#Fics had me convinced this was really private and only Batman was there to see what dick did

[frogaroundandfindout]

The joker is given CPR then Dick faces what he’s done and realizes he was happy about joker being dead.

(Joker: last laugh #6)

[yellowocaballero]

Percy Jackson meets a Landlord, a Tax Accountant, and a Tree Growing in Brooklyn

“Golduck, use hydro pump!” Percy whispered. He moved Golduck so he hit Batman on the chest, and then hit Batman a few more times for good measure. “Die, landlord!”

“Aren’t you a little old to be playing with toys?”

Percy almost fell out of his chair. 

He twisted his torso around, looking behind him with wide eyes. But the only person there was a white girl, no older than him. She was wearing a really severe expression to match her tight little blonde ponytail, and she was carrying a clipboard in both hands. There was a piece of string tacked to the clipboard, with a pen tied around one end. She looked like she asked the school librarian if she could help shelve books. 

Percy decided instantly that she hated him, so he decided to hate her back. 

“Aren’t you a little young to be doing your taxes?” Percy sneered. “Buzz off.”

That made her mad. The girl’s angelic little chubby face twisted in rage, and her grip on the clipboard turned threatening. “I’m accounting the chores! And I could do taxes if I wanted!”

“Yeah?” Percy asked, unimpressed. “Name one tax.”

“Sales tax,” the girl said instantly. 

Damn. She got that one.  

Short fic that I am considering extending into a much, much longer fic. Thank you Ami for the translation of the card (I would definitely translate it yourself, it’s important). The entire backstory and premise of the AU isn’t immediately apparent, but if I extend the fic it’ll be more explained (spoiler: Luke Castellan, age 14, said fuck Olympus and moved all of Camp Half-Blood into Brooklyn to live in a child-run utopia). I haven’t reread Percy Jackson since I was 10, I barely remember anything that happens or any of the characters, so don’t expect much - but aren’t the best children’s novels the children’s novels that live in our head, anyway?

Rest under the cut. 

2005

180 Olive Apartments was a dump. Batman said so.

Batman felt very strongly about this, and as a result Percy did too. It was not Percy’s own, private, personal opinion. Batman informed Percy that the apartment complex was shabby, gross, not in Staten island, and smelled weird. Batman made a very convincing argument that they should live in Staten Island instead, which Percy had done his best to relay to Mom. Mom hadn’t been impressed. 

“This is the best place for us, Percy,” Mom had said, with that pinched look on her face. It was the ‘Percy’s Making My Life Really Hard’ face. Percy had been seeing that face a lot lately. “Let’s just try to make this work, please?”

There was no ‘best place’ for them, and Percy and Batman knew that. But that was another thing Mom didn’t want to hear. 

So Percy had suffered in stoic silence as Mom dragged him out of the motel, made him miss the new episode of Pokemon, and forced him to ride the subway forty minutes into smelly Brooklyn so he could sit in this smelly chair outside of some smelly office in a smelly apartment. From inside the office, Percy could hear the faint rise and fall of voices: Mom’s, light and lyrical and very polite to people who were not Percy; and some landlord guy. His voice was really light and high too, but he was probably a real jerk.

Percy was so bored he could die. He sat up on his knees, turning around so he could prop his elbows against the dusty windowsill with grimy frosted glass. He plopped Batman down on the dirty windowsill, smearing his chipped feet through the tracks of dust. Parkour. He unzipped his pocket and grabbed his slightly dusty Golduck rubber toy, putting it in front of Batman. Golduck was from McDonald’s, so it had a bad attitude. 

Percy waggled Batman. You have a bad attitude, Golduck. You can’t live in my house anymore, because you get water all over the tile and you make the wood go bad. 

Golduck jiggled when Percy shook him. It wasn’t Golduck’s fault that the water went everywhere! Water just goes places sometimes. Golduck was a water type, so water followed him around and got into wood and made the wood go bad and made other people mad at him. It’s not Golduck’s fault, so don’t make him move!

I don’t want to hear it, Batman said. I’m going to make you live in a crummy motel and make your Mom go on a lot of boring websites looking for new places to live. The motel’s bananas are going to taste weird. Mom’s going to cry a lot. And it’ll be all your fault because you’re a bad kid. 

“Golduck, use hydro pump!” Percy whispered. He moved Golduck so he hit Batman on the chest, and then hit Batman a few more times for good measure. “Die, landlord!”

“Aren’t you a little old to be playing with toys?”

Percy almost fell out of his chair. 

He twisted his torso around, looking behind him with wide eyes. But the only person there was a white girl, no older than him. She was wearing a really severe expression to match her tight little blonde ponytail, and she was carrying a clipboard in both hands. There was a piece of string tacked to the clipboard, with a pen tied around one end. She looked like she asked the school librarian if she could help shelve books. 

Percy decided instantly that she hated him, so he decided to hate her back. 

“Aren’t you a little young to be doing your taxes?” Percy sneered. “Buzz off.”

That made her mad. The girl’s angelic little chubby face twisted in rage, and her grip on the clipboard turned threatening. “I’m accounting the chores! And I could do taxes if I wanted!”

“Yeah?” Percy asked, unimpressed. “Name one tax.”

“Sales tax,” the girl said instantly. 

Damn. She got that one. Percy just rolled his eyes instead, sitting back down on his seat and stuffing his toys in his cargo pocket. He couldn’t help but feel a little embarrassed, even if he knew that he wasn’t too old to play with Batman and Golduck. What did tax accountants know, anyway. 

The girl sniffed, and made a show of inspecting the grimy windowsill and carefully making a note on her clipboard. Her pen had a pom-pom at the end. Percy bet she made hearts over the top of her ‘i’s. 

“Nick’s been slacking,” the girl muttered threateningly. “I’m surrounded by incompetents.”

“Why is it Nick’s job to clean the leasing office?” Percy asked, unimpressed. “Don’t you have a janitor for that?” Was Nick the janitor? If this pinched-face little girl was harassing cleaning staff then Percy was going to file a complaint.

But the girl just looked surprised, as if the idea of having a janitor was foreign and strange. “No janitor would even make it through the doors.” But then her eyes narrowed, as if a thought just occurred to her. “Wait. How did you…”

However Percy did what, he would never know. The door to the leasing office cracked open, and Percy scrambled off his seat in excitement. The girl stood stiffly at attention, clipboard on her hip, as Mom stepped out of the office. She looked very tired, but weirdly relieved.

There was a man right behind her, just as white and blonde as the girl. Percy wasn’t surprised: he could pick out a real ‘daughter-of-the-manager’ type right away. The man didn’t look like every other landlord Percy had ever seen - no moustache, for one - and he didn’t look old enough for the part anyway. He wasn’t old, but he definitely wasn’t an elementary schooler. He had a broad, honest face, but he was too muscular and strong looking and landlordey to be trustworthy. 

 Percy decided the weird landlord, with a mop of yellow hair like golden thread and a scary eyebrow with one long scar cutting straight through, was twenty five years old. Clearly the result of nepotism in the landlord industry.

Mom smiled when she saw Percy, who quickly pasted on his most innocent expression. Her eyes caught on the girl, who was glaring daggers at him. The landlord’s eyes caught on Percy’s own wrinkled nose. “Percy, good! Are you making friends?”

It was not an innocent question. It was a ‘please don’t ruin this for me too, Percy’ question. It was a ‘I’m very tired and I need you not to make things hard’ question. Percy was well acquainted with them. But maybe the girl was too, because when the landlord looked at the girl she also abruptly quailed. “I hope you’re being a good host, Annabeth.”

The unfortunately named Annabeth and Percy glanced at each other in silent and instant understanding. 

“Yeah, Annabeth’s really fun!” Percy said instantly. He was not going to ruin this for Mom again. Or, at least, he would try to hold off ruining it for her as long as possible. Even if this stupid apartment wasn’t in Staten island. “She was telling me about -”

“Taxes!” Annabeth said smoothly, a much better liar than Percy. “And Percy was telling me about Batman.”

They both looked very cute and very low matinence on command, the perfect picture of children who did not make their moms live in motels. 

Percy was rewarded when Mom smiled in relief. She put a hand on Percy’s shoulder, squeezing tightly. “I’m so glad. Percy, this is Mr. Castellan. Why don’t you say hi?”

“Hi Mr. Castellan,” Percy said obediently. “My name’s Percy Jackson, I’m in third grade.”

The landlord smiled at him with closed and tight lips, but it was Annabeth who spoke in interest. “Percy like Percival, King Arthur’s knight who searched for the Holy Grail?”

Uh, whatever? “Percy like the Greek hero Perseus,” Percy said shortly. “But I’m not Greek. My Grandma was from Guadalajara.”

Annabeth’s eyes widened. She glanced at the landlord, whose expression was impossible to read. “Are you sure?”

“I know where my own grandmother is from!”

“She didn’t say that you didn’t, sweetie,” Mom said, and Percy guiltily shut up. “Percy, why don’t you and Mr. Castellan talk in his office for a little while? I have to fill out some paperwork, and I think you two have a lot to talk about.”

Percy looked up at her with wide eyes. Mom never left him alone with strangers. And paperwork already? “Are we moving in today?”

“You two talk for a bit,” Mom said firmly. “I’ll be right back.”

When Percy was pushed into Mr. Castellan’s office it felt more like he was a Roman Christian being tossed into the lion’s den in punishment for heresy. And when Mom settled him into an uncomfortable and weird-smelling chair in front of the teetering desk and kissed him on the temple before leaving the office, he abruptly felt like he had jumped into Grandma’s book of Bible Stories. 

Mr. Landlord’s office was as dirty and run-down as the rest of the complex. The big box AC rattled with clinks and whirrs as it shuddered against the sticky summer heat, and the landlord’s desk was covered in thick stacks of paper and chewed-up pencils. When he sat back down behind the stained wood, the chair seemed just a little too big for him. He sunk strangely in it, the vinyl flaking off and floating into the ground. There were a lot of crayon drawings taped to the wall, and there was a light dusting of crumpled post-it notes on the ground. 

Mr. Landlord tried to smile at Percy. Tried being the operative word: when he smiled it was too thin and without teeth, more pained than reassuring. It didn’t reach his watery blue eyes. 

Percy hunched on the rickety chair. This guy set off every alarm bell he had, which was plenty. And no, it wasn’t just because he was a guy, Ms. Brown. For added security and self defense, Percy casually slid a capped ballpoint pen on the old desk in front of him into his sleeve. Batman was always prepared, and Percy was too. He can hack up any creepy guy and protect Mom any day of the week. 

The landlord smiled wider, even worse. “Sorry, I forgot to introduce myself. My name’s Luke Castellan, and I’m the supervisor here. Running into Annabeth first thing’s pretty bad luck, huh?” At Percy’s unimpressed eyebrow, he quickly added, “Annabeth keeps the whole place running, really. She’s...pretty convinced that this complex rests on her eight year old back, so she’s a little stressed out all the time. If she gets frustrated at you, don’t take it personally, okay?”

So she does help shelve books. Percy was a keen judge of character. “Why does she do it? You can’t make her be the superintendent. That’s child labor.”

Luke Castellan stared at Percy unblinkingly. He blinked about as often as a snake, but five times as quickly: as if he didn’t want to let you out of his sight for even a second. Finally, he said, “I’m fifteen.”

Percy gave Mr. Luke the stink-eye, clearly communicating that he did not trust even fifteen year olds (who were high schoolers, and even less trustworthy than adult-adults) as far as he could throw them. Especially fifteen year olds like Luke: who were too tall, with too-mature eyes and a particularly unhappy expression. Percy communicated perfectly that there was nothing trustworthy about this family of juvenile landlords, but he was just too polite to say so. 

But that just made Mr. Luke sigh, as if he was tired instead of angry. “Annabeth’s my...ward, I guess. I just look after her. But she doesn’t like being looked after, so she makes up for it by looking after everyone else. I’m not saying I do a good job.”

He’s a landlord and he has a ward? Percy finally perked up. “So you’re like Batman?”

Mr. Luke stared at him unblinkingly, before finally saying, “Yes, except Batman doesn’t have superpowers.”

Percy had the sense he was being made fun of. “You don’t have super powers,” he accused, crossing his arms. “Nobody has super powers.”

Mr. Luke smiled, wan and weak. “Not even you, Percy?”

Percy froze. 

Five seconds too late, Percy made himself laugh stupidly. People were quick to believe that Percy was stupid, and sometimes Percy helped them think that. It got him out of trouble sometimes - not always, but enough that it was useful. “If I had superpowers, I’d run super fast everywhere just like the Flash!”

But Mr. Luke just hummed, and flipped through some of the papers in a folder in front of him. Percy abruptly began sweating. Mom had given him those papers. They were records. This was like every time a principal had drawn up ‘proof’ against him in a court of law. “Your mom said that you both had to move out of your Queens apartment because it flooded.”

“I didn’t unscrew the taps,” Percy said reflexively. “They just came loose! I didn’t even touch them! I didn’t touch the boiler either!”

“The boiler?” Mr. Luke flipped back a few pages. “Oh, right. Your school.”

Percy slouched in his seat and folded his arms across his chest, stewing. He always sounded guiltiest when he denied it. He should go back to playing dumb. Pretend that he had no idea what water was. He had gotten away with it when he was six during that one birthday party at the aquarium, but something about being a third grader meant that people expected that you have basic observational skills. 

It was stupid. There was no way to win. If he said that he didn’t do it then he sounded guilty. If he tried to point out how it was impossible for him to break the boiler and destroy the gym or whatever, using facts and logic and a rhetorical argument like the Youtube videos taught him, then they just told him he was making excuses. Sometimes Percy had the impression that everybody just wanted him to supervillain cackle like the Joker and brag about how terrible he was. Maybe he’d give that a shot once he entered middle school. It seemed like an evil teenage thing to do. 

Percy Jackson was a liar, a thief, a cheat, a menace, and a bad kid. There was nothing more to be: not for someone like Percy. 

But Mr. Luke didn’t threaten him, or give him ‘one last chance’ or anything. He just leaned forward, hands folded on the desk. His thumb was worrying at a small starburst scar on his hand, betraying a strange nervousness. 

“Percy, can I talk to you man-to-man?”

Percy, who did not like men, squinted at Mr. Luke suspiciously. “Why.”

“Because this isn’t a topic for a kid. It’s a topic that...kills children, and turns them into little adults. I wish I didn’t have to broach it with you. But I think that you haven’t been a kid for a long time, Percy, and I don’t want to insult you by pretending otherwise.” Mr. Luke frowned, and Percy found himself involuntarily straightening. What was he talking about? “You were right. There was no way for you to have flooded your apartment, much less twice. There was no way for you to ruin your gym, or damage that aquarium. Much less...everything else in your file. No kid is that much of a miniature hurricane when he isn’t even trying. It sucks. It’s not your fault. And now your Mom’s credit score is so bad that she can’t afford another apartment. If it wasn’t for the fact that she saw our really generous listing in the paper, she would have had to move you two away from her home.”

She was thinking of moving them both to New Jersey. Percy’s lips tightened, and he knew that Mr. Luke saw it. 

“This is an apartment building that provides shelter to a lot of special cases, just like you. It’s...full of kids who break things when they don’t mean to. Kids with a parent couldn’t handle them, or who couldn’t protect them. We have a lot of ways to keep families like yours safe, and to give you a home.”

Percy stared at Mr. Luke. He seemed deadly serious, as serious as anybody had ever been to Percy, despite the crazy stuff he was saying. Safe? Safe from what?

Safe from those weird, giant dogs that chased Percy and tore off half his jeans? Safe from that old lady in the deli with the slobbering bag and beady eyes? Safe from broken water pipes, from ruined floors and busted walls, from Percy himself? 

Finally, all Percy could think to ask was, “How do you know that I’m a special case?”

“Because not just anyone could see that listing,” Mr. Luke said. “And - uh, no offense - but you are one of the most obviously inhuman children I’ve met in my life.”

Percy’s jaw dropped in complete, unadulterated rage, and without even stopping to think through his actions he withdrew the ballpoint pen from his pocket. He uncapped it, fully intending on doing something dramatically yet harmlessly violent with it, but he didn’t get the chance. 

The ballpoint pen turned into a gleaming bronze and silver sword. Percy screamed. Percy fell out of his chair. Percy did not get the opportunity to look cool and dangerous at all.

****

And now Percy had Greek god stuff to worry about!

Didn’t Percy have enough problems? He couldn’t stay in a school, they couldn’t keep an apartment, their new landlord didn’t blink enough, and now he was the kid of a Greek god? Apparently he had been spending his entire life running from monsters and he just hadn’t noticed? That explained the stupid scary dog!

Percy knew much more about Greek gods than the average kid, since Mom was a huge fan. Yeah, Mom! Apparently you were a big fan! Jesus, Mom!

What’s this dumb stuff about Poseidon! That had freaked out Mr. Luke, and made him ask a lot of questions like ‘are you sure’ and ‘there’s a lot of minor gods who like to pass themself off as someone more impressive to mortals’. Then Annabeth, who had been listening at the door like a sneak and who ran in all heroically when he almost accidentally stabbed Mr. Luke, freaked out and called his mom a liar. His mom!

Then Percy tried to stab her with his new sword. Mom made Percy apologize for trying to stab Annabeth. Mr. Luke made Annabeth apologize for insulting Percy’s mother. Percy was beginning to worry that he and Annabeth may be mortal enemies. 

Mr. Luke had tried explaining a bunch of stuff about monsters and ‘the Sight’ and why Percy’s life was terrible to him, but Percy already knew his life was terrible and he wasn’t interested. Percy ended up furiously swinging his new sword at a tree outside as Mom signed a bunch of forms and talked with Mr. Luke some more, but she hustled him home pretty quickly afterwards. 

Percy didn’t give the sword back. Mr. Luke, wisely, did not ask for it back.

Mom kept on making a face on the subway back to the motel like she had been waiting her entire life for Percy to ask all of these questions, and she was preparing herself for it. She kept on glancing at him out of the corner of her eye, watching Percy kick his feet against the hard plastic seat. It was obvious. But Percy didn’t have anything to say to her. They spent the rest of the day in silence, just focusing on packing up and getting everything ready to move. Jacksons were practical, Mom said. 

Jacksons were practical. Percy was practical, too. It was only in the deep pits of night, as Percy lay in bed holding up his sword and watching it reflect the soft lamplight above the creaky wooden table where Mom was doing work, that he asked. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

The sword was really cool. It was pure bronze, with the middle gleaming pure silver. There was some Greek writing inscribed down the center that Percy had no idea how to read, although he had spent an hour scouring the internet looking for a translation. The handle was tough white cord, stiff and starchy but fraying a little at the edges. 

Mr. Luke said it was named something, but Percy forgot what it was. He had been a bit busy almost impaling the guy. 

Mom’s fingers froze over the keyboard. Her back was turned to him, so he couldn’t see her face, but her spine was stiff and rigid. 

Finally, after a long silence, she said, “I didn’t want you to think that there was anything different about you.”

