#I was going to put the tea cups on books and Ivy pointing a gun to Tim xd but I was to lazy to draw guns

[eobardthawneallen]

Tea time with octokittens :3c

[ID: From left to right a drawing of Gunpowder Tim, Nastya and Ivy are sitting on the floor of the Aurora.

Tim is smiling sitting cross legged, he is holding a white teapot with gold and pink decoration, in front of him are two tea cups on the floor and one black with withe octokitten is drinking from their nearest cup.

Tim's eyes have dark sclera with yellow zigzagged lines, with the same yellow it does a not complete circle inside the iris with a little dot opposite side of the light reflected, then a full complete circle surrounding the center as pupil, the iris of the eye is black. there are also vertical black zigzagged lines around his eyes.

Nastya is smiling towards Ivy, she is sitting with her legs to the respective sides of each leg, she has one greenish grey tabby octokitten on her shoulder and maintains them there with one hand on their back, she also has a sleeping calico octokitten on her lap.

her cheeks are grey blushed, she has a blue fade on her hair, where her tips are more blue.

Ivy has one hand up in a cup, she is drinking tea, a smile is shown towards Nastya. she is sitting with her both legs to one side, she is petting an orange tabby cat.

her haircut is a red mohawk, on the shaved part is a few pieces of metal riveted to her head.

clothes are:

for Tim are all different tones of brown except from the green glassed goggles, dress shirt and two black crossed belts by the chest. he is wearing a coat, a vest, stripped pants and work shoes, he has a kerchief with golden figures stuck in the belt of his coat.

Nastya is wearing a black coat with golden buttons, she has brown pants and black boots.

Ivy is wearing a heart earring, her make up is a red lipstick. Her clothes are a red dress shirt sleeves rolled to her elbows, is wearing a colorful necktie, a black on front and red on back vest, flowery skirt, dark blue tights, red socks and a pair of tall black boots.

background is a grey room, with square tiles, there are cables hanging on the top corners of the image, there is a vent, 3 machines, a there are octokittens up there, one is sleeping, other is looking down to an ocltokitten on the floor, there is also one looking at a wall that is damaged by shoots, there are repairs of the walls with rivets.

END ID]

[manifestoonmoralmanlove]

Gormless Ch. 11 –  I’m Korma for you, imperialistic dogs

A well-meaning friend gave me a book series that is hilariously bad. The first book was Souless and my riffs were entitled brainless. This second book is entitled Changless and these riff are then gormless.

I mean to say I have entitled them gormless! Not that my riffs are dumb, and the effort I spend on them stupid since I’m the only one who enjoys them. HAHA!

The story is SUPPOSED TO be about how a badass lady wearing a rad-looking carriage dress hits baddies with her umbrella and bangs her hot werewolf husband.  In reality it’s mostly poor attempts at being witty, flirty, and superior.

For the last book check out the brainless tag.

If you want the TL;DR version but want to read these new riffs anyway?

This story is set in supernatural Victorian steampunk England.  Alexia is our NOT LIKE OTHER GIRLS protag.  She is a soulless, which means she’s able to negate the abilities of vampires and werewolves by touching them. She’s recently married a big oaf, named Lord Connel Maccon.  He’s the manchild in charge of the supernatural police with a zillion dollars and he’s totes super hot too ok.  Their relationship is mostly arguments about how Maccon can’t tell her fucking anything.  Alexia has also recently become head of ~Soulless affairs~ in Queen Victoria’s government.  She has a dumb friend named Ivy, a gay vampire friend named Akeldama, a family who’s evil because they do the same shit as her but while being blonde, and most importantly Alexia is better than everyone cause…cause.

Last time on Gormless:

There’s some mysterious force that’s turning the Vampires and werewolves into humans. Alexia is in charge of figuring out that deal, and she is doing a bad job at it.  They are at her husband’s old pack castle about it.  Are they hiding something?????

Chapter 11 – I’m Korma for you, imperialistic dogs

Okay despite my grumblings on the lack of shit that happened last chapter.  This chapter comes in HOT!  And by HOT, I mean RACIST!

Basically everybody is taking a leisurely walk in the garden.  Ivy asks the military bros about, “how brave they are to fight the ~primitives~ in India.”

HAHA OKAY! LET’S JUST KEEP TRUCKING!

Maccon says it’s just minor pacification at this point, thus implying that he’s done the same sort of business which is super good and great.  

Oh but here’s a big old sticking point for me, one of the military bros says the food in India is terrible.  I will preface this by saying I have only probably had ~Americanized~ Indian food from restaurants or used generic recipe websites.  So we can have a discussion on whether I have had ~authentic~ Indian food and if ~authentic~ food is even a thing.

BUT INDIAN FOOD IS ONE OF THE MOST WELL-RESPECTED CUISINES IN THE WORLD, AND BRITISH PEOPLE, RIGHTLY LOVE IT!  WHAT I HAVE HAD HAS BEEN UTTERLY INCREDIBLE AND I WHAT LITTLE I KNOW ABOUT IT MAKES IT IMPRESSIVE AND WONDERFUL AND GO FUCK YOURSELF!

THIS IS A HILL I WILL DIE ON!  I don’t delete comments for much but if anybody comments on this chapter with even, “Indian food is just okay” COMMENT DELETED!

In this story’s defense, perhaps they think the food is bad because the Indian individuals preparing food for the exploitative brutes just took a dump on a plate and put a leaf on top.

