hi! you mentioned in your keith hobbies post that it's implied lance trains independently in secret - how so? i feel like i'm missing something obvious here
So there’s a couple of things here!
The biggest piece of evidence is all the way back in s1e4. Allura is talking to the mice about how she wants to keep her worries secret, the mice tell her she isn’t the only one keeping things secret- and while the conversation does go to Pidge, she’s not the only one the mice mention.
Chulatt messes up his fur to look like Lance’s hair, makes shooting motions with his tail, and then twirls it, to which Allura replies “That sounds like Lance.”
Now, it’s unlikely Lance has been flirting, because at this point they haven’t left Arus and the only real party Lance has expressed any interest in is Allura who wouldn’t need to be told this. And Chulatt, again, makes specifically shooting motions.
So my two cents here? Lance has been practicing with his bayard in private. Shooting (as Chulatt indicates) and probably some gun twirling and tricks to show off- the part Allura would remark on. Because at this point she wouldn’t be surprised by the implication he’s just trying to get good enough to show off/probably impress girls- Lance is a good person but he hasn’t exactly made the most awe-inspiring impression on Allura.
The second piece of evidence is in s2e10. Lance cheerfully points out he’s a great shot, to which Pidge rebuts “Since WHEN?” but y’know who’s completely right? Lance- who knows for certain that he can pull off an incredibly precarious and tricky shot while falling backwards, at just the right time to guarantee the warden can’t recapture Slav before the airlock closes. But Shiro also doesn’t react to defend Lance, or take it for granted earlier that Lance can make those shots- such as when we see that he prefers to rush a distant enemy rather than have Lance shoot him.
Now Shiro’s not inattentive, nor is he mean or dislikes Lance. Pidge also doesn’t mean badly here- both of them trust Lance when he claims he can make that daunting final shot, where there’s an incredibly narrow margin of error and messing up will injure or kill Slav, who’s not wearing any armor- or doom the mission to a failure and Slav to further captivity and torture.
So that implies, further, that Lance knows something they hasn’t- that he’s been doing a lot of work on his shooting that Pidge and Shiro haven’t seen.
Thematically, this lines up with something we see: that Lance in most regards at the beginning of the show is only a few steps behind Keith. Keith, as we know, has literal supernatural reflexes- but Lance made the elite fighter class in Keith’s absence. And it’s not because of natural talent. Rather… it’s because Lance is a hard worker. He puts diligence and tenacity into this. Which is honestly, a very common rival dynamic- one character who is naturally or even magically incredibly gifted, and another who is nearly as good by sheer virtue of grit and determination. Lance has never been implied to be a genius or a prodigy which makes his accomplishments a product of diligence.
And the final piece of evidence- incidentally, also rearing its head for the first time in s2e10?
Lance keeps pulling out tricks with his bayard that we don’t see him discover. Hunk, Pidge, and Keith get subtle redesigns of their weapons, but Lance actually unlocks an entirely different form of his weapon and we see him shifting between them: the sniper rifle and the standard blaster. And before that, in s2e10, he knows he can shoot sparkles with the blue bayard.
Exactly the sort of thing you would expect if Lance has been taking time alone to familiarize with his bayard, both in actual tactical levels, and in showing off.
Justin Oluransi, MD, has a complicated relationship with his job. One one level, he loves it. There’s something so pure about the rush of adrenaline when he has to run onto the ice and assess a situation. He loves hockey and he loves helping people, and being the team physician for the Providence Falconers allows him to do both. There’s just one part of his job that he hates: he’s only called in when something terrible happens. Fighting is expected - he’s sewn up more busted lips and tracked down more teeth than he can count - but injuries are always horrible to witness.
As much as Justin loves his job it’s never fun to see a player go down, especially now that he’s gotten to know the Falconers individually. It had been a little easier to watch them go down when he was still terrified to speak to them for fear of embarrassing himself (in his first conversation with Tater all he’d managed to say was hello and goodbye), but now that he counts them as friends instead of colleagues every time he rushes onto the ice there’s a heavy dread sitting in the pit of his stomach.