“So what?” Percy asked, his eyes pricking rebelliously. Stupid water. “You let me think that I was a bad person who ruined your life?”

“Percy, no!” Mom turned around, expression crumpled. The dim light showed the heavy bags under Mom’s eyes in sharp relief. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, baby. None of this is your fault, you understand? That’s what this business with your father means: that none of it was your fault. That’s all it means.”

If that was true, Percy thought, then why couldn’t she have told him before?

But Percy was afraid that if he said that, then he would start crying, and Percy was way too old to cry. Only weak little babies cried. 

“I’m sorry my dad’s a loser who ruined your life, Mom,” Percy said.

“Percy…”

But Percy refused to answer her, putting his sword down next to him and pretending to go to sleep. He kept it next to him in bed all night, gripping its hilt tight, and the firm and cool pressure of the steel in his hand soothed him when the thought of a father didn’t. 

***

They moved in the next day.

The next day! Percy was livid. He barely had any time to pack up his toys into his backpack, and Mom didn’t even have time to help him back up his blue Spider-man suitcase. He had to do it all by himself, and then Mom came in and told him he was folding everything up wrong and that he had to redo it. If she had so many problems with it, she should have helped him and gave him more than one day to move out of their dumb motel! 

When people moved on TV there were always moving vans and buff dudes in baseball caps. But Percy was much better at moving then any of those idiots: all it took was a suitcase (of clothes and toiletries and stuff) and a backpack (of toys and school supplies and stuff). 

Percy’s backpack had the Power Rangers on it, in glossy plastic. Its contents were always the same, through every move: Batman, Golduck, Bulbasaur, Blue Eyes White Dragon, Raphael, a stegosaurus with a missing tail named Hedward, and a little book full of pictures of him and his mom and some cards and stuff. There was a picture of him and Grandma in the apartment in Staten Island that he lived in until he was six, and a 5th birthday card she had given him six months before she died. Written inside, in her looping and faded script, was a sentence Percy had read over and over and over again. ‘Tu angel de la guarda trabaja horas extra por tí. Así que acuérdate de decirle gracias ¿Sí, mi niño?'’

Percy was inclined to agree with her. God should pay his guardian angel overtime. That, or pay one to go to Olympus and collect child support.

The image was funny to Percy - the idea of his angel with her wings and halos showing up at Poseidon’s door and tapping her watch as she held out her hat. It was so funny, it was the first thing he told Mr. Luke when they met him at the gates to the apartment complex. Mom was huffing behind him with her two suitcases, while Percy was busy juggling his own backpack, suitcase, and sword. 

Mr. Luke looked alarmed to see the both of them, although Mom had called ahead and arranged to meet him here. Worse, Annabeth was next to him, still holding a clipboard. She didn’t look alarmed, just mad. 

“Did you bring Riptide onto public transportation?” Annabeth squawked. “You have no sense of discretion!”

Was Riptide the name of the sword? Whatever. Percy would have named it Hurricane. “I know words you don’t know too, you don’t have to brag,” Percy said flatly. 

“Yeah, the gods are filthy little child support evaders,” Mr. Luke said easily, instantly endearing himself to Percy. Mom rolled her eyes as she put her suitcases down, but she was clearly fighting a smile. “Don’t worry, I dragged them to court. Sued them for all they’re worth.”

“How on earth did you do that?” Mom asked, interested. 

“Trickery and rhetoric,” Annabeth said proudly.

“Swords,” Mr. Luke said. 

“What did you squeeze them for?” Percy asked, excited. 

Mr. Luke winked. And he still didn’t ask for his sword back. Maybe he wasn’t all bad. 

The apartment complex itself wasn’t nearly as big as a lot of Brooklyn complexes, looking more like the little apartment complexes in Queens that Percy was used to. It was three separate three-story buildings arranged in a square, with one side holding the small leasing office and a parking lot. It was open-air, with the apartment doors opening directly outside. There was a really big courtyard in the center, and despite himself Percy got a little excited.

It was awesome. There was a huge, sprawling tree right in the center of the courtyard. It was gigantic, bigger than any tree Percy had ever seen in his life. It seemed like it didn’t even belong in New York, like it was a transplant from the California Redwoods or Canada or something. Its leaves were waving in a nonexistent breeze, and something about it just seemed so magical and otherworldly to Percy. 

But that was only half of the awesome things. The other awesome thing was that there were kids everywhere.

The tree provided shade to a couple scattered gangs of kids, sitting around and laughing. There was a rusty set of monkey bars, which some kids were playing on, and there was a big dirt rectangle where other kids were hitting each other on the head with wooden plastic swords. There were groups of girls eating lunch, and a gang of boys playing soccer in the corner that made Percy immediately want to jump in and play too. Percy dominated at soccer. 

“The East and South buildings are where we all live,” Annabeth informed Mom. “The West building is where the training rooms and storage rooms and administrative rooms - that’s my office - and everything is. It also has guest units for the local spirits that like to visit. We just had ten Bacchae stay for a week. They were backpacking to Woodstock. We have very good inter-community relationships here.”

“That’s amazing,” Mom said faintly. Mr. Luke was smiling faintly, eyes fixed on the big tree. Percy found himself staring at Mr. Luke, watching with interest the soft but firm pride in his eyes. “Luke said that this property’s safe from…” 

She glanced at Percy quickly, cutting herself off. But Annabeth just huffed. 

“I almost got eaten by monsters twenty times when I was seven,” Annabeth informed Mom imperiously. “We’re not babies. Connor Stoll says if you’re old enough to get eaten by monsters then you’re old enough to know that they exist.”

Percy decided immediately that he liked Connor Stoll, and maybe even Annabeth too. 

“The tree protects us,” Luke said. “Wherever the tree is, we’re safe. Not even the gods date step foot beyond the leasing office here.”

“Because of the tree?” Mom asked. 

Luke smiled - sharp, piercing, and strange. “Sure, let’s say that.”

But Mom just frowned. She looked over the courtyard of kids - some of whom were already starting to whisper and stare. Annabeth waved at a gaggle of identically blonde children, and for the first time Percy wondered who she was the daughter of. Probably the bossiest god. Maybe Athena. Or, like, Hephaestus. Definitely Hephaestus. 

“You said that there’s nobody over eighteen here,” Mom said to Luke. “Luke, there’s a six year old on those monkey bars.”

“If you’re under thirteen, you live with someone over thirteen,” Luke said to her. Annabeth was still frowning in disapproval at Percy’s sword. He stuck his tongue out at her. “Two people to a unit, we try to pair the oldest with the youngest. Lucy lives with Henrique, he’s seventeen. It’s the best we can do.”

“Surely there has to be someone…?”

“Adults have never helped us. They never will.” Luke looked away sharply. “We’ve been in Brooklyn a year. You’re the first adult who’s made her way here. Most other parents with a kid as powerful as Percy would have -”

He cut himself off sharply, glancing at Percy, and Percy scowled up at him. He thought that Luke was being honest. Maybe he was just another old guy afraid to say what everybody else knew. 

“I’ll help Ms. Jackson settle in,” Annabeth said suddenly. She held out her hands to Percy, who reflexively hugged his luggage to his chest. “You guys are in unit 5. It’s on the bottom floor. If you flood it, then we can fix it okay. Give me your luggage, I’ll put it in your unit.”

Percy stared at her, overwhelmed with that simple signal of care. No threats about if he flooded it, no warnings or sickly sweet faux-concern. Just understanding, and acceptance. 

He silently gave her his bags. 

She seemed surprised when she felt how light they were. Percy shrugged awkwardly at her face, crossing his arms tightly around her chest. “Don’t touch my stuff, okay?”

“Sure,” Annabeth said, before pausing a beat. “We have a TV in our place. #1. Do you want to come over tonight and watch Winx Club?”

“Yeah,” Percy said, overwhelmed. “Sure.”

Mr. Luke put a hand on Percy’s back as Annabeth guided Mom to a corner unit. Percy couldn’t help but notice that the door to the unit was already propped open. Wait - there were people going in and out!

There was a tall, buff teenager, carrying two chairs underneath each arm. There was another group of three teenage girls, carrying a table between them. Two other younger kids were carrying boxes and laughing. They were bringing everything into the unit, and other younger kids were running in and out with cleaning supplies. 

From a distance, Percy saw Mom stop in her tracks. Annabeth tugged at her shirt and got her to bend down, whispering something in her ear. A boy with sandy brown hair ran up, taking Mom’s suitcases from her and bringing them into the unit. 

“Your Mom mentioned that you were missing some furniture,” Mr. Luke said. “The Hermes and Aphrodite kids all pitched in to get your home looking like a home. I hope you’ll like it.”

Percy clutched his sword to his chest, speechless. 

Mr. Luke smiled down at him, that same wan and weak smile, and put a hand on his back. He gently pushed Percy forward, towards the tree. “Come with me for a minute?”

They silently approached the sprawling, ancient tree. As they came closer, Percy could see that its bark was gnarled and knotted, with perfect handholds for climbing and perfect boughs for resting in the summer sun. He could already see a few kids resting in high boughs, taking a nap in the humid and sticky sun. 

“Percy, I’d like to introduce you to someone.” Mr. Luke’s voice was quiet, like he was in church. He looked up at the tree, peering far into the leaves as if he was trying to find something hidden within them. “This is Thalia. Thalia, this is Percy. He’s the newest member of the family. He’s also your cousin.”

Cousin? Percy looked up at Mr. Luke, eyes wide. “I’m related to a tree?”

Tilted up at the tree, Percy couldn’t see Mr. Luke’s expression. Maybe that was on purpose. “Thalia’s a kid, just like us. Daughter of Zeus. I used to think that she was the closest thing to an adult I knew, but...I’m as old as she is, now. I guess one day soon I’ll be older than she ever got to be.” 

Oh. The tree was, like, from the ashes of some dead girl. Awkward. Percy stared at the thick and arching roots of the tree, feeling weird.

“Thalia, please protect Percy. I can already tell that he’s going to grow up to be very strong and brave. Please help us make sure that Percy never has to be strong. That he’s never brave. I can already tell he’s going to need a lot of your help.” He looked down at Percy for the first time, and for the first time Percy could see just a little warmth in those icy blue eyes. “You’re going to have to work overtime for him. So make sure to say thank you, Percy. Okay?”

“Thank you, Thalia,” Percy said obediently. He bowed awkwardly, uncertain what to do. The sword scraped awkwardly against his thigh. “Thanks for letting me into your home.”

“Welcome home, Percy,” Mr. Luke said, and for the first time Percy almost believed it. 

[faakeid]

fab nygmobblepot moments that remind you of kd uwu

OMGGGG AHDAHDUIADHAD

I want to use this moment to be sorry to everyone that follows me but keeps seeing my blog full of Nygmobs/Smaylor instead of kaisoo. I usually don’t get attached to otps like this and it happened in an unexpected way for me. But it’s here and I need to compensate for all the years I didn’t watch Gotham and had no idea about Nygmobs spamming everyone and making my heart warm.

But in general, nygmobblepot isn’t a vision of ideal relationship. Both Edward and Oswald (their surnames Cobblepot and Nygma were the ones who originated this name) are stupid and do stupid shit to each other during most of the series. So, a lot of moments related with the actors counterpart (Robin is the actor who plays Oswald and Cory who plays Ed) reminds me of kaisoo more. But a warning here! Although they have a HUGE chemistry on and off screen, they’re mostly friends. Robin is married for almost ten years so it doesn’t mean their closeness is romantic or sexual. But still, some details remind me of kd.

Similarities with nygmobs:

Height difference: it applies to Smaylor as well because it’s their height but it’s really visible in the series. Cory is a bit taller than JI I think and Robin is like 1.65 but KS is not that taller (I can’t believe he’s 1.73 at all, sorry). But, again, this factor is evident during the series and in some moments and it’s cute.

(the way he moves his feet to reach Ed’s head ;_;)

(when they hug, Oswald barely reaches his shoulders [their hugs are the equivalent to kisses in Gotham])

the closest gif I could find where we can see kd’s height difference without me stealing other people’s gifs.

Penguin reference? That’s pretty obvious. Of course I didn’t start shipping nygmobs because one of them is small and has the Penguin nickname but it made so much easier for me to read some of their fics with kd as characters because they fit the profile so much! And also, I believe KD would totally fit the “murder husbands” couple if someone did a fanfic where they just kill everyone. The closest I remember of a fanfic with this criteria is Juice Pouche where Kyungsoo is a vampire and he protects Jongin and Jongin is kind of badass as well. But the kd fandom needs more fics like this. There’s also “(Before the night is over) come see me” where KS is also a vampire and JI a young werewolf but it focuses more on their relationship than a murder husbands idea Gotham shows so well. 

How they met: Gotham’s history has a lot of differences if you compare with other universes, so keep that in mind. In Gotham, Ed works with GCPD but doesn’t feel like himself with the good side. Oswald is the character that spices things up and is a rage of death and destruction and manipulation. But Oswald is infatuated with Jim Gordon (so isn’t the first time it’s implied Penguin is gay) but he goes to the police department to see him. Ed sees him and wants to talk to him no matter the cost. And he does that... And things don’t end that friendly for him because Oswald thinks he’s a weirdo and asks him to fuck off, basically. It reminded me of kd’s first meeting where KS was the one admiring JI all along but JI get frightned. But, during their second meeting, they bond and become friends. For Nygmobs it takes more time for their second meeting but they end up developing and being in good terms :’)

Their personas, sort of: Ed is the tall one, younger and logic. Oswald is the oldest, smaller and that thinks with his heart. I love how JI could show the more logic side of himself during the last few years and, again, while reading Nygmobs fics using kd names, it was easy to fit the profile for me (that was during the time I wasn’t too deep into nygmobs and I didn’t knok them that well. KS looks cold and deatached and that’s why many people got impressed when he said, during Knowing Bros that he would choose love over friendship. He doesn’t play the part but, considering all the context, it fits him pretty well and reading this description of Oswald made me so familiar because it fits KD well. Ofc I don’t know their private lives and whatever but it’s just the impression I had as a viewer and random person;

Drama issue: when I say drama here, it’s related with how people percieve the two OTPs and how different people visualize LGBT relationship in media. Nygmobblepot had a lot of drama involved because they’re the fucking Riddler and Penguin, two of the most famous Batman villains. People saw them in different sorts of media before and others idolize those characters because of videogames and comics. So, when Oswald mentioned expressedly that he was in love with Edward, it caused an uproar in the fandom. People accused the producers and Robin of messing with the comic canon because the fucking Penguin became gay??? Robin was outspoken about the homophobia behind those statements since he’s a gay man himself but yeah, the drama existed. Part of the people invovled with the series rooted for Nygmobblepot, including some writers and the actors (Cory was the one with ambiguous messages about the nature of their relationship but it’s not even close what happened with other series like Supergirl, Supernatural and Sherlock). But it was aired by FOX, a right wing channel and, as you may imagine, they didn’t become canon per se. Actually, after Oswald said he was in love with Ed and planned on confessing to him, the writers presented a clone of Ed’s ex girlfriend with no explanation and purpose, only to separate them for most part of the series future. After that, some people seemed to have FORGOTTEN Oswald was once in love with Edward, rationalizing many things that are hard to explain with a “bro explanation”, they had a scene where the characters would have evolved even more but it was CUTTED and CHANGED and execs added the sentence “we’re brothers” to make EXPLICIT that Nygmobblepot’s relationship wouldn’t be interpreted as a romance at the end of the series (but, honestly, the actors went for the romance path anyway, the deleted scenes and the final episode can’t convince me otherwise).

What’s related with KD, may you ask? I think you’re familiar with all the drama KD faced since 2016 and how many stuff exploded during that time. How many parts are involved into creating a certain image and shifting it to be appealing and “friendly” is similar with what happens with idols. It’s no secret now about many scandals of bullying and other issues that are considered problematic and how they need to be pushed under the rug for companies so idols can make money and be profitable. Especially for male idols, it’s important that they are viewed as desirable and an object of the fans affections. That’s why he needs to be handsome and kind and look like a person that doesn’t exist. If an idol is openly gay, this person isn’t viewed by the major public with the same interest because they can’t fit the fantasy. That’s why scandals involving idols being gay need to be forgotten and deleted from people’s minds, otherwise that celebrity is ostracized. Although we tend to see the Ocident as “progressive”, there’s similar things happening in that industry. If a celebrity is openly LGBT, they don’t receive certain roles or opportunities because of it. There’s still a huge stigma that needs to be broken and we, as a society, are so far way from it. But recognizing those differences exist it’s a step forward.

Similarities with Smaylor

For me, one of the reasons Nygmobblepot works so well is because of the actors. They portrait a good chemistry because of their friendship off screen and some non verbal signs they display around each other are amazing. Those are things that remind me more of KD as we see them in a lot of moments. So, I wanted space to show those comparisons below:

Mutual admiration: it’s something both Smaylor and KD display a LOT and is extrememly outspoken. I really love watching their old interviews because the affection and admiration is so genuine it makes me drawn to them despite not being romantically involved.

(full gifset)

(there are more moments than these but I don’t want to steal gifs and there’s not much on the gif research and that sucks. Same with KD’s).

Stares and touches: Robin was the responsible for the deep stares and Cory for the random touches. There’s so many gifs of it that is hilarious. It’s like JI divided himself in two cells because we know he’s more known for both >.<

(Cory was touching Robin all the way during this interview rip)

(the gifset!!!)

You’re pretty moment: Robin, like KS, is the one that mentions about Cory/JI’s physical attributes. They have a moment pretty similar and, for KD its famous among shippers:

(gif link)

(actually, Robin called Cory dashingly handsome but its okay)

Cory lost it

There’s another series of gifsets with Robin calling Cory handsome LMAOO

:))))

Synchronization: for specialists in body language, it’s a factor that shows two people are close. That’s because of the mirror neurons we have that makes us copy movements, actions or words that someone we have empathy/we are close with do or say. Both kd and smaylor do this and it’s really soft.

(one of the classics)

(classic 2)

whole gifset (i love this interview so much)

(gif)

The fact the actors came up with their OTP names: people tend to forget that KD’s real otp name (according with Jongin) is dika. Cory also came up with Nygmobblepot name and Smaylor too <3

So, meanwhile Nygmobs has thropies that work a lot with KD AUs, Smaylor has healthy dynamics seen in public appearances KD made. Like I said above, there’s a huge polemic about shipping Smaylor romantically because Robin is married. On social media, is visible he loves his husband and it’s pretty cute to see. Cory himself mentioned that their relationship was sort of a platonic friendship (whatever that means) but it’s really genuine in terms of affections and display of admiration, something KD has as well.

Probably someone will question that it may changed the way I see KD or if now I ship them as bros. Nothing about that changed. With KD, although there are some similar details, there are internal AND external factors that made me support them in a romantic perspective in the first place. And it didn’t change. 

