#anyway she got to have a peaceful life with link after all this so I am happy :)

[nolongerapileofashprobably]

Should the dev team have committed to Zelda's draconification being permanent and have her stay a dragon at the end, and would that have made for a more honest and poignant ending than the one we got? Some fans think that the ending we got renders her sacrifice completely meaningless and devoid of impact.

The dev team absolutely should NOT have committed to Zelda’s draconification. It would have ruined the entire story and narrative for Zelda’s character and Hyrule itself.

Some people think it made the sacrifice meaningless and devoid of impact. . . But it didn’t. Her choice was her own and it was a statement of dedication to Link and Hyrule as a whole. It was also utterly tragic that she had to do this in order to heal the Master Sword. I am still in utter distress whenever I play the game and watch the memories, despite knowing the ending. Because it’s the tragedy she endured willingly that makes the sacrifice meaningful, not the permanence of it. The sacrifice would hold no value had it been a choice Zelda made knowing she would be reverted.

She didn’t. She thought it was permanent.

And I’m honestly tired of some of these fans just not wanting a happy ending for her character. She deserves peace and a happy life. That’s what she got, which is absolutely justified. And those who think of a story so plainly and only at the big picture miss the details and narratives that point directly towards the ending we actually got.

Let’s talk about if she didn’t turn back.

Firstly, we can start with simple things that personally can be reworked in the future but would create a hurdle for the devs in the future— Zelda would never die as a dragon, she is an immortal being. The Zelda series is quite literally founded upon a reincarnation cycle between Zelda, Link, and Ganon. And only one of them is linked through blood: Zelda. That would cause a bump in the whole reincarnation foundation.

Beyond that, Zelda’s character development would suffer with this choice becoming permanent.

Any fan upset by the ending doesn’t understand the implications of Zelda being granted a second chance. She dedicated her entire life before the calamity to training and praying, only to have her magic awaken AFTER the champions, her father, and nearly Link are killed. Her efforts for the next century keep her body suspended in time and keeps Ganon at bay through her light power. When she wakes up, she is granted a ‘second chance’. In reality, it is simply the life she fought for and rightfully deserved.

So after she made Hyrule her home again, unifying the scarcely populated land and invigorating its culture, she is once again forced to sacrifice everything. This time, she does so as a leader and as one who holds such strong power. Her journey as a Queen leads her to become the very leader she WANTS to be, not the one she was constantly reprimanded to be by her father and the old kingdom. And she learns this throughout her time in the past, with Rauru as her guide.

And that leads us to this point: the belief that to rule is to give up everything.

But where others are punished for this choice (despite Zelda’s warnings, Rauru’s ignorance of Ganondorf’s power leads to Sonia and his own death), Zelda is REWARDED for her choices.

Because she did not just claim that another will defeat Ganondorf and seal him away until present day like Rauru.

Zelda did much more. She raised the sky islands, made a promise with Mineru, solidified the aid of the sages, collected the Master Sword and chose to give LINK the best chance he could have against Ganondorf. Zelda did every single thing she could to ensure Ganondorf would be defeated. She even aids in the final battle, as her will is to end that evil and grant Hyrule the peace she herself will (presumably, to her own knowledge) never experience.

So when she is rewarded for her efforts, by being bathed in sacred light and her body reversed to its previous state. . . It is entirely in line with the narrative thus far. Additionally, Rauru and Sonia present themselves as a ‘second chance parents’ for Zelda. A supportive, patient father in Rauru. A guiding teacher and mother in Sonia.

Tears of the Kingdom mirrors Breath of the Wild in terms of Zelda’s development and story. To give an ending where Zelda remains a dragon. . . It would have been tragic and dishonest to the story that we got.

If you want to read something more in depth and not written by someone with one eye open, this post grants a well rounded answer to this question.

#loz totk #loz totk Spoilers #loz tears of the kingdom #loz totk Zelda #totk Zelda #some people don’t want Zelda to be happy and for those people I hope their pillow is forever hot #I am protective of her because some people just want to misunderstand her and I don’t like that lol #anyway she got to have a peaceful life with link after all this so I am happy :) #zelink #botw zelink #loz botw #botw #the legend of zelda #botw link #link botw #zelda botw #loz tears of the kingdom spoilers #the legend of zelda breath of the wild #Totk zelink

[allysunny]

Pls pls pls friends to lovers with an ass load of pining!!! I love the trope where literally everyone but her can see that he’s in love with her and they’re basically dating without the title. She’s in love with him too but a little more guarded/scared. They have fun traditions like a book club, and Bruce gives her the princess treatment. Pls pls pls, I’d literally love you forever if you wrote this

Obliviously in Love | Bale!Bruce Wayne x Fem!Reader

Words: 15k words

Warnings: Friends to lovers, pining, two idiots in love but way too blind to see it, Alfred being a very sassy butler (I love Michael Cane sm), possibly OOC Bruce (I've never written for him before), some angst, love confessions, Christmas! and mistletoe, eventual romance of course! Not beta, we die like Harvey Dent.

A/N: Hey everyone!!! Sorry for the delay, but as I told you, uni was kicking my ass. I'm back now, and hopefully I'll be able to write a lot!

So, this is my first Bale!Bruce request, and I'm so excited, but at the same time I'm super, super nervous because I've never written for this man in my entire life? I love this trilogy so bad and even rewatched all the movies as I was doing this, because I wanted to make sure I got him right. Sure, he's a vigilante and a billionaire and a supposed playboy, but he's also just a man, and I sort of wanted to explore that.

There's so many layers to this man, it is insane. If there's anything OOC about him, please do let me know. I swear to god I tried my best, and I hope you like the finished result.

This is my longest word so far - I'm so sorry! It was supposed to be kinda short and sweet but I just ran with it! I don't know if it was for the better or worst, but I hope you guys like it nevertheless. Again, I'm sorry if it's somewhat OOC, I tried to get everyone's personalities just right. I'm scared of not doing these movies justice. I also took some liberties with this - Bruce and Rachel don't have feelings for each other, Bruce often goes to charity galas, etc. Small things.

Also, it's set somewhat in between Batman Begins and The Dark Knight!

Anyways, enjoy!

Bruce Wayne was a lonely man.

Not that he minded, really.

Ever since he was a child, he knew most people were after him and his family for the money. Family friends cashing in favours done ages ago, things as small as having once lent his father an umbrella, women pretending to befriend his mother to accompany her whenever she went shopping, kids at school getting closer to him only to get a peek at the famed Wayne Manor and all the wonders it hid inside.

He'd rather be alone than have such leeches around him, surrounding him like vultures, waiting for an opening.

Kids who'd mocked him would apologise profusely days later, having learned about his family, offering their friendship. Once Bruce made it clear he had no intentions of inviting anyone to his place (he was just shy, really), they'd take back their so called “friendship”.

He was better off without such people.

They were few, the people he could trust. And even those he called his “friends”, he didn't trust completely. His childhood best friend, Rachel, had grown up and busied herself at the DA’s office. She reached out to him after he’d returned after all those years in training, but she was a busy woman, and Bruce had found a new passion himself – patrolling the streets of Gotham dressed up as a bat. They would talk often, but it simply wasn’t the same. They were still friends of course – childhood could link two people – but he’d changed, and so had she. No matter how well they got along, they were changed people.

So, he was back to square one, with no people to truly confide in.

There was, after all, a reason only Alfred knew of his secret identity.

No, Bruce Wayne wasn't a stranger to loneliness.

He preferred the peace and quiet of his home office to the loud ambiences of the parties thrown by pretentious people who wanted to pass by as charitable, and found that sometimes, being by himself was a better option.

Bruce Wayne could count with his hands how many “friends” he had, and how many were simply greedy bloodsuckers trying to get to his fortune.

All but you, though.

Never you.

Bruce met you a few years ago, at the bakery you used to work at.

He wasn't a regular - hell, he didn't usually eat at places like those. Bruce Wayne, the Prince of Gotham, dined at the best restaurants - a truth universally acknowledged.

But after being stuck in traffic for about thirty minutes (he'd sent Alfred on a makeshift vacation, having miraculously been able to convince the old man to take some time for himself), he decided to exit the cab and go for a stroll.

It'd been a stressing day, with about a hundred reports coming in for him to sign at Wayne Enterprises, the prototypes for his new motorcycle had proved to be a failure, and he was simply exhausted. A walk would do him good, clear his head.

That's when he walked by the bakery, noticing the colourfully decorated cupcakes and pastries on the shelves. The pastel-coloured frostings seemed far too pretty to eat, and curiosity got the best of him, compelling him to go inside and purchase one.

That's when he first saw you.

You took a while to take his order, quickly informing him you were working all by yourself. One of your coworkers was in labour, the other on vacation. You were baking, cleaning and waitressing on your own.

Bruce was surprised, to say the least. You were taking over each station, keeping calm even under pressure and tending to each task diligently.

When asked who baked the frosted treats, you smiled and told him you baked those yourself. Apparently, it was your first time exposing them, the owner of the bakery finally giving you some leeway to try your own cakes and sweets.

“No one's tried them yet, though,” you said, sheepishly. “People don’t really want to try anything new. They’re scared my food is going to suck. I keep telling myself they’re just scared of change, you know. To keep my spirits high.”

“I hear that,” Bruce replied. If he knew anything about people, it was that they were all terrified of the unknown. “It’s Gotham – what can you do? You bump into lunatics every other day. I’ll have the one on the shop window, the one with the pink frosting.”

Your eyes sparkled then, and Bruce swore he’d do anything to see them shine again and again.

“Really?” you asked, a hopeful smile playing in your lips.

“Absolutely. It looks good.”

You gave him an enthusiastic nod and went to retrieve the cupcake, placing it on top of a small place along with a fork. He paid for the treat along with a cup of coffee and sat down on a nearby table.

Unlocking his phone, he found a few messages from Alfred, asking him if he hadn't burnt down the Manor yet. Sure, maybe he couldn't cook nor clean nor take care of himself that well, but that didn't warrant a fire brigade to go check up on him, now did it?

Burned to the ground, he texted back in a joking manner. All that's left are the red slippers I gave to you last Christmas. Hadn't you lost them? It's a miracle.

Alfred replied just as quickly.

Should've let them burn too. Hideous things.

Bruce chuckled, assuring his trusted butler all was well, and locking his phone once again.

If he looked from the corner of his eye, he could see you, nervously chewing on your lip while you looked at his plate expectantly.

Right, he thought. The cupcake.

Bruce tasted the coffee first, deciding it was far better than whatever he was drinking at his office, and slowly cut the cupcake with his fork (because why would he use his hands). HIs eyes widened once he finally bit into it.

It was good, really good. It tasted like strawberries - not that artificial strawberry flavoured crap he was sure was in most of the food out there - actual strawberries.

The frosting was sugary, but not too much that it became nauseous, and the mix of flavours melted in his mouth.

You’d approached him, breath hitched as you awaited his verdict.

“So?” You asked, after a while, giving him an apologetic smile. “How is it?”

“It’s good.”

“Really?” You graced him with the brightest of smiles, holding onto your little notepad. “You think so?”

“I know so.” Way to go, Bruce. Not corny at all. You’re the man.

Pulling the chair next to him, you sighed in relief and sat down.

“You have no idea how happy that makes me. I was so scared no one was gonna like them.”

“The people of Gotham are idiots if they don’t want to try these.” He took another bite of his cupcake and your smile only got bigger.

“Well, you said it. It’s Gotham. Even something as simple as a different coffee order will get their panties in a twist. Look at how everyone reacted to that Bat guy. He takes out a few criminals and cleans the streets, and suddenly he’s the bad guy?” you inquire.

“Bat guy?” Bruce asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah, you know! Bat guy! They’re calling him the Batman. You’ve probably seen him on TV. Black cape, black cowl, black, well, clothes?”

“Ah,” he nodded, “The Batman, yes. I might have heard of him.” Might have. “What’s his deal anyway? I think the police are calling the guy a criminal.”

You scoffed, placing a strand of hair behind your ear. “A criminal? The guy’s doing a better job than most cops. I think they’re just jealous. And pissed that someone’s not up for briberies.”

Bruce nodded, before turning to his cupcake. You thought what Batman did was right. He brimmed with pride.

“I don’t know – he sounds like your typical Arkham resident to me. Dressed like a bat, running around with a black cape?” It was practically wired into his brain by now, the way he attempted to detach his Bruce Wayne persona from his Batman one. Even if he’d just met you, even if you seemed genuine, he couldn’t help but keep up the façade. “They should probably lock him up.”

“That’s nonsense!” you exclaimed. “He’s the only one willing to do something right for this city. The only one who’s not being compensated by turning a blind eye to criminals like half of the GCPD are. The streets are safer with him around.”

So, he made you feel safe.

Well, not him – Batman did.

Bottom line was, he made you feel safe.

And wasn’t that the reason for all of this? To make Gotham a better place? To clean the streets, to give people some hope in amidst all the chaos and darkness? Wasn’t that his goal – to give Gotham citizens their city back to them, and allow them to live unruled by fear? 

“Anyway - I’m sorry, here I am, sitting next to you while you probably want to eat by yourself. Gosh, I’m so sorry. Taking care of the shop by myself makes me feel a tad lonely.” You gave him another apologetic smile (although this one did not reach your eyes), and got up, hurrying behind the counter.

For a few moments, Bruce sat in silence, eating his cupcake, and sipping from his coffee. Good stuff – nothing like the ones Alfred prepared for him, but still good.

When he glanced back up, he watched as you quickly washed some dishes, brow furrowed in concentration. He took you all in, the way you carefully rinsed every dish, ensuring it was stable on the tray nearby before moving onto the next one. Once or twice, you looked up, observing the city through the windows. He saw you sigh softly and get back to work.

To say he was intrigued was an understatement. A big one.

It wasn’t only that you were strikingly beautiful – that helped too, quite a lot – but there was something more to you that Bruce couldn’t really pinpoint and wanted to get to know more of. He was tired of fake people. Of all the fake smiles and fake laughter and fake parties and having to pretend he was someone he simply wasn’t. It was all for the greater good, sure, but hiding behind a mask was draining. No one knew that better than Bruce Wayne.

Before he realised it, he’d stood up, placing his plate and cup on top of the counter. The soft “clack” of it made you turn around and your eyes widened slightly.

“Oh – “ you mumbled. “It’s okay, I usually just do that.”

“Lifting a cup and a plate won’t kill me, I assure you.”

You chuckled and took the dishes, turning to the sink.

“You’re not at all like what people say.”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re not like they describe you,” you said with a small shrug. A strand of hair fell from behind your ear and Bruce’s hand twitched slightly, perhaps wishing to tuck it back himself.

“So you know who I am?” he asked, a curious smile forming in his lips. He wasn’t expecting to be completely ignorant of him – hell, it’s impossible to be unaware of his existence when you live in Gotham.

“I have a television and friends who love gossip magazines. It’s preposterous to think of a person who hasn’t come across your face, considering it’s slapped in nearly every tabloid ever.” You chuckled, soaking his plate. “And there was the matter of your credit card – I thought American Express was a myth.”

Bruce remained silent, which prompted you to go on.

“Everyone says you’re an arrogant jerk – “ The words come out of your mouth before you can process them, and he chuckles mentally, finding the way you stumbled over your words quite amusing. “I mean, that’s what they say – I’m not saying that you’re one, I just – I’m just repeating what’s been told to me. Anyway, yeah. You don’t seem like that at all.”

“And what makes you say that? We’ve spoken for all but five minutes,” he cocked an eyebrow, eagerly awaiting your answer.

You think for a while, gripping the towel at your hands and shrug again.

“I don’t know.” You turn to him. “Call it intuition, but I just felt like you were being genuine. I mean, you don’t have a bazillion models hanging off your arms – and it looked like you walked all the way here. No fancy sports car like the ones in the magazines either.” Another shrug. “You just seemed like a random guy when you walked in. No fancy titles whatsoever.”

Just a random guy.

Sometimes it felt like such a thing was unattainable for Bruce.

In front of the cameras, he had to be spoiled, rich, reckless playboy Bruce who bought hotels on a whim, hung around with hot models and spent his money on useless luxuries such as cars and yachts. When no one was watching, he had the weight of Gotham in his shoulders as Batman, sacrificing his mind and body every night just to make sure his people were safe.

It was impossible for Bruce to be just a random guy, no matter how much he wanted to.

But the way you said it – like you truly believed it – made him think twice about it.

You weren’t grovelling at his feet. Nor were you pretending not to know him as many others had done, in order to appear mysterious and different, and therefore catch his attention. No, you were just being you – or what he hoped was you. You knew who he was, admitted to seeing his face and knowing of his affairs, but that didn’t stop you from treating him like a normal person.

Just a random guy.

“Or maybe I’m just biased because you liked my cupcakes.” There it was again, that lovely smile of yours.

And you were funny too.

“I’ll admit, that was my tactic all along.” Bruce allowed a hint of playfulness to tint his voice, and your smile widened at that.

“Your secret is safe with me, Mr. Wayne.”

“Please, just Bruce.”

“Alright then. Your secret is safe with me, Bruce.” You smiled and went back to cleaning the counter. (You half expected him to leave without saying a word – why’d a billionaire entertain your company for more than a few minutes? – and were surprised when he stayed.)

“I’m sorry if I’m crossing a line here, but,” he started, “Would you like to join me for lunch one of these days?”

You eyed him curiously and cocked your head to the side, giving him a cheeky smile.

“Me? Really?”

“Exactly you.”

“Why? I don’t exactly belong with your people, Bruce – whoever they might be.”

“I was actually just hoping I’d get some free cupcakes.”

At this, you snorted out loud, covering your mouth with your hand. The other clients in the bakery looked at you with a slightly disgusted face, and it only made you laugh louder.

Once you stopped giggling (and after having wiped some tears from your eyes), you nodded and turned to him.

“Alright, fine. Lunch sounds great. Although – I’m sure you’re followed everywhere. And I don’t really want to be the latest gossip magazine cover.” You crossed your arms. Bruce nodded in understanding. After all, he knew how troublesome the media could be, especially when they were looking for any crumbs that might get them any insight into someone’s life.

(Un)fortunately for him, they couldn’t see past the playboy persona.

“I’ll take care of that – don’t worry.” Was his honest response. “Let’s say it’s easy for me to… become invisible.”

You leaned against the counter, smile ever so present.

“And how are you going to do that? Gonna wear a cap and sunglasses? A wig? Do we get to wear disguises? Maybe you could wear a mask!” Funny.

“I’ll just leave the American Express at home. Do you think that new Pizza place everyone’s been talking about accepts hundreds?” Bruce joked.

Your snort resonated through the bakery again, and the couple that had glanced at you earlier left, shaking their heads and muttering something about “decorum”.

The rest was history.

You and Bruce had become inseparable from that day onward.

Turns out that around you, he could be just a random guy, like he always wanted.

He started going to your bakery more and more, and convinced your boss to let you experiment with your cupcakes however you wanted.

“How the hell did you manage that?” you asked him, mouth open in wonder. “She told me I had full control of the menu! Two weeks ago, she said she didn’t want to try my sweets!”

“I’m very persuasive,” he replied, biting into a banana flavoured muffin – one of your more recent experiments. “It’s a bit chunky. Kind of bland, doesn’t melt on your mouth like the others do.”

“Yeah, I think I went overboard with the flour…” you mumble, writing something down on your notepad. “Anyways, how persuasive can you be? This woman has drunk the same cup of coffee for like, 40 years. She hates change.”

“Let’s just say I worked my regular Wayne charm.”

At that, you rolled your eyes and hit him with your towel but couldn’t hide the smile that graced your lips.

He’d stop by every day after work, eager to try out your new recipes and have a nice chat. It was freeing to have someone he could call his friend, with whom he could have conversations that weren’t about his job, his money, or his other affairs. It felt nice to be able to share things with you, things he couldn’t find it in himself to share with other people.

It took him a while, but he eventually told you things about himself. Slowly.

He told you about his parents, how much he looked up to his father and how he adored his mother. He told you about his childhood, playing in the gardens of his Manor or watching his father fiddle with the stethoscope, hoping one day he could make a difference just like him. He told you how sometimes he would just watch his mother apply makeup in her face, marvelling at how beautiful she looked. Other women of the high society always looked like they had this world and the next worth of makeup on their faces, but his mother was able to enhance all her natural features with a simple eye pencil or some lipstick.

“Makeup shouldn’t be used to turn yourself into something new,” she’d once told him, applying some sort of clear powder on her face. “Just to complement the beauty you already have.”

He found it easy to relate to that. Not the makeup, necessarily, but the whole “turning into a new person”. Batman was no different than him, nor was he someone different. He just brought out Bruce’s biggest desires, to keep Gotham safe.

In return, you told him about your childhood. About your first years in school, your friends and family. You told him about your passions, your wishes. How you wanted to travel the world and read as many books as possible. How you liked to laze around some Saturdays but couldn’t stay home and just had to get up and leave in others.

Bruce found the duality in you quite entrancing.

Some days, you’d be running around the Manor, goofing around with Alfred, and whipping up new recipes with him, the both of you jamming to old jazz that played on the radio – Alfred had been teaching you swing, and you enjoyed spinning around the room with him as lively tunes played.

(In fact, Bruce had walked in on you and him dancing a few times, and couldn’t help but lean against the doorway, watching and you laughed loudly and tried not to fall whenever his butler spun you around.)

It also went without saying that Alfred was over the moon now that his master no longer seemed to be alone. You might only be one person, but the Manor came alive whenever you were in it, and he relished in knowing Bruce finally had someone he could trust besides himself.

At first, Bruce thought of you as a friend. Someone he could confide in, someone to have a good time with and relax. But as weeks turned to months, he found himself developing stronger feelings. It wasn’t about “having fun” and relaxing anymore, it was now about seeing you, making sure you were alright, listening to your every thought and feelings.

He thought it was normal, though. After all, aren’t friends supposed to care for each other and be eager to spend time together? After all, it had been a while since he had friends. At least ones that spoke to him on the regular, that were there for him. This whole thing was new to him. So, he kept these feelings hidden, convinced they were nothing but the norm, enjoying whatever silly activities you engaged in.

You two had, after all, your own little rituals.

You loved reading – always had, and believed to continue doing so until you were dead and buried. And despite not having a lot of time to do so, Bruce did too. So, it wasn’t long before you two created your own little book club along with Alfred.

