#was refreshing the site all night until I have up

[dreamalittledreamofcopia]

everything that you desire (metal hammer spooky season special)

you will find them in the fire (not in magazines direct)

#I’m so salty #how was it sold out before midnight in America #was refreshing the site all night until I have up #so sad it’s all I wanted #boo hoo #I’m gonna write a fic ab it to ease my pain LMAO #the band ghost #copia #papa emeritus iv #ghost #copia my beloved #I’m such a bitch

[hellishjoel]

blue collar man

4.1k /  joel miller x f!reader

← masterlist

Summary: Your boyfriend Joel is up to his ears busy with his contracting business. Tired and sore, he comes home to learn you’ve made the rest of the night all about him. 

Warnings/Information/Heads-Up: Fluff, mentions of sex (but no actual sex), mentioned age difference, fluffy fluff fluff because blue collar man Joel Miller deserves it! He’s running a biz-ness! 

A/N: based on this lovely request! I hope I could bring your request to life, I breezed through it so fast because I love him, he’s baby. 

“Thank you for today.” He murmured into the pillow. You barely hear it, but even if you didn’t, you feel it in the way he holds your hand and keeps your arm settled around him.  “Thank you for everything you do, Joel.” You whispered back, your forehead on the top slope of his back as you take in the smell of his body wash combined with the lotion, his body falling slumped in your protective hold. 

Joel had found a lot of success with Miller Contracting over the summer months. Business was booming and his early mornings until late nights were dedicated to working on multiple projects to get things done on time for his clients. Joel worked on referrals mostly, so when he finished a client’s remodeled hill country home in late winter, the client had raved over Joel’s professionalism and hard work to their friends and now he had a list of upcoming projects. 

Truthfully, you didn’t know much about contractors until you started dating Joel. You quickly began to understand the vastness of his duties. One day he could be working on home renovation projects where he was doing demolition like removing the walls or floors, electrical and plumbing work, flooring installation, even down to the last coat of paint. 

Other opportunities were commercial like on a small office building downtown where he did site preparation, set the foundation, worked on the beams and columns, all the way up to finishing the roof. Whatever he couldn’t do himself that was a bit more specialized, he hired subcontractors to work on like heating, ventilation, and air conditioning. 

What he hated the most was landscaping projects. He’d have to do the design layout of a large backyard garden and plant trees and flowers or work on seeding grass if it was a particularly hot Texas summer. Then he would add irrigation systems like sprinklers, pathways for people to walk on, pergolas for outdoor hosting, finishing it off with pretty and unique outdoor light fixtures. God forbid the client wanted a pond. 

“Do you know how annoying koi fish are? They just… stare at ya while you’re tryin’ to work.”

You had grown to love the handy man that Joel was. Before you were moved in to his place, your shitty little apartment needed so much love that your asshole landlord never took the time to come and fix. But Joel would. That was his form of romance. He didn’t bring you flowers or chocolates on the first dates. Joel was replacing your leaky shower head and tightening your jiggly door knobs. He also managed to match the paint color on your walls so he could cover up the scrapes he made after he railed you into your mattress so hard that the frame made a few chips. 

You were so happy to see his business getting the high recognition it deserved, however, Joel was taking quite the beating from it. You could tell by the way he slinked back into the house at the end of the night, his frame hunched over and walking with a slight limp. 

He was sore, muscles aching and knees screaming at him. His joints were swollen by the end of the day and his sweaty, sticky skin ached for a refreshing shower. 

The hardest part was always trying to shut off his mind when he got home. He was already thinking about the next day. What didn’t get done on time, what shipments of supplies were expected, how the delays would set the project back. He needed a break. 

“Can’t take time off right now, baby. I’ve got deadlines to meet.”

There was this one specific project that was giving him hell. He called it the Astor because it was on Astor street. Every night this week he had come home beyond late because of the problems with the Astor. First it was that the project was exceeding the client’s budget, so they were giving him grief about that. Then it was labor shortage stuff, not being able to get people out there which then in turn caused timeline delays. With the client out of the country most of the time, Joel was receiving little to no communication from the owner. He was fighting permit and regulatory issues with the city, every day it was something new that caused a headache behind his eyes. 

His dedication was admirable, but you knew that him being so physically and mentally clouded wasn’t good for him or for Miller Contracting. 

You didn’t know shit about contracting, but you did know Joel. 

You had texted him earlier in the day to drop whatever he was working on no later than 5 o’clock in the evening. You never did that, never told him to leave work early. But the last thing he wanted was for him to come home and have you upset with him. That was worse than any project issue. 

Tonight would be about Joel. Anything you could do to make the stress melt away, you would try. 

Joel pushed open the front door once home, a heavy sigh leaving him as he closed the door back in place and set his lunch box and keys down on the entry table. 

“Joel?” Your voice echoed from the kitchen. 

“Hi, baby.” His voice was low from the lack of energy.

Joel slowly moved down on one knee, a heavy breath exiting through clench teeth as his kneecaps throbbed while he untied one boot, then the other. They were covered in dust even down to the creases, steel toe covers making his feet sore. 

“Hey, how was your day?” You asked as you grabbed a dish towel to wipe your hands with before tossing it on the counter, greeting him halfway as he made his way through the living room. 

You were up on your tippy toes for a kiss, not wanting him to have to bend over and exert himself. He hated when you treated him like an old man, but with this job, you always teased him that it was coming sooner rather than later. 

He kept his hands to himself, knowing they were a bit greasy and sweaty. His overgrown beard hairs tickled your face as you peppered him with a few extra kisses, one of his eyebrows playfully raising. 

“Was fine. Did you see what I texted you?” He asked as he looked down at you, watching as your fingers grabbed the hem of his shirt, helping lift it off his head. 

“Mhm. The HVAC guys didn’t show up until noon even though you scheduled them for nine in the morning. Did you see I texted you back? Five hours ago.” Your teasing tone made him crack a smile. 

Joel was bad at texting. Typical guy thing, typical older guy thing. He said he wouldn’t even have a phone if it wasn’t for work and if Sarah didn’t insist on how texting was the new way of communication. Even though you texted him ten minutes after his initial one, his phone was already back in his pocket and he had long forgotten about your conversation as he returned to his work day. 

His response came out in a chortle, a heavy breath through his nose since he was too tired to chuckle. 

“Sorry, baby. Just wanted to complain, I guess.” He said as he watched you fiddle with his Miller Contracting shirt that had a worn in hole by the neckline. He went to reach for it, wanting to toss it into the dirty clothes bin, but you were quick to hold it to your chest. 

“I’ve got it.” You said as you went to give him a soft kiss to the open plane of his chest, smiling at the salt and pepper chest hair he was sporting. It looked so good on him. You walked off to the bedroom and did it yourself, grabbing him a fresh shirt for the rest of the evening, a pair of boxers, and his worn dark plaid pajama pants he liked. 

Joel’s curiosity had gotten the better of him. A heavenly smell was drawing him into the kitchen, his eyes lighting up at the sight before him. You had green beans in a frying pan and a gravy softly bubbling in a sauce pan. Then in a skillet was the most perfect looking chicken fried steak, the coating coming to the perfect crisp. He pulled the oven handle open just an inch to see golden biscuits rising. 

“I put clean clothes on the counter in the bathroom, go shower, handsome.” You said before returning to the kitchen, frowning as he found his dinner before you had a chance to plate it. 

“Joel.” You playfully scolded, pinching at his hip. “You’re ruining your own surprise.” You teased as you shooed him out of the kitchen, hearing an audible grumble in his stomach. It made you sport a proud grin. It was his favorite meal, said it reminded him of his mom’s cooking growing up with Tommy. 

“I’m making mashed potatoes, too.” You said as you drained the water the potatoes were soaking in, putting them in a new bowl and getting out some milk and butter. 

“You’re makin’ me hungry.” He hummed with a small, tired smile as his hands came up loosely on your hips. 

His hands on you instantly made you grin, gently shaking your head at him as his head came to rest by your own. 

“You’re distractin’ me.” His low voice carrying the weight of his day. 

“No, you’re distracting me.” You made clear as your elbow playfully dug into the core of his stomach. 

“Go shower, please. You smell like drywall dust… and paint.” 

He rolled his eyes with his smile still lingering. 

“Yeah, okay. Thank you.” He said as his lips dropped down to place a sweet kiss of sincerity at the base of your neck, a shiver rolling up you as you let out a huff and returned your focus to your five-star meal. 

You heard the water hit against the shower wall and his small radio crackled to life, finalizing the last touches to Joel’s favorite dinner. 

Joel came back to the living room in the clothes you had set out for him, his hair slicked back wet from his shower. God, he looked so good. 

“Here.” You handed him his plate, seeing his lips part in excitement. His stomach let out an audible rumble. He probably didn’t have a spare minute to eat his lunch today, poor thing. 

The two of you settled on the couch, Joel expecting you to turn on one of your shows since a new episode came out today. 

“Do you uhm.. Maybe wanna watch one of those movies where they’re flying the jet planes? You said you wanted to show me it a while ago.” You offered, glancing over to see him already inhaling his food with the fork scraping across the plate to not let a single bit of gravy escape him. But your offer made him pause. 

“You wanna watch Top Gun? You hate Tom Cruise.”

“Well, yeah, he seems kind of like a douchebag, but it’s okay.” His eyes narrowed on you as he thought about your offer but ultimately shook his head, shrugged, and kept eating. 

“‘t’s fine, you can put somethin’ on.” He said as he stabbed a green bean, smeared some mashed potatoes on it before putting it past his lips. 

You took a deep breath and issued him the remote control. 

“You pick something tonight, honey. It’s your night.” 

That caught Joel’s attention. His head whipped a little to fast towards you, his thick eyebrows furling at the concept. 

“‘t’s not my night. It’s a Thursday.” 

The look you gave him set him straight. 

“Okay, okay.. It’s my night.” He declared in playful defense, taking in a deep breath through his nose and opted for some old Western show he liked. You didn’t care much for it, but Joel did. 

Once you two finished dinner, plates stacked on the coffee table and discarded, your head was on his shoudler and your hand ran slow, soothing circles over his chest. You could feel him breathing deeply, relaxing with you. 

You asked him questions about the main characters, showing genuine interest. Even going as far as to add a dramatic gasp when a shot was fired from a cowboy’s revolver which made him let out a hearty laugh. 

“You’re so full of it.” 

He was talking with a huge grin, you could hear it in how he spoke, and it warmed your heart. 

Towards the end of your night, your hands were in yellow dish gloves as you washed your plates from dinner, sliding the clean ones between the dividers of your drying rack. 

Joel slipped his strong arms low around your waist, his burly shoulders pressing into your own as you nearly toppled over with his presence

“Thanks for dinner tonight. Hit the spot.” He said as he kissed your cheek then on a spot where your jawline met your neck, right by your ear. His beard hairs tickled. You could feel that they were freshly trimmed now, he probably felt a lot better.  

“Night’s not over yet.” You hummed, a playful smile on your lips that he was quick to take notice of. 

“Oh?” His voice dropped an octave, rolling your eyes a bit as you dug your elbow into his stomach for the second time tonight to put some space between you. 

“Okay, cowboy. Relax. How about you go to the bedroom and take your shirt off. I’ll be there in a sec.” Your choice of words were still leading him in a different direction, you almost felt bad. But it was funny watching him get worked up. 

After finishing the dishes and blowing out the eucalyptus scented candles, you peaked into your bedroom. Joel was still cautiously removing his shirt, moving slow as to not disturb his aching muscles. You hated seeing him come home every night like this, as if his body had just been in a fight and taken a brutal beating.

Joel undid the clasp of his watch, the band and watch face dirty and making digging a  bruise into his wrist, but it told the time. He felt better after his shower, having made it a steamy one to relax the stinging in his upper neck and shoulders as well as his lower back. 

His belly was good and full, happy to have something homemade rather than a quick pizza in the oven or just a cold bottle of beer before bed.  

You were taking care of him tonight. Not that you didn’t every other night. He was actually giving you the time to take proper care of him. It felt off at first, taking on all the attention he usually reserved for you after long days. But maybe it’s what he needed. 

His head turned as he felt a warm pair of arms circle just above his plaid pajama pants, your soft fingers undoing the knot he had tied in the front of them. 

“I would’a taken my pants off for ya if you’d just ask.” His tone taunting, stepping out of the soft material before spinning in your arms and attempting to scoop you into him. 

“Lay back, goofball.” You said with that gleaming smile of yours. Made his stomach twist. Whatever you had planned, you obviously wanted the lead on. 

He did as instructed, happily falling into the comfort of the mattress with ease. 

“Close your eyes, please.” Your voice was sweet like honey. He’d follow it into the shadows, into hell, more likely into heaven since it’s where Joel thought you belonged. 

He could already fall asleep, though it was no later than eight. He felt the bed dip first at his legs, your body shifting up to sit by his hip. His hand naturally felt out for you, his warm palm holding you at the curve of your lower back. 

When Joel was given the okay to open his eyes again, he was surprised to see a few candles lit around the room, the golden glow adding a bit of ambiance. 

He watched as you squirted a few pumps of a lotion in your hands, circling it up in your palms to make it a little warm before you started to lather it into his calves. 

The sensation made his breath hitch. You were giving him a massage? He sat up on his elbows and watched the white-ish cream get all wrapped up in his dark leg hair. 

“Darlin’-”

“Shh.”

He tightened his lips, feeling a bit futile all of a sudden. There was a pause before he spoke again. 

“Don’t have to do this for me.” He insisted, his eyes on yours, but you were focused on adding subtle pressure to his calf muscles. 

“Know I don’t have to. I want to. Lay back down.” 

You wanted to. You wanted to take time out of your evening and bathe him in attention. You had cooked one of his favorite meals, and to perfection he might add. You also let him watch a show he wanted to watch, something he knew you didn’t have a taste for. But you were intrigued anyway, to show you cared. 

He was so comfortable and at ease, the problems of today didn’t seem to matter much anymore when you were here to greet him so lovingly. 

Your fingers kneaded gently into his skin, Joel’s eyes dipping closed as he began to sink deeper into the mattress. Of course he couldn’t just do nothing. He had his warm palm splayed on your back where the shirt you were wearing was riding up a little bit. You smiled at the gesture. No matter how much effort you tried to dedicate to Joel, he was still showing his care even when he was dead exhausted. 

You worked the lotion up into his thighs, the slight tug on his hairs making his face crinkle a little. You dared not to get too high, again, not to give him the wrong idea of where the massage was heading. It was okay to be just attentive to his needs for tonight. You could relax him in other more sensual ways another time. He needed something a little deeper.

You leaned down and peppered sweet kisses up his torso and over those salt and pepper chest hairs you admire so much, stopping just at his lips with a small smile. 

“So handsome.” You praised in a whisper, kissing him with a grin on your lips.

He hummed softly and moved his hand to gently cup the back of your head, keeping your kind presence in his proximity just a moment longer. 

“I’m getting too old for you.” He whispered back in a teasing tone, making you bubble up a laugh in your shared space. 

“You’ve always been too old for me.” Your thumb gently glided over his chin and admired a small white patch just at the base where his neck sloped down. “But I’ve never minded. Because you’re a good man. A hard working, blue collar man. It’s very sexy.” You teased with a smile, happy to see one blossom on his lips as well. 

“Thanks for treatin’ me so good tonight. This week’s been…” he let the sentence die before shaking his head. 

“I know, Joel.” You said with a small nod before pressing a gentle kiss on his lips again before sitting up straight. 

“Wanna roll over and I’ll do your shoulders?” 

He let out a breathless laugh as he looked up at you. “Please.” Like you had to ask. 

He wasn’t used to this sort of treatment, but boy, maybe he should start asking for it. 

Joel moved to lay on his belly, letting out a short groan in the process that made your chest flutter. 

You let out a short huff before you straddled his back, topping yourself right on his butt after getting a short groan from Joel for being on his tailbone. 

More lotion was squirted into your hands before you started to apply it across the landscape of his back. 

“We should do a skincare night.” You said, feeling his body shudder at the cold lotion. 

“Uh what?” Joel’s voice muffled against the comforter, his head to one side so he could see you just out of his peripheral.

“You know what skincare is, you see me do it every night.” 

“I don’t know what the he-ll you’re talkin’ ‘bout.” He said, his words stuttering as you pushed particularly harder in his lower back. Jeez, it was knot after knot under your fingertips. 

“Ugh, Joel!” You whined as your motions paused. 

Joel had a habit of doing this. Declaring he had no idea what it was that you were talking about, making you tirelessly explain for several minutes, before he goes ‘Oh, why didn’t you just say that? I know what that is.” It made you roll your eyes each and every time. 

“You’re handsome, but you don’t listen.” You hummed out before cupping your hands at his shoulders and doing circles with good pressure, your upper body weight being put into his stern muscles. 

“All I heard you say is that I’m handsome.” He moaned into the sheets, a blush creeping on your cheeks at his comment, but also his heavenly moan. 

“It’s.. where you apply skincare to your face. You know, using a cleanser, applying an exfoliator, moisturizer..”

This was when Joel started muffling random nonsense into the sheets and you playfully pushed into his crying shoulders harder until he let out another long groan of discomfort. 

“Okay, okay, I know what you’re talkin’ about. Skincare. I don’t need it.” 

You tutted, shaking your head as you held in a laugh. 

“Everyone needs it. Every. One.” You said as you leaned down and kissed the back of his head where his curls were starting to form. 

“Especially you, Joel! Your pores are so big, you’ve got dust and dirt getting all in there. And it’s been so hot outside, your skin’s drying up. Gotta take care of your skin baby.”

“Why? So I’ll look young agian?” He teased as he reached a hand back and squeezed your hip as well as he could from his position. 

“Because it’s good for you. Makes me feel good after a really long day.”

You could feel his eyes on you, a throat hum leaving his lips. “Thought I made you feel good after a really long day.” 

A huff left your lips as you were back to doing circles into his shoulder with your thumbs. “Shut up.”

The last of the lotion had sunk into his skin, the massage hopefully healing more than just his dry skin. 

Night’s like this with Joel were rare, but exceptionally special. He had energy to talk to you about everything under the sun, something you didn’t expect to transpire with your age difference at first. You discussed your mutual plans for the weekend, a barbeque at Tommy’s house. Joel was insisting on you wearing your new bikini, green to match his beautiful eyes. He could be such a horn dog. 

He wanted to stay up as long as he could, but the long day he endured couldn’t help but put weight on his eyelids. His words turned to mumbles, his arms snaking around your waist in his silent gesture to fall asleep with you. 

