#Bush Flash Records

[gnawsy]

vixcamgirl reader?? 👀💕

content warnings › exhibitionism. clit play. strap-on usage. vi being referred to as ‘puppy’. lots of praise. bit of aftercare towards the end.

“are you guys ready?” you preen at the recording video camera, smiling big and bright as your fingers fiddle with the frilly lace that lines your panties. “I don’t think y’all are.”

you’ve been teasing your fans about your partner for a while now. and, it’s safe to say they’ve grown impatient with your consistent secrecy. a barely in-frame photo of her beefy arms, a picture of your sitting on her abs, and whatever other dirty shit you can dig up in your gallery. they need to see the real, full thing.

it only took a few anonymous messages, and some much needed reassurance from your girlfriend, to bring her on.

the chat spams messages at your playful mockery, though a few do manage to catch your eye.

pussylicker666: yes yes yes~!!

butchbitch: BRING HER ON NOW.

bbcstroker3: she a man?

choco3756: I bet she’s so hot..

cultcoochie: she got a bush? do you wash it?

you call violet over with a jerky nod of your chin, reaching a hand out to grab hers and dragging her forwards once she doesn’t willingly step into frame. she grins nervously at the flashing device; looking like a shy school girl despite her wide, muscular frame.

“soo, everyone! this is violet— or, well, vi. my girlfriend.” you introduce, crawling onto the bed behind her to drape yourself over her back, feeling all over her muscles possessively. warm lips meet the side of her neck, and she jumps. letting out an apprehensive giggle at the sudden affection. “she’ll be joining us for today.”

vi flushes at the fingers coming up to squish her cheeks, making her lips pucker out adorably as she whines out for you to stop.

“come on, baby. say hi to the people.” “..hi.”

everyone, including you, relish in her shy tone.

quickly maneuvering to sit down beside her, you show off the toys you might be tonight using to your viewers. from small vibes to ridiculously large dildos. most, if not any of them, wont be. usually, camgirls don’t do this. but, you like to keep your fans in the know. not wanting them to get bored and unfollow. though, a little surprise is good every now and then.

your girlfriend looks understandably skittish, even though she willingly agreed to this. you gave her the entire run down from the moment you asked her about it; told her you’d stop the stream with some bullshit excuse if she were to ever hey too uncomfortable with what you were doing.

“are you ready, honey?” your syrupy voice drizzling in her ear makes her recoil. violet gives you a shaken nod, making a cute little “um” as your palm presses against her binded chest. easing her back to rest on her elbows.

“yep! yeah, ready.” she gasps, followed by a strained chuckle as you unbutton her jeans. she watches your fingers fiddle with the latches with unwavering attention, only looking away once her boxers were revealed. stupid, spongebob print boxers.

you giggle at the sight of the ironic pair of underwear, giving her a raised brow of amusement before slowly dragging them down her fat quads. she could’ve changed them before coming on here, but oh well.

vi flusters under your questioning look. leaning back against the headboard so she can cover her face with her arms, sighing out soft noises of displeasure. a little “stop it” leaving that mouth. what else could she have worn? it was wash day for christ’s sake!

you raise her legs for her when she doesn’t, tossing the soiled garment away with a sickening giggle. allowing the tense limbs settle back into a comfortable position, you slowly ease them farther apart. exposing her soggy, matted bush for thousands of perverted eyes to see.

“look at how wet she is.”

the girl beneath you lets out a small moan of discomfort as you spread her swollen lips apart with your index and middle fingers, showcasing her pretty pink insides to your fans as thick globs of grool ooze from her painfully obvious tight hole. traveling down between her ass cheeks, past her anus, to then create a small puddle below. it almost has her hand between her legs to try and cover herself up. but you wouldn’t be having that.

being on live video is fine, sure. whatever. but, do you have to exploit and embarrass her?

“i swear she’s always like this..” you mumble, leaving her puffy, hairy lips alone to then brush your thumb over the pearl of her massive clit. which is peeking out between her folds to greet the audience. “..oh- and look who came out to say hello.”

violet squeaks as your unwavering touch sets off fireworks in her belly, abs clenching and twitching as you caress the throbbing nerve bundle with little care. it has her hips jerking upwards, searching for more friction where there is none.

“ah, please-“ she mutters, instantly regretting what she said. the chat raving on about her pitiful response.

you want to be mean to her, desperately. but, this is your first stream with her. so, you guess you could be a bit nicer. a bit more lenient.

“oh, oh!” a subtle blush blossomed on her cheeks as you nudge yourself deeper between her legs, pulling her lower half onto your lap to begin steadily stroking over her sizeable clitoris. which was twitching and pulsating beneath the supple pad of your pollex. reaching around with your other hand to reposition your phone and angle between the both of your intertwined bodies

her socked toes curl in on the soles of her feet, quiet mumbles of pleasure growing to that octave you’re so very familiar with. gooey arousal drips onto your clothed crotch, the heat of it making your pussy throb to life. panties dirtied with an obvious wet stain on the front.

the startings of an orgasm swell up in her gut, muscles stiffening to the point of an intense cramp. just as she’s about to experience that saccharine release, you snatch your hand away. causing your sweet girl to let out a little cry of despair. she was just about to come.

“‘m sorry, baby.” you croon hushedly, kissing away the tears that are surely bubbling at the corners of her eyes. such a whiny, pathetic girl, she is. “I gotta put on a good show.”

violet sniffles, but nods nonetheless. letting the fire in her belly snuff out before you start the seemingly endlesss assault of edging her.

tear stains streak her rosy face, lips quivering in a pout, brows furrowed as yet another climax slips through her fingers. she’s feeling unsatisfied, yet overstimulated. unfamiliar from how fulfilled she usually is when she’s with you.

just one touch sends her flying back against the wall, flinching away from a singular brush of your knuckles. her poor clit is matching the natural color of her hair, looking as if it’s got its own heartbeat from how hard you’ve got her throbbing. her cute little asshole clenches tight whenever you bring her to the brink; only to drag her back off the ledge with adrenaline still coursing through her veins.

“aww, poor puppy.”

violet wails as your fingers drag up her slit, gathering her slick and spreading it across her inner thighs and lower stomach. defiling freckled flesh from the waist down, skin glistening with her own mess.

butchbitch: don’t be mean :(

d4ddysgirl: give the dog a treat! she’s been good :c

the comments encourage you to give her a reward, so, you might as well. right?

you purr at the weeping girl beneath you, kissing away saltine teardrops as your delicate palm caresss her inner thigh; keeping her nice and districted as your other hand finds the toy box set off to the far right. pulling out a matte black leather harness and sparkling galaxy dildo. a present your girlfriend had given you a while back.

her eyes flutter shut when you tongue invades her mouth, her own pushing out to meet yours in a sloppy tango. large, scarred hands grab at the back of your neck, burying themselves in your hair as she tries her best to keep you close.

she can’t hear the faint click of the metal buckles over the wet smack of your lips; only aware of what’s going on around her once the bulbous, manmade head of your cock nudges her leaking hole. her legs would’ve snapped shut, if it weren’t for your waist being in the way. squirming backwards to run from the impending doom that is your cock; standing tall and proud between your thighs.

“ah, hey—“ violet squeaks, breaking away from the kiss in a panic because that damn thing is way too big. “—I can’t take that!”

“yes you can.” comes your unavoidable encouragement, the obnoxious chimes of donations hitting your bank account filling the ringing silence. this’ll probably one of your biggest streams, yet. “I know you can.”

you’ve got to keep the show rolling.

“you’re my good girl, yeah?”

she eventually nods with a pitiful hiccup, trembling limbs reluctantly spreading wide as your reach back down; spreading her slick along your cock like lube. she’s wet enough for it, embarrassingly.

“I’m your good girl.” she agrees, raising her hips as you drag a pillow below her lower back. you’re going to give the audience what they want in due time, but damn your girl being uncomfortable. her ankles lock around your back as you slide your dick through her folds, the smooth silicone against her pussy doing numbers on her nerve receptors.

her spine locks in a rigid arch as you guide the head down to her narrow entry way, slowly pushing the girthy mass in with quiet concentration. your brows furl as she cries, pressing a hand down on her tense tummy to make sure she doesn’t try to escape again.

fat pussy lips stretch over your cock, the loud squelch of you invading her insides make her wanting to curl up and die on the spot. this isn’t the first time you’ve had intercourse, no. but it damn sure feels like it.

vi’s fingers scramble to try and pry your hands off of her, but you just smack them away. contemplating restraining them behind her head once you’ve bottomed out. her bitching and whining have only gotten louder, and that’s only gaining you more and more viewers from stream shares and recommendations.

“good girl, vi. take it for me, baby.”

her tight cunny clings to the thick dildo, preventing you from pulling out too far as you slowly rock your hips back and forth. the stinging pain everytime your tip crashes into her cervix excruciating, yet blissful.

blunt nails drag down your forearms to leave scorching red lines in their wake, body set alight with ecstacy as your pace slowly accelerates. one of her eyelids has fallen heavy; jaw dropped loosely, tongue lolled out against her bottom lip and slippery with drool. she looks like one of those girls you’d find in a poorly animated hentai video. and you’re loving it.

“everyone seein’ this?” you hum, reaching back for the webcam and holding it in unsteadily. focusing it on violet’s pornographic expression as you somehow fuck yourself deeper into her twisted insides, the tip just a bit away from breaching her womb. the expertly carved veins rub deliciously against her g-spot. and, it’s then, she knows it’s over.

“isn’t she so pretty? getting fucked like a dog.”

she can even think to hide herself as the pressure in her stomach reaches an all time high. sobbing into the air as a mindboggling, soulshattering orgasm shreds through her very being. vi’s face scrunches in what seems like pain as she gushes around your cock, throat stuttering to let out a deep, choked up, howling, moan she can barely get out.

a few more agonizing thrusts to work her through elation, and she’s beggging for you to pull out. cunt sore and raw from the beating it’s been through. you know good and well she’s done with sex for the night.

slowly drawing your hips back, you try to be as careful as possible. even as she’s blubbering and coughing beneath you. you worry, in the back of your mind, that your viewers haven’t had their fill. which would mean that you’d stop racking in checks. but, you were pleasantly wrong.

you didn’t really have time to look at your phone, but you knew they were sending something good. or hoped, at least.

“you did such a good job, baby. such a good job.” your praises are like a morning bird’s chirps to her. leaning into your warm chest as you wipe her up with dampened washcloth, already prepared before even hitting the on switch.

once she’s cleaned up and ready for bed, you give a curt goodbye to your fans. turning off your camera and the phone it’s connected to, tossing them on the dresser to be forgotten about for the rest of the night.

she’s almost asleep, lashes fluttering as her eyes struggle to stay open. you can’t blame her, she’s been through some intense shit.

“going to sleep?” you ask, laughing as she nods and rolls her head onto your shoulder. soft snores soon filling the otherwise quiet air; save for the tv you just turned on, and the faint whirr of the air conditioning. she clings to you like a baby koala would hang onto its mother, not letting you move an inch away. it’s just too comfortable and her body’s already immobilized with exhaustion. “annnnd she’s out.”

in some way you manage to wiggle your way under the sheets with vi still on top of you, slowly pulling the covers up and draping them around you both. this would probably be the best rest she’s had in forever.

“sleep tight, honey.”

[sitepathos]

From Gold to Mold

Chapter 9: The Harassment

His children are already waiting for him the moment he and Alfred walk in the door, no doubt aware of everything that’s happened concerning him and their brother.

As expected, his reunion with you had been posted on the internet and every major news outlet has been talking about it ever since, especially the Gotham Gazette and the Daily Planet. Fuel was added to the fire this morning when he met you at the airport after Lex dropped you off and tried to get to agree to talk to him, you yelled so hard that the entire airport stopped to watch you tear into him, only stoping when security stepped in.

He ignored all the stares as he watched your plane take off for Nevada, far away from your family and home. And he was greeted by a crowd of reporters when he returned to Gotham, all of them flashing their cameras and shouting questions over one another.

He did his best to hide his hurt when many of them asked why were you not present for any of the family functions or galas over the past twelve years.

He wanted to say he was protecting you from the limelight; that you had just lost your mother and the last thing you needed was to be bombarded by those parasites who feed on misery to turn a quick buck, but of all the lies he’s forced himself to say, that would be one lie he couldn’t force out of his mouth, opting instead to vomit everything he has in his guts.

Because he knows the truth: he neglected you. No amount of beating around the bush could eve change the fact that he’s never had a genuine conversation with you. From the moment you arrived at his home, you were ignored because he was too busy wallowing in his own suffering that he couldn’t see you were suffering, too.

Plus, there was no doubt in his mind that if he did say that, it would get back to you and you’d be more than glad to set the record straight.

“That video of you and Y/N’s already gone viral,” Tim says, not looking up from his phone. “It had over a million views in just ten minutes. Now, it’s nearing a billion.”

He suppresses a sigh. Of course a video of playboy billionaire Bruce Wayne getting his ass handed to him by his previously unknown firstborn biological son would go viral.

“I could scrub it, if you want,” Tim adds.

If anyone could absolutely scrub a video from the internet and condemn it to the void, Tim absolutely could. But, as much as he wants that video of you tearing into him gone forever, the memory of it would live on in his memory for the rest of his life; the hatred and pain in your eyes haunts him every time he closes his eyes.

Also, at this rate, there’s no closing this Pandora’s Box. The world knows you’re his son and that he obviously wronged you. People aren’t going to forget that anytime soon.

Since last night, he’s monitored the Gould Games Pixtagraph page and before his reunion with him, you were sitting at following of a couple tens of thousands, but after last night, your following jumped up to several millions, your studio is tagged in countless reposts of that damn video, and so many people are asking you to explain your relationship with him.

So far, you’ve yet to say anything about your time living with them. On one hand, he’s glad you haven’t responded as it gives them time to do damage control and plan their next move concerning you, but on the other hand, he’s hurt because you don’t deem him worth your time to badmouth him on the internet.

“It’s fine, Tim,” he responds, ruffling his son’s hair as he walks towards the living room, Alfred and his children following behind.

The moment he walks in, his eyes immediately go to the family portrait sitting on the wall above the mantle, a family portrait that doesn’t include you. Before he got his head out of his ass, every time he looked at the painting, it filled him with pride and a sense that despite all his failings, he had done the best he could for his children and created a family that he’s proud of.

Now? That portrait is a constant reminder of how much he’s failed you. He can remember the day he had the portrait commissioned (a few months after Damian moved in with them and when Bruce was sure he wouldn’t attack the artist), he had fought all morning to have his kids dressed in their formal clothing and to behave before the artist arrived. Hell, he can remember the artist asking if this was everyone, he had said all members of the family were here.

While they were downstairs, having a family portrait made, you were alone and upstairs in a room not fit for any human to stay in.

How many times had you looked at this portrait and thought it was proof you weren’t a part of this family and no one even remembered you.

He wants to take it down right now and burn it, but that won’t get rid of his guilt. Nothing will change the fact that he had commissioned this portrait and you were left out, that he cared so little about you back then that you didn’t even cross his mind when he was corralling everyone to the living room the day it was made.

Fuck, he just wants to tear out his own heart just thinking about what you must’ve thought of them over the years.

Well, as soon as you come home, he’ll have that same artist paint a new portrait; one with all of them surrounding you and looking at you with nothing but love in their gazes.

“Based on the video, last night didn’t go well,” Jason asks with a hint of sarcasm, but Bruce hears the hurt and guilt in his voice.

He opens his mouth to respond, but closes it, unable to trust himself not to break down, the last thing his family needs.

He knows that his behavior was unacceptable and that he has no right to ask you to leave a place you clearly love to come back to the house that caused you so much pain and sadness over the years.

But now that he knows his mistakes, all he wants is for you to come home so he can shower you in the love he should’ve shown you. To make you a part of his family as is your birthright. To show you off to Gotham’s elite in massive galas at the manor and revel in the looks of envy when they realize they can look all they want, but they’ll never get the privilege of speaking or courting you. To display you for the entire world to behold and watch as your family heaps their undying love upon you.

But in order for any of that to happen, they need to find a way to get you speaking to them, something that may prove to be more difficult than crime fighting.

“Master Bruce,” Alfred says, breaking home out of his stupor. “If I may make a suggestion?” Bruce nods, eager to hear the butler’s wise words. “Maybe send one of the children to talk to Master Y/N? I had a feeling that the young man still held animosity towards you, but I never thought he would lash out the way he did last night.”

As much as he hates to admit it, Alfred’s right. You hate him, last night proved that, and you have every right to.

“But who isn’t gonna piss him off,” Steph chimes in, all eyes on her now. “I mean, we all did what Bruce did. What’s saying he won’t do to us what he did to Bruce?”