You would prepare a batch of cookies, Alfred would make some tea, and Bruce would wait by the fireplace in the living room, since there was really nothing he could contribute with but his insight on the books you were reading.

“So, what’d you think?” he asked, taking a sip from his tea, and placing the mug on the coffee table by his feet.

“I think it was terrible.” You replied.

Bruce nearly spat the drink in his mouth.

“Excuse me?!”

“I said what I said – it was a terrible book.”

“I think you’re the first person ever to call The Great Gatsby a ‘terrible book’.” He raised an eyebrow and looked at Alfred, who was intent on hearing whatever you were going to say next. He too was quite curious, but he had an inkling he knew where you were going with this.

You just shrugged your shoulders and brought your legs to your chair, sitting on top of them. You felt at home in Wayne Manor. Bruce had told you to make yourself comfortable after the third time you visited, and you wasted no time in doing so.

“Jay Gatsby is one pretentious motherfucker,” you say.

“Language!” Alfred tutted.

“Sorry – I meant; Jay Gatsby is one pretentious douchebag.” You bowed your head towards Alfred and the butler nodded in acknowledgment.

“Wait – why?”

“Are you kidding me?” All you could do was scoff. “Gatsby is an obsessive narcissist, an egocentric pathological liar who cares about no one else other than himself, and much probably, a psychopath.”

Bruce was perplexed. Very much so.

“I – I – well. I see.”

“And the way he objectifies Daisy throughout the whole book – he doesn’t even love her! He loves the idea of her. He’s a jerk.”

Bruce couldn’t even interrupt you, because you were on a spree, gesticulating with your arms and talking fast.

“But let’s be honest here, it’s not like she loves him either.”

“She doesn’t?”

“Of course not! She’s a shallow, materialistic, spoiled brat and I can’t stand her!” You finished your little speech by taking a bite out of a cookie and crossing your arms.

“Huh. Right.” Bruce said, grabbing his copy of the book. “Well, I thought it was a great book. And I don’t think Gatsby is any of the things you said.”

“Oh really?”

“Yes, really. I think he is a misunderstood soul.”

You scoffed. Again.

“He’s a misunderstood ass – “

“Language – “

“He is Alfred!”

“Yes, but you aren’t, and I would like to keep this household clean, for dear Master and Missus Wayne’s sake.” He replied casually, giving you that look you’d learn to interpret as “do not test me you silly little baker, for I am British and have the high ground”, and to which you just stuck your tongue out.

Bruce ignored the both of you and continued.

“And, well, I think he truly did love Daisy.”

“That’s impossible.”

“No, no, and here’s why, he did everything for her.”

“Name one thing.”

“Well, he waited five whole years for her. I think that’s rather romantic. He went great lengths to impress Daisy and win her love. The parties, the money, his whole persona – it wasn’t him, but he did it all for Daisy.” Bruce explained calmly. Alfred looked at him with raised eyebrows and just sipped from his teacup quietly.

“Bruce, the whole thing was a circus.” You reached in front of you to grab another cookie and took a bite out of it, missing the way your friend’s gaze dropped to your lips and then returned to your eyes in just a millisecond. “He was just showing off.”

“Perhaps,” Bruce said, “But perhaps he was just trying to be someone worthy of her. I’m sure love can make people do crazy things.” He wasn’t one to talk. It’s not like he knew what “love” was. He’d crushed on Rachel as kids, but that’s all it was, a silly childhood crush.

Perhaps the love he had for his city could count. He did do crazy things for it. Dressing up as a bat was an example.

You nodded your head a few times, pondering his answer.

“Maybe, yeah. But I don’t think so. If he loved her, he should’ve just said it. There was no need for all the show.”

Alfred raised his eyebrows once again. A very you-ish reply. He was enjoying this immensely.

Bruce replayed her words in his head. He should’ve said it. Surely, it wasn’t that easy. Jay Gatsby wasn’t your average man. He was a mystery. He had secrets and things he needed to hide. It wasn’t as easy as just walking up to Daisy and telling her “I love you”. It wasn’t that simple. “You think so?” he asked.

“Well, yeah! Absolutely – I mean, why complicate things?” you replied. “He should’ve just dropped the luxuries, the parties, he should’ve just stopped with all of the eccentric millionaire thing, looked her in the eyes and say, ‘I love you’. Simple.”

"Absolutely! I mean, why complicate things? Just look someone in the eyes and say, ‘I love you.’ Simple.”

“Simple, huh?”

You nodded, taking another sip from your tea – you drank it sickeningly sweet, with lots of honey, while he preferred one or two spoons of sugar.

“Yeah. Simple. No need for the fancy parties, and mysterious acts. Just be genuine.”

“That’s an interesting perspective,” he mumbled. “But sometimes people have reasons for not saying what’s in their hearts. Sometimes they must hide their feelings.” It was true. You didn’t know he was Batman – you couldn’t. He needed to keep you safe. All you knew was that he worked a lot, plenty of times exhausting himself and arriving home super late. It was for the best.

Alfred hummed thoughtfully, which earned him a curious look from the both of you.

“Oh, nothing, nothing. Please, do continue,” he said, gesturing for you to go on.

You gave him a weird look but simply turned to face Bruce once again.

“Reasons? Like what?”

Bruce couldn’t look you in the eye now. He shrugged and got suddenly very interested by the coffee table by his feet.

“Fear, maybe. Fear of what might happen if they open up. Fear of losing someone precious.”

You hummed, “Well, in my book, it’s always better to be honest and take the risk. Life’s too short for illusions. If Gatsby had just said it, maybe things would’ve been different. Who knows? But I still think he was one pompous son of a bitch.” You leaned back in your chair with a smug grin and finished the rest of your tea.

Alfred just excused himself and made his way towards the kitchen.

You certainly did bring some life into this once empty house.

You were lazing around in a Sunday afternoon, mindlessly scrolling your phone as a rerun of a show you liked played on TV. Even after a few years, it could still get some laughs out of you, and you’d look at the screen and smile.

All of a sudden, the couch dipped next to you.

Bruce had jumped over it, and landed next to you, sitting down comfortably, as if parkouring around Wayne Manor was something he did on the regular.

“Shit! Holy – Bruce!” You nearly jumped out of your seat, clutching your chest. Sometimes you wondered if Bruce wasn’t some sort of ninja. Being able to hide himself and be so silent wasn’t normal, and at times, to be frank, a little bit creepy.

He acted as if nothing was wrong and turned to you.

“Friday night, charity gala, you and me,” he said, matter-of-factly, as if he’d simply asked you what the weather was like outside.

“Excuse me?”

“Yeah, the Carringtons are throwing a big party this Friday. It’s supposed to be this big fundraiser. The profits will go for new police facilities. As if those corrupt idiots needed them…” He sighed. “And clearly, Bruce Wayne must attend. And, as expected, he has to bring someone.”

You whined and threw your head back in frustration. You’d been to a couple of galas with Bruce. Most of them were dreadfully boring, filled with fake people whose only purpose there was to flaunt their money and pretend to care about whatever topics seemed most controversial. You hated them. The fake smiles, the gross men leering on you, the women shamelessly throwing themselves at Bruce (not that you minded. After all, you two were just friends. It just made you uncomfortable that they were so forward about his advances. Clearly, he wasn’t alone. He had you. Could they not see it? But of course, you two were just friends. Which meant you weren’t jealous. You just felt sorry for them, and extremely uncomfortable whenever they looked at, spoke to, or touched him. Duh.)

“I can’t go.”

Bruce grimaced.

“Why?”

“I’m busy. Sorry Bruce, I have plans.” What a liar.

Your friend smirked and nudged his head towards the kitchen.

“Alfred checked your schedule – you’re free for the next two weeks.”

Your jaw dropped and you looked back at the kitchen, where Alfred innocently prepared a few sandwiches.

“Damn him! I swear that man must’ve been a British spy!” you muttered, shaking your head.

“So, are you coming with me?” Bruce pressed on.

“I can’t – I have to return some videotapes.” You replied smugly.

Bruce gave you a dry laugh and threw a pillow in your direction, which you failed to dodge.

“Very funny. I’m serious – I can’t go by myself. Look, I know what this is going to sound like, but the Carringtons are only doing this to show off. They don’t care about the police; they want to show Gotham just how rich their grandfather’s money has made them. They’ve been around for years and never once donated – why now?”

“Just because you have to go, doesn’t mean that I have!” you too threw a pillow at him, but as always, his reflexes were on point, and he managed to catch it mid-air.

“Look, you’d be doing me a huge favour.”

“I have literally nothing to wear.”

Bruce gave you a blank stare – that excuse did not stick anymore, not after he’d bought you a different dress for each party he had taken you to (“Think of it as a thank you gift”, he said).

“Just take a model. Or an actress. Or some other celebrity. You know me Bruce, I don’t belong with those people. They’re not my crowd.” You grabbed another pillow and prepared to throw it at him.

“I can’t stand another night of pretending to spend my free time buying hotels and yachts.” Bruce said your name softly and you let your guard down, lowering your arm. “It’s not me, and you know it.” You looked into those chocolate brown eyes that seemed to have soften – those eyes of his always made you melt, and you often found yourself saying yes to his every whim.

You pondered your choices.

He could take a model or an actress. The headlines would love speculating who the hell was Bruce Wayne messing around with this time. He’d have to pretend to be someone he was not for a whole evening – though you didn’t know why; only that, for some reason, he had a reputation to upkeep – and the next morning you’d wake up and seethe as you watched the shots paparazzi got of your best friend and some random floozy slobbering on top of him.

Or, you could go with him. It’d be a pain in the ass to pretend to like all of those people and to interact with those phony idiots who thought money was worth anything and would try their best to snake their ways in Bruce’s close circle. But you’d spend a nice evening with your friend, wear a pretty dress, drink some expensive champagne and be able to laugh at everyone else with him. There were worse fates than that, you were sure.

“Fine,” you sighed, “I’ll come with you.”

Bruce did a small “yes” gesture with his arm, and then grabbed a nearby pillow. “Now, where were we?”

“Oh – OH don’t you dare, Bruce Wayne!” You lifted your arm once again, but before you could throw the pillow in his direction, he’d grabbed your arm and pulled you to him. You fell on top of his body, hands on either side of his head as they bore the weight of your body. Your face was inches away from his, and all you could do was stare into those brown eyes that had you so weak.

You blinked repeatedly, before quickly getting up. Your cheeks were flaring up and you grabbed your phone, standing up from the couch.

Bruce, on his end, was speechless. He watched as you stood up, unable to form a coherent sentence.

“I – I should go. I need to… yeah, I gotta – I gotta do something. I’ll see you later.” You mumbled, and within seconds, you were out the door.

When you were gone, Alfred left the kitchen and walked towards the couch where Bruce was sitting, still silently staring at the wall.

“Is everything alright, Master Wayne?” he asked, although he didn’t really need an answer. He knew exactly what was going on with him. After all, he’d raised this boy like his own son for years.

“Yes,” Bruce cleared his throat, nodding. “Yes, yes, I am. Everything’s fine. How about those sandwiches you were making?” He tried changing the topic, but it was too late.

As Alfred walked back to the kitchen, he couldn’t help but think that he should probably schedule an optometrist appointment for his master. After all, one can’t help but be concerned when such a smart, capable man was so blind to matters of the heart. Almost as blind as a bat, one could say. He’d keep this joke for later. Bruce would hate it. Even better.

Funnily enough, Alfred wasn’t the only one who thought Bruce was blind to his feelings.

In fact, it seemed like everyone could see how smitten the Wayne billionaire was with you.

When you two went out, he would look at you with this sparkle in his eyes, looking at you as if you were the most precious thing in the world.

You walked into the party, arm linked with his, and it was as if the whole world stopped to look at you two.

Everyone knew about your existence – it wasn’t the first time you accompanied Bruce to parties – Bruce Wayne and his close friend. Friend. Yeah, sure. If the glances he stole were any indication, the Wayne heir was nothing but completely enamoured with you. In fact, it was incredible how much he’d changed. His whole attitude changed when he was accompanied by you. No longer was he the reckless billionaire who drank too much and humiliated himself, but the elegant man who liked to engage in conversations (as long as the topics were interesting) and had a heart of gold.

Yes, everyone seemed to spot the change in demeanour whenever you two were together.

“Bruce!” A voice could be heard from the distance, and Rachel Dawes made her way towards the both of you. She smiled and spoke your name once she noticed you were the one accompanying her childhood friend, before hugging you. “Oh, it’s so nice to see you here!”

You hugged her back and gave her a genuine smile. You’d met Rachel before more than a few times – she was a lovely young woman with a great sense of justice, and you were sure she was going to do great things for Gotham’s wellbeing. You also enjoyed her company greatly, since she had once told you all of the embarrassing stories about Bruce’s childhood. “I had no idea you were going to be here!”

“Yeah, well,” she looked around and smiled, seemingly looking for someone. “I was just as surprised as you were.”

Then, a very familiar face emerged from the crowd, calling out “Rachel!” and walking to her side.

“There you were – you left so abruptly; I thought something was wrong.” The man said, before turning to look at you and Bruce. You took him in. Dirty blond hair and a familiar cleft chin. You furrowed your eyebrows, before it finally clicked in.

“You’re Harvey Dent – I’ve seen you on TV before,” you said, and he smiled in acknowledgement.

“That would be me, yes.” He put forward his hand, and you shook it, introducing yourself.

Harvey then turned to look at Bruce, extending his hand to him.

“And you must be Bruce Wayne. Rachel talks about you a lot.”

Bruce shook it and nodded.

“Hopefully she hasn’t disclosed everything about me, otherwise I’d be ruined.”

The two men chuckled, and you took that opportunity to look at Rachel. You looked from her to Harvey, opened your mouth and wiggled your eyebrows, earning a laugh from her. Rachel moved to your side as Bruce and Harvey spoke about Gotham and took your arm.

“Well, well, Miss Dawes. Is there anything you’d like to tell us?” you asked in a hushed tone, still wiggling your eyebrows up and down. “How’d you meet?”

“At work. Harvey is running for district attorney. One thing led to another, and…” she trailed off, and you nudged her torso with your arm.

“And now you’re shagging future attorney Harvey Dent. Look at you go!”

Rachel covered her mouth with her hands and supressed a scoff.

“You’re unbelievable, and I never want to hear those words coming from your mouth ever! It’s just a casual thing, we’ve only gone on a few dates. Besides, you’re the one attending a charity gala with Gotham’s most eligible bachelor. I think every woman in this room has you on a death list.”

“Pftt,” you waved your hand dismissively, “You know we’re just friends. Nothing for those women to be jealous about.”

“Ah, I see. You’re just friends.” Rachel nodded, feigning seriousness in her voice.

“Yes, we are. Stop with that face!”

“What face?”

“That face you always do,” you motioned towards her face, nearly pouting. “We are! And that’s the end of the discussion! I don’t even know why we’re talking about my non-existent relationship with Bruce when you’re probably going to be First Lady someday – this is huge.”

Rachel swatted you with her purse and returned to Harvey’s side before giving you a cheeky smile – it felt nice to have a girl friend you could talk to in these scenarios. Usually, it was just you and Bruce, which, however pleasant, wasn’t the same thing as having a girl in there. You were happy to catch her off work – Rachel seemed like a different person at the office. While there, she maintained a strong and serious attitude, you were happy to see her when she had no work business to worry about and could simply be a girl with you.

“Well, I’m afraid I’ve wasted too much of your time, Mr. Wayne,” Harvey said, shaking Bruce’s hand again. “It was a pleasure to meet Rachel’s oldest friend.” He then turned to you, “And a pleasure to meet you too, Miss.” “Likewise,” you replied.

Bruce nodded.

“Of course. I’ll be sure to send you a nice bottle of Chardonnay when you’re elected district attorney,” he said in his best careless billionaire voice, and nodded at Rachel before the two walked away. “Who would’ve thought,” he muttered to you, beckoning a butler who was carrying a tray of champagne glasses close to him.

“Well, I think they’re lovely together,” you smiled and grabbed a glass, smiling once the liquid hit your lips. Champagne was always welcome.

“Well, you think everyone looks lovely together. You’re a sap.” You laugh at Bruce’s comment and hold onto his arm. He brings you close, absentmindedly, and the two of you walk around the party, occasionally being stopped by the average donor.

After eating some entrees and mingling with the guests, soft music started to play and ring throughout the room. You looked up, pleasantly surprised, and tugged at Bruce’s arm.

“Come on,”

You didn’t have to tell him twice – he was growing tired of pretending to share the same interests as these vile people. He wanted a respite from keeping the charade up, so he gladly took your hand and led you to the middle of what had become the dancefloor. You two weren’t the only ones in there, a couple more pairs having decided to dance.

Bruce gently held your waist and pulled you close to him, his other hand coming to lift yours.

“Thank you,” he spoke, ignoring the way everyone’s eyes glued onto the two of you.

“I could see you were about to actually punch that man right in the face,” you chuckled, looking at the person in question. He was a middle-aged man who could probably stand to lose a few pounds for the sake of his health, who was trying to talk Bruce into introducing him a couple of models. You just had to come to the rescue, because Bruce actually looked like he was about to burst a blood vessel. Thankfully, he was a good actor and simply promised the man he would surely hook him up with the woman of his dreams.

“I think it goes without saying I’m not introducing jack shit to him. I’m pretty sure he’s assaulted his female employers. I should have someone investigate it.”

“My, my. Bruce Wayne, ever the White Knight.” You smiled, and you could swear that for some minutes, the entire world faded away as the soft melodies of Camille Saint-Saëns filled the air.

He snorted at that but did not say anything.

The two of you kept dancing. You found looking into his eyes extremely hard, so you avoided his gaze, looking straight ahead at behind his shoulder continuously.

“I still haven’t told you how beautiful you look tonight,” Bruce finally broke the silence between you two, and you returned his gaze. He’d bought you a floor-length black John Galliano gown with delicate lace trim and a bias cut, and you had actually screamed into your pillow once you saw it – it was far too pretty.

“Thank you,” you reply, brushing some invisible dust from his shoulders. “You don’t look so bad yourself.”

Bruce lowered his voice and looked you in the eyes, making your breath hitch in your throat.

“I mean it. You do look stunning.”

The two of you stopped dancing for a few moments, and you were unable to look away from his almost magnetic gaze. Time seemed to stand still, and you gripped his shoulder tighter, to make sure you were real, and he was real, and this whole ordeal was real.

He was just about to speak again, when you were interrupted by a loud, shrill voice.

“Mr. Wayne! Oh, what a pleasure to have you here!”

You quickly pulled away from him as Catherine Carrington, a woman in her mid-40s with long, blonde hair approached the both of you and placed two loud kisses on either side of his cheeks. You looked away, trying to figure out how to properly breathe again, and fanned yourself with your hands.

Harrold Carrington, Catherine’s husband walked to her side and shook Bruce’s hand, far too interested in talking to you. You stifled a laugh – whoever was in charge of his wig had tone a terrible job, because it was clear as day his hairline was receding, and the hair he had on was fake.

“Ah, you must be the mysterious friend everyone has been talking about. We’ve seen you around a few times, haven’t we Miss? But I don’t think we’ve properly met – I’m Harrold Carrington. And may I say, you look splendid this evening.”

None of the Carringtons seemed interested in their spouses. Catherine was fawning over Bruce, and Harrold’s eyes lingered far too long on your exposed collarbone and cleavage. So much so, that you turned from him uncomfortably. Bruce was quick to notice your discomfort, and pulled you next to him once again, wrapping a protective arm around your waist.

“I’d appreciate it if you could keep your eyes on the lady’s face, as opposed to her chest, Mr. Carrington,” he said with a smile that you could only identify as fake, and that smug voice he used when he was feeling particularly cocky.

All of the colour drained from Harrold’s face, and he stuttered, trying to form a coherent sentence – which he failed miserably. “I – I, well – I wasn’t – I would never! I – I was just –“

Bruce faced Catherine once again and gave her another fake smile.

“Lovely party Mrs. Carrington. Very nice of you to raise money for the Gotham Police Department. Very charitable, indeed. And the champagne is just splendid. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I heard someone was eating caviar, and it’s not a real party without it, now is it?”

Effortlessly, he brought you away from the couple.

Once you were out of sight, he looked at you with a worried expression.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

“Yeah – he was just creepy. Shit, I hate galas.”

“Tell me about it,” Bruce sighed, before shaking his head. “How long have we been here for?”

“About two hours.”

“How about we ditch at three? I think it’d be a crime to abandon this party now. Especially when you look this dazzling.”

He was giving you that look once again, the one you couldn’t quite decipher, and you felt butterflies in your stomach.

Bruce, on the other hand, was freaking out. You looked lovely, even more so than usual. He’d been dancing with you, and all was perfect, and then that hag Catherine had to go and ruin everything.

Was it too much to ask for a quiet dance with his friend?

Friend.

The word tasted wrong in his mouth.

No, you weren’t his friend. At least not anymore.

He thought about your dance moments earlier. How you’d held onto him, far too shy to look him in the eye, lips slightly parted and eyes sparkly. He thought of how easily you leaned into his touch and how he liked having you by his side.

He thought of how much he enjoyed spending time with you, how much he laughed in your presence, how free he felt when he was with you. He could be himself, something that he felt he couldn’t be anywhere else. You were his safe haven. You were everything.

It was that night Bruce Wayne realised he was in love with you.

One time the both of you went out to do some Christmas shopping.

(“In November?” Bruce had asked, furrowing his eyebrows.

“Christmas sales have already started! And I bet everyone’s going to start super soon, so we need to get to it!” Was your reply. Bruce could only sigh and agree, like he always did when it came to you.)

Besides, it was the first Christmas you’d be able to spend together after 2 years of friendship. The last two had Bruce way too busy with his company (at least that’s what he told you. In reality, he had been tracking down a few criminals who’d been wreaking havoc days before.

The main point was: after two years of being friends, you would finally get to spend Christmas together. It’s not that you’d suffered those Christmases without him; you had friends and family. But you wanted to spend the holidays with who you now considered to be your closest friend.

Bruce, however, wanted to spend Christmas with the woman he was in love with. He hadn’t found the courage to tell you – not yet. He was afraid of ruining things, of hurting you. So he kept silent, relishing in the friendship the both of you had.

Approaching the mall, you had a small list in your hand, filled with names of everyone you wanted to buy a gift for. He had around five people in mind, so he did not need all those preparations.

