Only by the best."

You smile (borderline pleadingly), preparing to dismiss yourselves while you still have your wits about you, but then Em asks Bruce a question and, to your surprise, Bruce is happy to entertain her.

It strikes you that you had landed in your situation with no prior interest in who Bruce was, and it shows in how you barely keep up with the topic of conversation.

It's like watching a tennis match between the two. The topic in Em's court, then Bruce's, then Em's, back and forth without issue. No awkward pauses or uncomfortable looks. She recalls details about him out of thin air, your knowledge in comparison merely fringes of what Em knew.

The longer it goes on, the more it weighs on you that aside from the strange man who'd circled around you like a frightened kitten, you really didn't know anything about Bruce.

You knew Batman. You felt you knew him. Even when his identity was still a secret, you had felt comfortable with him. Vulnerable, even. He'd let you touch him in your home, fixing him up and helping you with this mess and... outside of that, what did you really know?

You feel an odd twist in your chest.

Em's voice floats back in, disrupting your retrospection, "I've always wanted to go to Italy. You must get so sick of these places after having been so many times."

"They still have their magic," Bruce grins, "but I don't like being far from home."

"Really? You could go anywhere in the world and you'd still miss Gotham?" Em's tone is teasing, but curious. Something flickers in her eyes as if she'd just remembered something.

Bruce takes in the hallway, chest swelling with pride, "Lots of things to miss about it."

"Name one."

Bruce's eyes cut to the side as he thinks, "The noise."

"You can get noise anywhere. LA, Chicago-"

"It's special here."

"No, try again."

His smile turns sheepish, "The rain."

"Now you're lying. Come on, pretty boy. I know you've got something. Penthouse, nightlife- heck, I'd even understand the freaks and clowns giving everyone PTSD."

Bruce exhales, purses his lips. His eyes flit around the white walls, "Okay. I'd miss you."

What the hell?

You straighten up. The absurdity (blatant sweet-talk) of the line shouldn't work—seriously, it wouldn't work on you—but Em goes pink in the cheeks. A strand of dark hair falls from her bun and frames her smile just so, "Well," she snorts, "aren't you just a flirt?"

To your utter dismay, they are both eating this up. "You light up the room, Dr. Madison. Your patients are very lucky."

"My patients are usually seven and way more interested in the candy I bring them."

"Candy?" Bruce finally looks at you, all humor and charm, "I never get candy. I just get yelled at."

Something in you is disturbed when Em grabs onto Bruce's arm, hanging off him as she pouts at you, "Oh! You're heartless!"

"Very much so." Bruce is somber.

"I don't-" Your voice comes out strained, a little too defensive right off the bat, "I don't yell." But you'd gotten close, and you got closer everyday, "But if I did, you'd deserve it."

Bruce is amused. You watch as he pretends to cower into Em, even as he dwarfs her in size. They start joking back and forth, more teases at your expense, and you notice that the persona he puts on around others is practically nonexistent here. You'd watched it dissolve within minutes. It's refreshing, you realize, that he seems to really be enjoying himself right now.

You catch Bruce insisting that he ought to get going, sharing pleasantries and desires to visit once more. Em looks genuinely saddened to let him go. The second Bruce's back turns, Em reaches out and squeezes your hand, whispering, "Please tell me he's single."

You fluster. You imagine yourself in the car ride back to the tower asking Bruce what he thinks about Em, offering to exchange numbers between them, and you're disturbed again.

Twenty-four hours ago, you would've been warning her to run for the hills. Twenty-four hours ago, he was only Bruce Wayne. Now he was Batman and all that came with it and, well... once upon a time, you would've wanted nothing more than for Bruce Wayne to sweep Em off her feet. Batman had always been more your style.

Then, you realize, you don't actually know the answer to her question.

Em looks expectant. You shrug. She exaggerates her disappointment but releases you all the same, "Keep me posted."

"I'm comparing the samples from the crime scene to the antivenom. I should have something in a few hours." Bruce taps the antivenom vial, watching the remaining blue liquid slosh against the glass, before handing it off to Alfred.

You're mesmerized by this backyard (or, more aptly put, garage) chemistry lab. Beakers and flasks spread out on the long table as you watch from a stool a few feet away, "How'd you get so good at this?"

"College," after a few seconds of silence from you, he adds on begrudgingly, "I started messing around with stuff down here when I was 13."

"You had all this when you were 13?"

"Some of it, whatever I could get my hands on. I liked to see how things worked."

You have a unique opportunity to learn about Bruce here, so you take it with both hands, "You majored in chem, then."

"And biology, and physics."

Your eyes blow wide. "You had three majors?"

"I bounced from one to another, sometimes double majored if I liked the professors. I followed my interests and they took me everywhere," Bruce picks up the venom test tube, little drops of green pooling at the bottom of the glass, "I've enrolled in more universities than I have degrees."

Your eye twitches, just a little annoyed, "Must've been nice going wherever you wanted, whenever you wanted."

Bruce senses your tone of voice. He peers at you from the side, elbows resting on the table, "I spent a lot of time away from home. It must've been enough because I don't miss it."

"You said the same thing to Em earlier." You recall.

"I didn't think about it as much while I was gone, but when I came home for good... I just couldn't imagine myself leaving like that again."