But both of them (Nygmobs too) make me feel that I’m testimoning something genuine, which is really hard in both kpop and media universes. In one side, we have a LOT of fanservice. And, in the other, it’s mostly a work interaction with lots of queerbating. Yes, Gotham has queerbating aspects in it but it’s not full of queerbating, if it makes sense. The message the actors and some writers wanted to convey are there and really display a romantic direction with character evolution and growth. And, considering the way media is nowadays, it’s nice to see.

[elareine]

the song better place by rachel platten and jay/dick or maybe just some jay-centric bat fam. hope this prompt works for you. love your fics <3

Thank you <3 That’s a very JayDick song, but I love writing batfam, too, so... have both. 

Steph took one look at Jason’s old-new room and pronounced: “You need to redecorate.”

“No shit.”

“Let’s go.”

Which was how Jason found himself in Ikea of all places. She even dragged a flustered-looking Tim with her, who proved to be supremely unhelpful when it came to curtain color (“I don’t think either red or purple will look good with those walls,” bullshit) but very willing to hand over his credit card. It was… fun. The room felt less like a tomb when Steph was done with it, which was great.

He told her that.

“Well, duh.” She grinned. “No one in this house knows how to decorate for shit. You should see what Tim did with his bedroom…”

Jason spent a minute considering his options. “Anime girls?”

“Nope.”

“Superman posters.”

“Nope, but I like the way you’re thinking.”

“Bad Picasso replicas.”

“Nooo,”

“I give up.”

“He did…” Steph paused dramatically. “Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“Nothing. It still looks like it did in the eighties.”

Jason laughed, and she looked gratified. “Sounds terrible.”

They kept working on the bookshelf. Ikea was great for those; that’s why they went there in the first place. Well, that and the look on Bruce’s face when he saw the boxes.  

After a minute, Jason asked: “So… are you seeing a lot of Tim’s bedroom, then?”

“Yeah. So what?” She glared at him, which he was starting to realize was a sure sign that she was embarrassed.

“So nothing. Didn’t know that was happening again, that’s all.”

It took her a minute, but she softened. “Yeah. I… guess we’re giving it a second chance.”

“That’s cool,” he told her sincerely. “I mean, you could clearly do better, but he damn well knows what he’s got now.”

“Hmm.” Steph was hiding behind the shelf she was holding up, but he could still tell she was pleased. “So how about your own second chance, huh?”

…damn, he’d walked right into that one. “Shut up.”

—

“Home invasion in sector 6R. Three 1Cs, suspected armed. Neighbors reporting shots, five people in the house. Hood, you’re closest.”

Jason had already changed course. “I’m on it.”

He waited—this was the point where Batman would send a Robin or two after him, maybe even Nightwing or himself, “just as back-up.” There was no way they would let him operate as part of the team without close supervision for at least a year. Jason was determined to grit his teeth and bear it, even if he wasn’t sure for how long he could. He was chafing already, running like this with the others when he’d been on his own for so long.  

However, Bruce only confirmed that he’d heard him, and then the line went silent.

Huh.

—

There was no better time to be awake in the manor than the early morning in Jason’s opinion. The light fell softly into the kitchen as he entered, barefoot and in his pajamas.

Alfred was there, of course. “Good morning, Jason.”

It was their private ritual; had been even before Jason had moved back into the fold. Six a.m., tea and sandwiches. The only difference was that now, Jason hadn’t vanished by the time Damian stomped into the kitchen, glowering at them for being awake and having the audacity to send him to school.

It was kinda adorable, not that Jason would ever tell him that. Instead, he watched Damian make his way through his own breakfast and nodded toward the packed lunch waiting for him. “I see you’re not taking advantage of the school cafeteria, then?”

“Them?” The amount of scorn Damian managed to pack into a single word would have weighed down a ship or two. “They would not know good food if it chased after them with a sword.”

“Let me guess—still only three spices, and these are salt, pepper, and ketchup?” Jason asked.

“I believe there is a fourth one now—they have a particularly intolerable mixture that they like to label ‘Chinese.’” Damian’s whole face scrunched up with distaste. “It tastes nothing like what Mother used to cook.”

“While I am sorry to hear that,” Alfred inserted, “we will be late if we don’t leave soon.”

Damian grumbled but hopped off his chair. Jason glanced at the clock — seven a.m. Dick would get up soon. Might as well make him a sandwich, too.

He pulled the ingredients closer, already compiling a list of recipes in his head. Talia had shown him how to make most of Damian’s favorites. He could teach those to Alfred, no problem.

—

“Hood. Stop it right now.” Dick looked at him with big eyes, or so Jason assumed, considering they were both wearing their masks.

“No, continue.” Barbara sounded choked, audibly forcing down laugher.

And, hey. Love was one thing, but Jason knew who gave him the best intel night after night. “So big bird and B decide that they have to infiltrate this organization, right? Only… they’re all swingers…”

Her laughter was brighter than the streetlights.

—

Jason stepped into the corridor and silently closed the door behind him.

God, but it had taken a long time to get Dick tired and ready to sleep. Jason himself was still feeling too wired to pass out, but then he wasn’t operating on a 40-hour sleep deficit, so it was totally not the same thing.

He decided to wander down to the cave. Bruce was still up, of course, acknowledging Jason’s presence with a grunt. The only other person present was Tim, who was bent over some files.

…like, really bent over them. One could almost think…yup, he’d fallen asleep at the table.

Jason gently poked him. Then he harshly poked him. When nothing happened, he sighed and moved one arm under Tim’s legs, the other gripping his shoulders. The kid would fuck up his back if he stayed like that. It took a bit of effort, but they were soon making their way up the stairs, Tim cradled securely in Jason’s arms.

They’d almost made it upstairs when Tim stirred, blue eyes opening halfway and looking at him.

Heart in his throat, Jason waited. This family had a bad habit of coming awake swinging, and with Jason hovering over them… well, it wouldn’t be entirely unjustified, wouldn’t it? Especially in Tim’s case.

Tim grumbled and went right back to sleep.

—

Jason pinched his nose. Or tried to, but he was wearing his helmet, so he basically poked himself in the face. Judging from Duke’s expression, that wasn’t helping his point.

“So you decided to buy us time by…”

“Ninja traps,” Cassie finished for him. Looking as if that made total sense.

“Ninja traps.”

“Well, it was more of an obstacle course, really,” Duke added helpfully.

“Okay, that’s a weird-ass move, but I can respect that. Then why did that warehouse explode?”

“Fire.” Cassie’s expression gave nothing away.

Jason looked to Duke. “What she said.”

“And the fire was there because…?”

“Fire is an obstacle.”

Jason groaned. “I cannot believe I’m the responsible person here,” he lamented. “Is this how you feel most of the time, D?”

There was laughter over the com. “Oh, Nightwing has finally acquired a co-parent,” Steph commented, followed by Tim’s: “About time.”

(Everyone ignored Bruce’s “Hey!”.)  

—

“Jason.”

Bruce was hovering. He probably didn’t intend to it; it just came naturally. Jason still felt that nervous lurch in his stomach whenever Bruce did that, but he was trying to get over it, so he just asked: “Yeah?”

“Let me show you something.”

They went into one of the rooms behind Bruce’s office that Jason had always assumed held nothing but files. He was very wrong.

“After you… left, I found myself reading books and thinking—he would’ve loved that.”

The walls were lined with bookcases. There were special editions of Jane Austen reprints, thick sci-fi novels, and nineteenth-century murder mysteries. It was eclectic and weird and precisely what Jason liked. What they both liked.

“I kept collecting them,” Bruce told him, voice too even. “Just… in case, I suppose.”

Jason stared at the shelves and shelves full of books, all read exactly once. His eyes were stinging because the glass display downstairs—that was bullshit. That uniform was about and for Bruce, and the new Robins, not Jason.

But this?

“Thank you,” he whispered.

Bruce almost-smiled, relief written across his face. “You’re welcome. Uh. I’ll leave you to it.”

Jason let him take two steps, then he said: “Bruce. If there was ever a time for a hug, this is it.”

“Oh. Right.”

Jason let Bruce pull him into an embrace—hugged back just as fiercely and told him: “It’s okay. You can stop grieving now. I’m here.”

If Bruce’s shoulders were shaking, neither of them mentioned it.

—

It was a total accident. Jason had felt like holding Dick’s hand, so he did. It was only when he looked up and caught Tim’s eye that he remembered—right. They were surrounded by Dick’s family. Their family.

Tim winked. The conversation didn’t stop. No one else commented or even gave them a second glance.

Something in Jason exhaled.

Dick squeezed his hand, smiling at something Damian was saying, and ugh, sometimes Jason was so full of feelings, he didn’t know what to do with it. Dick was just so—so—

Yeah. Jason was so fucking gone for him. All he could think about was how it would feel if there was a ring, there, pressing against his own.

He leaned back, adding a sarcastic comment or two to the conversation just to bask in the sunshine of Dick’s laughter. That thought warranted some serious consideration, not to mention talking to Dick, but—just the idea that he could have that? That he trusted himself, and Dick, and their family, enough to have that?

It was more than enough.

—

(Three days before Jason moved into the manor, Dick called a family gathering.

“Why is Jason not here, then?” Tim asked, frowning. “If it’s a family matter, it concerns him, too.”

Dick could kiss him for that. Instead he said: “Because it’s about him. I’m gonna lay down some ground rules, okay?”

Jason letting Dick convince him to move back in with them… that was huge. And dangerous. Dick had figured out long ago that Jay and Bruce had no idea how to handle each other anymore. Neither did the rest. That didn’t mean they didn’t want to. Dick was hopeful.

It was just… Jay was the best thing in Dick’s world; his support, his light, his conscience. He just made everything better. And Dick had no intentions of letting their family or anyone else fuck that up.)

(I’m taking prompts.)

[jadeile-writes]

Fanfic Writer Interview! Got tagged by @umbreonix

Not tagging other people, but feel free to consider yourself tagged if you want to do this.

How many works do you have on AO3? 

33. I also have 88 in ffnet (which includes 31 of the stories also found in Ao3), and a bunch of unpublished google docs too, as well as actual docs sitting in my laptop files.

What’s your total AO3 word count?

310,978. I once calculated the word count for the Finnish fics I have (only in ffnet) and it was 157,664, so if I add that to the count in Ao3 I end up with 468,642, which is... still not the true number, because I have a bunch of English fics that only exist in ffnet too, but ehhh... let’s say roughly 500k and call it a day.

How many fandoms have you written for and what are they?

19 fandoms iirc. All Hail King Julien, Avatar: The Last Airbender, Batman the Animated Series, Death Note, Dragonlance, Forgotten Realms, Fruits Basket, Fullmetal Alchemist, Hazbin Hotel, Hetalia - Axis Powers, Justice League, Legend of Zelda, Lemmings, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Naruto, One Piece, Pillars of Eternity, Pokémon, and Sonic the Hedgehog. Out of which Pokémon, Dragonlance, and AtLA aren’t available for public unless you know where to look, which you don’t.

What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Zora Courting (Sidlink); Shit, the Radio Demon is a part of my afterlife (Radiohusk); Lesson in Kissing (Sidlink), Hah, our afterlife is the most hilarious bushwa, dearest (Radiohusk); Touchy-feely (Sidlink).

Do you respond to comments, why or why not?

Sometimes. At one point I responded to every single one I received, but I got so many that it burnt me out and I stopped responding to any for a long time as a result. I recovered eventually and now I respond occasionally, when I feel like it - usually when someone leaves me a comment in practically every chapter of a longfic, or if someone leaves me a very long comment, or if someone asks me a question. Sometimes for no reason other than “I just really want to right now”.

What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

Blood in the alley (Husk&Alastor)

Do you write crossovers? If so, what’s the craziest one you’ve written?

Not usually. Adventure Gone Mini is the closest thing, but like... it’s the combination of two Zelda universes, so I’m not sure if it actually counts.

Have you ever received hate on a fic?

Yes, on one fic, and the comment actually amuses me rather than offends. The fic is a horror/gore fic that is marked M (E in Ao3) which means you have to specifically search for it, its genre is horror, the summary blatantly says it’s horror/gore, the actual *name* of the fic has the word “horror” in it, and still one person commented “W.T.F. sick psychopath” on it. To me that’s hilarious : D

Do you write smut? If so what kind?

I have privately written a few things, but I don’t publish any. Most of the time I’m way too repulsed to even think of writing smut, so I wouldn’t be able to handle seeing the fics in my daily kudos emails or receive comments on them on the reg.

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not to my knowledge.

Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yes, a few of them in a few different languages. Doesn’t count, but I’ve also translated some of my own fics from Finnish to English just cause I’ve felt like it.

What’s your all time favorite ship?

Can’t pick just one, because I’ve been at this for decades now and some OTPs just stick forever, so I’ll list a few. In no order: Gaara/Lee, Batman/Joker, Batman/Flash, Jarlaxle/Entreri, Kang/Slith, Snufkin/Moomin, Legolas/Gimli. I ship Alastor/Husk a lot, but it’s recent enough that I’m hesitant to count is as an “all time favourite” at this point. Same goes for Link/Sidon and Link/Revali.

Whats a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

Yöpala (FMA) and Drakolaisen Valinta (Dragonlance).

What are your writing strengths?

I’m funny and I can spin anything into a working story if I want to. I could actually list a lot of things here, but ehhh. This is my writing blog and you’re reading this thing carefully enough to see this sentence; you already know I’m amazing and don’t need my convincing ;)

What are your writing weaknesses?

I’m slow at writing in English. There are probably other things too, but if I knew what they were I’d work on fixing them, right?

What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

If it’s justified and makes sense in the story itself, go for it. However, it only applies to the occasional single sentence, not entire conversations, which should either be like:

They switched to Spanish. “Hey, I’m speaking Spanish now and it’s in italics for clarity!”

or

He had no idea what the people around him were talking about; he was pretty sure they were speaking in Spanish or maybe Portuguese or something, but he didn’t speak it himself so it was pure gibberish to him.

If the character whose POV we’re on is supposed to understand it, keeping it in -insert language- is pointless. If the character doesn’t understand it, spelling it out is usually pointless and makes your readers frustrated and confused in a not-fun way if it lasts for too long.

What was the first fandom you wrote for?

Pokémon; I was 11 or 12 and only my mom and maybe my big sister read it after I literally printed it out. I still have the print, but the file hasn’t existed for two decades. As for online fandom, Sonic when I was 16.

What’s your favorite fic that you’ve written?

Either “Shit, the Radio Demon is a part of my afterlife” or “What boundaries?”

[dottie-wan-kenobi]

Hello!!! I've never done this before so I hope I'm doing it right lol. I was wondering if I could request forced out of the closet + titans!dick grayson?

You’re doing just fine!! Thank you so much for this prompt, I was really excited to do it and I hope I’ve done it justice. Also I hope you don’t mind I added some past Dick/Joey and kind of maybe bash Donna, Hank, and Dawn a little itty bitty bit. kdfhjdhjakshkj. just to be clear, there is no cheating in this fic, but Dawn uses that stereotype to her advantage :x

written for the @badthingshappenbingo square “forced out of the closet”. x’s are finished, asterisks are requested, and the last two are free! many thanks to @whateverrrrwhatever for betaing even tho she isn’t even in this fandom

—-

“How fucking long have you been lying to us, exactly?” Hank demands, fury emanating off him in waves.

I wasn’t! He wants to shout back, I wasn’t lying! But in order to do that, Dick would have to lift his head out of his hands, stand up from where he’s sitting on the second level, and meet Hank’s eyes. Or anyone’s eyes, really. They’re all here, the old Titans and the new ones and Rose fucking Wilson. The only way this could possibly be any worse is if Bruce were here, too, but thank god, Dick isn’t that unlucky.

“It can’t be true,” Donna says, but she sounds unsure. She’s doubting him and not even trying to hide it. That’s never happened before. “Dick, tell us what he said wasn’t true.”

“So what if it was?” And that’s Rachel, defensive on his behalf. “I don’t understand why you’re all so upset if Dick’s bi—”

He doesn’t hear the rest of what she says, his heart pounding in his ears. They all know now, and he wasn’t the one to tell them, didn’t get to decide who or when or how. Slade just broadcast it out for all of them to hear and make with what they will, and of course, it’s nothing good. There’s a reason, he thinks, that he’s never told any of them. Not Kory, who he thinks he could trust with anything, or the kids, who so desperately want to know and connect with the real him. Not even Donna, who’s always been his best friend.

“He’s been lying to us, Rach,” Dawn says, and her voice is so soft and so steely, the way it always gets when she’s angry. And she has reason to be, he knows that, but it still hurts. “He lied to us about what happened with Jericho, and that’s—that’s not just something we can walk away from.”

“No,” Hank agrees, worked up. “No, it’s not.”

“He was just lying about a relationship! What’s so wrong with that?” Gar asks. His arms are probably crossed, but Dick doesn’t want to look up to see.

“Nothing,” Kory says, but her voice gets overpowered by Dawn’s.

“How about the fact that he was in relationship with me already?” Dawn shoots back. Dick thinks about how they broke up days before Garth’s death, and were just playing at being together until after his birthday, to avoid ruining it for him. Afterward, they never spoke about it, drifting away from each other, grief and revenge more important than anything else. It wasn’t until after Joey died that they finally, officially ended. “If he could lie about that, then he could be lying about anything. About everything .”

“Dick…,” Donna says, and she’s closer now, but not close enough not close enough to touch him, which is the last thing he wants. “Tell us it’s not true.”

Everyone is staring at him, he can tell. He can feel it: the weight of their gazes and confusion and anger. Dick lifts his head finally, and his eyes feel heavy and hot. No tears fall. He has to be strong here, can’t let it show any more than he already is how much this situation fucking sucks.

“It is,” he rasps, clearing his throat once the words are out.

Donna jerks back like she’s been slapped.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this, he thinks. Coming out is supposed to be private. Personal. Safe. It’s supposed to be him sitting these people down and saying he loves people no matter what gender they are, and these people loving and supporting him no matter what. Instead, Slade hacked their speaker system and gladly outed him.

There’s no love and support in the room right now.

He has to pull himself together, needs them to understand. Stronger, he says, “It is true. Joey and I were together.”

Jason’s gaze is bouncing between everyone in the room, and Dick wonders how much the kid is going to hate him now. And Rose, she’s tense and ready to fight him, and he can see that it won’t take much to set her off. The others are still staring at him, the older Titans coiling with hurt, the newer ones just confused.

“Was it worth it?” Hank asks, breaking the silence. “Was he that good of a lay that you had to betray us?”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Dick stands, trying to ignore how tight his chest feels. He’s finding it more difficult than usual to pretend he’s perfectly fine. Convincing himself means he can convince the others. Right now, no one is fooled. “I didn’t betray you.”

“Really? ‘Cause it sounds like you were cheating on Dawn, fucking the enemy, and lying about it for five years!” Donna explodes. “Sounds like fucking betrayal to me!”

“Joey wasn’t our enemy—!”

“How do we know you weren’t feeding him information the whole time?” Dawn interrupts, and Dick freezes, shocked by the accusation. “Were you telling him our secrets so he could go and tell Slade everything, and help him get under our skin, in our heads?”

“No! How could you even think that?”

