#Like I would never be that mean to Richard | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

aranarumei · 1 year ago

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the anomalous agate (part two)

now: here's what some of you actually wanted to see yesterday.

a quick rundown for anyone who has no idea what this is: here's ch 1 on tumblr and ao3. I posted an updated version of ch 1 yesterday that flows a bit nicer, and recommend checking that out if you haven't already.

and, while it's even less necessary to do, consider checking this post out, too. the context in which it was written is kind of... irrelevant to this fic, honestly, but it provides a bit of background that I think enhances some of what's going on in this chapter and the next one (that I haven't written yet).

with that out of the way, this chapter is over 7k, so here's the ao3 link if you prefer. (there's also a bit of a longer author's note there at the end) if you'd like to stick to tumblr, follow me under the cut.

edit: part three

case 2-x: the anomalous agate (part two)

Even the usually oblivious Tanimoto-san noticed my listless mood in the following days. It wasn’t unusual for me to worry or speculate about my clients—everyone who stepped into Richard’s store certainly had some kind of interesting quality, but something about Hanzawa tugged oddly at my chest.

To complicate matters, I was pretty sure I wasn’t the only one feeling that way. Richard had spent Sunday carrying on as usual, but every once in a while, he’d drift into his thoughts and his brows would furrow like something was bothering him. This wasn’t a trait unique to Hanzawa’s presence, but this was possibly the first time I’d seen Richard look genuinely unsettled instead of troubled.

It wasn’t an expression I liked seeing on his face.

“Seigi-kun, you seem deep in thought,” Tanimoto-san said. “Something on your mind?”

Class had ended. I flipped aimlessly through the pages of the book on gemstones I’d borrowed from Richard before tucking it into my bag. Somehow, I didn’t quite feel as if I could meet her eyes. “You mentioned there were many gems that did heat treatment, right?” I asked as we began to shuffle out of the classroom.

She responded with less cheer than usual, and I felt dejected to be the cause. “Oh, yes… not just corundum,” she said. “Beryl and quartz, too. That encompasses a large quantity of jewels which are just named as different forms of these materials, really… heat treatment is used often to change their color. Apart from deepening the red of a ruby, there’s aquamarine—a type of beryl—which is most commonly green-blue. Heat treatment tends to enhance the blue color and really give it that expected ‘aqua’ color. One of the most dramatic transformations, to me, is amethyst—it can turn a deep orange when it’s treated with heat.”

“Ah—I saw that last weekend,” I said. “It’s meant to mimic citrines, right?”

“Citrines tend to be a paler yellow, actually,” Tanimoto-san said. “But they’re rare—especially ones with a deep orange color. That’s why heat-treatment of amethysts is so common.” She sighed, gaze drifting off in space as we headed to her next class. “When we think of the term ‘citrus,’ the first thing that comes to mind is often an orange, despite the variety of citrus fruits in other colors. Sometimes I wonder if that’s the reason people mistake amethysts for citrine so easily.”

“It fits with their preconceived notions, huh?” I said, earning an approving nod from Tanimoto-san. “I still remember what you said before—about wanting to appreciate the stones as they were without heat treatment. I thought that was a really beautiful idea.”

She smiled. “I’m glad you think so, Seigi-kun,” she said. We came to a halt in front of her next classroom, but she didn’t go inside just yet. “But we’d talked about this already… is there something else you wanted to ask me?”

I swallowed around an uncomfortable bit of air. We were early for her class—it wasn’t a particularly long walk from classroom to classroom, but I liked spending time with her—but she usually went directly inside. It’s so nice of her to take time out of her day to worry about me, I thought. But again, I knew that I must have been really out of sorts for her to notice.

“It was just mentioned in passing,” I said at her prompting, “But… well, a client was discussing agate, and I heard that some of them were dyed. Is that a common process?”

Her expression immediately soured. For a minute I thought I’d stepped on some kind of conversational landmine, but though she looked unhappy, she spoke without malice. “It’s—not uncommon, no. Agate is porous, so it absorbs dye well, as do any stones like it.” I could see her turning over her words with care. “But… while heat treatment is an irreversible process, dyeing tends to be less effective. The color can fade over time, especially under sunlight, and it may not stain evenly. And depending on what dye is used, it can be removed with solvents like acetone… so it’s a process that’s much less certain.”

“So, they’re kind of fragile,” I observed, “even if they’re made to look nicer.”

“Well, they certainly look pretty—the bright colors can enhance how distinct the banding is, so you could argue the dye only enhances the best features of agate and other types of chalcedony, but…”

“…But?”

“Dyeing stones is really common for selling fakes,” she said. “And well—I just think that’s inexcusable, to conceal the truth like that. Even though dyed stones can be detected, that’s usually only after they’re sold, right? And this often happens with online purchases, so… I can’t help but feel resentful.” She frowned. “And every time I’ve traveled to see something related to rocks, the gift shop always carried those tumbled and dyed stones! It’s hard to find anything else…”

“That must be tough,” I said, though it was hard to suppress a smile at the thought of Tanimoto-san scowling in the middle of a gift shop. She usually seemed so magnanimous, and it was nice to see that she had her weak points, too.

She pouted. “I know it’s a petty reason, okay!” she said. A touch more melancholy, she added, “But every time I see them, I want to stand up and yell at everyone that rocks and minerals are more interesting than that, because it feels like these polished stones and other kinds of jewels are the only kind of beauty that people care about. For all kinds of rocks and minerals… I don’t think they possess a beauty that is just skin-deep. But when you limit the conversation to just rocks, because they look so different, the interests just don’t overlap…” She glanced up at me, seemed to realize that the type of person she was talking about was right next to her, and hurried to clarify. “Ah—I didn’t mean that as a strike against you though, Seigi-kun.”

“No, I totally understand,” I quickly reassured her. “I mean, in an ideal world, that’s how we want to think of other people, too, right? Without judging based on the outside alone. And I think anyone would want to share their interest with more people. So, if what you like is rarer, or unappreciated, it feels sad, right?”

“Right,” Tanimoto-san said. She smiled. “…I really am glad we get to talk about gemstones. I always feel like I end up hearing something interesting.”

Not for the first time, I thought that Tanimoto-san was some kind of angel. I truly didn’t have any questions about rocks to reciprocate with, except— “There’s a few rocks that do count as gemstones, right?” I asked. “Like lapis lazuli.”

“You remembered!” Tanimoto-san exclaimed. “Lapis lazuli’s a particularly special rock, you know,” she said, a gleam in her eyes. “Historically, it was used to make this very expensive blue paint…”

“Ah—ultramarine, right?”

“Exactly!” Tanimoto-san said, clapping her hands in excitement. “Seems like you’re already an expert on it, Seigi-kun.”

“I just heard it in passing,” I explained sheepishly. “That customer from before—he and my boss talked about ultramarine for a bit.” I paused to recollect the various times I’d spotted the stone in Jewelry Étranger. “Though, the stone looks so unbelievable to me on its own that it feels strange to think it would ever be used for paint…”

“It is one of the beauties of metamorphism,” Tanimoto-san agreed. Or at least, I was assuming she was.

“Sorry, but… what exactly is metamorphism again?” I asked. “I feel like I’ve heard the term before, and I just don’t remember.”

Despite the various expressions I’d put on her face today and in all the other conversations we’d had, this was the first time I’d ever seen Tanimoto-san look truly dumbfounded. It took me a while to even realize that was the expression on her face, until she cleared her throat and said, “I guess you said yourself you didn’t know much about rocks, but… well, I thought this was common knowledge, and maybe it… isn’t?” Worriedly, like she’d just learned she was privy to a secret for which she hadn’t voluntarily been made a confidant, she asked, “I mean, everyone knows that the three common classifications of rocks are sedimentary, igneous, and metamorphic, right?”