You shook your head with a small, tired smile, your hands planting themselves on his forearms to put a stop to his motions.

“Turn around.” You whispered, the notion making his tired eyes pop open with a “huh?” leaving his parted lips. 

“You heard me, old man. Turn around.” You said as your hand roamed over his warm hip. 

Joel assumed you didn’t want to cuddle tonight, maybe he was too warm for your taste despite the fan running above the both of you. 

Joel’s chest tightened as he felt your warm body return right behind him, a bashful grin on his face. 

“Are you tryna big spoon me?” His southern accent was dripping heavier than usual with the tiredness stringed in it. 

The question erupted a giggle from you, Joel feeling you kiss over his taut shoulder blade. 

“I don’t know how well I can big spoon you.. You’re so long.” Your arm tightened around Joel’s waist anway, his big hand finding yours as your fingers interlocked. He felt grateful in this moment, albeit a bit shy about the position. He was used to being the big spoon, it was different for him to be on the receiving end. But it was warm and settling, he couldn’t deny that. 

“So I’m uh.. I’m like the ladle to your big spoon?” Joel asked. He could feel your grin on his back, your legs tangling with his own. 

“Yes… you’re the ladle, but even the ladle needs a big spoon.” Joel’s blinks slowed until his eyes were closed, heavy with sleep. 

“Thank you for today.” He murmured into the pillow. You barely hear it, but even if you didn’t, you feel it in the way he holds your hand and keeps your arm settled around him. 

“Thank you for everything you do, Joel.” You whispered back, your forehead on the top slope of his back as you take in the smell of his body wash combined with the lotion, his body falling slumped in your protective hold.

#joel miller #pedro pascal #pedro pascal the last of us #pedro pascal joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller one shot #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #tlou #tlou fic #the last of us #the last of us fanfiction #hellishjoel #joel miller fluff #joel miller imagine #fluff fic #joel miller one shot fluff

[kaleidoscopewritings19]

Bruce Wayne x Reader

Title: “Secrets will be told” SERIES PART 6 FINAL PART

Need a Refresher? Here are the previous parts!

Part 1      

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Pairing(s): Bruce Wayne (from the show Gotham) and Female reader. BOTH BRUCE AND READER WILL BE 26-28 in this part.

Warnings: None; I did not proofread; I quickly skimmed through

Summary of series: Bruce Wayne was captivated when he met Y/N, and the feeling was mutual. Dating turned into being engaged and engaged to married. They knew each other’s secrets and told each other everything; they confided in one another. But once Y/N follows Bruce back to Gotham, he begins to change... He becomes secretive, is he having an affair? Y/N needs to find out the truth.

The sound of beeping made me open my eyes. I frantically looked around, and tubes were in my nose, and the heart rate monitor was beeping quickly. “Y/N, sweetie, please calm down..” My mom’s hands held mine, and I turned to look at her. 

I could feel a burning sensation in my hand, and I held my hand in front of my face. The palm of my hand was wrapped in a bandage, and the doctor walked in. “It’s about time you woke up, Mrs. Wayne. You’ve been asleep for three days now; we were starting to get worried.” he said, as he looked down at his clipboard.

“Do you remember anything that happened?” he asked and I leaned back into the pillows behind me. “I-I was kidnapped... By Jeremiah Valeska, and I was saved by..by...” I started to remember last night.

“Stay standing. Don’t pass out. Just focus on me.” he said, and I shook my head. “Please, just tell Bruce I love him. Tell him, I’m not mad. Don’t let him blame himself for.. for.. th-this.”

My lungs were burning, and it felt like they could no longer hold any air.  My legs began to shake, and before my eyes closed, I heard the batman say: “I love you too...” 

“It’s okay, we don’t need to go over everything right now. But I am advising you go to therapy when we get you home. What you went through was traumatic, and I think it would be a great help..” he said, and then he cleared his throat. “But let’s discuss what is currently wrong. Your oxygen levels were extremely low from breathing in all of the chemicals. Your hand-” he lifted up my hand and unwrapped it.

My hand was red and blistered, “You will have a permanent scar on you right hand.” I lifted my hand up and the chemical burn was in the shape of a “J”.  Of course, that bastard had to leave his mark.

The doctor grabbed my hand and wrapped it with a clean bandage. “But there are some corrective surgeries that can fix it. I can get something scheduled if you would like.” he said, and I shook my head.

“Where’s my husband? Where’s Bruce?” I asked, and my mom stood up. “He went home to take a shower. He will be back soon.” Her thumb massaged the top of my hand, and I sighed.

 “Why did you go to Metropolis?” my mother asked.

“I can’t remember. I’m sorry.” I said, as she pushed a strand of hair behind my ear. “Don’t worry about it, sweetheart. I’m just so happy that you are going to be okay.” she whispered. 

The doctor picked up his clipboard, “Alright Mrs. Wayne. Your hand is all good to go. Now, I must advise you to get some rest. And if everything is good by tonight, I will consider letting you go home early.” he said before walking out of the door.

My mother and I sat there talking about her and my father’s recent trip, until she had to go home to clean up broken glass. I sat there staring at the bandage wrapped around my right hand. I began to unwrap the bandage and hissed at the stinging pain that shot through my entire arm. 

I stared at the raw, blistered skin. Of course, he left his mark on me. I started to cry at the site of it; I felt disgusting. I could still feel his lingering touch on my bottom lip, and the way he stared at me. I was supposed to be dead. Never has anyone wanted me dead, and I hoped that they put Jeremiah away. Because now, this felt like a game that was not going to end in my favor. 

A knock on my hospital room door tore my gaze away from my hand. Bruce stood there with a bouquet of roses. I wiped the tears from my face, and he quickly made his way over to me. “Y/N, I am so sorry about what happened. I wanted to be here when you woke up, but your mom made me go home and clean up.” he said.

He watched where my gaze went, and he looked down at my hand. “Let me wrap that up so it doesn’t get infected.” he said as he grabbed the bandages that were on the bedside table. I stared at him as he bandaged my hand, and he finally looked up at me. “We need to talk when we get home.” he said quietly, and I nodded. 

“About the divorce?” I asked, and he looked down at his hands. “If that is what you want, then yes. But I would really like for you to reconsider those divorce papers.” He spoke.

“Why would I do that?” I asked, and he pressed a kiss to my forehead. 

“We will talk about this when we get you home.” he said, and he stood up from his chair. “Right now, I’m going to let you rest.” 

An hour after Bruce had left, I had fallen asleep. 

“I want to be able to control your pain and how fast you die.” Jeremiah hissed as he dragged a knife that had the residue from the chemical down my arm. 

“Stop! Please, stop!” I cried out, and all he could do was laugh in my face. 

Slowly, he dragged the knife down my cheek, “I hate having to scar your pretty little face. Maybe if Bruce doesn’t want you after this, I will give you a chance. After all, you will look just...like....me.”

I felt a hand shake my shoulder and all I could do was scream “No! Please, get off of me!” Bruce’s hand pulled back from me. 

“Y/N, it’s just me. It’s just me.” he said, and I jumped into his arms. “Please don’t let him get me, Bruce.” I cried out, and his hand cupped the back of my head. He pulled me closer to him, “He’s not coming back, Y/N. It’s over. Jeremiah is dead.” 

I pulled away from Bruce’s chest, “He-He’s dead? Are you sure?” I asked and Bruce nodded. “You don’t have to worry anymore.”

When we had gotten back to Wayne Manor, Alfred was smiling. “It is so good to have you back, Mrs. Wayne. Want me to fix you something to eat or drink?” he asked, and I shook my head.  

Bruce gave Alfred a small smile, “I think we need some time to talk, if you don’t mind Alfred.” 

Alfred handed Bruce something, but I didn’t see what it was. Bruce picked up my uninjured hand and led me to his study. “I know I said I can explain everything, but I think it would be easier if I just show you.” 

I watched him walk over to his desk and grab a remote, and he clicked a button, and a loud sound made the room tremble. I took a step back as the fireplace retracted into the wall, revealing a dark hallway with stairs. Bruce picked up my left hand and led me down the dark staircase. “Um.. This isn’t the part where you are actually going to murder me, right?” I asked and Bruce smiled.

“You watch way too much crime shows, Y/N.” he continued to lead me down the never-ending staircase, but a bright LED light was shining at the end of the hallway. He turned to face me, “Before we go any further, please let me explain and answer your questions. And if you still want a divorce after seeing all of this, I understand.”

I followed him into the blinding light, and after my eyes adjusted to my surroundings, I gasped. A group of computers almost took up one entire wall, and a big black military looking car was on the opposite side. But Bruce led me to a glass case, and once we got close enough, I stopped dead in my tracks. 

It was the Batman suit. Bruce opened the case, and I pressed my left hand up against the chest of the suit. Memories of being carried out of Ace Chemicals replayed in my mind. 

When he spoke that night, his last words to me were “I love you too.” Those words were not spoken in the Batman’s voice, but in Bruce’s voice. The scars on Bruce’s back, the late nights of him not being home, and this is the reason why he bulked up. Bruce Wayne, my husband, is the Batman. 

I turned to Bruce with tears in my eyes, “It was you. You are the Batman?” 

Bruce nodded his head as tears ran down his cheeks. “I had to retaliate, Y/N. When I heard Jeremiah escaped Gotham, I couldn’t be a sitting duck anymore. It wasn’t just me anymore, I had to protect you.” he said.

“And that woman in your office? Who is she?” I questioned and Bruce sighed. “That woman was Selina Kyle. She was warning me about Jeremiah. She heard that he was coming for me, but she didn’t know when. But instead, he went for you.” he explained. 

“We have been friends for a very long time, Y/N. Nothing is or ever will go on between her and myself. She is the reason Jeremiah will never come for us again.” he whispered, and I lunged into Bruce’s arms.

“I was so scared that I was going to die, Bruce.” I cried into his chest. “But the last thing I thought of before I passed out, was you. And when I looked into the Batman’s eyes, I should have known they were yours.” 

Bruce’s arms tightened around me, “I can’t lie to you, Y/N, but things are not going to be easy. Now that you know I am Batman, this is going to make you a target.” he said as he pulled away from me and held my face in his hands. “I can’t give up being Batman now. Gotham needs me more than ever, and if you want to leave me, I won’t hold it against you.” 

“Because I will never forgive myself if something were to happen to you. A part of me knows I should have left you in the dark, and I should have signed those divorce papers.” he said as a tear slipped from his eye. “But another part of me, the selfish part of me, doesn’t want to lose you. I love you, Y/N. You are the best thing that has ever happened to me. However, I will respect the decision that you make.” Bruce said as he pressed his forehead against mine. 

I took in a deep breath, “I don’t want a divorce, Bruce. I really don’t. But please, don’t keep any secrets from me.” I said quietly, and Bruce picked me up off of the ground. “No more secrets.” he said before pressing a kiss to my lips. 

“Mrs. Wayne, you are going to need these.” he said as he pulled my engagement ring and wedding band out of his pocket. Bruce slipped them onto my ring finger. 

A few weeks later, I was able to remove the bandage from my hand. This was the first time in weeks I had seen my bare hand. As I removed the bandage, I saw the dark red ‘J’ scar that would be a permanent mark. 

Bruce came into the bathroom and leaned against the door frame, “Are you alright?” he asked, and I closed my hand. “Yeah. I’m just trying to get used to this ugly scar.” I say and he wrapped his arms around me. 

“It won’t always be red. It should somewhat fade.” he said as opened my hand. He looked at the scar and sighed. “If I could have been there sooner.” he whispered, and I cupped his cheek. “Don’t go down that route, Bruce. I am just thankful you showed up when you did. Otherwise, things could have gotten worse.” 

He wrapped his arms around me, and I took in his scent. “Can I ask you something?” I asked, and Bruce nodded. “Will you train me, Bruce?” I asked and he pulled away from me. 

“Train you? For what?” 

“I don’t want to be that girl that was locked in a glass room, about to be murdered, Bruce. I don’t want to be the girl that is left with a scar as a reminder that I cannot protect myself.” I said and he tore his gaze away from me. “Please, Bruce?”

He stood there staring at the wall, and finally he answered. “Okay. You’re right. You need to be able to protect yourself. I will train you, but it’s not going to be easy.” 

That night, when we left “the batcave” after he told me was Batman, our lives had changed forever. I had to share the love of my life with everyone else in Gotham; they got the Dark Knight, and I got Bruce Wayne. The person I fell in love with at Princeton. 

He trained me just like he promised he would. Hell, I was so good at fighting that I was now known as the “Black Widow”. I fought right alongside my husband, helping keep the streets of Gotham safe.  

Then we adopted our first son, then our second, and then our third. Then Bruce found out he had a love child from before we met in college. And then we had a set of twins of our own. As a family, we had a pact, and that was never keep a secret. Because Secrets will always be told. 

----

I know, cheesy ending. But I hope you guys enjoyed this little mini-series. I had fun writing it, and at times it was challenging, but definitely worth it. Thank you to the readers who stuck it out until the very end of this series! 

(Also, I couldn’t figure out a superhero name. So I went with Black Widow, I mean, I always can picture Bruce with a Black Widow!Reader. I do not own the rights to Batman/Bruce Wayne, or the characters mentioned. I only own the story line. Nor do I own the rights to the hero name Black Widow).

XOXO

TAGLIST: @rl800 @auspicious-lilana @theclassicvinyldragon 

@moon-shampoo

#bruce wayne #bruce wayne smut #bruce wayne x reader #bruce x y/n #bruce wayne x batmom #gotham fox #Gotham TV #Gotham #Selina Kyle

[siffrin-enthusiast]

// intro post

[Image ID: A GIF of the In Stars and Time party, created by insertdisc5. End ID.]

hello and welcome to our little corner of the internet!!

more information (including about the music) is below the cut but the tldr is that i'm a happily taken 18 year old, auDHD disabled transmasculine host of a traumagenic DID system currently fixated on in stars and time, ultrakill, and coding. collectively we go by kuiper and he/they pronouns :)

my asks & dms are always open! feel free to draw me an anon picture (checked weekly) or check out the submissions thread!

while you're here, consider donating to palestine to request a commission from a lovely talented in stars and time artist!! check it out at @isatforpalestine!

if you're trying to get the playlist to work, you need to go to your site settings, allow audio, refresh the page, and then play it. It will update itself as you navigate through the entire blog so there aren't any pauses/cutoffs! the good news is once you figure out how to do it, it'll work until you clear all of your site cookies!

interests

there's..a lot!! in stars and time, coding, rain world, deltarune, slay the princess, pokemon, hollow knight, psychology (my college major!), fnaf, inscryption, generation loss, hades, celeste, ultrakill, warrior cats, oneshot, hunger games, moon knight (pirating it), night in the woods, and a good thirty more that i'm forgetting.

tagging system

i do my best to keep it simple because i'm too lazy to do a cool one for convenience! interests are tagged with the name of said interest (#in stars and time), and if they're somewhat newly-out, they get a "spoilers" thrown on the end of it (#in stars and time spoilers). if there's something i post about that you don't want to see, i highly encourage you to block its tag! i won't know or be offended! :)

i’ll tag anything that i think is a common thing to be tagged like death/blood, and i do it in the format of #tw death. if this isn’t the right format or anyone wants me to tag other things that i didn’t think of, just let me know!

there's also a few special tags of my own! asks are tagged with #kuiper important posts for the important stuff (like this intro post), #kuiper favorite posts for my favorites/things i return to frequently, #kuiper asks, posts where i ramble about whatever is #kuiper rambling, posts about my dissociation/system are tagged #kuiper system posting, and posts about my disabilities are tagged with #kuiper disability moment! i also write fic and while i tag them with #kuiper fics, i post most of them over at my fic sideblog!

if there's ever anything that you need tagged, please let me know!!

requests

i'm getting pretty into making stuff so..if anyone ever wants me to try my hand at something, please feel free to ask! this is pretty informal until i set more things up! edits, pfps, icons, stimboards, userboxes, ask games, fic/drabbles, coding, i'm willing to give it an honest shot!! feel free to ask!

any and all requests will be tagged with #kuiper requests!

contact

the best way to contact me here is my dms/asks because my notifications are a. little overrun!!

don't like tumblr? don't worry! i have too many other sites! ranked from most to least used:

neocities

cohost

spacehey

dni

i use the block button liberally, as should you! it's freeing!

basic DNI criteria!

people who don't believe in freeing palestine/zionists

entirely nsfw or untagged nsfw accounts.

entirely ed/sh or untagged ed/sh accounts. i understand if you're struggling with it, but if it is your entire blog, no.

syscourse. post whatever you want on your blog, just don't bring it to mine (asking my opinion, tagging me in things).

blank blogs. i will think you're a bot.

people who are still giving j.k. rowling money. shoo!!!

radfems, terfs, radqueers, transableds, proshippers, stuff like that.

anyone not on that list is more than welcome here!!

credits

theme and the lil cat popup by glenthemes

music player, playlist

the lovely dividers

in stars and time & gif by insertdisc5

siffrin looping gif

#kuiper important post #pinned intro #intro post

[bomberqueen17]

The Witch King

This is not like, a coherent review or anything.

Yesterday I was just like possessed with anxiety nonstop the whole day and everything I did seemed to make it worse and i just like spun my wheels and I got some things done but mostly felt worse and worse and more and more stressed, due partly to external circumstances but largely, i think, to nothing in particular. And finally after dinner I was sitting on the couch comfortably and realized you know what, fuck it, I am not going to "try to write" and wind up refreshing tumblr and chatting on discord all night, not while I'm already fretting and stewing like this, i'm going to be miserable and probably get in a fight or something and i don't want that. Fuck it. So I went to the tab I already had open in my browser, which I'd had open for weeks but the time was never right, and I bought the kindle version of Witch King and read it right there in my browser, the whole way through, did not click away or put it down or move or do anything else, and you know what it was fantastic.

I'd read a preview and been like hm i don't know what this is about and read a couple of amazon reviews that were like this was really confusing, some of which concluded so i didn't like it and some of which concluded so i super liked it, and like, I've been a fan of Martha Wells since she put the Element of Fire up for free chapter by chapter on her Livejournal when the rights reverted to her in like 2006 or so, so I knew what I was going to get and also knew that I would not particularly know exactly what I was going to get until I got it, and I also knew I was going to enjoy the ride, but I hadn't wanted to read it in stolen or exhausted moments lest the "this is confusing" bits prove too much.