It seems with each passing day, he feels more and more like a pathetic excuse of a man. It’s one thing for you to be mad at him (god knows he deserves it and he’s definitely not the easiest person to get along with), but for you to hold that same hatred for your siblings as you do him? His family’s falling apart at the seams and he’s powerless to stop it.

His parents are probably so disappointed in him right now.

“I’ll go,” Damian announces. “I’m his blood-brother. No doubt he’ll be more receptive to me than the rest of you.”

“You’re the last person who should go,” Jason mutters. “Let me go. I’ll bring him back.”

He knows Jason will most likely bring you back home by your ankles and as much as he’s tempted to bring you home, forcing your return isn’t the proper way to start the healing process. He’s confident that they could handle any difficulties you gave them, but he wants to keep kidnapping last resort.

“Let me go,” Dick begs. “If there’s anyone who knows how to talk to people in this family, it’s me.”

Unfortunately, Dick’s the only one in this family who knows how to have genuine heart-to-heart talks with anyone, specifically members of their family. As much as he wants to fly over to Nevada and bear his heart out to you, he knows that he’s the last person you want to talk to and him repeatedly approaching you would only make things worse for them.

Also, you need him, but Gotham also needs Batman; bar the usual Arkham escape and petty criminal activity, things have been quiet since Joker’s death, but if he’s gone too long, the city’s criminal element will become more active.

And he needs to make Gotham safe for you when you return home.

“Alright, Dick,” he sighs. “Go. Bring your brother back. Take the jet.”

Dick cheers and his other children roar in outrage, but Bruce leaves them to settle their disagreement themselves.

“How was it, Master Bruce,” Alfred asks as the butler follows him to the Batcave. “To see Master Y/N again after so long?”

“I can’t believe how much he’s changed,” he responds as he walks down the stone staircase.

It’s true, when you stepped on stage to accept your award, he was shocked to see how much you’ve grown; if he tries hard enough, he can vaguely recall what you looked like when you first moved in: a scrawny little boy who looked like hell.

Of course you did back then, you just lost your mother and had been dragged away from your home and everything you’d ever known to live with a man you’d never met before in a city you probably never heard of, so it would make sense. All you wanted back then was your father to hug you and tell you everything would be ok and that you weren’t alone.

But he was too selfish to give you what you needed back then. He deemed his own grief greater than yours, the city’s needs greater than yours. And if it wasn’t bad enough he neglected you, he had to go and replace with you with your siblings.

And if he tries harder, he can recall what you looked like when you were fifteen, which was not long after Damian moved in with them. He can remember an incident involving you, Damian, and some sort of pen. Sure, it was stupid for you to fight Damian over some stupid little pen, but he should’ve listened to you back then. He knew Damian hated you on sight because he felt like you were a threat to the legacy Ra’s and Talia spent years putting in his mind; he should’ve stepped in back then because you had no idea how to defend yourself while Damian was trained by an assassin who’s lived for centuries, but he gave Damian the benefit of the doubt, leaving his younger son to grow out of his assassin upbringing.

The last thing he remembers about that incident was him demanding the pen for Damian and you telling him no. Back then, he was angry at you for defying him, but now, he admires that you did. Even though you were shorter than him and weaker than him, you stood your ground.

As much as you probably hate to hear it, you’re just like him.

And last night, he saw you as a successful, confident young man. He couldn’t believe his eyes when he saw just how much you’d grown (and how he wasn’t a part of your life).

And when you gave that speech?

He’s not ashamed to admit it brought a tear to his eye.

He knows he wronged you, but to know you view your time with him and your siblings hit him like a freight train. And to add insult to injury, the entire world now knows you hate him; hate him enough to lash out at him in public.

His head throbs a bit when he thinks at the amount of damage control he’s gonna have to do to avoid raising too much attention when you come home.

“He’s changed so much,” he sighs as he sits in front of the Batcomputer, his fingers typing away at the keys. “There’s so much I wasn’t there for.”

“Yes, Master Y/N has certainly grown into a fine young man,” Alfred responds. “He takes after his mother.”

That statement makes him pause. You share none of his features, nearly everything coming from your mother; the only thing tying you to him is DNA and his mother’s eyes. As if it wasn’t bad enough you don’t share his last name (he’ll have to look into that when you come home), but if he didn’t know better, he’d never know you were his son.

It also didn’t make him better that Alfred was the one to practically be your father. God knows Alfred raised not only him, but his children, but to know that the wise old butler stepped up to the position he failed to only makes the pit of guilt he’s in even deeper.

He can spend the rest of his life making it up to you and he’ll never even scratch the surface of his transgressions.

As expected, Tim spent the last day gathering every piece of information about you, from your report cards from Goodsprings Elementary to your tax records while you were working during your time in Gotham (and while he’s glad you got out there and found a job you loved, it pained him to know that you had to work while he had more than enough money to give you like he gives your siblings).

He pulls up your medical records (for dozens of doctor’s appointments he wasn’t there for) and sees the last one you had was just before your eighteenth birthday (a major event he didn’t even think of) and according to it, you were in perfect health.

He leans forward as he speed reads it before comparing it to all your other appointments.

“Something unusual, Master Bruce?”

“His medical records,” he answers as he pulls up your records from the day you were born. “I’m looking for any abnormality.”

“Like what?”

“The Meta Gene.”

“What,” Alfred exclaims. “Why would you assume he has the Meta Gene?”

“Last night, when he pushed me. There’s no way he should’ve been able to punch me the way he did. I’m taller and have more weight than he does.”

“That doesn’t necessarily prove anything, Master Bruce.”

He looks Alfred in the eye. “I could tell there was something unusual with his strength, Alfred. And I could tell he was holding back.”

The poor butler looks defeated and Bruce resumes his research.

He’s made his stance on Metas in Gotham known to all: none are allowed to enter and Gotham will be protected only by human strength, determination, and intelligence.

But if you do have the gene, it doesn’t change anything, you’re still his son and your proper place is here, with him, Alfred, and your siblings. He’ll just have to prepare the Cave to hold you.

“There’s no sign of the gene in any of his records, but regular equipment isn’t as thorough as the equipment we have in the cave. We’ll need a fresh sample.”

“That may be easier said than done, Master Bruce. Your son doesn’t even want to give you the time of day, I highly doubt he’ll give you a blood sample. Perhaps you could obtain one from his doctor?”

“Not an option. Look.” He pulls up your last medical record. “The last time he saw a doctor was his eighteenth birthday. There’s no sign of him at any doctor’s office in the last four years.”

“No doctor’s appointments in the last four years? I’m going to have a word with him when he returns.” He gives Bruce a look. “Looks like he did inherit something from you, after all.”

As much as he wishes to know there’s something concrete you got from him, he really hopes it’s not his lack of self care. Of course, there’s plenty of him he hopes you don’t inherit from him, but not taking care of yourself is at the top of the list.

Well, second on his list. His inability to properly care for his family would be on top.

“Hopefully Dick will make some progress.”

To say Dick is both excited and nervous is a gross understatement.

Don’t get him wrong, he’s ecstatic to see you, his baby bird, but he’s so worried about how you’ll react to him.

He knows he wasn’t the best big brother (actually, he wasn’t a brother to you at all), but he knows he screwed up and he wants to make it up to you!

In fact, if you want, the two of you can hang out in Vegas (although someone innocent like you shouldn’t be in a filthy place like that), eating at some of best restaurants there, taking in a few shows, and if you insist, he’ll go with you to a casino (that he’ll choose) and play a few games. After that, the two of you can book a room in the best hotel in Vegas (hopefully you’ll be ok with cuddling with your big brother) and in the morning, you’ll come back to Gotham with him.

He takes in your house as he walks up the driveway. He’s happy to know your grew up in a nice house and your mom provided for you (not many of his siblings had the same luxury) and he loves that he’s getting to see your house with his own eyes, but come on, baby bird, this house is too small for someone like you!

You’re a growing boy and you need something bigger! He knows you make videos games (he played your game and gave it a good review), so you need a place to work, and everyone knows the manor has more rooms than they know what to do with. And do you even have enough space to walk around in your room?

His heart aches when he thinks of that pathetic excuse of a room you were forced to sleep in back at the manor. To know his baby bird was sleeping in a room the size of a walk-in closet while he was practicing his gymnast moves in his room—

“That’s in the past,” he tells himself. “It’s not like that anymore.”

It’s true, Bruce had Alfred get the empty bedroom next to his ready for you, complete with a bed large enough for four people (he can’t wait to have sleepovers with you), a solid oak desk perfect for you to play and work on the new computer they got you, and filled with plushies, posters, and figures from all the video games they know you’re into.

And if there’s something missing from it, he’ll be more than happy to run out and buy it for you!

And if it wasn’t bad enough that the house was too small for you, you lived all alone on the edge of this small town. Come on, baby bird, you need your siblings to keep you company! You must be so lonely living in this house by yourself and no neighbors around.

The family’s already made plans to hang out with you: Bruce has already planned a whole gala for you, Dick plans on taking you to arcades and movie theatres, Jason’s read all your mom’s books and wants to talk about each of them with you, Tim’s called dibs on any and all video game activities with you, Babs wants to bring you to the library and hang out with her and maybe go out for coffee, Steph and Cass want to take you shopping and out to eat at all their favorite restaurants, and Damian has demanded that you go on walks with him every night after dinner and allow him to paint you.

He knows you’ve set up a good life here in your old hometown and he’s so proud of you for going out and making your mark on the world, but you need to come home. You’ll probably be sad on having to leave your childhood home, but your family misses you and the world’s too dangerous for someone like you to be on your own.

You have your family, so you don’t need to work when they can take care of you! And if you want to, you can come down here once or twice a year and check on the place (with one of them accompanying you, of course).

He knocks on your door with his usual playful knock he uses on his other siblings’ doors and waits. When he doesn’t hear any footsteps from the other side, he does it again.

“Y/N,” he calls out. “It’s me.”

He knows you’re home, your car’s in the driveway (Bruce owes you a better car, that one isn’t fit for you) and your phone’s GPS signal is clearly inside.

“Y/N,” he calls out even louder. “I know you’re in there!”

Finally, after forever, the door opens, revealing you; you open the door just enough to stick your head out. He’s blown away by how much you’ve grown; of course he saw the video (you really need to learn violence doesn’t solve anything, baby bird), but it doesn’t compare to seeing you in person. You’ve grown up from that teen boy into a fine looking young man, even if you look like you want to set him on fire right now.

“What the hell are you doing here,” you growl, taking the wind out of his sails just a little bit.

“Is it weird a big brother wants to see his little brother,” he says, flashing you his trademark wide grin.

“You’re not my brother and I don’t want you here.”

Ok, now that definitely took the wind out of his sails completely.

“Of course we’re brothers,” he responds, letting out an awkward chuckle. “I know I didn’t do a good job at it, but—”

“We’re not brothers, Dick,” you interject. “You were there for everyone else, but not me. You never viewed me as a priority.”

“That’s not true—“

“Yes it is, Dick! You didn’t say anything to me when we first met, you constantly went out of your way to hang out with Tim and the others and left me out of the fun every time, and when Damian attacked me with a fucking sword, you took his side and told me to let it go! And you have the nerve to call yourself my brother? Where do you get the fucking audacity?”

Alright, you have a few points. He should’ve included you when he hung out with the others. And yes, Damian had a rough upbringing, but that didn’t give him the right to take his sword and hurt you like that.

“I know, I know, I screwed up. I wasn’t there for you when you needed me. But I know I did you wrong, we all did, but we want to make it up to you. To bring you back home and show you the love we should’ve showed you from the beginning.”

“But I am home, Dick. Gotham was never my home and I didn’t lose twelve years of my life in that damn mansion in a city of the damned just to go back to it, surrounded by people I hate.”

Hate. That one word pierces his heart like a spear. He knows they’re probably not you favorite people in the world, but to know you hate them…

It hurts.

“Baby bird, you don’t mean—“

“Mean it? I absolutely do. You people ignored me for years, treated me like I was just a nuisance, that I obviously didn’t belong in your perfect home and your perfect family. You clearly didn’t want me there and I felt the same.”

“But we—“

“I don’t care how you feel. You obviously remembered me, probably thanks to something Alfred did, and feel guilty over how you treated me and that guilt is making you think I owe you a second chance. That’s why you’re here, Dick. To being me back to Gotham because he knows he can’t emotionally manipulate me.”

Each word you speak cuts him to his core. To know how much low you see them makes him want to cry.

You’re just saying this because they hurt you.

That’s right, they hurt you and now you want to hurt them. He gets it, baby bird. If this is what it takes to get you back home, you can berate him all you want.

But, he needs to get you back home, first. So, as much as he hates to use it, he’ll have to use his ace card. You might be scared when he tells you, but he’ll be with you as long as it takes and answer any questions you have.

“Look, I know it doesn’t justify everything we did, but there’s a reason why we were always not around. It’s because—“

“You’re Nightwing. Is that what you were going to say?”

He feels his heart stop and his blood go cold at your words.

What?

“What?”

“That you’re Nightwing. That’s what you were about to say, right?”

A moment passes as he processes your words. Once again, the wind is taken out of his sails, but this time, it feels like you just sucker punched him in the gut to do so.

You know their secret? For how long?

“How—“

“Wow, you must really think I’m that fucking stupid to not notice that. I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but none of you are as subtle as you think you are. I lived there for twelve years and you really think I didn’t notice you all in costume, see your gear left strewn across the house, and hear you talking about criminals when I was right behind you?”

“I never thought you were stupid,” he defends himself.

Really, he never thought you were stupid! He saw your school records, you were a great student (struggled in math a bit, but that’s on him, he really should’ve been there to help you). But he just thought you just missed it with you sleeping on the far side of the manor.

“I also saw you guys celebrating each night when you came home. You know, with large banquets, movies, and take out. Looks like you guys had a lot of fun.”

Another gut punch. To know you saw them having so much fun that you weren’t invited to hurt him and made him want to take you into his arms and take your pain and loneliness away.

“Also, it’s not rocket science; Bruce Wayne gets a new kid every time Batman gets a new sidekick, Batman is clearly using equipment that costs a pretty penny and not many people in Gotham could foot the bill, and Jason Todd rises from the dead not long after Red Hood showed up. Honestly, the fact that no one else in Gotham has figured it out is astounding.”

Once again, a moment passes as he processes your words, his mouth agape and eyes as wide as saucers. He looks around quickly and is relieved to know there’s no camera recording this interaction, so there’s one less thing to worry about.

“Well,” he finally stutters out. “You know what we were up to. So, you know we were always busy and didn’t have one of free time.”

It hurts that he’s saying that you were less important than going out at night and punching criminals, but he’s drowning and he’s reaching for anything to keep himself afloat.

“But all of you made time for each other. I saw you make plenty of time to be there for the others, but never me.”

He really wants the ground to open up and swallow him whole. This conversation is one of the most painful things he’s ever done in his entire life. To know you stood in the background and saw him being there for everyone else…

“Well, maybe if you had done something else to get our attention,” he spits out, saying the first thing that comes to mind to keep this conversation going.

“And what should I have done,” you spit out, your eyes little more than slits and filled with hate.

“Maybe you should’ve become like us,” he mutters, his voice sounding pathetic even to him.

“What’d you just say,” you say, your tone a deadly silence.

He says nothing, realizing his mistake. You had a normal childhood with your mom, with no training whatsoever that would be useful in a vigilante situation. Plus, you’re innocent, you don’t belong on Gotham’s harsh streets; you belong at the manor with Alfred, eating cookies and drinking hot chocolate.

“I said ‘what’d you just say,’” you yell, making him jump a bit. “Say it again.”

Even though he’s taller than you (thank god), you look absolutely terrifying right now. You’re obviously pissed and repeating his stupid mistake is just going to make you angrier.

“I told you to say that again,” you yell as you open the door wide open and shove him back, making him step onto the grass as you step outside. “Now be a good little circus freak and do as I say!”

The insult is another sucker punch. It’s not the first time he’s been called that, he’s always countered it by showing off his acrobatic skills and silencing the sneers, but that obviously won’t work here.

“I said maybe you should’ve become a vigilante—“

He’s cut off by a slap to the face. When his vision clears, he sees your expression is a mix of anger and sadness, making him feel even worse about himself.

“How dare you,” you hiss, tears beginning to flow from your eyes. “So, I had to waste my life fighting Arkham’s inmates to be worthy of your love? I had to prove myself worthy of affection?”

“No,” he quickly retorts, ignoring the pain in his jaw from the slap. “I’m sorry, I—“

“Fuck you, Dick! Fuck you and fuck that dysfunctional mess you call a family! I hope you all get eaten by Killer Croc next time he breaks out!”

And with that, you storm back in your house and slam the door shut, leaving him to stare at the door, alone with his thoughts.

Shit. He came here to make you more receptive to them and all he did was make things worse. Now you’ll never come home.

And worse, he made you cry, something else he’ll never be able to forgive himself for.