Justin’s particularly busy whenever the Aces come to town. He’s not sure what it is about the Aces and Falconers, but guys who aren’t at all prone to fighting tend to end up in the worst scrapes of all whenever their paths cross. It’s so bad that he’s kept even closer to the ice than usual, tucked almost on the bench itself instead of back in the halls underneath the stands. It’s only because of this vantage point that he sees him.
Remember how when Allura asks the mice for secrets, Chulatt messes up his head fur like Lance’s hair, makes shooting motions with his tail and then spins it like somebody in a western movie doing gun twirling, to which Allura replies “that sounds like Lance”?
Operating theory: Lance has been practicing with his weapon in private, and he’s also been practicing trick shooting/gun twirling and that’s what the mice told Allura.
summary: calum wants dessert and the sweetest thing he had was you.
I M A G I N E
“And that’s how you prepare a good piece of toast with Vegemite,” Calum said proudly as he smears some Vegemite on the toast with a butter knife.
You were joined with Calum behind the counter as he was cooking meals. There was a camera set up a bit far from you two, recording an entire live stream. For some reason, Calum always wanted to have his own brief cooking show. You had no idea why, but the management thought it was a great idea for publicity reasons, too. So, here you were, watching your boyfriend prepare the most basic meals for hormonal fans all over the world.
“That’s all for today you guys!” Calum said, waving at the camera as he bit off a piece of his toast. “Catch us next time on Calum Cooks– whenever we decide to even do this again. Honestly tweet me and tell me if you guys like it and I’ll probably do it again. Love you guys!” Calum quickly rushed to the camera and turned it off, having the red light disappear.
“Welp, that’s a wrap then,” you said, clapping your hands together as you removed your clean apron. As you did, you watch Calum hold the camera while looking distantly at it. He seemed lost in thought, having concern strike you as you watched your boyfriend. “Is everything okay, baby?”
You watched closely as Calum’s plump lips quickly curve into a smirk. He turns the camera stand to the right, having the camera face the hallway. You mentally note down the fact that it is no longer facing you as Calum turns over at you and smiles.
“Just in case,” he mumbles before joining you behind the counter once more. He quickly grabs your waist and leans you against the counter to kiss you hungrily. You kissed him back after a moment of shock. Kissing him, you felt the crumbs of the toast against your lips. You even had the taste of Vegemite now in your mouth as Calum put his tongue in your mouth.
“Babe-!” You suddenly break away from his lips, having your hands pressed against his chest to push him away. The both of you were now breathing hard, as Calum refused to stop for air for a good 5 minutes. “Wh-what’s going on? Why’d you turn the camera?”
“I wanted to prepare one more meal, princess,” Calum whispered, looking into your eyes with his almond ones. They were now full of lust as they stared at your flushed face. “But this meal must be prepared and eaten privately.”
Calum held your waist with a stronger grip before quickly, but carefully, placing your back upon the granite counter. You tried sitting up slightly, but Calum quickly held you down softly at your shoulders.
“Babe?” You asked with wander, watching Calum walk over to the refrigerator and open it up slowly. Ignoring you completely, Calum was grabbing items from the cold storage with ease. You tried to see, but his large torso completely blocked your sight. He then closed the refrigerator before turning around and placing the items down next to you on the counter.
There was a bottle of whipped cream, a bottle of chocolate syrup, and a box of cherries.
“I just want dessert, baby,” Calum seductively whispered in your ear, having your body crawl with goosebumps. He went to the side of the counter where your head was resting. He reached over to the hem of your shirt and began to pull it towards him. You straighten your arms, allowing him to remove your shirt with ease. Being left with just your bra, you blush a bit and cover them as best you can with your hands.