Once you were in the crowded mall, Bruce would hold you close to him, shielding you from everyone who might bump into you. His hand would respectfully be in the small of your back, and if he needed you to get out of someone’s way (people who refused to look up from their phones were the worst), he would slide it to your waist and gently pull you towards him.

You’d stopped at a beauty store, wanting to buy a new skin care package for your closest friend at work – heavens knew how badly you needed her to keep you sane – so you’d asked Bruce for his opinion on a myriad of perfumes.

“See, I like this one, but I think the smell is a bit too strong,” you mumbled, squeezing some of the hand lotion’s sample on your hand and applying it there. “Here,” you reached your hand to him, and nearly all the air was sucked out of your lungs when Bruce carefully reached for it, holding your pulse in his and bringing it to his face. His lips nearly brushed against your skin as he took the smell of the lotion in, and at least a dozen of women who were shopping nearby swooned.

Bruce let go of your hand just as gently and you blinked a few times, trying to wake up from your little trance.

“It is a bit strong, yeah. You mentioned she’s got a sensitive nose, so maybe something less floral?”

You were quick to nod and walk away, afraid he’d notice the way your cheeks heat up and your pupils dilated.

Once you turned away from him, focusing on the other hand lotions, he sighed, still feeling a buzzing sensation in his hand. It was as if he could still feel your skin against his, and he had to shake his head to return to the task at hand. Control yourself.

At a clothing store, you held up different sweatshirts next to him, asking for his opinion on a gift to your father. He gave you his earnest opinion, and insisted on carrying all your bags once you were done.

“Bruce – come on, I can carry them. I’m not a baby,” you’d told him, sighing in exasperation.

“Just allow me. You’re still picking up things left and right, it’s better if I carry these for you.”

You two checked out a jewellery shop – you’d been saving up to buy your mom a pair of earrings, and while you busied yourself looking through rows and rows of pairs, looking for the one you had your eyes on, Bruce quickly excused himself, and turned to a shop helper.

Approaching the counter, he placed the delicate pair of pearl earrings next to the cashier, glancing around just to make sure you weren’t paying attention to him.

“Would you like these to be gift wrapped?” The cashier asked.

“Yes please.”

Bruce continued glancing around. You too were speaking to a shop helper, pointing to the delicate pair of gold earrings you wanted to get.

“A gift for a special someone?” The cashier asked once again with a polite smile. Bruce wasn’t dumb. If he were anyone else, this would be a regular, standard question asked by shop clerks to keep a friendly conversation going. But he’s not just anyone else. He’d noticed the way the woman had glanced him up and down with a wishful expression and could bet all his money that if he were to reveal more than necessary, then she would turn to any gossip magazine as soon as he was out the door and spill whatever nonsense she thought it was going on.

He gave her a curt nod, paid for the earrings (now neatly placed inside of a box and wrapped with a pretty red ribbon), and returned to your side, hiding the box inside his jacket’s pocket.

“Did you find them?” he asked once he got to your side, and if it were anyone else, you would’ve jumped, but by now you were used to Bruce. You seemed to lean into his side and smiled, looking at the pair of hoops the shop helper brought to the counter.

“Yeah – she’s gonna love them! I was super scared they’d be sold out Bruce, I’ve been working my ass off to get these. I’m so proud of myself,” your smile was contagious, and Bruce found himself bringing you closer to him by the waist and giving you one of his super rare smiles. Once again, every woman within a five-mile radio sighed, basically eating him up with their eyes. It was no secret Bruce Wayne was a handsome man – not to mention Gotham’s most eligible bachelor – but to see him act so affectionate in public was a completely different thing, and it was clear more than woman had gotten jealous just looking at you.

(Their boyfriends were not happy with the way said women ogled Bruce up and down.)

“I’m proud of you too.” Bruce replied. It was true. You were a hardworking woman, and he beamed with pride at your accomplishments.

Of course he didn’t tell you he bribed the store to keep the earrings stored until you came along to buy them – he wasn’t about to let someone snatch the thing you’d been working so hard to get – but it didn’t matter. You’d earned it.

You grinned at him and reluctantly broke free from his hold.

“I’m gonna go pay for these, meet me outside?”

He nodded and walked outside of the store, hand coming to pat the box inside of his pocket. They’d look incredible with his mother’s pearl necklace, that’s for sure.

He carried your things to the limo, and upon arriving to the Manor, he distracted you with promises of hot chocolate and marshmallows, before handing Alfred the little white box and telling him to keep it a secret. The rest of the evening was spent with the two of you discussing presents, drinking your hot chocolate, and watching some Christmas movies as the wood in the fireplaced cracked piece by piece, enveloping you both in a cozy warmth.

Later that month, the two of you were sitting at an expensive café, having a few treats, and talking about your Christmas shopping. Although the place was very fancy and its prices had shocked you, so had the quality of their food.

“This is garbage,” you said, eyeing the cupcake on your plate. “Holy shit, who baked these? It feels like I’m chewing on a brick!”

“Yours are much better, yes,” Bruce agreed, taking his own cupcake, and looking at it carefully. “And that’s this awful taste?”

“I think she added lemon juice, but it doesn’t work in this recipe, not at all. You’ll see, it’ll basically nullify the sweetness of it, and the whole thing is just gonna taste like one sour cupcake. Gosh, people pay their rent’s worth of money for these?”

Bruce could listen to you talk for hours on end. The way your eyes lit up when you found a topic you were interested in, and how genuinely passionate you were about your hobbies. Your genuineness was something he praised and found himself looking for more and more. In fact, one of the reasons he’d taken you to this specific café was because he knew the cupcakes sucked – he’d eaten there before. He just wanted to hear you talk about them.

An old woman approached your table, wearing a Santa Claus had on top of her head, and a few Christmas related pins on her waitress apron.

“Is there anything else I can get for you?” she asked with a smile.

“Oh, no thank you, we’re fine.” You replied, returning it «.

“I see. Well, I’d just like to say, it’s a real gift to see such precious young love.” The woman gestured at the both of you, and your cheeks flared up. “This city can be so dark and gloomy sometimes; it warms my heart to know that love still prevails on top of all. You two are such a lovely couple.”

“We’re –“ you coughed, trying to clear your throat. “We’re not – we’re not a couple.”

“Oh!”

“Yeah, we’re just – we’re just friends!” you were quick to correct her and refused to meet Bruce in the eye.

Oh, right. Bruce. He was staring at the old woman, completely lost in thought. This woman thought you two were a couple. Did you look like it? And why had you shut her down so quickly? Did you hate the idea that much? Would it be so terrible if the two of you were to date?

“Oh, I am so sorry then, my apologies!” the waitress was quick to apologise. “It’s just – you two look rather lovely together. I’m sorry for the intrusion.” She walked away and you covered your cheeks with your hands, trying to mask the sudden blush that had overcome you.

Bruce, on his end, was still staring at where the woman had been. Did you two look like a couple that much? He wouldn’t mind it. No, not really, he wouldn’t mind being a couple with you. He could finally drop that stupid playboy persona, be one step closer to his real self. He could protect you and always keep you safe and closer to him. He wondered what it would be like to wake up to you every morning and be greeted with that dazzling smile of yours. Would you ask him for five more minutes in bed? Act all grumpy until you had your morning coffee? Would you drag him out of his bedroom to start the day and be productive?

“Shall we go?” you interrupted his thoughts, placing your now empty mug on top of your plate. “It’s gonna get dark soon, and I wanted to see the Christmas lights.” Your voice was lower, still tinted with some nervousness. Bruce snapped out of it and nodded, walking towards the counter to pay the bill.

While he was gone, you made your way to the bathroom and splashed some water on your face, to wake yourself up and hopefully cool down.

Once you were ready, you walked out of the café, strolling the streets of Gotham.

Sometimes it surprised you how pretty your city could be. Sure, there was chaos and corruption, and most of the times it was a fucking shithole, but it was still home, and the tall buildings and bright lights could still take your breath away.

You and Bruce walked side by side. You were still far too nervous to look at him, so you kept your distance. Bruce, respectful as ever, remained by your side, refusing to touch you until you gave him permission. As you were looking at the prettily decorated shop windows and houses, he could see the way your body shivered and trembled.

That’s what you got for refusing to bring a jacket because, “your outfit looked far too pretty to be hidden behind a coat”.

“Cold?” he asked.

“N-no. Not at all. I’m fine. I told you; these tights are really warm.” Your voice was trembling, and your teeth were close to chattering. A part of Bruce wanted to see you fight for your case just a bit longer, while the other just longed to envelop you in his arms and keep the cold away.

“Oh, really? Because I’m pretty sure the tips of your fingers are turning blue.” He said with a smug expression.

“No, I’m fine.” You replied, nodding eagerly. “I told you; I wouldn’t be cold. I’m not.”

Bruce just nodded and kept walking by your side.

After a few minutes, it was far too obvious you were freezing. Your body was trembling, your teeth were chattering, and he was sure he could see your lips becoming a dark shade of purple.

Wordlessly, Bruce began to remove his jacket.

“What are you doing?” you asked, turning to him in confusion.

“Preventing you from catching pneumonia,” he replied, handing it to you.

“N-no, T-that’s not n-necessary, Bruce. I’m fine. I’m n-not cold. I’m f-fine! See? Just p-peachy.”

Bruce had faced criminals and villains and corrupt cops, and they’d all lied to him at one point or another. None was as bad as you.

He gave you one of his “I told you so” looks, and you nearly pouted, spreading your arms as he helped you put the jacket on. Almost instantly, you felt warmth spread through your body and sighed in relief. Bruce also removed his scarf, and carefully wrapped around your neck, hands lingering on your face for longer than necessary when he brushed a few strands away from it.

“Better?” he murmured.

You looked at him through your lashes. He was close. Very close. So close, that you could hear your heartbeat hammering on your chest. You gave him a soft “mhm” and he returned to your side, keeping a respectful distance from you.

“Aren’t you cold?” you asked him. It made you feel terrible – it was freezing in Gotham, and you’d taken his only sources of comfort.

“I’m fine – believe me. I’d much rather have you not freezing on me.” He replied.

“Are you sure? It’s very cold.”

“I promise.”

You nodded and continued your silent stroll.

Suddenly, while crossing the street, some careless motorbike showed up out of nowhere. You shrieked in surprise, and froze in your place, closing your eyes in fear. A pair of strong arms pulled you away, and you collided with a strong figure. Bruce was holding you close, cursing the driver under his breath. Once you looked up to you look at him, he turned to you.

“Are you okay?” he asked, looking all over your face to make sure you were unharmed.

“Yeah – just – that dickhead –“

“I know. It’s like you can’t trust anyone with a license these days.” He muttered. It hurt to part from you. It was like you were made to stand next to him, body slotting perfectly with his. Reluctantly, he pulled away from you, giving you space, but was surprised when you held onto his arm, like you usually do.

You looked at him, silently asking for permission, which he granted. You scooted closer to him, and he smiled.

The two of you continued walking through the streets of Gotham, making comments on the architecture, the lighting, the people. There were small stalls selling all sorts of trinkets and goods, a sort of small Christmas market, and you smiled as you saw kids running around with balloons or cups of hot chocolate. It was dark and gloomy, but once again, Gotham could be so very beautiful.

“A pretty flower for a pretty lady?” An old vendor asked, extending a pretty rose in your direction.

“Oh, no thank you – “ you mumbled, shaking your head, but Bruce was quicker.

“Thank you.” He nodded, taking the flower in his hands. He handed the man a bill (and surely a big one at that, because the man’s eyes widened, and he stared at it for quite a while before thanking Bruce profusely.)

Bruce turned to you and handed you the flower.

You weren’t sure if it was from his jacket, or if your whole body had simply decided to set itself on fire. You took the flower and brought it up to your nose, the intoxicating smell of it filling your senses.

“Thank you,” you said, still looking at it. No one had ever bought you flowers.

“A pretty flower for a pretty lady,” he repeated the old man’s words, and continued walking with you by his side, but not without hearing the old man say something about how “beautiful it was to see love bringing people together”. You didn’t seem to have heard it, but Bruce did, and he smiled.

It was Christmas Eve, and you were in Wayne Manor, having dinner with Bruce and Alfred (whom he begged to take a seat at the table with the two of you). There was wine and plenty of food, and the three of you had a great time, sharing funny stories and anecdotes and just enjoying each other’s companies.

You had promised your family to visit them the day after and were dead set on spending the Eve with Bruce.

After dinner, you sat near the fireplace, talking about books, movies, and whatever silly topic that came to mind. You, with your legs comfortably spread on the couch, Alfred on the big chair, and Bruce on the floor, by your feet. To him, that was the closest he had to spending Christmas with his family, and wondered if his parents would’ve enjoyed your company. Of course they’d have, he thought, you’re perfect.

After the three of you had played a few games (Alfred had won at charades, his Batman impression making you laugh for five minutes straight), you stood up announcing that, since it was almost midnight, you wanted everyone to open their gifts. It was more about you giving yours away than opening them, really – you were quite proud of the gifts you’d bought and wanted Bruce’s and Alfred’s reactions as soon as possible.

“Alright, alright, alright, me first! Here – Alfred, these are for you!” You handed him about five different packages, and he looked at you with a fond expression in his eyes.

“You didn’t have to, Miss.”

“Well, but I did. I need to spoil my swing partner, don’t I?”

He smiled at your antics and slowly opened the packages, one by one. Inside, there were a few woollen sweaters with matching-coloured ties.

“They’re really warm, you know. And it’s real wool – the quality of these is amazing! And you can even wear them without the ties, for a more casual look. What do you think? Do you like them?” you asked eagerly, hoping to get the response you wanted.

“I do, Miss. Thank you. These are lovely.”

You beamed and hugged him tightly. “Promise? There’s a receipt somewhere if you don’t like them – but I just thought they looked so cool and they were so pretty and the fabric is so soft, and – “

“Yes, Miss. I promise. Thank you. These are splendid.”

“Well, since we’re spoiling Alfred, I don’t really want to get left out.” Bruce joked, before reaching for an envelope sitting on top of the Christmas tree (decorated by the both of you on the first of December, thank you very much.) He handed his butler the envelope and sat back, awaiting his reply.

“So, you’ve finally decided to get rid of me.” Alfred said, looking at the contents of the envelope intently.

“Don’t be so dramatic, it’s just a few weeks.” Bruce replied smugly. “If anyone deserves a vacation in this house, it’s you.”

When Alfred didn’t reply, Bruce raised an eyebrow, worry starting to pool in his stomach.

“Alfred? Is everything okay?”

Alfred sighed and shook the envelope in his head.

“A ticket to the Maldives, Master Wayne? You’ve outdone yourself this time.”

Bruce grinned, nodding. “I’m glad you like it.”

“I do indeed, but, if I may express a tiny complaint…”

“Of course, Alfred. You can always speak your mind.”

“You’re a bit of a cheapskate, Master Wayne.”

You burst out laughing, nodding along with Alfred.

“A cheapskate. I see. And why is that?”

“After all I’ve done for you, three weeks of vacation seems a bit stingy, don’t you think?” Although he was saying this, he had a smile playing in his lips. Clearly none of it was serious.

“It’s not like I can function without you Alfred. Can’t have you enjoying too much time off, now, can we? You might remember just how fantastic life is outside this place and never return. You’ll be here forever. You’ve changed my diapers when I was born, and you’ll change them when I’m old and gray.”

“I knew I should’ve never accepted Thomas Wayne’s job offer back then.” He muttered. But he then turned to Bruce and gave him an earnest smile. “Thank you, sir. This is very thoughtful of you.”

After that, it was his turn to give you your presents. He gave Bruce a (very expensive) bottle of wine, that he expressed “wanted it to be opened on a very special occasion” with a wink – which made Bruce clear his throat and change the subject. You received a burgundy scarf he’d brought from his latest trip to England, from a shop you’ve expressed your admiration for a few times.

“Holy – oh my god! This is incredible, I mean, look at it!” You hugged him tightly and wrapped the scarf around your neck, not caring that it was far too warm inside the Manor for you to require a scarf.

“Well, now, it seems to be getting rather late for me,” he announced, standing up.

“Oh? You don’t wanna stay here until midnight?”

Alfred shook his head.

“I’m afraid not, Miss. I’m quite tired. I’ll be retiring for the night.”

“Alright, Alfred. Goodnight.” Bruce said with a curt nod.

“Goodnight, sir. Goodnight, Miss.”

You’d turned away to investigate your scarf once again, you missed the look Alfred gave his master, which made him sigh and look at you fondly.

“Alright – now it’s my turn! I need to go get your gift, just wait in here!” You were quick to stand up and disappear into the hallway. You’d been gone for a few minutes, so Bruce went after you, wondering if everything was alright. He bumped into you near the grand staircase at the entrance, and you jumped.

“Christ – you need to stop scaring me like that!” you reprimanded him.

Bruce chuckled, and you shook your head.

“Anyway,” you mumbled, presenting him with a small black box. “This is for you. I know it’s not nearly as fancy as the ones you already have but – well, it’s Christmas and it’s the thought that counts, is it not?” There was a certain nervousness in your voice, Bruce could feel it.

He gently took the box from you, and opened it, revealing a fancy looking black Hugo Boss watch. His fingers trailed the screen and the expensive leather strap.

“I know you have a ton of those, but I thought, hey, this one’s special, this one’s from me!” Before you could keep on with your nervous ramblings, Bruce brought you close, hugging you tightly. You smiled against his chest and wrapped your hands around his torso. This was nice. This was comfortable and familiar and nice.

“Thank you,” he whispered into your hair, and you almost melted at the cadence of his voice.

“You’re welcome.” You replied.

When you two pulled away, something caught his eye. Looking up, he realised the both of you were standing right underneath a few branches of mistletoe. You followed his eyes and blushed furiously, your whole body heating up.

Bruce said your name and you turned to look at him, feeling as light as a feather.

“Look, I – there’s something I would like to tell you.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm.”

Bruce thought of all you’d been through together. Laughter, tears, giggles, and scowls. You’d had great times, reading books, walking around, spending time together, and bad times, when he blew you off, choosing Gotham city at night over you. He thought of all he told you, all he trusted you with.

“I just wanted to say that I really enjoy spending time with you,” he began.

“I enjoy spending time with you too.” You inched closer to him, hands still on his chest.

“You’re amazing, and I’m so glad to have you in my life. You see through my charade. I can be myself when I’m around you.”

He thought back on the charity gala, on you wearing that lovely black dress, dancing with him. He thought of holding your hand and pulling you close to him to keep you safe. He thought of your sparkly eyes and delicate lips, and how much he could stare into the former and how badly he wanted to kiss the later.

“Thank you for all you’ve done for me. I guess what I’m trying to say is…”

He thought about how badly he wanted to always be with you. How much he’d love to wake up next to you, feel your skin against his, be able to shout from the rooftops that you’re his and his alone. He thought about dropping to one knee and seeing you walking down an aisle wearing the prettiest of white dresses. He saw a lifetime with you, side by side.

“What I’m trying to say is…”

He thought about Batman.

How he’d have to cancel date after date after date, prioritising the black suit over your relationship. He thought of you getting worried sick when he got home late, frowning as you looked at his scars and bruises. He could see it vividly, how you’d cry and beg him not to leave you, to choose you over the city for once in his life, and how he’d leave you to cry all of your tears as he put the cowl on.

“Is…”

“Is…?” You pressed further, eyes dropping to his lips.

He saw argument after argument, saw you screaming at him, accusing him of not loving you. He saw nights spent in the couch, because you were far too angry to let him in your bed. He saw your sad eyes welling up with tears in the middle of romantic dates after he’d told you he had to go because the bat signal was shining in the night sky. He thought about someone finding his identity and going after you first and foremost. He saw you tied up in some random chair, mouth gagged and tears running down your streak as some criminal tortured you to get to him.

He saw your lifeless body inside a coffin, skin devoid of colour, eyes closed, to never open again, and how he’d spend the rest of his life hating both himself and his mask.

He thought about Bruce Wayne, and Batman.

And he realised you couldn’t possibly love both.

“Is… You’re a great friend. Thank you.” He squeezed your arms in a comforting manner and walked away, leaving you wide eyed and speechless under the mistletoe.

Later, he’d gift you the first edition of your favourite classic novel and wish you goodnight with a polite nod of his head, going up to his bedroom.

Before he went to sleep, he locked the pearl earrings and his mother’s necklace inside his drawer.

Things were awkward between you two. Your friendship with Bruce was still there, but he was sort of distant. Your weekly book club meetings still happened, and he still dropped by your café to drink coffee and try new cupcake recipes, but everything seemed to have changed after Christmas Eve.

So, you tried to move on with your life.

A few weeks after Christmas, your bakery started to work with a new supplier, and you quickly befriended the delivery guy, Tom. While you started to look forward to his visits more and more, it still did not feel the same as when you were with Bruce, and you felt guilty for hanging out with him.

One day, Bruce came in for his regular cup of coffee and a cupcake and found you smiling and giggling at a guy at the counter. His first reaction was to punch the guy to next Sunday, but thankfully he calmed down and approached you with a polite smile on his face.

“Hey there,” he greeted you, not sparing Tom a single glance.

“Oh! Hey Bruce – this is Tom. He’s the delivery guy from the new supplier.” Tom’s eyes nearly popped out of his skull when he realised the Bruce Wayne was standing in front of him and tried his best to shake his hand nonchalantly.

“I’ll be right with you,” you told him, and continued your conversation with Tom.

Fucking Tom. Who even was this guy?

And why were you smiling so much? What the fuck did he have that Bruce didn’t?

Most likely, it was what Bruce didn’t have that make a difference – a mask, a secret identity, a promise made to Gotham.

After you were done chatting with the delivery guy, you placed a cupcake and a cup of coffee in front of Bruce, but instead of sitting down with him, you returned to the counter and resumed your conversation.

Bruce cursed himself mentally.

On Christmas day, after you’d left, Alfred had asked what happened.

Bruce told him everything. How he couldn’t be with you because of Batman, how he couldn’t risk your safety and life, how he pushed you away.

Alfred lectured him, telling his master that his mask was going to be the end of him, but Bruce refused to listen and went to the batcave to busy himself and get his mind off you.

As he looked at you now, radiant and smiling at someone else, he realised that he might’ve made a big, big mistake.

It wasn’t long until you two started dating. It was casual, nothing too serious, but Bruce still seethed on the inside. He found himself staring at you for longer, hands lingering on yours whenever he touched you, and his heart ached more and more whenever he saw you with Tom.