Ignoring his words, Donna asks, “How long were you and Joey even together?”

“Not that long,” he admits, fists clenching by his sides. “It only started once he came to live here.”

“Live-in double agent,” Hank says wryly. “How convenient.”

“It wasn’t like that,” Dick protests.

“Then how was it?” Rose demands, stomping forward. “How exactly was it? You were using and manipulating my brother for information and for sex? What a stand up guy you are.” For all her tone is bone-dry, he can see tears threatening to spill from her eye.

Dick thinks about Joey’s smile. His eyelashes. How he pulled away from every kiss grinning, like it was a dream come true. The meals they ate together, and how Joey spent whole afternoons trying to teach him a few phrases in ASL, and only laughed a little, kindly, when Dick messed up. How he’d told Dick he was fine keeping their relationship on the down low, that he understood Dick wasn’t out yet and wouldn’t push. What he looked like, lying dead on the ground, killed trying to protect Dick, who’d fucked up every step of the way.

It was real, he wants to say. I had nightmares for months afterward, and even now it hurts to think about him. There’s a reason I never told any of you, and it’s not just because I wasn’t sure how you’d react.

But it wasn’t real. Not fully, anyway. For every sincere moment, there were two more where Dick was doing what the others wanted him to do—becoming Batman, using Joey to their advantage. For every time he thought it was wrong to treat Joey that way, he never put a stop to it. It was easy to get lost in Joey, in exploring feelings Dick had never—and has never, ever since—let himself know. Their relationship had felt safe, in a way. Even with all the subterfuge, Joey knew about Robin, and he’d never worried about it. Dick had felt free for the short time they had been together.

It was real, but it wasn’t.

“It’s complicated,” he says finally. Rose won’t like it, but how can he explain it all? How can he explain that he hadn’t wanted things with Joey to get serious, hadn’t wanted him to die, hadn’t been able to even think about telling anyone about his sexuality without an avalanche of grief and guilt burying him? “I—I wasn’t trying to hurt him.”

Joey’s smile, his eyelashes, his kindness. He was like the sun peeking over the horizon. He deserved better than Dick.

Dawn and Donna both scoff. Hank says, “You’re fucking pathetic. Not trying to hurt him got him killed. Great fucking job, asshole.”

Kory steps up beside Dick, a hand coming up to rest on his shoulder. It’s like an anchor, stabilizing, and something he desperately needs right now. Her thumb makes a slow, calming circle as she turns on the others. “Yelling at him isn’t going to help shit. Why don’t you all go do your jobs and figure out if this Slade guy hacked us remotely, or if he’s here and we need to suit up?”

“Oh, he’s probably here,” Rose says through gritted teeth. “And I’m going to fucking kill him.”

She heads towards the elevators, and Donna follows, fists clenched. At Kory’s raised eyebrow, Hank and Dawn leave too. The kids move toward them, like they’re closing ranks. Gar’s biting his lip nervously. Rachel has her arms crossed over her stomach and Jason looks lost in thought.

Without the older Titans, the mood of the room feels lighter, but Dick finds that isn’t a good thing. Like he’s a puppet with his strings cut, he falls back onto the step, his skin crawling.

Kory sits next to him, her hand going down to rest on his back. Softly, she asks, “Are you okay?”

He wonders if Jason’s going to tell Bruce. Wonders if Donna, Hank, and Dawn will ever forgive him. Hopes Rachel and Gar don’t hate him now. Hates how much her kindness right now only reminds him of Joey.

With a deep sigh, he says, “I’ll be fine.”

----

If you enjoyed this, please reblog! Leave a comment in the tags maybe? 

[violetsmoak]

No Safety or Surprise [Part I - Excerpt]

Summary: A haunting broadcast reveals the Joker’s final act and sets off a chain of events that will destroy the world. Terry finds himself collaborating once more with the estranged members of Bruce’s former team. As the end nears, however, he and the other Bats are faced with hard choices about survival—and forgiveness.

Disclaimer: I don’t own anything to do with Batman. I don’t make any money off this. It’s just me playing in a sandbox. (And I’ll put a better disclaimer on this at some other point.)

Author’s Note: First fic in the Batman universe, yay! (Well, second, but the first one was high school ago and was a blatant self-insert lol). I’ve been toying with this idea for a while now. It’s taken some in-depth planning, but I finally have something to show for it. This is only one part of a very large first chapter, but I thought I’d throw it out there into cyberspace and see what people think. I’ll post it here in mini excerpts, but eventually I’ll put it on FF.Net and Ao3, once it’s all shiny and edited.

Spoilers: Everything in Batman Beyond until but not including the “Rewired” storyline or anything afterward. Also, references to events and characters present in the DC ‘verse up to the New 52 (after the “Robin Rises” story arc) but before Rebirth. (And JFC do I hate keeping all these timelines straight!)

Warnings: Leading up to canon-divergence; eventual main character deaths (except not really, because timey wimey stuff); a few minor original characters; multiple POVs

Timeline: Takes place after the events of 10 000 Clowns but before Terry McGinnis graduates high school.

Bruce is beginning to wonder if a Lazarus Pit might not have been a better idea than the liver transplant. Of the methods for artificially prolonging life, at least with the Pit, he would eventually start to feel like he was recovering.

After the madness subsided, at least.

On days like today—when it’s damp and chilly, and there’s nothing going on in Gotham to keep him glued to the computer screen in the Cave—it’s hard to remember the arguments he’s always made against using the restorative powers of a Lazarus Pit. He body protests with every movement as he eases it through several slowed kata variations. Part of his physical therapy, as suggested (ordered) by his doctors.

Since his procedure, he feels the exhaustion much more keenly. It’s a bone-deep fatigue that seeps into every muscle, emphasizing the way his bones creak and grind against each other, cartilage worn away from age and decades of abuse. It’s the way his energy levels drain so much faster no, to the extent that even his usual ability to will himself into action seems to wane every day.

Not that he really had a choice in the matter. He was in end stage liver failure, and the nearest Pit is in New Cuba. He’d just been lucky that there was a suitable donor in the hospital at the right time.

‘Luck’ is one word for it. ‘Cruel irony’ might be a better phrase.

Douglas Tan is one of the names he’s going to carry on his conscience for the rest of his life; or, at least on his liver.

Terry still makes jokes about Batman having a piece of a Joker inside him, but then Terry tends to use humor to cover up when he’s worried. Dick always did that, too; and Jason.

Bruce scowls, bothered by the direction of his thoughts, as well as the raggedness to his breath. He isn’t even moving very fast, but it’s taking him every bit of strength to keep at it.

Ace is curled up in his usual spot in the cave, watching Bruce with what seems to be narrowed eyes. As if to say, don’t overdo it or I will knock you over.

He knows the dog is smarter than most people.

Ace is one of the reasons the doctors were willing to leave him to pursue recovery on his own and not under some beady-eyed nurse in hospital. Money isn’t as much an incentive as it once was, with so many legal and health standards in the way; the older he gets, the less likely people are to trust his ability to make decisions, lawyers or not.

He tolerated a private nurse for about a day while having Terry make other arrangements and manufacturing a piece of paper saying Ace was a certified service dog. He’s not, but Bruce has no doubt the dog would activate the medical alert button at the computer if something were to happen. And Terry has an alarm set up, keyed into the surveillance and motion sensors in the Cave. If anything were to happen, he can be here faster than any ambulance.

Old age has fed into long-buried fears, and it gives him an embarrassing sense of relief knowing there’s someone to look in on him. It has always bothered him, being dependent—being weak.

Some days he’s more accepting of it; some days he wishes he had Kryptonian DNA.

Which is usually the point at which he forces himself to occupy his mind with other things, because envying Clark Kent can only lead down a dark, frustrating path of self-pity. One he’s determinedly avoided ever since meeting the other man.

After another fifteen minutes of forcing himself to think about nothing but the movement of his limbs, Bruce finally finishes his exercises. Sweat coats his back and his limbs ache with the same burn as if he just spent several hours grappling through the Gotham skyline. Even if it took less challenging movements to reach this point, that burn is comforting.

Familiar.

And that’s a word that’s been cropping up more in his thoughts lately. History tends to repeat, after all, but it’s still strange to experience. Terry’s been an excellent example of that.

Like Bruce, the McGinnis boy started out with nothing but a suit and an old man’s voice in his ear. Now, he’s got a network. Friends who he trusts and who will keep his secret. A steadily growing list of allies in the field.

The Police Commissioner. The Justice League.

And a Catwoman too, for Christ sakes.

He wonders what Selina would think about that.

Bruce just hopes the kid won’t make his mistakes. Forty years is a long time to rack up regrets.

At least Dick’s back in contact now.

Sort of.

He showed up the second night that Bruce was recovering from his procedure at the hospital; he’d managed to convince Terry to go out on patrol instead of wasting his time watching an old man sleep.

“Batman doesn’t get a day off.”

Bruce had dosed for a bit, but not deeply; it wasn’t difficult to discern that he wasn’t alone.  

One minute the room was empty and in the next, Bruce could feel that familiar presence—the one of a man who had carried the mantles of Robin, Nightwing and Batman—and somehow lived to tell the tale. Then his estranged son was stepping out of the shadows, glaring down at him, muscles in his jaw working and fists clenching and unclenching.

“I know what you’re going to say,” Bruce had croaked, wishing he had thought to ask for ice chips before the nurse left. “I’m too stubborn to die.”

The silence hanging afterward was filled with everything he couldn’t say yet. For once, Dick didn’t call him on it.

“You’re more stubborn than God,” his boy countered.

(He’ll always be a boy to Bruce, grey hair and eye-patch be damned.)

And yet, he sat, arms crossed and spine stiff for the rest of the night. Still angry, but there nonetheless. He stayed until morning rounds without saying anything, and then left.

They haven’t seen each other since, but sometimes Bruce can hear feedback on the comms when he’s directing Terry’s patrols. The tinny whisper of signals crossing from the bug he pretends he doesn’t know Dick planted on the underside of his medical ID tag.

It’s not much, but it’s something. The opening of the possibility that at some point, he’ll come around.

Barbara did, after all.

Mostly because of Terry, but afterward Bruce started making the effort. They can have conversations alone now that don’t end with her yelling at him (or punching him, on one or two memorable occasions). Bruce forgot how much he enjoyed her sense of humor and intelligence—how much he enjoyed their friendship—from before they slept together.

(That might be one of his life’s biggest shames. Oh, he has regrets associated with all of the family for one thing or another, but this is the one that still wakes him up at night feeling dirty.)

In a way, it’s easier with Tim, and that’s a bridge Bruce thought had been obliterated long ago.

Granted, he’s leaving Gotham again—the last incident with the Joker army rattled him enough that he put in for a transfer to the Chinese division of Wayne Enterprises—but he stuck around long enough to collaborate with Bruce on a subdermal antitoxin deployment implant against Joker venom.

(None of them want to be caught unawares again.)

It’s in the prototype phase, with only five of the devices in existence; he, Tim and Terry are testing them personally. It’s not exactly something the FDA is going to approve for human testing anytime soon, not with all the new legislation, but with the state of Gotham, it’s unwise to wait on it.

(He sent one to Barbara and one to Dick but doesn’t know if they’ve bothered to activate them. At least they haven’t sent them back.)

If the implant works, Bruce is seriously considering modifying the tech for the Wayne Enterprises medical division. There are a lot of illnesses and viruses out there which require regular dosages of medicine to keep them under control.

Maybe that’s the next project, after CAIN, he muses, grabbing his towel from where he draped it over one of the computer processors.

His global Clean Air Initiative Network is something he’d been working on before stepping back from the company. It was shelved almost immediately by Derek Powers when he took over, but since Bruce has been back, he’s been revisiting a lot of old projects.

Lucius’ boy did most of the technical work on it, and Foxtecha will have joint ownership of the patent when it’s ready for public consumption. Bruce would have asked Tim, but he knows how determined he is to get out of Gotham. He can read it in the tone of his emails, which have thankfully lost the stilted, formal business tone they’ve had since he returned to the company.

(Bruce mentioned paying a visit in the future, and Tim didn’t say no, so he counts that as a win.)

It’s a little disconcerting how the family is coming together again; disconcerting but welcome.

He’s received a vid call last week from Cassandra expressing concern over his surgery, and then a short, gruff email from Duke all-but ordering him to get better. There’s even a letter from Stephanie—or Eurus, as she goes by these days—smelling of dust and desert sun and incense found only in Nanda Parbat. Her messy, looping scrawl, echoed Dick’s sentiment about Bruce’s stubbornness and alluded to its genetic inheritability.

(That said more than if she had actually mentioned Damian outright.)

Bruce lost track of her not long after his son’s short and brutal stint under the cowl; it had surprised him to find out she ended up in Tibet.

It also relieved him. Because no matter how dark a path his son wandered, there would be someone to challenge him. To not obey without question. To give him a link to the life he once had, to being human and alive.

(Bruce very carefully doesn’t think about Jason—doesn’t wonder if things had been different, if he wouldn’t have reached out as well. Even after so many years, that wound is still raw.)

The whole thing is a stark difference from the last few times he ended up in the hospital, including when he was dosed on Joker venom several months ago. He didn’t hear anything from them at that point, which makes him think someone really thought he was dying this time and reached out.

Barbara, maybe. Or Dick. However much tension there is between himself and Bruce, he does keep in touch with the others.

Hell, it might even have been Terry. The kid doesn’t know the rest of them personally, but he’s gotten adept at navigating the computer in the cave. And he’s always been curious about his predecessors.

Bruce’s first family.

Or maybe just the first phase of the family.

Bruce shies away from that secret bit of knowledge he has about Terry, and his brother Matt. What he discovered the first time the kid returned to the Cave with bloody gashes that needed stitching up. The files and medical information buried beneath every firewall he could fashion, so the boy never stumbles upon it accidentally.

The most he’s allowed himself to acknowledge it is an amendment in his will setting aside trust funds for both boys.

As if triggered by his thoughts, the screen of the Bat-Computer flickers to life. He rolls his shoulders, expecting an alert on some heist or robbery going on in the city; another case to add to the docket for Terry to investigate after school (depending on the severity).

Bruce doesn’t expect the Cave to suddenly fill with a jaunty, haunting carnival tune that makes his entire body seize in recognition. And yet, he already knows what’s coming even before the words HA HA HA coalesce upon the screen.  

TBC

NEXT

[ellana-ravenwood]

“You made me hide under the desk” - Bruce Wayne x reader (Erotica)

Because I don’t particularly have a lot of time on my hand lately, yet another mini-fic...Hope you’ll like it :

IMPORTANT WARNING : THIS IS EROTICA ! THIS IS NOT FOR YOU IF YOU ARE UNDERAGED, I GODDAMN MEAN IT. Like there’s cute and sweet feelings in the mix, but also...smut, so if you’re not 18 or more, or if you’re not comfortable with that sort of things etc etc, this story ain’t for you. I have tons of other very SFW story, for averyone to read, and if you wanna check those out instead, it’s right here, on My masterlist blog : @ella-ravenwood-archives.

__________________________________________________

In your early months of dating Bruce, things were kept secret.

No one knew you were together, except maybe his butler, Alfred.

It wasn’t about you being ashamed of him (why would you be ?) or him being ashamed of you (he had no reason to), it really was just...Easier.

It was an agreement you both had...After all, you didn’t particularly want to have all the media’s attention, and for Bruce, it was a way to keep you safe.  

Besides, at the beginning, he didn’t really know what he was doing. This all “actually dating someone” thing was very new to him and he never wanted to hurt you in any way...going through a public breakup wasn’t really the best thing ever. And again, it kept you out of harm’s way.  

There was also the tiny problem of him being the Batman...You were too smart not too notice anything, he knew it, but he wasn’t too sure if he was ready to share with you this aspect of his life yet. What if you decided he was just a nutter and left him ? What if you couldn’t handle it ?

...It was strange, to think about it this way.

It wasn’t like with other girls, or other “serious relationship” he had.

It wasn't about not sharing it with them because they couldn’t possibly understand, or because they would slow him down in his quest for justice in Gotham city...Nope, it wasn’t about any of this fake excuses he made up in those past fifteen years, just to get rid of a woman he was starting to be too close from.

It was just about him being afraid that you might leave him. Because right now, he was past the “she’s getting too close from me” part, he had reach a point of no-return, he was fucking doomed...

Deep down, he knew it was the reason he didn’t tell you who he truly was yet, even though he was trying to convince himself it was to protect you.

He was genuinely terrified at the idea that you might break up with him, but he wasn’t ready yet to fully accept this. He was in true denial of this. What ? The great Bruce Wayne ? The mighty Batman ? Afraid that a woman would dump him ? As if ! ...And yet, yet it was the truth.

Because for the first time in his life, he was actually in love.

It wasn’t a sort of infatuation, or physical attraction. It was...Love.

That dreaded word that scared the shit out of him. That feeling that made him wish you’d never enter his life, but also that, since now it was too late, you’d never leave it.

Bruce Wayne was in a turmoil of emotions, doubts and fears when you were around, and it was worst when you weren’t !

He was constantly fighting against himself, torn between breaking up with you, letting you go for your own sake, or dooming you to an existence of misery because you were dating him, a man with too many damn issues to count...

...But right now, after just a few weeks of being exclusive and “serious” with you, after he told you first “I love you” and you answered right back, eyes filled with emotions, you were both still not quite ready to actually be out in the open about it all.

You were both still figuring out this...all mess of a thing (it was difficult, to realize that you’ve never actually loved anyone before in your life, given how strong your feelings were for each other right now).

And if you could keep the medias out of it ? And if he could protect you ? Then your relationship would still be a secret. At least for now. Yes. It made sense, right ?

************

It was during a heated make-out session (that was turning very quickly into something more) in his office, at Wayne inc, that you realized that maybe, this all “let’s keep what we have fully private” thing didn’t particularly fit you.

His hands were cupping your breast up your shirt, and his tongue was in your mouth, your arms around his neck. You were slowly untying his tie with deft fingers, you could feel him smile in the kiss...And that’s when things happened.

Random business partners.

They loved to barge in his office uninvited and unannounced, it made them feel as if they were as important as he was (spoiler : they weren’t).

Only this time, they chose the worst possible time ever...Bruce’s almost superhuman reflexes tore you off of him and shove you under his desk, hiding you there, as the two schmucks entered his office and sat in front of him.

He tightened his tie in a swift and charming gesture and smoothed his hair by running his fingers through it (you had disheveled him quite a bit).

He arbored that fake smile he always had when interacting with such people, that same smile you highly disliked and that he never gave you (even the first time he met you, you were so...out of place in his world, at this charity you had organized to ease access to books for disadvantaged people in Gotham...you weren’t playing any games, it was so relaxing, and so...He genuinely smiled to you the first time he met you).

-Patrick, Ryan, what a pleasure !

His words said “pleasure”, his features, that you had come to be able to decipher perfectly, were saying : “just leave already for fuck sake”.