"He barely liked boarding school," Alfred chimes in from the other side of the room, lazily reading a book at Bruce's desk. Boarding school was posh. You imagined little Bruce in a school uniform like the British boys in movies, "I should bring out the scrapbooks once we have a moment."

Bruce sets the test tube back on its rack with a bit of aggression, "Thank you, Alfred. You can go now."

Alfred chortles. He skims one more page of his book and then shoves it under his arm on the way back up. The elevator clinks and rattles up the tower until it stops some sixty stories up.

It's quiet now. You sort of appreciate the silence- the relative silence. There is the steady drip, drip, drip coming from here and there in the cave. The whirring of the machines, the humming of the lights, the very faint sound of a news anchor forecasting snowy skies this weekend. Bruce's breathing.

It's harder to hear unless you focus on it. His mountainous build hunched over the table—staring into the venom as it stares back—rises and falls in slow rhythm. You watch him being and it captivates you. For the umpteenth time since last night, you are struck with the reminder that this was Batman. In all his broody glory, an arm's length away from you, about a hundred feet under the city.

It's funny; you paid so little attention to the man before, and now you wanted to take him apart and examine his terrible insides. You have accidentally become obsessed with the man.

"I want to take you to Blackgate."

"Sorry?"

"Lucien is there," the name makes your blood run cold, "he was with the Vipers the longest. He could answer a few things for us."

You do your best not to immediately say no. Not because you think he'll force you, but because you know—somehow—that he won't, "What about Detective Gordon? Shouldn't that be his job?"

"I think he'll talk to you." Bruce turns slowly until his back is pressed against the desk, arms crossed over his chest and pulling his shirt completely taut. "He knows you."

You hadn't seen Lucien since the night Alex died. For once, you're kind of grateful Bruce can read you. He turns fully toward you, "I can go alone."

"You just said you think he'll talk to me."

"I can make him talk." His head droops a little to meet your eyes, expression impossibly understanding. You have no doubt he can. Your throat feels like it's on the verge of closing up. Somehow, sending Bruce alone to handle him felt worse.

"But you think I can..." You have to pause to force in a breath, feeling yourself go lightheaded, "You think I can get more out of him." Bruce doesn't respond to that. He's still watching you like you might start stress-sobbing. "Okay."

"You sure?"

"Mm."

Bruce calls your name. You'd been tracing the lines of his arms with your eyes to distract yourself, not processing how much closer he'd gotten until you feel his breath against your eyelashes.

His arms are uncrossed now, one hand pressing into the table beside you, the other hovering by his hip. His fingers twitch. Does he want to touch you? You were about to go three for three with the crying in his arms thing.

You force yourself off the stool and the speed at which you stand gives Bruce very little time to react. Your chest bumps against him, but you're already slipping behind him, "Lemme see your stitches," you rasp, hand ghosting over his shoulder, "need to... redress them, probably."

Bruce tries looking over his shoulder at you but you hide behind him and after a moment, he relents. His shoulders drop in defeat. You watch him drag your stool into the light and sit.

The dismal mood did you a favor. He looked like he'd be submissive today.

You're halfway through clearing away his dried blood when you ask, "Are you single?"

Bruce's shoulder jolts just the tiniest bit, almost driving your finger into the stitch. "What?"

"Em asked," you quickly explain, "and I realized I didn't know."

You don't know exactly what he's thinking, but his answer is as straightforward as you could hope for, "Yes."

"Oh."

"You sound surprised."

"I mean... I sort of assumed..." What did you assume, exactly? You couldn't see him with a long term partner, definitely not like this, but the idea that there wasn't anybody didn't sit right with you, "no flings? Situationships, even?"

"Why? Is Dr. Madison interested?"

Your jaw clenches. You force the muscles in your face to relax, "I just don't want any secret lovers of yours adding me to their shitlist if I go through with your plan. I can't stress how little I want to fake-fight over you right now."

Bruce huffs. You finish cleaning around his wound when he pipes up again, "I had something... someone. It didn't last."

"Oh. Are you... tender about it?"

"Not anymore. I don't have time for that kind of thing anyway."

He says it like it doesn't bother him, but in the way someone might brush off a scrape on the knee or a paper cut. Like it stung, but you had to be a big boy about it. The pain would go away eventually.

You press new gauze over the stitches, taping it down as gently as you could, "I assumed someone like you would have a whole lot of someones, a revolving door even," your eyes flit over his other bruises and healed cuts, "I never made time for relationships either. I was kind of just going through the motions."

"No one interested you?" Bruce rolls his shoulders once you peel away from him. He doesn't look at you when he asks that.

"Just... childish crushes here and there. Sometimes I'd let someone take me home..." Your voice catches in your throat for a moment. You recall a stamped down memory, one of you standing blindfolded in your apartment imagining the Batman with his mouth on your throat. That wasn't very long ago. Your breath shudders as you fit Bruce into the memory instead. You don't... know how to feel about it.

"Never back to yours? And here I thought Judith was just hard on me." You belatedly register Bruce standing, rolling his shirt up his arms before pulling the neck over his hair. His question hangs lightheartedly.

Your shoulders sag, "You're not gonna believe me if I tell you I was paranoid about letting one-night stands into my home."

"Why? 'Cause you let me in?"

The back of your neck grows hot. "What about you? You ever bring yours back to the cave?"