“…That rings a bell?” I said unconvincingly.

Her eyes flickered towards the classroom—she had only a few minutes before her next class started, so I imagined she would head inside, but instead she squared her shoulders, formed a distinctly “Golgo” look on her face, and said, “Well—metamorphic rocks are basically a type of rock that’s actually a combination of other rocks and minerals. So that’s how lapis lazuli has that beautiful gold coloring—it comes from the pyrite that’s part of the rock. The main blue comes from lazurite, but there’s many more mineral components that are mixed in with an average lapis lazuli.”

“And metamorphism is how these rocks form?”

“Right,” Tanimoto-san said. “Basically, they’re put under a lot of heat and pressure, and because of that, the composition of the rock ends up changing—so, for lapis lazuli, all these separate things fuse—or the crystal structure shifts, which is a kind of complicated thing to explain… But by the end, the new rock is distinct when compared to the simple sum of its parts. Something like marble or slate… you wouldn’t call simply a combination of other things, right?”

“I would never have known unless you told me… that’s amazing,” I marveled. “In a way… it’s kind of nature’s own heat treatment, huh?”

“That’s true,” Tanimoto-san said. “Just one without any motivation.”

This was something that had always fascinated me regarding jewels. Of course, it was untrue that they existed without human involvement. But before any human had laid eyes upon it, lapis lazuli had always been that brilliant combination of blue and gold. That, to me, was something like a miracle.

“You must have had an interesting customer this week, right?” Tanimoto-san guessed.

I shook myself out of my thoughts. “What?”

“Well, Seigi-kun, you’re always curious,” she said, “So maybe it’s nothing. But this time you look like you really want to say something to someone.” She tapped the space between her brows. “Don’t let it give you wrinkles, though!”

With that, she hurried into class, taking her seat just a few seconds before the professor began her lecture. I was left standing dumbly in the hallway, stuck with my swirling thoughts. Though I’d glossed over it at first, I supposed I was of the same mind as Tanimoto-san; dyeing stones felt more like concealment than enhancement. And then I remembered what I likely wasn’t meant to hear—surely that dyed agate is prettier—and reached up to my forehead.

Sure enough, I was frowning. I wanted to pull out my phone and text Richard something along the lines of This is your fault, but that would be truly nonsensical, and really, what I wanted wasn’t to assign something like blame. But since I couldn’t just run to him, I decided to follow Tanimoto-san’s advice and smooth out my expression.

———

“Ah… Nakata-san?”

Richard had said that most serendipitous encounters were just a natural consequence of learning more about the world, but I was pretty sure this situation was the exclusive work of strange fortune. Though I doubted this surprise encounter would go as badly as the last one had, the sharp sense of déjà vu kept me wary.

Still, I inhaled a breath of crisp morning air, and replied, “It’s alright to call me Seigi.”

I was looking up at the face of Hanzawa Masato, who truthfully had been the furthest thing from my mind in the past few days. That space in my brain had been usurped and summarily overwhelmed by the tedium of classes and assignments. If I had to learn how to draw another kind of economic model using another set of conditions and parameters, my head was going to burst. In fact, my head ached at the thought alone.

Now that we were face to face again, though, the rigamarole of university had all but disappeared from my mind, and I watched his face contort into an expression halfway between awkwardness and concern. The awkwardness was a given—I hadn’t expected to run into him either. Half the reason for his concern was a girl from my university who I’d just learned was called Kaede. And the other half of his concern—a quarter of his total expression—was in response to seeing me, who’d just been shoved into the side of a building.

Maybe that was the reason my head ached. It was certainly the reason I was sitting down and staring up at him.

“Are you okay?” Kaede fretted. She had sunk into a worried crouch in front of me, hands hovering around my head like she could divine the nature of my injuries.

I pressed a hand to my cheek, which was stinging, but didn’t feel scraped, and hauled myself upright. Any dizziness I’d felt had faded, and though one of my arms felt numb, I’d gotten worse injuries doing karate. “I’m fine,” I said. “It’s just a surface-level injury. Probably looks worse than it is. Are you alright?”

“I’m fine—not a scratch!” she reported, standing up to demonstrate her lack of injury. “I had no idea he would do that, though. I’m so sorry—”

“Don’t be,” I cut in before she could self-flagellate. “It’s not your fault at all.”

Were I feeling charitable, I’d point out that I didn’t think the guy in question had even meant to push me into a wall—he’d just meant to push me and bolt. But he was also the kind of asshole that cornered people against the side of a building, so I wasn’t going to defend him in the slightest.

“What happened?” Hanzawa asked.

I felt a little ill-at-ease seeing the sheer expressiveness on his face. Of course, it made sense that he’d be so frazzled, considering what had just happened to his friend, but it was uncomfortable to see his lack of composure. Like this, he looked like an ordinary, unremarkable teenager.

Kaede wrung her hands, stumbling through her words. “I—you know that senior who was bothering me? Well, he cornered me, and we started arguing, and then”—she gestured in my direction—“he hit him and ran away.”

“I heard shouting, so I came over here,” I added when Hanzawa looked to me for further explanation.

It was really as simple as that. After exiting a horrendously early class, I’d heard arguing near the shadowed side of the building. And once I’d seen Kaede telling the other guy to leave her alone, I’d intervened without hesitation. He’d started aggressively posturing at me before shoving me to the side and running away.

The sharp spike of adrenaline I’d felt at the time was now wearing off, and my injuries began to twinge. I took a deep breath, and in an effort not to dash after the guy, I suggested, ��We should make a report or something.”

“Oh, right,” Kaede said, fishing out her phone. “There’s like… campus administration or something, right? Let me find out wherever it’s located.” She paused in thought. “Wait… do you two know each other?”

“We just met by coincidence once,” I said, figuring that Hanzawa would value his privacy.

It was enough of an answer for Kaede, who just laughed and said, “Masato-kun knows, like, everyone, so it’s not really a surprise!”

I was relieved to see that she didn’t seem too shaken by everything.

Soon enough, we were pointed the way of campus authorities, and I learned the full story while Kaede made her report. Apparently, this guy had been bothering her for a while after they’d met at a mixer—he’d seen her waiting to meet up with Hanzawa, and then blown up at her when she declined to spend time with him. Since he already had quite a few conduct violations on his record, the administration assured us that they’d act quickly.

Their urgency might have also been prompted by the blatant injury on my face. Every time someone turned to face me, they would reflexively wince at the circle of reddened skin on my cheek. I’d seen it in a mirror while getting my injuries checked out—I was officially deemed concussion-free, which was a relief—and had flinched at my own reflection in surprise.

Amidst the commotion, Hanzawa stayed level-headed, guiding Kaede through the motions of making a report. Even though he wasn’t a student at my university—a fact which was strangely relieving to confirm—it was like he’d gone through this process before. I thought he’d escort Kaede home, too, but once everything had been squared away, she called some of her university friends to pick her up. They arrived with a slew of inventive insults that seemed to cheer Kaede up in an instant. She thanked me again as we swapped numbers, and then she waved us goodbye as she was whisked away by her friends.

“You’re not going with her?” I asked.

“Her other friends will be much better at taking her mind off things,” he said. “Besides, they all go to your university, so they can accompany her during classes.” He turned to face me as he spoke, and though he didn’t wince, his gaze lingered on my cheek.

“I’m alright,” I said. “I even got an ice pack when we were making the report.”