“Well, I’ve done all I can,” he mutters to himself. “Guess I need to phone B and tell him what happened.”

He moves his leg to start walking back when pain surges from his ankle and when he looks down, he notices a vine covered in thick thorns wrapped around his ankle, a small line of blood on the vegetation. He must’ve got caught in it when you shoved him back and didn’t notice it.

He bends down and untangles his leg, taking care not to cut himself on the vine’s thorns.

Really, baby bird, this is why you need to come home. You don’t know how to take care of yourself, let alone a house.

When Dick told everyone what happened, Jason was genuinely surprised. When he first met you, he thought you were some little squirt that had no idea what the real world was like (of course, at that time, he was still pissed at Bruce and still riding high on Pit Madness, so he didn’t bother to spare you a passing glance).

When he learned that you lost your mom in a tragic accident and were forced to move to Gotham, where you were basically ignored and forgotten about for years…

Well, it’s not often he feels guilty about something, but this is definitely one of those times.

All those times when he yelled at Bruce for replacing him with Tim when he was doing the same thing…

Fuck, despite his best efforts, he became the old man, after all.

He was too busy being angry at the world and focusing on his own pain that he couldn’t see you were suffering.

And he knows your pain all too well, kid.

Losing your mother? Been there.

Being treated like shit? Oh yeah.

Have your life turned upside down because of Bruce? Oh, he’s president of the club.

If he had just pulled his head out of his own ass, he would’ve seen you were in pain like him. For fuck’s sake, Bruce didn’t even acknowledge your birthday or get you anything for Christmas while he was downstairs getting a limited edition copy of Pride and Prejudice and opening birthday cards with checks and gift cards.

The thought of you sitting upstairs in that fucking pitiful excuse of a room during your birthday (which is also the day of your mom’s death, ain’t that a bitch). Shit, he just wants to go back to Gotham, kick Bruce’s ass and then his own. Hell, he can remember flashing you his Pit Eyes after meeting you and you’re a damn civilian, for fuck’s sake!

Seriously, he knows he’s fucked in the head, but is he really that fucked up?

Maybe he should finally listen to Alfred and book a session with that therapist he recommended.

Well, he’ll do that when he brings you back home. After Dickhead not only failed to bring you back, but made things worse than before (they were all amazed when he told them you knew their secret, but of course Bruce stated drafting new rules about wearing their suits and handling their gear in the house to prevent someone outside the family from making the same discovery), Bruce finally green light the use of force and sent Jason.

He looks up at your house: a nice, simple thing in a small town where everyone probably knows your name.

While the others said it wasn’t for you, he actually thought what living there would be like. According to Alfred, you lived a great life there with your mother, complete with your own room and a nice tv perfect for eating cereal while watching Saturday morning cartoons.

He imagines doing that with you, him reading Jane Austen while you watch whatever silly little cartoon you like.

Yeah, shocking, but he wants to make up his shitty behavior towards you. Hell, he went ahead and bought everything your mom wrote and started reading and making notes. Now, he’ll never forsake Austen, but your mom is definitely a close second on his list of favorite authors.

She had a thing for the Age of Sails, apparently, since the books always took place on boats. She was also a romantic because she always ended her books with the two main characters falling in love, be it a noble woman and a pirate captain or the son of a major trade company and the commander of his naval escort.

Maybe your mom had some unpublished manuscript lying around and you’ll let him read it. He has plans to discuss her books with you, hopefully you know enough about her to answer them, but all he wants is to spend time with you.

Of course, first you have to come home. Whether you come along willingly or he has to drag you depends on his conversation goes with you.

“Sorry, kid,” he mutters to himself as he walks up to your door and knocks.

You want nothing to do with them. He gets it, trust him, he really does. It wasn’t that long ago he wanted to be as far from Gotham and Bruce just like you. Unfortunately, when you’re a part of this family, you’re in it for life; when it has its hooks in you, you can’t get them out.

Hopefully your transition won’t be too painful. He’ll try to keep the others (mainly Dick) from hitting you too much with their guilt-driven affections.

“What the hell are you doing here,” a voice calls out from behind him.

He turns around to see you with a brown paper bag in your hand and if he squints hard enough, he can see some restaurant’s name on the bag.

That’s right, Goodsprings is a small town where everything’s within walking distance, so it would make sense why you got take out while your car’s in the driveway.

“Look, kid, before we go any further, I just want to say that I’m sorry.”

“I don’t care,” you respond. “Go away.”

“Look, I know where you’re coming from. Really, I do. When I came back, I was pissed at Bruce and wanted nothing to do with him.”

“And yet, here you are, a part of that disgusting family and doing his bidding.”

That perpetually angry part of him wanted to say something that would only make things worse, but he manages to put a lid on that. If there’s anyone who deserves to lash out at him it’s you.

He’ll take whatever insult you have if it helps make you feel better.

“We all know we fucked up and we want you back. Just come home, Y/N. If you know who I am, then you know I’m more than happy to do things the hard way.”

“So you’ll use force to get your way. Wish I could say I’m surprised, but I’m not. You can pretend to be the well-read intellectual all you want, but you’ll always be Crime Alley trash who knows nothing but violence.”

Ok, that hurt. And that lid is starting to get harder to keep on.

He knows he’ll always be a man who uses his fists more than his words or head (those kinds of people never last long in the Alley), but he’s really tried to be more than that. He had to toughen up in order to survive back in the Alley, always hiding his love for literature and showing an attitude to the world, but when Bruce adopted him and he was able to become more than that little brat (despite all the cons living with a bastard who dressed like a bat entails).

“Too bad your mom wasn’t the type of junkie who sells her kid for her next hit. Would’ve saved the both of us a ton of trouble.”

Alright, so you know a lot of their dirty laundry. Shit. He already knew this probably wouldn’t end well, but this is going off the rails faster than he thought.

“Kid, I know you’re pissed at us and you have that right. Trust me, I’ve been pissed at Bruce for years, but you need really to come back—“

“And stop trying to relate to me, you asshat. You say you know how I feel about them, but you don’t. You came back determined to kill Batman and show him how you’re better than him, but you were also crying like a little bitch and begging Daddy to love you.”

You laugh at him mockingly while he’s starting to shake in anger, taking deep breaths to temper his rage.

“Daddy, Daddy, kiss me, kiss me,” you mock. Then your face goes back to pissed as you walk closer to him and look him straight in the eye. “You’re pathetic. Just like that whore, junkie of a mom. And your drunk of a dad.”

That’s when he loses it, despite his best efforts, and takes a swing at you. Oh well, he’s already in hot water with you, adding something else isn’t going to do much damage. At least it’ll be easy to drag you back to Gotham while you’re knocked out.

You drop the bag and catch his fist, stopping it no problem.

“How,” he starts to say before you twist his fist and he lets out a yell in pain.

“Jason Todd lashing out when faced with reality,” you say as you twist even more, bringing him to his knees. “How predictable.”

With your left hand (the bag still in your hand), you grab him by the chin and force him to look at you and when he does, he’s genuinely scared at the joy he can see reflected in them.

You’re taking pleasure in this; seeing him on his knees and at your mercy.

“Before I forget, I owe you for the black eye you gave me when we first met. Unlike your mother, mine taught me to always make good on my debts.”

Before he can do or say anything, you punch him squarely in the right eye, letting go of him so he’s knocked back by the force of the punch. He lands on the hard pavement and lays there with his right eye throbbing from the punch, already swelling up.

“Stay away from me, Jason. Next time, I won’t be so merciful.”

And with that, you step over him, unlock your door, and slam it shut, the sound of it being locked audible from his side.

“Shit,” he hisses, sitting up and touching his eye, wincing when it throbs in pain.

How the hell did you do that? You’re way smaller than him and you obviously don’t hit the gym, so how did you manage to catch his fist and counter him? And how did you manage to punch him hard enough to really hurt? Seriously, he’s taken a few shots from Bane and that punch was definitely on that level.

“B’s gonna love hearing this,” he mutters to himself as he gets up.

He walks back to the rental car he parked at your curb only to discover all four tires were punctured.

“Shit,” he yells, crouching to get a good look at the damage.

Something small and sharp punctured each tire and from what he could tell, it looks like something pierced the tire and snaked around it, making more holes.

He looks back at your house, but realizes there’s no way you could’ve done it. He didn’t see anything on you that could’ve done this. And no one else passed by while you were ripping him a new one.

So how the hell did this happen.

“Fuck,” he whines, realizing standing around isn’t going to do anything and pulls out his phone to call a tow truck.

Tim’s been curious about things he doesn’t understand all his life. It’s true, if he saw something that he couldn’t explain, he studied it, asked questions, and observed it until he finally understood it.

To say he’s curious about you is a gross understatement.

He’s ashamed to admit when he first met you, he thought he had you figured out. From what news he was able to see, you were the product of a one-night stand between Bruce Wayne and Maria Gould, a moderately successfully writer, and after she was killed by a drunk driver leaving a casino after a night of drinking and losing money, you were moved to Gotham to live with Bruce.

And when he met you, he saw nothing under that story. You grew up in a normal house with a loving mother (truth be told, he was a little jealous about that back then), not a traveling circus like Dick or in the heart of a slum like Jason, nor did you possess any notable talent like gymnastics or brute strength, and you certainly didn’t belong on the front lines, defending Gotham from crime.

You were average, nothing more, nothing less. End of story.

Well, he’s ashamed that he thought that way. You’re his younger brother, damn it, you shouldn’t have to possess anything to make him worthy of his attention. And he of all people knows what it’s like to be ignored by your family, so he should’ve talked to you and treated you like a brother, not do what his parents did to him and completely forget you exist.

But he’s here to make amends, apologize to you, and bring you back home.

Also, as much as he hates to admit it, but he’s completely obsessed with you now. He’s analyzed everything he could find on you and he’s incredibly curious how you went from getting mostly Bs and a few Cs to getting all As? Or how did you go about making your game when all you had was that sad Coding Games For Dummies to go on (he would’ve loved to teach you to code)?

And of course, there’s how you managed to push Bruce and block Jason’s punch and give him a black eye. Both of them are easily the strongest out of everyone in the family, so how someone like you managed to take them down is nothing short of astounding (and concerning).

In fact, if he fails like Dick and Jason, he wants to at least find a way of obtaining a blood sample. The last time you had blood drawn was on your eighteenth birthday, none of it showing you even have the Meta Gene, but until he performs the test and sees the results himself, he’s keeping all options open.

“Hello, Y/N,” he greets you as he sits in your booth at the Pearl’s Diner, a restaurant you routinely frequent.

You look up from your meal and your expression shifts in disgust.

“Are you fucking kidding me,” you spit, slamming your utensils down on the table. “Are you people really stalking me? It’s been everyday with you people!”

It’s true, Dick visited you two days ago, Jason was yesterday, and today is his turn to bring you back to the fold. He’s really hoping he succeeds, because Steph and Cass are next, and Damian is last (he demanded to come and was pissed when Bruce sent him instead).

“Come on, Y/N, I just want to talk to you. Is that too much to ask for?”

“Yes,” you instantly respond. “Why are you even here in the first place, shouldn’t you be stalking Mr. Wayne from the shadows?”

He hides his wince from you, but your words definitely hurt him.

Yes, he stalked Bruce, but there was nothing nefarious about it! He was fascinated by Batman and Robin and just wanted to know more!

“Look, I know you’re angry at us and you have every right to. We should’ve done better and there’s no excuse we can give that will ever erase the damage done to you.”

“Glad to know you understand that,” you say that with a raised eyebrow. “Now go away.”

“You know I wouldn’t be here just to say that. I’m here to bring you back home.”

“Gotham isn’t my home,” you growl through grit teeth. “How many times do I have to say that? I’m never going back to that city of the damned and I’m sure as hell never stepping foot in that fucking manor.”

On one hand, he gets why you feel about Gotham, it’s a city that’s taken much from its people, it’s constantly dark and gloomy, and its atmosphere is constantly oppressive and intimidating. But on the other, he’s a born and raised Gothamite (no matter how much Jason says otherwise due to his upbringing) and he’s Red Robin, so he has a strong pride for his home. But, he’s willing to let it slide since he knows you had happy memories of Goodsprings and every memory you have of Gotham is negative (something he hopes to correct).

“I know why you feel that way, but no matter what you say or how you feel, Bruce’s DNA makes up half of yours. Like it or not, he’s your father and we’re your family. We realize we screwed up and we want you back.”

“You’re wrong, he’s not my father, he’s a sperm donor.” He winces at how you view Bruce. “Hell, my Momma probably took pity on him and gave him the best night he’ll ever have. If I could, I’d suck out all the Wayne DNA and give it back to him. I want nothing to do with him and I sure as hell don’t want anything to do with you.”

Alright, this isn’t going well (as he anticipated), so he needs to switch gears and get a blood sample. If Bruce is right and you have the Meta Gene, knowing your powers will go a long way. After they (he) studies every last molecule of your DNA and they find ways to counter your abilities, they’ll be able to bring you back home.

Sure, you’ll be angry (probably more than now), but in time, you’ll realize this was for the best; that you belonged with them and while you have the last name Gould, you’re a Wayne and your rightful place is the manor. Hell, he’s helping Bruce draft a story to tell the media why you moved back to the manor and plans for your gala, which will be the biggest event Gotham will ever see, complete with endless buffets, the finest music, and the city’s biggest movers and shakers.

But in order for any of that to happen, he needs a blood sample. He glances down at the ring on his finger, which houses a hidden needle that will pierce your skin without you even feeling it and your blood will be housed in a small vial housed within the ring. He has a blood analyzer in his car, so he won’t have to wait to get to the manor in order to run the tests, he can do it once he leaves and read the results on the jet ride home.

“Y/N,” he starts, reaching out to your hand, thankful you’re wearing a t-shirt. “Please, come home.”

Almost there.

“Alfred misses you.”

Just a little more…

Then, you grab his wrist, halting him and squeezing it, making him wince in pain.

“Why are you so eager to make me go back to Gotham,” you hiss, yanking his arm, causing him to jerk across the table. “Let me guess, now that I’m gone, everyone’s ignoring you? They’re treating you like your parents treated you?”

So Jason was right, you know all their secrets. Specifically, his issues with his parents and how he felt about their lack of affection towards him. Shit.

“Did it feel nice, Tim, ignoring me and pretending I didn’t exist? Jack and Janet made you feel like shit for years and now you had the opportunity to do the same to someone else.”

He tries to flip his wrist to try to slide the ring across any exposed skin so he can take a blood sample, but you have a vice-like grip on it and he can’t move it any; all he can do is look you in your hate-filled eyes.

“Do you ever think they knew something was wrong with you? That’s why they wanted nothing to do with you? Despite their best efforts, you came out so fucked up not even your own mother could love you. How pathetic.”

He tries to break free, but your hand doesn’t budge at all. Hell, he’s using his Red Robin strength and it’s not budging at all. Seriously, what are you?

“I’m telling you this right now, Tim, stay away from me. All of you. I didn’t lose twelve years in Gotham and spend the last four years creating my dream life just have you lot fuck it up.” You squeeze to the point it feels like you’ll snap his wrist off and he bites his tongue to resist yelling out in pain. “If you guys keep coming near me, you won’t live long enough to regret it.”

And with that, you throw him back into his booth, his wrist throbbing from the pain, and get up, walk to the waitress behind the counter up front to pay for your meal (which is unfinished), and leave.

He looks down at his wrist to see it’s definitely bruised.

Well, things just got more interesting.

Damian shouldn’t be surprised the there’s failed. Especially Drake, that misfit proves his inferiority at every turn and makes his poor breeding apparent.

Honestly, Father really should’ve let him go instead of Greyson. You’re his blood brother (granted, you come from a different mother than him, but Father’s DNA is what matters) and out of everyone in their family, he’s the only one besides Father capable of reaching you. The original plan was for Brown and Cain to come and bring you home, but a major Arkham breakout changed that.

Well, technically, Father said Brown and Cain were to come to you after all the inmates were returned to Arkham, but he used the breakout as a cover and took the jet to fly to Nevada. Father will no doubt complain about his actions, but he’ll no doubt forget about his actions when he returns with you in tow.

Of course, he knows his transgressions against you. He remembers drawing his sword and drawing blood, he remembers the countless insults he spat at you and your mother, and he remembers sending his pets to hunt you for sport.

When he met you, he was honestly surprised when Pennyworth said you were Father’s firstborn, something not even Mother and Grandfather were aware of because they told him he was to be Bruce’s only blood son. After learning of your existence, he immediately became concerned about his role as heir to the Wayne legacy; after all, tradition states that everything of true value passes to the firstborn son and seeing you put his position as heir to the Bat at risk.

And then he lashed out, drawing blood and cursing you and your mother, who he now regrets calling a whore because he now knows she didn’t intentionally share his bed, it was just the result of two adults making an idiotic mistake.