“Baby, I’m head chef,” Calum said, giving your ear a little nibble before going to the other side of the counter. He itched his hands under your back and unclasped your bra. You allowed him to pull down the straps and then lift it from your body. “Whatever I say, goes.”
“But..” you trailed off, watching with wide eyes as Calum grabs the whipped creams and begins to shake it vigorously. You bite your bottom lip anxiously, watching him remove the cap with just his thumb. “Calum, what are you–”
With a swift motion, Calum begins to shoot the whipped scream on your right breast. You squealed from the coldness of the whipped cream as Calum sprayed it around your mound in a swirl. Your hands grasped the sides of the granite that wasn’t on the wooden pedestal it was mounted on. He then did the other breast, having your back arch from the coolness. Your felt your nipples get erect, perking up from the cold interaction.
“Mm, baby,” Calum moaned, putting the whipped cream down to pick up the chocolate syrup. “I love the sounds you make.”
“We put the world away…” you began to sing, having Calum smile before putting a bit of syrup in his mouth. He put it down gently before leaning above you and smashing his lips on his. He slid his tongue in your mouth, having the sweet chocolate dance in your mouth as you deepened the kiss. He then detached, looking at your chest as it heaved from shortage of breath.
“So perfect,” Calum murmured as he began to swirl the syrup around your whipped creamed breasts. He carelessly began to squeeze the syrup on your stomach, making a wavy pattern down to your lower abdomen. Placing the syrup down, he went for the box of cherries before realizing that you still had your shorts on. “Fucks sake.” Calum quickly went to your feet and reached to unbutton your shorts. You watch as he pulls them off with aggression, with your panties following them.
“Calum!” You moaned from his sudden strength, feeling your bare ass against the cold, granite counter. Calum smirked, going back to the box of cherries. He took out two and inspected them, ensuring they were perfect. He then placed them right in the middle of your swirls, feeling them sink down to hit your erect nipples.
“Time to eat,” Calum said hungrily. He places his forearms under you, having one under your back and the other under the backs of your knees. He picked you up with all his strength and guided you to the bedroom. Placing you on the bed, Calum began stripping in front of you.
You watched as he first removed his shirt. His toned torso was marvelous, having you drool a bit as your eyes wandered down his abs and ended at his defined V-line. He glanced at you, grinning a bit before his hands began unbuckling his belt. Pulling down his tight jeans, you watch as he revealed his hard member behind his Calvin Klein underwear.
“Not gonna take that off, love?” You asked, raising your eyebrow at him as he chuckled.
“Not yet, beautiful,” Calum assured as he got on the bed and was on all four above you. He dipped down and gave you a tender kiss on the lips. He left them quickly, feeling them sore a bit as he began to trail kisses down your neck. Your hands grabbed the bed sheets, carelessly removing some of it off the mattress. You felt Calum’s lips nibbling on your collarbone before his tongue began to trail down to your left breast.
“F-fuck, Calum…” you moaned, feeling his tongue begin to eat a bit of whipped cream from your breast. He rose a bit from it, biting his bottom lip before taking a huge lick of it. Goosebumps rose all over your body once more, giving you a wave of pleasure as Calum began to neatly clean your breast. He’d nibble at your mound, secluding your nipple that held the very cherry he was ever so tempted to eat.
“You’re so sweet, baby,” Calum mumbled, taking the cherry in his mouth. You watch as he held the cherry teasingly between his white pearls. He bites down on it, its juices dripped down his chin and onto your body. Spitting out the stem, he goes back down and begins to suck on your nipple. You moaned loudly, feeling as he cleaned the last bit of whipped cream from your pink bud. Pleasure jolted all over your body, feeling heat rise up in your flower.
“Please do the o-other one, Calum,” you pleaded, having Calum oblige happily before going to work on your other breast. Within minutes, both of your breasts were cleaned in sight but superbly sticky. You watch him eat the other cherry before he goes down and begins to lick off the trail of chocolate syrup he made. His tongue slide down your stomach, having you arch your back again as he stopped right before your flower.