“Still…” Hanzawa said. Hesitantly, he asked, “Could I treat you to lunch? Or a coffee?”

The sun was high in the sky. On one hand, I wasn’t particularly hungry, but coffee sounded nice, and I didn’t have classes until later this evening. On the other hand, Hanzawa looked like he was already regretting the offer.

But Tanimoto-san was right; I had a few things I wanted to say to him. And despite his hesitation, it looked like Hanzawa felt the same.

“Sure,” I said. “You can pick the place.”

———

Hanzawa’s coffee order was a little more complicated than mine. Hearing him rattle off his order made me realize that Richard was right to only offer tea at his shop. The café he’d picked out was like many of the other cafés I’d been to—peaceful, atmospheric, and a neutral ground for conversations. Once we’d taken our seats, we each waited in a brittle kind of silence.

Hanzawa began to fiddle with his phone, and I took it as a clear indication he wasn’t ready to talk. My coffee arrived first, so I savored it while gazing through one of the café windows. Outside, the weather had snapped into a bitter frost, as it seemed wont to do whenever I wasn’t looking. I shivered a little—even inside the temperature-regulated café, I’d dressed a little lightly for the cold—and let the coffee’s steam curl against my skin. Though I couldn’t call myself a connoisseur, I’d begun to appreciate coffee for more than its caffeine.

It was just one more thing I’d learned how to treasure since I’d met Richard. Thinking of him, I reflexively touched my face. We weren’t anywhere near Ginza, but I could imagine the shop’s entrance in front of me as I stared out the window.

“Is there something you’re worried about?”

I started, noting that Hanzawa’s coffee had appeared between his hands. He held the cup strangely, his fingers curled around the sides without any pressure; I worried that it might slip from his fingers if he tried to lift it. Still, the pose seemed so natural for him that I wondered if he’d held the tea at Jewelry Étranger the same way, and I just hadn’t noticed. Like that time, any initial hesitation of his had melted away into a self-assured grace.

“I was just thinking…” I replied, tapping my reddened skin, “it’s going to bruise.”

“Ah,” Hanzawa said. His eyes darted around the room—he could probably sense the curious looks I’d gotten, too, but that wasn’t my main concern. “You’re worried about your weekend work, I assume?”

“No, it’s—actually, yeah, I am,” I said, cutting off my instinctive denial. First Tanimoto-san, and now Hanzawa… I wondered if my face was just becoming easier to read.

“I doubt a bruised face is good for customer service,” he added, clarifying exactly where my thoughts had headed.

I explained, “I’d rather not scare the customers, and it’s something I’ve done even without my face like this, so…”

“That would be troubling,” Hanzawa said. “I’d apologize for the situation, but…”

“There’s no need for apologies,” I stressed. “You and Kaede already thanked me, and there’s no need to apologize for someone else’s mistakes.”

Still holding the cup as if it were air, Hanzawa slowly sipped his coffee. My attention was drawn to his fingers, which were exceptionally long, and neatly trimmed at the nails. “I’m glad you think so, Seigi—it’s alright to call you that, yes?” When I nodded, he set his cup down and made a confession: “I’m not entirely without ulterior motives, though—it’s not every day you meet someone with your job, you know? I like hearing from interesting people, so this is just me indulging in my curiosity, really. What was the application process like?”

“Ah… I didn’t quite apply,” I answered. Maybe I’d just developed a streak of cynicism, but I didn’t believe that he had invited me to coffee out of pure curiosity. I briefly imagined someone taking my place—making tea, talking with Richard, and learning about our clients—and felt a wave a jealousy so strong that I added, “I don’t really think he’s looking to hire anyone new…”

Hanzawa laughed. “Don’t worry, I’m just asking out of curiosity. I’m not looking for a job right now.”

“Ah,” I said, and drank some of my coffee to cover my embarrassment. “Anyways, even when we first met, I don’t think he was looking to hire anyone.”

“Is that so?” Hanzawa asked, a clear prompt for me elaborate.

I had no desire to do so. Instead, I was distracted by the thought of Hanzawa as an employee of Jewelry Étranger. He seemed like he would excel at any job related to customer service, particularly when it came to making conversation. Even now, though I was conscious of the fact that he was leading the conversation, it didn’t bother me. But he wouldn’t know what sweets Richard liked best, or how to watch his expressions to figure out if he was enjoying them. And he wouldn’t know how to brew royal milk tea—not that I’d known that, either…

“I approached him about a family heirloom of mine, and he offered me a job afterwards,” I finally summed up.

Thankfully, Hanzawa didn’t pry any further. “I can see why,” he said. “Something about you must have been unique enough to convince him, right?”

“…You think so?” I asked, ducking my head. It was amazing how one word—unique—was enough to dispel my worries. Saying I had a talent for recognizing beauty—that already made me feel like the most special person in the world. The implication that Richard recognizing that had been a testament to my uniqueness was unbelievably flustering. Rather than think about it for too long, I downed my coffee.

“I just thought that if he wasn’t looking to hire someone,” Hanzawa said, “it means that you must have been important enough to ask for, anyways. The atmosphere at your store would make one think you two had been friends for years.”

I felt warmer than usual. “I just… guess we aligned somehow,” I murmured, feeling a need to deflect the compliment. As much as I privately liked to think of our meeting as “fate,” hearing it from a veritable stranger was something else. “Richard is—he’s almost too incredible, I think. I’m lucky to work there.”

Hanzawa considered my statement carefully, and then asked, “Is it—and I could be overstepping, here, but—is it kind of a… scary feeling?”

“No, you’re right,” I said, feeling a euphoric rush of shared understanding. “It’s—I’m happy, of course. It’s impossible not to be. But it almost makes everything else pale in comparison—”

“And you begin to wonder where you’d be without it,” Hanzawa concluded, perfectly reading my mind.

I sighed. “I mean… it’s not like this will be my job forever, you know? But still, compared to going to university, whenever it’s the weekend, I feel like I’m ten times as real. Like I exist as… I don’t know, more than I am.”

“As in… you’re able to express yourself more?” Hanzawa asked.

I shook my head. “No, it’s like… I’m a more impressive person, even though nothing about me changes,” I said. “It feels like my actions have more meaning. And my world keeps expanding, each time.” When he didn’t respond, still wrapping his head around my words, I added, “…It might be a bit strange to blabber on and on about my job satisfaction. But I really think that being able to work where I do is a miracle of some kind.”

“I see what you mean,” he finally replied as he sipped his coffee. “In a way, Richard-san’s store feels like… a place that’s too good to be true, it could be said?”

“That’s exactly it!” I exclaimed. “And then once you meet Richard, it’s like… he’s a fairy prince or something that’s descended on the mortal world…”

Hanzawa fell into a sudden coughing fit.

I scrambled out of my seat, but he weakly waved me off, and so I stood over the table, watching him regain control of his throat. “Are you alright?”

He took a few deep breaths. “I’m fine,” he said, though he looked obviously embarrassed as he met my eyes. “I was just—taken off guard, I guess. You must really respect Richard-san. Have you… told him this?”

With a new understanding as to why Kaede had so uselessly hovered around me, I slipped back into my own seat. “Well, of course,” I said slowly, wondering what I wasn’t getting. “I needed to express my gratitude to him.”

Hanzawa stared up at the ceiling like he’d received some kind of divine revelation. “And he reacted… well?” he ventured.

I suddenly remembered the many, many times Richard had scolded me for speaking without considering the implications, and I grimaced. “I’m not great with words, so I’ve definitely put my foot in my mouth a few times, but… sincerity is worth the embarrassment, I think,” I said, refraining from adding that I liked to think it was at least part of the reason he’d hired me. “And, though he’s annoyingly mysterious sometimes, he’s sincere to me, too.”