His time in the League gave him unrivaled perception and he could tell at a glance that you possessed no training whatsoever, nor did you possess any skill useful to fulfilling Father’s mission of combating Gotham’s criminals. You were raised in an average house and lived an average, unremarkable life.

You were no threat to him and knew nothing of what the family was really doing at night.

He knew that, but he felt the need to assert his place in the family’s hierarchy and remind you that you were beneath all of them, even beneath Drake (of course he knows better, no one could be beneath Drake and you belong with him, underneath Father).

He spent the next few years going out of his way to make your life miserable, insulting you every chance he got, cruelly reminding you that your mother was dead, using his pets to chase you throughout the manor, and abusing Greyson’s favoritism for him to deflect any accountability when you tried to defend yourself.

Back then, he didn’t see the value in having a biological connection to anyone because he viewed it as a danger to his position as heir to the Bat. Besides, he had more than enough “siblings” due to Father’s need to adopt every orphan that crosses his path.

Now that he’s grown some surrounded by Father, Pennyworth, and the rest of his family (even Drake), he knows the value in having you by his side. To have someone he’s bound to by blood is to have a connection with another that can’t be beaten by any other and he knows that he was a fool to spurn that gift.

He intends to make up for his transgressions by being the best brother imaginable; Greyson has shown him how a brother is supposed to be and he knows he can improve upon those methods to be better than Greyson. While Father plans on being the one to greet you every morning, he intends on being by your side, involving you in everything he does (except at night when he’s Robin; even if you have the Meta Gene, you have no place surrounded by the filth of Gotham), including painting, where he has plans on painting a portrait of you and him and hang it in your room.

Of course, there’s still the matter of bringing you back home. While he knows that you most likely despise him the most, nothing will hinge the fact that you and him are brothers. There has to be some rational part of you that will be receptive to his words.

He approaches you from behind while you’re crouched at your mother’s grave, talking to it as if it was her. He looks over you to see her tombstone:

Maria Gould

May Her Sails Point Towards Heaven

The tombstone is between two clusters of red lilies that seem to have been planted there, most likely by you if he had to guess.

As he nears you, you slowly turn around and face him, your expression of mourning shifting to a look of disgust and hatred (an expression that unnerves him slightly).

“What fresh hell is this,” you spit out, standing to your full height (you must’ve inherited your height from your mother because he’s slightly taller than you). “It wasn’t enough that your father had to come and ruin my big night, now you have to come and desecrate my Momma’s grave?”

“Brother, I—“

Before he can say another word, you close the distance between the two of you and wrap your hand around his throat, silencing him.

“You have no right calling me that! After you made my life a living hell!”

He brings his hands up to your arm and tries to break your hold, but unsurprisingly, he can’t. When Drake told them about your grip on his wrist, he attributed it to his natural weakness, but there may be some truth to the theory of you being a meta.

“After what you did, I should snap your neck. Wouldn’t that be a bitch, to die by the hand of someone you deemed to be of ‘ill breeding?’”

He regrets ever calling your breeding into question (something only reserved for Drake); he wants to say he takes it back and he deeply regrets it, but right now, he’s struggling to breath.

Just then, you toss him aside, he coughs as he quickly fills his lungs with air.

“You’re lucky we’re at my Momma’s grave, or I’d kill you.”

You spit at his feet to show your disgust for him before storming off to your nearby car. He watches as you drive off before looking down at the ring on his finger, the same kind Drake hoped to get a blood sample from you; he takes it off and looks on the inside to see the vial filled with your life essence.

“Once again, Drake, I have demonstrated why I deserve the Wayne name and you don’t.”

He pockets the ring and makes his way to the rental car. He had hoped to convince you to return to the manor, but he was content to extracting a blood sample to answer some questions they have about you.

You might know their secrets, but they’ll soon level the playing field and when they do, they can bring you home.

And when they do, he’ll be the brother you deserve.

Tag List: @space1crow @bat1212 @minkyungseokie @nosyrobin @bunbunboysworld @kitty-from-daaaa-voidddd @feral-childs-word @phoenixgurl030 @soriansick @hellcatsworld @prettyboys247 @marsmabe @paolexsstuff @c0l1fl0r @starryperson @kore-of-the-underworld @kiarst @vanessa-boo @moxiemy @greatwhisperspaper @tatsuri-zomushiki @starsdotalk @luna57765 @jsprien213 @lizz-lrm @chericia @lunaluz432 @orbitingtraveler @roseytheteacup @bellethesleepypotato @exactlynumberonekryptonite @fantasyhopperhea @ellaprime7 @ratchetprime211 @bunbunbread @solelifauna @diejager @v0idl1nq

[hedwig221b]

Do you have any Sterek fic recs where Stiles either is stuck as or can transform into an animal? And choosing Derek as his “person”?

(My favourite would be a Stiles as a cat but there are so many animals with awesome potential)

Hi! I found these ones

the amber of the moment by redhoodedwolf

Ever since he was eight years old, Stiles had been running. Fate decided it was time to stop.

The Undisclosed by Taila_Tai

For once the pack doesn't panic when a new hunter arrives. The gleefully sadistic man has labelled himself a collector of all things rare in the supernatural world and wants one of the rarest creatures; a werefox. Content that the pack is safe, the wolves focus on why their human member is acting so strange, ignoring the fact that Stiles only started once learning who the man wanted…

Little pitchers have big ears! by wanderseeing

When Scott asked him last night if Stiles could stay at Derek’s house while the rest of the pack went off to find the feral werefox that bit his best friend, Derek took one look at the tiny animal cradled in Scott’s arms and thought: ‘That’s cute.’ And then, because he’s a moron, he also opened his mouth and said: “Okay.” AKA I spent too much time watching videos of fennec foxes on youtube and I just had to make write a fic about it. Sterek is there, but only if you tilt you head at a 45-degree angle and squint really hard.

Adventures in Kitten Therapy by InkyWings

When life in Beacon Hills gets you down, what you really need is some kitten therapy. The question is who needs it more, Derek or Stiles? Stiles gets turned into a kitten, lost and scared he winds up at Derek Hale's loft. Derek's not used to kittens appealing to him for help, but he can't help but find this one kinda cute…

Shifted by LLAP115, Wolfspurr

Of all the stupid things he’s ever done, Stiles is pretty sure this one takes the record, but it’s like a reflex that he just can’t stop. As soon as he sees the witch turn to face Derek, hand raised in Derek’s direction, he just jumps. There’s no thought process. No planning. Just an instinctual reaction that possibly reveals more about Stiles than he’s really willing to reflect on right now. The clearing echoes with a crash of noise and a blinding flash of white light. For a moment it seems as though the witch has called lightning from the sky, and Stiles only has a moment to realize that this is how he dies.

Only You Can Calm Me Down by AMatchInWater

Stiles turns into a fox after the Nogitsune leaves him and he thinks that Derek is his Alpha and not Scott. With Derek having left for South America with Cora, Stiles feels separated from not only his pack but his mate and goes feral. Of course Derek immediately comes back when the sheriff calls him and demands he come fix Stiles. It isn't until he's back in Beacon Hills that he sees just what he needs to fix.

At Home Under the Moon bywanderingeyre

There is no doubt in Derek’s mind that this fox is alone, in trouble, and needs to come home with them, with him. Derek takes a risk and lets his wolf go, calling his human side forward as he shifts. The fox barks in alarm and scrambles back to the bushes. Derek kneels and holds his hands out palm up. Derek pushes power into the next words and lets his eyes go red. “I promise. You’re safe. No one will hurt you.”

I'm Grumpy, He's Derpy by LordHarmony

The cat jumps onto the back of the couch, carefully making it’s way towards Derek, only to lose it’s footing halfway across and tumble with an undignified yowl back to the floor. Oh god, Derek thinks. It’s one of those cats.

To Me, You're Purrfect by Beautiful_noise

The original prompt idea was by captain-snark and went like this: "There are many a fic where Derek is unknowingly stuck in his wolf form and taken care of by Stiles but i really want fic where stiles accidentally turns himself into a cat and goes to Derek cos he thinks Derek might recognize him..being a wolf and all. Except, Derek does not. But also Derek is a secret cat person. And tells Stiles he’s gorgeous as he pets him, because Stiles would be a totally gorgeous cat. All lean with big paws and huge amber eyes and a fuzzy white tummy." And that's basically what this is.

He Must Be Out of Food by lipah

Stiles gets turned into a normal house cat by a witch and Derek takes care of him until they can fix it.

Cat-astrophe (Not really) by x_Lazart_x

When Stiles accidentally gets turned into a cat, he didn't expect to get stuck staying with Derek. He certainly didn't think he would end up enjoying it. Let alone missing the alpha when he was human again.

Finding Home by MadMim, Renmackree

When Stiles is kidnapped by witches, the pack is able to find the dead witches but no Stiles. The pack want to grieve and move on but Derek and John can’t stop looking until Stiles is found. All their search yields in a small fox. A fox who Derek can’t help bonding with, that only helps bring him and John closer. But the Stiles shape hole still haunts them both.

Consequences Of Fighting Witches by MichelleDWinchester

Stiles was well used to things that go bump in the night, I mean come on he lived in Beacon Hills after all. So when a Witch comes to town and starts causing mayhem, Stiles charges in no holds barred as per usual with no regard for his own safety. This time however there will be consequences for such bravery that will impact not just him but the entire Pack too. Stiles will soon be forced to re-examine his perspective following a climatic night that will change his life forever.

[masterlist link]

[igotanidea]

Strictly professional: Peter Sutherland x reader

A/N: I am so - so - SO sorry for not writing the previous request, but this story has been stuck in my head since I've finished reading "the night agent" book and since I've had a literal dream about as follows!

***

He had read the case.

He had memorised the whole case, letter by letter.

And what was nothing short of shocking was that nowhere in the whole file appeared the name of the person who he was assigned to protect.

Being thorough as he always was, Peter immediately started thinking that this was suspicious, but despite his better judgement, decided to let it go. At least for the moment.

For the very short moment that took getting from the office to the so-called crime scene.

And then it all became painfully clear.

They knew.

Of course they knew.

That was why they wiped out even the single letter of her name from the documents.

Y/N.

Never in his wildest dreams, he wouldn't think that such a blessing (or a curse, or maybe both) will happen to him.

Y/N. his Y/N. The one who got away. Or - more likely - the one he let slip through his fingers despite having such intense emotions about.

Sitting in the ambulance, shaking a little from the shock, with a blanket on her shoulders and being tended to by the paramedics.

Peter was rooted to the ground, keeping the distance until he would be able to keep things professional, but even from afar he could see the scope of her injuries.

Bruises on the cheek, a shot wound to her shoulder, scratches on her arms and some cuts and minor bleedings on her legs.

At that moment, agent Peter Sutherland stopped being a pacifist.

Though he could not stand in the bushes forever.

"Agent Peter Sutherland. I will take it from here." he flashed his badge towards the paramedic but truly, it did not make the impression he was hoping for. At least not with the medic.

"Peter?"

"Y/N."

"Didn't know you''d be here."

"Well me neither. Funny huh?" it sounded way harsher than intended, definitely lacking the humor, and he flinched involuntarity as a flash of hurt reflected in her eyes. She's been through hell and he was acting like an asshole.

"Well, let the record show I did not do this to get your attention." Despite the circumstances she was still able to produce a sarcastic joke.

Peter cracked a crooked half-smile.

"It's good to see you though. In spite of -" she didn;t have to finish that sentence, and to be honest, neither of them wanted to hear the other half of it.

"How bad does it hurt?" he kneeled in front of her, cupping her chin to take a close look at her face, using one of manipulating skills to prevent her from trying to fool him. She was capable of messing around with people's heads, but he was the exception to the rule.

"I've had worse-"

"Y/N."

"I'll live."

"Not what I asked about."

"God, you didn;t change a single thing. still so dramatic--"

"How bad?"

"6/10."

"You're coming with me."

"What-- wait, what?"

"I'm sorry, sir, but we are not done with --" the paramedic tried to intervene but his will of fight suddenly decreased when Peter stood up towering over the little man.

"From what I see, she is all patched up. And from what I can judge, the last thing she needs is a fuss being made over her. I'm taking her with me."

"Peter, what-"

"Seriously, Y/n/n, we don;t have time for this. Now, are you coming or would you rather expose yourself to the FBI vultures who are just waiting to pounce on you asking for details of the events?"

"Aren;t you the FBI vulture as well?"

"No."

"No? So you won;t be asking me every detail I might have noticed?"

"I will. But with me, you won;t be locked in the deposition room."

"Tempting."

Peter barely held back from rolling his eyes.

"Ok, enough, you jokester. Up."

"You cannot command me and - Peter!"

"Sir! Careful! her injuries-"

"I got her."

He picked her up effortlessly, like a kid and carried back to the black SUV, placing on the passenger seat, fastening the belts, letting his fingers linger by her waist for a moment too long.

"So much for being discreet, right?"

Peter did not respond, taking the driver's seat and kicking the engine. His eyes were focused on the road and the surroundings making sure that whoever hurt her - whoever stalked her - was not in sight. The only sign of emotions buzzing in him were slightly clenched jaw and hands squeezing the steering wheel.

"Peter-"

"Don't.

She sighed. So many unspoken words were filling the space between them that it became almost crowded.

But what was to say?

Nice to see you? I missed you? We made a mistake?

God knows they both did miss each other, but admitting that out loud was way too dangerous given the circumstances.

It was like giving the greatest asset out to the enemy, whoever the enemy may be.

"Where are we going?"

"My place."

"Your place?!"

Mistake. Her little outburst made him turn his eyes on her and just for a second she saw a little too much than needed and wanted. Just for a brief moment, before his eyes lost the vulnerable, adoring gleam and became sharp and focused again.

"Yes. You got something against it?"

"What? No, no, not a single thing. Good as any other place, right?"

It wasn't like every square inch of this apartment was filled with memories of them.

This was going to be a long, long night.

And a long, long time since this case would be over.

but this was not a romcom.

It was scrictly professional, with no feelings involved.

At all.

to be continued

[toulousewayne]

🌿🍃Toxic Lover: Pt: I

Nightwing X male!reader with a former team who had become Poison Ivy like meta-human.

Summary:Your a former Titan teammate, you and Dick have unresolved feelings and you become infected with the same toxins and chemicals that turned Poison Ivy into a meta-human.

————————

It was a simple mission. Get in and get out. It wasn’t supposed to go the way it had.

Y/n was a skilled fighter and vigilante, he trained with Black Canary, WildCat, Wonder Woman and the League of Assassins. He operated as solo vigilante since he could remember.

He worked with most of the league and helped them as much as he could. He helped Batman and Robin a lot since he did very similar missions to them. When Dick formed the Titans and went solo as Nightwing he asked Y/n to join him. Y/n worked well with Starfire and Raven, he had fun playing games with Cyborg and Best Boy. He often hung out with Dick and Donna and Wally would visit often too.

Y/n took some time from the team and did solo missions for a while before being called by Dick to help him,Wally and Donna with a rescue mission in Metropolis.

“We just need to find the data bank with the information containing Ivy’s records and research. Luthor was help to gather and stored it in his lab. We need to get the information and destroy any bioweapon schematics.” Dick instructed.

“Anything we should be aware of,”Y/n perked up from his seat in the jet. Donna adjusted her sliver lasso to her waist,”Is Ivy herself involved?”

“As far as Batman’s intel can confirm she’s been missing for the last three months.” He confirms.

“Great so no giant kale bushes to crush us, noted.” Wally quipped. Y/n chuckled as Donna and Dick rolled their eyes.

——-

The Quad split into pairs;Wally and Donna and Dick and Y/n. Donna and Wally took the research offices upstairs meanwhile, Dick and Y/n took the lower levels.

Dick sneak into some of the office while Y/n found a hidden lab. He took photos, and took a flash drive to take the data from the server. He found several vials, tubes and plants on a desk and took photos.

“Nightwing, I’m in this lab. It looks they’ve extracted some of Ivy’s original pheromones and try to weaponize them.”

“I’ll be there soon…kinda busy.” He heard a loud bang and a punch. Y/n turned around to see a scientist and three guards at the doorway.

“Sorry you found this, but unfortunately Mr. Luthor doesn’t what this getting out. Boys don’t let him leave.” The scientist quickly fled as the guards moved in.

“Sorry lapdogs,but I’m leaving with the drive.” Y/n sprang into action and started fighting.

“It’s a trap,you have to get out of that room.” Nightwing’s voice filed the hero’s ear. Y/n managed to take out two goons but the last one was the biggest and blocked the only exit. He rushed Y/n and managed to forcefully shove him into the computer and servers. Knocking Y/n off his balance and disorienting him. He had cuts on his faces and blood trickled from his lip.Then, while he was stunned he took him and threw him into the desk with vitals and pheromones.