After he's done tucking his shirt into his pants, Bruce shakes his head at you, "No. Just you."

That was the second time he'd said that to you. You were starting to feel special.

You step out of the shower and you think, almost as soon as your foot touches heated floors, that you really despise Bruce Wayne.

The towels are warm too, waiting for you as you preen yourself in the mirror, a clean you staring back. You kept your toiletries bag on the bathroom counter, afraid to unpack anything as you rustled around for deodorant. It was massive and quiet. The water pressure alone had you swearing at the marble lining of the shower.

Bruce eventually lured you downstairs with the promise of making dinner. Alfred was skeptical, but had backed off and allowed Bruce full range of the kitchen, still possessed by his book next to the fire.

He'd asked you what you had the stomach for. Eventually he was copying something out of a celebrity recipe book with you beside him.

You argued that he hadn't really made you dinner given that you had helped him do half of everything, but it was his ingredients and it was his kitchen and the food tasted good so you didn't argue long.

After Alfred offered his stamp of approval, he'd retired for the night and left you and Bruce in the kitchen to clean up. Bruce had left the pots and pans to you when you proved too nervous to handle the porcelain, "Alfred won't kill you if it breaks."

"Alfred would kill me for less, I think."

Bruce gives a short laugh, drying off the last pot. He's pouring you a glass of the wine you'd opened last night when you slide his little gadget across the counter, "I forgot to give that back to you." You swirl your glass, admiring the color as Bruce packs away the leftovers. "You looked like you were enjoying yourself with Em earlier."

"I was. Your friend is funny."

"I... also noticed something you said. When she asked you what you would miss about Gotham, you mentioned the noise and the rain. Would you really miss all that?"

Bruce glances at you, popping a top onto a glass bowl, "Of course. It's part of what makes the city."

Your eyes narrow, searching for the lie, but there isn't one. He's being sincere. "Is that why you became Batman? Because you love this city that much?"

You can feel the mood getting doused with ice water. It forces you upright in your chair, makes your hand clench around the stem of your glass. Anyone with eyes could tell you'd just touched a nerve.

But he answers you, intense as it comes out, "I hated it." The loathing is a mere shell of what it used to be, you can tell, "I hated what it took from me." His eyes cast down to the countertop. "At first, I was aimless. Everyone was worried about the future of the company but Alfred and I were just trying to make it through the day. Over the years, I boiled up with this... restlessness. I still didn’t know where I was going but I was full of something for once. I studied, I traveled, I learned from all manner of teacher. And when I came home, I was... determined."

His words sit heavily on you. You can see flecks of that restlessness in his eyes, the slight tremble of his hands as he rests them against the countertop. "Why a bat?" You whisper.

"They're what I feared the most."

Past tense. "Feared?"

"I got over it. I won't let them close enough to bite, but..." The humor in his voice breaks the intensity of his expression.

You mull that over, "You became what you feared to strike fear."

"Not anymore," his head shakes, "fear is a tool, but... there's enough fear in this city. I wasn't making a change, I was making it worse."

You remembered the first time you'd ever heard of the Batman. Back then, he was just "Vengeance". In the grand scheme of fucked up things this city had to offer, someone running around dressed as a bat didn't register as abnormal. Another Tuesday, maybe. You awaited what they'd say about his crimes: a mugger beaten and strung up on the street, a gang felled and dropped at the GCPD's door. You remembered something stirring in you when he put away the Joker.

"I remember when you became a hero. Like really, to everyone. When you took shape… they were flying in people. I was rushing in patients while you stood on top of the Garden and pulled people out of the flood. I hadn’t felt hope like that since… yeah."

Your admission moves something in Bruce. His eyes find yours, "I was just doing what you'd been doing for years."

"But I never left that hospital. You transcend boroughs, the gangs, everything. I used to think you couldn’t possibly be one guy. I still can’t believe it. How are you not dead on your feet by now?" Bruce smiles knowingly at you and you feel yourself flush, "Besides that. You’ve been doing this for longer than I've been around to patch you up."

"That would be Alfred."

"You should tell him, you know. That you appreciate him. I think he'd like to hear how much he means to you more often." Bruce's eyes soften. He doesn't debate you. "Anyway. How's that sedative going?"

"I'll take another look before I leave tonight."

Oh, yeah. This guy is Batman.

You don't know when next you'll get this chance, "Can I ask a favor? Can I... watch you put it on?" Bruce wobbles to the side, genuinely confused. "The suit?"

He examines you, mouth almost curling up into a shocked smile. He hadn't expected you to ask that, that's for sure. "All of it?"

You grip your glass so hard you think it might shatter, "No." And then, when he has the audacity to snicker, "Asshole."

He stays true to your request.

You watch with your back pressed up against the wall. His under suit hangs undone at his hips while he leans over his desk, digging his fingers into a can of black paint. He uses the reflection of his computer screen to smear it over his eyelids and under his eyelashes until the white skin beneath disappears.

Next is zipping up the under suit. You barely resist rushing over to hold his bandage steady as the suit catches on it, but he manages to get it up and over without pulling it off. Then come the plates of armor. Each piece clips into place, clinging to his waist and chest and arms. You've seen it up close enough times to know the quality of it, a wonder how he'd gotten his hands on that kind of stuff until now.

You don't ask him to, but when it's time to put his cowl on, he turns sideways so you can see.