In the end I found it not in the slightest bit confusing, it was a very straightforward interspersed flashbacks storytelling technique that i thought suited the story beautifully (not to be spoilery but we join a character in medias res with an action scene and it's him trying to figure out who has betrayed him in a complicated political scenario, and in the process of unspooling this he has to revisit the site of where the complicated political scenario was first set up, some sixty (?) years earlier, so he's retracing his own steps and it's really well done I think, introducing new bits of history right as they're relevant to the current storyline-- and just fantastically done, not at all forced, completely natural and compelling, and no the reader isn't told anything they don't need to know but you do get everthing you need to know, there's no unneccessary coyness at all).

So anyway i loved that, and I hope there's a sequel planned but it stands alone just fine if not, I'm already figuring i'll alternate my rereads and do every other chapter each time, so I can do All The Backstory first, then All The Current Timeline story, and that's such a fun way to eke out many many many rereads of a story that like all of Wells' works I will reread until I have chunks of them memorized (anyone who has read my works surely has found whole undigested bits of hers bobbing around in there because I do this so much; I found the phrase weary past bearing in something of mine the other day and was like oh that's moon when ember first shows up i stole that whole emotion wholesale out of the third raksura book yes i did).

Little side notes: Love the aroace qpr vibes with Kai and Zeide, also sort of enjoy the lowkey genderfuckery that comes with a demon who has his own gender then inhabiting bodies that had different genders. Great magic system too, and I love that we first get introduced to how Kai's pain magic works as a like totally fait accompli chunk of didactic worldbuilding and then in a later chapter we get to see the flashback of him inventing it and understand why it works the way it does, that was also so well-wrapped-up.

Anyway-- Definitely recommend this one but probably it is best if you can do it like I did, in one big binge-read. It took me probably three hours and I was trying hard not to read it too fast.

Yeah. Anyway. People assume I'm a big reader. I was, as a kid. I am not now. This is the first new book I've read since probably the spring sometime. I don't casually read things i only read them if I'm going to add them to my Pantheon of Rereads, and that goes for fic too mostly.

#martha wells #witch king #book recs #kind of a book review #sort of

[monstersandmaw]

Male ‘yautja inspired’ alien x gender neutral reader - Part Three (sfw)

Disclaimer which I’m including in all my works after plagiarism and theft has taken place: I do not give my consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted anywhere. They are copyrighted and belong to me.

___

Well, folks. You’ve absolutely floored me with your support for this story. I don’t know where to begin to thank you. Without further ado, here’s Part Three. It’s only had one edit this time, so please forgive any mistakes???

I will just quickly remind you that this isn’t technically a Predator/Yautja fanfic. It’s heavily inspired, but to the people ‘correcting’ my lore mistakes with asks that I’ve largely ignored, it’s not supposed to be ‘canon’ or accurate. It’s just a story with aliens who look like predators because I don’t want to spend time doing research and I love the design. Yes, they are basically a feral predator and a jungle predator, but just not in name and not in lore detail, so there’s no need to ‘correct’ me. Thanks. (Also Croc is gonna get his own story at some point in the future, I’m determined. Just not with this reader)

Contents: mention of loss of comrade’s life, thunderstorm, all the tropes, the start of some classic pining, some misunderstanding, some soft chat, Croc starting to be an exasperated wingman, and everyone’s favourite trope to finish with: there was only one bed... Wordcount: 4744

Part One (sfw), Part Two (sfw)

Neither of the aliens was anywhere to be seen when you finally stepped out into the chilly, misty morning after a night of broken sleep. Your neck twinged and your back hurt something fierce after so many nights with nothing but a flimsy camping mat between you and the lumpy forest floor. Arching your spine and hearing it pop quietly in the still air of the campsite, you moaned and wished for a comfy bed and a hot bath.

“The hell am I doing…?” you whispered.

Groggy, stiff, and more than a little sticky and gritty after days of hiking alone through the pine forest, you knew that face wipes were just not going to cut it for the fourth day in a row.

Given that it would be three days until their backup arrived, you figured you’d hang around the crash site — see if you couldn’t get them to open up a bit more about their culture, and about these other terrifying aliens they were hunting — and then slip away well before their help arrived. No need to push your luck with a species that was not known for being universally peaceful with strangers; after all, their backup might mistake you for the reason they were shot down…

You poked your head into the now-cool wreckage of their ship and stared around at the dark grey, polished metal walls and surfaces. Some areas though looked more like black, woven carbon fibre than metal, with glowing gold panels behind like carved, back-lit amber. They were too far off to see properly though, and with the grounded ship sitting at that angle, it was difficult to make out much else. There were a few doorways and compartments you could have poked around in, but since neither Big Red nor Croc was anywhere to be found in the limited area of the grounded ship that was still accessible, and since you couldn’t read the glyphs on any of the surfaces, you decided to leave it all well alone.

Their stuff was all still at the campsite though, stacked neatly beneath the tarpaulin. They hadn’t tramped off during the night to meet their rescuers at a different rendezvous point then, and you stood with your hands on your hips and stared around the campsite. Your breath fogged the air in front of you and you watched it twist and billow.

For a moment, it seemed as though the scent of fresh smoke drifted through the silent trees, but it could just have been coming from the wreckage, eddying in slow-spiralling drafts around the crash site. The acrid smell of it got in your nose and made you scowl and cough.

Your canteen needed refreshing and a glance down at your hiking gear brought a grimace to your face. After digging out a camping towel and the rest of your dirty laundry from your pack, you headed back to the stream from the previous night to rinse it out, wondering all the while where your two companions were. Even though the autumn air was cold, your clothes were all made of light, quick-drying fabric, and with an abundance of summer-dry pine wood all around you — half of it conveniently shattered to kindling from the impact of the crash — you’d have no trouble starting a fire if you needed a bit more heat.

With no one in sight when you reached the creek, you started by rinsing out your clothes in the clear water. The cold bit into your hands, piercing right down to the bone and making your movements slow and clumsy, but with that eventually done, you draped your laundry temporarily over a branch and weighed up whether you wanted to risk hypothermia just to get yourself clean for a while.

Deciding that getting briefly cold was preferable to remaining perpetually sticky, you stripped off and stepped down into the gully again. The basin of rock at the bottom was just deep enough and wide enough to stand in so that the water came up to lap around your ankles, but it wasn’t the kind of dreamy plunge pool worthy of a travel blog. It was slippery, slimy with green algae, and excruciatingly cold. Still, it would be enough for what your grandmother used to call a ‘cat’s lick and a promise’.

Stark naked, you dunked your upper body into the spattering stream of water and bit back a shriek as it hit your flesh. Hunched over and leaning close to the mossy wall, you rinsed your head and face, scrubbed beneath your arms and briefly between your legs, and then turned your back on the stream to rinse off your shoulders and back.

Turning around revealed a sliver of the view between the trees of the horseshoe valley below, and, more immediately, Big Red standing on a boulder about twenty paces away.

He wasn’t watching you though. Quite the contrary, he had his back to you and was staring off at the same sliver of forest framed by trees, but nevertheless you yelped in surprise at finding him there.

“I will not look,” he said in response.

“Fucking hell,” you spat back at him through chattering teeth as your whole body started to spasm from the cold. “How long have you been there?”

“Not long. I heard movement as I was coming back up the hill, but discovered… you.”

“Right.”

Perfect.

An alien had probably just seen you buck fucking naked, even if for only a second.

“Fuck. Fuck it’s cold.” You thought you heard him chitter a little laugh as you careered and splashed out of the stream like a panicked wildebeest and floundered up towards your camping towel to dry yourself off.

All the while you flailed around with the towel, Big Red remained completely silent and unmoving. Eventually — dry, dressed, and a little bit warmer — you turned around to find him exactly as you’d last seen him, staring out at the misty forest below.

There was something eerily melancholic in the set of his colossal shoulders and the stack of his spine though, and you paused, leaving your laundry where it was and approaching him quietly from behind.

Perhaps it was the cold that had taken the majority of your brain cells offline, but you came over to stand beside him on the flat rock and looked up at him. “Are you alight?” you asked in a soft murmur.

At that, he tilted his head down at you, mask glinting in the misty morning light. “Yes,” he said. After a beat he added, “We — ‘Croc’ and I — We burned our fallen squad-mate’s body at dawn.”

That explained the smoke on the air. With all the goings on of the previous evening, you’d forgotten that he’d said there had been one more.

Your heart twisted in your chest at his words and you reached instinctively for his bare bicep to squeeze the solid muscle with half-frozen fingers. “I’m so sorry,” you said, and turned to leave. “I won’t intrude.”

“Your presence is… welcome,” he rasped, though he returned his attention to the view. “You do not have to leave, though you have lost a lot of heat in that water.”

With a cosy fleece on to help warm you up, it was hardly an inconvenience to keep Big Red company for a while.

Neither of you broke the silence for a long time. Red just stood there with his hands cupped under his elbows, arms hugged across his bare chest, staring out at the trees in the crescent-moon valley below. It was choked in a pale fog beneath a heavy, iron-grey sky, and the details of the landscape blurred into nothing after no more than a quarter of a mile. Birds were still singing though, and Red seemed completely captivated by it.

Eventually, rocking on the balls of your feet to try and keep warm, you glanced back up at him. “What’s your planet like? ‘Secundus’, I mean.”

He spoke without looking down at you. “It is… not like this —” he gestured with his hand towards the gap in the trees “— Prime is more like this, but… the jungle there is… hot.”

“We’ve got hot and sweaty jungles here on Earth too. Croc might be happier there.”

Big Red nodded once.

“What about you?”

“I am used to… arid deserts,” he said. “Heat, sand, rock… Not trees for miles. Not… cold.” He said the word with such bafflement that you wondered if perhaps this was the coldest place he’d ever been.

“You’re cold now?” you asked and he nodded. With a little smirk, you said, “Well, maybe you should wear some more clothes then, you big exhibitionist.”

At that, Red did look down at you. At least, you thought he was looking. It was hard to tell with the mask on. His mandibles pinched inwards, puckering his mouth into a tight kind of scowl. “You are still below average temperature for a human,” he said.

“I’m warming up though. The walk back up to the camp should help too.”

Big Red nodded. “You should go.”

“Do you want me to?”

After a pause, he shook his head. The movement was so tiny you might have missed it altogether had not his braids clicked together softly.

“Can I ask you something else then?”

Again, he nodded. “So many questions.”

“Can you blame me?”

He laughed quietly at that and shook his head.

“Do you see in heat? In infra-red, I mean?”

Another nod. “I can see with my eyes too, but… they are weak. Especially here. The mask… lets me see the distance… and details.”

“Is that why you keep it on all the time?”

A long moment of silence stretched between you. “No.” He didn’t seem to want to elaborate more on that and you inhaled deeply, wondering what to ask next.

“How does it work?”

He sighed and raised his hand to his face. He lifted the mask off and immediately turned his face away from you again so that you couldn’t see him properly.

He was almost tall enough for it to work.

In profile though, you could just about see the delicate, prehensile mandibles, and a flat looking face that sloped up towards his large cranium, and you even glimpsed small, very deep-set eyes. His skin was a greyish red, like campfire ash, that faded to a pale, speckled gold in the centre of his face, and he didn’t seem to have the coronet of short spikes that Croc did just before the start of his cylindrical ‘braids’.

Without turning towards you, he stuck his hand out and offered his mask to you, inside facing upwards. You took it carefully in both hands, tearing your eyes away from what you could see of his face to stare at the mask, turning it over to stare at the smaller details. It was heavier than you’d expected it to be, but while the outside was made of stark, smooth bone, the inside was a warm, dark metal, similar to that of the ship’s interior. It was obvious that there were no eye-holes like there were in the metal ones you’d seen in the footage back at the base, and there were tiny little pads all over the inside that tingled when you ran your fingers over them. Some kind of electrode, perhaps.

“Is this how I saw all those images yesterday?” you asked and he grunted assent. “Never imagined I’d be plugging my brain into a piece of alien technology like it’s the fucking Matrix.”

He chirruped in confusion and almost turned to look at you, but caught himself in time. “I… do not understand.”

“It’s a film from the late nineties,” you muttered, returning your gaze to the mask and turning it over to look at the bone side. Trailing a fingertip along the tiny, almost cuneiform carvings that had been delicately engraved into the surface in an interlocking pattern, you asked, “Do you guys have movies?”

“Yes, but not like you do. They are… generated with… something close to what you call computer.”

“Boring. No actors and celebrities then?”

He shook his head. “We have famous warriors.”

“Naturally,” you quipped and he clicked his mandibles at you in amused agreement. “I think you’d like The Matrix,” you said, glancing up at him again. He was still angled away from you but you could feel his whole attention on you just the same. “I wonder if you could watch it in your head with this… Actually, that would be kind of perfect. The premise is that humanity is trapped in a kind of simulated reality, while machines feed off our bodies for energy but there’s this one guy — you know what, never mind. You should just watch it if you can.”

His mandibles twitched into what you’d come to assume was a slightly exasperated smile. He clicked at you but didn’t say anything in English.

When he didn’t move for a long stretch of minutes, either to take the mask back or to show you his face, you went out on a limb and asked, “Why don’t you want to look at me?”

He tensed and rotated his torso just a fraction further from you and shook his head, making his waxy ‘braids’ rattle against each other across his powerful shoulder and back muscles. The desire to touch, to feel his cool, hard skin beneath your fingertips was almost overwhelming again.

Exhaling in resigned defeat, you nudged his mask against the crook of his elbow and turned away while he took it in fumbling fingers. You left him standing on the rock and headed back up to the camp without looking at him. You were different species, after all, and you couldn’t expect to understand every little nuance of custom in a single day. Maybe Croc would explain it to you, if you could get him alone.

Croc was actually already back at camp when you trudged in with your armful of wet laundry, and he had started a cheery little campfire going too, despite the damp weather. You used the bit of spare cabling he offered you from the ship to string a temporary washing line between two trees, and draped your wet clothes over it to start drying off. That done, you approached Croc’s fire and asked if you could sit.

He grinned up at you from where he was perched on a crate and nodded enthusiastically.

“Big Red told me about your friend. I’m sorry,” you said.

Inclining his head formally, he said, “He is… at peace now. It is… the way of all our warriors.”

With a nod, you left the matter there. “How’s your arm?” It looked blackened and burned, but he seemed oddly sanguine about such a significant loss.

Again, he just shrugged.

“Is it… painful?”

Croc nodded. “A little,” he admitted. “But when we are… back on the mothership, I will… have a… How do humans call it…?” He mimed slotting something over the stump with his hand.

“A prosthetic?” you ventured.

“Yes! Though I have seen yours…” He didn't look impressed. “Ours are… permanent. Many warriors have… lost limbs… fighting the enemy. It is not so bad to… get made a new one.”

You nodded. “We could use tech like that,” you said under your breath. “Red told me a bit about this ‘enemy’ of yours… where are they from?”

The fire cracked and popped, and Croc told you what he could in his faltering way about the enemy they had fought for millennia on their planet. Apparently they had begun to spread off-world, and so his kind had followed, hunting them down. Croc then began to ask you a bit about your life, and about humans in general, and while you were sitting there, the mist thickened into a sheeting drizzle. You raced to pull in your laundry while Croc watched and laughed at you for trying to save the fabric, and once you’d dumped it all in your tent in a damp pile, you returned to sit with him again under the shelter of the tarp.

“Wear no clothes,” he said. “Then nothing to worry about!”

“Easy for you to say,” you scoffed, laughing. “Look at you! You’re both built like a tank!”

The rain drifted across the crash site in thick curtains, and despite the fleece and the protective tarpaulin, it wasn’t long before the elements started to creep down your collar and make you shiver.

“Red’s gonna get cold out there,” you murmured. There had been no sign of him for hours.

“Boss knows… how to take care of… himself,” Croc shrugged, but he didn't say it with his usual, affable confidence. He was worried about his friend too. “I must… take care of my weapon,” he announced, and you hoped to God that wasn't a euphemism.

Luckily it wasn’t, and he rose and returned a moment later from the ship with a complicated looking weapon that resembled some kind of sci-fi blaster gun. He laid it down on top of a crate, took out some kind of maintenance kit, and got to work.

You watched in silent fascination while he worked, and when he was just tightening the last screws on the casing, you asked about Red’s mask.

“Croc? Can I ask you something?”

He straightened up from his work, a tiny screwdriver held in his thick, clawed fingers like a surgeon’s knife. His yellow, reptilian eyes met yours, openly intrigued and he nodded. He seemed to enjoy answering your questions when he could.

“How come Big Red wears a mask all the time but you don’t? Is it a different species thing?”

Croc laughed at that, and half-turned his attention back to tightening whatever it was in the weapon that needed it. “No. But you have great honour… in seeing a warrior without their… helmet,” he said. There was a playful lilt to his tone that was almost self-effacing. From the way he said it, you got the impression that it would have been a great honour if he’d actually been given the choice about it, but now that it had happened, he didn’t mind.

His words kindled a sinking feeling in your gut though; Red clearly didn’t think you worthy enough of the honour of seeing his face, despite having saved his squad-mate’s life. Then again, you supposed it was fair enough. You barely knew him, and you were an alien too, in his eyes. Why should you get the honour of seeing him anyway?

Croc watched your reaction carefully. “My helmet…” he said, “It was destroyed… in the crash. When —” he cut off to make a series of clicks that clearly formed a name, though it didn’t sound like Red’s “— was killed and… that hole was blasted into the ship,” he said, indicating the gaping maw in the hull, “My helmet took… damage. Broken. I will manage without technology though.” With an honest-to-God, conspiratorial wink, he added, “Boss would struggle without his… He cannot see well with his eyes. And I am… much smarter than him. Adapt much better to Earth…” With another coltish grin he leaned in closer and added, “And much better looking, even to humans.”

Without warning, just as you barked a loud laugh, a small section of pine log hurtled through the air towards Croc. He spun and shot it out of the sky with the freshly-conditioned weapon, where it shattered to a spray of tinder on impact. He roared a belligerent, joyful challenge while debris rained down around you, and you turned to see Big Red standing on the far edge of the clearing, his shoulders rising and falling noticeably as he breathed. Then he spread his jaws as wide as he had when he’d charged you down the day before, and bellowed back at Croc.

Croc laughed and shook his head, responding to his superior in their own language. Croc then shot you a look when you just stood there in shock. “He challenges me. You are doubly honoured, human,” he said with a wry intonation that wasn’t dimmed by his difficulties in getting the sounds out around his sharp mandibles. “You get to watch two great warriors of our kind fight.”

“But… your arm,” you faltered, horrified. “Croc, you’re still healing…”

The shock must have shown in your face because he just laughed again. “We spar, small human… Not a real fight. Though,” he added with a few taunting clicks of his mandibles in Red’s direction, “Boss will not hold back.”