The two guard got the their feet and assisted in beating him to a pulp. Y/n was loosing his consciousness and went in and out. “..Dick—help.” He winced.

The large goon took the remaining vitals and smashed them over the hero. He threw the plant cart on him too and took out a lighter.

“Mr. Luthor sends his regards.” He threw the lighter at the spilled chemical and engulfed the room in flames.

——

The fire spread through out the facility and Nightwing managed to find the source. Toria and Flash managed to get to him but the flames were to high.

“We need to save him!” Nightwing tried to go towards the labs but Toria stopped him.

“You can’t go in there you’ll die!” He tried to push her but she wasn’t budgeting. Tears streaming down his face he begged his friends.

“Please, we have to try, please.�� Wally nodded.”Get him to the surface I’ll try to get to Y/n. Go now!” He barked. Toria grabbed Nightwing and sped out of the lower levels as Flash created tornados to clear up the flames.

—-

Dick set on the jet without his mask, tears, bruises, and soot. Donna stood guard watching as the building’s flames were put out by firefighters. Wally entered the vessel with a stretcher with a white sheet on top.The form on it was Y/n’s body. Dick didn’t say a word as more tears formed in his eyes.

“It’s all my fault.” He hissed. Donna placed a hand on his shoulder,”It’s not Dick, you can’t blame—“

“It is. I asked him to come, I asked both of you to come and it nearly killed you all. I—l..” Dick broke down in tears and shouted. He rocked hisself and sob and Donna comforted him. Wally placed a hand on his other shoulder and talked him through it.

——-

Dick sat in his seat at the cemetery in Gotham. The small crowd of heroes dressed in black one by one left the small private ceremony for Y/n. Dinah gave a worried look at Dick whose gaze hadn’t left the spot where Y/n’s casket had been lowered into the earth and covered with fresh soil.

Bruce stood next to her and they didn’t speak right away but Dinah broke the silence. “Diana told me what happened from Donna. He hasn’t been the same.” Bruce didn’t reply.

“Well he be okay?” She hummed. Bruce turned to his friend and looked back at his son.”They were in love Dinah, it was obvious to most of us but not them. I’m not sure he if knew he loved Y/n as more than a friend, but I know he won’t stop until he can give him justice.”

“You think he’ll kil-“

“I hope not but I can only help him through this, I’ve learned a long time ago to not try to pressure him into a decision.” He walked to Dick and gave his shoulder a squeeze.

“Let’s go son.”

——-

Y/n saw his life flash before his eyes during his attack. Between each rib being fractured, another punch to the back, or kick to the stomach he felt his favorite memories flood his eyes.

From training the younger members of Young Justice with Dick’s little brother the third Robin, game nights with the Titans, going to a concert with Dick he practically dragged him to.

That concert was the best night of his life he felt so carefree, not birdied with the responsibilities of being a more experienced hero. Not feeling like he couldn’t tell his best friend how he truly felt, and just watch from a distance as he went out dates with other girls or laughed with the guys at games nights.

Y/n knew he was in deep shit from the moment he met the Last Flying Grayson, and he didn’t care.

The band was one he like since he was in Middle school,and he begged Dick for weeks to go with him, eventually he agreed to go because he felt bad for missing so many plans to help his family with their own missions.

“I hope they aren’t a snooze fest because I could have stayed home and listened to Tim explain Quant-Time travel.” He joked as Y/n pulled on his hoodie he just purchased.

He shoved his shoulders,”Don’t even Grayson these guys are the best. You’re not gonna regret it. Plus, don’t act like you don’t love Timmy’s rambles.” Y/n fired back.

He held his hands in surrender. “Hey I had to think of something.” Y/n took Dick’s hand and dragged him into the arena just as the music blared through the speakers. Y/n was unaware of the crimson color that painted Dick’s face. And to busy to notice the stole glances Dick took through the night.

—-

The smell of smoke burned Y/n’s nostrils and he chocked on it. But the blood in his mouth took out some of the harsh smells. The flames were roaring in the room and shortly everything began to spin. Y/n barely regained consciousness before everything swiftly went to black.

Then it went Green.

The green light became paler and paler and the sound of a heartbeat echoed. Almost in slow motion. Most of the light became closer too. Became bright white and the sounds of Gotham City came hard and fast like a gunshot.

Y/n stood up in the middle of the street and he noticed something wasn’t right. The last thing he remembered was dying in Metropolis and now he’s in old Gotham. To his left was the build up of traffic and to his right was Gotham Cemetery. He tried to move but fell to the ground.

“The fuck.” His hoarse voice choked out. He noticed his arms were covered in slime of some kind and leaves. He saw a small puddle and took a glance at his reflection. His face was the same but more beautiful, sharper features, deep green iris, and fuller lips.

“Hey freak,get outta the way!” A voice shouted and honked his horned.

Y/n snapped his head up and grew easily frustrated,his head was still spinning and blaring horn was causing more pain.

“Ugh, can’t you be idiotic somewhere else.” With his hand on the ground it began to shake and large vines jumped through the concrete and began to crush the car. The driver managed to get out before it was crushed to pieces. Y/n slowly got to his feet and stumbled.

“That’s new.” Several other drivers fled their cars and screams. Two officers drew their weapons and order Y/n to freeze. Something in Y/n slowly turned and began to change in his feelings toward the police.

“Freeze Freak!” The older officer hisses,Y/n cocks his head to the side with smirk.

“Pathetic pigs, you never appreciate the things you take for granted. You worthless meat sacks.”

The two officers look at each other,”Meat-what?” It’s short lived as vines bursted through the growing and take them prisoner. Y/n strolls over to them. He chuckles.

“Mother Earth wouldn’t be to proud of you. Nature will always win.” He takes his nails and scratches both across the face and then plants begin to grow out their faces and they gag. More large vines rise and take Y/n underground.

—————

He re-emerges in the old Gotham Greenhouse in Robinson Park. More vines and flowers bloom in the old building giving it a new look. The old overgrown plants become green and flourish again with life.

“Men have ruined you, I don’t know what yet, I know can revive you. But I promise you will be avenged. I am Mother Nature’s new branch and I will take Gotham first then, we will cleanse the rest of this planet.” He laughs to himself before the sound of glass shatters.

He worlds around to see Nightwing.

“Y/n,what happened to you. You were dead.” Y/n felt conflicted. On one hand he wanted run to Dick and get his help, but on the other hand he wanted to crush him and turn him into mulch.

Nightwing drew closer, “This isn’t you N/N. I don’t know what happened in the last 72 hours but you aren’t yourself. I can help you but you have to let me.” His voice was strained like his had been yelling or not speaking. It didn’t go unnoticed but something in Y/n didn’t care and he was constantly fighting a battle within himself.

“Dick—what?”

“I can help you,Y/n you have to understand I care about you. But you have to stop.” Nightwing earpiece buzzed and Y/n could heard the voice of Robin from a nearby plant. The words: Cops. Killed. Poisoned. Y/n.

Nightwing turned to him with a blank expression and a tighter grip on his weapons.

“Y/n, let me take you get help. I promise I won’t let anyone harm you.” His voice wasn’t as raw as it was. It was stern yet cautious.

The switch in Y/n flipped and the smirk and sultry voice returned.

“Dick, join me,” he persuades, “Become my Adam and help me flourish this place into a new garden. Just for the two of use.”

Nightwing took a defensive stanch. “Can’t do that. I’m sorry.” The last part was a whisper but Y/n caught it.

“Well then I’m sorry too.” With the flick of his wrist and two large flowers sprouted. The plants around Nightwing were now healthily and quickly attacked him.

Y/n rose several feet in the air on a seat of large leaves and petals. Nightwing dodged the vines but is eventually became captured after miscalculating a step after trying to not harm Y/n.

He’s wrapped in vines and is unable to move. The vines bring him closer to Y/n who purrs.

He runs a thumb across Dick’s lips. “I never noticed.” He whispered.

“What?” Dick huffed. Y/n takes his face and brings it closer. He has a soft smile and Dick is conflicted.

“How much I wanted to do this.” He kisses Dick. He tries break free of his binds but after a few moments he stops and kisses back and soon the kiss deepens and Y/n has to stop. He places his forehead against Dick’s and sighs.

Dick’s eyes are glossed over and his blue eyes are a pale green.

“Dick?”

“Yes, my Love?” He says deadpans. Y/n sighs to himself and releases him.

The virus in Y/n grows stronger. And he laughs to himself.

“We have a few housewarming gifts to give out. Fetch them for me Darlin.” Nightwing mindless obeys and leaves Y/n who glances at his appearance in the water fountain for the first time noticing the torn up suit he was buried in.

“It’s time for a new Harvest.”

[enyoarchives]

I like to think Bruce loves to talk fondly about his children's bullshit. He doesn't shy away from how chaotic his civilian side of the family is, because 1) he loves the awkward reactions he gets and 2) he loves his crotch goblins unapologetically.

He would share the craziest stunt his kids pull with the most pleasant smile on his face in any interview.

"Oh, yes, Damian has successfully trimmed all the unruly bushes in our front yard with his katana. It's a lovely hobby, really."

"Well, yes, it is true that my sweet Cassie had a fight with one of her ballet classmates, but to be frank, that girl wasn't very nice. Oh, she ended up in the hospital?- Well, accidents happen, am I right?"

Back when Corona hit, his zoom meetings would be one of he most viral series on tiktok cuz so much shit happens and one of his gen z staff would record and post them. He doesn't stop them. Some of the most viral clips are:

• Tim and Damian fighting and rolling around in the background, somehow skillfully avoiding knocking over anything. Bruce didn't stop the discussion, almost as if they were never there.

• Steph slipping into the meeting to switch his mug of coffee with a very bright, very sparkly purple mug of who-knows-what perfect with whip cream and a cherry on top. Bruce drinks it, not even glancing at the change or showing any reaction to whatever the drink could be.

• Once, the zoom meeting was held in the library after an accident from a fight led to his study being unavailable for a while. Everything is fine, except for the huge hunk of limbs sprawled in the far corner of Bruce's screen, snoring on a couch. Bruce was unfazed, and to this day the speculation of who it might have been is still alive and going.

• a zoom meeting that happened in the evening where it's beginning to dark, and a very mysterious bright flash of light passed by behind Bruce while he was debriefing over something. He pauses, glasses sitting at the edge of his nose bridge, and goes "Duke, chum, please turn off your light." A voice calls out "Sorry, B." Before the light slowly dimmed.

• Dick entering the office and Bruce looking up, immediately asking "is that my shirt?". Dick instantly answers "Nope, it's mine" before passing by the screen in a shirt that is, in fact, Bruce's. He doesn't usually care if his kids steal his clothes, but that was his favourite one.

• a separate series existing solely for the many pets that have invaded the meetings. A cat purring softly on his lap, a dog's maw slowly entering the screen before backing off after Bruce slips a treat into it's mouth, a cow in the background (Bruce, why is a cow in your office??), and a blur of bright red that passed by behind the large plaine windows behind him.

Just, the Waynes as the Kardashians except people are actually obsessed with the family and their antics.

[the-apocrypha]

anything related to dream's german accent from "the fourth dimension"? I've been obsessed with that little detail since you first posted that fic ❤️

OMG yes. The original fic, for reference. Also, asking for a friend, does 800 words count as short?

They stand in perfect silence on the forest path, Dream’s phone balanced in the palm of his hand as it records. The sound of the bird's song is made into an aesthetically pleasing series of bars on a line, on the app, and below it an hourglass spins as the song is compared to millions of other stored bird calls around the world.

Pacific wren appears first.

Below it, reed warbler.

Then, at last—sedge wren.

“It must be,” Dream murmurs. He loses patience and pulls the phone back toward himself, tapping at it. “These other two are not native species, they would not be—no. Pacific. And… India. It must be the sedge wren, there is—” He taps some more, and then a recorded bird call plays from the phone. “Yes?”

Dream is looking at Hob.

It sounds the same to Hob, but then, Hob has long proven that he has neither the senses nor the temperament for birding. Why Dream insists on consulting him at these turns is an ongoing mystery.

“Definitely,” Hob says.

Dream's nose scrunches.

"Definitely not?" Hob tries.

“If only—” Dream's brows draw together as he abandons the phone to squint into the bushes where the birdsong has been coming from. The binoculars come up, and then back down again. The squint gains agitation.

There is contention, amongst the birding community, about what constitutes a “rare bird spotting”. Some people hold that the bird must be seen, while others will settle for call identification only. This is to say nothing of the debate regarding rare birds unintentionally captured in the background of photographs, noticed days or weeks later.

“Show yourself,” Dream mutters, with a scowl fit to light the brush on fire.

Hob has a little gander about the path while he waits, like an airplane in a holding pattern. Further down the trail, there’s supposed to be a boardwalk over a wetland that he suspects will take at least an hour to traverse for all the birds expected to be nested there. He’s brought a book for that particular layover. It’s even not in English, at Dream’s insistence that Inkheart was best enjoyed in its original text, and also of an appropriate reading level for Hob’s current faculty with the German language.

He takes a picture, as he waits, of Dream with binoculars to the sky. It matches the other thousand of them on his phone. Binoculars at the beach. Binoculars at the park. Binoculars out the train window.

Eventually, Dream’s shoulders slump, and he lets the binoculars drop. He pockets his phone.

The bird song has gone.

“Sorry, love,” Hob offers, with a consoling hand between Dream’s shoulderblades.

“Such are the trials of ornithology,” Dream sighs.

“There’ll be other birds,” Hob tells him, and with gentle pressure, he gets Dream’s feet moving down the path again. “Maybe you’ll get that, uh, gargagney you wanted instead.”

“Garganey.”

“S’what I said.”

Dream trudges down the path.

They make it approximately a hundred feet before Dream’s head suddenly snaps up, and he has the binoculars up as quick as a flash.

A second later, Hob is unceremoniously yanked closer.

“Look!” Dream hisses, shoving binoculars in front of Hob’s eyes. “Look, look, up there, third branch from the top, just to the right, it’s a peewit.”

“A what.”

The sound of fingers on glass patters away as Hob takes approximately an eon to find the little bird that Dream had somehow spotted out of the corner of his eye perched fifty feet up a tree.

“It is not actually called a peewit,” Hob says.

Dream ignores him.

Hob shakes his head, and lowers the binoculars to watch Dream race through the Merlin menu to find the peewit's dedicated page. He holds out the binoculars in preparation, and sure enough, thirty seconds later Dream snatches them up to verify his identification.

Hob returns to his holding pattern.

“Hey,” he says, at length. “Is that the peewit’s call?”

Dream looks up from his phone. “Mm?”

Hob gestures at thin air. “That?”

There’s a wok wok wok wok wok wok wok overhead.

Dream shakes his head, and returns to his phone. “A squirrel, Hob.” Only, of course, they are speaking German and so it is Eichhörnchen.

“A what?” Hob asks, suppressing a grin.

“Ein Eichhörnchen,” Dream repeats. He glances up briefly.

Hob’s pretend expression of confusion passes muster.

“A squirrel,” Dream translates impatiently, and then switches back to the binoculars.

One of Hob’s greatest sorrows in life is that Dream has learned to minimize his accented English over the last few years. It had been Hob Gatling, and vhatches and seh Dhreaming, every word just a little bit imperfect and all the more wonderful for it. Now, it is only when Dream’s focus slips that Hob is allowed these little gifts from him.

Skuurl.

Hob turns into another holding pattern, and grins to himself.

[spaghettified-pasta1]

Just something I wrote. Content warning for suicidal ideation and just heavy angst in relation to self-worth, living, consideration of suicide but ultimately no attempt. References to injuries and of course; Rosquez. Be careful y'all! It is a happy ending (ambiguous but hopeful)

(written in the perspective of Marc and takes place during his break due to the arm injury)

Edited on 05/06 because I learnt how to add the Read More line

His voice sounded different, over the speaker. Different then the voicemail message. It was hard to explain. He sounded — older, in a way. Or maybe not older, but himself. A reflection of the years that had passed. He also sounded harsher, but that was familiar. Nothing new with the biting anger in each bitten off vowel, the hatred in each consonant. It used to be different, but — the past was the past, the future still the future, and the present… Although obvious, the passing of time something irreversible, Marc still got it mixed up. A flash of yellow flowers reminding him of first dates and the second ones, third. He never thought it would end. It did end. All too soon, but perhaps as fast as expected. He wasn't the only one with a foot in the already-happened. If he was the only one, Valentino still wouldn't be so cruel. Both of them, lost. Neither of them for each other.

Now was different, the present finally separated from a gift of potential. The present finally itself, not shackled to the future and chained to the past. Marc had never felt so peaceful, his life always one of thrill. Sitting here, though, balanced on the edge with such a fall beneath him… Maybe the peace gave him courage. Maybe the journey towards the stillness gave him bravery, pushing the pedals of his bike until the mountain finally found itself summited. That couldn't be it though, Marc had sat in this very spot several times before and felt none of strength that he felt now. An echo of the peace, yes, but nothing less and nothing more.