“The sweetest part,” Calum commented, licking his lips before he went down on your flower. His tongue wandered inside, feeling his lips against your hot ones. He nibbled your clit a bit, softly rubbing it between his teeth before sucking on it.
“Calum!” You screamed, feeling yourself lose control as he blew inside you softly. He used his tongue again, attempting to reach your G spot as you writhed in pleasure. “Ah– f-fuck, C-Cal, I’m gonna–” you chocked on your spit, the pleasure becoming overwhelming as you quickly released into Calum’s mouth.
“Mm,” Calum hummed against your pussy, having you moan as he began to eat you out. Eating every last bit of your liquids, Calum chuckled and sat up. Offering you his hands, you grab them and sit up with him. He grabs your chin between his index finger and thumb before giving you a quick, tender kiss on your lips. “Let’s clean you up, princess.”
With that, Calum carries you off the bed and guides you into the master bathroom to finish off his meal.
2/11/15 MSR for the angsty list....I know....I am an ass.... (but really!!!!! Please write that!!!!)
2 - I don’t need you. I don’t need any of you.
11 - You can’t keep hurting me and then demand I apologize instead.
15 - You betrayed me.
Author’s Notes: Okay, this one hurts. Like a kick to the groin kind of hurt. I almost feel bad. It is high angst & will probably piss some of you off. If you proceed – you were warned. Post IWTB.
Two Weeks, Too Cold
It’s been two full weeks since she’s seen him.
She can’t remember the last time she went more than a day without hearing his voice – What’s up, Doc? – watching him as he watched her, or felt his broad chest against her back as he spooned her to sleep.
I won’t be coming home, she had said. Don’t do this, he had begged.
Scully keeps telling herself that she made a mistake by letting him kiss her as she stood in their front yard with tears rolling down her face, by entertaining the notion that they could ever hide from the darkness. It was cruel, she thinks, because even then she knew that she wouldn’t be coming back home.
Which isn’t exactly true, because she did come home, briefly, to gather a bag or two of her belongings. Her chest aches at the memory – of the desperate tears and of his voice breaking on each I’m sorry and please don’t leave me.
That was two weeks ago. Two weeks that have been filled with work, because if she can’t help the man she loves then at least she can help a child breathe. Two weeks filled with too much coffee, because her fingers feel ice cold without his own interlaced with them. Too little sleep, because her skin trembles and aches without his hands there to gentle away the nightmares.
Two weeks, she has decided, is long enough.
I just want to see him, she tells herself as she guides her car onto the long gravel drive that leads to their shared home. The house is modest, but cozy. Most of all, it’s theirs. The few tangible things they’ve shared in the past have been wrenched away from them – but not their home. No blood to scrub out of the carpet, no taped X in the window to summon life-threatening information. It’s just home, and it’s theirs.
She steps out of her car into the crisp air of early morning to pull open the gate, and she smiles to herself. The ritual of it is comforting. Countless mornings and evenings have began and ended with opening this gate, letting herself back into the beautiful, private world she shares with Mulder.
Pulling into her spot in front of the house, she sees a strange car. She frowns curiously. Did he go out and buy a car after I left? She wouldn’t put it past him, except that it would require his actually leaving the house (and nothing short of a psychic priest has convinced him to do so thus far).
On her walk to the front door, her heart begins to hammer against her ribs at the thought of seeing him again. It’s only been two weeks, she chides herself. Still, she expects that he may be angry. When he’s hurt, he tends to deflect – in his case, that means petulant withdrawal and an abundance of sarcasm.
She draws in a deep breath and unlocks the door. He may still be asleep, she realizes as she steps into quiet darkness. It’s just after five o’clock in the morning. Just because she hasn’t been able to rest doesn’t mean he can’t.