Bruce was a great boss, he knew all his employees by their names and always had small attentions toward them that made all of them feel special...but his “business partner” ? That was another story. They were all rich heirs that knew nothing of the real world. They were all what Bruce pretended to be publicly (except that they were assholes to “normal” people, unlike your boyfriend).

He stood up and extended his hand and you backed away under his desk, your back against the side of it, sighing quietly...God you hoped they weren’t planning on staying long.

************

Bruce didn’t manage to drive them away from his office. You appreciated his effort when he asked them if they wanted to go grab a coffee somewhere...but of course those idiots would say “naaaah, let’s not mix with the pleb, let’s stay right here in your rich ass office !” (well, they didn’t actually phrased it that way, but they might as well !).

Your watch was telling you it had only been fifteen minutes but it felt like an hour. Oh my gods. ONLY FIFTEEN MINUTES ?!

Times seemed to slow down as they were talking about utterly pointless shit and Bruce was reacting to them (you knew though, that he was barely listening...he was a master at acting as if he was part of a conversation while thinking about something else entirely. He never did that to you, but before you dated, you noticed him do that often with those models he used to take out with him to charities and other social events...it was quite hilarious really. And oh, at that time, you loved when he glanced up at you and smiled of that genuine smile and went to talk to you, listening, drinking your every word !).

Sigh. Silent sigh.

This was quite humiliating really. The way you were shoved under there...

And it made you think about your entire relationship...Wasn’t it stupid to keep everything so secret while it was clear that both of you were crazy about each others ? While you were talking about a future together ? While you said your firsts “I love you”s ?

You knew something held him back in particular, and you suspected the actual reason (Bruce was a fool if he thought you still didn’t figure out he was the Batman...and that it was no problem at all in your book, quite the contrary actually) but...Eh. Maybe you should just tell him ? Tell him that you knew his secret ? That you didn’t care ? Maybe it’d loosen him up on going public...

You were past the all “I don’t want the media’s attention” thing. Sure, you still didn’t want to be the front page of every tabloids out there but...if it meant you could hold his hand in the streets ? Go with him at charities openly (people were starting to wonder why he kept showing up without a date those past few weeks !) ? And all of that ? It was totally worth it.

You were pondering all this, pouting under Bruce’s desk, when Rich-Schmuck-that-you-couldn’t-remember-the-name-of-for-the-life-of-you-number-one made a joke, that made Rich-Schmuck-that-you-couldn’t-remember-the-name-of-for-the-life-of-you-number-two laugh way too hard and therefor forced Bruce to laugh too, which sprung a chain of actions that got Bruce’s knee right in your face...Outch.

Immediately, you felt one of his hand discreetly reaching for your cheek, as he was still fake-laughing his ass off. His thumb caressed your lips delicately and you almost sighed...almost, cause those damn idiots couldn’t hear you (they would surely sell the story to newspaper and...well it’s not exactly how you wanted your relationship to go public) !

You laid your cheek on his knee and here it was. The genuine smile. He wasn’t laughing anymore, but a small smirk tugged at his lips as he felt your cheek on his knee, and his fingers brushed your lips a little bit.

You caught them in your mouth and...Oh. Oh but there was a way to have a little fun eh ? To make you forget how humiliated you felt, being shoved down there, and to test Bruce Wayne’s self-control.

The idea came to you because of how he reacted to you sucking slightly on his fingers. His knee jolted slightly, and he glanced at you very quickly, before putting his attention and eyes back up to his “friends”.

Yes. Yes this could be very fun.

You swallowed your nerves and reached out.

Slowly, and deliberately (you could see him throw quick glances toward you as he saw that you were moving), sultrily and sexily, as silently as you can, looking up to him...you grabbed the zipper and buttons of his dress pant.

You opened it slowly and sensually, your eyes fixed on him and his on you now (the two schmucks didn’t even realize it). You brushed light fingers against his boxer brief...You felt the muscles in his thigh flex, but on his face ? Nothing.

Oh. So this was a challenge then.

Bruce's foot came up, lightly pushing against your stomach. He acted as if he was crossing his legs, as to not raise doubts that something was going on, while really, he was pushing you away...

You smirked, and pushed his feet down. He had to shift as to not look a bit suspicious, and your mischievous smile widened.

Your hand slipped inside his underwear to pull his dick free.

It only took a few strokes for him to be hard. Apparently, and despite appearances, he liked the idea of getting his rocks off in a meeting.

You got on your knees silently, and then leaned forward and took the head into your mouth, swirling your tongue around it.

You noticed him tense but his voice didn’t waver at all as he continues to talk to his associates. He was even making jokes and such, as they bursted out in laughter.

Tough man.

His knees twitched apart and he slouched a little more in his seat so he could see you in his peripheral vision. He dropped a hand back onto his lap, and after a few seconds his fingers skimmed your cheek.

You took him into your mouth further and his fingers pressed against your skin, feeling himself inside your mouth. And still, he was casually talking to those two idiots as if nothing.

Oh this wouldn’t do.

Your eyes closed and you tried to swallow the moan that worked its way up your throat. Bruce’s voice finally trembled and he cleared his throat, clearly hoping to play it off as something else.

-Are you alright Bruce ?

You heard. One of the schmuck. You could almost picture that fake-worried look on his face. Your eyes snapped open and you froze.

-Yes, yes, just getting sick. We’re going through a tough Winter lately.

Bruce said, his voice steady again.

-Well keep it away from me !  I have a date with a blonde barmaid Friday and I don't want to have to cancel.

The other schmuck laughs and Bruce does too, but you can see a bit of disgust in his face as well, as he perfectly knew that the man who had a “date” was married and had children...Disgusting pigs. Bruce hated cheaters (which made you feel great about your relationship with him, you knew that if he didn’t want you anymore, he’d just break up with you).

-A blond barmaid ? Is she the girl we saw last week-end ? What she’s barely twenty right ?

The other one asked his friend, and you could feel the stupid perverted smirk on his face.

-What can I say ? Ladies like older men.

He answered nonchalantly.

You have to agree with him (even though you were pretty sure in his case, the lady liked his money...you had met “Patrick” before, he was gross). After all, you were a fair bit younger than Bruce...But oh the tone that guy was taking just irked you. It brushed you the wrong way, and before he was able to hide it, Bruce’s lips turned up in disgust for a fraction of a second.

You had to let your frustration out. And let his, too.

Your fingers started stroking his shaft as you sucked on the head.

The hand that was on your cheek moved to your hair, stroking his fingers through it, low down so his two business partner don’t suspect anything.

His breathing was starting to get deeper as he tried to control his reactions.

He's usually pretty good at staying quiet, you've never really heard him make much noise, maybe a grunt or a groan every now and then. It was annoying sometimes.

You couldn’t decide what you want to do.

If you wanted to suck him until he lost control and started bucking into your mouth, alerting his associates. Or if you wanted him to silently cum on your face as you jerked him off.

You sunk down a little further and started jerking him more firmly, his hand fisted in your hair and pulled your head forward, forcing you to deep throat him.

Your hand moved away from his cock to push against his stomach as you tried to stop yourself from choking.

You gagged around him and he let go, his fingers skimmed your cheek again as you pulled off, wiping away tears that had forced their way out... you know this was his silent apology.

You nodded to let him know you're okay, your hand started to move once more.

You took him into your mouth and started sucking on the head, swirling your tongue around it.

You've decided now. You want him to cum in your mouth. You wanted to taste him.

The hand from his desk went up to his hair way too fast for it to be natural, his fingers running through it. His business partners didn’t notice a thing, liking the sound of their own voice way too much.

You shifted your position, careful not to hit the desk, and slid your free hand between your legs.

You could feel yourself getting wetter every second - the thrill of not being caught was a turn on you didn't know you had.

Your fingers slid against your clit and your eyes squeezed shut...it's not going to take much for you to have an orgasm.

It becomes a game, trying to make him fall apart before your orgasm hits.

You tried everything you know he liked and he managed to keep his composure through all of it.

Even when you forced yourself to deep throat him, even when you were able to lick his balls with his cock down your throat.

He just took a ragged breath through his nose, glanced down at you, and pushed a hand through his hair again.

God, you wante him to just let go, his hand fisting in your hair as his hips bucked wildly...

You bobbed your head as much as you dared to, sucking him as you went, and still his voice remained steady.

You couldn’t understand how he was doing it. He sounded like a recording.

You swirled your tongue around the head and sunk down as far as you could, you felt him hit the back of your throat and you gag.

You pulled back slightly then tried again, stroking the bottom half of his shaft as your eyes close.

You felt his cock twitch and you mentally cursed yourself out for not getting a reaction out of him as you pulled back, your lips encircling the head as he came in your mouth.

The first spurt hits the back of your throat and you swallowed it quickly, the rest lands on your tongue and you leave it there.

Your fingers, still moving against your clit, bring you over the edge a split second later, and you muffle your moan against his knee.

You pulled off, breathing heavily through your nose, his cum still inside your mouth, he glanced down and you open your mouth to show him.

He gulped and you closed your mouth again, smiling to yourself.

You tucked him back away and fastened his pants for him, as he ran yet again a hand through his hair and chuckled to hide a heavy breath (fortunately, one of his idiot partners was telling a stupid dirty joke at the same time).

You sat in your original position again, back against the back of the desk, and squeezed his knee lovingly. The hand he had in your hair since then went up to his desk again and you can’t help but feel a little bit pleased with yourself that you at least made him orgasm.

...How could he be so quiet ? For real, what a machine.

Once again, your thoughts drifts away to you and him being public...If you guys were, you would have pushed his chair away, and got out from under the desk proudly, staring at his two business partner, releshing in their probably gaping expression as they witnessed you leaving proudly.

..Yes, yes once they’ll be gone, you’d talk about it with Bruce.

It wasn’t long though, before Bruce went up on his feet to say goodbye to his “friends”, “dear old Patrick and Ryan”, and you finally were freed from under the desk.

He closes the door to his office and turns to you, eyes slightly dazed and a bit lost in his thoughts. With a soft voice he says :

-...What the Hell was that ?

You smile shyly at him, and a slight blush comes up to your cheeks...now that everything was over, you realized how daring, dirty and a bit shameful the all ordeal was. What the hell went through your brain indeed ?

-Don’t get me wrong -he continues - I enjoyed it very much, more than I should have really, but...wow.

You relax a bit and walk towards him. With your most innocent look you shrug and say :

-You made me hide under the desk.

As if it was a good enough answer. And strangely...it seemed to be, as he grabbed you by the waist and crashed his lips against yours.

He backed you against his desk, and tore away from you a bit, saying :

-I love you (Y/N).

-I love you too Bruce.

-Let’s...Let’s stop hiding alright ? To avoid further awkward, albeit very sexy, encounter like so ?

You chuckle lowly a bit, and though you know this will have to be further discussed after, you nod and bite your lips slightly.

-So...We’re Gotham official now ?

-Haha, yes. Yes I think we are. I can’t bear to hide anymore (Y/N)...If it’s ok with you, let’s...

-Yes, yes it’s ok !

There’s a short pause, a little silence as he smiles fondly at you and your eagerness, and he says :

-I love you...

-You already said that...

-I know. But you deserve a little extra love.

-Do I now ?

-Oh yes. Yes you do.

He sits you on his desk and sits himself in his chair, bringing your ass on the edge of the desk, his fingers slowly creep in the waistband of your pants and you can’t help but smile...You say :

-Show me.

-Can do.

He answers, decided to give back to you what you gave a few minutes earlier...only this time, you won’t actually have to hide any sounds you’ll make, which he’s already looking forward to.

The end.

_______________________________

I’m posting this because I promised I would, but I think it won’t be up for long. Like what the fuck was that right ? Uh...Still, feedbacks are very welcome...Thanks.

PS : I didn’t proof read (as usual) and I’m very tired, so sorry if there’s more typos and grammar mistakes than usual...Uh. Voilà.

[linssikeittomies]

The Place Between Here And There - An excerpt from Ch 6

Masterpost

Ch 6 was supposed to be a fluff fest for the ages, and yet in the 10 pages of fic there is just barely 6 pages of RusAme, and if you squint real hard, maybe 1 of those pages is fluff? Goddamn you Ivan and your secrets and social anxiety! orz

--

Al had never been to the bar before, so he hadn’t known what to expect. Literally the only things he knew beforehand about the place were the address and that Jack used to work there about ten years ago. When they got there, Al could totally see it as a place Jack, one of the most party-pooper people ever conceived, would work in - pretty small, kinda quiet, with a multi-generational vibe to it. Not clearly for twenty-somethings, not clearly for forty-somethings. Once the hour got later, it would probably turn into more of a nightclub, but at eight, it was sorta quiet and unassuming, a bit more classy than your usual drinking bar. You could actually talk without even raising your voice to a shout. Two smaller dance floor instead of one big, more booths than tables, they gave a little more privacy. Al had noticed that these types of places were what Vanya preferred – the more crowded and loud it got, the antsier Vanya became. He would try to create more and more space between himself and strangers the more people poured in, pretending the crowd didn’t bother him, until finally he broke and started openly glaring at anyone closer than arm’s length and constantly checking the time. Al on the other hand lived for crowds, he loved nothing more than the pulse of a full dancefloor, enjoyed talking and dancing with strangers and loud music. He still went to straight-up nightclubs on the weekends he wasn’t with Vanya, but on dates he wanted them both to have as much fun as possible. Al liked the quieter places alright, as long as he had someone interesting to pass the time with.

They both got a beer at the counter – Al insisted Vanya try it out, because it was his favorite brand. Vanya wasn’t a beer person, but gave it a try for Al’s sake. He liked it enough to not pass it onto Al after the first sip. Though Vanya was hardly the type to not finish a drink even if he hated it - if it was in front of him, he would drink it. “Good, ain’t it?” “It isn’t the worst beer I’ve tried”, Vanya amended. That basically meant it was the best damn beer he’d ever tasted, despite what the sour face might indicate. “Told ya it’s the best! Now, tell me about your day. Nab any criminals lately?” “We’re no closer to finding a viable suspect. At this point I don’t know that much more than you do.” “Gimme some ‘a dat juicy confidential info! I’ll make it up to you later”, Al winked. Vanya wasn’t convinced, and refused any further talk about work. But Al was determined to hear more, so he kept buying his lover more beers, who was helpless to refuse them, while making sure to stay sober himself. About an hour and three beers later, Vanya finally started opening up a bit more about the case. “Everyone’s frustrated, there’s no evidence and no clues. The man’s smart, you have to admit”, he said with a weirdly appreciative tone. Creepy. He needed a reminder of what kind of smart man BK was. “Too bad he uses those smart for something evil. Can you even imagine what a shitty person he is? He doesn’t just murder, he tortures.” “You’re not the first to say that”, Vanya answered flippantly. Every now and then Al got the feeling Vanya didn’t really care all that much about the victims – he couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but there was something about the way Vanya spoke about them, it kind of felt a little disrespectful, maybe? That he forgot what they had gone through and that they were dead, with heart-broken families left behind? Mattie would have known exactly what was off, but they didn’t talk with each other – they knew of each other, of course, Mattie had been the first to know about Vanya and Al’s one month anniversary, and siblings tend to come up in conversation. “Everyone needs a hobby, I suppose”, Vanya finished, shrugging, like he was talking about graffiti artists. This was what Al meant by disrespectful – like he wasn’t talking about torture and murder. “Murdering people is a shit hobby. He should take up boxing or something if he really needs to punch something.”, Al sneered, upset and somewhat regretting bringing up the subject. His reactions to the fates of the poor victims were profoundly different from Vanya’s, and reminded him that there was something undeniably wrong with Vanya’s brain. “That would only make him more dangerous. So far all the victims have been weak, you wouldn’t want him taking down MMA fighters. Or firefighters”, Vanya countered. “But wasn’t that one guy like six foot two?” Vanya thought for only a moment before figuring out who exactly Al was talking about. “Turner, 6 feet, 130 pounds, dancer. Looked taller because he was so thin. Didn’t know the first thing about self-defense.” The conversation started feeling like one of those who would win, Batman or Superman arguments. Was it just Vanya’s illness, or did all homicide detectives become like this? What about pathologists? If Al some day got into the academy, would he in time become as nonchalant about rape, death and torture? He liked to think no, his compassion was more deep-rooted than that – but Vanya was a bleeding heart deep under all that pretend indifference, had he at one point been like Al? Could he with utmost certainty say that he would never look at a body and not feel sad? “And the last victim was the twinkiest twink you’ve ever seen.” “Poor boy”, Al said and felt his heart squeeze. He was sure he would never talk like that about someone who had been strangled and beaten for hours, until no healthy skin was left anywhere, then castrated and cut open while still alive, no matter how many years he worked for homicide. “I think you would’ve liked him”, Vanya mused. “How the hell would you know?” You didn’t even give enough of a shit to call him young and thin instead of twink, how would you know what kind of a person he was. Vanya looked taken aback, and apparently only then realized he wasn’t completely sober. How he had gotten drunk enough to not know what he was saying was anyone’s guess, since it always took a good five shots of hard liquor to get him tipsy. All Al knew was that he had learned to read the signs pretty well - more relaxed speech, more open posture, more absent-minded smiling. Vanya never started slurring or stumbling, he just became happier. Al wished that could be his natural state. Maybe with time, and some tender, loving care. “Sorry, I should not talk about cases with civilians.” “’S okay, ‘s just me. So how’d you know I’d like him?” Vanya wasn’t completely swayed by the argument, but he was terrible at saying no to Al. “He had many friends. Very social, everyone said he had a taste for adventure and was always up for trying something new. He was well-known in the gay community.” “Wait, he was actually gay? I thought you called him twink just to insult him.” “I said I should not talk about the case with civilians. Read the papers and you will know everything you are allowed to. I do not trust myself to keep confidentiality right now.” The weirdest thing about Vanya’s drunkenness was that he could tone it down at will. If he wanted to sober up, he would. He had displayed the ability a couple times before, but never this clearly. It was like alcohol had never entered the man’s system – gone were the casualness and smiles. “You’re such a tease!” Al complained, because he was really getting curious again, despite Vanya’s callous words about the victims. “Only for you, my darling podsolnukh”, Vanya smiled, but the playful words were so clearly calculated to steer Al’s thoughts elsewhere it wasn’t even funny. “Don’t try to sweet-talk your way out of this, mister. I’ll kiss you.” Vanya was super shy in public. Even though he had gotten more cuddly in private, PDAs were a great way to punish him. “You leave me no choice, being so cunning as to get me drunk to unveil my secrets.” “That’s it, you’re getting smooched right now!” Vanya did his best to push Al out of reach, but Al was the stronger of them and managed to smack him twice on the cheek. “You are making everyone uncomfortable”, Vanya muttered after Al finally left him alone. “You’re the one making a scene out of it! No one would have noticed a thing if you hadn’t been squealing like a pig!” “I was not, and you should take other people in to consideration before pulling these stunts!” “Oh yeah?” Al said, and Vanya blanched at whatever horror he imagined Al would do next. Al allowed himself a victorious smirk before forming a wicked plan. He got up to stand on the seat. “HEY! EVERYONE!” he yelled at the top of his lungs, and only a couple heads turned. “Stop that! Get down!” Vanya screamed. “THIS GUY IS MY HUNNY BUN – urk!” Vanya pulled Al down by his collar and dragged him out, so red in the face he could’ve been mistaken for Clifford. He was so embarrassed Al had no doubt he would’ve walked home without his coat if Al hadn’t complained about being cold. And even then he refused to enter the bar again, staying outside while Al went to finish Vanya’s last beer and grab their clothes. He was so embarrassed that Al felt a real need to apologize – apparently only Vanya could induce this feeling in him, the only other time he had felt the same need was after causing that panic attack. Vanya accepted it, but not without a long string of Russian expletives – because let’s be honest, they couldn’t be anything else. Then he said he would turn Al’s thermostat all the way down as revenge. Al had expected he would want to stay at his own place after a shock like that, but didn’t question the decision. After all, Al’s home was a mile closer, and there was no way he was walking any further in the wet snow. The streets were mostly empty, but a little past halfway Al spotted a couple making out at a bus stop. He felt a bit jealous, a lot of his past exes had been wary of displaying their sexuality out in public - understandably, sure, since so many of them lived in the south. But even Vanya, who had never shown a single sign of being anywhere near the closet, hated showing affection in public. Al on the other was a very tactile person. He loved holding hands, hugging and kissing. Vanya rarely took the first step, even in private, but followed Al’s lead easily, and lately had started initiating more often. Al liked to think it wasn’t just because Vanya wanted to appease him. Al pointed out the couple to Vanya, who made a face. “Oh c’mon, it’s cute! They’re not afraid to show their love! Unlike some people”, Al teased, and Vanya got a little mad about being reminded of the bar incident. “Lust, more like”, Vanya scoffed loudly. “It’s just not appropriate. They should be more considerate of other people.” “No one’s died of seeing a little affection, babe”, Al argued. “No one’s died of public urination, and yet I don’t see you advocating for that.” “C’mooooooon, just a lil kiss? I really wanna kiss you. That straight couple inspired me.” “No. And you shouldn’t fetishize an orientation.” “I wasn’t fetishizin’ no orientation, I just saw them doing somethin’ I wanna do. How ‘bout just a teeny tiny peck?” “No.” “First you’re a tease and then you’re a bore. Boo.” Vanya chuckled at that, and then took one gloved hand out his pocket. “We can hold hands, if it makes you happy. I don’t mind.” Al took the hand with a giddy smile and squeezed it gently. Vanya’s sweetness shone through these little gestures, and said so much more than his words did. Why couldn’t Al have met him years ago? Woulda spared him a lot of heartache.