His gloved hand combs through his hair, pushing back the longer strands so he could fit the cowl over it.

It's kind of embarrassing how it takes your breath away. Bruce had quite literally transformed before your eyes, and now there was no denying it.

Bruce stands still as your eyes bore into him.

After a few seconds of admiring every piece of the suit, your eyes flit up to his face. He's not looking at you, almost shy. Apart from Alfred and, perhaps, his someone, Bruce has probably never put on the suit in front of anyone else. Is it weird you missed seeing him shy? "It fits perfectly." Your voice is barely above a whisper.

Of course it does. You know it's dumb to say. Bruce doesn't say that, though.

He waits a beat before turning away from you, his cape sending a breeze of cool air up against your legs. His car awaits on the train tracks, headlights beaming into the near endless darkness as he approaches and you follow.

The car thrums eagerly with life at the push of a button, sending vibrations through the ground, all the way up to the ceiling where you hear a sudden flurry of wings and chirping. Bowing your head close to Bruce, you watch about a hundred bats scurry about above you, disturbed by the sudden rumble of the engine. Bruce holds his cape over your shoulder, though none of the bats fly low enough to concern him. "They don't freak you out a little bit?"

"They haven't bothered me."

"Well, when you dress like them I guess they get confused."

"I'll be back before sunrise," Bruce promises, "and I'll look into Judith for you. Maybe you should... call first."

You're tickled by the discomfort he's so desperately trying to hide, "Scared of a little old lady?"

He pointedly ignores you. You step back as he throws open the door and settles into his car, but before he can pull off into the darkness, you shout his name to get his attention over the roaring engine, "Hey! Be safe."

Bruce looks at you and... you don't know what he's thinking, only that the muscles in his jaw relax a bit. Was he used to that? Did Alfred often stand on the cold, empty train tracks before every patrol and wish him luck on another night of beating criminals to a pulp? Was he used to the worrying? Annoyed by it, even?

He doesn't say anything. The car leaves in a spray of dust and you hide your face in your shirt to shield yourself from it. By the time the dust settles, you can only see two red lights blurring into the distance.

[nerves-nebula]

got my mom to send me photos of a book i made when i was 8 so im gonna walk u guys thru it now here we gooooo.

cover. half the title is missing because it was patterned paper held on with scotch tape.

after that we have a selection of pages meant for lists of "anames", "Favret pepal", things i liked, disliked, and thought were ok. i (by which i mean my rooommate) managed to deduce "anames" was supposed to be "enemies" by sounding it out phonetically and also on account of the only one there was my dad. shoutout to blue RV's i still love u....

brief break for a picture of a cat i printed out & then we move onto favorite colors and animals. note the inconsistent use of spelling when it comes to 1st vs fithd or forth. and second appears to be a mix of the two, spelled "2end"

more printed animals

here we have a few strangely ominous illustrations of my workspace. something about the way space is being used here freaks me out a little not gonna lie. also i never painted very much so idk what this was about

and of course a final illustration of my family and a note that i was 8 when i made this. my dad was the one who got me to start signing my name and age, though later i just started signing the date instead. do u think a museum would accept if i tried to donate this? also why is my dad the only one with pockets and why do they look like they were added on later... what occured to make me think his pockets were like, a crucial thing to point out

[tosblogging]

TOS Blogging S1E2: The Man Trap

Other people have undoubtedly done this, but I've decided on a whim to watch my way through all of Star Trek: TOS in order through the rest of this year. And then blog about my thoughts, as one does.

Because I'm going in airdate order, and skipping The Cage (I don't want to have to effectively rewatch it when The Menagerie rolls around), we're starting with Season 1, Episode 2: The Man Trap.

Anyway, kicking it off, we've got Spock temporarily in command...

Uhura's on the console!

It's kind of interesting to me that they'd have a ship like the Enterprise doing routine medical checkups on other Starfleet operatives. The theme song goes big into the whole exploratory five-year-mission thing. It's weird to think that they're doing little side quests along the way for Starfleet while they're out there.

This is such a charming introduction to Kirk as a character, IDC. The first thing he does on screen is pick flowers for McCoy and tease him about visiting his 'old girlfriend'. This is a man who loves love and clearly has close friendships rather than just a professional relationship with his crew. And he's a little silly with it. You can see how tactile he is in the next scene, too, when he claps McCoy on the shoulder.

He has no business being this cute

McCoy's nervous hand gestures... get this man a Xanax!!!!!

I was going to say something about the weird changing appearances thing the lady in this episode has going on, but got immediately distracted by the fact that bringing up your trip to a pleasure planet in front of your commanding officers is kind of crazy

I love the way Kirk smiles when they start getting into the argument with Crater, like he knows McCoy is going to go off about it. He's so unwilling to play games when it comes to people's health.

Kirk is unwilling to let that 'Plum' nickname go! Their dynamic to me feels like old friends except Kirk won't stop flirting with him on the job. Also he's literally always making doe eyes at McCoy with the dopiest smile through the entire first ten minutes of this

McCoy trusting his intuition and experience over the technology of the scanner

First random crew member death and he's not even in a red shirt! I thought that was The Thing!

Everyone in this series is so sweaty

Uhura is so perfect, I adore her so much.

For a (technical) first episode, I feel as though this actually does a decent job telling us what we need to know about Spock - how he differs from the human crew members and his friendship with Kirk, and his logical viewpoint rather than emotional one.