But oh, she’s finally home. She closes her eyes, relishing the smell of Mulder’s aftershave mingled with the scent of the roses he had delivered to her office just a week before those goddamned agents showed up at the hospital. She remembers bringing them home, carefully tucking them into a vase of water. They’re beautiful, she had told him. Not as beautiful as you, he had replied, his hand tucked against the small of her back.
“Who are you?”
Scully starts at the sound of an unfamiliar voice, opening her eyes to see a woman standing at the threshold where kitchen becomes living room.
Tall. Brunette. Holding a glass of water. Wearing only a t-shirt and a confused expression.
“This is my house,” Scully says, the words scraping past a throat that has gone as dry as desert sand. “Who are you?”
The woman stares back, tugging at the hem of her t-shirt uncomfortably.
No, not her t-shirt. Mulder’s t-shirt. Scully’s favorite shirt that Mulder owns, because it’s soft and worn and somehow still smells like the cologne he wore the first time she slept in his arms, even after all these years.
I’m going to be sick, this is not happening, oh Mulder what is going on…
The woman finally speaks, clearing her throat. “He – he said he lived alone.”
I’ve wandered into the wrong house, Scully thinks numbly. That’s the only explanation that makes sense.
But no. That’s Mulder’s shirt, and that’s the drinking glass my mother gave to me when we moved here. That’s the couch where Mulder and I made love less than a month ago.
This can’t be the wrong house, because that’s Mulder. He’s standing in front of her, and he’s not wearing my favorite shirt, he’s not wearing a shirt at all, and he looks terrified, and oh God I’m going to be sick…
“Mulder?” Her voice sounds tiny. Her hands are still freezing, but now her palms are sweating as her stomach churns. Please explain this, Mulder, she begs silently. Please please please please.
“Who is she?” When the other woman speaks again, Scully wants to scream at her. She has no right to ask that. Scully is the one who should be demanding an explanation. She’s the one who deserves an answer. Not this stranger, with her morning-after hair and her long smooth legs brushing the hem of Mulder’s shirt.
I’m going to be sick.
“Mulder?” This time, her voice is louder, sharper, less please tell me this isn’t what it looks like and more how fucking could you.
He doesn’t acknowledge the other woman’s inquiry, instead stepping toward Scully with his hand outstretched. “Scully,” he begins, and her name on his lips tells her all she needs to know. She’s heard him speak her names countless times – calling to her for help, playfully teasing her, comforting her in times of distress, moaning in ecstasy as she coaxes him to climax, even shouting in anger during a particularly intense argument.
Never – never – has he said her name with this desperate, helpless tone threaded through it.
The woman has disappeared, and Scully can hear her in the bedroom – our bedroom – gathering her things, probably eager to get away from this house – our house – and whatever is about to happen between them.
Mulder moves forward, and she sees panic etched into the lines of his face.
She squeezes her eyes shut, shaking her head as the full realization of what’s happening settles over her. “No,” she chokes, swallowing against a throatful of stomach acid. “No, no, no.”
“I’m sorry, Scully, please let me explain.”
Her eyes fly open, and she wraps her arms around herself. “Explain?” Her voice catches on a sob. “What is there to explain?” She stares at his face, his beautiful face, and it’s more than she can take, his eyes full of regret. She backs away, grappling for the doorknob.
“Scully, don’t leave. Please.”
“Two weeks, Mulder!” Her stomach aches, her head pounds, and I need to get out of here, this is not happening. “I was gone two fucking weeks!”
She is hot and cold at the same time, her clammy palms sliding against the doorknob as her fingers shake uncontrollably. She feels the heat of his body behind her, and oh God, she wants to lean into him, just to warm her hands, but nonononono, she has to leave, she cannot stay another minute in this house.
When he places a hand against her shoulder, her entire body recoils. “Get the hell away from me,” she gasps, her breaths coming in shorter spurts now, her lungs burning.