The ensuing fight took your breath away.

Croc reached into the cavity of the ship and tossed a small, metal stave over at Red, who caught it deftly and activated it to turn it into another one of the long, harpoon-like spears that were holding up two points of the canvas roof over part of the campsite.

The clearing naturally formed a kind of fighting ring, and the two circled each other with the familiarity of old sparring partners.

Croc said something that was clearly a taunt, but Red didn’t fall for it. He let Croc go first, whirling the spear around one-handed with surprising deftness. He clearly missed his other arm though, and went to grab the spear with a limb that was no longer there a few times, but once the two got into their stride, it was incredible. They danced around each other until finally Red struck with whip-crack speed. He swept Croc’s legs out from under him and held him in place on his back with the spear point steady at his throat. When Croc clicked at him, Red stepped back formally and waited for him to rise.

Red was faster and more precise than Croc, but Croc, even with his recently-acquired disability, was as powerful as his namesake, and more than once he knocked Red to the ground with a grunt of expelled air from his lungs. Once he even nicked Red’s upper arm with the blade at the tip of the spear, sending a trickle of lime green blood down his rust-red skin.

The way they moved together through the rain in perfect synchrony was mesmeric. Time passed, and it could have been minutes or hours before they finally drew to a halt.

They bowed, breathing hard, mandibles open, and then stepped close to one another. Touching foreheads as they had done the previous day, they touched their fang-tips to each other’s and then relaxed, turning away. Both of them were breathing hard, chests rising and falling while the rain poured off them like water down a cliff face.

“I’ve seen the soldiers on the base fight before…” you said as Red stalked over and grabbed a canteen of his own from the ship’s supplies, upending it into his stretching maw. The liquid was an unappetising pinkish-purple, the same as the plants you’d seen in the footage of the alien they were hunting, and although he drank deeply, he was obviously listening to you. “…But I’ve never seen anyone fight like that. You two are…”

“Impressive?” Croc grinned, coming up beside Red and slapping his commander on the small of his back, well out of the way of his braids.

Red tossed a snide comment over his shoulder at Croc, who laughed. “I can still… almost beat him… with only one arm. Boss is losing his… edge. Even with an audience.”

Big Red shook his head and quietly offered Croc the bottle, which he took.

The three of you settled down by the fire after that while the weather worsened, and by late afternoon, you had listened to them tell you, in their stilted, awkward way of speaking English, about how their ships worked, what the structure of their society was like, and roughly how many of their kind there were on Earth at the moment. Not many. Not enough to face the enemy, you realised.

“You’re going to need humans to get involved in this hunt too, aren’t you?” you asked, and after exchanging a brief look, both Croc and Red nodded. “You want me to talk to my boss when I get back?”

“I will show you… what you need to know… about them,” Big Red said, tapping his mask with a claw again. “You can tell them. Prepare.”

Puffing your cheeks out, you exhaled and nodded.

They ate rations that seemed similar to what you were living off — necessary, but not something they’d pick given the choice — and as night closed in and the weather picked up to a lashing rain, you dashed across the muddy crash site and dived into your tent for the night to write up your notes. You had a small camera with you, but you hadn’t dared ask them if they would consent to being filmed, and something about it made you feel… wrong somehow. It turned them from a vastly intelligent, sapient race into something akin to laboratory specimens for analysis, and that didn’t sit right with you.

Three hours later, as a full-blown storm crashed down on the forest outside, you began to shiver. It wasn’t so much the cold, though the damp was creeping up through the earth, through the groundsheet and into the mat, but good, old-fashioned fear. You’d never been outside in this kind of weather before, and although your tent was military-issue, its flapping walls felt very flimsy.

A tree fell with an ear-rending series of cracks a little while later and you forced yourself to breathe steadily. It did absolutely nothing for your galloping heart rate, and you curled in on yourself, huddling more tightly in your sleeping bag and trying not to whimper. Like a child, you wanted to draw something over your head and hide away until it was all over.

An indistinct roar rose above the howling wind and you opened your eyes to see a figure silhouetted against the fabric of your tent like a slasher from a horror movie. For a wild moment, your mind went completely blank until you recognised the timbre of the roar. It was Big Red.

With shaking fingers, you unzipped your tent and a face full of rain and spray blasted in almost immediately.

“Not safe…” Red growled, reaching into your tent with his huge hand and practically yanking you to your feet.

“Wait!” you shrieked, flailing. “Let me put some boots on before you drag me out into a fucking storm!”

Red released you and stepped back. Water cascaded in rivulets down his bare, hard skin, and the contours of his body were illuminated by the steady glow of a flashlight that must have come from their ship.

You stuffed your feet into your boots, grabbed your phone and the small emergency pack from the top of your rucksack, and bundled yourself up into a waterproof.

Praying that your flimsy tent would still be there in the morning, you stepped out, zipped it up again, and scuttled at Red’s side towards the hole in the side of the hull of his ship.

“Now what?” you yelled up at him above the racket of the wind that raced past the opening.

Red didn’t waste time with words, and just pointed. A small hatch was open in the ship’s inner wall that you could have sworn was closed earlier, and you ducked unquestioningly through it to find a cosy chamber, though everything was rotated ninety degrees after the crash. A bunk had been bolted to the bulkhead, but Red had dragged the mattress off it and laid it on the wall which was now the floor.

“If you do not… mind,” he said. “You may sleep here. It is safer than out there.”

You nodded. “What about you?”

“I will go with Croc.”

Red turned to go, but something made you call out to him. “Wait.”

He stopped halfway through ducking out of the doorway and regarded you.

“You could stay,” you said. “I’m smaller than Croc. You’ll have more room.”

“You… would not… mind?”

With a little smile, you shrugged out of your waterproof and crossed to hang it from a peg near the door. He watched you closely, as though expecting you to change your mind.

The water that was still dripping off your coat made a musical little rhythm as it hit the floor and you shook your head. “So long as you dry yourself off first, I don’t mind at all.”

___

Next Chapter --->

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[clarepreed]

The Honeymoon

Story Content and Summary - 5,777 words. Mitchell's concerns about Larissa's heart prove to be prophetic. Will he be widowed so soon? Explicit sex, sudden cardiac arrest, lengthy on-site resuscitation.

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Read ‘Til Death Do Us Part first.

Mitchell, several days into the honeymoon

The nightmare crept in like it had many nights before; a cold finger running down his spine, a chill that woke up his dream-self.

This time he awoke knowing she was dead, and when he rolled toward her, her lifeless eyes bore into his own. 

They accused him.

You woke up too late.

If you’d just checked…

Now I’m gone forever and I won’t come back.

He looked back at her, his eyes burning and his heart pounding.

“I’m sorry, baby. I’m so sorry.”

Larissa

Mitchell woke her. He was laying on his back beside her and talking in his sleep.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry…” he muttered.

Larissa rolled onto her side and cuddled close to him, her hand resting on his chest. He was breathing fast, and she could feel his heart pounding.

“Mitchell.” Larissa rubbed circles on his chest, watching his face in the dim light of dawn. “Honey, wake up. You’re having a nightmare, I think.”

He flinched and opened his eyes, looking disoriented.

Larissa reached up and cupped his cheek. “Oh, honey. Everything’s okay.”

She watched his eyes clear and his body relax incrementally. His throat worked, but he seemed unable to speak.

“You know,” she said. “I have some lorazepam you could take. It would help you feel calmer, honey.”

He shook his head and took a deep breath, something dark flashing in his eyes that she couldn’t interpret. He pulled her down beside him instead, encouraging her to lay on her back on the pillow. Then he scooted closer and rested his head on her chest.

They laid like that for a long time, until Larissa drifted off.

Mitchell, three days later

“Still feeling okay?” Mitchell asked. They were in the resort pool, clinging to the side after having swum a few chaotic laps back and forth. Larissa was breathing hard but smiling.

“Yes! Just out of shape. The water feels wonderful.”

“Your shape?” Mitchell murmured, running his hand down her side. “Your shape is excellent.”

Larissa laughed and blew him a kiss. “You always know what to say.”

“I try. What time do you want to go for dinner? And what do you want?”

“Ooh… poke?”

“Anything you want, baby.”

“Poke and dessert. And a virgin cocktail.” She glanced at her Apple watch. “I’m not hungry yet, but it’s four-thirty. You want to go get cleaned up now and go to dinner? I’m sure I will be hungry by then.”

“We could, perhaps, spend a little time together in that big ass tub in our room.”

Larissa flashed him a wicked grin. “I like how you think.”

Back in their suite, they stripped off and rinsed out their bathing suits, hanging them up to dry. Mitchell turned on the water to start filling up the tub, though his eyes stayed on Larissa. She was washing her face in the sink and humming to herself, her hips swaying. He didn’t know if she didn’t remember or didn’t care that she was naked, but he enjoyed the sight of her ass swinging side to side.

Larissa blotted her face dry and turned, catching him ogling her. She made a show of walking over to the tub and leaning over to test the water temperature, pressing her breasts together with her arms. Mitchell stepped into the tub and then helped Larissa climb in. Then he leaned back against the side of the tub and settled her between his knees, resting her back against his chest 

They took a long, languid bath, refreshing the water as needed. He washed her hair, scrubbed her back, soaped her breasts. She turned toward him in the water and encouraged him to lean into her, her arms wrapping around him as she returned the favor and scrubbed his back. 

Tangled up together and slippery, they’d slowly climbed the hill of arousal. They were breathing rapidly, their hands all over each other. Larissa dropped the washcloth into the water and hugged him tight. 

“I can’t take it anymore,” she murmured into his ear. Her teeth found his earlobe, then nibbled briefly down his neck. Moving quickly, Larissa pushed him back against the side of the tub, her hands sliding between him and wrapping around his cock. She pumped up and down, the motion of her arms forcing her breasts together and up. He leaned forward and captured one of her nipples in his mouth. 

He sucked on one nipple then moved to the other before kissing his way up her chest. He slid his hands into her thick, wet hair, and gently tugged her head back, exposing her neck to him. He kissed his way up her throat, then captured her mouth.

She released him and arched her back, her breasts pressed to his chest and her thighs gripping his as she rubbed herself against his erection.

Mitchell ran his hands down her back and gripped her ass, his fingers dipping into her cleft as he spread her wide.

“Inside me, I want you inside me…” Larissa moaned and rolled her hips before she reached between their bodies. She guided him inside of her, eliciting a moan from them both.

He used his hands on her ass to move her up and down his length. Larissa grasped his shoulders, her head tipping back as she gasped: “God, you’re so deep…”

She breathed out a little grunt with each thrust. Her eyes closed, and he watched her face flush pink across her cheeks. Her full lips were slightly parted. She slipped a hand between them, rubbing her clit.

He slid one of his hands deeper between her ass cheeks and ran his finger around her rim, pressing gently. Simultaneously, he thrusted up into her hard. Her eyes flew open and she sucked in a lungful of air. He heard it rush back out of her in an orgasmic cry, felt her muscles clench around him. He continued to thrust into her, watching her face change as the lengthy orgasm rolled through her, until the sounds she was making sent him over the edge. Mitchell joined her, his head falling back, his hips thrusting erratically as he emptied himself deep inside of her.

Larissa shuddered and collapsed against him, her body going limp. Still coming down himself, he grasped her chin, tipping it up so he could see her face and reassure himself that she was conscious. 

She was, gazing up at him with half-lidded eyes. “That was…”

Her voice trailed off.

“I agree,” Mitchell breathed. “Holy shit.”

Mitchell, late that night.

Cool air from the open windows roused him, the scent of the sea tickling his nose. He could hear the ocean crashing into the beach. He laid there for a moment with his eyes closed, wondering if he could drift off again without sorting out the covers or getting up to close the windows. Larissa liked listening to the water.

He felt her stir beside him. “Larissa? Are you cold?”

She was silent for a few seconds, and then he heard a faint gasp just under the crashing sound of the waves. He immediately felt colder. He looked over at her, but there wasn’t enough light for him to see.

“Larissa?”

I am awake. I know I am awake.

He sat up and reached over to turn on the lamp by his side of the bed.

When he looked back at Larissa, he saw her move. Her arms spasmed, drawing up toward her chest before coming to rest awkwardly near her face. As he watched, she drew a strange, gasping breath. Her mouth gaped like a fish, and her chest heaved. Then she was still for a long time before her mouth gaped open again.

Something was obviously wrong, though he wasn’t sure what. Her movements didn’t look like the seizures she typically had, and she wasn’t wheezing so much as snoring or gasping.

“Larissa?” He leaned over her, cupping her cheek and watching her take another gasping breath. Her mouth worked for a few seconds and her body trembled. “Fuck! Baby, can you hear me? I love you! Whatever is happening, if you can hear me, I love you!”

Mitchell reached over to the bedside phone and pressed the button for the front desk. A woman answered immediately, asking him how she could help.

“My name is Mitchell Anders, I’m in room one-thirty-seven. I need your doctor on-call in my room immediately. Tell them to bring an AED for my wife’s pre-existing heart condition. I also need you to call an ambulance. Do you understand?”

He pressed two of his fingers into Larissa’s neck as she gasped again.

“Yes. I will send the doctor with the defibrillator to you in room one hundred and thirty-seven, and then I will call for an ambulance. Your wife has a heart condition.”

He felt nothing under his fingertips. Her gasping confused him, but he was sure about what he didn’t feel. “Dammit! She doesn’t have a pulse; we need help in here now!”

“Calling now. Help is on the way, Mr. Anders!”

Mitchell flung back the covers and scooped Larissa up, sliding one arm under her shoulders and the other under her knees. He got her down to the floor and laid her flat, careful with her head. “Come on, Larissa. I’ve got you.”

She was still unresponsive, the gasps coming fewer and farther between. He’d heard of agonal breaths, thought this might be what he was witnessing. He ran his fingers along the bottom of her ribcage and up onto her sternum, then clasped his hands together and pressed them between her breasts.

“One, two, three…” he made sure his shoulders were over his hands and that he was forcing her sternum two inches down into her heart. “…seven, eight, nine, ten! One, two, three, four…”

The light was dim, but he could see her head swaying as he pumped her chest, felt the softness of her breast under his fingers. A small huff of air escaped her open mouth with each thrust of his hands. He saw her mouth open and close a few times, and then her hands came up off the floor. Her muscles contracted her arms back at an unnatural angle, but he didn’t stop his assault.

“…two, three, four, five, six, seven…” Her chest gave under the force of his hands. He could just see the bottom of her ribcage bobbing rapidly. The fabric of her pajamas was slippery; satin, he thought. The first time his hands slipped he stopped compressions long enough to grab her top and rip it open. It took two tries to open it all the way, buttons popping off and flying in every direction.

Then he found his landmark on her naked chest and started pumping again. Her breasts wobbled under the force of his hands. 

“…one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven…”

As the minutes passed, the tension in Larissa’s body eased, leaving her limp beneath him. She didn’t gasp, or show any other signs of movement.

“…nine, ten—”

Someone knocked hard on the suite door, and he heard a voice call out: “Mr. Anders, I am the hotel doctor, I’m coming in!”

“…three, four…”

Then he heard a beep and a whir.

“In the bedroom!” Mitchell shouted. “One, two, three, four, five, six, seven…”

He heard footsteps, and then the room flooded with light.

“One, two, three…”

“Mr. Anders, tell me what happened.” The woman set two large bags on the floor and then kneeled beside Larissa. “Pause compressions.”

Mitchell raised his hands, breathing hard, watching as the doctor pressed her fingers to Larissa’s carotid artery. “I woke up and she was gasping and her arms were contorted. It didn’t look like an asthma attack or a seizure—she’s prone to those—and then I realized she didn’t have a pulse. She’s been having an… an arrhythmia, ah, I believe it was a type of tachycardia, but…”

“Continue chest compressions, just like you were. I am going to connect her to the monitor and insert an airway. An ambulance crew is coming.” 

“One, two, three…” With the lights on, Mitchell could see the full effect of his compressions. Larissa’s belly bulged with the displacing force of each thrust, and her feet swayed. He could hear both the movement of air and the crackling of her cartilage as he worked.

“Good compressions,” the doctor said. She was peeling the backing off the defibrillator pads and smoothing them flat on Larissa’s skin. Then she plugged in the leads and said: “Pause compressions.”

The monitor screamed out a two-tone alarm. He was sweating, felt it run down his spine and drip off the tip of his nose. 

“V-fib… charging to two hundred, stay back, Mr. Anders.” The doctor reached for her duffel and unzipped it. She produced a small canister of oxygen, a bag valve mask, and an oral airway. She assembled the mask, pressed it to Larissa’s face, and gave the bag two quick squeezes. He watched her chest rise and fall, and then the doctor pulled back and said: “Do not touch her. I’m going to shock her now. Clear!”

Larissa’s back bowed, her breasts wobbling. It lasted a split second and he heard the quiet thump of her body against the floor. The alarm screamed again.

“Sir, continue compressions, counting to thirty and then pausing for breaths. Once I get the airway in, I will show you how to use the mask.”

“…two, three—I know how—six, seven…”

The doctor held the oral airway against the side of Larissa’s face. She tipped her head back, opening her airway, and then slid the device between Larissa’s lips. She rotated the airway and seated it against her teeth.

“…twenty-nine, thirty!”

The doctor gave Larissa two breaths with the bag and then took a handful of seconds to connect the mask to the oxygen cylinder, opening it up.

“…nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen…” the doctor was holding Larissa’s airway open. Her exposed neck looked fragile. “…twenty-three, twenty-four, twenty-five, twenty-six, twenty-seven, twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty!”

“Switch! “

They exchanged tasks quickly, the doctor watching as Mitchell reopened Larissa’s airway, pressed the mask to her face, and lapped his fingers over her chin. He squeezed the bulb twice as the doctor nodded in approval.

Then the doctor bent over Larissa, one foot planted firmly on the floor as she forced her body weight into his wife’s sternum. From this vantage point he could truly see how violent the lifesaving maneuver was. Her soft stomach rippled, the force telegraphing down each limb. He could feel it in Larissa’s head as it wobbled underneath his hands.

“…thirty!”

Mitchell squeezed the bag twice more, watched Larissa’s chest rise.

“One, two, three, four, five…” Larissa’s natural breasts moved with the force, bobbing up and down. He could hear the doctor breathing hard and wondered how often she actually had to do this. “…twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three, twenty-four, twenty-five, twenty-six, twenty-seven, twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty!”

Two more breaths.

“One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three, twenty-four, twenty-five, twenty-six, twenty-seven, twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty!”