Okay so while I fantasized about rubbing vindaloo directly into the eyes of these dipshit characters I continued…Alexia gets snippy with these military bros…but not over any of the racist horseshit, she tries to start shit over them describing Egyptian and Indian weather as hot. And maybe the author is trying to take pot-shots at these fuckers, but like why is she making snippy comments about how they describe the FUCKING weather instead of standing up for Indian people? Also Ivy was the one who started by calling them ~primitives~ but she’s not concerned with Ivy at all.  Also don’t @ me with whore shit like, “Well Ivy is supposed to be dumb” dumb people aren’t automatically racist fuck off.

We move on to find out that the Kingair pack STOLE ARTIFACTS including ACTUAL FUCKING MUMMIES from Egypt when they passed through.  THANKFULLY there is a blip of sanity when Maccon says that’s illegal.

Yet it gets SO MUCH WORSE when Alexia proposes a good old fashioned

MUMMY UNWRAPPING PARTY!

Which everybody gets super excited about.  Those by the way were REAL THINGS in Victorian England. JUST IN CASE YOU NEEDED TO KNOW!

Maccon and Alexia go aside a moment where Alexia says the humanization is obviously coming from the artifacts they brought back and that Maccon should have them confiscated since they are illegally gained.  They go back and forth about what to DO with them once they’re confiscated, and both agree that destroying them would be a bad idea…but they don’t bring up the fact you could I DON’T KNOW just return them to the country of origin? HAHA okay.

They head back to the castle and LeFoux, in proper dramatic fashion, is racing toward them saying some cliffhanger shit like, “10 dramatic turns this book could take but won’t! #7 will shock you!”  But before she’s able post some hilarious reaction memes she gets SHOT in the back! DUN DUN DUN!

Then they’re getting shot at and hiding behind the umbrella cause THAT’S FOOL-PROOF but eventually are able to get everybody inside the castle.

And here they just forget anything interesting was going to happen.

Nobody seems concerned with combing the castle to find the gunman in one of these towers.  I have done a few active shooter drills at my place of work, and you know what’s a big part of that?  If the shooter isn’t found just literally forget about them.  What could be the harm?  

Instead they fuss over LeFoux with Alexia wondering, “Was she really shot? Is she faking? Is she behind all of this?” And it’s like YOU LEGIT JUST WATCHED HER GET SHOT AND WHILE SHE WAS ON THE GROUND MORE BULLETS WERE WHIZZING BY YOU! EVEN IF SHE IS, IT SEEMS LIKELY THERE IS SOMEONE ELSE INVOLVED! By the way when I say fussed over there is no description of them bandaging any wounds or anything.  They don’t state outright here but in next chapter they talk about how it’s all tranquilizer bullets. It’d be nice if they mentioned it...you know this chapter.  It honestly felt like they had just propped a woman bleeding out in a chair and talked about how she’s probably behind her own impending death.

This would have been a great moment dramatic moment for them to expose LeFoux’s neck for Maccon to see the Hypocras tattoo. Imagine Maccon losing his shit that they let a Hypocras Crony in their mist, and when he finds out Alexia had seen the tattoo before, gets even loonier.  Alexia is ashamed that the intimacy she shared with LeFoux was perhaps cheating mixed with the shame of same-sex attraction, and kept her around in hopes that she could learn something more about her deceased father from her but instead just endangered everyone.

WASTED OPPORTUNITY!

Alexia then sneaks off to chat with Sidheag. When Alexia first met Sidheag she made a mental note of instantly liking her. This conversation starts with Alexia mentally stating that she’s ~decided to hate her.~ BITCH OVER WHAT? You’re being treated well in this castle, and she’s been polite despite you insulting her castle at every fucking turn.  Alexia just hasn’t been hitting that self-misogyny quota!

Let’s start with the good part of this conversation.  Alexia asks Sidheag about how she feels about what her great granddad did to the clan.  Sidheag says she was 16 and off at school when it happened. (Though at one point Alexia says that Sidheag is not holding a tea cup right and thus implies she never went to finishing school at all…and it’s like…are you trying to throw a seed of doubt that she’s lying about everything? I mean that’s cool but like I think it’s kinda a big jump from ~holds tea cup in different way.~)

Anyway while Sidheag agrees with his politics, she thinks he could have handled it better. She suggests he should have killed/kicked out more of the top members involved in the attempted murder instead of just skipping town entirely.  I was surprised to see the author give this situation more depth than just, “MACCON IS RIGHT ABOUT EVERYTHING CAUSE HE IS BEST MAN!” So that’s the good part.

It seems odd that Maccon only punished 1 person despite it being a clan-wide problem. When Sidheag got back from school he put her and her boyfriend (whom was not part of the clan) in charge and everything just went peachy after that. REALLY? Seems to me the bitter leftovers from that dispute would really fucking resent a teenage human grandchild of the big bad ex-leader who hadn’t been spending much time there and her no-name boyfriend showing up to run things.  If they were going to kill a queen, it doesn’t seem below them to murder the two of them, especially with nobody there to protect them.

BUT THE FUCK DO I KNOW?

Most of the conversation is more of the “I WANT GRANDADDY TO TURN ME INTO A WEREWOLF!” Which…we had that conversation before, but at least Alexia decides she wants to support her in this.  Maccon is cranky when brought up but understands.  Their room is ransacked, but her bag is safe.  Alexia thinks that what LeFoux wanted to tell her probably involved the Aethongrapher, but she decides NOT to check it out cause ??????????? Maccon says that Tunstell brought him a special gun and they get ready for dinner.  The chapter ends with Alexia making the super clever deduction that Maccon has had the ulterior motive of trying to ~fix~ his old pack.  