[singtheskyandfightlikehell]

Fic Writer Interview

I was tagged by @sun-moon-stars-jedi thank you so much!

Name(s): singtheskyandfightlikehell, angelsandbrowncoats. I used to go by (The) Q bc of star trek and a private joke but some fuckers went and ruined that as a fun thing to call myself online, so if you want something a little easier to roll off the tongue than my usernames, idk bro... in middle school, my tolkien elf!sona was called Lethgaril, I guess that works lmao

Fandoms: So many. My current obsession is Batfam|Jayroy (and I’m inching towards Arrowfam as well). My lifelong fandom is Lord of the Rings. A (believe it or not) short list of some others I may or may not make content for in the future includes: Les Misérables (the brick over the musical, but I like both), Jane Austen’s works, Shakespeare’s works (esp. Hamlet & Much Ado), Pygmalion/My Fair Lady (the author has never been more alive, Eliza can’t mustn't shouldn’t and won’t marry Higgins), Miss Fisher’s Murder Mysteries, Death in Paradise, Shakespeare & Hathaway, Redwall, Dirk Gently, Galavant, Oxford Time Travel, Bartimaeus, The Good Place, and like... 30s/40s screwball comedies in general

Where you post: AO3 (angelsandbrowncoats), but I post links to tumblr & I have a full list of fic links and descriptions on my pinned carrd

Most popular one shot (by kudos):

Overall: It’s You, You’re All I See (Good Omens)

This Year: Worth the Wait (JayRoy)

Most popular multi-chap (also by kudos):

Overall: 2 Cups Feelings & A Dash of Common Sense (Gotham, permanent WIP, sorry)

This Year: PriestHood (JayRoy, technically multi-chap)

Favourite story you’ve written so far: Probably one of my WIPs, tbh (actually I’d say my original work based on my wild as fuck connected dreams that I may or may not ever publish) but of the complete ones, I’ll say It Need Not Follow (JayRoy) bc I really enjoy writing misunderstandings that turn out well and I amused myself a lot writing the confrontation between Jason and Roy in that one

Fic you were nervous to post: Of my recent ones, I’d say Worth the Wait because it was my first JayRoy fic and also it has a darker, more serious tone than a lot of what I write (although recently I’ve been in the mood to write heavier emotional scenes, so maybe that’s not quite true anymore).

How do you choose your titles: My preferred method is choosing a recurring theme or meaningful quote from the work as the title, but if I’m struggling to find one I like, I’ll sometimes use song lyrics or references to other works that vibe with the story. Mostly I use the latter for chapter titles rather than work titles, though.

Do you outline: I never mean to, but on longer fics I always end up losing the thread of the story and I end up having to outline anyway. Usually I just type a paragraph or two about what I want to have happen, or I’ll make a list of the things I don’t want to forget to include (mostly jokes for comedy pieces).

Complete: 105 total (not including original fiction or my recently orphaned high school works), 3 recent

In progress: 6, only counting ones with a significant portion written

Coming soon/not yet started: I no longer post my WIPs until they’re complete bc I’m really bad at finishing things and I’m tired of disappointing my readers, but here are a few of the ideas I’m working on or planning:

>A Thanksgiving JayRoy romcom that I’ll probably wait until next year to post bc it took too goddamn long, based on that “hire me to be your shitty (fake) boyfriend for thanksgiving” post except they fall for each other ofc. Also for some unfathomable reason I wrote a dark prequel for it featuring badass good mom!Talia

>A kinda sorta requested fic about the Bats needing to find the Supers and finding them at a good old fashioned midwestern barn dance that ends with the Bats having to square dance

>A fic based on an idea I had three years ago that Amanda Grayson from Star Trek is Dick Grayson’s descendant where she accidentally travels into the past and meets him

>A JayRoy bodyguard fic that was, again, supposed to be a short comedy but has quickly morphed into something huge about Jason refusing to become the Red Hood and instead getting revenge on Bruce via a long prank where he becomes Oliver Queen & family’s bodyguard but they don’t know who he is

>An experimental piece to help me explore relationships where a magical artifact traps various people connected to Jason in a strange, empty world that feels a bit apocalyptic but isn’t. There are four total groups of people, each in a different location to start with, and they basically have to work all their issues with each other out before they can leave.

>My one and only Bruce-centric fic designed to keep the Graysons alive where a lot of the same elements of Batman’s story happen but for different reasons, all beginning with Bruce’s parents getting shot outside the circus instead of the theater, Bruce getting amnesia, and John Grayson convincing his family to take in the injured amnesiac boy he finds

>and The Big One (aka the longest thing I’ve ever written in my life, which isn’t half done yet): JayRoy fake marriage featuring Lian, mutual pining, PTA/suburban shenanigans, social commentary, and long emotional arcs about familial reconciliation for both of them that may or may not be slower than the slowburn romance

Prompts: Feel free to send me prompts/requests, but I don’t guarantee I’ll write them. If I’m feeling it, I’m feeling it, and if I’m not, I’m not!

Upcoming work you’re most excited about: The novel-length fake marriage story, of course! Also the bodyguard AU, because the entire thing stems from one (1) incredibly inane joke and I can’t wait to post the chapter that includes the joke and revel in the groans

I can never think of anyone to tag for these things, esp. since I don’t really talk to people much on here anymore, but as always, if you see this and want to do it, consider yourself tagged by me!

[iamacolor]

“dk if you take prompts, but can you write one on when Yousana tell the Balloon Squad that they are together, and Elias is no even a little bit shocked, Adam and Mikael had made a bet on it, while Mutta is confused as fuck. IT WOULD BE SO CUUUUTE. “ (from thesuncameout on Ao3)

Hello everyone! I’m back at writing Yousana! I imagined that Yousef and Sana would want to keep their relationship secret for a while so they wouldn’t voluntarely tell the boys that they are togeteher and then my fic happened. Hope you enjoy it (sorry it’s a lot of dialogue)! (Also did someone say Turkey? Sorry I don’t know her)

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

“I am dating Yousef Acar.”

Sana still feels as though it’s not real because how could it possibly be ? But it is, it is so real she feels as though she’s fully alive for the first time. It hasn’t been long but it has been good. They’ve mainly been texting and stealing glances in the kitchen as well as having long phone calls in the night. They met a few times to walk around town, play basketball or sit in a park.

They didn’t really talk about it together but they agreed to keep it silent for awhile. To keep it between themselves. It’s their own thing. Something so private and so precious that they want to keep it for themselves for a while. And Sana likes the secrecy of it to be honest. She likes stealing glances at him, knowing that they are together, that this boy belongs with her but that no one else knows. Well, Elias knows she likes him and she suspects he knows that Yousef likes her. But he doesn’t know that they are dating.

And she would like to keep it that way for a while.

xxxxxxxxxx

She had to tell the girls of course as Noora knew for so long about Yousef and then learned about her feelings. She had told them yesterday. And it felt good. To share something with them and have them be excited and happy for her. She was expecting Vilde to make a stupid remark about whether or not she was allowed to touch his hand without being punished or something worse but as soon as she opened her mouth she sent her a glare and her friend hesitated for a second before saying that she was really happy for her. She got a high five from Chris and a “Fy Faen, you go girl!” from Eva.

Of course, Noora had to tell them about the texts between her and Yousef and about the kiss and so, in the end, Sana had to tell them everything about him until she decided that « No Vilde, if I don’t need to know everything about your sex life with Magnus, you don’t need to know everything about my conversations with Yousef ! »

xxxxxxxxxx

She is now in her bedroom waiting for him to call her when he gets off work. She has done all the work she had on her planning and is now getting excited to tell him about her day and to hear about his and to hear his voice and his laugh and she knows he’ll make her feel giddy and make her laugh and she loves it so much. She never thought she would be the type of girl giggling at the mere thought of a boy and yet here she is giggling as she remembers something he said to her yesterday on the phone.

She hears Elias calling her from the living room and sighs as she gets up to see what he wants. He is with Mikael and Adam and she wonders where Mutta is as these boys are usually inseparable. She can see by the look Elias gives her and the boys’ smiles that she just walked into a trap. They insist that she sits on the couch saying that they have something really important to tell her. Instead, they ask her if she knows about something happening between Yousef and her friend Noora because he has been distracted lately so they thought it might be Noora but it can’t be since she has that guy William, so does Sana has any idea about what’s happening ?

Talking about Yousef and romance is not safe but she has to reply. She replies that of course not he’s not with Noora, she is not into him.

“-But didn’t they have a date once ? Asks Mikael

- No, they were just talking, she replies

- How do you know? Asks Elias

- She told me

- Oh what were they talking about ?

- I can’t tell you that Adam!

- So you know ?

- Yes, she sighs, I do

- But who told you ?Asks Elias

- Noora of course

- Why would she tel you that ? Did it have anything to do with you ?

- What ?no ! She’s my friend she can talk to me about anything. What is happening here Elias ?

-Nothing, nothing we just want to know what’s going on with our friend. That’s all. I promise.

- Well,then ask him§

- Yeah we did and he said that there was nothing, says Mikael, but there is definitely something he’s hiding.

- You know what? I think there’s someone but it might be that other girl, not Noora, adds Adam

- What other girl? Asks Elias

- You know the one from that party a month ago, the brunette ?

- Ah yeah! Her name was Lola or something right ?

- Yeah, she was pretty into him so maybe they got in touch again ?

- It‘s not her! Exclaims Sana

Which she regrets immediately because she said it way to aggressively and no wthe bys are looking at her weirdly.

- Oh ok. Why are you reacting like that? Asks Elias, Sana what’s the problem?

- There’s no problem, Elias. What are you talking about?

- Are you jealous that Yousef might have a crush on someone else?

- What?? that’s ridiculous!

- But you like him.

- Elias…

- It’s ok to be jealous, you know, says her brother with an annoying condescending tone

- I am not jealous, I know he’s not with her and that’s all!

- How do you know if we, his friends, don’t?

- Yeah, how do you know Sana? Asks Adam

- Because, he told me. Ok?

- He told you he wasn’t with her?

- No, he told me something else that makes it impossible for him to be with her.

- Oh,can we know what it is? Asks Mikael

- Have you ever heard of a thing called a “private conversation”?

- Oh you have private conversations with him then?

- I have conversations with whoever I want, Elias.

- Sure you do! It just seems to me like you and him are pretty close, that’s all.

- So what if we are ?

At this moment, the bell rings and Elias goes to open the door and here comes Mutta with Yousef by his side. Which is something that Sana was definitely not expecting.

- I picked him up as you asked Elias, says Mutta, but he was quite surprised so I think you forgot to tell him and he had other plans. May be meeting a girl?

- I told you at least 10 times I wasn’t meeting a girl, Mutta!

Yousef notices Sana at that moment and stops in his track.

- What’s happening here? He asks Elias

- Nothing, we were just wondering how you and Sana got so close all of a sudden.

Before he replies Sana can hear Mutta asking Adam “What? I thought we were asking him about the girl ?” to wich Adam replies “Mutta, don’t you see?”

After being shocked for a few seconds, Yousef replies to Elias:

- What? We are not. We’re just,...we’re just friends. Not specifically close. I mean, we’re friends that’s it. Just, you know, ...friends.

Oh boy, thinks Sana, this is not helping

- Yeah, “ friends” got it! Says Elias, Sorry, I guess me and the guys are a little jealous that Sana knows more about your love life than we do.

- My love life ? I do not have a love life.

- Oh really? Because it doesn’t seem like it, from what Sana told us!

Before Sana has any chance to explain that she hasn’t told them anything at all, Yousef says to her:

- You told them??

- No, I…

- Told us about what? Asks Mikael

- Yeah, who are you dating?

- Mutta are you really that blind? Asks Adam

- Guys, says Yousef, I am not …

He can’t finish his sentence and Sana takes pity on him.

- Ok,she says,It’s me, he’s dating me.

A huge smile appear on Elias’ face as he exclaims “I knew it! I convinced the guys there was something and I was right!”

- You knew it ? What do you mean? Asks Yousef

Elias explains how he picked up on the signs (all the glances and the smiles, Yousef not being free to hang out at the same time than Sana going out to meet a friend, Yousef hiding his phone everytime he receives a notification… the list goes on), how he explained it to the guys and had Mutta pick Yousef up on his way to here.

-Elias§ why didn’t you tell me he was dating your sister?

- You’re terrible at keeping secrets Mutta, you would’ve talked about Sana the whole way up to here

- But like how did you guys know it wa Sana ? I’m so lost.

- Elais already explained, says Adam, pay attention

Yousef comes to sit next to Sana bt before he has the chance to say anything to her, Adam asks:

- So how long has this been going on between you two?

- 4 weeks

- Ah, I won! Says Adam to Mikael

- Wait, you guys made a bet ?Asks Yousef to his friends

- Well you know me, I always need money, replies Adam

- These are your friends, says Sana to Yousef, your friends, that you choose.

- This is your brother, replies Yousef pointing at Elias

- Don’t remind me.

Adam and Mikael are now arguing over how much money Mikael owes Adam, Elias interrupts them saying he remember the amount as he was there when they made the bet and when it doesn’t solve the problem, he suggests that they should just settle for a kebab. Mutta is still a bit lost and asking “But guys, why didn’t you tell me you knew it was Sana?”

Sitting on the couch, Sana and Yousef smile at each other.

“- Well it had to come out at one point so I guess this is done now, says Sana

- So you’re ok with them knowing ?

- Yeah, I guess. I think the problem isn’t that people know, it’s that they’ll talk, they’ll ask questions  and I don’t like that

- Ask her a question about herself and the great Sana Bakkoush gets scared

- I do not !

- It’s alright, I like the whole “I only wear black because I am very mysterious”.

- You make me sound like Batman!

-Well, as long as you let me help you catch the bad guys that doesn’t sound to bad to me.

- Okay you can drive my car.

- I’m in!

He high fives her and she laughs, attracting the attention of the other boys who suddenly start asking questions about how and when and why they got together. Sana rolls her eyes at them and looks at Yousef as if to say « You answer now ».

- I’ll answer, he whispers

She smiles at him and then he adds :

- But you’ll do the talking when we tell the parents.

Great.

[leagueofbane]

“Your company is far more appealing than Barsad’s.”

Nyssa contemplates her next move, while Bane and Talia celebrate their reunion, in this next installment of my Bane fic THE DEMON’S LEGACY.

(This story is also available at Ao3 and FanFiction.net.)

Chapter 4

             Diya Panjabi’s home was cramped and dark, located on the second floor of a tiny three-story dwelling made of mud bricks, typical for the village. Nyssa reached the door via a pale blue, steep exterior staircase with no railing and with small steps that would prove a challenge for her mother once she grew elderly. Nyssa often tried to convince her mother to move to a ground-floor dwelling, offering to buy one for her, but her stubborn parent always refused.

           “This has been my home since I was born,” she always said. “This is where you were born, daughter. I am comfortable here.”

           The home itself had only two windows and received sparse light due to the proximity of the neighboring buildings. While the structures protected it from the broiling Rajasthan sun, they also stole any breeze. Two rooms made up the interior—a modest bedroom and a larger room that served as both kitchen, dining room and living space. A pair of fans whirred away in the latter room, and the television Nyssa had bought her mother a few years ago had some Indian cooking show on. The scent of dum aloo and galaouti kebabs made Nyssa’s mouth water and reminded of her childhood. She was shocked to see her mother now at the stove.

           “Maji!” she scolded, setting down the bundle of unsold goods brought home from the bazaar. “Why are you out of bed? I’ll do the cooking. Haven’t we already discussed this?”

           Diya was twenty years older than Nyssa, but the hard years of her life, the heartbreak over the desertion of Nyssa’s father and his later death, had taken its toll by adding ten years to the leathery skin of her round face and to her dark eyes as well. But her smile at the sight of her daughter took away some of that wear.

           “I am feeling much better, betee.” With a bamboo spoon, she shooed away Nyssa’s solicitous hands.

           “I don’t care if you are. Sit down at the table and let me finish this.”

           Her mother chuckled. “My daughter is no cook.”

           “True enough, but it looks like everything’s almost done anyway. You’ve always had good timing, Maji. When I was little, you would be just setting the food on the table when I’d come home from playing with my friends.”

           “It was you who had the timing, betee. Your nose was keen and you had the appetite of a boy.” She glanced toward the unsold merchandise. “It looks like you did well today.”

           “Well, everyone is eager to help you, so they buy,” Nyssa shrugged, “whether they really need anything or have the money.”