You can really tell how much the death of a crewman affects Kirk here.

Something I've noticed about the conversations in this is how natural they feel. People interrupt and talk over each other frequently

Love the conversation between Kirk and McCoy and the little spat they have. When they talk again a couple scenes later McCoy calls him 'Sir' until Kirk asks if he's in the mood for an apology, then they seem to go back to normal.

The behavior of married men. To me.

I'm sorry Spock bb I forgot you were in the room I was so hyperfocused on Bones

Worth noting that this is the point in which my rooommate kept saying "this is just like Among Us" every time she walked through the living room as this was on

The awkwardly close camera angle as we followed Kirk into the turbolift? I feel like they almost hit Shatner in the face

I feel like those things are too small to properly film in, but what do I know.

JANICE RAND!!! Her hair is insane, no way she's getting up to do that every morning. I also love how casual and friendly she is towards the crew. Less keen on half of the men actively leering at her, though :/

Honestly I don't even like celery but I kind of want one of those celery sticks with the red stuff sticking out of it? It looks fire. Also, the infamous cubes

LOVING the vibes of the botany room. Also Sulu is here!! And LMAO the food was for him and she was just casually snacking on it the whole way here? Love that too

THEY NAME THE PLANTS I am in love with the entire Enterprise crew

Green / Nancy(?) struggling to figure out how the doors worked was a nice touch

Uhura's eye makeup is gorgeous! Everyone's is, honestly

I don't want to say anything but Bones in the black shirt... if I speak...

He was, like, writhing around right before this screencap, I just want y'all to know that

It's kind of absolutely wild that when Nancy is blatantly hitting on him he responds with "you're as bad as Jim Kirk". Like I'm sure it was in the context of pestering him about getting enough sleep but that's still like rule #1 of what not to do when a woman is flirting with you, Leonard

Girl... me too

THE CUT AWAY AND THEN WHEN IT PANS BACK SHE'S MCCOY? Oh shit

Female crew members in pants! Also there's so many mix-and-match type outfits in this scene lol you can really tell it was an early episode

I'm sorry but Spock and Kirk look so awkward crawling around in the dirt

Bugs when you lift up a rock or whatever

The "stone" pillars swaying when Shatner leans on it a little too hard lol

When they refer to the buffalo are they referring to the American buffalo? Were they extinct (or near extinct) when this episode was made? If anyone knows the answer I'd love to know

The fact that Spock is seemingly the only one who actively suspected that McCoy was the imposter is a good look at how much insight he has, but also (IMO) how well he knows him. Sulu and Uhura seemed suspicious when he was on the bridge, earlier, but didn't voice anything.

For a monster of the week type of episode it gives us a surprisingly empathetic view on the monster in question. I also think it's very telling that the technical first episode chose such specific traits to highlight when it comes to the main three. Kirk's devotion towards and friendship with crew, and how seriously he takes his sense of duty. Spock's logic and his view on emotions. McCoy's defense of life, his high emotions and sense of empathy. To end the episode with him asking forgiveness for killing what he knew wasn't Nancy but still held an attachment to all the same is... very pointed, I think. Pretty solemn ending, I felt.

All in all lots of good stuff here. The pacing felt pretty decent though it dragged a little bit once the monster was up on the ship, which was a shame because I thought the whole chameleon gimmick was interesting. The stakes just didn't feel as high as they should have, I think? Really solid introduction to every character, like I said, though I think we were actually missing some of the main cast... Chapel (not necessarily main) and Scotty, I believe? Though I think Scotty is in one (or both?) of the pilots, which I didn't watch, and I know Chekov doesn't show up until later than everybody else. So, interested to see what their introductions are later on.

[gordontheengineswifenirmal]

Thomas and Nirmal lol

I was watching this yesterday -

N tbh, it’s funny. @9:26, he goes in about how he was more into the live action elements than the Thomas segments. He was more bored by the Thomas segments n enjoyed the station house skits more. Tbh - I liked trains, as me dad n his mates were into them, n I liked the Thomas segments. The issue here was I don’t really remember them. I remember Thomas more for his association with shining time. I remember watching the show as I got ready for school in gone morning. I also remember being too old for it even then, but it was cute n harmless, n I enjoyed it. Mum was happy because it wasn’t offensive. Like can, I was watching more for tiny ringo n George Carlin. In fact I had become aware of the show because I was obsessed with the Beatles already, n was watching more for ringo. I remember the jukebox band being amusing, but kinda weird. lol. Schemer was funny. He reminded me of some of the blokes the golden girls dated.

Anyhoo, somehow, I wasn’t aware of him in the 80’s. Thundercats, inspector gadget, heathcliff, Garfield, he man and she ra, transformers, even count ducula n duck tails for some odd reason? The latter two were weird af, but I watched them. They weren’t memorable favs, but they did amuse me. I was a i also remember car 54 where are u n get smart reruns. And this old house. Bob Vila lol. I was often busy in me own world then.

Somewhere between then n 2 years ago, a lot of life happened. I’ve revisited dark shadows a few times, 1776, several 60’s and 70’s musicians, some evergreen actors like ray bolger n jimmy stewart, the desi side of me heritage, and more.