And wow holy shit there Alexia

Sooooooo smart!  This is something that really needed to be pointed out too! Greaaaaaaaaaat.

This is especially infuriating due to how it’s written Full quote:

“…You must agree I have a point.”

He turned to frown up at her.  “I hate it when you come over all correct.”

Alexia trotted down the staircase until they were nose to nose. She had to stand one step up from him for it to be so. She kissed him softly. “I know.  But I am so very good at it.”

She’s praised for the deduction that didn’t even need to be stated, smugs up the place, and the fucking line, “Come over all correct.”  MAYBE IT’S JUST ME BUT THESE SAD ATTEMPTS OF TRYING TO SOUND PERIOD APPROPRIATE MAKE ME WANT TO YARF!

Also let me point out that Maccon has only started drama, gotten into a fist-fight, and try to or have sex with his wife the entire time he’s been there. Alexia has actually done more than he has for the clan and she hasn’t even been trying.

OH YEAH AND WE JUST GONNA FORGET SOMEONE GOT SHOT AND THE SHOOTER IS HANGING OUT IN THE CASTLE WITH YOU ALL RIGHT NOW? OKAY SURE?

Say something nice Faps:

At least something fucking happened this chapter.

I do genuinely like how Sidheag disagrees with how her great grandfather did things and she’s not demonized for it…at least not yet. I will dunk myself in boiling oil if it’s revealed that SIDHEAG IS BIG BAD CAUSE OF NOT HOLDING A TEA CUP RIGHT.

Sidheag is cool, can we not pick on her ever again?

Super looking forward to do aggressive racism of the mummy unwrapping party y’all!

[runmilder]

Henchman

AO3 link here

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: DCU, DCU (Comics), Batman - All Media Types Rating: Teen Relationships: Dick Grayson/reader Tags: coffee dates, Mind Control, And Romance, oh my!, POV Second Person

Summary: 

Sometimes you’re the hero. Sometimes you’re the victim. And sometimes… sometimes you’re just the overpaid lackey.

Living in Gotham is a bit like living in the eye of an infinite hurricane. Sure, it’s calm for now, but you can see the wall of the storm on all sides, and you’re left to wonder if you have enough time to make it to the 7-Eleven and back before the next wave hits. Except instead of rain and wind, it’s going to be clowns or cultists or whatever the villain flavor of the week happens to be.

This week, it’s… eldritch creatures?

“Oh, for the love of—” You dodge a whip-like tentacle and stumble into the brick siding of the convenience store. There’s nothing particularly convenient about it when its barred windows shatter and shower you in a fine hail of glass. You cover your head, eyes shut, and wish you’d just eaten what was in your fridge.

Somewhere nearby, sirens wail.

Today, it seems, you’ve been caught out in the storm. And unlucky you, you forgot to bring your umbrella and Lovecraft survival guide.

Another dark, writhing shape launches itself at you, suckers flaring, and you lunge into an alley at a run. You’ve seen this anime. Doesn’t end well for hapless schoolgirls.

Ordinarily, dark alleys are a huge no-go in Gotham city, but “ordinary” doesn’t really cover this situation. Besides, if there’s a gun-toting thug behind a dumpster, you hope the many-limbed creature—creatures?—go for them first.

Something flies over your head, close enough that you can feel the downdraft. You duck belatedly, knees hitting the pavement. There’s a sound like someone hitting a wet sack with a bat, then a crackle, a shriek, and a smell of charred meat. And over it all, the pervasive scent of garbage.

Eau-de-Gotham.

You turn to see the broad back of one of the city’s many costumed crusaders, and if you had the breath to spare, you’d sigh in relief. Nightwing wails on one thick tentacle, batons lit up and buzzing.

“Keep going!” he shouts back at you, hurtling into the heart of the mess. From the mouth of the alley, you see someone in red joining the fray.

Calvary present, you waste no time in booking it the rest of the way down the alley, resolving to take the long way back to your apartment.

Back home, the news blathers on about a science experiment gone wrong or some shit—what else is new—and switches to an aerial view of shadowed figures just going to town on equally dark, inhuman shapes. You can see your local junk food stop to their right, its windows shattered. You bet if you open your own window, you’ll be able to hear some of the commotion.

Your microwave shrills, and you flick off the television with a long-suffering sigh.

Just another Tuesday in Gotham.

Wednesday brings with it a fair number of actual storms, and a date with your sort-of boyfriend.

“You look rough,” he says, taking in your rain-ravaged form.

“Dick,” you say as both address and acknowledgment of his entirely uncalled-for observation.

He grins. “I bought you a coffee.”

“You’re on thin ice, buddy.” You take the proffered cup anyway.

Dick is sitting by the window of the coffee shop, legs stretched out under the small table. You sit across from him and try to figure out how to arrange your own limbs without disturbing him. He takes a sip of his drink, clearly amused, before trapping your legs between both of his own and settling back with a smug look. You consider struggling for a moment, but you can feel his muscles flexing beneath the denim, and hoo boy, that’s not a battle you’d win. You lean back, adopting what you hope is an impassive look, but from the way Dick continues to radiate smug satisfaction, you think it’s a loss.

“So,” you say, hoping to guide this interaction back to neutral ground. “How’s work?”

“Work’s good.” He shrugs, and you try not to stare at the way his shirt tightens around his shoulders. “Routine stuff. Uneventful.” He never wants to talk about work. “How’s class?”