The doorknob finally relents, and she shoves against the door, stumbling outside where it’s still so cold, it’s not home, and she can’t breathe, and fuck you Mulder how dare you how fucking dare you.
He follows her across the yard. “Scully, please.”
She doesn’t break stride or respond. She’s almost to her car when she feels his hand catch the arm of her coat. She jerks free, but his grasp is lighter than she expected, and the heel of her boot slides against a leftover patch of ice.
Under any other circumstance, she would have caught herself. The reflexes instilled in her all those years ago in FBI field training never failed her before, but she can’t even catch her breath so how is supposed to support her full weight?
Maybe she doesn’t even want to.
Her knee meets the ground with a sharp crunch, and she hisses in pain.
Immediately, Mulder is at her side. “Oh God,” he says, and reaches for her again. She slaps his hand away, and finally the tears she’s been fighting break through, streaming hot against her chilled face.
“In our bed, Mulder,” she says bitterly, leaning back against the tire of her car. “I was gone two weeks, and you fucked someone in my bed.” She tries to suck in a lungful of air, but is met with resistance when the breath halts on a sob. So this is what suffocation feels like.
“I was drunk,” he whispers miserably.
“When are you not?”
He flinches, but continues. “I don’t know what happened. Scully, I don’t even know her.”
“Where did you meet her, Mulder?” She glares through her tears. “All this time, while I’ve been working, have you just been out meeting women to bring back to our home? Our bed?”
“Of course not,” he breathes, staring at her in horror. “Never. You know me better than that.”
“I thought I did,” she whispers brokenly. “I never believed you would do this. Not in a million years, Mulder.”
“Neither did I.“ His voice is pitiful and sincere.
She swallows thickly. “You betrayed me.”
He sinks all the way down beside her. “I know,” he says quietly. “I know, and I’m so sorry.” There is a heavy silence between them for a moment before he adds, “Scully, you left me.”
Scully shifts to face him, and grits her teeth against the pain that the motion sends shooting through her knee. “You’re unbelievable,” she spits venomously. “You screw another woman in my bed, on the sheets you bought for me on my last birthday, and you’re making this my fault?” She fumbles with the top of the tire, trying to pull herself to her feet.
“Scully, stop,” Mulder pleads. “You’re hurt – your leg.”
“You’re damn right I’m hurt,” she snaps. “And it has nothing to do with my leg.”
She gives up on standing for the moment. “You never answered my question,” she tells him, her eyes burning hot into his.
“Where did you meet her? I’ve never known you to socialize, but clearly, there are a few parts of your character I somehow missed in all our years together.”
He stares at his hands for a moment before meeting her gaze. “I went on a walk and ended up at a bar. It’s a couple miles down the road. I had more than I planned, and she – she offered to drive me home.”
Scully folds her arms tightly around her midsection. The tire is wreaking havoc on her back, but she barely notices.
“Classy, Mulder.” She closes her eyes again, but the tears fall anyway.
He sighs. “You left, Scully. You just left, and you wouldn’t return my calls. I didn’t know if you were ever coming back.”
Scully tenses as another wave of nausea washes over her. “I left because you wouldn’t leave the house unless it was to spiral back into your fucking paranoid obsessions!”
She covers her face with both hands. “You can’t keep doing this,” she sobs. “You can’t keep hurting me, and then demand that I apologize instead.”
“When have I done that?” His voice is laced with disbelief. “When have I ever done that, Scully?”
Fuck you Mulder fuck you fuck you fuck you –
“Fuck you,” she cries, gripping the edge of the tire again and heaving herself to her feet. “I don’t need you.”
She ignores the throbbing in her knee when she puts weight on it. “I don’t need anyone,” she says, her voice breaking. “I think we both know I’ve survived greater losses.” She wrestles with her purse, digging for her keys. “But it’s fine. I don’t need any of you.”