Then it happened. My world fell apart. Mum because seriously ill in 2021. It started off small. I was in the middle of me last semester of college, a day in February, doing online classes, when the drs rang. I had also realised I was sexual about a month bdfore, and was beginning to explore this. Mum had some blood leaking somewhere that they couldn’t find. She was in n out of hospital. In may, things got more serious. June was worse. I managed to graduate, n then was going to Plymouth meeting near Philadelphia frequently in hopes she’d pull thru. At the end of July, she passed. I had been married at the time, I had gotten married in 2002. The husband n I had never been really intimate, n we had awkward times, but we were friends. (We still are, despite the fact that he’s thicker than an influencers bubble bum). He decided out of the blue that September, that we would divorce. I was still reeling from mums death. I wasn’t really able to process the divorce too. He had secretly been living with a female roommate who he claimed was lesbian, n divorced from her partner. Whatever. I trusted him, because he was never a ladies man when I knew him, and wasn’t really into sex in general.

He then asked if I’d cat sit over New Year’s Eve. He told me he was going on holiday n do was the rooommate. Cool. I figured as often happens, they were going at the same time, but to their own seperate destinations. Hoo-boy. So I get to his place, n the cats were adorable. There was no telly or anything, so I mucked about on the phone n I believe the iPad or laptop. I forget now. I started feeling wierd when I saw a pic of him posing next to the roommate. It wasn’t overtly sexual, but it was unnerving. It was….unnatural. Getting him to pose with me, unless it was for his immigration, was like pulling teeth. I kept getting the feeling something was going on. A couple days after new years, he let me know he’d b delayed. I got to stay with the cats longer. I was happy, but tried to ignore that damn picture.

Someone sent me a couple Thomas parodies. I enjoyed them. They were the George Carlin compilation dubs of swearing, and Ernest the engine. They were brilliant, and led the curiosity to check out the series again. I was actually looking for shining time, but found the original Thomas clips without the shining time bits tacked on. (Despite my upbringing, I was relatively unaware of Thomas until he was on pbs.) I decided to watch n see how I felt. The jaws immediately dropped n I sat there questioning meself. I thought ‘is stress causing me to find these trains good looking? What did I just think? Huhhhhh? Lmfaooooo’. I kept watching, and they kept getting better looking.

I’ll b honest, I hadn’t remembered there being other engines. I remember dad having a toy Annie or Clarabelle buried somewhere under the mess that was our dining room table. He had purchased her for some project he never got to. I hadn’t made the connection back then. Damn. Missed opportunity, that. Then again, I would have lost me Thomas stuff in the several moves that took place. I digress.

I returned home the next month, only to be sidelined by a swollen kidney that required 2 weeks bedrest. (This would be one of many that would eventually lead up to last year’s hysterectomy n 3 week hospital stint.) I binged the show whilst I healed. Up until season 5, it was just a succession of sexy male engines. We still had sexy males, but then we started getting more females and ugly engines. Diversity n the way of progress, I suppose. I did a couple digital drawings during this time. I need to really go back n practice more. As I got better, I started playing with the show clips, n put together that lovely filthy audio full length film I have swimming about somewhere here. I started collecting, i started writing filthy fanfics. Thomas got me into all sorts of creative things. I revisited the love of trains, and that’s bustling more than ever.

The frustrations I had with attraction (or lack thereof) with people has now found a healthy and amusing channeling via the engines. It’s given me confidence, n I no longer need to persue blokes (who were all adults - there were a few blokes who were just barely legal who were into me as a fetish, n I wasn’t going to entertain that. I’m not cougar material. It made me uncomfortable. I was into older men.) when I was into men, it was more for attention n validation. I had been so deprived of it all me life, I felt maybe it would help me feel whole. Yeah….no. However, apparently talking steam engines with sexy faces does tho, so yay!

[alycvi]

not even 24 hours into moving in, Saige discovers his noisy neighbors...

Joaquin: oh hey! you’re one of the ones that just moved in!!

Saige: Oh. Hey😳

Joaquin: and- ur cute... u wanna come in ? i live here with my roommates we’re just havin our weekly party haha

Saige: weekly ?

Joaquin: yeah i hope u aren’t bothered. we had to bribe the other neighbors.. maybe i can bribe u with something else?

Saige: 😳

Joaquin: what were u here for again?

Saige: 😳 just Wanted to introduce myself and my roommate ... .

Joaquin: oh? where’s ur rooommate?

Saige: she’s sleeping. but her name is Marci. mine is Saige btw haha

Joaquin: well anyway.. I’m gonna go back now, are you sure you don’t want to come in?

Saige: no it’s okay thank you 😳

[daryascurse]

10 for writer asks :)

10. at what point in the process do you come up with titles, and how easy or hard is that for you?

Oh my god. Titles are the worst for me. I can literally think of three titles of mine that I like (Unholy Land; Matcha; or, The Solubility of Love but not the lame "prequel" chapter; and the His Hot Rooommate miniseries title/ idea I have for part 2). If I think of one I like, I'll probably just stick with it because it's so hard for me to think of anything else. Half of my pieces I hate just because I think the titles are SO LAME but I get impatient sitting on an otherwise-finished fic. I am so jealous of people who can think of lovely / flowing poetic / catchy / intriguing / sexy titles. If it were up to me I'd be back in the good ol citrus scale days where every fic is a song quote.