You groan. That question has hounded you for the past four years.

“I just signed up for my last semester. Can’t come soon enough, honestly.”

Dick nods. “You continuing with that internship in the spring?”

“Mhm.” You jiggle your cup, feeling the liquid slosh. “Dr. Irving wants to keep me on. Says I’m “good with the kids.””

“The “kids” being…”

“Her plants,” you say.

You both share a smirk.

Dick sobers. “Listen,” he says. “I was thinking—”

“Dangerous.”

“Seriously.” His legs tighten around yours. “What if you had another offer?”

“Paying what she does? In this economy?” Your laugh is only half mocking. “Honestly, I’m still waiting for the other shoe to drop there, but until then…” You raise your cup in a salute.

Dick leans forward. “What about double?”

“I’m sorry?”

“What if you were offered double what you’re making with the good doctor to… what? Water her plants and stay out of her way?”

Your mind blanks. “Uhh…”

Sounds shady as hell. You already feel like you’re getting away with highway robbery with what Dr. Irving is paying you. Or, at least, what her research lab is paying you. And also, rude, you do more than water plants and make yourself scarce.

You also make ungodly amounts of herbal tea.

“I… like all of my organs?” you finally say.

“I said a job, babe, not a back-alley procedure.”

“Actually, you said “offer,” which sounds infinitely more ominous.”

His eye-roll is more of a full-head-roll, and when his neck stretches, you catch sight of a discolored spot on the skin beneath his jaw.

“Is that a… hickey?” you say slowly. It doesn’t really look like a hickey. It actually looks like he was shot in the neck with a giant suction cup dart.

He claps a hand over the spot. “Um. N-yeah.”

“Nyeah?” You narrow your eyes.

This isn’t even about the possibility of Dick necking another person—a person with a lamprey mouth, apparently—as you’re not exactly clear on the parameters of your relationship. Such as it is. It’s just that the spot on his neck is niggling at something in your brain. His reaction is equally suspicious, although he locks it up pretty fast.

“Sorry, I—” He looks pained. “Stuff… happened last night. It was… electric.” The flat tone of his voice belies his words.

You open your mouth. Close it.

Is this where you ask for clarification about the two of you? Broach the topic of exclusivity?

…Why does this feel like one of those situations where a guy claims to have been watching porn when he’s really been watching something weirdly hard to explain, like Teletubby conspiracy theories?

“Dick, what’s really goi—” you start, but a low-tone buzz interrupts you, and Dick already has his discrete work phone in hand, eyes flicking over the screen.

He mutters something under his breath. “Look, I have to—” He looks at you, grimacing. “I am so, so sorry. I don’t mean to ditch you after—” He waves a hand to encompass the tense air between you.

You frown, confused and frustrated. You definitely feel like you’re missing something.

Dick slides his chair back, his legs detangling themselves from yours in one deft movement.

“Can I call you later?” he asks. The expression on his face speaks volumes for what answer he expects.

You surprise him by nodding. You’re still staring at the angry mark.

He lets out a short breath through his nose. “I—okay. Good.” He bends over you for a second, hesitating, before pecking you on the head. “Stay dry.”

And then he’s gone.

You’re left with half a cup of cooling coffee and a head full of questions.

Dr. Paula Irving is a little prickly, but also mostly absent, so she’s pretty much the best boss ever. When you were flipping through internship applications, S.T.A.R. Lab’s jumped out because—hello, “paid.” Right there in print. You weren’t sure what pittance could be expected for a botanist’s undergrad assistant, so when you interviewed—first with the lab, and then with the scientist herself—and she told you the sum, your jaw nearly hit the floor.

“It’s an incentive,” she said, eyes looking through you. “Treat them well.”

You didn’t care at that point whether her plants required only the blood of virgins—you were getting this internship, dammit.

Thankfully, the lab’s greenhouse inhabitants need only the usual upkeep: sunlight, water, and occasional pruning. You spend the first week learning the ins and outs of plant care under your employer’s watchful eye, and after that, you are left to your duties in silence. It’s calm, methodical work, and the green space is always nap-weather warm. It’s nice.

Sometimes, when you’ve finished tending the plants, you’re to help Dr. Irving with… whatever it is that she’s doing. It mostly involves you wearing protective gear in the little white tent she’s erected and keeping the temperature steady on the vials of plant extracts that she’s examining. Occasionally, she even trusts you with a small knife, and you dice what looks like diseased plant pieces and put them on microscope slides. She never bothers to explain what she’s working towards, and you’re not getting paid to ask questions.

It’s kind of a soap-bubble existence.

That being said, you don’t expect it to pop as it does.

“Hey, Doc, sorry I’m late. There was a guy with sonic weapons on my normal route, and my taxi had to—” You stutter to a halt, taking in the scene.

Normally, your employer is dressed to kill—business skirts, heels, the whole nine yards—but today she seems to be taking the saying a little more seriously.

“I’ll just...” You make a grab for the door handle, looking to make a speedy exit.

A vine darts out to cinch your arms to your waist. You suck in a shallow breath and wonder what it is about you and tentacle-like things lately. At least the vine doesn’t have suckers on it.

Wait—

“Now this is unfortunate,” Poison Ivy née Paula Irving says, shattering your thoughts. She glides closer, plants blooming in her wake. You feel like you’re looking at some carnal painting of Eve, all leaves and bare skin. “I had hoped to avoid complications like this. Keep my work and home life separate, if you will.”

You knew this job was too good to be true. Science credits and competitive pay? You should have just taken out a loan.