“How nice…” It was impossible not to hear the wistful edge in Hanzawa’s voice. He seemed to hear it too, because he added, “Well, I do wish you two the best,” with a knowing smile.

It wasn’t hard to pick up on the distance in his voice. Despite talking about Richard and the shop, Hanzawa hadn’t once mentioned his own visit or his upcoming appointment.

Before I could prod him about it, Hanzawa cleared his throat and asked, “You’ve finished your coffee?”

I looked down at my cup, which had been empty for quite a while. “Yeah,” I said, bracing for a quick goodbye.

A strange look passed over Hanzawa’s face as he drained his cup, and he set it down on the table with a soft clink. His gaze moved sideways—I followed his line of sight, but it led nowhere. “If—if the bruising is a problem,” Hanzawa haltingly began, “I could… I might have a solution.”

The words looked painful for him to say. “You’re already treating me to coffee,” I assured. “There’s no need to do me another favor.”

He shook his head, firmer. “This… as I said, this was kind of a selfish request, anyways. If you’re willing, I’d be happy to help.”

I wasn’t about to turn down the chance to hear him talk. Maybe, if I gathered enough courage, I’d even be able to ask him about dyed stones. “Well… what did you have in mind?”

———

Much like the first time I’d visited the jewelry section of a department store, I was beginning to feel overwhelmed. This time, it wasn’t at the sight of diamonds as far as the eye could see, but of the bright lights, glossy photos, and shelves upon shelves of products I wasn’t sure how to name. I half-recognized some of the brand names scattered around the store, but otherwise felt wholly out of my depth.

Were it not for the presence of a guide, I’d have never come here. But Hanzawa was shifting his feet next to me, a skittish look in his eyes like he was convinced I’d back out at any moment. That was the same way he’d broached the subject, too, saying, “Well… you could probably cover that bruise with makeup,” in a tone so soft I’d barely heard him.

“How?” I’d asked, pouncing on the option a little too eagerly.

Hanzawa drummed his fingers against his empty cup. “It’s pretty easy,” he said. “I could teach you, but we’d have to buy some products, because we don’t have the same skin tone.” He mulled over his next words.

“There’s a department store near here,” I offered.

At that, he seemed to relax. “My older sister is really into makeup and costuming,” he said with a light laugh, “so I ended up being forced into knowing a few things myself.”

Things moved quickly after that. He paid for my coffee, and I followed him to the nearest department store before he could have too many second thoughts. It wasn’t like I didn’t understand his hesitation—we were still practically strangers, and this was an offer that required considerable involvement on his part. Still, more than anything, I didn’t want to skip work. And as little as I knew Hanzawa, he seemed like the kind of person who would never suggest something that wasn’t an actual solution.

“You’ll have to lead the way,” I finally prompted.

Hanzawa paused and corrected his posture. “Right,” he said, picked up a basket near the entrance, and then struck a path through the various displays, waving off staff with a polite, inscrutable smile.

For all he’d been hesitant, Hanzawa navigated the store with a brilliant kind of confidence. Apart from the two of us, there were barely any men in the store, but Hanzawa didn’t look out of place in the slightest. Soon enough we were left to wander around unapproached.

Finally, we came to a stop in front of a display that carried a variety of tubes in a variety of skin tones. Hanzawa leaned forward to inspect them, and I caught sight of the barely visible piercing holes in his ears.

“You’re not wearing earrings,” I observed.

He answered me without turning his head. “I suppose it’s a leftover habit from high school,” he said thoughtfully. “I didn’t wear them in class, because—well, it’s a bit of a delinquent look, and I was the president of the disciplinary club.”

That explained why he’d been so composed when helping Kaede earlier. I wonder if he’d acquired that sense of reliability from his time in the club, or if had been the reason he’d joined. “What… am I supposed to get, here?” I asked, pointing at the display.

“To cover your bruise, we’ll need concealer, foundation, and a setting spray, probably? So right now, we’re looking for foundations that match your skin tone. What color do you usually bruise?”

“…Purple, I guess?”

“Then we’ll get a yellow color corrector to offset it,” Hanzawa said, plucking a foundation from the shelf. He held it up to the light—the color was kind of close to my skin, I supposed, but there were a lot that looked just like it.

“How are you supposed to figure out the right color?” I asked.

“Oh—you can sample it,” Hanzawa said, and he motioned for me to hold my hand out. We swatched various foundations on the back of my hand as Hanzawa explained to me the basic methodology for covering a bruise. The color corrector would negate the purple hues of my bruise, concealer would properly cover it up with my actual skin tone, and foundation would provide a smooth cover that blended with the rest of my face. The setting spray was just to make sure everything held for the entire time I was working. “You’ll probably want makeup brushes, too,” Hanzawa said as he explained how to apply everything. “We can buy some, or I could maybe lend you mine…”

I could see him trying to work out how to lend me makeup brushes in a way that wouldn’t require an additional meeting. “No, I’ll get one of my own,” I said.

“You sure?” he asked.

I nodded. “It’s kind of weird to say this, but… somehow, I feel like this may not be the last time I need something like this?”

Satisfied with the last foundation we’d tried, Hanzawa showed me how to remove all the makeup on my hand before leading me to another display. There he found a standard set of makeup brushes and gingerly placed it into his basket. “Well, I suppose you do lead quite an exciting life,” he commented.

“This is the first time I’ve gotten injured,” I said. “But there are a lot of interesting people at Richard’s shop, so I guess I do end up having interesting experiences.” I paused. Like this, actually, I didn’t say, and instead asked, “You mentioned your older sister taught you this?”

“It’s not really that I was taught,” Hanzawa clarified. “It was more like… a natural consequence of existing around her? I ended up knowing a lot of the terminology, and I’d get dragged to places like these, too. At that point, you have to at least learn the basics.”

I’d never had a sibling before, so I wondered if it was natural for everyone to pick up skills from their family like this. With my mother, we’d always maintained a certain sense of distance, and with my stepfather overseas, the only one who could maybe qualify as family was Richard. Who I had, indeed, learned a lot from. “And you learned more on your own, afterwards?”

“Well, at my high school, our cultural festival holds a cross-dressing competition each year—it was an all-boys school, hence the tradition—and I ended up learning a bit more because of that. One of my classmates actually attends cosmetology school, now, which is where I learned how to do this.” He gestured in the direction of my reddened cheek.

I reached up on instinct, suddenly conscious of the fact that I was walking around with such an obvious injury. I’d attributed the stares of passerby to the fact that I looked out of place in a makeup store, but this was probably the real reason.

Hanzawa studied my face, and his tone gentled. “It’s been a valuable skill to me,” he murmured. “Makeup gives us the ability to beautify.”

Hand still pressed against my cheek, I confessed, “I’d never really thought of it that way, before. Though I don’t really know anything, really. But I’d always thought of it as… having something to hide, I guess.” I felt like a fool as soon as the words left my mouth.

“Well,” Hanzawa said, still low and quiet, “I suppose we are aiming to hide that bruise of yours. But there is value even in concealment, I think.” A wry smile graced his mouth. “Speaking of.”

We’d lingered for too long in one place, and so we moved to collect a bottle of setting spray and a pale-yellow color corrector before stopping to search through a row of concealers. As we compared various shades on my hand, I recalled the conversation I’d had with Richard about tiramisu.

“…Don’t people also value the truth, though?” I asked.