           Her mother turned back to the stove. “I remember they were not so eager to help me when I was young.” She sighed. “But that was a different life. I am glad they no longer judge me for it. And many who did are dead now.”

           “Sit down, Maji. Please. Let me finish.”

           The fact that her mother obeyed belied the fact that she was not as well as she claimed.

           As Diya eased herself into a chair at the two-person table, she gave a dry laugh, “If sales are so good, perhaps I should be sick more often and let my beautiful daughter sell my wares. No doubt the men of the village used sympathy for me as an excuse to loiter around your stall.”

           “Whatever works, Maji.”

           “You always knew how to use your beauty to your advantage.”

           “And so did you. If I recall the story correctly, that’s how you snagged my father’s attention.” She glanced over her shoulder. “And speaking of him, I saw Maysam El Fadil today. There was a boy with her. A cute little thing who wanted one of your dolls.”

           Her mother chuckled. “Yes, he loves to take them apart, Maysam tells me. Typical boy—destroy instead of build.”

           “He said he takes them apart to make them better.”

           “He is a precocious one.”

           “Who is he?”

           Now her mother’s smile vanished, and she began to fidget with the plate in front of her. “I don’t ask such questions of Maysam El Fadil. No one with any sense would.”

           “Maji, you do know his name, right?”

           “Of course,” she mumbled.

           “Henri is not an Arabic name, as you know. And how strange that he has the same name as my father. So who is he?”

           “What does it matter?”

           Nyssa shrugged one shoulder. “I’m just curious. Aren’t you? Maysam seems to love the boy very much, so that leads me to believe she’s close to his parent or parents. Why else would they have a child living in the palace who obviously is of mixed blood, judging by his name and appearance, I mean?”

           “I hope you didn’t ask any impertinent questions of Maysam or the child.”

           “Of course not. You didn’t raise an idiot, did you?” She offered a humoring smile and a wink before bringing the food to the table.

           “Don’t stick your nose into El Fadil business. It will only bring trouble to both of us.”

           Nyssa said nothing more about the boy during the meal, for she wanted to avoid upsetting her mother or opening old wounds. But later, when night had invaded their home and her mother lay asleep in her room, Nyssa remained awake on the sofa, thinking about the encounter in the bazaar.

           The child was significant. She just knew it in her bones. His name…could it betray a secret? No, she was thinking crazy. Henri Ducard was dead, as was his wife, years ago, according to the stories. And their daughter, Talia, was also dead, well before that boy was born. Or was she? A body had never been found in the aftermath of the Gotham siege. The Gotham police commissioner claimed Talia had died in front of him after the truck she had been driving crashed. But Commissioner Gordon had not remained at the site of her demise for long that day. There had been no one else around until later when the citizens emerged from their homes, saved from nuclear annihilation by the Batman flying Bane’s bomb out to sea. The League’s men surely had removed Talia, alive or dead. The global community believed her dead, and Bane as well.

           But, in the gray world of mercenaries, Nyssa had heard rumors from three years ago when the terrorist known as Al Thi’b, the Wolf, had been killed. Although the Americans claimed responsibility for the operation, mercenaries who sometimes operated in the murky world of Islamic radicals claimed the American story was not completely true. Shortly before Al Thi’b’s death, the Saudi terrorist had been contacted by someone offering the sale of a ballistic missile as bait. If that part of the story was true, there were few people or organizations in the world who could or would deal in such weaponry, the League of Shadows being one of them. Al Thi’b wouldn’t have met with the seller without first having proof of the missile’s existence. Who would be so bold except the League’s commander to flaunt such a weapon? It smacked of Bane, but if he lived, why would he work with the Americans, and, equally important, why would the Americans have worked with Bane? Some sort of deal, of course; what else could it be? Something that mutually benefitted both sides.

           So if Bane indeed lived, perhaps Talia did as well. Maybe she was still Demon Head of the League. Perhaps that little boy with Maysam was Talia’s child. Who else could Maysam love as much as she obviously loved that boy? And who was the father?

           Years ago, when Siddig El Fadil had died of a heart attack, a rumor flew through the village that a beautiful young woman who looked very much like Melisande had attended the funeral. The ceremony had been private, of course, so who knew if the whispers were true? But it caught Nyssa’s attention when she had visited her mother a short while after Siddig had been buried. She had rarely considered that she may have half-siblings. If the woman at the funeral was indeed Melisande’s daughter, then she had to have been born in prison. Surely the father wasn’t just some random inmate; if so, Nyssa doubted the El Fadil household would have allowed Melisande’s daughter to attend the funeral, even if Maysam had insisted it be allowed. And the fact that this woman didn’t appear until after Siddig was dead further stirred Nyssa’s curiosity that the mystery woman might indeed be her half-sister. Siddig El Fadil’s shame over Melisande secretly marrying the infidel Henri Ducard had led to his daughter’s imprisonment. No way could he have known Melisande was pregnant at the time he had banished her. If he had, the gossiping villagers had little doubt that Siddig would have terminated the pregnancy, or worse. But with Siddig dead, that meant Melisande’s daughter could safely visit her grandmother without fear of her grandfather’s vengefulness.

           Over the years, Nyssa had eventually pushed aside her curiosity. Discussing the possibility of having a half-sister only caused her mother pain. Nyssa hated her father for being responsible for such sorrow. Her own pain she could bear but not her mother’s. Yet when Nyssa learned of her father’s death, waves of conflicting emotions had drowned her. Unexpectedly, she had been consumed by grief. All the what-ifs revisited her from her years growing up in the village. And learning that her father had been the head of such an infamous organization as the League of Shadows further intrigued her about how her life would have been different if her father had stayed with them. The little girl in her had hoped that perhaps one day she would meet him, that they might finally have a relationship. But the Batman had ended any such hope.

           What of Talia’s relationship with their father? According to Commissioner Gordon, Talia had claimed to be finishing her father’s work with the Gotham siege. If true, she must have had a meaningful relationship with their father. The thought used to make Nyssa jealous and angry. How could her father love Talia while completely forgetting his first daughter? And had he bothered to tell Talia that she had a half-sister? Or had he been too embarrassed by his abandonment to admit such a thing?

           Nyssa sighed and wished she could sleep. Her father was dead and perhaps her half-sister, too. Why should she lose precious sleep tonight thinking about them?

           The boy. Henri.

           The name couldn’t be simply a coincidence, just as her coming back to the village and meeting him in the bazaar couldn’t be simply a coincidence. There was a reason behind the timing of it all. She needed to find out what that reason was. She needed to know if her half-sister truly was dead or alive. And if Talia was indeed dead, then that meant Nyssa was now heir to the Demon. Was it a position she wanted to pursue, her birthright? It was a question she had toyed with ever since her father’s death.

           One corner of her mouth curled into a smile. Her father had taken so much from her mother, from her. Perhaps it was only fitting if she tried to claim what had once been his.

###

           Talia set her dessert plate on the small table between her and Maysam, every last morsel of mafruka devoured. She gazed out over the palace courtyards in the haze of late evening, watched a distant flock of starlings wheel and plunge against the backdrop of purple sky before darting away toward the village. Picking up her coffee cup, she blew gently against the dark liquid as she noted her grandmother’s troubled expression. She had just returned from seeing Abrams out.

           “Is something wrong, Jiddah?”

           Maysam snapped out of her trance, but her frown remained. Bane also watched her closely from his chair near the veranda railing. Barsad raised his eyebrows with interest from where he sat on the other side of Maysam. Next to him, Sanjana stared down at her coffee cup, as if not hearing Talia’s inquiry.

           “No,” Maysam said. “Nothing’s wrong. But there is something I want to say, an apology for my behavior at dinner.”

           “Apology?” Talia echoed.

           “Yes, for what I said to Aaron about Diya’s daughter. I shouldn’t have dismissed his concerns, especially in front of others. I apologized to him just now, and I want to do the same to all of you.”

           Barsad came to her aid with an amused smile. “Abrams didn’t think twice about what you said, I’m sure. He’s a crusty old bastard. He’d never think badly of you.”

           “All the same, I’m sorry.”

           Sanjana had lifted her head when Maysam first said the word apology, and now she blinked with surprise at the older woman before returning her attention to her coffee. Then she leaned over and spoke quietly into Barsad’s ear. Barsad stood.

           “Well, we’re going to say good night.” He took Sanjana’s hands to help her extricate her unwieldy body from her chair. “We’re both exhausted.”

           “Thank you for dinner, Madam,” Sanjana said demurely.

           Standing, Maysam said, “I’m glad you both came.”

           Bane had also stood, and he gave Sanjana a warm smile and nod as she passed by into the dining room with Barsad.

           After their footfalls had died away, Talia said, “I wonder if Sanjana will ever stop calling you Madam.”

           “Perhaps she never will,” Bane said. “She is a respectful girl, as she should be to Maysam.”

           “Because I’m old?” Maysam teased with a small smile.

           Bane grinned. “I never said that.”

           “Well, I am old. Old and foolish to have treated Aaron the way I did.”

           “Jiddah.” Talia touched her hand on the arm of her wicker chair. “It’s not a big deal. None of us took it as an insult toward him. And neither did he, I’m sure.”

           Maysam sighed. “He is a skittish one, though. I fear hurting his feelings.”

           Talia laughed. “He’s a bit tougher than that, Jiddah.”

           “Don’t let his hard outer shell fool you, hafida. He is a sensitive man. That is why he is so deeply scarred and why he protects himself emotionally.”

           A spark of mischief danced in Talia’s sapphire eyes. “Sounds like you’ve given this a lot of thought.”

           “Don’t tease me about this again, hafida.”

           “But why not? It’s so fun.”

           “Habibati,” Bane gently chided Talia, eyebrows raised. “Leave her be.”

           “But they’re so cute together, don’t you think? And they could have such fun.”

           “You speak as if I am a teenager,” Maysam said. “I am an old woman, older than Aaron. Why would he want anything to do with me in the way you are thinking?”

           “And how am I thinking?”

           “Perhaps,” Bane rumbled, “it is time for us to retire as well, Talia.”

           “You aren’t dead, Jiddah, and neither is Abrams. There’s still more for you in life.”

           “There is plenty for me already—I have my great-grandson and my loving granddaughter to keep me busy, even if she does sometimes stick her nose in my business.”

           “Yes, you’ve devoted your last two years to our child, and we love you for it. But we would also love to see you happy in other ways. You deserve a good man, and Abrams is that.”

           “I told you, he is not interested.”

           “You don’t believe that. He’s just mortally shy, Jiddah. Give him some more time. I know he cares for you. He just doesn’t know how to show it and whether he can because of working for you.”

           Maysam snorted. “You are a foolish girl.”

           “I think she’s right,” Bane said.

           Maysam stared at him in surprise.

           “Abrams does care for you.”

           “He has spoken to you of this?”

           “Of course not. But I know what I see when he looks at you. I, too, am a man, after all.” He winked.

           Maysam blushed.

           Bane got to his feet. “Now, I must retire. We must retire.” He held his hand out to Talia, who frowned at him but accepted his hand and stood. “Thank you for dinner, Maysam.”

           Maysam embraced him. “I’m so glad you’re back, Haris. We have all missed you so much, especially Henri. He worships you.”

           “I’m pleased to be back.” He kissed her cheek. “Good night.”

###

           “Poor Barsad,” Talia said as she and Bane walked down the long hallway toward their suite. “He was trying so hard during dinner to draw Sanjana into the conversation.”

           “It is a difficult situation for Sanjana. I have suggested to him that he take her away from here, to dwell elsewhere, but you can imagine what he said to that.”

           “Before he devoted himself to Sanjana, he devoted himself to you, his brother. You know nothing will ever come between you two, not even the mother of his child.”

           “It should not be this way,” Bane grumbled. “The girl deserves a better life.”

           “Maybe, but it seems to me her life was far worse before she came to the palace.”

           “Indeed, but still, she will always be in Maysam’s shadow here at the palace.”

           Talia glanced over her shoulder to make sure no one was within hearing distance. “Do you think she suspects Barsad’s old affair with Maysam? Could that be adding to her discomfort?”

           “Women are uncannily intuitive,” Bane quietly said. “But I surely hope she continues to be ignorant of that part of Barsad’s life. It would crush her. And I can’t imagine she could allow herself to remain at the palace.”

           “But Jiddah is…well, older now.”

           “Of course Sanjana would not fear a rekindling of the relationship, but, as a woman, can you honestly say such a revelation wouldn’t disconcert you, especially when she already feels intimidated by Maysam?”

           Talia frowned. “True, it would add to the awkwardness. But if Sanjana does suspect or find out, I think it wouldn’t have the same effect on her if Jiddah and Abrams were together.”

           “Perhaps.”

           They reached their suite and entered through the door at the near end, one which led into the spa. This door, like the other one farther down the hall, was guarded by one of the League’s men, part of the small security force that lived at the palace since Talia had come to reside here full time.

           The spa was lit dimly by a few of the recessed lights in the low ceiling. Their dull golden shine danced upon the placid water of the rectangular pool. None of the myriad of scented candles were lit, so the smell of chlorine dominated the room. Talia and Bane had made love many times here, both in and out of the water. Bane used the spa even more than Talia did. She often found him relaxing in its warmth in the evenings after dinner, for it soothed his aching back. Afterwards, she sometimes spoiled him with a massage. She always did whatever she could to relieve his pain. But tonight Talia knew without asking that he would not indulge himself; she could tell by the looseness of his arm around her how tired he was from his mission and his long journey home.

           They passed through the Romanesque spa and down the hallway. A guard stood in front of Henri’s bedroom door, and he smiled white teeth in his dark face, a smile that always coaxed the same from Talia. This was Mohammad Adeyemi—known as Yemi—a burly Nigerian who had been rescued from the pit prison with Bane, an old friend who had once saved Talia’s life when she had been an infant. Since becoming a member of the League of Shadows, he continued to protect her as the head of her personal security and now Henri’s as well. Officially, Yemi’s detail was to protect Bane as Demon Head, since Talia no longer held any position in the League after becoming pregnant and relinquishing command to Bane. But Bane made it clear to Yemi and his men that Talia and Henri’s safety was their priority, not him.

           “He hasn’t stirred,” Yemi whispered.

           “Thank goodness,” Talia murmured. “Thank you, Yemi. Have a good night.”

           With a sly grin and a glance at Bane, Yemi said, “You, too,” then left them.

           Talia peeked into Henri’s room, Bane’s gentle hand upon her shoulder. She watched her son sleep, listened to his deep breaths fluttering against the pillow. So innocent, so sweet. If only he was as placid while awake.

           Bane kissed her softly on the cheek and embraced her from behind. She sighed and touched his hand, so relieved to have him here to take some of the pressure of parenthood from her. Life was simple and secure when he was near. Their family was complete, that sense of protection she remembered in the vaguest of ways from long, long ago in prison when her mother still lived and Bane was her father, brother, and best friend. More of a feeling than a memory, really, for how clear were the memories of a five-year-old?

           Afraid Henri might sense their presence and awaken, Talia pressed back against Bane to encourage him to retreat. His stirring manhood made itself known. She loved how much he still desired her, even as tired as he was.

           Pulling Henri’s door silently shut, she whispered, “I’m going to wash up for bed. Would you mind pouring me a glass of wine?”

           Bane sensually kissed her neck, making her body tingle. “Your wish is my command. Don’t be long, my dove.” Then he freed her and headed down the hallway.

           Talia watched him, noting how his usually-lumbering steps were often lighter whenever he was aroused. Distraction eased his aches and pains. She was glad to be responsible for it. Whatever she could give him, she would. After all, no matter how much she did for him, she could never repay him for his lifelong devotion.

           In the obscenely large bathroom, she washed her face and brushed her teeth, thinking about her grandmother and Abrams. She wished there would be a breakthrough in their relationship, especially now with Barsad so close to becoming a father. Though her grandmother never said anything about how Barsad’s relationship with Sanjana affected her, Talia knew there was still a lingering nostalgia in her grandmother over the torrid affair she had had with Barsad years before he had met Bane, back when he worked for the El Fadil family. It was not that her grandmother still carried a torch for Barsad but instead, Talia surmised, it was merely a natural loneliness from seeing those around her in love, especially a man whom she had once called her own. Talia was confident a relationship with Aaron Abrams would fill the hole in her grandmother’s life.

           Talia frowned, knowing Abrams was a tough nut to crack. Bane had confided to her what Abrams once told him in prison, before Talia had even been born. There had been a prisoner, called the Vulture, who had befriended Bane directly after Bane’s mother had died, when the boy was most vulnerable. Unbeknownst to Bane, the inmate was a pedophile. Abrams had told him to be cautious around the Vulture on more than one occasion. From what Abrams had said, Bane later realized—after the Vulture tried to rape him—that Abrams’s warnings had come from personal experience with a similar deviant, though Abrams never clarified or elaborated. Seeing Abrams every day and witnessing his tightly guarded ways, Talia figured his behavior even now was influenced by the abuse he suffered in the past. Though Abrams was comfortable with Yemi, Bane, and Barsad and had forged a strong friendship, he had never confided the secrets of his youth to any of them. That life, and Abrams’s life in the pit, were memories he refused to revisit. Perhaps he feared that entering an intimate relationship with Maysam—or any woman—would lead to uncomfortable questions about his past.

           Lately, Maysam talked more and more about trying to get closer to Abrams. She often pondered aloud her confusion over why Abrams refused to explore their relationship, especially when his body language revealed his interest in her. On more than one occasion, Talia considered telling her grandmother what she and Bane suspected about Abrams’s past, but she held her tongue, not wanting to say something so intimate about her friend, especially when she had no confirmation that he had indeed been abused and certainly had no permission to do so even if she had proof. Instead, Talia had couched her reasons for his distance with mere speculation, safe things like a broken heart or even a sexual dysfunction, hoping this would satisfy her grandmother. Yet, Maysam’s wistful search for answers continued, and it wounded Talia’s heart.

           “What is taking you so long, habibati?” Bane’s voice startled Talia.

           In the mirror, she watched him approach from the doorway, naked and still aroused. The sight of his stiff, bobbing member instantly stirred her, initiating a rush of molten heat from within her.

           “I was thinking of Jiddah and Abrams.”

           Bane’s tree-like arms slipped around her, and he buried his nose in her long, dark hair. “It is true Abrams moves with the speed of a glacier, but rest assured he is moving inevitably in Maysam’s direction. Patience, little mouse. Look how long I had to wait for you, but it was well worth it. Your grandmother will think the same in time.” He pulled her against him, not allowing her to turn and face him. “Now, no more talk of romance except our own.”

           His hand lazily unzipped her pants, dipping inside. She wore no underwear to hinder his exploration. Another gush of liquid desire, coating his fingers as he made her writhe slightly and close her eyes. His other hand tugged her pants off her hips, and they folded like an accordion around her bare feet. He growled softly and kissed her neck, sending further tremors of delight through her.