“Look, I won’t tell anyone—” you say, the words tumbling out before you can catch them. You really don’t want to find out what it feels like to have vines grow up your sinus cavities and into your brain.

“Of course not, sweet thing.” The woman has a smile as poisonous as her name. She strokes a hand down your face. “We’re going to make sure of it.”

The puff of pollen isn’t what you’re expecting. You sneeze, once.

Then things get a little… hazy.

“Now we have a lot to do today, and I’m going to need you to be a very good helper.”

You find yourself nodding. You can be a good helper. You can be a great helper.

Something soft pats your cheek. “That’s what I like to hear.”

There’s something wrong.

Dr. Irv—Pam—seems unfazed, and she would know—she knows everything—but there’s still… something. You pause in your fiddling with a line of heating concoctions, head spinning. It’s like a ringing in your ears. Like a ringing in your whole head.

“Don’t let that extract burn,” Pam says sharply, and the moment is lost.

You adjust the temperature, happy to be of help.

You’re not sure how long you’ve been here, but it’s not important. Pam says you’re close—so close—to completion, and it would be a shame to stop now.

You agree. Why leave when you could be here, helping?

Some distant message in your brain pings, but you send it straight to voicemail. You have the brief thought that maybe you should sit down, but there are no chairs here, and you can’t just leave. Pam says you should stay in this room, and that seems reasonable. There’s too much to do.

Something pings again, and this time it’s not in your head.

“Be a dear and turn off your phone, would you? It’s bad lab manners,” Pam says. She doesn’t look up from her slides.

You float over to your shoulder bag, feeling mortified. You didn’t turn off your phone! Pam must think you’re so rude. Maybe you should throw your phone in the garbage.

Yeah, that seems like the best course of action.

You reach for the power button, but the screen lights up again, another message coming in. You blink. There are… a lot of missed messages. That seems important, somehow.

“Something wrong?” Pam asks, suddenly beside you.

You start, and the screen goes black. You stare at the dark shape for a handful of seconds, unseeing, before giving a shrug and tossing it into the waste bin.

“It’s not important,” you say, smiling up at the woman.

“Hm.” She peers into your eyes for a moment, and you smell something cloying, like roses and overripe fruit, before she turns away. You waver in place, the ground bucking beneath you.

It’s not importa—

You’re happy to hel—

You pitch forward, losing the battle with your own equilibrium.

Something warm catches you around your waste.

“Easy there,” a vaguely familiar voice says in your ear.

The room around you shifts again. You feel like you should tell someone that you’re feeling a little under the weather, but your tongue grew wings and flew away, and you’re not sure about the state of your vocal cords. There’s suddenly a lot more green in your field of vision, and that seems cheerful.

“I can’t say I’m glad to see you, little bird.”

Oh, but Pam doesn’t seem to be cheerful at all. Your fingers twitch in sympathy. You can’t seem to manage much more than that.

“”Little” from whose perspective, Doctor Irving?”

No one seems very happy, actually. Such a shame, because other than your general inability to do anything, you feel great.

“I’m surprised it took you so long, honestly,” Pam says. “I thought one of your kind would come flying in here half-cocked weeks ago.”

There’s some maneuvering, and you’re lifted so that Pam is no longer in your line of sight—you’d frown if you still had lips, but you think they hitched a ride with your tongue—and you are instead looking up at a man in a mask.

Or, more specifically, you’re looking up at a masked man’s jaw and mouth.

“’ey,” you slur.

Blue eyes blink down at you, momentarily distracted. “What did you do?”

You’re not sure what he means. You’ve only been helping; he doesn’t have to sound so harsh—

“Just a little plant coercion,” Pam says airily. “Nothing permanent, if you’re so concerned.”

Oh. No one’s angry at you. That’s good.

The lips continue to frown. The shape of them is familiar, and you feel like you’ve thought about them before. At length.

“Dick,” you say muzzily.

The look now aimed at you is one of alarm.

“Are you kidding me?” your sort-of boyfriend hisses through his teeth.

You wonder why he’s wearing the mask. You like his face. It’s a good face.

Some of that thought must find its way out of your mouth, because there's a shushing noise—rude—and suddenly you’re in motion.

“Don’t think you’re getting away with this, Ivy,” Dick throws over his shoulder.

There’s a feminine scoff behind him. “You think you can just come and go as you please, don’t you? Men.”

Your free ride gets a lot rougher when vines start snapping toward Dick’s feet. He dashes out of the lab, dodging encroaching flora, and you resolve to close your eyes and hope for the best. You’re sad that Pam’s upset, but Dick is here now, and you really like Dick.

“I r’ly li’e you,” you say, because it’s important that he knows.

“Your timing,” Dick pants, tucking you in closer, “leaves something to be desired.”

“Mm.” You’d say more—something about his mouth, maybe—but something is tugging you down, down, down into darkness, and you see no reason to resist.

Dick will keep you safe.

“—orked for Poison Ivy for months without suspecting her, and I show up and get pegged in minutes. Even after the drugs!”

You’re not sure what death feels like, but you think you might be experiencing it.

“Eugh,” you can’t help but groan when you go to scrape your eyelids open. Too bright.

There’s the sound of footsteps and a hand on your forehead.

“Hey, take it easy, you’ve been out for a while.”

“Dick?” you ask, eyes still firmly winched shut. Your mind’s all jumbled, and your sinuses feel like they’ve been hit with spring allergies.

There’s a pregnant pause.

“…Yeah. About that.”

You crack an eye open.