Could it be the ache in his bones, the whispers that he too was growing old, that settled his soul to rest in the holes of his mistakes? Well, maybe not only an ache, it was more then that. It always was, an extra dramatic flair to even the most painful of injuries. Valentino would now say that it had only been a matter of time before he broke, not if but when. Not when but now. He was right. Of course he was. It made Marc wonder if the other things that had been said about him, by Valentino (his words were the only that mattered, of course), were true. Was he truly a monster, unnatural, cruel? Dangerous?

If Marc was to be weak, he'd whisper to himself, "I only wanted to win." Maybe now he fell to the maws of monsters, the monsters of age and slow healing. Chronic pain, nerve damage, infections. Surgery. Maybe, if he was to be even more worthless, he'd whisper to the sky, "I only wanted to be held." Alas, he still held onto the scraps of his pride and ego. He felt like taking them, metaphysical, tearing them to shreds and letting the paper-thin scraps fall to the rocks below.

See how easy it was for him to get lost in past? The phone call went to voicemail, the only words a pre-recorded message. Marc dialled the number again. It wasn't saved on his phone, the contact name, but the numbers were practically burned into his retinas. Voicemail. Tap out the digits once more. Voicemail. Tears were falling on the screen, falling into the air. Wind carried it away. Would his agony feed the roots of that tree on the horizon? Or would it only splatter against the rocks below.

Ringing. Ringing. Voicemail. Ringing, ringing, ringing.

How would his body look, smashed against the boulders? Would his blood feed the bushes, the meat hanging off his bones and eaten by the wild? Voicemail. Would his bones be found by his brother? Would they cry for him?

Ringing. Ringing. Ringing.

Would they even care?

Ringing —

— "What! 25 missed calls? Ridiculous, even for a spam caller!"

The phone fell from his fingers, clattering against the rocks. Not below him, thank god, but next to him. "Hello?" The screen was cracked. He was cracked. "… Hello?" His ears are still ringing. But that voice wasn't the same voicemail message. (It wasn't the polite greeting, you have now reached the voicemail of Valentino Rossi, that was him. This is him.)

Marc's arm hurt. The bone ached, deep in the marrow. "I'm… I am going to hang up —

— "No!" Barely a whisper, lost in the wind. He felt weightless, the moments when you fly in the air. The moments before you hit the ground and the bone crumpled under the weight and it broke. It broke again. It never healed. Was he ever going to return to racing? Was it over, already? It hurt, god, it hurt. The agony tore cries from Marc, harsh heaving sobs, and it hurt. "Please." Rocks fell with his tears, pebbles scattering from his shaky movements. He couldn't hear the sound of collision with the ground.

He could hear Valentino's words, the sharp inhale. "Marc?" The fall looks so tantalisingly close. But he'd been answered. Marc had finally been answered. "Are you okay? What is going on?" This was what it took for him to finally be answered? For Valentino to finally care? All it took was a career ending injury, a mental break and god, his brother was going to be so worried.

"Why?" Pathetic, that all was what Marc could think. His own voice was nothing but a broken, keening, cry. "Why, why? You never even sent me a message. I never wanted to make you lose, please… I only wanted to win. I thought — I though you knew that." He was falling, he was going to fall, he wanted to fall. "Why? Why do you only care when I cry? Why do you care when I am broken and monstrous?"

Would it hurt? Not more than he already has suffered, right? It wouldn't be that bad. Hadn't Marc already suffered enough? "It hurts so much, Vale, I wish none of this ever happened. I… I can't fix this. I just want it to stop hurting. I miss you." It was too quiet, only wind whistling. And, of course, his own harsh breathing. The bite of the rocks, although cold, had to be as close to a hug that he'd ever get. The ground would love him, uncaring of his battered body. They'd love him for his flesh, not his history. And they wouldn't stop loving him, not until he was all gone.

"Where are you? Marc, where the fuck are you?" His joints ground against one another. He yearned for it, suddenly, the end of everything. He couldn't let everyone down, he never could. Marc was still a champion, his vision only blurred because of tears. This couldn't be the end for him, he wanted warmth — not cold rocks. He wanted his brother, he didn't need Valentino. This was nothing, this couldn't be it. The past was the past, the present now, the future next. He was the future, he knew it. This wasn't the end, it couldn't be then end. He didn't need an arm, he'd manage without it. He didn't need Valentino, he had himself.

"On a cliff. I'm not going to fall, not yet. Thank you, the present is past, I need to be the future. I don't need an arm, I don't. I will still win, I need to win." More rocks clattered off the edge, falling and falling. The past was the past. He had to move on. He would win, he would. "Thank you for reminding me." His arm ached, it hurt, but the he still had to bike home. Time to go; the future. Maybe if Marc went fast enough, it would come quicker, the future and it's promises.

He tapped the red button on his phone, hanging up with an ease now unfamiliar. A strength now unusual. But it was his. He would be the future, he had to. Valentino's voice cut off with the end of the call and after only seconds, his phone rang. It rang and rang and rang, it rang until it stopped and Marc knew his own pre-recorded voice would be answering. It filled him with a strange sort of glee, the energy of which carried him back down the mountain. On his bicycle — not free fall. Marc wasn't the past, the present, but the future. He'd win, he'd win it all.

[priceyprice]

Prof!Price sitting down on his couch, watching through the window the heavy rain and the upcoming storm. He lifts his glass of bourbon to his lips, drinking a little and feeling the burning sensation trailing down his throat.

But that's nothing compared to the burn he has on his chest.

Price can't stop thinking if the decision he made about breaking up with her was the best. Yes, she's an adult and she's very capable of a lot of things, but for fuck's sake, she's his student. That's so dangerous.

If he's being honest, he doesn't care about his career as a professor. He already made a lot of things he wanted (not all of them since he hasn't proposed to her yet. That's one of his dreams.), he already made his career and pursued his future, but she’s just only starting hers.

She's studying so hard and giving all her will to the things she loves. He can't risk her passion and her career just for his selfish needs.

Selfish needs called love for her.

A week ago, one of the superiors found out that a professor had a relationship with a student. They fired the professor and expelled the student, her record being damaged with a warning of an inappropriate relationship with one of her professors.

Since then, Price couldn't stop thinking about his situation. If one of the superiors finds out about their relationship, everything's going to be over for her.

So he did what he thought was the best. Breaking up with her.

He called her to his office this morning, anxiety creeping up to his veins. When she stepped inside, his heart stopped for a moment. She looked so beautiful with her dress and her smile adorned with some blush over her cheeks. The sparkle in her beautiful eyes looked like The Starry Night.

He felt so guilty. He doesn't want to break up with her. Fuck, no. He was already planning how to propose to her when she graduates.

"Let's break up," he said without going around the bush. Direct, cold, and fast. Finally, he did it. He was going to end things with her for good.

But when he saw the look in her eyes, his world crumbled. She looked confused at first, but she realized what he said. The pain flashed within a second.

"What?"

"You heard me. Let's break up."

Since then, he couldn't get that burning feeling off his chest.

That void.

Now, he needs to get used to not hearing her giggles anymore or seeing her smile. Seeing how she walked in his apartment with only his shirt on. How his heart fluttered every time she kissed him. How soft was her skin. How she gasped his name every time he was pleasuring her.

Now he needs to get used to loneliness because he's pretty sure he can't find someone like her. He doesn't want anyone like her. He just wants her.

In the midst of his loneliness, three knocks grabbed his attention.

His eyebrows frown as he looks to the door. Who could it be at this hour? Maybe it's one of the tenants complaining about something again.

One time, when he was with his lover, one of the tenants knocked on the door to ask if he had water since there was an accident leaving a few tenants without water. He opened his door a little too wide, and the tenant caught a glimpse of the beautiful woman sitting on his couch, looking at them with confusion. Since then, the rumors about the hot and reserved professor having a beautiful girlfriend started.

Price slowly stood up from his chair and walked to his door. He turned serious. It could be an intruder trying to fool him.

Getting closer to the door, he looked through the peephole. His eyes widened in shock when he saw who it was.

It was her.

Price unlocked the door and opened it. His heart stopped for a second. Is his mind really playing tricks with him? Is he really seeing correctly? Maybe he needed a new prescription of glasses.

She looks up to his eyes. Every suspicion of her being a product of his imagination vanished like thin air.

There she was, standing in front of him. She was real.

"What are you doi-"

"We...We need to t-talk," she said, shivering. His eyes took a look over her figure, realizing she's drenched in water.

His face changed into one of worry. "Oh my God, love. You're freezing, come here." He grabbed her arm and took her inside his apartment, closing the door behind her. She exhaled a little, feeling the familiar coziness his apartment always gave to her. Even though she really loved that, she was not here for that.

He turned around and started to walk, "Stay here and take off your clothes. I'll be looking for a towel and one of your clothes in my drawe-"

"No."

He stopped.

Turning around slowly, he looked at her with confusion. Only to see anger in her eyes.

Oh. Right. They broke up.

He was so used to taking care of her that he almost forgot that detail just a second ago.

Price closed his eyes, sighing. "Look, I-"

"We need to talk." His eyes snapped open at her words. He could feel how his heart was beating heavy at his chest with her tone.

Her freezing body was now going back to its normal temperature, thanks to the anger consuming her.

"My love, calm do -"

"Fuck, don't call me that! And don't tell me to calm down when it was you who broke up with me without any explanation!" She said taking a step closer to him, drenching his floor with water, but both of them couldn't care less.

"I've been nothing but good to you! I've been a good student, a good friend, and mostly, I've been a good lover! I think I deserve a fucking explanation!" She's now standing in front of him, pointing at him with her index finger. "And I want to hear it now, John. Why are you breaking up with me?"

His heart started to beat faster with every step she took. Emotions are still alive and fresh, consuming every fiber in his body and reminding him who those feelings belong to. But what kept him down on his feet was her eyes. She looked so angry, so... hurt. And it's caused by him.

"I don't want to explain it. Please, let's just get you a towel and dry y-"

"Are you cheating on me? Did you find another student?"

"What? No!" He looked at her with his eyes wide and brows frown. There's no way in hell, heaven or earth he would've done such a thing. He preferred to die before cheating on her.

"Then why are you breaking up with me, John?!"

Price just wants to take everything back and tell her it's his fault. He wants to tell her that everything's going to be alright, take her in his arms, and continue his future with her. But he can't risk her future. If he tells her the risk and the consequences of their relationship, she would've ignored it and never left him. He knows her. He knows how much she loves him.

He needs to forget her. She needs to forget him and continue her life. And he's going to do so.

"Because I don't l-..." He sighed, trying to find the courage to resist his emotions and not spell the truth. "Because I don't love you anymore."

Her body froze. Her mouth hung open while she looked at him with her big expressive eyes. Her heart stopped for a few seconds. She's trying to process his words.

He doesn't... love her anymore?

She doesn't believe him. A few moments ago, he was calling her his love. And he wasn't looking at her.

Price is known for his confidence and the way he intimidates people with his electrifying blue eyes. But he wasn't looking at her right now.

So that means one thing, he's lying. She thought.

"You're lying."

His face went up. "No."

She laughs. "Yes, you are. You're not looking at me. You're lying."

He can't look at her. She's too good at reading him, and he's scared she's gonna find the real reason for his breakup.

But of course, she found out he was lying. She's a smart girl.

She's his smart girl.

"No, Look Lo-..." He closed his mouth, swallowing the word. "Look, I'm not lying. I don't love you anymore. Everything's over. We are over."

The strings of her heart were being cut off one by one.

No.

She doesn't want to believe him. He loves her. She's sure of it. She just needs to prove it.

He can't leave her like this.

So she took a step closer to him and smashed her lips with his.

Price looks shocked for a second, processing what was happening. His heart started to gain those familiar warm emotions again, racing like it was gasoline.

But on his mind was a voice screaming at him.

It was a trap.

She's testing him.

He couldn't make the same mistake again and start from zero, so with all his willpower, he grabbed her arms and pushed away, making her stumble in her feet. She looks at him wide-eyed into his eyes, only realizing the cold look. She saw emptiness, not even sadness or madness. Nothing.

He felt nothing.

Tears escaped, rolling down her cheek, and he almost, almost, lifted his hand up and wiped the tears away. Price hates it when she cries. He can't stand looking at her beautiful eyes glossy and teary, and of course, he hates it more when he makes her cry.

Fuck, this is going to be difficult.

Her breathing was faster each second. Her heart was so heavy on her chest that it felt like it was going to get out of her ribcage. Sadness starts to consume every cell in her body. "So you used me, right?! You... You got what you wanted. You get to bed one of your students, have fun with her, and then toss her like some piece of garbage?!"

He swallowed hard, but nothing could calm down his storm of emotions. The inner war he's having with himself.

Love,

"That's right..."

Please

"I used you."

I love you so much.

"I don't love you anymore. I never did."

I will never let you go.

"So get out of my house and my life."

I will remember you, my love.

"We're done."

: : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : :

Just a little idea, and I'm sorry for a few crying hearts.

This is my second post, which I'm kinda new on this app. I apologize for some errors or misspelling. Any suggestions are appreciated. 🫶

[eggs-attorney]

[<<< First] [< Prev]

Reiker: So first things first, I have questions about this time frame. If my defendant was last seen with the victim over 8 hours before the murder, why is she suspect in this case?

Rythen: Oh, is that what she told you? Because she was found a mere 2 blocks from the scene of the crime. Isn't that right?

Yanshu: W-well, yes, but-… I mean… I always keep my tools at home!

Rythen: Then why were they found stashed in a bush just behind the body!?

Reiker: How can we be so sure that they weren't used by some other technician in the shop?

Rythen: Well, our eyewitness who reported the crime, of course.

Reiker: An eyewitness? Who else would be out at the park at that hour?

Rythen: Well, to answer that, lets start with a piece of evidence. Miss, do you recognize this sheet of paper?

Maintenance Sheet (Flash) has been added to the Court Record.

Yanshu: O-oh, um… Y-yes, that's one of our m-m-maintenance rep-ports…

Reiker: (Uh oh… She's shaking badly. Something's gotta be up…)

Rythen: Flash's Maintenance report, to be precise. And here, at the bottom… This is your signature confirming that it was you who performed said maintenance, isn't it?

Yanshu: I… Yes…?

Rythen: And here, this note from your boss about the unauthorized parts… You were aware of it, weren't you?

Eggman: Unauthorized-… IN MY MACHINES!? WHY WASN'T I NOTIFIED BEFORE!?

Rythen: It's clearly marked on her maintenance sheet here - "Incorrect certification mark. Deliver unit to head office for examination" - signed by her boss. It's the primary reason Ms. Dryll is on trial today. Her manager noticed the discrepancy and followed her Omnitool's GPS tracker to investigate.

Rythen: When he finally caught up, he discovered the gruesome aftermath of the disassembly and contacted the authorities!

Yanshu: Listen, I can explain-!

Eggman: Ms. Dryll. You should be well aware of how serious this issue is!

Reiker: … And for the new parties who may need filling in?

Eggman: [Sigh]… Let me put it in terms you'll understand. Imagine you're using your Prower-brand home computer, hear a weird noise, open it up, and find an EggTech chip inside. That would cause mayhem in the Acorn Kingdom, no?

Reiker: And this is… The inverse. Are we sure its a competitor's parts, though?

Yanshu: I don't know about competitor, b-but… I explained to my boss when he asked the first time, my Omnitools weren't compatible, and only the personality core that had that issue. I didn't think-

Eggman: It was only the personality core?

Yanshu: … Yes, sir... Only that.

Reiker: … I feel like I'm missing something here.

Yanshu: Well… When I first started, I was told that personality cores are a Robian's most important part because it contains the one digital copy of that person's identity. The code is incredibly complex, would take an incredibly long time to back up, and can't be replicated.

Reiker: So if I understand this correctly, you're saying you didn't want to tamper with a person's entire sense of self over an odd decal.

Yanshu: That's exactly what I thought! If something went wrong, I-… I don't think I could live with myself...

Eggman: Can you officially testify to this?

Yanshu: Y-... Yes, sir.

Testimony 2 - The Foreign Component

1:) It's true… The personality core was visually different from the standard.

2:) But even so, Flash was operating well within the acceptable parameters!

3:) There weren't any other defects or strange marks…

4:) … So I decided to leave the personality core as it was.

Reiker: (Jeesh, this isnt good… We already have my client lying on the stand, but why would she lie about this, and why do I feel she's still hiding something…? I should check over everything I have in my Court Record to see if there's anything amiss.)

[Next >]

[lemonsyk]

TW: 12+, Blood at the end.

A silent night settled over Kendo Mountain.