           With the inescapable fortitude of a mountain, Bane pinned her against the white marble vanity, a willing captive, her hands braced along the far edge of the sink. She loved it when he took charge. It was almost always this way when he returned from a mission, as if he felt the need to dominate and reclaim her. Sometimes she would pretend to resist, just to increase the sexual tension and his determination, but he always won, bending her to his will, the only man who ever could.

           Deftly his fingers unbuttoned the first couple of buttons on her blouse, enough to make it easy for him to drag it over her head. His fingers trailed through her mane, then down between her shoulder blades. As he pressed her torso toward the sink, she tilted her pelvis to offer what he desired, to encourage him. Between her thighs, his skillful fingers continued to tantalize her, making her impatient. She already panted in anticipation, his warm manhood pressed against her buttocks. She arched herself even more, wanting his cock between her legs, wanting to reach for it but unable to because of the vanity against her belly.

           Finally his erection rubbed against her swollen heat. Talia moaned and tried to move, in vain.

           “You are trapped, my love,” he murmured hoarsely in her ear. “Like a beautiful butterfly in a spider’s web. A spider who wishes to devour you.”

           He rubbed his penis against her womanhood, torturing her further. He smeared her warmth the length of his erection. She bent closer to the sink, opening herself even wider to him, like a flower as the sun rises. His other hand fondled her dangling breasts. How she wanted to touch him, to quench her own thirst. But he was unrelenting in his pressure against the vanity, and finally he glided inside her, nearly lifting her off her feet, her toes curling.

           His hands took hold of her hips, and he began to move, first with shallow thrusts, but not so shallow that he would drift outside of her and need to begin again. But he was cognizant of how uncomfortable her position was against the marble, so his thrusts soon went deeper, harder, faster. More than once she lost her footing, but the pinning force of his body kept her anchored.

           In the mirror’s reflection, animal passion contorted his face, his eyes pressed shut in concentration, his mouth slightly open to emit grunts of pleasure. No mask to deprive Talia of his handsome visage. Even the scars from the surgeries failed to detract from his looks. She longed to run her fingers through his short, unkempt brown hair.

           Bane’s fingers dug into her hips. His speed, his urgency accelerated, and Talia gripped the faucet fixtures to brace against him. The edge of the vanity bruised her hip bones, but the pain only served to heighten her own excitement. As if sensing she was about to lose the ability to keep him from forcing her headfirst into the mirror, he snaked one arm between her belly and the vanity, locking her against his driving pelvis. Deeper, deeper until she cried out in ecstasy, knuckles turning white as she clenched the gold fixtures, no longer able to look in the mirror, to see anything. Instead she just felt—felt his power, her surrender, their consummation; heard their mingled outcries, echoing against the glass and marble.

           He caught her as she collapsed, kept her tight against him while he shuddered out his last, his breath leaving him in one long exhale. Slowly, reluctantly he withdrew, wrapped both arms around her limp form. His legs trembled, and he succumbed to their weakness, drawing her with him to the cool floor where they sat together. Talia sighed and remained in his arms, sitting between his hard-muscled legs, his slimy, sated member against her. She leaned against his chest, and he kissed the top of her head.

           “How I’ve missed this,” Talia murmured, her finger trailing across his bulging pectorals. “I wish you would never have to leave us.”

           He kissed her lips. “If I had my wish, you would be with me always, my dear, you and our difficult boy cub.” Mischief glinted in his eyes. “Your company is far more appealing than Barsad’s.”

           She smiled her appreciation, welcomed another kiss, then relaxed against him once more.

           Bane hugged her close, breathing in the bouquet of her hair and the lingering scent from their union. “Let us take a shower, habibati, and wash ourselves clean before bed. I will need my rest if I am to entertain our son all day tomorrow, as he will demand. And I can see how very tired you are, perhaps more so than I.”

           “Yes,” she sighed. “I don’t think I ever had a tougher mission during my years in the League than what I face now, raising a child.”

           Bane chuckled. “Well, at least I will be here for a while to relieve you.”

           Her frown came again, bringing with it the melancholy she had been experiencing for the past few weeks, since Bane had left. But how to explain it to him? She preferred not to burden him with her troubles, though her grandmother insisted she speak with him about it. She remembered how he had probed her gaze earlier, upon his return, and asked if something was wrong. Of course he knew something was amiss; he was always so in tune with her, as she was with him. If she tried to keep her feelings to herself, he would find a way to pry the secret out of her, so perhaps her grandmother was right.

           As Bane helped Talia to her feet, she thought of Henri’s latest act of defiance. Perhaps when she showed Bane the evidence, he would thoroughly understand the level of her frustration. If anyone could change Henri’s behavior, it was his father. Talia had nearly given up.

[lusilly]

home safe and tucked away

Set between the onset of Damian’s illness in Orange Juice and a year-ish before Damian asks Bruce about Talia directly in Victis Honor, this is a wee mini fic concerning Damian’s state of mind when he’s ~15 years old, and finally gaining the vocabulary to call things he’s been through what they are. It’s also a glimpse into how Bruce is trying very hard to be a good parent, but he has no fucking clue how to do it. (Alfred’s better at it though.)

In which Talia wants to see Damian, and Bruce will not allow it, and Damian knows, despite himself, that he should not want to see her.

Title from “Broken Crown” by Mumford and Sons:

Touch my mouth and hold my tongue I'll never be your chosen one I'll be home safe and tucked away Well you can't tempt me if I don't see the day

           Bruce’s phone rang at breakfast.

           It was nearly two, but Bruce and Damian had only just returned from an extended mission in Hong Kong, and adapting back to their native time zone was slow going. For the sake of uniformity, Alfred declared long ago that breakfast was to be the first meal eaten upon waking up, no matter the time. So this was breakfast, full of protein and carbohydrates to keep the stamina up through long nights. Batman and Robin had been gone some time from Gotham, and therefore Alfred knew Bruce would intend to patrol until dawn, as if to make up for his absence.

           It was a meal mostly in utilitarian silence, apart from Damian answering when Alfred asked how Cassandra was doing out there in Hong Kong; Bruce grunted once in assent when Damian asked if he thought Cass really was planning to visit home in September. “Maybe we can go to Disneyland again,” he said, referring to his trip with Cass to Disneyland on his twelfth birthday as a joke, but his tone sounded only artificially derisive. Alfred sensed he would very much like another visit to an amusement park with his adopted sister.

           After a few more minutes of silence, Alfred asked Damian how the Titans were doing; Damian coughed slightly, swallowed his bite of beans on toast (a British taste Damian had somehow inherited, though Bruce had never warmed up to it), and replied. “Doing well,” he answered, nodding. “Lian tried to organize a mission last week without me, though I heard it didn’t go anywhere.”

           “Of course,” answered Alfred, with measured tone. “How could they think to embark upon a dangerous mission without their fearless leader?”

           Despite a small roll of his eyes, this clearly stroked Damian’s ego, and he allowed himself a small grin. “No,” he remarked, with a generous shrug. “I say if Lian wants to lead them so badly, so be it. She may not be the strongest, physically speaking, but she certainly is the loudest.”

           With a twinkle in his eye, Alfred asked, “Isn’t Wally West’s daughter also on that team? If I recall correctly, in your brother’s time he was always the one with the biggest mouth.”

           The hint of a blush might’ve entered Damian’s cheeks. “Yes, well,” he began, “Iris doesn’t need to be our leader – tactically speaking, I wouldn’t waste her magnificent power by keeping her tied behind the controls-”

           A loud, shrill ringing interrupted Damian’s conversation. Both he and Alfred glanced towards Bruce, who set down his fork and produced a sleek black cell phone from his pocket.

           “Is it Miss Vale?” asked Alfred, with some interest. “She’s been calling the house for the past week about the gala you missed.”

           Bruce squinted down at the screen, as if through spectacles he wasn’t wearing. “Don’t recognize the number,” he murmured. He hovered his finger above the Answer bubble, then hesitated. To himself, he muttered, “What would Bruce Wayne be doing at two PM on a Tuesday…?”

           There was a moment’s pause; shrilly, the phone continued to ring.

           With a hint of scorn, Damian offered, “…Having breakfast?”

           Bruce looked at his son, blinked, and then a hint of a smile tugged at his lips. He instantly assumed an affected character as he answered the phone, leaning back in his seat. “Yello!” he said, in that tone of voice Damian could hardly even recognize as his father. “Brucie speaking, who is this!”

           There was a flicker of something, and then he got to his feet. “Oh, yeah,” he continued, to whomever was on the other line. “Yeah, yeah, sure thing. No problem. You betcha.”

           At Damian’s look, Bruce gave a vague wave of his hand to indicate, Just a second, and left the dining room out of the tall door which led to the hall to the drawing room. The dining room was left once more in silence.

           Damian watched the door for a moment, fork in hand. Then he looked back at Alfred.

           “No,” said Alfred firmly, reading the expression on the boy’s face. “Finish eating before you bother him.”

           “That wasn’t some reporter,” said Damian.

           “An old flame feeling neglected by the playboy billionaire, then,” said Alfred simply. “He left so as not to spare you the embarrassment of listening to him lie to some poor young woman, in all likelihood. You should be grateful.”

           “You saw his face,” said Damian.

           “I see his face every day,” replied Alfred. “A look of mild disturbance is not unusual. In fact, it would be more unusual to see him without it.”

           Damian looked back towards the door. “I’m going to go see who it is,” he said.

           “Master Damian, please,” said Alfred, placing one hand firmly on Damian’s shoulder, gently keeping him in place. Meeting Damian’s gaze, Alfred said, “This relationship you are both trying so hard to foster – it must go both ways, you know. He allows you your privacy, and you must allow him his.”

           “It’s a call on his unencrypted phone,” Damian pointed out. “There’s nothing private about it.”

           “He left the room.”

           “So?”

           “So clearly he would prefer if you did not hear his conversation.”

           “He’s the one who answered his phone at the table.”

           Alfred watched Damian for a moment with narrowed eyes.

           Then he sighed and gestured towards the door, turning back to his own plate of food. Without hesitation, Damian got up and went to the door, opening it quietly and slipping out quickly so that his father wouldn’t notice.

           Bruce was in the drawing room adjacent to the hall where Damian now stood. Damian sidled up against the wall, moving as close as he could to the large open entrance to the drawing room. From the first sounds of his father’s voice, Damian could tell that he was facing away from the entrance, his voice bouncing against a wall. Cautiously, quick as a knife, Damian glanced around the wall to peek into the room.

           Bruce stared out of a square window at the summertime heat drenching the grounds. One arm was folded across his chest in an oddly defensive position, supporting the elbow of the arm which held the phone.

           “No,” Bruce said lowly. This was not the same voice with which he had answered the phone: this was the voice Damian had come to associate with his father in their most genuine moments. Too hard, too quiet to be the Bruce the press knew, and yet gentle enough so as to not sound like Batman barking orders.

           Damian strained his ears.

           “No,” repeated Bruce, with a little more emphasis this time. “What makes you think I would allow that?” A pause. Disdainfully, Bruce said, “Don’t flatter yourself.”

           A longer pause. “Because it’s not about that,” Bruce continued, with some venom. “It’s about what you’ve done to him. Don���t do this with me,” he warned whoever was on the other line. “I don’t know how you got this number, or how you think this is in any way appropriate, or what you’re planning that you want him back so badly, but I can tell you it isn’t going to happen.”

           Damian’s heart rose into his throat and he froze, suddenly realizing who was on the other line.

           “Don’t call again,” said Bruce, and then the other room plunged into silence. For a moment nothing happened; Damian imagined his parents both frozen, mirror images of one another from thousands of miles away, still and quiet and staring with burning eyes at the phone in their hand.

           When Bruce began to move again, Damian thought about slipping away, back into the dining room to take his seat beside Alfred and pretend he hadn’t just heard such damning evidence of something he’d convinced himself would never happen again: his mother wanted to see him.

           But despite himself, he couldn’t come up with a good reason to move. So when Bruce passed the threshold back into the hall, and turned to find Damian standing there with his back against the wall – the look in his eyes a little bit defiant, a little bit shocked – Bruce stopped, and he looked at his son, and if Damian were less upset he might’ve seen the flicker of regret in his father’s expression.

           As it was, Bruce watched Damian for a moment. “I suppose it’d be too optimistic for me to ask you to pretend you didn’t just hear that.”

           Grimly, Damian nodded.

           “Any chance you’d believe I was talking to Dick?”

           Damian didn’t even bother responding to this. When he spoke, his voice, though low, slapped across Bruce’s face as sharp and stinging as a cold wind off the bay. “Is this the first time you’ve heard from her?”

           Bruce almost cocked his head. “In some time, yes.”

           “What does that mean?”

           Bruce didn’t answer.

           Again, Damian asked: “What does that mean?”

           “She’s made contact,” answered Bruce lowly, with more spite than reluctance. “This is the first time I’ve spoken to her directly.”

           “She wanted to talk to me,” said Damian bluntly.

           “No, she didn’t.”

           “But she wants to see me.”

           From the window in the adjacent drawing room, sunlight spilled out into the hall, draping Bruce in peculiar light. He looked tired, and older than Damian saw him in his mind’s eye, when he closed his eyes.

           Quietly, Bruce replied, “She wants you back. There’s a difference.”

           “She’s the one who left me with you to begin with,” said Damian immediately, cutting through Bruce’s words like glass. “Why would she want me back now?”

           Again, Bruce said nothing. He gave a shrug, cell phone still in hand. “I don’t know,” he said, honestly.

           “You haven’t asked her?”

           “You think she’d tell me the truth?”

           “I don’t know,” Damian shot back. “You’re the one who used to love her, not me.”

           While it was true enough that Bruce did once love Talia, it was a lie that Damian never loved his mother. Bruce knew this: he did not know if Damian did anymore. Lately, if he ever talked about his mother it was with genuine disgust in his voice. As a younger child, Damian had maintained a sort of snooty reverence of his mother, some assurance that she was still somehow better than any of his father’s family in every possible way. And yet, within the past year, this had disappeared, and suddenly he spoke of her with venom on his tongue.

           This had coincided with an official diagnosis earlier this year of PTSD, though the details of this Damian refused to share with his father. Alfred had spoken to Damian’s therapist, but Bruce had chosen not to be a part of that conversation. Somehow, though it wrenched with pain at his heart, Bruce knew that he did not want to know. Then there had been that college-level psychology course Alfred had been coaching Damian through, and the particular interest Damian had demonstrated in abnormal psychology, which had extended the course through summer. Bruce didn’t like the snoop on Damian’s education because he knew from firsthand experience that the Batman checking in on schoolwork only heightened the pressure his sons felt, but he had taken noticed of some of the books Damian ordered with Bruce’s credit card; textbooks, mostly, but buried among them were a number of self-help books. Those on healing; on trauma; on recovering from parental abuse.

           The word frightened Bruce, if he was honest with himself. Sometimes when he could not sleep he sat up through the early hours of dawn and scoured through his memory, searching for moments when his methods of raising a child became too extreme, too dangerous. Instances came to mind far too easily. There had been worse moments with the other boys, that much was clear to Bruce – he had learned, eventually, that a child was not the same as a soldier – but it had scared him, looking up those book synopses on Amazon, wondering of which parent Damian thought when reading them.

           Bruce gestured towards the door to the dining room. “Can we go back to breakfast?” he asked.

           “You owe me an explanation first,” Damian replied stonily, arms crossed over his chest.

           “I don’t have much of one to offer,” Bruce said smoothly. “And, unless you object to Alfred overhearing our argument, I’m sure this would be better for the both of us if we could return to our meal.”

           Heatedly, Damian began, “I never said this was an argument-” but his tone betrayed him, and Bruce gave him a mild, pointed look.

           Again, Bruce gestured towards the door. For a moment he didn’t think Damian was going to budge. Then Damian let out an angry little breath, and turned around to head back to breakfast. Bruce followed him, gently placing a hand on his son’s back. Damian shrugged him off, but not violently.

           In the dining room, Alfred sat reading the Gazette. “Thank you,” said Bruce, as both he and Damian took a seat, “for encouraging my son’s misbehavior, Alfred.”

           With a slight shrug, Alfred replied pleasantly, “You are the one who answered his phone at breakfast, sir.”

           Though he seemed more upset than angry, there was still genuine rancor in Damian’s words as he demanded, “How is it misbehavior to want to know what my mother is saying about me?”

           Bruce reminded him, “You didn’t know it was your mother when you followed me out of the room.”

           “I knew it was someone.”

           “Damian, of course it was someone-”

           “What did Talia have to say?” asked Alfred mildly, interrupting before either father or son could make the situation worse for themselves; then, on second thought, he added, “Though I don’t expect it to be happy news, I am unquestionably glad she has resorted to normal means of communication, rather than notes left cryptically in burnt-out apartments, or else messages sent by way of assassin.”

           Damian’s gaze snapped up to Alfred, eyes wide and vicious. His nostrils flared slightly. “You knew?” he asked. “You knew my mother was trying to contact me?”

           “Not you, Master Damian,” replied Alfred, reaching out to pat Damian’s hand reassuringly. He flinched away from the touch, which instantly alarmed Bruce: when Damian’s sensitivity to touch flared up, it typically meant they were approaching a genuine full-blown episode. “I believe she had a question for your father.”

           Damian looked back to Bruce. “About me.”

           “Parents often talk of their children,” Alfred said, with no hint of malice. “It is not as unusual as you seem to think, Master Damian.” He reached for the milk jug just past Damian, found it difficult to handle properly – though he wouldn’t admit it, arthritis was beginning to riddle his joints, particularly his fingers and hands – and after one moment, both Bruce and Damian reached out to help him; Damian grasped the thing first, and refilled Alfred’s glass.

           “I have a right to know what she says about me,” said Damian, setting down the jug. His tone was lower now, more in control; Bruce watched him carefully, searching for any small betrayal of a compulsion, of his OCD working him up into a frenzy.

           Alfred took his glass and sipped at the contents thoughtfully. “Why?” he asked.

           Damian stared at him. “What do you mean, why?”

           “I mean,” Alfred replied, with a shrug, “why? Do you want to know what she says about you? Do you think it will make you feel better?”

           “I – if she wants to see me-”

           “Do you want to see her?”

           Angrily, Damian retorted, “Of course not!”

           “Then why does it matter?” Alfred insisted. “For all you know, she wants to recruit you into her various assassin-filled organizations, because one of your teachers has been killed and she now has an unoccupied space she must fill. Or otherwise,” he continued shortly, “perhaps she would like to invite you into her home for a sixteenth birthday celebration.” He paused; then, again, he asked, “Does it matter?”

           Damian watched Alfred with weary eyes for a moment.

           Then he picked up his fork and poked at his food. When he brought a forkful of egg whites to his mouth, Bruce let out an inward sigh of relief: when Damian was at his worst, he couldn’t even touch food. This was a good sign.

           Bruce too resumed his meal, though cautiously, glancing in between Alfred and Damian. After so long Bruce assumed Damian had decided to leave Alfred’s question unanswered, Damian surprised him by speaking.

           “No,” he murmured. “I guess it doesn’t.”

           They finished their meal in peace.