The shade Hanzawa had tested was far darker than it had looked in the tube. He paused over my hand, and without lifting his head, said, “Perhaps I’m being cynical… but I think most people only value the truth when it is beautiful.” He paused to dab a different concealer on my hand. “I don’t think you’re wrong—people do value authenticity. That’s exactly why so many makeup advertisements discuss how to achieve a natural look, or how to enhance your natural features by smoothing out ‘imperfections’… we’ve defined a kind of beauty that is meant to emulate reality, but that doesn’t mean it is reality.”

Though I couldn’t see his expression, I could hear the raw sincerity in his voice. Something clicked into place, and I realized that for Hanzawa, enhancement was the same as concealment.

“The kinds of beauty we recognize are usually just skin-deep, huh…” I said, echoing the conversation I’d had with Tanimoto-san.

“And everyone prefers to be beautiful,” Hanzawa said.

Yamamoto-san, too, had thought that beauty was a great advantage. “Doesn’t beauty come with its own disadvantages, though?” I asked. At Hanzawa’s curious look, I paraphrased how Richard had described his own experiences. “Like, if you’re so beautiful that people think you’re unapproachable, isn’t that hard?”

“I suppose so,” Hanzawa said. “You’re talking about a kind of… unreal beauty, right? Like your boss.”

“Ah… was it obvious?”

Hanzawa smiled. “A little.” He hummed for a bit in thought, and then said, “In either direction, I think there’s a fear of… standing out, or looking odd. That’s why we’re here. Though I suppose there might be some people who have enough pride to eschew standards.”

The shade he’d just tried was a perfect match. “When you put it that way… there’s definitely times I don’t want to say everything about myself,” I conceded, remembering how I’d felt when confronted by Mami-san’s deep, uncomfortable sense of shame. “Having that kind of pride is… an ideal, but just that.” As much as Richard liked to ask if I had ever decided to think before I spoke, I, too, had things I found hard to say.

“That’s everything, I think,” Hanzawa said, adding the concealer to the basket. “I’ve got makeup wipes with me, so you can just have them. Since we’re here, though, do you mind if I make a quick detour?”

“Go ahead,” I said, and Hanzawa drifted through the store at a leisurely pace, inspecting different products. I took the time to observe the various advertisements pasted around the store, noting that Hanzawa’s description hadn’t been incorrect. Then I observed the array of colors scattered around the store as Hanzawa inspected different kinds of eyeshadow. “I guess blue is rare here, too.”

“Hm?”

“I was just reminded of ultramarine,” I said, pointing towards the overwhelming set of pinks and reds in a collection of lipsticks. “It was prized not just because the stone was precious, but because blue was a rare pigment color, right?”

“…Lapis lazuli sure was a precious stone,” Hanzawa replied. “In addition to blue’s rarity, I’d think it would be hard to collect pieces without significant gold spots. When ground into pigment, those colors would muddy the blue. If one needed to source pure blue lapis lazuli for ultramarine, that would only further increase its rarity and value.”

“Wait, are you majoring in economics?” I blurted out, a little bewildered by the clarity of his explanation.

Distracted from his inspection of an eyeshadow palette, Hanzawa turned to squint at me, bemused. “No, I’m not,” he said. “Are you?”

“I am, yeah.” I floundered, wondering how to explain that for just a moment, Hanzawa had reminded me of Richard. Maybe he was training to be a diplomat—that would explain why even when he spoke casually, every word felt measured. He was certainly better at speaking than me, who couldn’t figure out how to casually ask him what he was actually majoring in.

At my lost expression, Hanzawa laughed and went back to searching through eyeshadows. “…You actually remind me of someone I know.”

“How so?”

“A few things, I think,” Hanzawa said. “You’re both… open to many new experiences.” Though the fondness in his voice was palpable, it was deeply careful, like he was letting me know the shades of some terrible secret.

“You don’t find them exciting?”

“And equally likely to be hurtful,” he rebutted, though not aggressively.

Hanzawa took my answering silence as agreement—which it partially was—and continued looking around the store. Conscious of the time we’d spent wandering, he explained, “The color I’m looking for is uncommon. Eyeshadows have more variety than lipsticks do, but the majority stay within the range of pinks to browns.”

“Even though it’s not a problem to make blue pigment anymore, it’s still a matter of supply and demand, isn’t it?” I surmised. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone wear blue lipstick.”

“The kind of people that do are amazing to me,” Hanzawa said. “Whether it’s simply a matter of liking it or wanting to be deviant from the norm—I think there’s a great strength in accepting oneself as anomalous.”

Finally, he picked out a sparkly lime green eyeshadow, and after holding the color up to the light, tucked it into his basket. It was no wonder he’d spent so much time searching—while accompanying him, I hadn’t seen a single product that looked like it.

“You really are fond of that color,” I noted.

Hanzawa froze for a moment. “It’s for—the cultural festival, actually,” he explained. “I’m helping them out.”

“Oh, I do something like that too—it’s with the karate class I used to attend back in middle school, though,” I shared. “You must be close with your juniors?”

As we entered the checkout line, Hanzawa said, “I think it’s something like a leftover sense of responsibility. That guy… we used to be in the same club.”

Before I could ask him what that guy meant, our attention was redirected to the cashier in front of us. She looked surprised to see two men in front of her, but quickly began scanning the items before her. “Picking up products for your girlfriends?” she asked with a smile, clearly hoping to ease our nerves.

Hanzawa stepped forward, partially obscuring my view. “It’s for my older sister, actually,” he replied, the same smile mirrored on his face. “I just hope I’ve gotten it right!”

Caught up in his mild, inconsequential lie, I stood there, hands hung limply at my side, as I realized that apart from her initial shock, she hadn’t once glanced at my cheek. To be accurate, Hanzawa hadn’t let her. This was probably what he’d meant by the value of concealment. It was like when Richard had pretended not to speak Japanese at that department store. While it wasn’t the truth, it was the option that limited any unwanted misunderstandings.

…Was it really because of his older sister that he’d learned how to do makeup? Or was that just the easiest explanation?

We exited the store with our purchases, and I handed over the eyeshadow to Hanzawa. He slipped it into his messenger bag, and in return, produced a pack of makeup wipes for me to take. “If you forget what to do, there’s a bunch of tutorials online,” Hanzawa reassured, gesturing to my bag of makeup.

“Thanks for the help,” I said. “I had a nice time, too—I feel like I got to hear from an interesting person, as well.”

“Don’t think too much of it—I was really just rambling,” he said dismissively before offering me a tight smile. “I do hope work goes well for you this weekend.”

“…You’ll know, won’t you?” I asked, summoning a bit of courage. “Since you’ll be there.”

“Ah,” Hanzawa said, and stilled before giving his confirmation. “…Yes, I will.”

With that promise exacted from him, we naturally said our goodbyes and parted at a nearby street. The early morning chill had faded somewhat under the sun, and as I made my way back to campus, I thought about the many ways Richard’s face might change upon seeing Hanzawa arrive at his appointment. He wouldn’t give me a raise, but I’d get something out of it, nonetheless.

#cfojr #my writing #hanzawa to tashiro #hanzawa masato #the case files of jeweler richard #nakata seigi #the anomalous agate #<3 loved seeing the responses to ch 1 again btw.#and apologies for any typos i might have missed!#I think I could edit this more for like. minor flip flopping on how I phrase sentences but #if I do that this would never actually get posted lol #other things: I considered splitting this ch into two (pausing before the cafe) but decided not to #in return ch 3 is likely to be much shorter #in fact every ch should be. I’ve only got 4 scenes left including the epilogue #though how much does that mean. sure ch 2 was 4 scenes but yknow what was 1? ch 1.#jeweler richard

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beetle-blogging · 4 hours ago

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Honestly, it's possible that Richard would be at least semi-ok with (unrequited) Betel/Lydia.