Mulder touches her shoulder, and she shrugs him away again. “Don’t touch me.” She yanks her car door open. “I told you to get away from me.”
“Scully, I’m sorry,” he says weakly. “You may not need me, but I need you. I always have.”
“You didn’t need me last night,” she tosses back viciously as she forces key into ignition. “I can’t take care of you anymore, Mulder. Figure it out.”
He positions his body so that she is blocked from closing the door. “Scully,” he tries again, his voice echoing with despair. “I’m begging you. Please. You came back for a reason. Please don’t leave again.”
Her chin trembles as she answers him in a voice as brittle as dry ice. “I left for a reason, too.”
She grasps the door handle in her hand despite the remaining tremors. “Move.”
He slowly backs away, and at last she sees tears shining in his eyes. It’s too late, it’s too much this time, I can’t.
The sound of her slamming door causes him to jump. The pressure she places on her gas pedal makes her moan with pain as her knee protests the movement.
When she glances in her rearview mirror, she sees a tear-blurred image of her entire world, standing with his arms hanging helplessly at his sides.
He’s still not wearing a shirt, she realizes.
Go back inside, Mulder. It’s too cold out here.
I would know.
Before you ask, yes, there will almost certainly be a follow-up.
The question had stumped Bruce Wayne. After coming home from
a rather tiresome board meeting, he was received by Alfred who had a slightly
panicked look on his face.
“She’s in the cave, sir.”
Bruce felt his heart drop. He had intended to tell his fiancé
about the Bat but he hadn’t found the right time. At least that’s what he told
himself. Perhaps in the back of his mind he had a secret fear that she wouldn’t
be as miraculous as she had seemed. The fact that she had found her way into
the Bat Cave had set off alarm bells in his mind.
Rushing down into the cave heart pounding in his ears, he
expected to see the woman trying to hack into the Bat Computer or trying to
steal something valuable, instead he found her admiring his suit.
You heard his alarmed footsteps as he came into view, but
you didn’t turn to look at him. The suit that was in front of you was menacing,
but you weren’t afraid. You knew that this is what he used to save a countless
amount of lives.
His heavy foots steps slowly made their way over to you. He
hadn’t said a word yet and you supposed that that the shock and suspicion of
your presence was what was keeping him silent.
“Ever thought about nipple guns?” you question, moving your hand
to rest on your chin inquisitively.
“What?” he sputtered out incredulously.
“Y’know, for when bad guys have your hands bound or
something, you could shoot them with your nip nops or bat nips or whatever you
want to call them.” You made finger guns and held them to your chest while
mimicking a shooting motion.
“I don’t thin-“
“I mean I know that you don’t like shooting people or do the
killing thing, but paralyzing nipple pellets would be cool.”
Bruce blinked at the woman slightly stunned. His worry eased
from his shoulders and his suspicion of you wormed its way back to the dark
corners of his mind.
“Adding something around the breast plate would most likely
weaken the integrity of the front of the armor,” he stated turning to examine the
suit as well.
“That makes sense,” you start nodding your head in
understanding, “just food for thought.”
The next moments were filled with a comfortable silence.
Bruce reached for your hand and you gladly let him take it. Leaning against his
well-muscled arm you let out a deep breath. You both let the silence wash over
you, an unspoken understanding settling in both of your minds. The fears of him sneaking out late at night
to see another woman had been replaced with fear for his safety. His fear of you
finding out his secret had been assuaged but came with an increase of worry
about your safety.
Bruce broke the silence first.
“How did you get in here?”
“Dick told me how to get in here a few weeks ago, I just got
the courage to come down here recently.”
“How did you-“
“Told him I’d go clean his apartment for the rest of the
I was hoping to catch some meteors during the Perseid meteor shower, but I wasn’t very successful. I was lucky to catch one on this night, even though it was pretty foggy throughout the timelapse. (It’s the one line that’s perpendicular to the star trails) I made this time stack by combining 157 photos into one image.