Due to the high humidity, the morning dew clinging to the plants had yet to dry. The stillness, however, was suddenly broken by a series of joyous screams echoing from a laboratory hidden beneath the towering trees.

"This is it! The final step to the ultimate scientific discovery!"

Papers fluttered through the air as a shadowy figure, wearing swirly glasses, clutched a round glass beaker as if it were a fragile piece of treasure. With steady hands, he picked up a pipette and carefully withdrew a small amount of the liquid inside.

"Even the tiniest drop can easily kill over a hundred horses, but..." He muttered, pulling down his face mask.

"As long as the records show that anyone who ingests this potion has a chance to inherit godly powers, all I can do is try. After all, I could never doubt my sister's research."

He was both terrified and thrilled, anticipation coursing through him. The thought of wielding absolute power over the world bounced wildly in his mind. After all, with such a bossy nature, it was only natural for such ambitions to take root.

"I would much rather perish in a terrible accident than spend another day in this laboratory, crawling with those rats I call employees!"

His voice grew louder, nearly yelling the last part. With no shame of being overheard, his pride took over as he blurted out:

"I can't imagine the power I could obtain! All those worthless servants will watch as I destroy the world that took away my only sister— the one who never turned her back on me, even when everyone else did... I'll make them all pay for it!"

Suddenly, an alarm went off, and the room was bathed in flashing red lights. The sharp, jarring noise made the scientist jump out of his seat, his heart racing as he scrambled to understand what was happening.

"So late at night! Don't tell me someone forgot to turn off the burner!"

Rushing out of his solitary chamber, he saw his coworker standing by the entrance, looking stoic. The blue-haired scientist could hardly believe his employee's lack of concern. He exclaimed in surprise:

"Taiga!"

"Yea boss..." the man replied unenthusiastically.

"Don't you have work to do? Stop wandering around and get serious!"

"Sure will."

During their exchange, the scientist was so distracted that he didn't care if anyone overheard or walked in on him conducting research. As a result, Taiga, the biomedical engineer, stood by the door for quite some time without being noticed. When he saw his boss disappear down the dark hallway, Taiga quietly made his way to the experimentation table. Scattered ingredients, papers, and beakers cluttered the surface. Among them, a round-shaped object emitting a faint aura caught his eye—a yellowish substance with a tag reading "L3M0N"

Curious, Taiga glanced at the papers strewn on the floor, hoping to find answers. The rushed handwriting made it difficult to decipher, but a few words stood out: "Lemtoxin... Metionalyn... Neo-" He froze, his expression shifting from a pathetic smile to a worried grin.

"Hah, the formula is illegal! What the hell is he planning?"

He took the beaker carefully, mindful not to spill its contents. Even with gloves on, he could still feel the warmth of the solution seeping through the glass.

"Whatever it is, this crazy bastard can't be trusted with chemicals!"

He stormed off, still holding the beaker, his mind boiling with a bitter grudge. With clenched fists, he made his way to the garden. A massive glass demi-sphere covered the withered expanse of potted plants. A few dead saplings stood out against the limp grass and bushes, casting a bleak shadow over the place. Taiga approached a particular fruit tree that caught his eye. Conflicted, he muttered to himself:

"Our last fruit-bearing tree, dying from neglect while he mixes his... potions!" With each word, a wave of hatred surged through him, intensifying with every thought.

"Just for how long are we going to wait for his lazy ass to save our lab from crisis?"

His hands clenched around the bottle without realizing it, a small rupture forming on its surface. With gritted teeth, he wound up and threw the bottle as hard as he could against the tree trunk. With a roar, he shouted:

"Fuck you, and your discovery!"

A loud shatter replaced his words as the beaker broke into tiny pieces, the liquid splashing against the wooden surface. With a sudden sense of relief, he pulled out a lighter and lit a cigarette, the smoke rising slowly as he exhaled deeply.

"I'm getting fired for sure now," he muttered, taking another drag from his cigarette. "I hope he starts caring more for his employees now that his damned project is over with."

His reminiscing was abruptly interrupted by a faint buzzing sound from behind. He turned his head and froze—the tree was growing, its trunk trembling as if alive, while its leaves swirled in an invisible breeze. Suddenly, the roots burst from the dry soil, writhing like awakened serpents and lunging toward him.

Panic surged through Taiga as he stumbled back, his heartbeat pounding in his ears. He barely found his footing before bolting away, adrenaline fueling his escape. Only rushed curses spilled from his mouth as he ran for his life.

The sapling was on the edge of death, its brittle branches nearly bare. Yet, against all odds, one final bloom had borne a single, round fruit—a lemon. Refusing to wither, it clung stubbornly to the tree, its vibrant yellow standing out among the lifeless wood.

A sudden chill swept through the air as faint beams of light filtered into the garden, illuminating the greenery beside the lone fruit. From the glow, a figure began to take shape—a heavenly presence rising gracefully beside the tree. Her long, flowing hair cascaded like silk, and her skin shimmered with an ethereal glow, giving her an unmistakably divine aura. With a serene, motherly warmth, she gazed downward, her porcelain face adorned with a gentle smile.

"What a cruel way to summon me," she murmured, her voice soft yet filled with quiet authority. "My dear creatures must not suffer."

With an elegant wave of her hand, she released tiny fragments of her soul—gleaming sparks that drifted gently through the air. As they touched the withered greenery, they ignited into tiny white flames.

"Vitalize!" she commanded, her voice resonating with divine power.

A tiny, sphere-shaped light, distinct from the other particles, drifted toward the hanging lemon as if it were a magnet. It hovered momentarily before being pulled in, sinking into the bright yellow fruit.

Suddenly, fine slits formed along the lemon's exterior, subtle at first but growing more pronounced. Then, in an instant, they shifted—widening and darkening—until two large, circular black eyes blinked open, staring curiously at the world for the very first time.

"Oh, how adorable you are!"

The lemon was puzzled, unable to comprehend what was happening. The weight of the newly formed creature strained the tree's weak offshoot until, with a loud snap, it broke free. The small being tumbled to the cold ground, landing with a thud.

The impact sent a bunch of branches and leaves scattering around it. One leaf, however, drifted down and landed squarely on the creature's head—oddly refusing to budge, as if held in place by some unseen force.

With a tiny, honeyed voice, the lemon squeaked:

"W-who are you?"

"I have many names, but you shall call me Gaea or simply Mother. There is much evil in this world, and I have chosen you, my dear child, to be the one who will lead those terrible mortals to justice." Her radiant gaze softened as she continued,

"When the time comes—at the end of your journey—I will see you again. In a place full of doors, where the light of the moon never shines."

"No... where are you going? Don't leave me, i dont know what to do!" Lemon struggled to stand on its fragile legs, trembling ever so slightly.

"There is no place for you within those cold walls, among sinners. Run far away—nothing is holding you back anymore!"

With those parting words, the divine being lifted her arms, and the tiny sparks scattered across the withered plants and branches suddenly ignited. The once-gentle white flames roared to life, consuming the garden in a dazzling fire. The rising heat banished the lingering chill, and the walls were bathed in a blinding light.

Terrified, Lemon dashed down unfamiliar hallways, its tiny legs carrying it as fast as they could. It slipped through a crowd of panicked scientists, dodging their rushed footsteps and staying out of sight.

At last, the creature stumbled into an open area of the laboratory, its wide black eyes locking onto a doorway. Outside, people had already fled through the emergency exit—some gasping for air, others collapsing on the ground, coughing violently from inhaling toxic smoke.

Lemon pushed forward, slipping past the struggling survivors. But just as it neared the exit, a faint, high-pitched screeching cut through the chaos. A subtle noise—almost insignificant—yet Lemon instinctively knew what was about to happen.

And then, in a blinding flash, the laboratory erupted into a fiery explosion.

With a deafening blast, the explosion sent debris flying in all directions. Moments later, the bodies of the scientists were scattered near the foot of the mountain, victims of the devastating catastrophe.

Among the devastation, the lemon lay motionless, injured, and surrounded by a small pool of blood. Still and silent in the aftermath...

ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴄᴏɴᴛɪɴᴜᴇᴅ

[silentmagi]

Call me J, cus im adding to a portfolio

Here is the details of an au that I randomly came up with because undercover boss was on the brain+Mariokart was also on the brain, I hope you enjoy it and can maybe help flesh it out further or just have some add some fun head-canons of your own!

Felt inspired to do something, a little different with this one. Love the feel for things. Flash is a Koopa with a near perpetually burnt green shell, and a very adrenaline junkie vibe. Bit denser than a neutron star, but a sweetie.

Welcome to the wonderful world of Mario Kart TV! Name's Flash, and I'm a quality assurance tech here at the kart HQ, which means I make sure things work how they're supposed to before the kart season so we put on the best shows for our viewers at home.

Now I'm just a simple Koopa, so I may miss a few details here. What? The burns on my shell? . . . Some things didn't pass quality testing. Anyways, come with me and I'll show you around behind the scenes.

Karmii bruh! I got you some of that Bayside Coffee you love... noo... it's not be- yeah the boxes you gave me blew up on me... think it's the fireflower or bo-bombs starting it. Got the form for that under your coffee. Ignore the camera, you got the memo about it last week. See you at the launch party!

Karmii here is the wiz that was, he does all the item boxes, gravity stabilizers and boosters. He is the heart and soul of what we do, and no one gives him the props he deserves.

Whoa! Sorry Gimbi, didn't see ya there. Here's some coffee for you too, I'll just put it in your cup holder as labeled. Hey love the new fit, going with the construction yellow they used last year, nice. Naw, they didn't pass testing.

Oh the camera? Yeah, it's for the behind the scenes thing. Mind telling them about placing the boxes? Yeah, just like you did for my nieces' class last month.

*sounds of sipping can be heard under the mini-lecture* Thanks. Hey, listen, if you need help, you got my number. I can be your muscle anytime.

*smash cut later* sweet gal, wish I had the gu- I mean, we're heading on to meet up with Todii. Great guy. Hey Todii, oh you heard about the explosion? Yeah, I'll be back at it after this recording. Nah, they don't want to see my job. *short showing of several things he tests, show from the bushes, corners, and other places that he wouldn't normally look*

Yeah, I hooked Karmii up with coffee, he should be about due for a refill though. *equivalent of a fist bump* yeah, I am hyped to test out the new kart system. Levi got the class ready to catch me? Cool

Hey, did you see Koplina and Ikitin arrive earlier? Hope they got that new pla- hiiii Koplina. You're here... because you heard of the video. Okay, yeah, give us the elevator pitch of your job. *camera holds still, while in a mirror-like window, Flash and Ikitin greet each other*

Thanks Koplina, hope that the new locations go well, you're the best!

*cut to an old lakitu looking at a group of lakitus fishing for targets down off an isolated part of the course.* Hey Levi, how's cloudy? Still adorable? I brought some of their favorite cotton candy... Oh don't look at me in that tone of voice, you know I'm not trying ot bribe them to like me.

Oh, the camera? Yeah, you got the memo right? Anything you want to tell the audience watching? Thanks man, hey, you've been here since the beginning, and I just want to say thanks for sharing your wisdom. Also, poker night, following the last race, you in? Sweet.

Nukli is not giving your students trouble while he's setting up his section is he? Cool, would have to have Koplina getting on us after the fiasco five years ago. I'll bring him some coffee... yeah man, I got your tea. It's the cup with a smiley cloud on it.

*shows Flash and Nukli sipping coffee with lunch boxes next to them, before showing Flash alone heading towards the workshops*

Okay, so Nukli didn't really have much to say, great guy though. *Flash freezes, eyes widening as he turns the camera around, showing Mr. NT* H-hello sir, I didn't expect you in today. Y-yeah, this is the documentary from the memo. I think it looks good, but will give it to PR for spin and polish.

Yes sir, I am fine, the burn is only on the surface of the shell, and I'll polish it out at home tonight. Yes sir, you have a good night as well Mr. NT. Give the family the best for me, I heard about the new one on the way. Congrats.

*cut to Flash back in his 'office' which is a small locker and various schematics on the walls.* Thank you all for coming with me, and I hope you all will enjoy this new season of Karts, we're doing our best for you. Flash out. *he gives a cheeky salute before it fades to a team picture of the back office staff.

[milkywaydrabbles]

Oh, sorry for make you feel uncomfortable! :( then that request but with Eren, Levi, Armin and Floch! Sorry again

A/N: omg no it's okay I appreciate the new characters! This was wildly different of what I usually do since I normally don't write AoT as much as I used to but this was fun! I think Floch is a bitch so I wrote him mean but I think it worked out LMFAO. Hope you enjoy mwuah

CW: smut, degradation, oral (m!receiving), lots o cum.

Bukkake x Eren, Levi, Armin, Floch

"Open your mouth wider, baby—fuck—there we go" Eren groaned above you, stuffing his cock into your mouth with no regards to how you gag around him "Such a good little bitch in heat." You looked up at him doe eyed, trying your best to take him down your throat. You have to remind yourself to breathe through your nose as you do, taking Eren wasn't easy.

"Oi brat, don't stop moving your hand." Fuck. You had gotten too distracted, focused more on Eren than the captain Levi and company that was also here in the room with you. You had no idea how you got here, couldn't remember the conversation well enough when all you could think of were the men around you and their dicks (im)patiently waiting for you to please them. You popped off Eren's cock just enough to murmur a "sorry, captain" before he grabbed the back of your head and shoved you down again. "Be a good little fleshlight and stop talking."

"Eren, you're being too hard on her." Ah, the only saving grace in this entire room. Sweet Armin, patient with you as you slowly pumped his dick with your other hand. You looked at him as best you could, throwing a thankful glance as you tightened your hand around him jerking him with more vigor. Armin whines above you, hips stuttering and meeting your tempo. "Fuck, it feels so good, honey. Don't stop" it was always so easy to make Armin feel good when he was so receptive.

You heard a click of a camera go off, before glancing in the direction of the flash. "You'll look so good as my phone background, what a little slut." Floch laughed, turning his nose at you. He was always the meanest to you, no matter how rough Eren would be or how harshly Levi would stare at you, they always took care of you after your escapades. But Floch was always cruel.

It made your pussy clench with need.

You moved your hands in tandem, music ringing in your ears in the forms of moans and panting, dampening your underwear as you knelt on the ground. You wanted more than anything to be able to touch yourself, but you had to get them ofd before they would take care of you. Eren threw his head back before letting out a wanton moan, both hands burying into your hair and shoving you down onto his dick. You did your best not to choke as he face fucked you. "You like that, slut? You wanna be my little cum dumpster huh?" You moaned around his length with a nod before hearing another click of the camera and a laugh. "Gonna paint your pretty little face." Eren jerked away from you right before cumming on you. Ropes of sticky white landed on your face, dripping down your cheeks and forehead.

"Fucking finally my turn." You barely got to breathe before being shoved down on another cock. Floch was never one to beat around the bush. He got to shoving himself down your throat even worse than Eren. "Only way you ever look good is with my dick in your mouth" he sneered.

"Fuck, not gonna last long" a mumble to your right: Levi. You want him more than anyone else to cum, feeling accomplished in making your captain feel good. You pumped his length, smearing the pre cum over his tip and giving yourself more lube to glide over his dick. "Fuckfuckfuck" he stuttered, his cum landing in your hair and side of your face. He stepped away from you after he was done, nearly in disgust.

The camera flash went off and you looked up at Floch, recording you now. "Come on baby, don't you wanna be good for us? Look at you, covered in cum from different men like the whore you are?" You whimpered, trying your best to keep up with his thrusts down your throat and still giving Armin the attention he deserves. "Fu-ck, Floch you're worse than Eren" still having your back no matter what. "I'm so close honey, fuck just like that" Armin speaking so nicely to you almost made you whimper. Although being degraded always had an effect on you, hearing his sweet words made you want to do better for him. You pressed on and continued to jerk him off until he was whining mess and came on your left side, almost covering your whole face with cum.

Floch gripped your roots at the top of your head trying to avoid any cum as he did so. "Now you're my bitch, open up wide" he taunted, pulling out just enough so the tip of his cock was placed on your tongue and shot cum over your nose and eyes, slapping and smearing it over your tongue and mouth. "Stick your tongue out and smile at the camera baby" you did your best to do so, disoriented at the bright light and how lightheaded you were with all the attention you received. He turned off the camera and Armin petted your head. "Why don't we get you cleaned up and take care of you like you did us, hm?"

"And send me that damn video."

"Yes, captain."

[the-kr8tor]

Thread the needle

Thread the Needle Masterlist

Prologue >>> Chapter 1

God, you're so late for class. Your white sneakers squeak against the linoleum floor, feet running as fast as you can. Your hastily thrown backpack struggles to cling on to your arm. You regret going out last night, on a school night too.

Almost running past the classroom, your feet skid to a stop in front of the door. Taking a breather you take a second to fix your appearance, fixing your backpack properly, breathing out a puff of air, you mentally ready for the weird stares thrown your way once you open the door.