“Oh,” you say, mouth dry for a whole host of reasons. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Nightwing says with a wry grin. “We have a lot to talk about.”

The coffee shop is sunny today, and you have a disposition to match.

“Well someone looks chipper,” Dick says when you come strolling in, grin wide enough to split your face. “The interview went well, I assume?”

You bend and smack a kiss against his cheek, but when you go to take your seat, he snags an arm around you and reels you back in for a proper greeting.

“Mm,” you breathe against his mouth. “So good.”

“I know I am.” He winks and lets you go.

You roll your eyes. “I meant the interview, you doof. I swear, if your ego gets any bigger, we’ll have to roll it behind you in a wheelbarrow.”

His ankles stretch out to link around one of your own. His smile is entirely unapologetic.

“So, you got the job?”

“Dick, your dad runs the company. Of course I got the job.”

“Nah, he didn’t have to pull any strings for this. You did it all on your own.”

You have to look down to avoid the warm look in his eyes. You might be blushing.

“Wanna celebrate tonight? My treat.” He waggles his eyebrows invitingly, as if you need coercing to accept the offer.

“Sure you don’t have any other dates tonight? Any eldtritch creatures you wanna get real personal with?”

Dick groans. “You’re never going to let me live that down, are you?”

“I could be convinced to drop that particular instance. That I was so callously and impersonally seduced to out a super villain?” You give a haughty sniff and flip your hand in a so-so gesture. “Jury’s still out.”

Dick grabs your wavering hand and rubs his thumb over your knuckles. “I’m sorry it’s such an imposition for you.”

“Every day I suffer.”

He laughs, then. “Free up your schedule tonight,” he says, leaning in. “I’ll make it up to you.

The way his voice drops at the last has you shivering.

“I’ll… make some adjustments,” you say.

Gotham may be a hurricane, but you’re feeling weatherproof today.

[caspinn]

Repeating Apologies - Chapter 4

Summary: The Winchesters meet the first Indigo Child. A species, created to purify humanity. Could this creature be the one who’s able to cure Dean?

Warnings: Nah.

“So, they come and get the car back when we drop it at the airport?” Sam asked Dean while they were driving to the address Rowena got them in the car Dean rented somewhere nearby. It was already a day later, because, as Sam predicted, Dean had a terrible jetlag the morning after he played Ping-Pong with Cas.

Dean really couldn’t leave his bed until passed noon and when he finally got out of his bed, he felt weak and lacked energy so he could only sit and watch some television. So, Sam called it a day off. Well, no, Sam called it actually Dean’s ‘Jetlag Holiday’. Sam went jogging after Dean threw a pillow at his brother for mocking with him. So, yeah, that’s how they wasted a day, according to Dean, who didn’t want to listen to Castiel telling him that confronting the Indigo would go smoother after a day of rest.

The location was only one street away from their hotel, but because the three didn’t know what to expect, they wanted the getaway car if the Indigo would start attacking them. That, or the thing could serve well for locking the damn thing off.

“Yeah, we only have to call the owner when we leave the country,” Dean mumbled in annoyance. This car is literal shit! Why was a Goddamn Polo the only option they could get? Oh, right, because not other freaking car rental was flexible enough to work with the Winchesters vague schedule. That, and Cas might have accidentally slipped a few times that there was risk of a crash. After that, a few doors slammed in their face and they stopped bringing Cas inside of the shop.

“Okay, one house, further, yes! This must be it,” Sam guided Dean as he was driving. Dean parked the lame-ass Polo, silently wishing he could accidentally crash the thing against the wall but keeping himself in check for the time being. The three climbed out of the little car and a second later they were standing in front of the house, just silently staring at the building.

It was a white cottage with wooden shutters and all kinds of Ivy, some with small flowers, growing on the walls. Still, it didn’t look messy at all. Instead, the house looked nicely and carefully kept. The green bushes, the trees around the house, the wind rustling through their leafs, the quiet environment and the mild sunlight made the total picture look very peaceful.

That was, until the rain suddenly started to poor down of course. Dean cursed as they sprinted to the front door. Cas quickly pushed the button of the doorbell before Sam or Dean would, and then they waited a few minutes. And then some more minutes…

“Maybe they didn’t hear us?” Sam tried while he rang the bell once more. Nobody opened the door this time, either. Dean felt the water dripping into his shoes and firmly pressed the bell again. His pants were soaked already.

After waiting for long enough, Dean turned around without a word and started searching for a backdoor.

“Dean, what are you doing?” Sam whispered while following his elder brother.

“If they don’t let us in, we have to break in,” Dean muttered

“But maybe they, or she- him- whatever-is really not at home!” The older Winchester picked the lock until the door opened. Then he whispered to Cas and Sam “Okay, you guys check downstairs, I check upstairs,” and walked in without waiting for a response.

He didn’t need help, he thought, so it would be wiser to let Cas help Sam. Since Dean got the Mark, he became stronger, quicker, he surely could manage on his own.

Everything in the house looked rustic, but in a cozy, warm way. Bordeaux curtains, a little wooden table with mail on it, a big, old mirror with a golden, curly framework hanging in the hallway… it all made him feel almost welcome. Not that Dean was looking at the fine-looking interior.

Dean took the stairs without making any noise and started checking the rooms until he saw one door, at the end of the hallway, that was open. The light of the room shone into the hallway. Silently Dean crept to the door, his gun ready and his knife in his pocket. He pressed himself against the hallway wall and took a quick look into the room.