Cause I've got the idea brewing in my mind for a bit now that it's plain weird that Lydia seems to never have run into anything really dangerous in her 16+ years career of dealing with ghosts (and I assume she was occasionally helping people for free before that. As an aside: Did she sell out because she started a family? Did her dad cut her off? Either cause of Richard or bc he wanted her to be independent?). We know some ghosts are sadistic psychos, and the Afterlife doesn't seem to give a fuck about Breathers in general. Lydia's defences seem to be either Talk or Flee (so far. I hope this'll change in the next movie), so how the hell is she still alive?

She has a bigger, badder ghost watching over her, that's how. And once Richard had died and came up to visit her, he might have become aware of that, if he visited while she worked.

Like, Betel has been stalking Lydia, and he reads obituaries. He knows which ghosts are likely to be dangerous before she encounters them, so he could've warned them off via tv message that they aren't to touch his girl. He also gets let out regularly through his - thanks to the strike which in Living time started way longer ago than in Afterlife time - very successful business, so if any of them ignored his infomercial, he could show up personally. Hogtie them before they can get to Lydia, throw them to the Sandworms, rattle some cupboards for the camera.

If one of Richard's earlier encounters with Betelgeuse was seeing him protecting Lydia - something that Richard himself as a newbie ghost wouldn't be able to do - Betel's whole... *gestures at the guy* would not matter. Much. I mean, he is a hugely powerful ghost who is also an obsessed stalker, but as both the power and the obsession are what's kept Lydia alive this long, Richard likely would rather the Juice stayed around. Well, ideally he'd have wanted Lydia to stop ghost hunting, but unless something bad happens (which it didn't cause of Betel), she's not gonna, is she? Especially not if she did need to make her own money. And then Rory entered the picture and...

Ok, new, adjacent headcanon: If Betelgeuse and Richard have ever been in the same room as Lydia and Rory, the two ghosts would have had a nice bonding moment over their shared hatred of That Asshole.

I mentioned in a prev post (will find and link later here) that I believe Betel might've made a deal with Richard so the latter would take on B's Code 699 violation punishment - at least the civil service - in return for being let out of his booth. Cause I doubt you can just leave work in the Afterlife, and Richard would have signed literally anything if it helped him save Astrid. So I doubt he'll be topsite again in movie 3. But flashbacks would be nice. I usually dislike them, but having some to show how enmeshed Betel has truly been in Lydia's life, with some of them having dead!Richard in the background looking vaguely pissed off (and those that contain Rory have both ghosts looking pissed off) would be really funny.

Ok, so we all agree that Betelgeuse and Lydia must have run across each other occasionally during work, right? Not that she could see him, but he almost definitely was responsible for some of those "evil presences" she felt.

Now consider:

Richard said that he was checking in on Astrid and Lydia all the time, even though he knows they can't see him. Betel was very strongly implied to have done the same, and was still stalking them throughout BJBJ.

Richard and Betelgeuse very definitely can see each other.

I'd be very interested to know how those run-ins went. Probably awkward af.

#I firmly believe that the reason why mediums seem rare is not bc it's a rare gene #it's bc the ability to see ghosts is dangerous. not all ghosts are nice. in fact haunting is encouraged #you are stuck in your house you can't die you've got magic and your new jurisdiction doesn't care about the Living #I'm firmly convinced malicious spirits aren't uncommon at all #I have a related post drafted where I speculate that Lydia might experience a sharp uptick of them in movie 3 now that #she left Betel at the altar for the second time

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midnight-rice · 3 months ago

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Petition to bring back the archaic word "fere" as a gender neutral* term for a companion/mate/spouse. It has roots from the Old English word "gefera" roughly meaning "one who goes with another" and is pronounced "feer" which sounds like "Dear" which is already a term of endearment and is homophonous with "fear" so you can sound like an oxymoronic gay vampire or smth ("Hello my Fere >:)")

*the word "fere" was gender-neutral in English but has evolved into male-gendered words like "fuhrer" and "frere" in German and French respectively

#dolphin noises #guess who's been reading the dictionary for fun again :D #not cover to cover that'd be boring just flipping through looking for cool stuff #I did this a lot in high school bc I had no friends but I learned a lot about absinthe 😌#Dictionary.com feeds me ads but Webster's New World College Dictionary 3rd Edition (c. 1996) would never 💜#I'm less of a linguistics person like my sister and more just like increasing my vocabulary with very specific and unusual words #I love that English has words for throwing stones (lapidation) and also throwing someone through a window (defenestration)#have you heard of lithobraking that one's too new to be in my dictionary but I find it hilarious. To slow down by crashing on purpose 😂#alas my sesquipedalian tendencies can sadly not be sated in my more recent writing bc that would be 2hcb1 #3rd person limited POV from Asbel? Probably not gonna break out the word 'compunction' even if it DOES perfectly fit chapter 2 😩#Also the word 'abseil' it means to descend by rapelling which he does multiple times! And it looks like his name! BUT HE WOULD NOT SAY THAT #I guess I need to write more Richard or Hubert POV so i can write in my own voice 😅 or update my old zesty fic Mikleo likes big words too 😁

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youricariancarrion · 5 months ago

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feel as though i should revisit this after my rewatch lol. anyways after ruminating for a little bit i think its safe to say that i am more fond of guy than i was, but for better or worse i do not think he will ever drive me insane the way that richard does. thats not really saying much though.

i mean moving to california to live with a film star has always seemed to me like pretty much the best thing that could have happened to thomas, so at the end of the day how i feel about said film star does not matter all that much to me. as long as hes happy etc.

#also i had noooo idea the extent of the discourse surrounding this topic until pretty recently and it is. extremely baffling to me tbh #when i say “whiplash” in the original post i mean in the sense that we learned some pretty huge info about richard #and it was clear that we probably would never hear about him again #it was ultimately not all that shocking to me that he was getting married.#like it drives me crazy to think about but seems completely plausible to me #this post is just me using a lot of words to say basically nothing at all

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nostalgia-tblr · 2 years ago

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See, the one Sadboy Loki stan-meta point I will generally agree on is that the desperate need for a throne is about wanting the acceptance and acclaim (ie The Poor Sad Woobie Just Wants To Be Loved) so yeah fair enough on the redemption arc being But What If Friends?? and What If Me But Hot Hot Selfcest Gaining Self-Respect?

I suppose the proof of that is that while pretending to be Odin and literally being the king of Asgard he... did fuck all, really? Wrote a play about himself, lounged around a bit. That's not someone who wants the power bit of being the ruler of everything and while I may disagree on the exact depths of his emo despair and whether it's a moral get-out-of-jail-free card I do agree that yeah the thing that makes ruling everyone attractive to Loki is that those everyones (erm...) will then pay attention to you and tell you how great you are.