[westlier]

for the first time in YEARS i felt too high in public all thanks to one 100 mg st. ides flavored shooter drink

Maybe I drank it too fast

Maybe I hadn't eaten enough during class all day

i drank it relatively quick considering it was a shooter but I had no clue this would happen. I consume high amounts of mg ALL the time. 100 mg drinks are like a regular weekend endeavor

we were at the sushi/chinese restaurant, in our traditional room, seated on the floor, celebrating my rooommate's birthday (aw)

it had been an hour or so before we got food and I felt perfectly normal, maybe a small amount of something stirring in me

i ate to my hearts content and then rapidly began feeling like my tummy was going to let loose everything that I just consumed (which was a lot of sushi lol)

went to the bathroom and bumped into someone else from our party to ask if I could get some help getting home lol

before leaving the restaurant I remember everybody's conversations being busy and loud so I bustled outside after knowing the bill was paid to get fresh air. that saved my reputation i think lol

My buddy thought to bring my car home with us in it, and luckily his family was there too and they followed us to my house to pick him up

thanked him tenfold then ran inside

went straight to sleep as soon as I hit the mattress

still a really fun experience, especially getting to hang out with my studio-mates outside of our studio perimeters

[liltouchoftism]

both my rooommates were on the phone w their partners while we were playing games together and i felt incredibly left out and sad

[thejilyship]

12. Roommate AU

I love jilytober prompts because I don’t need to come up with titles for things. Also, if anyone is looking for a job in which they don’t get paid, I will hire you to name things for me. 

WC- 1.8K

“Listen Red-”

“My name is Lily.” 

“Yes, Red, listen. I know that we put an ad in the paper, but that was to upset the roommate that we had to kick out.” 

“Yeah, it’s still a sore subject, but we hate him now.” 

Lily looked back and forth between the three boys before her and frowned. “Okay, but you put out the ad. And the price for the room is like, the best in the city, and I really need a place to live. Like, yesterday.” 

One of the three had been quiet since she’d walked through the front door and so she looked at him now, wanting to see if she could make headway with him, since the one that kept calling her ‘Red,’ didn’t seem as sympathetic. 

“I mean, it’s not very fair to put an ad out, if you had no intention of even-”

“We can interview you.” The quiet one said, pushing his glasses up his nose. “I mean, we do have an empty room after all. Just because we don’t need a roommate-”

“James.” 

“Prongs.” 

“Let’s just think about it.” James said. “We did put the ad out. And she said that she needs a place-”

“James,” The one with sandy hair sighed and shook his head. “It’s always the redheads with you.” He muttered quietly, and so Lily assumed that she wasn’t supposed to have heard that. 

“Please. I have a sob story if you need to hear it.” 

“We’ve all got a sob story, Red.” 

“Yes, but my sob story is currently happening. My mum died a few months ago, and my sister sold our parents house, which I was living in. So I had to find a new place to live. My childhood friend let me move in with him, but I found out yesterday, that not only is he obsessed with me in a yucky kind of way, he’s also a white nationalist. Like he’s in a cult and everything and I can’t stay there anymore. I don’t even want to go back to get the rest of my shit.” 

The three boys looked at her and then at the two bags at her feet.

“That’s all you have now?” The sandy haired one asked. 

“Yes. Well, no. My friend Mary, her parents let me put some family memory type stuff in their garage. I’m glad I hadn’t gotten the chance to bring that to the city yet.” 

“Alright fine. We’ll interview you. But don’t think you’ll be getting any sympathy points from me.” 

“Sirius,” James sighed, running a hand through his hair. 

“What?” He looked at Lily and raised a brow. “Are you a tidy roommate?” 

“Yes.” Lily nodded, glad that she’d managed to get her foot in the door. “I always pick up after myself.” 

“Do you cook?” 

“Not for you I won’t.” He cracked a smile. 

“Do you have a job?” 

“I do. It’s a shitty job, but I’m working on it. I have another semester left of school. If I had a better job now though, I wouldn’t be begging you for your extra room.” 

“So a job and school? How often would you actually be here?” 

Lily paused for a moment. “I’m a bit of a homebody to be honest. But I do work thirty hours a week and I’m in class for another sixteen hours. Would you like me to promise to stay away from you? I can do that.” 

“No, I think I’m starting to like you.” Sirius grinned. 

“You’d need to move in tonight then?” James asked. 

“I would,” Lily nodded. “Like I said, I can’t go back there.” 

“We can go for you.” Sirius shrugged. “I wouldn’t mind rattling the pants off of a piece of shit.”

Lily bit her lip and looked down at the ground. She had no doubt that these three men would succeed in intimidating Severus, but she didn’t want them to go there either. “My stuff isn’t even packed up. I appreciate the offer, but what you just suggested sounded a bit like sympathy.” 

Sirius shook his head and the other two laughed. 

“No. Offering to kick the snot out of a racist bastard is simply a hobby of mine. I’m still not sure if I’m going to let you have the room.”

“It’s my house. I’m going to let her have it.” James said. “Remus, are you alright with that?” 

“Excuse me,” Sirius widened his eyes and shook his head. “I’m in the middle of-”

“Yeah. I don’t have a problem with it. Welcome to the club, Lily,” He reached out and offered her his hand. She took it and sighed in relief.

“Okay, thank you, but now I have some questions for you three.” 