You seemed so happy with him.

Seemed.

Because the truth was, you weren’t doing as well as Bruce thought you were. Tom was a nice man, yeah, but there was something off about the whole thing. He was good looking, yes, and very kind. He listened to you and made you, his priority. He was a dream. But there was just one problem, he wasn’t Bruce.

When you two went out, you often found yourself wishing it was Bruce’s arms wrapped around you. When you two went shopping and you decided to go try on a few hand lotions, Tom simply bent over to sniff your hand, and you were brought back to that time last November when Bruce held you with such gentleness, you nearly melted.

Tom always reminded you to bring a jacket, and you did so diligently, unconsciously put off by the idea of wearing his. He’d once given it to you, and it just wasn’t the same. He didn’t wrap it around you securely, he didn’t brush the hair away from your face, he didn’t look at you the way Bruce did. He was an amazing guy, and you liked him.

But that was it.

Still, you kept your relationship going, hoping your feelings would change.

After all, it’s not like you had ever felt anything for Bruce, right?

He was just a good friend.

You enjoyed spending time with him, sure, but that was it.

So, you looked forward to every time the two of you hung out. And your heartbeat quickened every time he was near. You couldn’t get your eyes off him. You easily got angry or upset whenever other women looked at him, and even more so when he entertained their advances. You longed to have him hold you in your arms.

But that was all normal, right? It just meant you were great friends.

You mind goes back to Christmas Eve, and the way he hugged you. Standing under that mistletoe, there was nothing you wanted more than to kiss him. You remember looking at him and wishing so bad that he would lean down and press his lips against yours. Just friends don’t kiss.

And that’s what you were to him – just a friend. He’d say that himself.

So why were you so heartbroken?

Looking at an empty coffee mug, it suddenly hit you like a train.

You were in love with Bruce Wayne.

And he didn’t love you back.

So there was no need to feel guilty over going out with Tom, right? Even if you didn’t particularly want to kiss him and didn’t want his hands around you when you two went out. Even if you were reluctant to introduce you as “your boyfriend” and had more than once ditched him to stay home and rethink your life decisions.

Even if when the two of you went out on dates, you barely paid any attention to him, focusing on the times you’d sat down with Bruce over a drink and just laughed your asses off and spoke until the crack of dawn.

Even if you didn’t really love Tom.

Yeah. No need at all.

On a lovely April afternoon, you were helping Bruce do some spring cleaning. You were both wearing some casual, old clothes, and helping Alfred to make sure the Manor ended up spotless.

You were currently in charge of the spacious living room, carefully placing picture frames on top of the coffee table so you could clean the fireplace. You looked at the framed memories. Pictures of Bruce as a child, or with his parents. There was one with a young Bruce standing on his father’s shoulders, and another one of him hugging Alfred.

You smiled to yourself. What a cute kid, he was. He seemed so happy.

There were pictures of him with Rachel, knees scraped and clothes dirty from the mud, and some with you. Your gaze lingered on those.

There was one framed selfie with the two of you, faces full of flour and whipped cream. You’d been teaching him how to bake, but the whole ordeal ended up in a small food fight – which he’d won. You chuckled at the memories of trying to teach Mr. “I’m far too rich to cook because I have people to do it for me” how to measure cups of flour, and break eggs. You’d held onto his arms and guided him to make sure he got the measurements just right.

Something inside of you flared up the memory.

The other picture in your hand had been taken at the Carrington gala.

You were wearing your pretty (and extremely expensive) black dress and were smiling at the camera. You were leaning into Bruce’s touch, who was holding you close by the waist. Instead of looking at the camera, he was instead looking at you.

Somehow, tears had clouded your vision.

How you had loved dancing with him. Being held by him as if you were the only person in the world he cared about. Your fingers traced his figure in the picture, and a tear fell down your cheek, falling on top of the glass.

“Hey, are you done with the fireplace?” You jumped at the voice behind you, and dropped the frame, which fell on the floor and broke into a million little pieces.

“Shit!” you mumbled, quick to crouch and try to pick up each glass shard. Bruce was quicker though, and made his way towards you, pulling you away from the soiled floor.

“No, get away from this, you might get hurt. I’ll call Alfred and – “ he looked at you and furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. Tears were streaming down your face, and you couldn’t look away from the mess you had made. “Hey, are you okay?”

“I’m sorry,” you choked back a sob. “I’m so sorry – I broke it.”

“No, no. It’s okay, we’ll just get a new frame.” Bruce assured you, hands resting on your shoulders.

“No – fuck ­– it’s not okay! None of this is okay!” You cried, and he pulled you against his chest, running his fingers through your hair.

“It’s just a frame. We’ll get a new one. And we’ll clean the floor.”

You cried in his arms for a while, until your sobs subsided into quiet sniffs. Bruce didn’t really know what to do, so he stood there, holding you tight. He’d never let you go.

After a while, you broke the silence.

“I – “ sniff, “ – I broke up with Tom,” you mumbled.

Bruce’s expression was one of surprise. Really? Why would you though? You two seemed happy.

“I… I don’t really think I liked him…” you continued; voice muffled by his chest. “I think I was dating him simply because I wanted to forget you…”

What?

He looked at you, but you refused to face him, face pressing harder against his chest.

“I’m such an idiot, Bruce… Everything was fine, and then I went and fell for you… And now our friendship is going to be ruined, and I broke your picture frame…”

Bruce held you tighter. You fell for him?

“I’m sorry, Bruce… I’m so sorry – I promise I’ll fix this. I – I’ll stop loving you and we can go back to being friends, and – “

Bruce used his thumb to lift your face up and looked straight into your eyes. There was nowhere to run. You were trapped, and so was he.

“You love me?” he asked, voice as soft as you’d ever heard it.

You couldn’t bring yourself to say those words out loud, so you opted for nodding.

“But – Tom –“

“Tom was a distraction,” you sniffled, “And I feel terrible about it. But I didn’t really like him. I just wanted to forget about you.”

“You love me,” Bruce repeated, using the same thumb to rub circles on the skin of your cheek. His gaze fell on your lips.

He had two choices. He could let you go once again. He could walk away from you, tell you he didn’t love you back. He could watch as you eventually moved on with your life (this time for real) and protect you from having to choose between Bruce Wayne and Batman.

He could give up the love of his life forever.

Or he could kiss you. He could tell you how he felt. He could trust you with that darker side of him, and you two could figure it out along the way. He could take it easy. He could bare his heart and finally tell you how you felt.

Two sides of him fought against each other, but ultimately, one was stronger.

He bent down and took your lips in his, sliding his hands up to your face to cradle it.

You were surprised to say the least, but pleasantly so. You wrapped your arms around him and kissed him back with vigour, tears of happiness falling down your cheeks. How you’d wanted this. And now, it was finally happening.

When you two parted for air, Bruce refused to let you go, standing mere inches away from you. His nose nuzzled yours, and he whispered a quiet, “I love you.”

You don’t know wat surprised you more. That he’d say it, or that you said it back.

“I love you too,” you smiled, pressing yourself against him and kissing him once again.

Bruce wrapped his arms around you, attempting to convey all his feelings for you in a simple kiss. All the longing, the love, the desire, the friendship. Everything he couldn’t find the words to say, he poured into that kiss. And you smiled, accepting all his confessions, all his words.

“Well, it was about time, don’t you two think?” Alfred said from across the room.

You jumped and just stared at him, embarrassment overtaking you.

“Yes, I’m talking about you two. Do you know how bothersome it was to see you moping around and sulking because you hadn’t kissed her on Christmas Eve, sir?” he asked, crossing his arms.

“I – You wanted to kiss me on Christmas Eve?” you turned to Bruce and gave him a soft smile.

“I did. I really did. I’m so sorry I didn’t.” he replied, before looking at Alfred. “Could you please leave us alone now? I don’t really recall paying you to mind my business.”

“You don’t pay me enough not to, sir.” The butler replied with a cheeky grin and that “I have the high ground, for I am British and old and wise” smug look of his. “I am glad to see the both of you are finally getting along. If you need me, I’ll be cleaning the Manor, since no one in this house does it.”

You laughed and faced Bruce once again, cupping his cheek.

“I thought you didn’t even like me. I mean, on Christmas…”

“I’m sorry about Christmas. I really did want to kiss you, it’s just… There are things about me – things you don’t know. And I’m afraid of telling you because I don’t want you to get hurt.” He replied, hand coming up to touch yours.

“You can tell me anything Bruce, you know it. Right?”

He nodded, and hugged you close one more time.

“I do. And I love you. I really mean it.”

Bruce could hear the smile in your voice when you replied.

“I love you too.”

For once in his life, Bruce Wayne did not feel completely alone. On the next room, he had his trusted butler, who had raised him as his own and acted like a parental figure all these years. And in his arms, he had you. The love of his life, the woman he loved the most in the world.

Holding you close to him, he knew he could trust you, no matter what. He knew you’d accept him, because if anyone would, it was you. And he would cherish that forever.

Later that night, a small white box was taken out of a locked drawer and placed inside of his pocket.

Bruce led you to the same spot you’d been on Christmas Eve, handed you the small box, and after carefully placing the necklace around your neck, finally kissed you.

There was no way he was ever letting go of you.

A/N: And that's it! I hope I was able to do both this trilogy and this request justice, I was really worried about it. I wrote most of it in one sitting, you have no idea, I just kept on writing and writing and writing and when I realised it, it'd gotten kinda long and out of hand.

I also hope this Tom character wasn't useless? I mean, he sorta was, he was just a plot device, but I hope he didn't feel rushed or whatever.

Anyways, I hope you guys liked it! I really do!

Have an amazing day, everyone! <3

#bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne x y/n #bruce wayne x you #bale!bruce wayne #bale!batman x reader #bale!batman #bale!bruce wayne x reader #the dark knight #the dark knight trilogy #nolanverse #the dark knight fanfiction #the dark knight fanfic #nolanverse fanfiction #bruce wayne fanfiction #batman fanfiction #batman x fem!reader #bruce wayne x fem!reader

[ego-meliorem-esse]

I have drawn so much baby Matt and Al recently god damn...

Is it a baby fever of do am I just fascinated by the different experiences of these two brothers. Who knows. Anyway,

For Alfred, I headcanon Arthur to have been very hands on in regard to raising his son. Very present but also very much teaching him how to be self reliant and, for the lack of better wording, independent. As a child, Alfred was wery inquisitive and curious. Arthur encouraged that, be it consciously or subconsiously. Arthur would play a huge role in Alfreds development; even when sickness struck young Alfred, Arthur was the one taking charge and staying up with him, making sure his son gets better. During the worst times, Arthur even dismissed all maids and even his sons governess out of frustration. Bc who could ever take better care of his own son than he himself. I have a habit of writing that Arthur does not consider himself a good man, but I do think he is a good father. At least to his firstborn.

This is a sort of continuation of the ask about Arthurs full on menty breaky after the constant infant death Alfred endured in his earliest days (If I find the ask I'll link it). I just wanted Arthur tired and beaten down finding peace in sleep. While at the same time, while he sleeps, Alfreds fever drops.

Matt didn't get the same parenting from François. Arthur may be a good father, but I don't think François was. At least not affectionate enough. He did buy his son presents and even made sure he got the best education. However, was that something he did for Matt or was he expected to do that as a pompous aristocrat? Even when sick, Matthew didn't make much noise. He only let people know how bad it was when he was truly ill and crossing the border of life and death. Though, the person holding Matt and making sure he survived was his governess, Marie. François would stay up and would sent for the doctors, but it was Marie who understood what Matthew needed and wanted at any given moment. She stayed with him for almost 40 years but, due to nations having a much longer childhood, died without being remembered by the boy she cared for and loved so very much.

The person who cared most for Matthew is a person he does not remember.

(I wanna elaborate on Marie some more I love her and she deserves it lol)

Anyway, sorry for the baby spamming I promise to go back to drawing slutty middle aged men in war scenarios ASAP

#hetalia #hws america #hws england #hws canada #hws france #historical hetalia #myart #my art #francois bonnefoy #francis bonneofoy #arthur kirkland #alfred f jones #matthew williams #this did not take as long as i thought it would i cranked these pics out in 2 days god bless #i love procrastinating when i should be studying #my headcanons

[fabdante]

@zutaraweek day 3: union

a little follow up to this comic i did last year. i really liked the idea of union in a political context and this was a very round about way of that. like, a little tongue in cheek with all the different kids from different nations just sort of talking and gossiping together. teens doing teen stuff despite their high profile roles in society, that type of thing.

initially this comic was a lot more ambitious but some complications happened in my life which made me have to chip away at a lot of it. such as having it in full color, with backgrounds. there's been a lot of thought put into the world of the chief kya au, though! particularly related to yue that is not featured at all asdfghjk.

the more i worked on it, the more i got worried zuko might be a little ooc. but i was a bit inspired by crystal catacombs and the softness he had there. whenever i try to write him in this au, he's just usually just happy to be around katara so i'm just going to let him do what he wants.

Anyway, a transcript along with brief image descriptions is beneath the cut under my obligatory art links as well as in the alt text of the art!

art only blog - insta - inprnt - redbubble

Page 1: Zuko and Katara are at a gathering for those invited to the peace accords which seems to be more packed then usual.

Katara: Wow, there’s a lot of people here Zuko: Yeah. There’s a lot of people this year. K: I don’t recognize anyone yet. Z: Oh! I can help you. Z: That’s Mai. Her father is an official. Z: She’s Suki. Leader of the Kyoshi Warriors. Z: And next to her is- K: Yue!

Page 2: Katara and Yue hug and the teens (Zuko, Yue, Katara, and Suki) all chat.

Yue: Katara! K: I missed you! Y: I’m so happy to see you! have never spoken more than hellos was just trying to chat with Yue awkward turtle duck Z: So you do know someone. K: We’ve known each other since we were kids. Lu Ten: Prince Zuko?

Page 3: Lu Ten appears, Yue and Suki gossip, and Katara's a bit sad as Zuko leaves with Lu Ten to handle business elsewhere.

Z: Lu Ten? L: Sorry to interrupt, but can I steal you? Z: Is it important? L: Unfortunately. L: They seem nice. I’m happy you’re making friends.

Page 4: The girls gossip and Mai overhears.

Y: I didn’t know you knew Zuko. Suki: Yeah. Do you know anything about the scar? K: I don’t really know him. We just met. What do you guys know? Mai: No one actually knows. M: About the scar. They kept it quiet.

Page 5: There's a small flashback to Zuko at 14 after receiving his scar, the girls continue to talk, and there's a final panel of Ozai, alluding to a family secret.

M: He just went away for a while. And then he came back and there it was. M: That’s all anyone knows. Except Zuko. K: That’s awful. There has to be more. M: Well…people have some suspicions.

#zutara #zutara week #zutara week 2023 #prince zuko #katara #zuko #atla #avatar #avatar the last airbender #my art

[poordeadsejanus]

tigris hating the new snow (colour symbolism + minor meta from this scene)

i'm so deeply obsessed with so many of the colour choices in tbosas movie.... like wow! one day i'll talk more about them, but one i want to pull out and talk about right now is tigris' colour scheme in her last scene. the one where she's wearing this:

(the picture is not great quality, i'll update this when i have a pic that's more than 2 pixel lol, but it shows what we need to see)

she's got on a light purple/lavender dress with dark blue stripes. blue and purple are usually associated with wealth and royalty (given the historic complications that came with producing them).

purple is especially representative of royalty and wealth, and tigris' outfit is mostly purple, symbolizing the new (wealthy) life that she's found herself in.

blue, along with it's other meanings is associated with melancholy. we know that tigris is unhappy/heartbroken/disappointed with snow's changes, so this link makes sense. it is also a passive colour, showing us that she is passive in coryo's transformation into snow -- there's not much that she can do about it anyway, but i digress. the deepness of the blue implies something tumultous, which gives us an insight into what she's likely feeling: relief at being out of poverty, happiness for coryo's success, but a deep sense of uncertainty and unease at this new snow persona that he's adopted. finally, it can also a colour of peace, which i take to mean that she's sort of made peace with what she cannot change about him, regardless of how she may feel about it.

now we get to the standout of this outfit: the red lip!

usually we see tigris is lip colours that are complimentary to the other colours she has on from what i recall; when she wears pink, her lips are pink, when she's got on dark magentas her lip colour matches/compliments it. the red lip here is clearly an intentional choice as it is a contrasting colour that stands out brightly against the mostly subdued/cool-toned rest of the outfit.

red can be recognized as the colour of passion and anger. the fact that it is on her mouth is certainly trying to show us something. what she says to snow here is "you look just like your father, coriolanus". it is clearly a dig, clearly meant with negative intent, with anger. she is heated! this is the little boy she grew up with, that she protected, that she loved and he's morphing into something sinister before her very eyes. if it wasn't clear by what she said, the subtext behind it, and the way that she said it, the red lip indicates her anger here.

it stands out as a little piece of rebellion against just accepting snow the way he is. she is clothed in colours that show her wealth and complacency with the changes that caused them, but she isn't entirely willing to let it go all the way.

also, she wears warmer colours for a lot of the movie -- pinks and the like -- and now she's in more cool tones, which is an obvious choice being made. she loves coryo (perhaps not snow so much), and she is letting herself be swallowed up by this new life (symbolized by the royal colours and new wealth), but she has that little bit of her that is clinging to the past, that wants her coryo back.

her (minor) dissent against snow is verbal, it is subtle and not exactly obvious to anyone except her and him, in the same way that the red lip is a subtle way of emphasizing her displeasure with this new snow.

she chooses her words very carefully, tailoring them to be a direct referral to her convo with coryo after the arena ("i know you wanna be like your father, but, what i remember the most about him, was that in his eyes it was just hate. you don’t have to pay the same price just to survive. people can be good. you can be good"). snow is like his father, who tigris remembers most as having hate in his eyes. coryo didn't have to pay the same price just to survive, he could be good, but he paid that price anyway.

in the full quote from her last scene, tigris says "i think you look just like your father, coriolanus." This stuck out to me because I don't really remember her ever calling him by his full name often (maybe just at the start when we get the "future president of panem" thing). it seems like perhaps he insisted on; he's not coryo anymore, he's coriolanus snow -- no, he's snow; it could also be something tigris did intentionally. either way, it shows that he is not her precious, still-able-to-be-good coryo anymore.

another interesting thing from this scene is her positioning. she does not rise for him, instead remains sitting at her sewing machine (someone look back and see if its a new machine or if she's using the same one as before!!). she does not rise to greet him happily like the Grandma'am, she remains seated, clearly showing her displeasure at the new snow. plus, usually rising when someone enters a room shows respect; tigris does not rise, ergo she does not respect him!

this also makes me believe that she is not making his clothes anymore (she's at the sewing machine, clearly she can make the clothes, but he grabs the coat out of the closet, showing that it's not a tigris snow original creation). it's a contrast to how we first see adult tigris, rushing up to coryo with a shirt she made/modified. now she keeps her distance and doesn't give him clothes. this shows that huge huge huge pit growing between them. once again, this is not her coryo anymore.

i'd assume that she initially was offering to make/alter his clothes, but somewhere along the way he refused. it's a sign of the hard times when all he had to wear was too-small shoes and potato-starched shirts sneaked in with curtains to be bleached. buying new clothes shows power and wealth and coriolanus' 'impeccable, well-bred, respectable taste' that comes from being a snow.

regardless of the how, she's not doing his clothes anymore, she's displeased over the new snow, he's not her baby coryo anymore, and the distance between them has never been bigger, not even when he was all the way in 12.

#the ballad of songbirds and snakes #the ballad of songbirds and snakes meta #tbosas #tbosas meta #coriolanus snow #tigris snow #tigris snow meta #coriolanus snow meta #panem #panem fashion #the capitol #president snow #coryo #snow lands on top #suzanne collins #thg meta #thg #mine

[sevsdollette]

Not So Sweet [Sevika x fem reader]

ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/49324864/chapters/124546213#workskin

content warning: still smut. (MDNI) they’re at the brothel this time. fingering, edging, strap on. bondage and like dub con, i guess? obviously reader is into it but Sevika just kinda does what she wants with her to teach her a lesson. brat taming.

summary: It seems like she’s not a customer anymore. Your night could’ve been peaceful, and surely your coworkers would be jealous of you taking their business.

chapters:

1. Relaxing Night

2. A Long Night at Work

note: this one’s fun. tell me why i cared enough about zaun currency to read a reddit post to learn about it. probably still got it wrong too bc i skimmed :/ still in love with her and trying to include more backstory. the reader is like very much based on my arcane oc because why not? it’s my writing i do what i want. also i just really like that story so i want to put it out there. anyway, this one is like just all smut. not much fluff, sorry, but the next one will have plenty of playful banter. hope you like :) (proofread? never heard of her)

—————— 18+ ——————

Life at Babette’s wasn’t nearly as bad as some could picture it. The job itself already gave you a place to sleep—a roof over your head. You were at a point where you were worth enough that only tolerable customers came through. Sure, you had your share of creeps, but most were clean and civilized.

Babette was like your family at this point. You’d been working for her since you turned 18. She had been promising you a job for years before that but wouldn’t allow it until you were old enough. The enforcers would take one look at a minor in her house and arrest her, even if you weren’t working. The day you turned 18, you got off the street.

The worst part was the enforcers. They would raid the place, looking for any drop of shimmer or illegal coins. Some were just trying to do their job. Others would pin you to the ground and cuff you if you blinked at one of them wrong. They’d have their fun teasing you, trashing your room “searching” for illegal activity, before spitting on you and leaving with nothing.

In another life, you were a fighter. In that life, you’d had your fair share of enforcer blood on your hands.

But in this one, you were already too beaten down to care.

Piltover had taken everything from you, much like it did to everyone else. You were one of the only workers that didn’t accept Topside clients. They could go fuck themselves; they didn’t need your help.

That was part of the reason fucking Sevika gratified you so much. It made you feel like you were really pissing off the enforcers, screwing the crime ring’s best fighter. You were helping her grow her forearm strength that night.

You hadn’t run into her since that night. It had been about a week and you’d been lying low. You never knew with those sorts of situations. People could always have ulterior motives. Besides, the lesser known brothel down the road had been raided a couple days ago and you were preparing for the day they came to you.