There, a man was sat behind his laptop, probably working on something, with a heavy, black headphone that covering his ears. The music was playing so loudly that Dean could hear some of it. What kind of song he was listening to, Dean couldn’t tell. He only heard some vague noises. No wonder the man didn’t hear the doorbell.

The room the man sat in was some sort of bureau with bookshelves filled with books, cd’s and DVD’s. In the middle of the room between the bookshelves, there stood a sofa and a coffee table. The man was sitting behind a desk with his back to the window. Dean saw some diplomas hanging on the wall and could only read the words history and archeology from it.

Suddenly the man stretched his arms, put the headphones and his reading glasses down, turned to the door…and saw Dean staring at him. Dean showed himself, and his gun, and for a second, the big, surprised eyes of the man became even bigger.

But then, like he was already used to burglars with guns, the surprise disappeared from the man’s face. Dean felt confused, but held his gun tight and clearly aimed at the man. Why didn’t this person freak out? Because he wasn’t afraid? Why not?

Maybe the man was the Indigo and maybe he had powers that could kill Dean in a second like the persons in the visions he got through Rose and Violet! Dean held his gun even harder. He noticed Cas and Sam as they quietly slipped behind him. The man didn’t even look surprised or shocked or anything to see the other two guys.

“I’m searching for Valo Watson,” Dean announces.

“Of course you do,” the person whispered sarcastically with a weird English accent. “Let’s go downstairs, I don’t want you guys to wake mummo.” The man turned back to his laptop to shut it down.

“We are not going anywhere! And we are not afraid of that mummo-thingie of yours!” Dean growled. Suddenly, Sam grabbed Dean’s shoulder and took a step forward. Dean already knew that Sam was going to play good cop and it annoyed the shit out of him. Why would they have to be kind to this weird man?

“Do we need to be afraid of this mummo?” Sam asked calmly. The man smiled while pulling the plug out of his laptop.

“Do you have to be afraid of mummo? Well my isoäti-eh-grandmother’s temper can be very bad if she is randomly woken.”

Dean was startled. Is he talking about his grandmother? She is mummo? The man stood up and walked passed the three confused men, into his hallway

“And do we need to be afraid of you?” Sam asked while following this mysterious person. Dean and Cas then in turn followed the younger Winchester and the weird person who shrugged as he answered Sam’s question.

“Maybe, I dunno…it kind of depends on you.” Then he turned his head to the guys while walking down the stairs. “My name is Valo Watson by the way.”

“My name is Sam, this is my brother Dean and our friend Cas,” Sam introduced themselves.

“So, why are you guys hunting me?” Valo asked while making some tea. Okay, Dean thought, so he knew they were hunters. They were probably not the first ones hunting him… Dean got suspicious about what could’ve happened to the other hunters, about what this Indigo could’ve done to them.

Cas, Dean and Sam were sitting in the living room next to the kitchen, where Valo was working on his tea. Dean was still holding his gun. Well, he wasn’t pointing at Valo with it anymore, but it sure felt safe in his hands.

“Well, long story short. Dean is looking for his soulmate to save him from this curse and we only know that he or she is an Indigo.” Valo stood still in the doorway and watched with his brown eyes while Cas was talking, cocked his eyebrow, nodded and went on with making tea. When Sam shot an angry glance to Castiel, Dean knew that his brother was silently cursing Cas’s bluntness for just telling why they were there. Dean let his brother be annoyed, he had no problem with Cas taking action instead of talking around the facts, and finally took a moment to look at Valo.

Valo had dark-brown, half-long, wavy hair that was looking fuzzy, like the man hadn’t brushed his hair that day. He was approximately as tall as Dean. The Indigo scratched his head as he returned to the doorway

“So there might be a chance that I am his soul mate? “Dean nodded and felt like he had to clarify that so there wouldn’t be a weird misunderstanding.

“Yeah, but in a nonromantic way, of course!”

Valo smiled widely and let a little laugh out. “I do believe that soul mates indeed don’t always have to be romantic, Dean, so no worries.”

Then the smile disappeared from his face, making way for another neutral expression. “And…are you guys planning on killing me?” Valo asked while sipping on his tea. The question sounded as normal as if he asked what weather it was going to be tomorrow.

Dean shrugged. “Well, not for now…But who’ll say?”

This made Sam aim his angry glance at Dean. Valo nodded and then noticed Sam’s annoyance

“Don’t be angry, Sam. Your brother is honest, I can appreciate that.” He then stared into his cup, his face showed that he was thinking about the facts they gave him. ”What is the use of curing Dean? I mean, I’m not moving to America with a big chance of being killed there, just to cure Dean from hiccups or something.”

This time Sam quickly started talking before the Angel or his brother could say something dumb. Dean looked irritated at his brother as Sam surprised him with taking his arm without asking. The younger Winchester rolled Dean’s sleeve up, so Valo could see the Mark.

“This is the Mark of Cain, the thing that turns my brother into a killing machine. We can’t get rid of it without just passing it on, which would turn another person into a blind killer. Recently we figured out that his soulmate could help us…”

Valo nodded. “But you haven’t figured out yet how this soul mate can help you…” Sam shook his head. Valo took another moment to process. In the meantime, Dean asked himself how long it would take Valo to disagree, how long it would take before they would start fighting and see Valo’s true, evil powers.

“I’m curious,” Cas suddenly said, waking Valo from his thoughts. “Do you know what kind of Indigo you are?”

Valo looked surprised. “Kind? Are there kinds? How many Indigo’s are there?”