You open the door with a loud creek from the old hinges, cursing the metal for the loud intrusion. Grimacing from the sound, your eyes roam around the room, surprised to see that the professor's late too. You sigh in relief, sitting down in your station, you decide to clean up the mess that you left yesterday in haste.

While picking up loose threads, misshapen cloths and cluttered tools littered around your space, you accidentally listen in on a conversation.

"Did you hear? About our last project?"

"Yeah, I have a friend from the other class, heard it's a doozy. Can't believe Mrs. Williams' making it forty percent of our final grade "

Unbelievable, you thought. And here you go thinking that taking fashion as your major was gonna be easy. You sigh, pondering what kind of next stress is gonna befall you.

Suddenly the door opens with a loud creaking sound– your ever fashionable professor saunters in, clad in her stiletto heels, posture perfect and neck always covered in pearls. God, you want to be her when you grow up.

She stands tall in front of the whiteboard.

"Since this is your last two months here, I'm gonna make this last project the biggest and hardest one you've ever done," she doesn't beat around the bush, going straight to the point, speaking in her posh accent, making elegant gestures as she talks, "This final project will be sixty percent of your final grade, therefore if you fail this you might not graduate this year"

Various sounds of protests can be heard around the room, some groaning in pain, others straight up scream in anguish, but you just look at Mrs. Williams like she grew a second head.

Sixty percent?! This close to graduation? Does she not want anybody to graduate? You think, biting your tongue just in case it slips out.

"You've gotta be joking Mrs. W!" A classmate of yours shares your sentiment.

"Do I look like I'm someone who makes jokes, Flash?" The professor raises a neat eyebrow, side eyeing your classmate.

Fuckety, fuck fuck. You internally swear. This is so much worse than forty percent. Outside you might look calm but inside you feel like spontaneously combusting right there on your chair.

Mrs. Williams stares at her class silently. The entire room feeling the dark aura she exudes, they all clam up immediately.

"The project - find someone, I do not care if you're already close, or you're strangers to each other. Just someone who's willing to model for you-"

"For the record everyone, I'm available" Flash interrupts the professor, with one look from her, he sits back down defeated and embarrassed.

"This project requires you to make an outfit," she continues, staring daggers at your classmate "not just any other piece you have ever made. You have to cooperate with your model, in creating it."

That's easy enough you thought, you've already worked with models before, like changing some aspects of the clothing to match their sizes, and changing some designs if they're not comfortable wearing it.

Mrs. Williams raises her index finger, "This outfit, it has to encompass the both of you, so it's a requirement, a necessity, to pick a model that has an entirely different style from you"

Different style? Your mind goes to him immediately, with his heavy leather boots, spiked accessories, and overall Punk aesthetic, compared to your fluffy cardigans, sneakers and plain button ups. He's perfect for this project. The only problem is how in the world are you gonna convince THE Hobie Brown, your best friend of ten years, to model in front of the entire graduating class.

Mrs. Williams' voice brings you back to the present. "They, whoever you pick, must be willing to fully participate in making, and modeling it. They don't even have to be a student here, all that matters is that the final product must be a perfect blend of both yours and their style"

Flash raises his hand this time "How would you know that they have a different style from us?"

"Next meeting you must bring them, and" she emphasizes the last word "a picture of them with a timestamp from a year or two ago, this prevents cheating. And if I ever find out that you edited the photo's timestamp, don't even think about graduating"

"Um, ma'am, when are we presenting it?" A brave classmate of yours raises their hand.

"You have a month to work on it, the show will be three weeks before graduation, if you'll even be qualified for it"

You swallow down your anxiety at her last comment. Bringing Hobie in class will be a bitch and a half itself. You're already thinking about how to convince him.

"And remember this project fosters teamwork and cooperation with each other. Do not forget it has to be a perfect blend, not some smorgasbord of an outfit." The professor adds.

Great, now armed with the great task of convincing Hobie, you think, if he still owes you a favour, maybe you can call it in for this.

[euphreana]

The Shape of Truth - Chapter 7: Unit 531

Masterpost

-

Knightly Storage required a passcode to get in. The key tag hadn’t included that - it just had the name and unit number; 531. And 531 wasn’t the code.

The storage building was a tall, stone structure with a side entrance hidden from the street by some towering bushes. An awning over the door blocked the rain as Ambrosius stared at the keypad next to the doorway. Nimona, next to him, shifted into a hulking humanoid with large hands.

“We could break in.” She said with a grin, flexing an arm.

Ambrosius rolled his eyes.

“That would be illegal.”

Nimona smirked and shifted back to a teen.

“As if today wasn’t already toeing the line.”

“We didn’t… break any laws.”

“Sure. We just bent them a little.”

“Exactly. A knight must uphold the rules that keep us in order.”

Nimona groaned.

“Come on… don’t tell me you haven't broken at least ONE rule at least ONCE in your life.”

Ambrosius still looked unamused.

“Even if I did, I wouldn't be telling YOU about it.”

“Aw, why not?”

“Because I still don't know anything about you! I don't even know how old you are, or if ‘Nimona’ is even your real name!”

Nimona was silent while Ambrosius tried to figure out the door code, punching in several numerical combinations off the top of his head. The keypad flashed red each time.

Nimona’s voice broke his concentration.

“They never told you how your dad really died, did they?” she said, seemingly out of nowhere.

Ambrosius gave her a side glance.

“What in Gloreth's name are you talking about?”

“I mean you were just a kid - they didn't want you to think he was a bad man or anything - nothing you could possibly blabber to the wrong person about. They told you he went out for a few drinks with his knight buddies, got plastered, and then walked in front of a speeding truck, right?”

Ambrosius looked wary.

“That's... what happened.”

“That's what they WANTED you to think happened. That's what they wanted EVERYONE to think happened. They couldn't let Gloreth's name get dragged in the mud, could they?”

Ambrosius didn’t look convinced.

“So you're saying there was a coverup.”

"I'm saying you never saw him drunk before, did you?”

“I don’t remember. Maybe?”

“Believe me, you didn’t.”

“How would you know?”

“I’m telling you - I’m full of information about your family.”

Ambrosius turned back to the keypad.

“Aaaand now you're just sounding creepy. One less reason for me to trust you.”

“Think about it though! The man never got drunk. So how did he get so tipsy that night he didn't see the truck coming?”

“There’s a first time for everything.”

“Hey, you don't have to take my word for it - with your rank, you can go to the medical records building and see the original coroner's report for yourself.”

Ambrosius typed in another combination.

“Maybe I will. Or maybe I won't. What difference would it make? He’s still dead.”

The keypad flashed red again. Ambrosius sighed. He was quickly realizing he could stand here all day trying different combinations and none of them work. He waved a hand towards the other side of the building.

“Come on, let’s go to the office.”

“I still vote ‘break in’.”

Ambrosius gave her a weary look. Nimona held her hands up.

“I mean bend, not break.”

~ ~ ~

There was already a woman arguing with the clerk when Nimona, now matching Ambrosius’s height and age, entered the office, followed by Ambrosius himself. Fortunately, there was another worker passing by whom Nimona was able to flag down.

“Heeeeeey… I totally forgot the passcode for the door. Could you let me in?”

The worker pointed to the desk.

“Sure, just show them your ID.”

“ID… yeah… you know, I think I left it at home. I just ran over here to get something” she dangled the storage key in her hand.

The worker gave a forced smile.

“Talk to the desk.”

They both looked at the discussion at the desk. It didn’t look like it was going to end soon.

Nimona held a hand up, “Come on, me and my brother just need to grab something real quick.”

“Talk to the desk.”

“What if I slid you a 20 goldpiece?”

“Talk to the desk.” The worker pushed past her, off on their own errand.

Nimona glanced at Ambrosius with a look that said ‘ok we tried it your way and it didn’t work.’ Ambrosius shrugged and jerked his head towards the desk. This could still work - his own ID would draw attention, but maybe Nimona could work something out.

“For the last time, we can’t let you use acid on the lock!” The clerk behind the desk was saying, “You either find your key or find a licensed locksmith to remove the lock for you.”

The woman in front of the desk waved a hand desperately.

“But what if—”

“We can recommend a locksmith for you if you don’t want to do the footwork yourself.”

“— I fill the lock with water, and then freeze it! Water expands when frozen, so the lock should break right off!”

“Miss Bitsmore, there are other people waiting in line behind you.”

“It’s Blitzmeyer! Meredith Blitzmeyer!”

“Miss Blitzmeyer, would you like the number for the locksmith or not?”

“I’m telling you, I can’t afford a locksmith! My lab burned down and I’m living off savings!”

Ambrosius’s ears perked up. The initials from the sword invoice flashed in his mind. MB!

The clerk didn’t miss a beat, sliding a business card across the desk.

“You can find the number here. Let us know when you plan to come. Next!”

The woman waved her hands in exasperation and stomped out the door, not bothering to take the card. The clerk tapped an intercom button on the desk.

“Hey, keep an eye on unit 531 - we might get someone trying to break into it.” Then the clerk looked up at Nimona. “Can I help you?”

Nimona gave a toothy grin.

“Heyyyy, I need to get in but I forgot the passcode. My ID is—”

Ambrosius hurried forward and grabbed Nimona by the arm.

“Hey you know what? I think I remember where you left your ID!” He pulled her toward the door. “Come on!”

~ ~ ~

It had started to rain in earnest now. Meredith Blitzmeyer walked hands-free, umbrella balanced on her shoulder thanks to the weights built into the bent shaft and handle. She'd designed that part herself, and more.

“Excuse me missus umbrella lady...”

Meredith looked down to see a small boy suddenly standing in front of her. He was dressed in tatters and looked like he hadn’t slept in days.

“I can't find my mommy... She went through that scary alley over there.” the child pointed, shivering in the rain. “Could you help me find her? Pwease....?” He looked up at her with sad puppy eyes.

Meredith glanced around. There were other people walking down the street, but nobody was stopping to see if the child was alright. Nobody except her. She sighed.

“Come on, let’s find your mom.” She took the child by the hand and started down the alleyway.

She hadn’t gotten far before she sensed someone else behind her. She glanced over her shoulder. Sure enough, there was a tall, hooded figure barely a meter behind her. Of course. Meredith could have slapped herself for being so gullible.

The hooded figure reached out, but Meredith was faster. Before either the child or the stranger could react, she’d swung her umbrella off her shoulder, collapsing it and shoving the end into the stranger’s chest. A crackle of electricity rippled through the air and the hooded figured dropped like a stone.

Meredith broke into a run. The street was close. Just a few meters… A beastly snarl echoed down the alley as a set of jaws clamped around her leg, yanking her to the ground. Meredith tried to get back up, but the grip on her leg wouldn’t let go. It started to drag her backwards, away from the street, back into the dark alley.

The electrified umbrella was still in her hands. Meredith turned and swung it at the beast, electricity arcing at its tip. She almost hit it. It let go of her instead, ducking out of the way. That was all the time she needed to get back to her feet. But before she could run, the hooded figure slammed into her, knocking her back to the ground. Then the beast - a large, pink wolf - grabbed the umbrella in its jaws and yanked it away.

Meredith blinked in surprise. Pink? The next thing she knew, the hooded figure had rolled off her and the wolf was towering above her, teeth bared.

A man’s voice rang out, angry.

“Who are you working for?!”

The question caught Meredith by surprise.

“What?!”

“We know you ordered the sword!”

“I didn’t—”

“We have paperwork - with your initials on it! You had the sword - the sword that killed the queen - the sword that framed Ballister, that got him killed…” The man’s voice broke.

Meredith tried to look at the source of the voice, but the wolf growled at the slightest movement. The man found his voice again, wavering as it was.

“I should turn you in now. There’s enough evidence here. That’ll be enough to prove his innocence, and then… then…”

The wolf spoke in a female voice.

“Hey, keep it together man. We’ve got an interrogation here.”

Meredith, fully bewildered by now, broke in.

“I didn’t do it! They ordered the sword in my name and then burned down my lab when I said I wouldn’t put the blaster in it! …. I can show you the emails!”

The man sank to his knees next to her. Meredith got a look at his face.

“Wait, you’re the Goldenlocks guy!”

Ambrosius didn’t bat an eye.

“Yeah. Something like that.”

“Ohhh no… I- I didn’t do anything wrong! I swear I thought I was designing mining equipment! Good Gloreth I talk too much…”

“Why didn’t you say something after they arrested Ballister?”

“I thought he was the one who’d ordered the sword! I- I didn’t want to get in any more trouble!” Meredith blinked several times under her glasses. “They already killed my friends in the fire…”

There was a long silence. Then the wolf spoke again.

“You think she’s telling the truth?”

“Not all of it.” Ambrosius turned back to Meredith. “You said there were emails. Show me.”

Meredith hesitated.

“Ah, you see, I don’t have my work email on my phone - I use my laptop for that. And I left that at home.”

Silence. Meredith spoke again.

“So if you could let me go….”

“We found this at your old lab.” Ambrosius said, holding up the misplaced storage key.

Meredith’s eyes grew wide. Ambrosius pocketed the key and continued.

“Meet us at the library. We’ll be in a study room under the name ‘Goldenlocks’. Bring the laptop. Otherwise I toss the key and give the sword invoice to Security.”

“But… I have somewhere to be…”

“You have two hours.”

Meredith looked like she wanted to say something else, but thought better of it. She didn’t want to get on the bad side of a noble, much less a knight. She nodded instead.

The wolf backed up. Meredith scuttled backwards, grabbing her umbrella and getting to her feet. She paused to brush the water from her clothes.

"If I can ask... You said you thought Ballister was framed. Why? Didn't he confess to the murder?"

Ambrosius hesitated.

"I don't think that confession was from him. It didn't... sound like him."

Meredith gave an unimpressed “Oh,” then flicked her umbrella open and hurried back to the street. Still in the alley, Nimona shifted back to dog form, suddenly dry as she ducked under an overhang. Ambrosius turned away, rubbing his eyes. Nimona looked up at him.

“You okay, boss?”

Ambrosius didn’t look at her.

“… It was just yesterday. They published the confession at noon, and he was dead before sunset.” He leaned back against the wall. “I didn’t even get to see him...”

Nimona sat next to him, pressing her furry head under his hand. Ambrosius reflexively ran his fingers through her fur, appreciating the softness. He cracked the faintest smile. So that was what having a dog was like.

Next Chapter

[hawthxrnerps]

{ @p3cc4tum continued from ask.}

M / M GIF SMUT STARTERS PT 2. [ CLICK FOR NSFW INSPO ]

Maddox was a simple guy at heart - when he saw a hot guy, there was little reason for him to be shy or subtle about what he wanted, and with his libido, most of the time what he wanted was to get fucked. Of course that was easier said than done sometimes, as not everybody was as constantly horny as him, but if he'd learned one thing, it was that few guys could resist a hot piece of ass no matter the circumstances. Being at the gym wasn't an exception. He'd decided to go for a workout a bit later at night than usual, finding the place mostly empty except for a really handsome stud, one Maddox found himself instantly eyeing over as he started squatting. Not the type to be shy, he quickly made eye contact with the stranger, introducing himself to the guy - Preston, apparently - and asked if the other could spot him. The physical closeness often was enough to make the sexual chemistry ignite, and indeed, one thing quickly led to another, just like Maddox had anticipated. They didn't make it far, the influencer finding himself naked on some mats in the empty gym, eyes rolling back in pleasure as he felt the other's tongue diving between his thick cheeks and probing into his entrance. "Fuuuck, yeah, feast on that hole", he groaned, reaching for Preston's bicep, feeling up the other's muscles and purring in approval. "Gotta admit, this is definitely my favorite way to burn calories."

Preston had a certain reputation wherever he went, the kind of man to just use men and toss them aside when he was bored. He wouldn't even deny it really, but in his mind it was how he dealt with being the heir to one of the biggest companies in the world. So, along with his training, he'd scope out any guy who would even glance his direction and bet himself a record on how long it'd take him to get them naked. With how charming he could be, and even how forward he was, it often wasn't very long at all.

So he had been at the gym, working up a sweat with boxing, his eyes wandering around the place and they had fallen to Maddox. When the man approached him he flashed him a smile. It didn't take long, thankfully, for the pair to move past beating around the bush, Preston liked men who were straight forward with what they wanted, it was something they could share after all. So he had roughly pulled the others coverings away, granting him view and access to that waiting hole of it.

What better way to work up a sweat than this? His grin hadn't went away, his tongue going crazy at Maddox's hole, tasting the man in every way he could, eating him out like his sheer life depended on it. All the while, his hands held a firm grip of the man's body, keeping him where he wanted him to be.

Pulling back, he grinned, wiping a layer of saliva from his lips.

"Oh I'm keeping you all night." Without elaborating, he's right back to it.