As he gave Larissa two more breaths, the doctor said: “Charging to three-sixty, go ahead and move back, don’t touch her.”

The doctor, on the other hand, leaned in and gave Larissa ten forceful compressions before she checked that neither of them were touching her. “Clear!”

Larissa’s body arched, her head falling to the side.

“Switch!”

Mitchell scrambled to Larissa’s side and pressed his hands into her bruise. Then he took a deep breath and pushed hard, putting his fear and desperation and love into his compressions. “One, two, three…”

He watched as the doctor dug more supplies out of her duffel. Vials and IV supplies. Tape. A sharps kit.

“…twenty-nine, thirty!”

The doctor squeezed two more breaths into Larissa.

“One, two, three…”

The doctor took a moment to tie a tourniquet near Larissa’s elbow and place a small, folded towel under her arm. The doctor quickly disinfected her skin, then pressed her gloved thumb a couple of inches below. “Continue another thirty chest compressions without stopping!”

“…twenty-nine, thirty! One, two, three…”

She inserted the IV, adjusted it, and then reached up to remove the tourniquet. He didn’t catch the next movements as he was otherwise occupied, but he heard a click and then she dropped the needle into the sharps kit. She connected a short piece to the end of the IV.

“…twenty-seven, twenty-eight twenty-nine, thirty!”

This time, she quickly reached out, opened Larissa’s airway, and pressed it to her face. He couldn’t help but notice that his wife’s face was deathly pale and her lips were dusky. Larissa’s chest rose and fell under his hands.

“One, two, three, four, five…”

“…flush the IV,” he heard her mutter as she worked. She capped the IV, then secured the injection site with an IV dressing. 

Mitchell, meanwhile, was trying to keep his compressions consistent, fast, and deep. Her skin was cool underneath his hands. He could see that her eyelids had gone a lavender color. He called out “thirty!” and took a steadying breath.

The doctor gave Larissa two breaths with the bag.

“One, two, three, four…”

The doctor continued working, retrieving a vial and drawing medication, which she injected into the piece at the end of the IV.

“…sixteen, seventeen, eighteen…”

“We switch after the breaths. That was epinephrine. We will do five more cycles of CPR and then shock her again.”

“…twenty-nine, thirty!”

The doctor gave Larissa two chest-rising breaths and then dropped the bag. She swung her leg over Larissa, still planting one foot on the floor as she straddled her. Her hands came down hard and fast.

“…four, five, six…”

Mitchell retrieved the mask, opened Larissa’s airway, and pressed the mask to her face before looking down her body, watching her chest rise and fall when he squeezed the bag. Then the doctor resumed compressions. Larissa’s abdomen distended with each thrust, popping up toward the doctor’s body. The doctor’s compressions looked even more forceful than they had before.

“…twenty-seven, twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty!”

He heard the whoosh of air as he squeezed the bag, watched Larissa’s breasts rise.

“One, two, three…” He finally heard it; a loud, painful crack. His eyes closed. The doctor made no comment.

“…twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen…”

How far away is the ambulance? That might not even matter. If they didn’t get her back at the hotel, they were unlikely to get her back at all.

We’ve been married less than two weeks. It’s not enough time. Never enough time with her. 

Mitchell took a deep breath and shoved those burgeoning thoughts far into the recesses of his mind. Or tried to. His hand squeezed the bag.

“One, two, three…” A stranger’s gloved hands on his beloved’s chest, digging into her sternum. Bruises forming on her freckled skin. The limpness of the body that he normally desired so much, the body that housed the person who made his days and nights infinitely better. She depended on him to stay alive, he now depended on her to feel alive.

“…thirty!”

He squeezed the bag, driving air past the full lips that he so often kissed, lifting the heavy breasts that he loved to fondle. All of her reduced to her corporeal, dying form.

“One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten…” The doctor was dripping sweat now, her breaths coming hard and fast. She didn’t let her fatigue affect her resuscitation efforts; she wasn’t so much pushing as she was heavily falling into Larissa, forcing her sternum down more than two inches. “…twenty-nine, thirty!”

As Mitchell gave two breaths, the doctor looked at the monitor. The angry, two-tone alarm was almost background noise by now. “Charging to three-sixty.”

He watched her hammer out a short series of compressions and then she climbed off of Larissa, calling out: “Pull back, don’t touch her!”

Mitchell lifted the bag off of Larissa’s face and sat it next to her head. 

“Clear!” 

Larissa’s back hit the floor, and Mitchell scooted around to start compressions.

“Damn… still in v-fib!”

“One, two, three, four, five, six…”

The doctor grabbed a blood pressure cuff and wrapped it around Larissa’s upper arm. She slipped her stethoscope earpieces in her ears quickly inflating the cuff before pressing the bell of the stethoscope inside her elbow. He heard the air squeak out.

“…thirty!”

The doctor gave Larissa two more breaths.

“I’m going to give her more epinephrine now,” she said.

“One, two, three…” As he pumped Larissa’s chest, he heard pounding on the door, and then another beep and whir. He glanced up and saw a hotel employee, followed by two medics with a gurney and more equipment.

“…twenty, twenty-one…”

“I’m Doctor Aldridge,” the hotel doctor said as she injected the medication.

“I’m Angie, this is Koa. What’s going on?” They were already unpacking equipment as they spoke.

“…twenty-nine, thirty!

“This is Larissa,” the doctor said, squeezing the bag. “She has epilepsy, asthma, and a known tachycardic arrhythmia. Husband found her in cardiac arrest with agonal breaths and immediately started quality CPR. She’s been in ventricular fibrillation for the entire duration, which is fourteen minutes. She’s had three shocks and two doses of epinephrine.”

“…fifteen, sixteen, seventeen…”

“Koa, you’re going to take over compressions. Angie, I want you to intubate. Analysis is in two cycles.”

The male medic, Koa, dropped down opposite Mitchell.

“…twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty!” Mitchell lifted his hands from Larissa’s chest and then crawled down to her feet, resting his hands on the bare skin there. Her feet were cold. Angie gave Larissa two breaths with the bag and then Koa took over compressions.

“One, two, three…” Larissa’s feet rocked in Mitchell’s hands. He rubbed the soles with his thumbs. 

Angie sat the mask beside Larissa and removed the oral airway. She opened an intubation kit and laid it out beside her. Mitchell watched her attach a blade to the laryngoscope, the light coming on as she opened it. She slid the blade down Larissa’s throat.

“…nine, thirty! One, two, three…”

Angie lubricated the tube and then slid it down the blade. She removed the laryngoscope and sat it to the side as the doctor leaned over Larissa, stethoscope ready.

“…eight, nine, twenty! One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, thirty!”

Koa paused compressions as Angie transferred the bag from the mask to the tube and squeezed it a few times. The doctor listened through the stethoscope and then nodded

“You’re in. She’s still in v-fib. Charging to three-sixty.”

Mitchell lifted his hands, watching as Angie disconnected the bag and inflated the cuff. She slipped a tube holder over the tube and secured it.

“Everyone clear? Clear!”

Larissa’s body jerked a fourth time.

“Pulse check!” He watched the doctor press her fingers into Larissa’s wrist. Angie pressed hers into Larissa’s neck. Koa tugged down the waistband of her pajamas pants and pressed his fingers to her femoral artery. “No pulse, still in v-fib. Switch places; I am going to push three hundred milligrams amiodarone.”

Angie started compressions; her short, stocky arms powerful as she pumped Larissa’s chest. “One, two, three, four…”

Mitchell put his hands back on Larissa’s feet.

I don’t want you to go, Larissa. And I don’t think you do, either. But if you have to, if it’s too much, I understand. I love you.

“…eight, nine, ten, one…”

He heard the whoosh of the bag as compressions continued, the screech and bleeping of the monitor. Evidently, this doctor wasn’t one for silencing alarms.

His head was starting to hurt. He got migraines and tension headaches now, something he’d never been prone to before their abduction. He pressed the heel of one hand to his temple.

“…seven, eight, nine, ten, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, one…”

Mitchell could see the glint of her wedding and engagement rings on her hand. He’d meant everything he vowed, and knew she could be taken away from him at any moment, yet he still felt shock as he watched the medics working on her.

“…one, two, three…”

“Good rhythm with compressions.” The doctor had her fingers pressed to Larissa’s femoral pulse. Her pants were pulled so low that Mitchell could see her entire mons and the hood of her clitoris. He felt sorry for her, always being exposed to strangers.

“…five, six, seven, eight…”

“Pause compressions. Okay, charging to three-sixty.”

Mitchell lifted his hands.

“…nine, ten, one, two, three, four, five, six…”

“Everyone clear. Everyone clear? Clear!”

Please, baby. Make your choice.

“Still in v-fib. Pushing one-fifty amiodarone. Switch!”

Mitchell gripped Larissa’s feet hard, watching as Koa began hammering her chest. The bruise between her breasts was dark purple and ugly. His throat spasmed and he hunched over involuntarily, grief running through him like a stake through the heart.

Angie squeezed the bag over and over again. The doctor was quiet, administering the medication and then checking her blood pressure again. 

“…six, seven, eight, nine, ten, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, one, two, three, four, five, six…”

Tears ran down Mitchell’s face, dripped on Larissa’s skin. He was exhausted; she was dying. His heart had been racing for nearly twenty minutes, while hers quivered useless in her chest.

“…three, four, five…”

“One more minute until analysis.”

“…eight, nine…” Whoosh. “…one, two, three, four, five, six…” Whoosh. The monitor warbled, bleeped, and screamed.

Shut off the fucking alarm, he thought, gripping his head.

“…six, seven, eight, nine, ten, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, one, two…”

“Hold compressions. V-fib. Charging to three-sixty.”

“One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten —”

“Everyone clear!” They each pulled away from Larissa. “Clear!”

Larissa’s half naked body spasmed, hit the floor with a thump.

The alarms changed.

Fingers shot out to make contact with pulse points. 

“Sinus rhythm!”

Mitchell pressed his fist to his mouth, his eyes on the monitor. He heard one of the medics inflate the blood pressure cuff again. 

“Is she making any respiratory effort?” the doctor asked. Mitchell noticed she was adding additional, smaller electrodes to Larissa’s chest.

“Yes,” Angie responded. “I am assisting but she’s making effort.”

“I want you to transport her as soon as possible,” the doctor said. “Let’s get her ready.”

“She’s hypotensive,” Koa said. “I’ll get her on fluids and norepinephrine.”

Mitchell rubbed Larissa’s feet, tears still running unchecked down his cheeks. 

You’re doing such a good job, baby. I know you need to rest, now. I love you.

“Mr. Anders,” the doctor said. “We’re going to give her medication to bring up her blood pressure and then she’ll be transported to the hospital. Do you have any questions?”

Mitchell was silent for several seconds and then asked: “What are her chances of waking up? I know you don’t know her medical history…”

The monitor bleeped and the doctor looked away. “Her heart rate is slowing… how’s that infusion pump coming?”

Mitchell shuddered and covered his face with his hands.

“Damn… I’m switching her over to pacing now. Koa, you’re also going to give her atropine. Do that first if you can.”

I love you.

“Mr. Anders? We’re doing our best to help her. Her heart is beating too slowly now, so I’m giving her medication to help with that and we’re going to pace her. It’s like having a pacemaker but on the outside. Then we’ll transport her to the hospital. The hotel has a car that will run you out there to meet her, okay?”

“Okay,” he managed. Sounds were growing far away. Distantly, he reflected on how changed he was. There was a time he would never have imagined himself falling apart. He wasn’t delusional, knew it wasn’t impossible for people like him. People in his position weren’t immune; he knew plenty of CEOs who’d gone through rehab, or hurt themselves, or lit everything on fire in a midlife crisis.

He’d just never expected it to be him.

But something had changed in him chemically somewhere along the way, when he was falling in love with and repeatedly almost losing Larissa.

I don’t regret it, baby. I never could.

Mitchell spent a long time like that, weighed down and senseless, waves of fear and grief threatening to drown him.

Eventually, however, he fought his way to the surface.

When he opened his eyes, the sounds around him came rushing back. He could hear the paramedics talking and the occasional bleep of equipment. 

“Are you okay, Mr. Anders?”

Mitchell nodded. His eyes were on Larissa; he could see her chest flinching ever so slightly every second.

“We’re about to move her. We’ve given her a sedative, which is normal in this situation. But I thought you might like to speak to her before you’re separated?”

“Y-yes!” Mitchell moved around to Larissa’s side. She looked pale and bruised, but no longer oxygen starved. “Can I touch her?”

“Go ahead,” Angie said. “The pacing charge is not powerful enough to hurt us.”

Mitchell took her hand, squeezed it. “Larissa. If you can hear me, I love you. And I know you love me, so don’t… Don’t worry, baby. There’s nothing left unsaid.”

Mitchell paused to breathe through the spasm in his throat. “I’m going to take a separate car to the hospital, okay? But I will be there with you as soon as I can. You won’t be alone.”

Then, for good measure: “I love you.”

Mitchell, four weeks later

“This place has a nice view.” Larissa, bundled up in a bathrobe, gazed out at the ocean. “Thank you for picking it out.”

He closed his laptop and reached across the table, taking her hand. “I thought you’d like it. I am glad you’re out of the hospital to enjoy it.”

“How long do we get to stay? I know I am technically cleared to fly…”

���How’s a couple of weeks sound? I thought it would be good to stay near this cardiologist for a bit longer. But it’s up to you, Larissa.”

She squeezed his hand back. “Don’t worry, I’m not feeling managed. A little…”

Her voice trailed off, and Mitchell ran his thumb across the back of her hand. She was back to losing her words and thoughts again, like she had after coming out of the pneumonia coma.

She heaved a sigh. “I don’t know what I wanted to say.”

“It’s okay.”

“I know, I just get very… feeling like… oof. Anxious for the future.” She sighed again. “Not exactly what I wanted to say.”

“You’re worried.”

“Thank you. Yes.” She looked over at him. “I worry about you.”

“I wish you didn’t.” 

“Too late. And I feel very… sad, sometimes. My therapist said depression is normal after things like this. But I don’t like it.”

Mitchell chuckled, and was relieved when she smiled at him. “I’m sorry for laughing. I just thought ‘of course you don’t like it’.”

The smile slowly faded as she looked back out over the ocean. “Am I going to be able to work, do you think?”

Mitchell squeezed her hand again, then shook it gently. “Baby, I own the company. Hell, it’s yours now, too. I think you should listen to the cardiologist, but otherwise it’s up to you. I love having you there at the office, and yeah, I’ll worry when you aren’t just down the hall. But you can work as much or as little as you like.”

“You’re the best.” She sighed. “I love you. And we’re so privileged.”

“I love you, too. And we are.”

They sat in companionable silence for a while, holding hands. The view here was stunning, the air warm. He supposed there were much worse places to recuperate.

A fragile joy welled in his chest. He still had his wife on the earth with him to enjoy everything.

For a brief moment, everything felt perfect. It was an illusion, he knew, but one he wanted to hang on to.

Eventually, however, he saw Larissa shift uncomfortably in her seat. She reached up to clutch the lapel of her robe, took a shaky breath.

“What is it?” Mitchell asked, instantly on alert.

“I don’t want to make you… anxious for the future.”

“Tell me.” Mitchell released her hand and got up, crouching in front of her chair. She looked pale. The robe was open enough that he could see the pink line of her fresh surgical scar and the lump of her implanted cardioverter-defibrillator and pacemaker. He could also see the faint yellow and green bruises still healing between her breasts.

“I’m having palpitations.”

“Okay.” His own heart flopped in his chest, but he made himself stay externally calm. “They said that might happen. I’m sure it feels scary after everything.”

She spoke rapidly: “I should have put my watch on, I don’t know how fast—”

“Larissa, just breathe for a minute, okay? You have the ICD if it gets too fast, right? Anything up until then is just about staying calm.” He tried to keep his voice soothing as he reached for both of her hands. 

She nodded, though he saw a tear roll down her cheek. 

“I’m sorry you’re scared, baby.”

“You’re scared, too,” she pointed out, sniffling.

“That night in the hotel was really scary. I’m not going to deny that. I feel lucky that you’re sitting in front of me right now.” He squeezed her hands. “This is not as scary. I know that they tested your device when they put it in. If you need it, you have it.”

“I might not need it.”

“Exactly. Do you need ice?” He was referring to a technique they’d been taught to reduce her heart rate.

Larissa coughed twice, another technique, and shook her head. “No, I think I’m going to be okay.” She took a breath through her nose and let it out through pursed lips. Mitchell released one of her hands to wipe the tear from her cheek.

“I love you, Mitchell,” she said, offering him a teary smile. “Thank you for talking me down.”

“I love you, too. Anytime. Literally.”

Mitchell released her hands and sat down on the deck, taking her bare feet in his hands and massaging them. He watched her calm herself as he worked, and his own heart eased.

#resus writing #cpr resus #female resus #medical drama

[btswrckd]

Jang Uk x Jin Buyeon/ Naksu imagine

A/N:

Spoilers ahead!!!

I uhhh don’t know what the hell I did here but I just finished watching episode 4 of season 2 and next thing I know, this came about. Really it’s just because I’m obsessed with this show, this couple, and the chemistry these two actors have together. So please enjoy! Much love!

———————————————————————

It was cold, Jang Uk realized, when a shiver swept through him. It’s not like it was something he wasn’t used to. Wraiths swarmed him far more often than not these days, so cold wasn’t something foreign to him. What was off was the empty space in his bed. Cracking one eye open, then another, he blinked against the sunlight until he was finally able to make sense of his surroundings. He reached across the space as if it were going to summon her. His wife. Jin Buyeon.

She must have left some time during the night, Jang Uk thought, No matter. He’ll go find her. She had to have been in her room. As he gathered himself to stand he found that he felt much more refreshed than previous nights. Odd. He hadn’t a decent night’s sleep in three years, but after visiting the cliff site where Mudeok had passed, he felt lighter. Guilt and sadness still lay heavy on his shoulders, no doubt, but the intensity had diminished.

With the bustling of servants milling about the house, Jang Uk was surprised to find himself smile just a little as he made his way to Buyeon’s room. She had stayed the night and comforted him. She had trusted him to keep her safe during the Queen’s banquet even after learning he’d only been nice so he could use her as bait for the soul shifter. She had been blindsided by his entire plan and still, Buyeon had played along as if she’d known the entire time. He had played her for a fool and gotten her hopes up and he winces at the memory of her smile when he’d called her pretty.