Sevika surely intrigued you. Given the chance, you would fuck her again, but you knew the likelihood of that. She was too important to hook up with the same person twice. She had every woman in the undercity at her disposal. You were just a whore.

—

The night was still young as you sat up after your last client. They were an excited couple that was much too interested in having a third.

Some of the party left a little disappointed.

In the end, the husband was just watching you take care of his wife. The idea made you chuckle even now.

On your bedside table was your payment. Five silver and two bronze. They didn’t tip well.

Your room at Babette’s was one of the largest there. Lavish curtains hung from the ceiling like it was a deep purple and black circus tent. Silver beading and faux gems hung around the banisters of your canopy bed. The lighting came from low lamps and dripping candles scattered around the room.

The bed, of course, was the centerpiece. It was even on a raised platform compared to the rest of the room. It was a large king with the softest silk a Zaunite could ever touch. There were secret hooks and straps hidden on the sides for easy access, and the bedside tables were packed full of toys.

Other than the bed, There was a small lounge sofa, a mirror, a long plush rug, and a swing. There were other small pieces of furniture around like cushion chairs and little tables, but nothing to be paid attention to.

You got used to your feet and walked down to the other half of the room. You approached the mirror, checking if they left any marks and if they messed up your makeup too badly.

Everything seemed good, and you checked the rest of you. You were wearing a tight black velvet corset with a straight neckline that pressed your chest up. It was part of an underwear set that connected to garters and thigh-high stockings. Your heels had been tossed somewhere around the room, and you didn’t care to find them.

On the coffee table beside the sofa was your mask, which you promptly slid back on. It was simple black and covered down to the tip of your nose. Thin silver laced the edges.

You fell onto the couch, lying across it like a luxurious woman and not an undercity whore. You had the glamor of a woman from Piltover but not the reputation.

You closed your eyes, taking this brief moment of silence. Of course, you could hear the distant sounds that came along with the job. Erotic noises came from nearly every room around, but they blended in after so many years of being there. Someone was always laughing, screaming, moaning, and weeping.

A moment later you rang a bell for the interns to come in and change your bedsheets. They did so quickly and left without saying a word. You were glad. They were a bitchy bunch trying to take your job. All because they thought they were hotter, prettier, or more skilled.

They weren’t.

Out in the hall you heard someone approaching in clicking heels. The curtains to your room slid open, and your coworker Zanira poked her head inside. Her eyes were wide, and she looked around for you somewhat frantically. “Babe, you’ve got a customer coming.”

“Okay.” Your brow furrowed at her. Usually there wasn’t an odd warning before a customer. They just walked on in. You blinked at Zanira. “Let them through?” You didn’t know how to respond in such a random interaction.

Zanira pursed her lips, obviously wanting to say something, but she just nodded and closed the curtain. Her heels clicked as she walked away, and heavy footsteps replaced hers. They were getting louder.

The curtains rustled, being pushed open for the large frame that entered.

A sly smile spread on your face as you watched her look around for you. When her dark, gray eyes met yours, you cooed, “Come back for more?”

When you heard her footsteps you assumed it was some ghastly man coming through for a quick fuck. This was a pleasant surprise. Though, whatever state she left you in would surely impact how the rest of your workday went.

Sevika pulled the curtains closed and clipped them shut. You followed every movement of hers, focusing on how her fingers flexed as she tied the curtains shut. “I heard you’re an expensive one,” she said, eyes sliding back over to meet yours.

You nodded proudly. “It takes a golden hex to get me to do anything.” It took you years to earn your reputation.

“Hm.” She looked over all your furniture, analyzing what the two of you had at your disposal. “What’ll you do for three?”

You smiled mockingly, cooing, “Fall in love with you.”

She rolled her eyes. “Then I’m glad I only have two.”

You scoffed. You didn’t need her attitude if that’s all she was here to give. “What brings you here? My girl looked a little alarmed when she saw you coming through.”

Her brow creased and she turned fully to face your side of the room. “Am I not allowed to be here? I come all the time.”

“Yes, but you usually stay with the more… docile of our servers.”

She liked submissives. You’d heard their cries every now and then when you knew she was around. When you would speak to them and they’d mention her, they’d whisper with blush in their cheeks and a prudishness to their words.

You were no such doe.

“Come here and I'll show you why.”

You cocked one eyebrow. “I’m not moving until I see money.”

For just a moment, her strong demeanor faltered. Did she really expect you to crack like that? It was almost cute. She was disappointed. You weren’t like the easy sluts down the hall that listened to her every beck and call.

“What?” You pulled yourself up by the back of the sofa. You now sat across it like a model. It was enchanting and you knew it. “You think just because we hooked up at a bar that you don’t have to pay me?”

That was an off-the-clock fuck for fun. For actual pleasure. If she found you while you were in this room, she had to pay you. There was no premium pass just because of what happened in the back room of the Last Drop.

Though, you wanted her. Half of your brain said “so what? Whatever will happen will be worth much more than whatever she’ll pay you”. The way she stared down at you made you hot. She was there for one reason, and, hell, you wanted to make sure she got what she came for.

“You weren’t asking for payment the other night. Say, by the way you looked I doubt you even remembered what a hex looked like at the time.”

Images of what the two of you had done came flooding back (as if they ever left), and you pressed your thighs together slightly.

Still, curtly, you asked, “Is that so?” You faked a pout. “I wouldn’t be so sure. Your vulnerability is showing, Sevika. Don’t be so desperate, now.”

Her face hardened into stone, and she looked down at you with stern eyes. You would be lying if you didn’t say it excited you. This little game the two of you played was pure entertainment.

She stalked over to you and stopped when she stood above you. You stayed lying back, acting as cool as could be. She leaned down, placing one finger under your chin to tilt your face up to meet her eyes. She didn’t smile as she said, “You’re real cute when you act like you’re in charge.” She pointed across the room. “In bed. Now.”

A shallow breath fell from your lips and, yeah, just like she said, you couldn’t even remember what money was. You wanted her again—you needed her.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Fuck, you’d make up the money some other way.

You stood up, slipping past her as she ran her hand down your back and watched you go. Her gaze was like glue to your backside, you could tell.

“And get rid of that fucking mask.”

You threw it to the floor.

You crawled into your bed, pushing the covers back and sitting up by the pillows. Across the room, Sevika walked over slowly, pretending to be interested in everything else in the room but you.

When she reached the bed, She stood at one of the banisters, leaning against it and crossing her arms.

“What’s wrong?” You cocked your head to the side. “Water too cold for you?”

She shook her head. “Not at all.” She gestured to all of you. “I want you to touch yourself.”

Her tone had you wishing you would listen to her. She did something to you no other fuck did. Just the way she raked her eyes down your body made you shiver. But you couldn’t let her know that.

��Why should I do that?”

“Because I’m not doing anything to you until you do, and if you don’t start listening to me when I tell you the first time, we’re going to have some problems.”

“Then I guess we have problems.” You stuck your bottom lip out, mocking her.

She sighed, raking her hand through her hair. She looked back down at you. “Come here.”

You crawled forward, stopping at the edge of the bed where she was and getting up on your knees to meet her eye level.

“Oh, but you’ll listen to me now?”

You smiled. “I choose what I want to do.”

“Yeah, alright.” She wrapped her hand around your throat. “I thought you learned your lesson last time. Now, I’m losing faith in you.”

She squeezed just tight enough to have you dizzy. You grasped her forearm, leveling yourself and she held you up just slightly. Excitement riddled your body and you felt yourself getting wet. You wondered how much longer until you broke.

“And, gods, you’re gonna have to stop talking,” she growled, getting close enough to your face that you could smell her.

“But—“

She pressed a metal finger to your lips. “No.”

You swallowed a boulder. Her grip on your neck was starting to have you see stars. It was heavenly. She leaned in, but flinched back when you tried to do the same. She held an ironic, menacing grin as she held you still and kissed you.

It felt like a wash of relief. As much as you were playing to cool, you wanted her so badly. Your panties were ruined and soon you would be too. The heat in your core was nearly unbearable.

Her hand squeezed just the slightest bit tighter around your throat and she had you gasping. You clawed at her forearm and she continued to kiss you, sliding her tongue beside yours. Instead of letting you win, she took one of your frantic hands and brought it down to your underwear, encouraging you.

The room was rocking and spinning around you. Sevika kept you wrapped in her kiss as your shaky hand slipped into your underwear and you dragged one finger through your folds.

A strangled moan ruptured your kiss. Sevika moved to kiss your cheek, jaw, and then your neck as your fingers began to circle your clit. The feelings together were the perfect mix, and you felt yourself relaxing into her touch. Despite this being only your second time together, she knew exactly where to drag her teeth to have you moaning into her ear.

She took her hand from your throat, caressing it down your body as her metal arm kept you firm in her grasp. You needed it. You kept a slow, torturous pace on yourself and it was starting to make you weak. You’d finish soon if you weren’t careful.

Sevika kissed down your neck and across your collar. Her arm hooked around your waist and reached for the laces of your corset. “How do I get this off of you?”

You could hardly think with your hand still massaging your clit. With your free hand, you reached behind yourself and felt around for the right tie.

She was impatient, taking her sharp metal finger and slicing through every row of laces.

“Sev!”

The corset fell off your front and she pushed it out from between the two of you. She stared down at your breast, taking one in her hand as she muttered, “I’ll get you a new one.” She rolled your nipple between her fingers, having you sigh. “Now, shut up.”

“You can’t make me—“

Her lips caught you in another kiss and she led you to lie down on your back. She moved you so the two of you were lying properly in the bed.

You could feel your orgasm coming. You rubbed your clit faster as she seemed distracted with your breast. She dragged her lips down your body and took one of your nipples in her mouth. She ran her teeth over the sensitive skin, sucking it into her mouth. The sensations of all your pleasures made you feel electrified and you could stop from moaning her name.

You were expecting a boring night. But this was anything but that. her figure over yours was enough alone to send you over the edge. Just to know that you were in her arms, being ordered around by her, being punished by her, was maddening. You felt dizzy even without her hand around your throat.

Just as you thought you were going to cum, she pulled your hand out of your panties.

“But…” Your eyes got lost in hers.

“You really don’t stop talking,” she grumbled. You watched as she leaned over and pulled one of the drawers of your nightstand open. Excitement fluttered in your stomach as you wondered what she was grabbing.

She came back with a cloth tie. She sat back between your legs, holding it up menacingly. “Maybe this’ll help you shut up.”

Before you could protest, she was wrapping it around your head and tying it tight enough that you couldn’t speak. The gag pressed into your mouth and you bit down on it with as much attitude as you could, glaring back at her.

“There,” she smiled. “So much prettier when you’re quiet.”

You spit curse at her through the cloth, only becoming more irritated as she nodded along mockingly. As if she could understand every gargled word. Her grin only widened with every nasty word.

Her coarse hands ran over your ribs, reaching around you to flip you over on your stomach. “Stay there.”

And before you could jerk your hands up to move or untie the cloth, she had your wrists pinned behind your back. They fit between the grasp of her calloused palm snugly and she held you still.

She was reaching over again, grabbing another tie to keep your wrists together. “I wouldn’t have to do this if you were more obedient.”

You lay there, completely at her disposal, as she picked up your hips and moved them where she wanted. You were on your knees, shoulders and face pressed into your sheets, and growing wetter by the second. Your clit still pulsed from your fingers, and you needed her to touch you.

Everything she did to you was different and electrifying. Hundreds of people came to visit you but none knew how to touch you like she did.

You turned your head to one side, craning your neck to see her behind you. She was pulling her shirt off and then her bra. It was an entrancing sight, watching the muscles in her shoulders and neck move to pull the clothes over her head. Her brow was tense with focus as she dropped her things off the side of the bed.

You looked at her bare figure, nearly moaning just at the sight of her. You needed to see her pants come off too, but she was done, looking back at you with a hooded stare. She was devouring you with her eyes. it sent a shiver up your spine.

She leaned over you, pressing her chest against your back as she pressed a kiss to the side of your neck. Her breath was hot against your bare neck, and the sound of her breathing so close to your ear made your core drip. She groaned as you pushed your ass up against her hips, her teeth biting down on the back of your shoulder.

Her hands ran down the sides of your torso, dragging her fingertips over your skin to make you shiver. Her hands rubbed the underside of your breasts, massaging your soft mounds.

She cupped your breast in her hands, pressing them against her palms as she pinched your nippled between her fingers. A sigh fell from you as you continued to grind your hips back against hers.

One hand moved down your front, toying with the edge of your panties as she bullied your nipple until it was sure to bruise.

“You don’t need these, do you?” She asked.

Before you could even try to respond, she was ripping through the fabric and pulling it off you. She discarded the tatters before slipping her hand back down and diving into your sensitive folds.

“Mm,” she hummed, collecting your slick on her fingers. “So fucking wet, and I was starting to worry you didn’t like me.”

The tips of her fingers began to push into your entrance, causing you to relax into the mattress as a moan slipped past your clenched teeth. Her two fingers curled inside of you, her palm rubbing your clit as she set a slow and burning pace.

The cool metal of her arm slid around your hip, guiding you to ride her fingers. She forced you to comply with her slow pace though you wanted to rest your finish so badly. With every curl of her fingers, she pressed hard against your most sensitive spot. Your soft walls tensed around her hand, dripping down her knuckles as she left a hickey on your upper back, right where your muscle met your neck.

It was hot and painfully slow how you rutted against her hand. A slow moan slipped from you as she tugged at your sore nipple once more. She rolled it in her fingertips, massaging your soft tissue as she rubbed your clot against the bone of her palm.

“You’re so fucking nasty, baby,” she groaned. “Can’t believe I’m fucking a whore like you.”

A blush spread across your face as you whined, grinding your hips faster to try and get her to speed up. You cried her name with a demand to get her to do what you wanted, but it only came out as a string of muffled grumbles.

“What was that?” Her voice was laced with teasing pleasure. It was dripping with amusement. She pulled her fingers out a bit just to shove them back in harshly, having you suck in a hard breath. “You’ve got something in your mouth, babe. I can’t understand you.” She said it so plainly it was like you didn’t already know. Like you were just that fucking stupid.

She seemed to be taking pity on you, ravishing in the way you squirmed when she went faster. Her assault was unwavering as the pleasure spread throughout your body.

Heat shot to your head as you felt your orgasm coming. Your body was frantic, trying to grind and ride her hand just the way you needed to finish. Stray curses and moan were muted by the gag. The cloth was now soaked with your spit and drying out your tongue.

“What’s that?” She taunted, “You’re close, aren’t you?” Her gravelly voice right by your ear. You nodded quickly, face rubbing against the mattress as your eyes snapped open to look at her. The hair was falling out of her ponytail and curling over her forehead as she hovered behind you, close to your neck.

The constant rubbing of her fingers inside of you had you hardly hearing her. The room was filled with your strangled, muffled moans as all you could focus on was chasing your finish.

As quickly as you felt the orgasm coming, she pulled her fingers out of your soaked cunt. The sudden loss of sensation had you twisting under her, hard and angered words spat through the gag as you flared back at her.

“Hey—hey!” She gripped you by the hair on the back of your neck, tugging your face up to look her in her eyes. “Don’t be suck a fucking brat. You’ll get what you want, be patient.”

Your hair slipped through her fingers as she dropped your head back down onto the mattress. Your face smushed into the sheet as your lower half went cold. She moved off of you, once again reaching into your nightstand to find something else.

Your eyes widened as she pulled out a strap that was bigger than one that had ever been inside of you. That one was only for you to use on other people. You didn’t think it could fit in you.

Her name was butchered through the gag as you tried to get her attention. She was too busy pulling the harness over her hips to care about your worries.

Her pants had already been dropped to the floor, and you fought your hardest to break your wrists from the tie she’s put them in. You wanted to feel the strong hacks of her thighs. Her plain black underwear was low on her hips, revealing how far her deep purple scars went down her body.

“Sev…”

Her eyes flicked up to you. Her face was shadowed with lust. Even if you could tell her that would be too much, she wouldn’t listen. You could still see your juices on her two fingers as she walked back over to the bed, crawling behind you.

“I know,” she assured, rubbing your ass and hip. “You’ll be okay, baby. I know you can take it. You talk a lot of shit, but I see right through you. You like it when I treat you like this.”

Your fingers clenched as you tried to pull your wrists free. She only took it as an opportunity to reach down and kiss your knuckles gently. As if she was trying to be chivalrous and sweet.

A final snarky remark was spat into the gag, and this one was louder than the last. A sharp sting spread across your ass as she spanked you. “Watch your fucking mouth.”

Your eyes squeezed shut as she smacked you again, the pain tingling under your skin. It lingered as she adjusted behind you and began to rub her cock through your soaked folds.

The cold silicone made you shiver and whine into the mattress. She eased you into the feeling, but soon enough she was pressing the tip against your entrance. So covered in your slick, the tip pushed into your puffy pussy with more ease than you expected, but soon the stretch became painful.

A sharp cry broke through the gag as she continued to abuse your cunt. Every time you thought all of it was in you, she pushed just one inch more. Finally, the base of her cocker your entrance and you whimpered at the fullness. There was no more you could’ve fit if she tried. Your walls clenched around her and you pushed your hips into her to convince her to move.

Perhaps her teasing was over because she complied, pulling out and rocking back into you. She found a rhythm that you could keep up with, your thighs shaking and tensing as she thrust you again and again.

The tie around your wrists was beginning to strain the muscle in your shoulders and wrists. Your head pressed to the side made your neck crane and cramp as you were pushed harder into your bed. So fucked out, the pain was hardly noticed compared to the coursing, heated pleasure thy she sent through your core, all the way into your lower belly.

You would’ve stayed there forever. The bed creaked with every thrust of her hips, hitting against the wall as she muttered a mix of cruel and sweet saying to you to coax you along.

At some moment, she moved behind you slightly and slowed her pace. Your worries grew and you thought she was denying you your finish again, but she soon began her cruel humping again.

“Here, sweetheart,” she cooed, leaning down so you could see her. In her hand were her two hexes. “Take it.”

You glared up at her, wrists writhing in their tie.

“Come on,” she urged, holding her hand closer to your face so you could really see the money she was going to give you. “You can’t have it unless you take it from me.”

She jerked her hips into you harder, making the strap shove further into your cunt. She had you groaning, face smushed further into your pillow.

Through the bag came a muffled “fuck you”, and she frowned at you pitifully. She shrugged, moving out of your gaze and dropping the coins somewhere on her clothes.

She thrust roughly into you again. “I think you should just give up on this bratty act. I like you a lot more when you’re broken and fucked out underneath me.”

Sure, she was talking to you, but you weren’t listening. One of her hands had snaked down to your front and was rubbing tight circles around your clit. Together, her stimulation and rutting was quickly driving you to your finish.

If you could talk, you would beg. The pleasure was too overwhelming for you to come up with any bite. You needed to cum. You needed her to take you there.

Your peak was approaching fast. and she could tell from the way your hips pushed back into her more sloppily than before. It was a frantic attempt to finish before she could stop you.

“Come on, baby girl, you can cum.”

That was all you needed, her deep voice pushing you over the she as you keened, going limp into the bed as your orgasm shot through you. It came in heated waves that had you crying for her.

She was kind and slowed with your finish. The ribbed sides of the dildo beginning to burn as she slowly pushed in once more time. Then, she pulled out, rubbing the muscle in your shoulder as she sighed.

Her hand slipped up to undo the gag at the back of your head. Your limp body had her pulling the cloth out from under the other side of your head as you spat it out of your mouth.

A thick breath heaved from your lungs as you licked your dry lips. “Give me a break.”

She lifted an eyebrow.

Your nose wrinkled. With the nastiest, most disrespectful tone you could, you spat out a “please”.

She shook her head, smiling to herself. “Okay, baby, I’ll give you a break while I untie you.”

“What if I run?” You hissed. She loosened the tie around your wrists, and you immediately pulled your hands free, rolling your wrists as you pushed yourself up onto shaky arms.

“You couldn’t even if you tried,” she said, helping you roll over onto your back.

You stared up at her, the hair sticking to her forehead, her chest rising with her heavy breaths, and the imprint of a wet spot on her underwear. The sheen on her broad shoulders and biceps was entrancing as you were lost in the sight of her as she leaned down to kiss you softly.

Her hot tongue slipped against yours as you whined against her lips, cradling her face in your hands. She rubbed her palms down your hips, adjusting your legs and spreading your thighs as she brushed the sticky strap against your core again.

A weak sigh slid between your mouths as you braced yourself to take her again. You were sore, but as the dildo rubbed against your clit, you were alight with arousal once more.

She frowned. “I’m sorry, but I’m not done ruining you, sweetheart. I want to see you cry on my cock.”

She sunk deep back into you, having you a heaving mess under her. “Now,” she began. “Do you think you can stay quiet without this?” She held up the gag, looking down at you with an expectant gaze.

You let out a heavy breath. As it fell out of you, you realized she’d won. You were too tired and fucked out to bite back. All you wanted now was for her to take care of you. You’d do anything to keep her here with you.

“Good girl.” She rubbed her thumb across your cheek. “See? You can behave.”

She pulled out just enough to ram back in. Your mind was lost in the heat of her. You were ready to beg if need be. You just couldn’t focus on anything but the feeling of her fucking into you.

Your hands, still sore from the tie, pressed against her collar and chest. Her skin was softer than expected, and slick with her sweat. You reached between your bodies and cupped her soft breast, massaging it gently. She moaned into your skin, rutting into you so the strap stimulated her clit just as much as she pleasured you.

You were so full, her cock so thick as she rubbed the ribbed sides against your abused walls. You wrapped your legs around her, pulling her closer as you ran your hands through her hair.

Her lips met yours in another heated, hungry kiss. She was nearly desperate, spit mixing with yours as she thrust harder and you whined against her mouth. Her teeth nipped at your bottom lip. She rested on one elbow, hand threading through your hair as her metal fingers gripped your thigh to keep you tight against her.

She wasn’t focused on your pleasure, humping against you just so she could feel the strap rub against her clit and get her off. She used you as a fucktoy to reach her climax, being ceaseless in her own pace.

The idea of it made you feel close regardless. The fact that you were her’s and she used you however she wanted had warmth spreading through your core and sparking to your clit.

Your eyes began to sting as tears built at the edges. It was a flood of sensations that had you moaning and crying out as she kissed you again.

“You’re okay, sweet girl. You look so beautiful right now.”