“Oh do you,” 

“Yes.” Lily nodded, looking at each of them in the eye. “Are any of you going to murder me?”

“If I was, I wouldn’t tell you.” Sirius grinned. 

“Yes, I know. But my sister said that I had to ask.” 

“I’ve never murdered someone before, so the odds are low.” Remus shrugged. 

“I’ll just say ‘no,’ because I’m not, you know, insane like these two.” James shoved Remus’ shoulder. 

“Alright.” Lily took a deep breath and tried to exhale the weight of the world that she’d been carrying around today. If this had fallen through, she would have had to get on a train and beg Petunia for a few nights on her couch, or just called London a bust and gone to live with Mary in Ireland.

But she wouldn’t have to do that now. 

She was somewhere safe. Probably. They all seemed fairly harmless anyway. 

“I can show you where the room is,” James offered. 

“Am I just supposed to pretend like you two didn’t just get us a new roommate without asking for my vote?” 

Lily had the feeling that Sirius was simply giving them all a hard time, but she folded her arms over her chest and huffed. “Look, Sirius, if you don’t want me here, I’ll leave. I can figure something else out.” She reached for her bag and stood up, pulling the strap over her shoulder. “I don’t want to step on anyone’s toes or-” “Lily,” Sirius looked a bit stricken. “No, I’m an asshole, you’ll get used to it. You can stay.”

She smiled at him. “I know, and now you have to stop complaining about it.” She winked at him and then turned to James, hoisting up her second bag. “Lead the way.” 

Sirius started laughing and James looked plenty amused as well. 

“You’re going to be trouble, aren’t you?” James asked as they walked toward the stairs. 

“No more so than he is.” 

James laughed. “Hopefully less trouble than he is. He is a lot of trouble.” 

“Yeah, I kind of guessed that.” 

“I thought I was going to have to yell at him when you grabbed your bag and pretended you were leaving.” 

“All jokes aside, I really do appreciate you all letting me stay here. What did your fourth roommate do to get kicked out?” 

“It wasn’t just one thing.” James shrugged. “But a couple of days ago, he uh-” He ran a hand through his hair and sighed. “Well, it wasn’t actually me that he hurt, so I’ll have to let Sirius and Remus tell you. And they will, because they both want to take every opportunity to bitch him out that they can.” Lily smiled at him and he smiled back before reaching out and pulling a door open. “And here is your new room.” 

It was entirely empty aside from a stripped bed. No furniture, no hangers in the closet, no lamps or rugs or posters. This room looked as though it's been abandoned for a while, not just since the other day.

“I know you just met us and so you’re not comfortable with us helping you out, but when you’re ready, we would like to help you get your stuff back.” 

Lily let one of her bags drop to the ground, the one that didn’t have her laptop in it, and sighed. “Thanks, but I’m not sure that it’s worth it.” Her phone buzzed in her pocket and she knew that it was either Mary, asking if she was alright, or Severus, asking her where she’d gone and when she’d be back. “I didn’t even tell him that I was moving out. I’d rather him not know anything about where I went or who I’m with now.” 

“Was he your b-”

“No.” Lily shook her head. “No, we reconnected at school after my mum passed. But then I found out that he transferred to my school when he found out that I was there. He printed off photos from my social media- I don’t know. I just didn’t feel safe there anymore and Mary told me that if I get murdered because I didn’t trust my instincts then she’s not going to come to my funeral.” James let out a soft laugh. 

“Is Mary your sister?” 

“Yes, but not by blood. Petunia is my actual sister, but we don’t get on well- Why am I telling you all of this? Mary is my best friend and she is also a bint and lives in Ireland.” 

“People tell me things all the time. It must be my charming smile. I put people at ease. It’s how I got stuck with both Sirius and Remus.” 

“You didn’t get stuck with us, you prat.” Sirius came up the stairs and leaned against the wall in the hallway. “I’m the one that’s stuck with you.” 

“My parents adopted him when we were twelve.” James said. “I found Remus at school when I was nine. We’ve been inseparable ever since.” 

Lily nodded. 

“Do you need help unpacking, Red?” 

Lily looked at Sirius, her bags and then the lack of stuff in the room. She laughed and he smiled at her. 

“I’ll go and fetch you some clean linens from the closet.” James offered. 

“And you two made fun of me for putting extra sheets in there!’ Remus shouted from down the stairs. “What do you all want for dinner?” 

“Pizza,” Sirius shouted back. 

“We had pizza yesterday, Sirius.” James reminded him. “Make your lobster mac n’ cheese, Remus!” 

Lily picked up her bag again and moved into the room, setting them down on the bed and then unzipping them. 

“Red?” She looked over at Sirius. “You good with lobster mac?” 

She smiled. “Yeah.” 

“Good.” He turned and walked off. 

James came back with sheets, pillows and a comforter. He helped her get the fitted sheet on the bed before he bowed out and gave her some time to herself as well. 

Things had been shit for a while now. 

But she had the feeling that she’d just lucked into something quite spectacular. 

[tinknevertalks]

Fandom: Sanctuary

Prompt: 9 - There's no right side to this.

Tags: Teslen, AU - they were roommates.

Warnings: None.

Rating: M (for the first chapter of the overall fic)

Chapter 9 of In The Nice Part of Town

[roommatejay]

@roommateeli