He stood hesitantly outside her room, wondering if maybe he should knock first or announce himself and then barge in. After all, she is his wife, and she’d certainly not been shy in her intentions with him. Just as his hand reached out, the door slid open, a stoic Jin Buyeon on the other side. He didn’t seem to notice as he allowed a grin to spread across his face at the mere sight of her.

“Good morning,” Jang Uk greets her. She only nods once without saying anything and he finds himself suddenly nervous. “Have you um, eaten yet? Maidservant Kim can have—.”

“Jang Uk,” Buyeon whispers his name and it makes him tense. “I…will be leaving for Jinyowon.”

His brows furrow and he wonders if maybe her mother sewed more of the tracking thread somewhere on her body and it was causing her pain again. It’s not possible though, because he destroyed that thread. Then again, Lady Jin always knew how to get what she wanted.

“Is your mother calling for you?” He asks with an exasperated scoff. “She really doesn’t give up. I’ll go speak with her and tell her that she can’t—.”

“I am choosing to go on my own.” She still doesn’t look at him. Rather, her eyes stay fixed on the wall behind his shoulder. Almost as if she didn’t want to see him at all.

“For how long? Maidservant Kim is preparing our wedding ceremony as we speak. I’m sure she’d love your help.”

Buyeon inhales sharply as tears sting her eyes but she refuses to show him. After he’d kissed her last night and then fallen back asleep, she couldn’t help but wonder if maybe he had imagined kissing his first wife. If he’d wished she had been Mudeok/ Naksu. If he’d simply tired of being lonely and used her once more as a distraction. Her heart beat wildly in her chest, almost painfully at the thought of never being who Jang Uk needed the most. “I’m not,” she hesitates and he steps forward, leaning in close to hear her better.

“Not what?” Jang Uk feels his chest seize in panic and he swallows roughly. Tired of being looked through rather than at, he gently presses his fingers underneath her chin to tip her head back. When she finally meets his eyes, his breath catches. She’s angry, he realizes, and upset, and looking at him like she’d rather be locked back up in that room in Jinyowon than be anywhere near him right now. “Buyeon.”

“I’m not coming back,” she clarifies with a solidity that makes Jang Uk step back as if he’d been slapped across the face. With the sudden loss of contact, she nearly falls forward but manages to catch her balance. She squares her shoulders and holds her head high. “I will go back to Jinyowon and live the life I was meant to. You…have finally found your peace, I presume, young master. We’ve caused so much trouble for selfish reasons, and we must restore order. We have to—.”

“What will you do then?” he snaps, interrupting her this time. His hands ball into fists and shake with anger. “Will you stay locked up in that room because your mother says so? Will you marry someone who will make you live a life in solitude and do nothing but bear his children?”

“My mother’s fear of losing me has already happened,” Buyeon reasons, “therefore I don’t believe that is the life she subject me to. She won’t take the chance of me running off once more. If she wishes to confine me in that room, she understands now how much I am willing to risk to be free.”

“Of course,” Jang Uk sneers and stalks forward, slamming the partition shut behind him as if it were going to keep the servants from hearing their fight. “And will you simply go on with a broken memory so long as you have your damn freedom? No divine powers, no memory, and only a shell of the priestess you’re meant to be. Is that the life you truly wish to have?! Then go! Be the heiress of the Jin family, but know this much, you will never really be free of your mother and that prison cell she calls your room.”

Buyeon rushes back as he takes heavy steps toward her until he finally crowds her against a pillar. “Jang Uk, you—.”

“You,” he seethes with heavy breaths, swiftly cradling her face and forcing her to look at him once more, “think I will stand idly by while your mother parades around Daeho like she’s succeeded in taking you from me?”

Her breath hitches. She’d known how fiercely protective Jang Uk was of his first wife, everyone told her as much, but for him to speak that way about her made her heart ache. He wants something from her, that much has been clear ever since they met. He needs her divine powers otherwise he wouldn’t be so adamant in her regaining her memories. “I’m nothing but a pawn to you, Jang Uk. I’ve known that since day one but last night when you used me as bait—.”

“You were never in danger, Buyeon,” he insists, pressing her back into the wood. “Park Jin went to your mother last night to make sure of it. I have my pride, yes, but I am more than willing to toss it aside in order to keep you safe. The Queen and Jin Mu are after something and they intend on using you to get it. I figured that out yesterday.”

“Was any of what you said yesterday at all true?”

Jang Uk is taken aback. Yesterday, Buyeon had been subjected to maidservant Kim’s antics of finding the perfect dress and finest jewelry for the banquet. He’d come home in time to catch her in one of the beautiful dresses the servants had helped her into. He’d called her pretty, been coy, and encouraged her to gloat about his affections for her, if only to get what he wanted in the end. But he had meant it. She had been beautiful in the dress, he did want her to wear the family crest, and he did want her to gloat to young lady Yun-Ok and the rest of the women at the banquet. Because despite his mistreatment of her after finding her with the Yin-and-Yang jade, and the way he lied to her face, she’d stood by him and his decision to use her.

“Goodbye, Jang Uk,” Buyeon says and shakes her head, shoving him away so she can leave. “Please tell maidservant Kim and Mr. Lee that I am grateful to them.”

“After everything, you will just walk away?” Jang Uk questions. “You can think all you’d like that you have the upper hand against your mother, but you know as well as I do that she will always be one step ahead. Okay, sure, let’s say you’re right and she doesn’t lock you away again. She won’t allow you to roam freely, nor will the man she intends to marry you off to. I may not be honest with you all of the time, but Buyeon, I will never restrict you. Not the way Jinyowon will.”

Buyeon spins on her heel, intent on telling him just how wrong he is even if she herself doesn’t believe it, when she collides with his chest, strong hands gripping her arms tight. She’s locked in place, frozen, as Jang Uk descends on her quickly, pressing his mouth firmly to hers. Just like last night, he kisses her with an emotion she not dare think him capable of feeling for her. But she kisses him back anyways, because his hands turn gentle as he cups the back of her head, tilting her chin up and forcing her to lean into him. Her hands rest on the sides of his waist and he knows. She won’t try to leave him again. Because if she really wanted to, she would reject him and make sure he knew how serious she was.

“Lady Buyeon, are you alright?” Maidservant Kim shrieks as she throws open the door. She gasps and puts a hand to her mouth, turning away from the couple. “Oh, my apologies. Mr. Lee said he heard shouting coming from Lady Buyeon’s room. I didn’t realize you were home, young master Jang.”

“It’s alright,” Jang Uk soothes her worries, dropping his hands from Buyeon’s face. He steps back to give her some room, fighting a smirk at the way his wife blushes. “Please have some food prepared for us. Lady Buyeon and I have much to talk about this morning.”

With that, he nods at both women and leaves the room while maidservant Kim and Buyeon both scramble about. He hears Buyeon stutter her way through an excuse while maidservant Kim tries her best to make it seem like catching a married couple together was no big deal.

#alchemy of souls #alchemy of souls imagine #alchemy of souls season 2 #alchemy of souls spoilers #lee jae wook

[empresskylo]

It's Raining Vengeance - Ch. 7

Ch 1 | Ch 2 | Ch 3 | Ch 4 | Ch 5 | Ch 6

Pairing: Bruce Wayne/Batman x Female!Reader Series Summary: (Based on The Batman 2022) It happened a while ago: the day you stumbled into the batman. And ever since, he seemed to pop up exactly when you needed him. You thought it was stupid to try and be his friend. He thought it was dangerous to let you in. Both of you did it anyway. Rating: Explicit Word Count: 2.5k+ Note: yelling... i fucking love this chapter

series masterlist | main masterlist | AO3

Bruce squints at the sunlight that burns his eyes as he exits the car. He’s glad he can go back to slipping into the shadows after this appearance for a while—at least until Alfred says it’s time for him to show his face in public again. It’s all about the family legacy.

He’s dressed in an all-black suit, not quite as fancy as something he’d wear to a wedding or red carpet event, but it’s still nice. His hair is pushed back and he feels bare. His body exposed. His face too visible to others. 

This was a yearly gala to get big wigs like the Wayne’s to donate towards various city projects. Knowing how many high-level people might be attending, Bruce was hoping to do a bit of detective work. It would at least make the night not as boring. 

He found that others just liked to hear themselves talk. They’d approach Bruce and go on about him being a Wayne and what that meant; that he’s from a family of philanthropists, then ramble on about their own self-interests. Most of the time Bruce wouldn’t have to say anything the entire conversation and the other person would somehow come out of it thinking they just had an engaging discussion. 

Bruce stared absentmindedly into the throng of people, the sun finally set. Alfred appeared by his side. “You’re not looking for trouble now, are you?”

Bruce side eyed him. Alfred knew very well why Bruce was eventually convinced to attend. He was on the lookout. He was watching the mayor, the police leaders, mob members, as they gathered in and out of the gala. They all either had money falling out of their pockets or were desperate to fill theirs up. It was a breeding ground for extortion. It was a cesspool of masked criminals. And a target site for others. 

“Why don’t you eat something,” Alfred insisted. 

Bruce begrudgingly followed him to the indoor portion of the event to get some refreshments.

That’s when you arrived.

You had arrived a bit later than the rest of the press, your subway getting held up. You were speed walking to the entrance, flashing your “PRESS” badge to the bouncer, and slipping into the havoc. 

You weren’t exactly thrilled to be here given that it’s going to make for a pretty boring story, but at least you were back on your feet. 

Your boss had called you this morning, informing you that one of your coworkers was sick and wouldn’t be able to attend the gala. You were to take his place. It was last minute, but you got ready quickly.

“And the Renewal project! Bruce Wayne is here and he seems to have no interest. Can you—“

You heard a mix of conversations from the crowd as you made your way around. Maybe this would be interesting. You might be able to dig up some juicer information, especially considering how many rich and important people were here. Maybe you’d find out something about what’s going on with the resurface of Drops.

You spotted a potential mayoral candidate for the following year's election and made your way over to her, readying your tape recorder and notes.

–

Bruce appeared back outside, the city’s sky now entirely dark, the lights around him blinding. He couldn’t wait to fucking leave. 

A large gush of wind blasted through the gala, sending things on tables flying. 

Bruce looked up and could see storm clouds blocking out the moon’s glow. 

You were attempting to interview when a few other journalists spotted your target and hurried over, basically pushing you out of the way and taking over.

“Ugh, what?!” You complained as you were shuffled to the side. “God fucking damnit.” This night was going to drag on if it kept going like this. 

Minutes later you were off on the sidelines, eyeing for your next culprit. You felt small droplets begin to tap your face and you looked up. It was beginning to sprinkle out and that was a sure sign it would start pouring in Gotham. Of course, the one clear night would end in rain, it was Gotham after all. You rolled your eyes and looked across the crowd, some shouting in the distance muffled in your ears as you did.

Bruce came waltzing down the building's steps and onto the main floor. He felt the rain on his exposed skin and grinned–if it rained, the gala would be over. 

He looked about to find Alfred. As his eyes glazed over the dreadful crowd filled with rats and leaches, he fell across a familiar head of hair. Just as he realized who it was, you turned, and your eyes fell upon Bruce Wayne. He was far off on the other side of the gala, his eyes fixated on you. It caught you by surprise and you gave a polite, tight smile. Maybe you could interview him? Although based on the gossip you heard earlier, he wasn’t much for talking. 

His eyes widened at the sight of you. The sight of you looking at him without the cowl or the suit. You were looking at Bruce.

His eyes remained on you, shifting nervously. His jaw was tensed and his heart rate was dramatically increasing. You turned to look away, observing his chin and lips as you did, noticing his lack of response to your polite gesture. You turned and began walking again, then stopped flat in your tracks.

You knew those lips. That jawline. That stubble. He might have been far from you, but you could identify that face anywhere (at least the bottom half). 

You looked back at Bruce, people walking past and obstructing your view, but you could see he had tensely noticed you doing a double-take. Your mouth fell agape. No fucking way.

Bruce could tell by the expression on your face that you recognized him. He narrowed in on you, standing in horror as you watched him with a dumbfounded look. Everyone continued on, not noticing the way you both were hooked on each other across the floor, the world stopping momentarily. 

His ears muffled out the sound and he felt his face heat up. You didn’t move. Why weren’t you moving? He half expected you to run right over and confront him, but you just stood blankly.

Your mouth wavered, finally blinking quickly to make sure you weren’t seeing things. Bruce fucking Wayne?!

The rain picked up and began pouring, your hair and clothes immediately soaking. Screams and cries sounded in the slight distance, your body tried to block it out. It had felt like hours passed as you watched Bruce, but it had only been a few seconds. Your heart dropped to the pit of your stomach, Bruce’s shocked expression still searching your face for answers.

When the screaming erupted around you, you finally shook away from your mind, breaking the staredown. 

The wind roared and a flash of lightning flickered in the distance. What were the screams about? You hastily looked around, then you spotted them. Men dressed in dark clothes were storming through the gala. You ducked and covered your ears as you heard gunshots. What on earth—

The crowd panicked and you were caught in the bustle, being pushed out into the street, further away from Bruce. 

When Bruce heard the shots, his instinct was to run to you, and he tried to, but so many people were blocking his path. His arms tried to shove past the bodies, but there were too many. Your head bobbled out of his sight, causing him to look around and see the chaos that was exploding. 

You fell backward, your body laying flat against the cold road, water rushing past you. Bodies trampled over you in a craze. Then everything went back.

—

Your eyes squinted open and you heard nothing but the crashing rain. You pushed yourself up—everyone was gone. How long were you out? 

You were sitting on the edge of the building, just off the sidewalk, your entire body soaking in rain. You stood up, steadying yourself as you did. 

It was dark, the street lamp beside you flickering. 

You decided to walk away from the gala, hoping to spot a cab. You passed an alley and heard rustle through the rain. You looked and saw a van parked in the dark corridor. You tilted your head, trying to find the source of the noise. 

The van doors opened, four men stepped out, muttering to one another in deep voices.

You stood shocked at the guns strapped to their back. 

What a bad idea to stand there staring like an idiot. 

One of the men saw you, “Hey!” 

You quickly went running, the man catching up with you in quick strokes, slamming you back against the side of the building. 

You groaned, “Looks like we got a stowaway.”

The other men piled behind him, looking at you like you were meat. 

“We don’t have time for this,” one of the other men back at the van shouted. 

“Let’s bring her with us then!” Another suggested.

You began shaking your head, your body trapped under the force of the masked man in front of you.

“Aw, the little lady doesn’t like us,” he teased. He roughly grabbed you by your arms and hauled you back to the van. You saw blood spreading in the water by the van as he shoved you in, head first, the rest following in pursuit. The van door closed and you sat between five extremely large men, all with at least one gun strapped to them. 

The one out front began driving, shouting instructions at the man in the passenger seat. 

“All set?” A static voice echoed through what sounded like a walkie-talkie. 

Beep “We’re on our way,” the driver responded.

“Where are you taking me?” You asked. 

The man beside you spoke, “Wherever we want.”

You looked at the door, it was unlocked. You quickly reached over the man, punching him in the face, then grabbed at the door handle, and tried to swing it open. You got it open a crack until the men dragged you back in. 

“Don’t make this difficult!”

“Ah, don’t say that. I like when they put up a fight,” the man who got punched said, whipping his nose, a bit of blood on his hand.

You felt one of the men in the seats behind you slide his hand along your exposed shoulder. You shuttered away from his touch. But that didn’t do much, because now you were just closer to the man sitting beside you.

A loud bang sounded on the roof of the car, spooking the men inside. They pulled their attention away from you for the time being.

“The hell was that?” 

The side window shattered, sending glass shards flying. You used your arms to shield your face. The men began yelling, pulling their guns, and readying them. A pair of dark books came swinging through the open window, bringing flecks of water with him. He landed heavily on the man in front of you, punching him and knocking him out. 

Shots fired and you slid down to the floor, covering your head. You couldn’t see anything as your face stayed flat against the carpeted floor. Grunts and punches were thrown. The men were shouting. The van kept swerving, sending you rolling back and forth. 

There was another set of punches and what sounded like the barrel of a gun being wacked across someone’s jaw. 

The van skidded and slammed into something hard, sending you flying into the metal under-seat in front of you. Before long, there was silence and stillness. 

You slowly peered your head up, the men around you slumped over and bleeding. You sat up now, peeking over the seat, and spotted him.

Batman.

He reached a gloved hand out and you hesitantly took it. He helped you crawl out of the crashed van and onto the street. Your feet collided with water, the rain quickly accumulating and sending rushing water down Gotham’s streets.

You looked up at him shyly, almost embarrassed at how much trouble you kept getting into.

He quickly examined you, checking for any serious injuries. Luckily, you only had some bruising and a small cut along your lip. 

You stared at him in the dark rain, the water obstructing a lot of your vision. 

Neither of you said anything. 

Loud screaming and explosion sounds rang in the distance and Batman turned to look in that direction. 

He looked back at you. You could tell what he was thinking. “I’ll be okay. Go,” you told him.

“I—“ He began, not really sure what he wanted to say, but he knew there was something burning in his throat.

“Go!” You said more sternly, reaching out and pushing him slightly.

He took a minute to look at you, then at your surroundings to make sure there were no more immediate threats. 

You smiled a bit, clumps of water getting stuck in your eyelashes. Water beaded on his cowl. 

He reluctantly turned and disappeared into the darkness.

—

You began running. You were not about to get caught up in any more bad situations for the night! One was quite enough. 

The streets were clear of cars, the water accumulating too high to drive on. 

Your feet sloshed in the water as you ran, wind whipping through your wet hair. The thick water tripped you and you scraped your knee. You pushed yourself back up, the wind pushing your hair over your face.

You were so far from your apartment. Maybe there was a place you could seek shelter in until the rain stopped. 

A loud crack of thunder and a flash of light hit above you, making your eyes squeeze shut for a brief moment.

Wait. 

You were extremely close to Wayne Tower.

Before you could properly think out your decision, you quickly shifted your direction and took off towards the Wayne’s.

—

It only took you minutes to make it there, quickly regretting your decision. The wind began blowing bigger things around, a large trash can barreling past you.

With a bit of fear, you realized you had no other choice now. You went up the set of stairs and banged on the door, momentarily waiting, and then being let in. You stormed inside, the raging outdoors being silenced at the shut of the door. 

You heaved over trying desperately to catch your breath. You heard two voices around you and many footsteps.

Moments later, a towel was wrapped around your shoulders by a short old woman.

You stood up, your breathing steadying, and pulled the towel tighter around you. You mumbled an out-of-breath ‘thank you’.

An older gentleman in a damp suit stood before you. He looked like he had been caught in the storm as well, although he was already mostly dried off. 