She bit down on your neck so hard you were worried she’d draw blood. Your makeup was running down your face as tears collected in your eyes from the overwhelming pleasure. You tugged at her hair, having her moan against your skin.

You met her hips, trying to persuade her rhythm to please you, but she only pushed your hips down harder. “Stay still, baby, I’m close,” she groaned. Her incessant thrust only hurt, smacking against your cervix as she chased her high.

Another wave of arousal rolled through your body as her chest pressed against yours, her nipples pressed into your skin and breasts. It didn’t take much longer before she became a mess above you, moaning loudly in your ear as she jumped her cock into you quickly to satisfy her finish.

Stray whispers of praise fell from her lips as she continued to thrust into you, wanting to see you cum and you were close. Shivers shot down your spine as she dragged her lips across your jaw, and your orgasm came on suddenly, having you shake and your vision go white. You screamed, nails digging into her shoulder as your pleasure overtook you.

She hushed you, hand rubbing your hip to coax you down from your high. Heavy breath heaved through your chest as you lay there, hot and thoroughly fucked as she helped you come back to her. Your eyes cracked back open, finding her looking down at you gently with a slight crease in her brow.

“You there, doll?”

You smiled, nodding as she rubbed her thumb across your bottom lip. Sharp exhales still shot through you as you relaxed against the bed and in her arms.

She pulled out slowly, easing out as you but your lip from the sensation. You watched as she took the harness off. She came back with a cloth and wiped the insides of your thighs.

“Why can’t you be this nice all the time,” you jested, pushing her shoulder gently with one foot.

She scoffed, laughing lightly. “I could say the same thing to you.”

You made an annoyed sound in your throat, brushing her off as she got back up. The mattress shifted with her weight and you tried your best to sit up and lean back against your pillows. Your wrists ached as you pushed yourself up, and the tendons in your thighs were sore as you closed your legs.

“You’re such a fucking bitch,” you muttered. “How am I supposed to do my job now?”

She shrugged, pulling her pants back on. “That’s not my problem.”

You crossed your arms. “Food is expensive.” You didn’t make enough money that day to buy dinner for yourself yet, and you were starting to get hungry. She tired you out in every sense. Hell, you really needed some water too.

“Okay,” she nodded. “How about I make it up to you? I’ve got a poker game tomorrow night and one of my guys just bailed. There’s an empty spot at the table if you want it.”

Your brow furrowed. Why the hell did she want you there?

“You can eat as much as you want,” she offered.

Your head tilted to the side. Every pro and con ran through your mind and a million questions shot through you, but one came to the surface: “Why me?”

“Because I want someone easy to beat,” she teased, pulling her shirt over her head. She saw your glare and shook her head. “Really, there’s just no one else, and the game won’t be as good with less people. You seem like you could hold your own against the guys I hang out with—much better than the girls down the hall.”

Surely, she had some ultimotives. She probably just wanted to get in your pants again but was trying to be nice enough so you would let her. A night at her poker table would probably be a good time. You gambled with some of the other workers when business was slow and you thought you were pretty good. Besides, being seen with her so publicly would probably keep you safer when walking down the street.

“What time should I be there?”

She was fully dressed, standing at the edge of the bed. If she was happy with you agreeing, she didn’t show it. “About nine.”

“Okay. Fine.”

She nodded, leaning over the bed. “Okay, I have to go now.” She motioned for you to come forward and kissed you slowly when you complied.

She hummed against your lips. “Walk me out?”

“Funny.”

She laughed, leaning back and muttering a goodbye as she walked out. You said it back quietly, face slightly contorted in confusion as you tried to figure her out.

After she was gone, you laid there for a while in silence. Your sweat stuck to your skin as you ran your hands over your hair to tame it in the back. You wiped the makeup that was smudged under your eye.

A few minutes later, Zanria poked her head back into your room. You assumed she was just being nosy, but you soon saw she was carrying a tray of something.

“What?” You asked, feeling a bit too tired to be nice.

“She paid for this,” Zanria said, walking up to you in the bed. You sat up more to see the platter full of grapes, cheese, chocolate, and other small foods. There was a small pitcher of water, too.

Of course she did. She seemed to care about you a lot more than she was supposed to, and you weren’t complaining.

You only hoped it wouldn’t get too deep

#arcane #arcane league of legends #fanfic #fanfiction #smut #sevika x y/n #sevika x reader #sevika #sevika arcane #fluff #sevika fanfic

[ezdotjpg]

Supply Run

Hello here's a fic I wrote about Loft taking a trip back to Skyloft, pre the plot of bonus links. 1381 words!

Link’s favorite errand, head and shoulders above the competition, is making the trek up to Skyloft for a supply refresh. It’s why Zelda continues to ask him to do it, despite the fact that he always takes roughly 6 hours longer than he’s strictly meant to, and forgets at least one item on the list more than half the time. He should remind her, for the millionth time, that he loves her very much. 

“Thanks again, Luv!” he calls behind him as he makes to leave her stall, satchel full of all the necessary elixir ingredients they’ve been running low on. He double checked the list this time. Triple checked it, even. 

“Fly safe, now!” Luv shouts back, and even with his back turned he can imagine her shaking her comically large ladle after him. “I see you out there pulling stunts, you’ll give us all a heart attack one day!”

Link thinks he flies perfectly safe, thank you very much, but he promises to be very careful, and makes his escape from the Bazaar. Sunshine warming his face against the chill, he continues down the ramp, over the bridge, and into the residential quarter of the island. Few of the island’s older adults have agreed to make the move down to the surface yet, so while the area’s quiet, there’s still life in the buildings. He makes his rounds, popping in to each home to say hello and listen to the latest news, often several times over. 

“You’re looking thin again,” Henya frets, giving him a once over with a shrewd eye. “Are you sure you kids are growing enough food down there?”

He assures her that this year’s harvest was the best one yet, but she sends him off with several flasks of soup anyway, enough that he has to wedge them haphazardly in the satchel to make it all fit. 

“You look tired,” Batreaux tells him. He’d been overjoyed by the somewhat wonkily carved Keese Link had made to dress up the windowsill of his new home on Skyloft proper. Now, his brow is furrowed as he putters through his kitchen cabinets. “I’ve got a tea that might help, where in the world did it run off to?”

The packet of tea takes the Keese figure’s place in Link’s pocket, and as the door closes behind him, he tries to remember how many minutes Batreaux told him to steep it for. He never gets it quite right.

With all his visits finished, he lingers in the village square, pointedly not looking at the docks. He walks back to the neighborhood and checks on the island’s pumpkin crop, which looks fine. He catches a few sky stag beetles, and then lets most of them go. He sits by the waterfall and munches on a stamina fruit, kicking his legs over the side and getting his boots all wet. 

He’s half finished formulating a plan to break into his old academy room for no reason in particular before he finally, painfully decides that actually, it’s probably better to return home. Before the sun sets, and Crimson won’t fly anymore, and he’s forced to spend the night. Again. What a tragedy that would be. 

Back at the docks, he makes sure the satchel is buckled securely, briefly laments the ache in his knees, and takes off at run. At the last second, he twists his body around, launching off the edge with his arms out and his back to the land below. 

Link closes his eyes against the glare of the sun, and lets himself enjoy the freefall. His stomach swoops, his body weightless. Crisp air fills his lungs, the same air that tugs at his clothes and tickles his face with his hair. Falling on the surface is never quite this peaceful. Over the course of his quest, he learned what it meant to truly hit the ground, to feel flesh bruise and bones crunch. He made enough wrong footed steps, took tumbles off edges so high he thought they’d be the end of him, scrambling for the sailcloth.

Down below, there’s no failsafe, no guarantee that someone will catch you. The ground rushes up to meet you so fast. But here in the sky, he knows no one will ever let him fall too far. 

Speaking of, the couple of knights that still circle the island are probably getting antsy by now. He gives himself two more counts, taking them slow in his head, before bringing his fingers to his mouth. He whistles one sharp, clear note, and flips himself over into the proper position. It’s only a few seconds more before a familiar call answers. 

He grabs onto Crimson’s harness easily, though the rapid change in speed as she pulls up sends a painful zap up his bad arm. Crimson clicks her beak in apology, like she knows. He pets the soft fur of her back to soothe her. It’s his own fault, really.

It’s getting late. Batraeux was right about one thing: he is tired. He really shouldn’t do much besides simply flying home. 

But he sees Crimson so rarely these days, and her joy is a warm flare in the back of his mind. They circle around the islands scattered around Skyloft, making twirls and loops until he’s breathless from a combination of laughter and exertion, and the sun is beginning to hang dangerously low. Crimson begins her reluctant descent. 

As she hovers high above his front yard, Link gives her a hug around her neck, careful not to squeeze too hard. 

“Thank you,” he says. “See you next time.”

The jolt that runs through him as the sailcloth catches his weight certainly doesn’t help his arm, and he grits his teeth against it. Like always, Crimson stays in sight until his feet touch the ground. He stays rooted to the spot as well, waving after her until her form disappears over the treetops. 

It’s like a spell has broken. He lets his left hand drop, and all of a sudden, his limbs feel so heavy. It’s possible he’s overdone it a little. Every muscle in his body has a complaint it would very much like to lodge. The altitude change sticks in his lungs, makes the air feel thick enough he almost wants to cough. But he’d still call it the good kind of exhausted, the satisfied kind. With any luck, he’ll sleep so well tonight he won’t even dream. Dead on his feet, he shuffles his way onto the porch and inside the house. 

He kicks his boots off by the door, dropping the satchel as gently as he can manage it. Zelda looks up from where she’d been writing in a notebook on the couch, eyes crinkling as soon as she spots him. The house is full of warm, spiced smells and sizzling sounds, which implies that Groose is busy making dinner in the kitchen. If Link listens close, he can almost hear Groose humming.

“Welcome home, love,” Zelda says, setting her notebook aside. She doesn’t comment on his lateness, her smile knowing. He thinks, maybe, that it looks a little sad, too. That he misses it so much, that he lingers so long every time he gets the chance. Everyone on the surface misses Skyloft, but it’s different for him, isn’t it? It’s different. He can’t hide anything from her. 

Pushing the thought out of his mind, he makes a beeline over to the couch with the last of his energy, and flops over to join her. His head lands in her lap, and he can feel her body shake as she laughs at him. 

“That good, huh?” she teases. He makes a vaguely affirmative noise, curling up comfortably as her hand comes to rest on his head. He feels every ache and pain acutely now that he’s no longer standing, but it’s easy to ignore with Zelda’s fingers combing through his hair.

“Did you get everything on the list?”

“Mhm.”

“Double checked?”

“Mhm.”

“Hey, was that Link just now?” That one is Groose’s voice. It sounds closer when he speaks next, like he’s poked his head around the corner. “Babe, no sleeping yet! Dinner’s gonna be ready soon!”

“Don’t worry,” Zelda says. He’s already failing at Groose’s request. “I’ll wake you.”

#ficdotjpg #bonus loft #bonus links #bonuslinks #bonuslinksdotjpg #technically this is for the discord prompt but it turned out a little bittersweet lol #bonus groose #bonus skord zelda #not very well proofread forgive me for typos

[bokettochild]

So, inspired by my Chain and Magic post, I have written something. It is short and I don't know if I'm going to continue it, but here it is.

-

  Legend is nice.

  Okay, that’s wrong, Legend isn’t nice, per say, but he feels nice. 

  Wild can’t explain exactly what he means by that to the others, but it’s true. Being around Legend feels nice, safe, peaceful. Granted, the vet is one of the most vocal and most salty members of their chain of Links, and he’s certainly got his share of issues, but there's something about sitting next to him after a long day that reminds Wild of Death.

  Okay, that also sounds wrong, let's back up, yeah?

  Since meeting Legend, Wild has been able to feel Death on him. As someone who’s died himself, it’s hard not to. There’s a certain magic about Death, something distinctive that he’s learned will make those who’ve experienced it perk up when they sense the magic that reflects that which lingers on their own selves. 

  It happens with stal-monsters, it happens with skull-children, it even happens with the champions. Maybe that’s where he learned to sense it; the champions. Their magic still lingers about him and he’s learned to sense them by magic alone. Not that he can use much magic, only the kind that they’ve given him, but he still knows what death magic feels like.

  So that’s why he knows that he feels it when he’s near Legend.

  It’s not strong, by any means. It’s not magic like a soul that is lingering in the mortal world, or even like a death curse or anything (Urbosa assures him that isn’t what it is anyways) it’s just, Death.

  He can see where she has traced her mark on the vet’s skin, feel her magic seeping from the scar that by all rights should have killed his brother (maybe did). Her fingers have brushed from his jaw down; etched down his throat and across his shoulders, curling around one arm and back up, down his torso and his thighs and back up to the place on his back where Death must have lingered for a moment, lingered to take a soul, but stopped before it was gone.

  He doesn’t know what made the scars, what accident or incident it was that etched a white trail up and down Legend’s skin the way it has, but he’d studied the marks closely the one time they all went swimming together, and when he's dared to reach out and touch one time, taking Legend’s left hand in his own and tracing the splintering scars, he’d felt Death whispering at him from the contact.

  It was nice.

  A lot of the heroes think that dying is a horrible thing. Twilight talks about it as some inevitable monster that they couldn’t escape, and Warriors much the same. The younger ones see it as distant while Time worries about it, but Wild has seen death. He’s died once before, he remembers, although not well, what had happened.

  He’d been in pain. Hurting, hurting so bad! He’d been in absolute agony in one moment and the next- Warmth, darkness. A gentle caress wiping away the cares of life, assuring him he had done his duty.

  It’s been the hardest memory of all to unlock, but it had come to him one day when he’d, in a fit of exhaustion, flopped against the veteran instead of Twilight, who was on his other side, and felt the death magic touch him again. He’d come back to himself to find a very startled Legend and highly concerned Twilight, the rest of the heroes staring as he’d sobbed for a reason even he couldn’t explain.

  Death had been nice.

  She was warm where everyone in his life before had been cold and judgemental. She had held him tight and fought for him when no one and nothing had ever fought for him before.

  She had lost. Some blue magic pulled him back into light and cold and pain and water. She’d tried to take him back when the water had clouded his senses and filled his lungs, but even though she would brush against him, trying, reaching, straining, Death was unable to grasp him as he’d drowned and drowned and drowned, all without being allowed to die, until the lid of the Shrine had lifted and air had plunged into his lungs to wake him and Death had been cast so far away he could no longer remember her.

  But Legend felt like her. And because of that, Legend was safe.

  He couldn’t explain it, but as much as he loves Time, and Twilight (and Wolfie of course) sometimes, when his memories are bad, he doesn’t seek out the two older men. Sometimes, when his memories hurt and he wishes he was dead, he goes and he sits next to Legend instead.

  Legend doesn’t seem to mind. If Wild can feel him, then Legend can probably feel Wild’s death too, but he never says anything. No, Legend doesn’t speak up at all. If Wild is holding his hand and tracing his scars, pushing up a green sleeve to follow white trails up the vet’s lithe arm, the other boy doesn’t protest. He does stare sometimes, but he doesn’t ask.

  He likes that about Legend. Legend never asks anyone to explain their quirks and habits. He certainly stares at them, and sometimes he seems to be trying to read them, or their magic even; his own poking at theirs in a curious manner, but Legend’s magic feels just a bit like death too, so it’s okay. Wild can’t control his inner magic the same way Hyrule and Legend do, but he knows his magic responds in pleasure to the vet’s presence, and that alone seems to be enough for Legend to accept that sometimes he just wants to sit with him.

#lu wild #lu legend #linked universe #linkeduniverse #ketto writes

[nocturnalfandomartist]

💛 I Remember You 💛

Time Elapsed: 1 hour, 11 minutes

Program used: Ibis Paint X

(This doodle is me coping with the Tears of the Kingdom trailer and pretending they aren't about to be traumatized more).

BotW/ToTK will forever be my favorite version of Zelink. They've been through a whole lot together, and seeing them reunited at the end of BoTW is so sweet (especially in the context of the diaries outside of the English translation)! Such a shame everyone's probably dead. Oh well, it was nice while it lasted...

I cannot express enough how agonizing it has been to wait for more news on TotK! So when I saw a Nintendo Direct was coming up, I was unable to focus on anything else. I knew we were bound to get info, but I was NOT READY FOR THIS

Everything about that trailer was so well done, it makes the wait for May seem even longer! A few thoughts I had personally:

1. Ganondorf is pretty decent casting. I'm admittedly surprised he doesn't sound hoarse or anything considering he's a reanimated corpse, but it's still menacing!

2. I'm convinced Ganondorf and Zelda are going to take the forms/powers of Demise and Hylia at this point with all these parallels...

3. POSSIBLE MORE RUNES MAKE ME SO EXCITED! We thought Link getting a motorcycle gave us too much power... Now we have cars and mechanical gliders.

4. It doesn't seem Zelda is getting damseled! That makes me so happy. I figured she wouldn't be playable (unfortunately), but it at least seems she'll have a presence throughout the story! Perhaps a Skyward Sword situation where she must go on a journey of her own? Maybe in the form of flashbacks to the previous Zelda from 10,000 years ago? If it goes with a SS route, maybe that leaves room for a playable Zelda in post-game.

5. All the monsters look stronger than before, and there are even new ones! I tried to see if those dino bird things matched up with any classic enemies, but they didn't seem to be so. Either way, they're awesome!

6. I can't wait to explore where all the characters are after a potential time skip. Zelda especially! She got so much character in BotW, and I am going to love seeing more of it!

7. If Zelda doesn't end up becoming Hylia, I'm also wondering if the previous Zelda ends up being revealed to be the same one (same with Link) due to time travel shenanigans like in Skyward Sword.

8. If Zelda and Link don't kiss or address Zelda's feelings for him at least once I will be very sad (but I'll love the game anyway).

9. I hope to see the cycle broken here. That seems to be where this is leading! It would be great to watch Zelda and Link finish off Demise's curse once and for all and finally have the peace Hyrule has been fighting to have for eons.

10. Hopefully Link's diary won't be lost in translation this time! Adding those little details like that made BotW even better than it already was.

11. LINK THREW THE MASTER SWORD ASIDE TO CATCH ZELDA I CAN'T- But poor Fi. Hope she's doing okay with the whole Malice infestation thing. This is a stretch, but perhaps there will be a return of Ghirahim or his sword form. That'd be cool.

12. It looks like there's potential for more old-school dungeons! With the Divine Beasts seemingly inactive, Link may have to travel through monster-ridden ruins to drive them out of Hyrule.

13. I'm excited to see details on the time between BotW and TotK, like how Zelda got her hair cut! It'll be nice to see which NPCs changed and which haven't (Beedle is probably the same and will be the same even as all of existence crumbles around him).

14. Maybe the memory mechanic will be implemented again by Link recalling his past life 10,000 years ago?

Alright, sorry for the ramblings here. I'm too excited. I have lots more thoughts, but I'll share them in the future. May 12 can't come fast enough!

Reblogging is fine, but please don't post this anywhere else without linking the original post. Thanks!

#artists on tumblr #fanart #doodles #legend of zelda #link zelda #loz zelda #princess zelda #zelink #zelda x link #zelda #zelda fanart #loz fanart #link x zelda #zelda botw #botw fanart #botw zelink #totk trailer #totk zelink #zelda tears of the kingdom #tears of the kingdom #zelda breath of the wild #breath of the wild #zelink fanart #my art #fanart zelda

[foolondahill17]

Dear Mr. Vonnegut,

Transcript (bracketed text are notes from Mrs. Dalton):

[11/15/94, please add date]

[C- please see me after class]

Dear Mr. Vonnegut,

[Introduce yourself here]

We’re supposed to pick our favorite author and write them a letter, or whatever. I don’t have a favorite author because I’m not a fucking [unacceptable language!] nerd, but I thought Cat’s Cradle was the best book we read so far by process of elimination (no offense). I just thought the other books were stupid. My Antonia? Total snooze fest [point taken]. And the story about the tricked-out wallpaper? 

I get that it was supposed to “mean something,” but – call me crazy – I think a story should have a good story before you start talking about hidden meanings. Some lady getting locked in her bedroom and hallucinating - that’s a shitty [language!] story. If I were her, I would have just jumped out the window or beat my husband over the head with a lamp. Not that I’m ever gonna have a husband. I’m a dude. But my point is, it doesn’t matter if the story’s secretly some feminist commentary on how we shouldn’t lock up women (see, Mrs. Dalton? I do pay attention) [not quite] if it’s just a crummy story in the first place. 

But Cat’s Cradle was a good story, first, before all those messages about how we shouldn’t have gone so crazy with nuclear technology during the Cold War because it might blow up the earth someday. But anyway, the story was good, you get me? It was funny and weird and had all that new age religion and science fiction stuff – kind of like “Star Trek.” 

I liked the stuff about Bokonism Bokononism. There’s this real stuck up prissy bitch in class named Marie [very inappropriate to discuss another student like this!] who was really upset that Bokononism was basically saying that all religion is just a bunch of lies people make up to make themselves feel better about the fact that everyone dies. And Mrs. Dalton said that, why did it matter if it was all lies if it still brought people peace? I don’t know, I think I’d rather not be lied to and find peace on my own terms, you get me? But Marie was all like “but Jesus is the truth and the Bible is the word of God.” People like her are all over Texas. I hope we move soon. It’s way too fucking [language!] hot here, too. 

My dad’s got this friend who’s a pastor who used to babysit me and my brother all the time. He’s always saying the same kind of stuff Marie is, accept [except] he’s not a jerk about it. He thinks that the evil all around us is proof that there’s good, too. My mom used to think that. She taught me the hole [whole] “when I lay me down to sleep” schtick, but then she ended up dying, anyway, by something so evil you wouldn’t even believe it if I told you. 

The foot thing was kind of kinky [??], but one thing I liked about Bokononism was the karass idea. I move around a lot, so I meet a lot of people, and I guess some of them have sorta joined my karass [nice connection to your personal life]. I don’t think we’re cosmically linked like the book was talking about, but I think it’s weird [significant?] that we all met each other even though we normally never would have. Like if Dad never met Pastor Jim, he never would have met Caleb and Bobby [run-on sentence] and then me and Sam never would have spent that summer with Bobby [run-on sentence] and I never would have learned how to replace a catalytic converter [impressive!], which was helpful because I had to do it all by myself on the Impala when Dad broke his arm and I needed to drive [??] Sam to school.