That probably *is* the Younger Son thing at work, innit? "Well, if your brother were to die in a "hunting accident" of some freak accident or plague (btw he is basically immortal so this is v unlikely) then we'd need you after all, so we'll keep you around and make sure you're exactly the sort of arrogant twat we need for that job and probably stop you getting too interested in doing something else with your life *but* as mentioned you're basically the insurance policy that we're unlikely to ever actually need so... maybe you could take up knitting? Bee-keeping?" (This is, again, why monarchies and primogeniture are fucking *terrible* ideas that lead to societies overflowing with young men itching to become Crusaders and Conquistadors but I'm sure nobody needs me to go on about that shit again though I just thought of a thing I should add to that fic)

#my third favourite loki #i'm not saying “kill Thor” is the answer to many/most of his problems but...#actually is *this* why some Loki stans hate Thor so much? they've identified the problem but it never gets solved for their fave?#i mean obvs the *real* problem is the system but failing the ability or perhaps will to change that then yeah he could just murder Thor #as i throwaway-line'd once in a fic Sylvie would have the related but different problem of Being A Girl #nobody bothered to put the *princesses* in the tower did they?#(think R3 was actually planning to marry the oldest girl? which bold move when you've blatantly murdered her brothers but whatevz)#(maybe she didn't like them anyway!)#(also that actually *is* incest isn't it? daaaamn Richard going for the full set of Things People Don't Like weren't you?)#(someone reading this like “why the fuck is she talking about Richard III on this post about Loki???”)#(well hello there welcome to the fun world of me! it's all downhill from here!)#(don't forget to Like Comment and Subscribe!)#(i may hate monarchies but their dramas are fuckin A+ Reality Shows But With Murder And Incest And So On quality content)#me stuffing popcorn into my mouth: “can't wait for the new season to resolve that Bosworth cliffhanger. my problematic fave MUST win!”#“he murdered his nephews surely he can take out that half-arsed attempt at a Lancaster heir?? it's that or a line of Welsh gingers???”#(i have nothing against welsh gingers honestly cross my cold black twisted heart)#loki series

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tonedeafkunst · 10 months ago

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Despite the fact he's basically only there to fuck shit up I do think Philip lives through the Christmas at Chinon and is then like "Yeah I can see why Richard grew up a p3dophile"

#To be clear this is not what I think about the event or the character #The wording was just funnier that way #And unfortunately I am an historian at heart which means you will never get uncontextualised sentences out of me #But like. Come on. Philip was EIGHTEEN #He would absolutely say shit like this #While actively appearing to pout about losing his ex #No one can tell if he actually feels that way. Least of all Richard

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bats-and-the-birds · 6 months ago

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I am thinking about the batkids and their rooms at the manor.

When Dick was first brought to the manor, Alfred put wooden letters that spelled out his name on the outside of the door to his room. He wanted the boy to feel like he belonged, and denoting the room as his seemed like the best way. At first, they spelled out "Richard", and were painted in red, green, and yellow -- the colors that his parents had worn for their circus act, that didn't have any other meaning yet. Dick pried them off the door and threw them away. He didn't want to accept that this was permanent yet. There were new letters on the door a few days later, blue this time, and spelling out "Dick" instead. Those letters got pried off much the same and shoved in a drawer, and they didn't get put back until a year later. He was too short to put them in the same place, so they ended up crooked, and Alfred found it too endearing to fix.

When he left the manor years later, he considered ripping the letters off the door and throwing them in the foyer on his way out. But he left them, and there they remained, crooked as ever.

Jason got his own letters when it became clear he wasn't going anywhere. He helped Alfred put them up on his bedroom door, standing on a step stool to make sure they got in the right place. His were evenly spaced and neatly aligned, and he refused to tell anyone that he cried over them that night. He'd spent months wondering if he'd ever live up to his predecessor, not just as Robin, but in the family as well. And now he had his own letters, just like Dick's, and they weren't going anywhere.

And they didn't. Even after he died. Bruce and Alfred both considered taking the name down to make walking past that empty room less painful, but in the end, they didn't dare touch the letters, just like they didn't touch anything else in the room. Years later, Jason would sneak into the manor through his old bedroom window and find his school uniforms still hanging in the closet, his textbooks on his desk, an open novel on his nightstand, and, of course, the letters still on the door, more of an epitaph than the one on his actual tombstone.

Tim fought for his name on a bedroom door. It took a while, but he trained, and he learned, and he forced himself into the role that he knew he could fill. Part of him thought that no matter how good and useful he made himself as Robin, he'd never really fill the role that the two before him did. He thought there might not be room for him after Jason's death, but he did it. He was older than the other two when Alfred finally put the letters up on his door, but he did it.

Later, when he left in search of Bruce, he didn't think for a second of taking his name down off his door. He'd earned it.

Damian's name got put up practically as soon as he got to the manor. He didn't think much of having his name on a door. If anything, it irked him a bit, being lumped in with the others, but it would have annoyed him more if he didn't get his own name. For a while, his name on the door, marking it as his from the hallway, was the only reason you could tell it wasn't the guest room that it had previously been. He had no photographs, had arrived with no personal affects.

That changed, eventually. As he gained friends, he also gained photos of them. He put up sketches and watercolor paintings of his animals. A dog bed got put on the floor for Titus. But the letters had been there from the beginning, and he grew to appreciate them eventually. His room, with the name on the door, was safe, and he liked it there.

Cass's letters showed up without much fanfare. They were simply there when she exited her room one day. "Cassandra" in black wooden letters that matched all of her new siblings'. She ran her fingers over them with reverence. She'd never been allowed to leave a mark before. Her life was predicated on being a shadow, but there was her name, in big letters, somewhere where other people could see it.

Steph had a room. She didn't want to admit it, but when she crashed at the manor, it was always in the same room. Her name was put up, and she took it down, and it was put up again, and she took it down again until it became something of a game between her and Alfred. If Steph was staying at the manor and Alfred didn't find a wooden S in a random cupboard, then have to search the house for the rest of her name, then he knew she was in a bad mood, and he usually made her favorite cookies and left them outside of the door with her name still firmly in place.

Duke's letters were waiting for him when he moved in. His name in bright yellow letters that matched his suit already in place. Of course it was, it's tradition at this point, and he's part of the family now. He had bounced around for a while now, and the letters on his door made him feel...calmer. It was a sense of permanence, and one he could learn to enjoy.

Barbara didn't need a room. She had her own room, in her own house, but Alfred still offered to mark out a space for her. She declined. When she did stay over, it was either in the cave or Dick's room, she didn't need her own. Still, that didn't mean her mark wasn't left somewhere. There was a study downstairs with a desk that she sometimes did her homework on as a child if she was staying over for the night. Now, the desk held a computer that was wired into the Batcomputer's network, a photo of her and her father, and, of course, tiny wooden letters affixed to the side that spelled out 'Barbara'.

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klemen-tine · 7 months ago

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No Prince Charming

(Batfam x Mom!Reader)

Anonymous asked:

Hello, I really like your work.

I saw that you have an open request, so I want to share an idea that has been sitting in my head for a long time.

Reader married Bruce for convenience. (In my head, the reader is a woman, but I'll leave it to your taste) The wedding takes place shortly before the appearance of the first Robin. Bruce and reader have a cold relationship. Reader comes from the wealthy population of Gotham. Therefore, reader is well educated and intelligent. So after a while, when Dick already appears, reader understands what her husband does at night. But reading doesn't say anything about it or hint at it. The reader doesn't want to get involved in any of this, it scares her. And although the reader is planning a divorce, she takes care of all the members of her new family. And although she is neglected in the family, the reader becomes a parental figure for children. But the children won't admit it. When Damian appears, the reader doesn't say a word to Bruce. But Damian treats reader very badly. And that becomes the trigger. The reader slips Bruce the divorce papers.(not to mention that they are getting divorced, since Bruce is likely to protest) and when Bruce signs them, he leaves the estate, leaving the divorce papers and the wedding ring on the bed when no one notices. And only then does the family realize what they have done with their neglect of reader. Their yandere trait is waking up in them and now they need to somehow find their reader.

Sorry if it's too much.

And I apologize for the English, I am writing with a translator

❤

Warning: Non-consensual drugging, not descriptive sex. It's just mentioned, no details. Hinted at Dick's trauma with his sidekick.