His eyes widened as he looked at you. You began to worry that maybe you were covered in blood or had a cracked skull. Your hand reached up to touch your face.

The man breathed out your name. Your eyes shot to him, your arm slowly falling back to your side. 

“You know…who I am?”

He looked at the older woman who turned and marched away and through a door behind you. 

His eyes made their way back to you, a small smile forming on his lips.

“Yes,” he paused. “I do.”

Ch. 8

#the batman #the batman 2022 #batman x reader #bruce wayne #bruce wayne x y/n #bruce wayne imagine #bruce wayne fanfic #bruce Wayne insert #bruce wayne one shot #batman one shot #batman imagine #battinson #robert pattinson #its raining vengeance #bruce wayne headcanon #dc #dc fanfic #bruce wayne x reader #smut #bruce wayne smut #batman smut #the batman imagine #the batman fanfic #the batman one shot

[wixelt]

Was refreshing my memory on everything with the au when I found where you mentioned scenes that would go very differently if a hermit had a totem, and perhaps the Hermethius has a reserve stache of them or something

And that got me thinking through a very likely scenario

Consider: the Hermethius is programmed to drop emergency supplies on each hermit's last known location should something go catastrophically wrong and they're left stranded. This is a bit of a special scenario, where that information does not exist. But it has its own Grumbot and Pilots to resolve oversights.

The Hermethius begins mapping the planet and scanning for player activity, and, when it's finally completed months later, launches 26 supply drops to the areas with the highest centers.

The hermits honestly weren't even expecting the supplies to come, but they do recognize what those twenty odd shooting stars spanning out from a single point are.

They do have parachutes that deploy, so they shouldn't cause too much damage, but they quickly realize the problem when one lands near their location.

They may not know exactly why they're landing where at first, but they figure it out quickly.

You see, it's not until the resistance is already under way that the supplies drop. Only one drops on the revolution base. Beef estimates that one landed in Cub's custom biom, another seemed to be landing near Bdub's mountain, he thinks two landed near Pearl's and False's houses respectively, one fell into the ocean,

And one landed in Newtopia.

So Andrias knows what the drops were.

And now it's a mad dash to try and keep each other from getting those resources.

When I mentioned the Totems of Undying on the Hermithius, I was thinking about The Hardest Thing, but this is a fun scenario as well, so here's some thoughts on that.

----------

Normally all the Hermits have some sort of signalling device on their person in case there's a genuine emergency. This is what the Hermithius uses to identify drop sites for supplies, but with the ship half-functional - the wash of dimensional energy blew out a lot of key systems - it wouldn't be able to complete this task, even if the Hermits had been carrying signallers when they were scattered, which they weren't.

As is, Renbob & Goatman have been trying to patch up the ship's engines as best they can while using momentum to help the onboard Grumbot - disconnected from the hive after past fiascos - navigate into orbit of the planet Xisuma's suit transponder's pinging from.

Unfortunately, the ship's damage prevents them from getting a clear fix on X - if he's even still on Amphibia by the time the vessel arrives (either late Season 2 or very early Season 3).

So they resort to doing things the more time consuming way. Grumbot runs an algorithm through the geology scanner - X usually uses it at a "Season" start to identify strong "spawn" candidates - focusing on any land activity/structures that match certain Hermits.

After weeks of searching & double checking, it gets 26 verified hits.

Some are clustered together, whilst others are more distant, but they're enough to work with for now. By this point, the pilots have had time to repair the supply drop mechanism to enough accuracy to set the emergency boxes - bespoke for each Hermit's needs - down where geographic evidence would indicate they're likely to find it.

They can only work with the limited information they have, though.

One night midway through Season 3, while listening to Sasha run through a plan, Tango's attention's stolen as 26 stars rain down from a single part of the sky, dropping all across Amphibia.

A sight he knows all too well, & that fills him with hope.

Several drop close enough that the Resistance finds them in a matter of minutes. False's house is nextdoor, & Grian & Pearl's is nearby, among others.

One drops over South Tower, though, & another near Quareller's Pass.

One drops on the coast, near-directly where TFC will emerge from tunneling under the ocean, several months from the present.

One drops over Cub's massive structure, & another near BDubs' artificial mountain.

And more still fall in places both known & not.

Only one drops over Newtopia, but Andrias & the Core are smart enough to put the pieces together about the same time Beef does about what they contain & where they'll land.

And so the race begins...

#hermitphibia au #hermitcraft #hermitblr #hermitcraft au #amphibia #amphibia au #hermithius #grumbot #renbob #hermitcraft goatman #vintagebeef #cubfan135 #bdoubleo100 #pearlescentmoon #falsesymmetry #andrias leviathan #amphibia andrias #xisumavoid #tinfoilchef #tango tek #goodtimeswithscar #zombiecleo #amphibia core #mumbojumbo #grian #sasha waybright

[masterwords]

What if Hotch and Morgan accidentally mix up their bags. Maybe Morgan is getting out of the shower by the time he realises he's got Hotch's clothes and his old ones are covered in dirt from travelling to a dump site.

Okay so this one went right into my brain the minute I saw it and I sprinted it in two 20 minute sessions so it isn't pretty and it is far from poetry but...I just adore the idea so much. Considering the awful things I have to write in the couple of chapter stories that need updates, this was a REALLY nice and much needed break. So...THANK YOU for sending this to me. You made my night. I hope you enjoy where I took it.

Words: ~1600

Pairings: Hotch/Morgan

Warnings: a kinda funny timed erection/masturbation & some dog bites/stitches at the end

**

It was a long damn day. That was all Derek could think as he waited for the water to heat up. He'd been dreaming of this shower after a day of running around through swampy woodlands.

When they caught this unsub, he was going to have some serious words for him. For starters, his feet were blistered and raw, and his boots were ruined. His favorite boots. He'd wiped them off the best he could and set them beside the heater in the window to try and dry out, but he held little hope they'd ever be right again.

And that infuriated him to no end. He hoped desperately that the shower helped his piss poor mood, because he had two hours and then he had to get back to the station. Two hours to remove mud from every nook and cranny and hopefully get a little sleep while he was at it.

It did help. Water poured over him, nearly hot enough to burn him if he let it stay in one spot too long, and when he'd finished with the soap he even gave himself permission to sit on the floor of the tub and just indulge a few minutes of sensory deprivation...just water coursing down over his head, eyes closed, breathing through drenched lips with his knees pulled to his chest. It worked wonders, at least until his butt started to go numb and he had to shift, to stretch out his legs and wiggle his toes and finally get out of the watery sanctuary.

His go-bag was waiting for him on his bed, untouched from the moment he'd arrived. Naked, he wandered through the room basking in the warmth on his damp skin while he sucked down a huge glass of water. He was parched and drank another glass before he felt better. Human again. And he still had an hour and a half before he had to be back to the station so he sprawled out still naked on the bed like a starfish and fell fast asleep with his alarm set for a half hour. That would be plenty, just a refresh. He could sleep anywhere.

Waking from a dreamless sleep, he rolled on his side and glanced at the clock just to be sure. Double check the time. The last thing he wanted to do was be late and piss anyone off. Still plenty of time. He hit snooze and let himself take another ten minutes. It was less restful but the freedom to do it felt almost decadent.

That sinfully good feeling of sleep slipped from him quickly when he opened his go-bag, expecting to pull out his gray sweater and black cargo pants, a staple. Warm enough to be comfortable in this region, nice enough to be casual but not overly so...but instead he found plastic dry cleaner bags with crisp starched button downs and slacks. Fuck.

Immediately, because he really couldn't think of anything else to do, he texted Hotch.

Think our bags got switched. Sorry man. You able to bring me mine?

He waited, cross-legged and naked on his bed. Hotch was always attached to his phone, he didn't let it worry him. Except no return text came. Nothing. Complete silence. So he tried again, and when that failed, he tried calling and was surprised to find it had gone straight to voicemail. Fuck...fuck double fuck.

He thought about calling Rossi, he'd been with Hotch all morning, maybe he'd know...but Rossi's phone went straight to voicemail too. Now he was worried and pissed off. If he and Hotch were even relatively the same size he probably couldn't be too concerned but the idea that he'd be comfortable in those tailored slacks and crisp shirts was absurd.

He also didn't have a choice. Two of his teammates weren't picking up their phones, and it was possible they were just out of reception range but it was also possible they were in trouble.

He pushed past Hotch's boxers and ripped open the pants bag, tugging them on with a grunt. If his clothes were even a little bit wearable again he wouldn't bother but they were soaking wet and filthy. More than that, they'd already been picked up by the hotel's laundry service. He could go naked, he could hide in his room, or he could stuff himself into Hotch's clothes and make the best of it.

The pants were tight but not as bad as he'd envisioned, it was the shirt that tugged uncomfortably beneath his armpits and hugged his biceps too tight. He was going to tear right out of this thing like the Hulk.

He didn't look half bad, though. He couldn't breathe or he'd pop a button, but he looked good. Slick. Hotch wore fucking nice suits. He always knew that, of course, but he'd never felt that fabric against his skin. It was odd, the knowledge that this shirt and these pants had been tailored to fit every curve of Hotch's body and while he destroyed their integrity, feeling those places gave him pleasure. The narrow angle of his hips, how lean Hotch was, it was so unlike him but it almost felt like having the other man against him and it was with no small amount of irritation that he realized he was feeling a little fuller in the pants than before. Now was not the time for an erection. He closed his eyes and smashed his hand against it, humming an old hymn his grandmother used to sing him like it might help. Then he recited some football stats and walked around, trying to shake it out. What the fuck was wrong with him?

They'd been seeing eachother for a little while, which would explain the stupid bag mix-up, but he'd always been in total control of his body before. Then again, he'd never gone commando in Hotch's pants before. This was ridiculous. The type of situation a thirteen year old with no control over their bodies or minds got into, not a full grown man.

Yet here he was. So, he did the only thing he could think to do...he unzipped the pants, let them drop, and dealt with the situation rather than fighting it. Faster, more efficient, and maybe he'd finally achieve that better mood. At this point he just felt like he was the butt of a cosmic joke.

He only hoped Hotch wouldn't be angry. This wasn't exactly going to prove that they'd been sleeping together, it could be an innocent mix up on the jet or in the SUV, but it was definitely going to put ideas into heads that he didn't want there. And Hotch would be more than a little upset at losing that control.

There wasn't anything he could do though, because Spencer was knocking at the door telling him it was time to head back. And when Spencer saw him in Hotch's clothes, looked him up and down with his brows drawn together in that confused look he got when he was putting together pieces to a puzzle that didn't make any damn sense...well he just smiled and shrugged and said don't worry about it, kid.

As it turned out, Hotch and Rossi's phones were off because they had gotten into trouble. The kind that landed them in an Urgent Care soaking wet getting stitches and antibiotics. Hotch glared at Derek in his clothes but didn't want to share much of the story, which didn't bother anyone too much because Rossi recanted the whole thing in grave detail. They'd stumbled on the unsub, and the K9 units managed to get him down but not before the unsub's dogs tore through them. Hotch had a wicked bite on his forearm and Rossi's calf was ripped up.

“Is that my shirt?” Hotch asked while the medical assistant cleaned his wound and prepared it for the nurse and her stitches. Derek pursed his lips and twitched his eyebrows, gave him that what the hell do you think? look and sighed. “It looks nice on you.”

Drugs. They must have already give him a shot of something to take the edge off, because he wasn't behaving the way Derek had anticipated. Probably for the best. “Our bags got mixed up.”

“I know,” Hotch said quietly, leaning his head to the side so he didn't have to watch the stitches go in. “That was my fault, I grabbed the wrong bag in my rush to get off of the jet. I'm sorry.”

Derek shrugged and pulled up a chair, deciding it was probably the right thing to do to sit with him. Reid was with Rossi, everyone else was back at the station packing up. The minute he sat in the chair, he felt the shirt tighten impossibly behind his shoulders and the seams began popping quietly. Pop pop rrrrip. The sleeves had been put under maximum strain. He sighed.

“I'll replace the shirt.”

“'S'ok,” Hotch mumbled, blinking sleepily against the pain meds they'd shot right into his vein along with the antibiotics. He was a lightweight when it came to those things. “I get your sweater.”

“What am I gonna wear?”

Hotch only smiled in that strange lopsided way he had and stared at him, and somehow Derek knew whatever was on his mind wasn't something he'd say out loud, especially in a hospital in front of their teammates who were pretending with every shred of decency they had not to stare at the two of them. It was barely working. “Deal.”

#derek morgan #aaron hotchner #criminal minds #hotchgan #spencer and rossi are in this too but i don't want to tag them cos they're barely here #fanfiction #this is pretty lighthearted and totally ridiculous but fun

[chattingwiththelightkeeper]

Make Good Choices

Since I have been working from home and now in hybrid mode, I have learned that it is healthy for me to take breaks from my electronic devices. Sometimes just having a break from screens is refreshing plus it allows a person to get out and enjoy life just a bit. Sometimes though when I click back on the “uniqueness” in the online community can make me throw up in my mouth a bit. After doing a vigorous brushing and swished some mouthwash to get the taste out of my mouth, I thought I would share some thoughts for d-types who might want to change for the better.

Put away your penis. I have a news flash, your member does not have anything to do with how good of a dominant you are nor does it mean you will find the right submissive because of your pretty schlong. Now if you just want kinky sex, say that but just because you like it “kinky” in the bedroom, kitchen, or the monkey exhibit at the zoo it does not mean you are a d-type. It just means you like kinky sex. There is a difference between D/S and kinky fuckery. So please do not be a Richard, put away your baloney pony, and be forthright in what you are seeking.

Shove that pet name right up your ass. Never call anyone by a pet name, nickname, or anything but their name unless they have consented to it. Yes, many people do enjoy being called ‘a slut’ and things like that but by their partner, not some stranger who is choking their chicken while scrolling through their blog.

Take a moment and be creative with your blog title and username(s) on lifestyle sites. Please do not use something like Do-I-Make-U-Horny-Baby unless you are Austin Powers (groovy baby). Also do not try to be another wolf because the lifestyle pack is full of real wolves. Save it ‘alpha’ boy, the internet does not need nor want yet another gamma guy. When I see anyone claiming to be alpha, I think of Alfalfa and wonder if their fictional pack calls themselves the Little Rascals.

Speaking of blog names, there are so many variants of things (Gold star for me because I just used the word variant and it did not have anything to do with covid.) like you may call me sir or I am your master that not only is it sickening to me but it is downright disrespectful to submissives. This is something I have said before and will say again (probably right here in this little ditty), titles are something that must be earned. It is great that you think that your clever blog name will instantly give an honorific but for those of us living in this crazy place called the real world, these types of names are red flags. These red flags scream three warnings to all who heed them. First, it cries out of newbie d-type who is trying to fake it until they make it or the utterly clueless person who just does not give a rats behind and finally, it is a howl of warning that the individual behind the name just might be a predator targeting undereducated and new s-types.

Being a wolf, alpha, or any role in the lifestyle for that matter does not make you a gentleman. Being a gentleman is completely unrelated to anything about kink. Yes, you can be a wolf, howl at the moon and be a gentleman. You can also be the most serious and experienced master as well as *gasp* submissive and be a gentleman. Speaking of howling at moons wolfie-boy, do you howl when someone drops trou and moons you? It is important to note, that it is possible to be completely vanilla and a gentleman because gentlemanly manners, traits, and values are completely unrelated to anything in the lifestyle. This awesome lifestyle is just like the regular vanilla world, there are many more twatwaffles than gentlemen.

D/S is about a power exchange where the partners in the relationship cherish and believe in each other. All those amazing, erotic gifs and images you wank yourself silly looking at each night take a long time of relationship-building to achieve in the real world. You are not going to have her suspended from the chandelier naked, while you spank her with a riding crop with all of your minions watching on a first date. Seriously, it is NOT going to happen!

Just because you discovered BDSM seven days ago when you saw a posting on Reddit does not make you a dominant. It takes time, study, and lots of self-reflection and soul-searching to discover if the lifestyle is truly part of who you are. Invest the time in yourself before you hit the interwebs looking for a submissive.

Titles are earned by your words, thoughts, and deeds. You are not a sir, master, or daddy to someone until you put in the time, effort and they have decided you have earned the title. Do not expect a submissive to call you by any title because you say so.

The number of followers your blog has does not have a lick to do with the title you wish to be called. It is awesome that you have ten thousand plus people who follow your blog but that still does not make you anything more than a guy with a blog. So sorry to burst your bubble master I-have-more-followers-than-you but go out and earn that title from each of your minions individually.

There is no twue way, therefore do not be butthurt when someone practices the lifestyle differently. Your way is not the only way to do, live, or go about the lifestyle and there are a myriad of choices within the life so respect that your yum is yuck for another.

While there are a plethora of ways to enjoy the lifestyle, pay attention when someone expresses that one (or more) of your methods, practices, or desires is unsafe and/or requires study with experienced teachers. BDSM can cause physical harm, including death if things are done incorrectly.  

This may shock all of you Christian Grey wannabes but Fifty Shades of Grey is a work of fiction. Fiction means it is not real, yes really, it is not real. The book is nothing more than the imagination of the author and it is NOT a how-to guide for the lifestyle, lifestyle relationships, or based in reality. No submissive is going to believe you that you will be offline for a few hours because you are hopping on your jet and flying to Bora Bora for meetings. Be honest, tell them you are jumping in your rusty Chevrolet and running to the grocery store. If ‘The Shades’ were set in a trailer park, it would be an episode of Criminal Minds rather than an ‘erotic romance’ on the big screen.

Being dominant is more than roleplay online. D/S is about the real world and you cannot order your “submissive” around by discrete texting them while you are loading up your fanny pack for a day at the theme park with the family. Not only will your wife catch you but the submissive you have been bossing around while your kids boss you, will figure it out.

Stop asking women to send pictures of their boobies, butts, and naughty bits. Having your Tumblr inbox filled with boobies may stimulate your head (not the one on your shoulders) but if you want to be a submissive’s leader, engage their mind and thoughts. Spanking your monkey while looking at her rack is not going to allow you to get to know anything about the person they are or what they may blossom into with the right dominant’s leadership. Instead, earn their trust so they will send you pictures of their naked thoughts unfiltered and not retouched. Get to know the mind of a submissive, touch her there before you go for the boobs, butt, or bits.

Submissive does not equal stupid or less than. Submissives are strong people who seek an equally strong person to lead them.

Whoa! Slow them horses down cowboy! A week of great conversation and even an amazing date or two does not mean it is time to pull out your trusty rusty collar and tell her she is yours. You have to earn her submission, which means you cannot ask for it! Go slow, build, and invest for the long term because the instant D/S coupling is not likely to bring long-term rewards.