It’s like what Newt said: “life’s just a game of Cat’s Cradle. [end quote] I see what you mean, but I don’t know if I totally agree. It just seems so pointless if you really think about it. Life’s nothing more than interconnected strings [nicely phrase]. It’s…doomful [??]. (My dweeb little brother says “inevitable” is a better word) [It is a better word]. 

Living in a world where you’re not in control of your decisions seems kinda depressing. I mean, I don’t have a lot of control over where we live or what my dad does for a living, but at least I get to decide to help people. It’s not me who’s trapped inside a story that’s already been written. I’m not some corpse on the highest mountain of some Caribean Caribbean Island, thumbing my nose to God. I’ve got more power than that, right? [A significant question]

Anyway, it ain’t like you’re actually going to read this because I probably won’t get a chance to send it. And Mrs. Dalton won’t get to read it, either, [spoke too soon] because I won’t even be at this school in a week. But there’s nothing else to do while I wait for Dad to get back home. There’s nothing good on TV after 11:00, so I might as well do homework. He said he’d be back in time for dinner, but it’s already 1 AM. [??]

Bye, [Regards,] 

- Dean W.

 A+, you’re a genious [genius] Mr. Winchester! [haha]

[Passably written, and you followed the assignment well enough, but your language and attitude toward your fellow students are unacceptable.]

*Pages surrounded by doodles of a devils trap, fire, Star Wars logo, book, stick-figures, grocery list (peanut butter, apples, bread, soup, cereal, socks), snail, partly erased cartoon dog, glasses, gun, Scooby Doo, baseball, skull, Samulet, Chevrolet logo, Zeppelin lyrics (‘Twas in the darkest depths of Mordor I met a girl so fair, but Gollum, and the evil one, crept up and slipped away with her), note: Call dentist for Sammy! 555-8451*

#supernatural #spn #dean winchester #young dean winchester #tean dean winchester #kurt vonnegut #spn fanfiction #supernatural fanfiction #ficlet #cat's cradle

[nattikay]

I'd like to hear 3 from you, I bet it's some cute Sully family stuff

3.) An off-screen scene you wanted to see?

YA DARN RIGHT IT’S SOME CUTE SULLY FAMILY STUFF, IT’S ALLLLL THE CUTE SULLY FAMILY STUFF BABEYYYY

For real though, I would’ve adored to see more of this. Especially when the kids were very young. Consider, for example:

Jake constantly carrying his baby(s) around to all his olo’eyktan duties.

Neytiri telling them all the traditional Omatikaya stories and singing them songs (according to the visual dictionary one of the earliest beads on Neteyam’s songcord represents the first lullaby he remembers being sung to him like excuse me??! 😭)

Mo’at recognizing Kiri’s inherent connection to Eywa and kinda taking her under her wing

Little Kiri going around nonchalantly befriending all the animals like a big blue Disney princess…to the point that she gets her ikran wayyyy earlier than usual just by asking it to be her friend (that part’s canon lol)

Jake’s own Na’vi language skills improving exponentially as his kids start learning to talk

The general mix of wholesome and chaos as Jake and Neytiri learn to be parents for the first time and all the stuff that comes with that, especially given how quickly they had their first three, them going around trying to wrangle their little toddler army…but despite the chaos they just love each other and their kids so much, the RDA is gone and the clans are at peace and they’re just so happy right now and wouldn’t have it any other way—

like bruh give me three hours of that and I won’t even have a heart anymore because it will have all melted in to a great big puddle of sugar-coated sap on the floor 😭😭😭 we got very brief little snippets of it at the start of the movie and it was wonderful but gosh dangit I want mooooooooore aahhhhhh

oh, here’s a more specific silly scene that I was discussing with @barking-in-the-dark recently:

So imagine that Jake and Neytiri need a babysitter for Neteyam and Kiri when Lo’ak is ready to be born. Mo’at can’t do it since she is of course assisting with the birth, and Jake’s next thought was OH! NORM AND MAX!

So now human!Norm and Max are stuck with a pair of comically oversized not-quite-toddlers for a few hours 

Norm quickly gives up and leaves for about 10 minutes to link up with his avatar. Max swears those were the most chaotic (non-war-related) 10 minutes of his life.

Neteyam is already walking at this point and he wants to be everywhere. Kiri isn’t yet (I headcanon that Neteyam started walking significantly earlier than Kiri did even though they are probably less than a month apart in age, partly because he is described as a natural athlete and “golden child” and partly because Kiri is just too easily distracted by her surroundings to think much about walking)—anyways, Kiri can’t walk just yet but boy howdy can she crawl and if you take your eyes off of her too long she will disappear, she practically needs a balloon tied around her waist so her caretakers can keep track of her

Spider, currently around 2 years old, also happens to be in the lab at the time and that kid can climb

so poor Max is now having to chase after Neteyam (who may only be year old but Na’vi as a species are big so he already comes up to Max’s torso), stop Spider from getting into all the equipment that should be way out of his reach but isn’t because he moves like a monkey, AND keep a constant eye on Kiri so she doesn’t wander off and vanish chasing some stray insect or something 

It gets a lot better when Norm returns in his avatar, but those 10 minutes were rough lol

#sully family #all of the domestic fluff pleaseeeeeee 😭

[deathxwalkerxx]

I’ll See You Again

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Angst, sickness, murder.

Summary: You were in love once, then the love of your life disappears. Will you see her again, or is it too late? 

part 1

A/N: I hope you’re all enjoying this story as much as I am!! Thank you all for reading it!!

It’s been months and still no word from your redhead. You didn’t know why you were expecting her to turn up, what did you expect she was doing with her life? You weren’t sure. So many thoughts were running through your mind, just like every other night. You couldn’t even remember when this whole thing started, this mess that you’ve gotten yourself into. You didn’t let anyone know what you got up to when you finished work, though you didn’t kill anyone, well maybe one person but that asshole deserved it, just like all the other assholes that you’ve come across, they deserved the pain that they were going to put on their victims. Maybe you thought she’d hear about it, and come to check to make sure you were okay. She always wanted to take care of you, that was what she told you, and so when you needed her the most, she wasn’t here at all. 

Once again, while you were heading home, you heard screams in an alleyway, and once again you took off running, not wanting to give the person who was hurting the woman too much time to do any damage. Perhaps it was what you were going through, or what you’ve been through that had you shooting this guy down, and saving the woman who was then running off. You cleaned up after yourself, not wanting anyone to link this back to you. How you became good at this, you didn’t know. Not that you enjoyed killing people but maybe you could at least save people before your life ended so shortly. You got home, and hid the glock away then went and had a shower, while you were letting your meal heat up. 

You didn’t think about what you did that night, just like every other night, you didn’t think about it. Your mind just went to her. Wondering what she was doing at this very moment, if she was settling down to eat herself. You wondered what type of food she would be eating, and if she would be enjoying it. Wondering if she was sitting down watching tv while she ate, if she had people with her, to enjoy some company with. You didn’t blame her for any of this. You could try to reach out to her, just ask around. Someone has to know her, right? Though you didn’t even know if she was even in the city, finding her would be a little more difficult than you thought. With a deep sigh, you listened to the microwave still cooking your food and went out onto your balcony to breathe in the night air. It always calmed you, the night skies. It was better than the day.

The day was loud and full of noise, but the night was full of peace and quiet, and someone was in your house, you could feel it. The glock was hidden, so you didn’t have a gun to fend yourself with, not to mention you never took defense classes, because you didn’t want people to see how bad you were at fighting. Yes, you were an idiot, but also. Things just took a turn and you couldn’t be bothered using your energy on protecting yourself. Not when you knew that your life was going to be moving on. Still, there was someone in your house, so what were you going to do? Maybe you could throw yourself off the balcony, and save the person in your home the struggle of killing you.

Or you could tell them they’re wasting their time, because you were sick, and life was making a joke out of you anyway. Still you wondered if they had noticed you yet, you heard the microwave beeping letting you know that your food was done. Another sigh was leaving your mouth, before you turned to head back inside. You paused in the dining room when you spotted that red hair in front of your microwave, watching her taking your food out and placing it on the counter, and that was when her eyes caught your own. “Wanda.” You breathe out to her now, as you get closer to the counter, to take a seat so you could eat your food. “Hey, you.” She whispers to you now, taking out two forks, she was leaning over the counter placing her fork into your food.

“What brings you to my little rundown place?” You ask, as your own fork was just playing with the food. Your appetite was leaving you, though you still did your best to eat, knowing you needed it if you wanted to keep the place that you were living in right now. “When I finally found you I had to come and see how you were doing.” Wanda asks, and you were nodding your head at her words, before moving to grab yourself a glass of water. “Well I’m living my best life.” You say to her and you could hear the deep sigh that Wanda was giving to you now, and you turned to look at her. “Why did you come here, Y/N?” She asks you now and you shrug your shoulders as you take a sip. “Wanted to get as far away from where I came from.” You admit to her, before you sat back down, watching Wanda eating the meal you hadn’t touched yet.

“I asked you to keep in contact with me.” She says and you were shaking your head at her now, taking a small bite out of the food. “I told you, you don’t have to keep looking after me, you’re not my mother.” You say to her, before you were dropping your fork, your stomach not wanting the food that you’d cooked. “You’re not hungry?” She asked you and you were shaking your head, pushing the meal toward Wanda now. “You have it. I’m going to bed.” You say as you move off your seat only for Wanda to grab you by the elbow. “She’s been asking about you.” Wanda says which has you whipping your head around to look at her. “You found her?” You ask and you watch as the woman nods her head.

“Well, she found me but that’s besides the point. I can hear her talking to herself at night. I can take you to her.” Wanda says and you just stood there staring at Wanda right now, really taking her in. Wanda didn’t attend the same school as you did. In fact she wasn’t even in the same country, it was only recently that you had found her company and yes you enjoyed it, but the way that she wanted to take care of you just made you want to distance yourself. It wasn’t anything personal against Wanda, it was just better for her. “No.” You found yourself saying, despite the fact that you really wanted to see her. “No?” Wanda asks, and you felt like with that one word that she knew more about things that she was letting on. “I don’t want her seeing me like this. Maybe when I have a bit more strength.” You mutter, as your hand was patting Wanda’s now, asking her to release you. “She’s going to find you, she’s good at what she does.” 

Wanda says to you now, and you were sighing softly deciding Wanda wasn’t going to let you sleep any time soon, you moved into the living room sitting down on the couch as Wanda joined you. “You’ve got to stop what you’re doing.” Wanda says and it had you frowning at her while you tried to process her words. “What are you talking about?” You ask her, and you watch as she turns toward you now, her hands finding yours. “You know what I’m talking about, Y/N. You’re going to get yourself caught. Why are you doing it?” Wanda asks you, making you sigh. You were too tired to tell her to back off, too tired to argue with her, to tell her to mind her own business. “Because those jerks don’t deserve to live. Their victims don’t deserve to go through what they would put them through.” You tell her now, watching as she moved to grab your meds, and place them in front of you.

“You need to stop, and start to take care of yourself.” She says as she pushes the food closer to you. “They’re not going to find the bodies, Y/N. Because they’re not where you left them, and I’m not going to clean up your messes anymore, but I will be here to help you.” She says to you as you took a few bites out of the food that was now getting cold. “I didn’t ask you to clean up after me.” You admit to her now, as you look at her, slowly chewing on your food. “I know you didn’t, but I can’t have you being locked away. I can’t see you doing this to yourself, to those people.” She says to you, her hand gently covering yours. “Please. Don’t give up. You still have so many more years, sweetie.” God, she really did have a way with words, and you couldn’t help but sigh softly while listening to them, feeling your eyes burning while you thought over what she said.

“Okay. I’m sorry, I’ll take better care of myself.” You say to her, and you smile when you see that she is smiling also, seeing the way that those words made her feel better. “Good. Then you’re moving in with me.” She says which has your smile disappearing from your face, as you watched her move toward your bedroom, and it had you following her. “What? No. No, Wanda. I can’t. You live in the compound of those heroes, and I can’t.” You say as you watch her continuing to pack a bag for you. “No arguing, I need to be close to you, to make sure that you are taking care of yourself, and this is the only way of doing that. I can’t be here all the time, and the longer you’re by yourself the more you’re not looking after yourself.” Wanda says as she moves toward the bathroom. 

All of this just had your head spinning and you found yourself wobbly on your legs. You took a seat on the edge of the bed. This couldn’t be happening, most of your life you had been living here, doing your own thing, and sure it might not seem like you enjoy it, but you did. It was routine for you. Something for you to hold onto during all of this. “Are you going to tell me that I have to stop working also?” You ask as Wanda comes back into the room, and you watch as she nods her head, taking a seat beside you. “You need all the energy to fight this, Y/N/N. Working, and hurting those that deserve it, isn’t going to help you fight this. Being with me, I know I can help you with that. And the others that are living with me also. They’ll help. So let us help, let someone help you.” Wanda says, as she takes your hands in her own, giving them a squeeze, begging you to just let her help.

She didn’t like seeing you like this, when she first saw you, when she first noticed that you were sick, all Wanda wanted to do was help you. So that's what she was going to do right now, she was going to help you. She didn’t like seeing you like this, your place was always so dark, you never had any lights on in the place, it was like you were just hiding from everything and everyone. Like you were hiding from yourself. She watched as you moved off the bed, watching how slowly you moved toward your wardrobe, and brought out a box and placed it on the bed, watching you place that box in the bag. She wanted to ask you about it, but she didn’t want to push you. She wanted you to trust her, to open up on your own. “That’s all I need.” You say to her now, and she nodded her head, looking at your outfit you had on now. “Is that all the clothes you’re taking? Sweetie, I’m sure you have more clothes, right?” She asks you, which has you biting at your bottom lip.

“Talk to me, sweetie.” Wanda says as she drives through the rain now, her eyes staying on the road, but every now and again she would look to you. “Talk to you about what? I thought we discussed everything?” You ask her, your head still on the window, your eyes just watching the buildings passing by. “We have, but I’m not used to this type of quiet.” Wanda admits, giving out a weak chuckle to try and relieve the worry that she was feeling. “Sorry. I’m just not used to us spending all this time with you. Usually you come, watch me eat, watch me take my meds, and then you’d watch me go to bed.” You admit, with a weak shrug, your head rolling to the side so you could look at Wanda. “I’m just tired, you don’t need to worry about it.” You admit to her now, and it was the truth, you would be in bed right now, to wake up and do it all again tomorrow, but Wanda changed that plan. You did close your eyes now, and you were letting the ride put you to sleep.

You moved toward your dresser, bringing out two pairs of pants, and a few singlets, placing them in the bag. “That’s all.” You say, and Wanda nodded her head, before zipping up the bag, and moving out to the kitchen, to grab the medication that she had placed on the counter. You moved, toward one of the cabinets, so you could get the rest of the medication and you placed them in the bag also. “Um. No one is going to see me, right?” You ask her now, worried that they’d look at you weirdly, or not want you there at all.

“Probably, but it’s fine. I’ve talked to them about bringing you, and they’re fine, okay? They’re going to give you space.” She assures you and you move with her, toward the door that would take you both down to Wanda’s car. She places your bag in the back seat, and helps you get into the passenger side, before moving to the driver side. You weren’t up for talking, you barely talked anyway, so this wasn’t different for you. Wanda, on the other hand, was quite surprised at how quiet it was. Not because you weren’t talking, but you weren’t even thinking about anything either. It was like you completely shut down. Perhaps you were exhausted and that was why you were just completely shut down.

Wanda didn’t want to disturb you, but she smiled, as your dreams started to go through your mind, though that smile left when she realized who you were dreaming about. Natasha always plagued your mind, and Wanda wanted so badly to tell Natasha where you were, but you didn’t want that. Despite how much Wanda knew you wanted to talk to her again, she also knew that you would hope that Natasha was looking for you also. Wanda knew that Natasha was doing everything she could to find you, using all her resources. You just made it difficult for her to find you. 

She pulled into the underground parking area, and turned off the car, she then gently woke you up, and helped you out of the car. You were pale and she knew that your pills were kicking in and that you needed to sleep. She wasted no time to get you upstairs, and into her room. She will figure out your room tomorrow on her floor, for now. She left your bag in the car, and once she knew you were sound asleep, she left to go down to the car to get it, only to be stopped by Natasha. “You knew where she was this whole time and you didn’t tell me?” Natasha asks Wanda, who looked back at her door and then back to the intimidating woman. “She didn’t want me to tell you. I asked her every time that I saw her, and she still didn’t want me to tell you.” Wanda says, before she was moving into the elevator with Natasha with her. “Do you know why?” Natasha asks, watching the way Wanda was shaking her head. “No. And maybe tomorrow you can ask her. For now, just let her sleep, Nat. She’s had a rough night.” And with that, Wanda left Natasha to get your bag.

She came back to her room, and she could feel the longing as you slept. Without thinking she stripped herself down and put herself in her own night clothes, crawled into bed, and held you close. She might not be the redhead that you wanted, but she was the redhead that you needed right now.

#natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x reader #wandanat x reader

[imagine-a-life-like-this]

Streetlights And Radio Static (Y.JI)

Word Count : 2208

Warnings : body hate, self hate, mentions of nude bodies, mentions of scars and stretch marks, jealousy, desperation, slight possessiveness, suggestive content (no smut), body worship, slight perv Jeongin, (I think that's it, but I might have missed something) soulmate au

Synopsis : How could the universe know better than them who they should love?

It came at a different time for everyone, that’s what she kept telling herself. She wasn’t weird or different, she was just a late bloomer as her mom would say. Everyday she would look in the mirror at her nude body, searching for any sign that she wasn’t alone in this world. And every single day there was nothing.

            There were no numbers, no tattoo, no bruises she didn’t do, no writing she didn’t remember writing herself. It was just her. Her moles. Her stretch marks. Her scars. It was all her, her, her.

            And she hated it. Despised it. Wanted to rip her skin off and beg for something new, something different. Something with a mark that wasn’t hers. A mark that would match someone else.

            She spent years begging the universe for a sign that she had a soulmate, that she wasn’t one of the unmarked. Her best friend would always smile at her with his same calming smile that brought peace in her life, tell her that soulmates were stupid anyway. How does the universe know better than you who you should love?

            His words made sense. Ringing in her ears every single day as she inspected her body after her morning shower. And then one day she stared into the mirror, the towel still covering her body, and she just walked out of the bathroom. It was the happiest she had felt in a long time.

            No crying over a mark that wasn’t there. No begging the universe for a soulmate. Because she had one. She had someone that was by her side, someone that wouldn’t leave. And he was staying because he wanted to, not because he had to. He stayed because she was his best friend and he loved her. I’ll be your platonic soulmate. We don’t need a mark telling us to stay, we’ll just stay together. His pinky had linked with hers that night in front of her door, having walked her home after their plans ran later than expected.

            It wasn’t a perfect solution to the hatred she felt for her body, but it helped her become happier every single day. And on the days she seemed to hate her body more than ever before, Jeongin would pull her into his arms and list off all the things he loves about her body.

            Sometimes he would run his fingers over her skin, softly whispering how beautiful it was as he left goosebumps behind his touch. And her tears would stop long enough for him to wipe them away, bringing a smile back to her face as he looked at her with a tender feeling in his eyes.

            He made her feel loved, feel beautiful. Their entire friendship, birthed from the day they were born, he was there for her. He made her feel wanted, a feeling that left her feeling breathless.

            As their other friends began getting their marks, some quickly finding their soulmates, their forever lover, Jeongin would hold her in his arms and remind her of the promise he made in junior high, his pinky linked with hers. They didn’t need a mark to tell them they were soulmates because they just knew.

            The group they had created in high school became overrun with couples, and Jeongin could see the heartbreak on her face when she saw all the marks that stained their skin. Marks she wanted so bad.

            They distanced themselves from their other friends, opting to spend their free time in his beat up car his parents got him when he got his license. Listening to music from a radio that barely worked, watching as more and more couples were formed around them.

            “You’re just unmarked, Y/n. It’s time to come to terms with it and stop being jealous of others for having a soulmate when you don’t. It’s not like you’re dying.” Jeongin had overheard the girl who was supposed to be Y/n’s best friend speak, her words filled with venom, wanting Y/n to hurt. She wanted Y/n to break, to spiral, and Jeongin didn’t know why. How could someone be so cruel?

            He spent extra time admiring her that day. Brushing her hair behind her ear, cupping her face, gently touching every part of her she hated, telling her how much he loved every single part of her. Because it belonged to her.

            Every scar, every stretch mark. All the marks that weren’t the ones she wanted. He’d lightly run his fingers over the ones he could see, silently wishing he was brave enough to ghost over them with his lips, pressing small kisses to the parts of her she found ugly.

            He wasn’t sure when those thoughts began to plague his mind and replace all his innocent thoughts, all his platonic thoughts. Maybe it was the day he heard her crying in the bathroom of his apartment he shared with her, an apartment they bought together right after high school ended. He remembered that day so clearly, listening intently as the running water of the shower ended, but the sobs continued.

            At first they were sad sobs, words of want and longing being heard between each one, but they quickly turned angry. Jeongin burst into the bathroom, quickly taking her into his arms, not caring that she was naked, still damp from the shower she just had. “Stop saying those things about yourself, my angel.” He whispered into her wet hair.

            She was frozen in his arms, the tears and sobs subsiding as she melted into his touch. And since that day, whenever Jeongin looks at her, runs his fingers over her skin, he pictures the skin, the marks, he can’t see. The ones he saw that day as they sat on the damp floor of the bathroom, rocking back and forth as he calmed her down. He was always able to calm her down.

            And maybe that’s why she found herself longing for him. Just like that one day back in junior high when she left the bathroom without scanning each inch of her skin, hating herself more as each minute passed, she did it again. She stopped altogether, no longer feeling the desire for a mark that links her to someone else. Because she wanted to make the decision, she knew who the right person for her was, the one who would never leave.

            Yang Jeongin. Her best friend since birth. The one who held her every time she cried. Who traced the marks she hated, the ones that seemed empty because they didn’t hold the link she so desperately desired, and whispered words of love.

            Yang Jeongin. The guy she spent hours with sat in a beat up car under a blinking streetlight, more static than music coming from the radio. Talking about who discovered their mark, who found their soulmate. Starting with their high school friends when he first got the car, to their coworkers at their respective jobs.

            Yang Jeongin. The one who could definitely afford a new car by now but refused to give up the piece of junk with a barely working radio because of the memories it held.