Sam scraped his throat. “Eh, Cas, no lore , remember? How would Valo know all of this?”

“Oh, right… maybe instinct?” the angel guessed

“No, obviously not, I only know the term Indigo because you guys just said it to me. The other hunters never knew what I was, they were always trying these weird signs and spells but because they didn’t know what I was, it never worked…”

“Valo,” Sam started, suddenly sounding very serious. Dean knew what he was about to ask, so the older brother unwittingly tightened his muscles. He was prepared for this, for solving this the hard way. “Are you willing to come with us, to America. We can’t promise you what will happen…”

Valo looked at Sam. Then he leaned back and rubbed his eyes, mumbling some words to himself in an incomprehensible language. Valo gazed at his hands for a moment and then looked at Dean with decisive eyes. He straightened his back and answered, with a small grin: “Yeah, sure, why not.”

Completely taken by surprise, Dean weakened his grip and his gun softly plumped down on his lap. He stared at Valo with big, questioning eyes. Well, he surely didn’t see that coming.

“You can’t be angry with Valo that he needs a few days before he can leave, Dean. The man has a life here,” Castiel stated calmly as they were driving back to the hotel. Dean sighed. He preferred leaving immediately and travel to their next destination, Greece, rather than waiting a few days and doing nothing.

Because the guys weren’t naïve, they saw the possibility that Valo would be lying about voluntarily moving to America. That’s why they decided to keep an eye on the guy. Leaving Sam with what probably was a monster didn’t feel good, Dean had been stressing out since he and Cas left Valo’s house. Tomorrow would be Cas’s turn to guard Valo, so then Dean would worry sick about Castiel instead of Sam. Yes, this really wouldn’t be a peaceful week for Dean…

 With a pillow and a blanket in his hands, Sam stared to the sofa. The thing wasn’t quite small, but it wasn’t as enormous as him either. Valo came standing next to Sam and also stared at his sofa. Then he looked at Sam from head to toe and stared back at the sofa.

“You know what, I’ll sleep here. You can have my bed. “He said while turning around to go to the kitchen. The weird forms of kindness coming from that man always seem to startle Sam because Valo had no reason to be kind to him. He actually had more reasons to hate the brothers, because of them kind of forcing him to leave his house.

But yet, he voluntarily wanted to go with them, what also made Sam looking at him with startled eyes.

“N-no that won’t be necessary, but thank you…” Sam stuttered. He kind of trusted this man, Valo didn’t look or feel like a threat at all. But that didn’t make Sam less alert.

Valo laughed.” I don’t want you to break your back on my sofa, lad. I’ve slept in that thing a thousand times, it’s no trouble. At least I fit in it.” Sam heard the weird accent through the man’s oh, so British accent. It wasn’t really notable and Sam probably just didn’t know how the British accent of Avebury sounded like, if it sounded a bit different from the standard. But Sam couldn’t help questioning it.

“Valo, are you one hundred percent English?” Sam asked curiously. Valo came standing in the doorway while peeling a potato.

“Yeah, well, I’m half-Finish… I’ve lived in Finland for a big part of my life. Well actually half my life. When I was fifteen, I moved to England, to my mummo.”

Sam nodded, he didn’t ask, it was none of his business. So instead, he asked if he could help Valo in the kitchen. Valo gave him the potatoes to peel and said he had to take care of some things, so he thanked Sam for his help.

Valo went to the living room, took his cellphone and started calling to someone. Sam could hear him talking.

“Ah, Tarja? Hello, sweet sister! “And after that, Sam discovered that Valo was capable of talking in English and Finish at the same time, so he didn’t understand half of the conversation. Some Finish word were repeated a few times, like huonojauutisia or something like that. He also heard mummo a lot, so the conversation probably was about his grandmother. What Sam could make out of it, with the few English words Valo used, was that Valo asked his sister to take care of their grandmother. Valo used an excuse, something about the army finally calling him to join. And that’s when Sam found out that Valo had prepared for this, a long time ago. He knew that he would disappear one day, so he made up a story about wanting to join the army.

“My sister will try to be here the day after tomorrow, she’ll be taking care of our grandmother while…while I’m away… ,” Valo told Sam while putting his phone in the pocket of his jeans. “So I guess we can leave in three days.”

Sam nodded while filling the pan with potatoes with water. “Okay, I’ll search for cheap and quick plane tickets to Greece.” Sam took a towel to dry his hands Valo accidentally let his fork drop in the water of the pan. The water splashed on Valo’s neutral, clean, khaki-greenish shirt. But he just looked at Sam with a twinkle in his eyes.

“Greece?! Am I going to Greece?” Sam nodded with a smile, not sure what to think about this sudden outburst of enthusiasm.Valo’s calm appearance faded for a moment while he grinned like a little kid.

“Yeah, the other Indigo’s live in Greece and in Belgium. So after Greece, we’ll be heading to Belgium,” Sam explained. Valo laughed.

“Oh, man! I wish I could tell this to my students…”

Students? Sam looked interested at Valo.

“You teach?” The Indigo stared dreamy at the ceiling when Sam asked that question.

“Oh, yes! I’m a high school teacher. I teach history. I didn’t find any jobs in archeology, so…” And while Valo was talking, Sam started to feel a little uncomfortable. It wasn’t jealousy, Sam just felt a little bit homesick to something he never had. This man, Indigo, whatever, was a few years younger than him, but he had a normal life, a normal career. But Sam could quickly turn his thoughts. How normal could Valo’s life be, as an Indigo? How much blood has this man on his hands?