Thank you for giving my rant a read and I hope that maybe just maybe it will reach one dominant who is misguided but involved in the community for the right reasons. Not only that, I wish it might reach a few newer submissives who have yet to have the experience to see through some of the common malarkey that tries to pass itself off as acceptable d-type behavior here on the internet. Please stay safe and on a serious and lifestyle-friendly note, the only person that can keep you safe in the lifestyle is yourself so channeling my best parental voice, remember to “make good choices”.

As with all of my writings, please see this disclaimer.

©TLK2022

[putschki1969]

2022/08/30 Blog post by Wakana  寒いのか暑いのかハッキリしてください〜木曜日はOSAKAへ！！〜

❗This is Fan Club EXCLUSIVE content❗ ❗PERSONAL USE ONLY❗ Do ❗NOT SHARE❗ on other sites ❗Join her FAN CLUB! Check out my detailed TUTORIAL ❗

Whether it’s cold or hot, please let the sky be clear 〜I am off to OSAKA on Thursday！！〜

The temperatures have been quite intense latey, haven’t they? (°_°) I can open the windows and use a fan during the day but I never know what to do when I go to bed at night! I don't turn on the air conditioner in the room where I sleep but will turn it on in the adjacent room and leave the door open so at least some of the cool air comes into my room. However, these days it's been a bit chilly at night, so I turned off the air conditioner. But with all the windows closed, it gets a little hard to breathe at night. So I turned on the air conditionor again but only leave the door slightly ajar. I also decided to sleep in thin long-sleeved shirt on top of my short-sleeved pajamas. This way I wake up feeling refreshed and comfortable! In the summer, my arms always end up on top of my covers, so my body gets cold without realising it😢 

Hello, this is Wakana (0￣▽￣0)／ 

I’m sure you might be thinking right now, “eh, wouldn’t it be better to sleep in a long-sleeved shirt instead of wearing two layers?” Well, there's a reason for this. If it's too hot and I wake up in the middle of the night, I can just take off the long sleeved top and continue sleeping in my short sleeves. That feels very relieving and is quite convenient! Everyone, I hope you can all find a comfortable sleeping method that suits you and helps you survive the lingering heat ! \\\\٩( 'ω' )و ////

Well, today I would like to introduce my goods for the upcoming "Wakana Billboard Live 2022"😆 I introduced them already on my other social media account but here’s another look at them. This time we have      ・T-shirt (S/M/L/XL)  ・Drawstring bag/purse  ・Same-chan key holder  ・Gyoza-chan coin case (((o(*ﾟ▽ﾟ*)o))) Here’s little me in a good mood, trying to have a conversation with the purse, staring into the distance since I am not getting any response from the purse. Here’s the backside of the t-shirt.  And the key chains with a special Same-chan embroidery. Last but not least, the Gyoza-chan coin case. And another picture of the back.

I think you might be able to fit all of these goods into the purse. I hope you will have fun with them ♪ Click here for more information＼(^o^)／ https://wakana-fc.jp/contents/551895 

The day of my Billboard Live in Osaka is quickly drawing closer. I will be performing on September 1, that’s this Thursday･:*+.\(( °ω° ))/.:+ 

I am very much looking forward to meeting you all! Everyone who is able to come, please take care on your way(^-^) See you in Osaka! !

Until next time~☆(*'▽'*) 

＊＊＊Wakana＊ ＊ ＊

2022/08/31 Instagram post by Wakana

Tomorrow is finally the day of my Billboard Live OSAKA!! ️🤗✨ I just arrived in Osaka, it's so hot 🙀🙀!! The temperatures rose again in Tokyo so it was already pretty hot there but it might be hotter here😂 And it seems like it will rain tomorrow...🙀☔⚡ I’m also seeing a thunder storm warning😭 Everyone who is coming to the live, please take care!! ️🥺 I forgot to bring my umbrella😂Meh~

I'm looking forward to meeting everyone and I will be sure to rest well tonight🥰🌟 See you tomorrow~! ️🎤🎹🎸🎶

(Source)

#kalafina #wakana blog #botanical land #fan club exclusive content #wakana #wakana on instagram

[focsle]

I have to work on commissions and frantically refresh my memory for a tour I haven’t given in near 3 years at this point that gotta give in 2 days but instead I got sidetracked being like ‘I wonder what theater my good friend William went to on July 4th and 5th of 1856 even though he clearly doesn’t really like the theater?’

[ID: Excerpt from an 1850s whaling journal kept by Wm Buel, transcript follows.]

“4th July 1856

Rain : cleared at night : N.B. quiet. Theatre in evening: “Satan in Paris” : I was tired to death : did not get out until near one oo.

5th July 1856

Fine weather : made up my mind to not go to Theatrical performances in out of the way places like this unless expecting to be disgusted + fairly put to sleep as I was last night.

Also came to the conclusion that theatres are rather a childish amusement at best, but if not of the best quality —— they are slightly unendurable. Have since seen the Drama of “the Wife” at the Theatre: by the help of two prominent actors from Boston it passed off well and two Yankee farces afterwards were amusing.”

Bringing in a little bit of his New York City Lad snobbery here.

New Bedford didn’t have the most robust theater scene in part because of its Quaker roots. In 1840, residents voted on the granting of more theatrical licenses, and the results were 12 in favor, 566 against. But theaters still existed because at least 12 of those residents wanted to be entertained! And New Bedford also had a steady stream of out-of-towners coming in to try their hand at a’whalin who were also likely clientele.

I imagine it was likely Liberty Hall that William visited. Liberty Hall (which no longer exists), was situated three blocks from where he was staying at the intersection of William and Purchase streets. And it would be having a Grand Reopening at this point!

[ID: 19th century photograph of a 4 story brick building. The ground floor has some commercial spaces, and the 2nd and 3rd floor are dominated by big arched windows. Several men are congregating outside. /end ID]

The theater would’ve been newly reopened on May 20th 1856, about a month before William landed in New Bedford. The new brick structure was built to replace a former wooden building that had burned down in the Autumn of 1854 (apparently someone had left a lamp going at night). The old building had originally been a Unitarian meeting house starting in the late 18th century, but after a new Unitarian church was built in the 1830s, the building was repurposed as a space for various lectures and performances. By 1846 it was specifically fitted up to be a theater.

At the top of the old building there was also a Liberty Bell installed by abolitionists, that in the wake of the Fugitive Slave Act would be rung to warn people who had escaped enslavement that U.S. Marshalls were coming into the city…and, frankly, to warn all Black residents of this since kidnapping in the name of the Act was rife regardless of whether someone was born free, had been manumitted, or self-emancipated. Unfortunately the bell was destroyed in the fire that burned the rest of the structure. And the brick building no longer stands either, demolished to make way for the Merchant’s Bank in the late 19th century. There is a plaque on that building today however that reportedly contains a melted piece of the old liberty bell.

[ID: Photo of the current plaque reading: On this site the former meeting house of the First Congregational and Unitarian Societies was erected 1795-97. These buildings were converted into Liberty Hall 1839. Original Liberty Hall burned and rebuilt 1854. Merchants National Bank Second Bank erected 1893. This building erected 1914. News of the passage of the Fugitive Slave Law was brought from Boston in 1851 by an express messenger who rode all night and the bell on the old hall was rung to give warning to fugitive slaves that U.S. Marshalls were coming. The bell was melted in the fire of 1854 and a fragment is inserted in this tablet.’ beneath the text is a warped lump of metal. /end ID]

#my bff william #I’m making some REAL mistakes with my time today lol…..

[cidnangarlond]

4, shiloh :3

Prompt said "3 to 10 sentences" absolutely not I love being long-winded and dramatic.

Shiloh + One chance

"Just give me one more try!" Shiloh pleaded with her Sharlayan professor. "Just one more chance and I promise I shall have it done!"

Classes had long since ended but the Miqo'te was still burning the midnight oil, determined to not rest until she had completed the experiment to her satisfaction. Her professor sighed, then shrugged, then held up a finger.

"One more chance," he said. "If you do not get it we shall retire for the evening and try again in the morrow." Shiloh had opened her mouth but he quickly cut her off, adding, "After breakfast."

Her tail drooped slightly, but that would give her enough time to work out the kinks in the formulas she had written. "Fine. Now, just give me a moment if you will..."

It is known that Shiloh saying, "What could go wrong?" more often than not preceded something catching fire, or exploding, or inadvertently turning someone into a toad. (The toad thing only happened once but she will never live it down from those who were present.) Sometimes her not saying it was often more ominous than her catchphrase, but her professor knew she was bright, and once she mastered magicks and alchemy, Shiloh had a bright future ahead of her.

Checking the blackboard where she had written all the formulas down, she painstakingly measured everything out, combining them one at a time before retrieving her staff.

"If this catches you on fire, I apologize," she muttered to her professor, who said nothing, merely watching.

Since that day Shiloh still does not know what went wrong. Did she add just slightly too much of one ingredient? Or not enough? Was it how she held the staff or flicked her wrist? Did she mess up a pronunciation? She would not be able to check her notebooks after this since they were lost in the blast.

The explosion was the last thing anyone expected, one of that magnitude, anyway. The wall blew out, as well as part of the ceiling, exposing the night sky and full moon above, shattering the calmness of that spring evening. People came rushing, discovering that while the building was now damaged, the professor in attendance had not be injured in the slightest. In fact, the explosion seemed to go straight up and straight through Shiloh, sending her careening through the wall and into the rubble.

At least, that's what everyone expected. Sifting through it they found no sign of her whatsoever, the only trace left behind behind a large scorch mark where she once stood. Had she ended up utterly obliterating herself? Shiloh Rabntah, now a victim of her own experiments and, perhaps, her own hubris?

She was just fine, actually, as much as one can expect. Though when she awoke from her explosion-induced unconsciousness, she found herself in a place not unlike where she called home, but also completely different. The air felt different, the aether, too. Shiloh first believed herself to have died, but after standing and feeling an incredible amount of pain, she knew herself to still be alive. Where was she, then? In this utterly mysterious, tranquil place where everything felt off... where had she blasted herself to?

People had naturally come running after hearing a resounding BOOM! and a young lady turn up at the site of the sound. These people, upon looking her over, had an entirely different name for Miqo'te, for the Keepers of the Moon, and Shiloh knew she was not where she once had been mere bells ago. Indeed, their nomenclature for time was different as well, and after collapsing once more from the pain and waking up in a chirurgeon's office - of course they had a different name for that, as well - she was told she was... somewhere she had never heard of.

"Must have hit your head a bit too hard, eh?" the chirurgeon had joked, but Shiloh was utterly distressed. After being "refreshed" on the names of major countries, Shiloh concluded she has blasted herself to another world entirely. How exactly, she did not know, nor would she ever truly find out. One moment she was in Sharlayan, and the next she was... here. Wherever here was. For a time while she healed she debated trying to explain to someone, anyone, her predicament, convoluted as it may be.

One day she asked the chirurgeon, "Is there a scholar here I may talk to? Someone knowledgeable about magic and alchemy and the like. And if not here, where can I go to find them?"

As luck would have it, Shiloh had ended up at this place's version of Sharlayan, a "college" as it were for gifted academics and practitioners of scholarly arts, whatever that meant. The person she would most likely wish to speak to, she was told, was away doing academic field research, but would be back in a week's time.

Unfortunately, it was not to be, for one day all hells broke loose and the world as Shiloh briefly knew it turned dark, as if the sun had vanished completely. Plunged into an endless night of void, and the people of this place turned into monsters. The rejoining, as one cloaked figure had put it, had failed, and there was no way to salvage this world.

But there were survivors, and Shiloh was one of them. It would take every onze of her being to fight for her life in this world, but if there was some kind of chance, even a slim one, she could make it back home, she was going to take it. This was a fight now for her life, in this world of darkness, and Shiloh would not see herself fail.

#lillybean730 #asks #ask games #shiloh tag #she gets back but i don't remember how she does I forgot abt that when I came up with the idea </3

[lindsaystravelblogs4]

16-19 March Camperdown

Saturday

We left Portland and drove to Camperdown today.  Heather took us via some interesting back roads – much more interesting than barrelling down the highway with sixty tonnes of truck barking up our tailpipe.  We took it slowly, calling in at a couple of lakes along the way and stopped in at the Mortlake pub for lunch.  We really like pub lunches even if they are rarely gourmet meals.  Especially in country areas, they are almost always welcoming, often quaintly decorated, with people wanting to chat, and the meals are always enormous.  We love them.

We were soon at Camperdown where we have stayed a few times before, including in our old van at least twenty years ago.  That time, there was a huge gale blowing and we were parked on the site behind where we are at present and we just about got blown off the mountain in the gale.  I had to tie the van to the tree next door and moved the car to try to form a windbreak, but it was certainly a wild and very scary night, wondering if we would survive until morning or simply be blown away.  It has been a bit windy this time too, but nowhere near as bad as that time so long ago.  I have still had to wind the awning in each night to keep the noise down and to avoid possible damage to it, or the caravan itself.

The site we are on is a shocker.  It is seriously sloping, and we have had to use every block of wood we have to jack the front of the van up at least a metre and there is still a slight downward slope threatening to catapult us down into bed every time we move around inside.  It took us ages to get set up and I was quite nervous that the van could fall off our little mountain of blocks and hurl us further down the hill.

Once all was secure, we went for a drive to refresh our memory of the town and its surrounding lakes.  The whole area is dotted with lakes, presumably all volcanic in origin many millennia ago.  We drove around a couple of the closer ones and noted their respective birdlife before refuelling at the local BP station.  We have a BP app that gives us points when we make a purchase, but there was a sign outside the servo offering four cents per litre off with any receipt from a supermarket.  We needed a few things so went to the supermarket to get a receipt before purchasing our fuel.  Alas, they declined to give us the discount because they said we hadn’t spent enough at the supermarket (although the sign stated ANY receipt and they didn’t know how much would have been enough anyway!) and then declined to give us our points because they said they were not part of that BP deal.  Needless to say, we didn’t buy any more fuel from them.

Sunday 

We had an interesting day today: lots of driving, but lots of stops along the way too.  We were away a little earlier than usual and headed for Port Fairy about seventy kilometres away, but we went via lots of back roads so it was quite a bit further.  We called in at a couple of lakes (along this route, as well as along the coast on our way back home again) looking for birds.  We identified forty species today, including seven that we had not previously seen on this trip, bringing our trip total to 104 – eventually 118 for the whole trip!

Our first stop was at the lovely Lake Cartcarrong at Winslowe – how have we not discovered this gem before? – where we saw lots of birds and a good variety at that.  A really delightful place to stop and explore - we will allow more time next time.

We stopped a few more times before we reached Port Fairy but virtually drove through the town to the beach and back along the Moyne River.  We followed the river out to Lough Belfast and ate our lunch on the edge of the lough at the very end of the airport runway.  We went on to Killarney Beach, past another small lake (part of the Moyne Lagoon, I think) with a surprising variety of birds – including at least three more species of waders that took a lot of research to identify.  Heather took us to several other lakes, including another rich variety of birds at a creek and ‘dampland’ just out of Warrnambool – quite close to the beach, but all freshwater birds.

We stopped at a café in Warrnambool for a coffee – something that is extremely rare for us, but neither of us had slept well last night and I thought it might be good to spark up my system with a burst of caffeine/adrenaline before heading for a drive through Tower Hill and home.  Tower Hill was a bit disappointing.  Parks Victoria has sanitised it to the extent that there is very little accessible that is of any interest to us - at least without a long walk.  We drove through it but stopped only momentarily a couple of times.

Then we drove home to Camperdown and wonderful showers – for one reason or another it had been a few days, and showering was a delight.

Monday

We did another big loop today, out to Apollo Bay and back through the Otways to the main highway and back to Camperdown.  We started by driving south through Cobden and Timboon to Port Campbell where we explored the clifftop, taking care not to be blown into the sea – a veritable gale was blowing most of the day.  We then followed the Great Ocean Road along the coast, calling in at Loch Ard – much of which is now closed.  We were unable to get to any of the areas we used to enjoy, and it is a longer walk than in the past to see anything much at all.  We live in a ridiculous Nanny State where anything of interest is fenced off in case one of us idiots should be stupid enough to walk off the edge.

We drove straight past most of the other ‘vantage points/tourist traps’ along the coast.  Anywhere around the Twelve (currently Eight) Apostles was decidedly cringeworthy.  There were so many tourists there that the carparks were full and even both road verges were parked solid for a kilometre each side of the visitor’s centre.  And there was a flood of pedestrians dashing across from side to side of the road, making driving past a challenge in itself.

We drove on to Apollo Bay and out to the Cape Otway Lightstation.  The Lightstation is currently closed due to a recent earthquake that caused the spill of some mercury inside the station, making it unsafe until the cleanup is complete.  We went for a longish walk along part of the Great South West Walk to catch a glimpse of the lighthouse – but I remain unconvinced that it was worth it. 

When we were turning back, we were overtaken by a couple of German tourists who were quite agitated, having just encountered what we think was a baby black snake on the path.  We calmed them down but they still left us in their dust as we all returned to the carpark.  We called back in at the Information Centre to buy a cold drink and got into conversation with the ticket collector (was it $30 concession? to walk around the outside of the Lighthouse – reduced because the building was closed).  He was quite a character who hailed from the Western Australian eastern goldfields, and we had a few things in common making it very difficult to escape his exuberance.  Fortunately, a group of tourists arrived and we encouraged him to deal with them while we headed for the car.

We then cut north again through some heavily wooded country and into some forest where we seemed to twist and turn a hundred corners before reaching Highway One at Colac and thence back to Camperdown.

Tuesday

We spent most of the day in the van today.  We did a big load of washing in the morning but despite the constant wind, it was a cold day and nothing got completely dry.  There was also a bit of rain from time to time, just spots that ensured our washing still needed a bit more drying inside the van overnight.

Later in the day, we went for a walk in the nearby Botanic Gardens.  In fact, the gardens cover about a hundred acres, including the entire caravan park that the trustees hope to reclaim as soon as they can persuade Council to move the park from its current illegal occupation to somewhere else in town.  We got into conversation with the woman who does most of the gardening, as well as running the Friends Group.  Victoria has quite a few of these country town gardens and is apparently unique in the world for them.  She told us a lot about the history, not just about these gardens but also about other country gardens where she is often a guest speaker.  We could have talked for ages, but after 30-45 minutes, we were all getting cold and retreated to warmer places – for us, our caravan and dinner.