            Memories of road trips where they got stranded on the side of the road until they could get the car working again. Of gentle touches and soft whispers. Of the moment he realized he was helplessly in love with her. A memory he kept to himself.

            She realized she loved him while out on a date with someone else, another one of the unmarked. He was telling her stories of his friends, how they’re all married to their soulmates, and he couldn’t wait for that to be him. I decided to find my own soulmate, make my own mark with someone who will love me forever. It was so similar to words Jeongin had said, yet so different.

            And she found herself comparing them. How Jeongin’s smile was prettier, brought her more peace than his. Jeongin’s hands were softer, gentler. Jeongin. Jeongin. Jeongin.

            Jeongin was just better. Better than this guy she couldn’t bother remembering the name of. Better than any of the possible soulmates she could have had, had her mark come. Better than the soulmates of the girls she once considered friends.

            Jeongin was better, nicer, and just so completely Jeongin. He was Jeongin and that’s why she loved him.

            21 years. It took her 21 years to realize that a stupid mark couldn’t decide her soulmate for her. 21 years to realize that her soulmate had been beside her the entire time. While she was out looking for a soulmate in people she barely remembered, she overlooked the glaringly obvious answer.

            She had called him to pick her up from the clearly failing date and he came, driving the same beat up car he realized he loved her in. And they sat under an almost dead streetlight, their favourite CD playing through the static, and she told him.

            She told him she loved him. That the soulmate she had so desperately searched for had been in front of her all this time. And he interrupted her monologue with a kiss. His hands gently cupping her face, holding her face close to his. And then they fell, lightly running over her body as they have so many times before, but then they held her tightly, swiftly bringing her onto his lap, wanting to feel her closer than ever before.

            The kiss was desperately passionate, as if they were trying to prove to each other that their love was so far from platonic. He held her against his body, his hands sliding under her shirt just to feel her skin. And she pulled away for only a second, removing the shirt she secretly stole from his closet.

            He had stopped her when she went in to continue the kiss, taking a moment to admire her body, running his fingers over the marks he had only seen one time before. And then he pressed kisses to each mark he told her he loved, just like he had been dreaming of for years now. His lips ghosted over each mark, soft kisses being peppered over the body she once hated with the same amount of passion she loves Jeongin with.

            And then he brought her face close to his, softly telling her he loves her before kissing her again, with the same desperate passion as the first time.

            It was a kiss described by soulmates as the real moment they knew, yet so much better. It wasn’t just a spark, it was a full fledged fire, burning every single doubt down, knocking down every single brick from the walls she built around herself.

            It was needy, but soft, loving. Stopping only to breathe, to take in the sight of the other, so desperately in love with each other. Stopping long enough for him to drive home, for them to be behind closed doors.

            He removed every item of clothing from her body, removing all the barriers stopping him from worshipping her the way he’s been dreaming of for years. Soft kisses littered her body, tingles being left behind as he moved to the next part.

            He was soft and gentle, taking his time studying what drove her crazy, what pleasured her. Softly telling her how beautiful she is, how gorgeous every piece of her is to him. How she drove him crazy in the best way possible.

            It was the type of love written in books, shown on tv. The type of love soulmates talked about. All their old friends they left behind for each other would speak of this kind of love once they found the one with the matching mark.

            And then it was her turn. Her turn to remove his clothes, to worship his body the way he’s worshipped hers for years. Kissing all the marks she never knew he had, the marks he once hated. But as soon as her lips met them, he loved them.

            He melted under her touch, becoming a puddle of mush with each kiss she pressed to his body. And then pure ecstasy took over his body as she learned the things he liked, the things that drove him crazy in a way only she could discover.

            Soft and gentle. Needy and passionate. The love they created that night described them so perfectly. It was absolutely cliché but so completely them that them belonging to someone else just didn’t make sense.

            They didn’t have to say it. There was no need to confirm it. They just knew. From the second their lips touched in his car, their worlds were completed. He was hers and she was his. They didn’t need a mark to confirm that, didn’t need the universe telling them that this was it. Because they had the love to prove it.

            The unconditional, completely head over heels enamoured, kind of love. The kind of love she had been begging the universe for every time she stared at her reflection.

            And when Jeongin woke up the next morning, her back pressed to his chest as he held her as close as possible, he saw it. Behind her ear, hidden by her hair, barely noticeable, a tiny J.

#stray kids imagine #stray kids x reader #stray kids au #stray kids #skz imagine #skz x reader #skz au #skz #yang jeongin imagine #yang jeongin x reader #yang jeongin au #bang chan #lee minho #lee know #seo changbin #hwang hyunjin #han jisung #lee felix #lee yongbok #kim seungmin #yang jeongin

[kwizard]

Mcytblr Gift Exchange Gift!

@mcytblrholidayexchange

For @quilldesignz , hope you like it! Here’s a link to the Ao3, I do have it so only registered users can see it; but I’ll be posting the whole thing here as well!

And also, a thank you to asoftcacophany for beta-reading this for me!

Word count: 1020

Warnings/info: Canonical character death, not descriptive but mentioned; spoilers for almost all of Gem’s Secret Life episodes, Gem-centric & mostly about Gem and the Scotts; it’s angst will a happy/bittersweet ending

Summary: GeminiTay reflects on the events leading up to the death of herself and her bandmates, and the game called Secret Life.

Title: One Last Show

You see, Gem hadn’t meant to start a band. It’s a death game! You don’t have time to make a band!

But.

Well.

Scott had mentioned it, as a joke, and then Impulse brought up his drumming skills, and Scott said he’d sung in a band before, and Gem could play piano, so how hard could keytar be, really?

“Gem and the Scotts, leveling up”

“Haha, Gem and the Scotts!”

“It sounds like an 80’s rock band”

…Gem’s not sure where the equipment came from, but fun times are limited in a death game after all, so she doesn’t question it.

‘Gem and the Scotts.’

Has a nice ring to it, huh? She didn’t know, exactly, what kind of band they were. They mostly did covers, and Scott wrote a few short songs, and sometimes they made it up as they went. It was… fun. They had fun together. Everyone was green, and happy, even if there were a few silly arguments.

But.

It’s a death game. It was never going to last. People starting dying,

and failing,

and Gem, well.

She failed too,

didn’t she?

And now she was yellow. But it was okay, because she stayed. Stayed loyal, stayed allies, stayed in the band. And they let her, they trusted her (and she them). Then more went yellow, then there were reds. Then people started dying, permanently.

And,

well.

A band seems a little silly in face of all that, doesn’t it?

But they keep playing. Scott writes a little song for them, the first three out, and they play it, for everyone. And if Gem saw tears in the eyes of more than a few of those listening, well, she didn’t say anything.

And she definitely didn’t mention the ones she saw glistening in the eyes of her bandmates, and in her own.

Somehow, it was peaceful after that. Maybe losing some of their own made people more reluctant to fight.

Then she got her task.

‘Kill every non-red player,’ huh?

She could do that.

(She didn’t, in the end. Almost the entire server failed, caught up in her own task to bring about a red apocalypse. But she got close. And that was something, right? Only three players evaded the boogeymen, and if one of them happened to be her teammate, well… of course Gem wasn’t going to complain.)

More people started dying, after that. Gem’s not quite sure how her tasks didn’t take even a single person completely out, but she won’t complain. More time to be with her band, her friends (her family).

They… stopped performing as much, after that. Safer, they said. Less time to do it anyways. They had to prepare. Who has time for a band in a death game? (But they never stopped practicing. At night, when the server was mostly quiet, they went under their cottages and played, using whatever songs they could think of, and sometimes just making stuff up. Maybe Gem wouldn’t admit it to anyone but her bandmates, but those were some of her favorite memories on the server.)

Somehow, Gem hadn’t made many enemies. Most of the server loved her! She had to admit, being boogeyman with so many others, roaming the map for the remaining non-reds, commanding what was essentially her own army… it had been fun. While it lasted.

Soon, though, people started going after the non-reds. And she joined them! Of course she did. Why wouldn’t she? She was red, as of Scar’s misguided arrow during the boogeyman task.

But, well, maybe she killed her band last.

“You’re the last two! You’re the last two!”

And maybe they let her.

”I’d rather let Gem kill me”

“Gem me next”

She’s glad it was her. Not one of the rest of the reds, who joined her rampage, or even one who didn’t. No, it was her, and she would have let either of them do the same.

(And she knew—well, hoped—that they knew that too.)

All good things come to an end, though.

‘Win Secret Life.’

Gem stared at the paper as it appeared in her hands.

Everyone had the same, she was certain. Everyone would be trying to win, fighting for victory just to live that little bit longer.

They teamed with the Mounders, and Skizz, if only for a bit.

And even if Gem thought it was a little silly to ally with even more people.

“We’re making way too many alliances for a final episode”

It did work, though. Mostly. They waited until the rest were gone to turn on each other, at least.

And then Impulse was gone.

And most of the Mounders.

And then it was just her,

and Scott,

and Pearl,

and Scar.

Scott was low.

She knew it.

“Gem you need to kill me”

She knew he was right.

“I’m on two and a half hearts, if they get it they get the ten”

But that didn’t mean she wanted to.

“I don’t think I can do it, I think you’re gonna need to do it”

She didn’t want to kill him.

She did, of course. He was right, after all. And she was sure he would rather it be her,

his ally,

his bandmate,

his friend,

but that didn’t mean she had to like it.

“Go, Gem”

And she went. She ran, and she fought, and she tried. She really did. But Pearl chased her,

and Scar was helping,

“Ugh, two v. one? You guys are gross”

and she lost.

Of course she did. There were two of them, and they had more hearts, even with Scott’s ten, and it was impossible.

It still hurt, though.

Scar won, she thinks. From her ghost form, she thinks she sees Pearl die, and Scar pressing the button.

She doesn’t care though.

All she cares about is the fact that once again,

she has her Scotts.

Maybe in the next game, they won’t be a band anymore, won’t team, won’t even talk,

but for now,

she has her Scotts,

and her keytar, and Scott’s mic, and Impulse’s drums,

and they can have one last show,

just for them.

#mcytblr holiday exchange

[lolamarlowe65]

𝓘𝓷 𝓶𝔂 𝓯𝓮𝓮𝓵𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓼 //James Hetfield

“The house next door was just sold, i hope the new neighbour will be nice.”

part one of ?

disclaimers: smut, age gap (modern day james), slow burn shit, cursing, smoking, probably drinking, anyway kids go back to mama. (warnings will be more specific when smut will be there)

/!\ This story is a remake of a fanfic i found on wattpad called “James Hetfield, My New Neighbour” that hasn’t been updated since 2017. I just used it as an inspiration but i changed basically everything. Just saying so it doesn’t look like i take credit for shit that isn’t mine. But the whole thing is changed, just took it as a base. /!\

Wattpad link

࿓ 𓋪・𖧹 𖤐

Chapter 1 - Open House

7:00 am. My alarm went off.

I was unable to sleep all night. My eyes are dried up from all the wasted tears that kept rolling all night long along my cheeks. I "sleep" but I don't rest. I must have waited a minute before turning my alarm off. Unhappy and disappointed to start a new day.

I reached for my phone on my nightstand to turn my alarm off and wander around social media to push back even more the moment I will have to wake up. I got up and took out some pants from a cardboard box and a shirt from my dresser. An old dresser that screams in pain anytime I just throw away my clothes in it. Cardboard boxes tired of holding in my stuff since two weeks. 

I moved in with my grandmother two weeks ago. I couldn't be by myself, her either. I don't know if I'm taking care of her or if she takes care of me the most. We need each other. And I end up using her care as an excuse for not having the time to put away my stuff, while in truth I just don't have the motivation. Every time I try I just think about her...

I lost my mom from cancer. She recently passed away. I think about her all the time. I don't know if I will be able to ever love somebody new. In whatever way... it's just... it's just... too hard.

I got out of the shower and got ready to work at the pharmacy. After fixing my hair and making them look even more messy than they were before. (It looks like one of those 80s dude... what was his name again? Oh Axl Rose! I think he had those back in the time. But what do I know, I'm not into that.) Anyway, just know that I didn't do it on purpose. It'd be uglier if I did.

After my excessive use of self deprecating humour I lose my quick sarcastic smile to go and wake my grandmother up. She's in her room waiting for me to give her her medicine. No cancer. Arthritis. But whatever it was, she was still the second most important and the last person I had in my life. And it hurts me.

"- Grandma." i whisper.

"- Grandma, time to wake up. And to take your medicine, oh and breakfast too. You need to eat that." i said, a bit overwhelmed. 

Her eyes slowly opened and she looked at me. She put her hand on my cheek and she says :

"- Your mother was like you, always running around to be sure she doesn't forget something. You look so much like her dear."

I chuckled softly and I was happy to be reminded of this sweet part of my mother.

"- Haha! Good morning grandma." i said, kissing her cheek.

"- You need to get up, Stacy's gonna be there in a minute." i then proceeded.

"- Oh yeah you're right! I'm sure Stacy is going to be jealous of my nightgown if she sees it." she laughed.

"- Of course she is, who wouldn't?" i laughed too.

We continued on getting her prepared trying to have a light witty conversation as we used to. It didn't feel the same without my mother around but it felt peaceful. She would love this.

Stacy is a nurse who takes care of my grandma since my grandpa passed away when I was 14. He was the only man of my life. My father has never been in the picture. He was my true father. Stacy takes such good care of her since he's gone. She might be a little bit older than me but she is still my best friend. I have very few friends, but she is the best i've ever had.

Meanwhile I took my grandmother to her chair in the living room. She loved to watch old shows on her vintage tv. She stops on a sitcom my mother used to watch when she was little. It makes her laugh and smile. It makes me a little sad but I don't care as long as my grandma is happy.

*knock knock*

I looked over at the door.

"- Oh! She must be here grandma. I'm gonna be late for work anyway. See you after work, I love you!" i said, kissing her forehead.

"- Ok sweetheart. I love you too." she said holding my hand lovingly.

She held my hand like this for a second and finally let go. I make my way to the door and open it.

"- Good morning Stacy!" i said, her and i handshaking.

"- Good morning girl!" she replied.

I let her walk in with a bag of stuff my grandma likes.

"- I haven't given her her medicine yet but she still has time." i told her, pressed.

"- Don't worry girl! I'll be taking care of her from now on. We're gonna go out for lunch and redo the garden. I know she loves that! Now shoosh! Get your ass to work!" she said jokingly.

"- That's my grandma not yours Stacy." i sticked out my tongue to tease her.

"- Oh no! How will i live now knowing that!" she fakes being shot in the heart. "Anyway, have a good day Ann!"

"- You two have a good day! I'll be back around 6pm." i said before walking out the door.

Next door on the right side of my grandma's house the house there was having an open house. People were coming in and out all looking like they came from money. My grandmother and I are living in a house in L.A that's located, very luckily, in a very high end part of the town. I don't come from money, and I don't think I ever will. Money is even tight at the moment between all the expenses for my mother and my grandmother. But they are necessary and I don't care. We have enough to get through everything. That was all that was important. Still we live in this very good area of L.A. Back in the time, housing was not as expensive as it is today. My great-grandmother bought this house for nothing when she came to the country. Today it still has this early 1940s look but it's clean and beautiful. It's not as big has the ultra modern houses around. But there are other houses like ours. And it makes it look all the more odd. "Los Angeles" some might say. But it's not as ugly as one might think tho. The ultra modern houses populated by rich people that for most of them are giving us looks of disappointment every time they see us are kind of ruining it but the other houses like ours are old family houses. Some only habited in the summer, some by families. I didn't knew much about any of the neighbours around but it was without saying that it was a discreet neighbourhood. On the other hand, the house next to my grandmother's was a mix of both. Big house, very big, but with an old timey feeling. This house was beautiful. But empty. But today it seemed like it was getting sold.

I looked at the house while getting in my car and noticed different couples stopping by.

I hope they'll be nice.

࿓ 𓋪・𖧹 𖤐

A/N : I said it was slow burn shit, dw, our james appears right after. It’s Ann’s pov but i’ll maybe do one of james one day. Smut is coming, that’s my principal reason for writing but i figured some slow burn would make all the delusional bitches (like me) out there crazy. Idk if my writing is good, i do that to get my mind off of stuff, sorry if you don’t like it. Chapter 2 is already done, i’ll get it out right after this one. Love yall <33

#james hetfield #james hetfield smut #james hetfield fanfiction #metallica #metallica smut #metallica fanfiction

[ohsocheesiness]

Played both Cyberpunk 2077 Phantom Liberty Endings

Both are super good in my opinion for V, Reed, and So Mi. Needed somewhere to post my thoughts.

My Natural Instinct

I did not trust So Mi at all, bro. Even from the beginning.. the thing with the chimera was suspect. Disappearing like that after I saved myers... idk bro. However, I do empathize with her circumstances. She's stuck somewhere where she's being abused. She's dying and she just wants to be free.

Don't trust Myers, but seemed the type to keep her end of the deal.

I didn't necessarily trust Reed either, but I believed in him. A man of principle who stuck by his team and country even if they did him dirty. I felt like So Mi only fake cared about me, but I felt like Reed truly did care about me and my life. He saw V as another of his comrads to protect. However, I knew it was his government that he'd unfortunately follow till his wheels deteriorated.

Following Reed

I believed that Reed 100% wanted to help So Mi escape. I told So Mi I only kind of trusted her and that I think Reed wants what's best for her.

Gameplay wise I think it's cool that following the FIA turned into a freaking horror survival game lmfao. I love the secret agent style shit in PL

Anyway, only in this ending do we learn that ROGUE AI are basically attacking her and using her as a fucking link to the physical world through the real net. She mentioned she felt like somebody was over her shoulder her whole time. It was THEM. I wonder what Alt would've had to say about it if I asked her tbh.

In the end though, there was a great moment with So Mi who was at her end. I had a save point and played out both instances if I killed her or if I let Reed take her. I don't really remember what my first instinct was to do... but after knowing both endings it would've been best just to kill her and give her freedom man. However, saving her gives us a bit more to Reed's character.

Reed is freaking depressed bro lmfao. He is the one keeping so mi in chains. He is the one locked in chains. He knows he's just a dog, enslaved to ideals he doesn't think truly matters, but it's all he has. The only thing he can do is lean into it, despite knowing it's flaws. "All that matters is that So Mi is still living." I think that's why Reed never comes suicide despite seeming so empty, he's strong enough to carry everything.. it's his duty even.

Ofc I accepted the offer to save my life, it made sense to me that they could really help and that Reed would do right by me.

FUCKING HURT ME that Johnny had to get destroyed so abruptly like that. I know he didn't want it. He accepted it though, his true death. Just Rogue and V being his last remnants of life in NC.

If you tell Reed thanks, he says something like "there's nothing to thank me for, V" and leaves, head hung down. Another life Reed took and ruined. Got So Mi on life support, enslaved by Myers, Alex killed, V some kind of wonky life so different than before. Coma for 2 years.

Also my Panam romance 💔💔💔💔 damnit! Panam is definitely the type to fucking be done with it cause she thinks I broke her heart but dang. Wish somebody would've went through my contacts and gave them the heads up 😐 but I LOVE what happened to Judy after this. She deserved the peace man. She's such a cool homie if you guys are platonic.

Following So Mi

I tried to play a lot more empathetic with So Mi and her circumstances, instead of just it being mutually beneficial. V was the only one who can understand what was happening to her.

& Since I played this second, I felt guilty asking her to use the black wall to hack shit and kill people while we were escaping from Hansen's spot. It's lowkey best to play this ending as a netrunner. You help So Mi a lot more directly.

So Mi is really just like V, kind of. She just wants to live, so she'll betray and lie to her friends and simply just have to feel bad about it afterwards. For the most part, V won't sell out to a corp, but So Mi kind of sold out her friends. Her character flaw I guess.

This is also the only ending where a diologue option will tell you MR BLUE EYES is the one who contacted her for NUSA info and hooked her up with a deal to get to the moon! This is the only time i remember hearing about him before you do the Sun ending. He definitely a major player in the next game and there's something he's trying to do involving space. Which is why i assume he sends V on a mission to the crystal palace.

Anyway, So Mi eventually reveals that she was lying to me the whole time. She knew it was only a one use kind of deal.... prick. But I told her I would've helped her anyway if she just told me.. which maybe I would've tbh.

I carried her to the rocket thing. Reed was waiting for you. You two are at odds now and he means business. He lowkey tries to butter you up about protecting So Mi, but call him on his bullshit. Then he switches up, he wants to take care in to answer for her crimes. I said I didn't want to have to shoot him. He said "neither do i" 🥹 but yea I popped his ass after he gave me no choice. In a certain regard I was happy he found peace. Killing reed is the best thing to do in this ending 100%

You hook So Mi in the rocket to the moon and talk with Johnny as you two watch her go into space. Real.

Wait long enough you get a mysterious message to go find a package. The package has evidence that So Mi is alive on the moon. Very cool! She lives in this ending. And she's free. I was actually super happy about that tbh.

Also with this ending, Alex lives. PL tried to give you a relationship with her... in the ending where she dies I was sad about it but got over it. In this ending where she lives you get another chance to chat with her. She calls you up to the bar and basically wants to ask about Reed's last moments and to say goodbye. I really liked Alex's character and appreciated this goodbye.

A while after this, you get a postcard on your megabuilding apartment door from Morocco. Alex is free too. A very good ending. Now it's up to V to find out how to survive (lol)

Which is better?

You get to see into So Mi's past with the first ending. First hand. You get some conversations with Reed that give him more depth, but So Mi either dies or might as well have died. Reed lives on avoiding his very clear regret, but may have found purpose. If you choose to take the help here V becoming just another face in the crowd... a bit of a shame if you played into the 'become a night city legend' but kind of deep and real considering now he has a new life, but had to go through a lot and lose a lot on the way.

With the second ending, Alex and So Mi live & them and Reed are free from being dogs to the NUSA government. You get your farewells... at least somebody gets a happy ending. With this, you also get your farewell with Johnny in one of the base endings. You can digest the weight of a life and choosing your own way to go. There's some moments in this, the conversations inbetween, in big fights, hand in hand with So Mi that make this worth while. Digesting it all with Johnny means a lot too.

So idk

#cyberpunk #cyberpunk2077 #cyberpunk phantom liberty #cyberpunk edgerunners #female v #male v cyberpunk #idris elba #keanu reeves #johnny silverhand #video games #cyberpunk v #panam #judy alvarez #songbird cyberpunk #solomon reed