It was a marriage of convenience. That's all it was. Bruce Wayne knew Y/N L/N since childhood, and while they weren’t close, Y/N was the only one who never treated him any differently after his parents were murdered. Maybe it's because her own father was murdered, and she understood that sometimes the greatest support was to act like nothing changed.

Fast forward to young adults, Bruce Wayne was now Brucie in public, and Y/N was the unstoppable woman leading her own company by the reins. Bruce had come to her with an offer, one that had her brows raised and painted lips smirking. For Bruce Wayne, this will help solidify his position as someone who was not Batman, and for Y/N it would finally silence the hecklers that gnawed at her heels and bit into her shoulders.

A frigid marriage, filled with cold greetings, Brucie still entertaining women, Y/N still controlling her company with painted lips, and rumors surrounding them. Despite the coldness, Y/N knew a lie when she saw one. She knows a front when she comes face to face with one, and it is why when she saw Batman in the hallways of Wayne manor, staring at her in shock and apprehension, she rolled her eyes and continued to sip her wine as she made her way back to her office.

“Please don’t stain the carpet. Alfred just shampooed them.” They never brought it up again. Bruce was no Prince Charming, despite the front he put on for strangers. There were no whispered promises, no flowers, no gifts, nothing but ‘hellos’ and ‘goodbyes.’

Then, along came Richard ‘Dick’ Grayson. A child who had blinked up at her with large blue eyes, and Y/N could feel her heart crumble. She had welcomed him with open arms and smiles. She had welcomed all of the Robins in. Her manicured nails getting shorter each time, so she doesn’t have to fear hurting one of them, and her smiles became softer. Y/N had never tried to replace any of their mother’s, but that didn’t mean she didn’t feel like one.

But it was Bruce they had a closer bond with. Which is why they started following his behavior towards her. Clipped words and rolling of eyes were common, as were the cold shoulders and tense silences.

“You’re not my mom! So stop asking how school was!” Y/N stared at Jason in shock and curiosity about where that outburst had come from. Alfred was the only one to say anything. A stern, “Master Jason,” and a look that had even Bruce cowering had the young boy apologizing. Y/N ignored the way her heart slowly broke, as the quirky child full of smiles, sass, and who loved classics, turned his back on her.

As if she wasn’t the one to introduce those books to him.

Y/N doesn’t blame them for their cold behavior towards her. She doesn’t blame Dick’s disregard, Jason’s hurtful words, Tim’s cynical looks, Steph’s taunts, and Damian’s heated actions.

Y/N had cried at Jason’s funeral, she helped Bruce fight for custody for Tim, she had consoled Dick after some of his own traumatic experiences, and she sat there and listened as Damian compared her and Talia. Talia, of all people. She had met the woman once, and Y/N had nodded at her. Y/N never judged Bruce for sleeping with the woman. Hell, Y/N would have too. Y/N can recall the day Damian came to their manor, and the short look Dick had given her when she and the child made eye contact.

Y/N doesn’t know if it was a look of concern or mockery, but she knows he did look.

She was there for Richard when his trauma with his sidekick happened. He may have never told her, but Y/N is a woman. A woman who has known people that have suffered the same way Dick has. That are still suffering like he is.

“I’m sorry Richard.”

“What do you even know?! You know nothing! Absolutely nothing so just butt out!” Dick glared at her with blue eyes that had put the arctic water to shame. Y/N stood there and took it all. She stood proudly with her shoulders back and chin up.

In public, she was a stoic mother keeping the children in check while Bruce goofed off. She was the woman who failed her children, because she chose to continue running her business. Her very, very, very successful business. A business that had taken her and her mother from the bottom of High Society, to the top 10%. A series of great investments, smart marketing, and pretty words have lined her pockets with money that she could easily retire on.

Yet, all that money couldn’t save her mother. The woman died of a heart attack, and there was nothing, absolutely nothing Y/N could do besides bury her mother.

“Bruce please.”

“I am busy.”

“I know but Bruce, this is my–”

“Ask Alfred.” He had turned his back and Y/N was stuck staring at the retreating man with a new feeling of heartbreak. The tabloids ate up that she was alone at her mother’s funeral. A private event that no one was allowed into besides close family and friends.

When she came back, eyes downcast and shoulders slumped, Damian had picked the time to make his disdain known again, “–and my mother would have never let herself go like that. You look horrid, unbefitting of a Wayne. A disgrace.”

Blank E/C eyes stared into raging green and she sighed, “Thanks, Damian.” She spared him no glance after that, and she walked towards her bedroom to take a hot shower. It was there, under the hot spray of water that she finally cried. She cried for the last part of family she had, and the years she lost from marrying a man who didn’t even like her enough to attend a godforsaken fucking funeral. She cried for the children she couldn’t even call her own.

She cried for the life she missed by marrying Bruce fucking Wayne.

“Honey, are you happy?”

“Of course Mama.”

“You never could lie to me sweetie.” Her mother kissed her forehead and looked into E/C eyes with nothing but love, “You’ve worked so hard, sweetie.” That acknowledgement alone had her almost in tears, “But please start working for yourself now.”

Taking a deep breath, Y/N hopped out of the shower and called her lawyer. Divorce papers were in her hands within 24 hours, and her bags packed in 3.

She stood next to Bruce, ignoring the scowl on his face as she ‘disrupted’ his work. Y/N kept her face neutral, because if she smiled it would give it all away, and handed him the page he needed to sign.

For a billionaire and for a vigilante, he sure didn’t read the damn paper. Which is fine. Great even, because now, after being here for over a decade, Y/N is free. She laughed in her room, laughing so hard that it almost tore her throat. Leaving a copy of it on Bruce’s bed once he was gone, she grabbed her suitcase and accidentally ran into Alfred on her way out the door.

The old man took a look at her clothes, her bags, and her expression before sighing, “Shall I drive you for the last time, Lady Y/N?” Y/N smiled, bitterly at the thought of leaving Alfred, her only solace in this cold mansion.

“To the airport, please.” The ride was silent, and Y/N didn’t look back as they left the gates of the mansion. It wasn’t until they were halfway there that Y/N spoke up, “My lawyer will call in a few days, just to hash out the details.”

“Is that so?”

“There’s nothing I want. No assets, no money, nothing will be taken, I just want a divorce.” She just wants the law to recognize that she is not a Wayne. That she will never be a Wayne.

“Lady Y/N, perhaps a check for compensation for the emotional strain would be nice?” Y/N laughed, bitterly and sad, “I don’t want his money. I want nothing to do with him anymore.”

“And the kids?”

“They don’t need me. They never did. I doubt they will even notice.” Gotham International Airport wasn’t crowded, and that may be because it was 1pm on a Tuesday. Alfred helped her with her bags, and the old man stared at the woman before him. He remembers meeting her for the first time, a confident young woman who had a way with words and was unfairly intelligent. Matching wits and able to speak confidently in a room of people who thought little of her.

It's good to see some of that coming back.

Y/N hugged Alfred, “Thank you, Alfred. For everything.” The older man sighed and watched as the woman took her bags and walked away. Not once did she look back and Alfred decided to stay until her form disappeared in the building. He sighed heavily and when got back in the car, he dialed a number he knew by heart. It only took three rings before the voice of the man he raised answered, “Alfred, is everything okay?”

“Master Bruce, I fear you may have lost something precious, and I do hope you, and the young masters, have a plan to make this up to them.” He hung up afterwards as he merged into traffic, and he hoped his message finally hit something within his son’s dense skull.

When he returned back to the manor, he began the preparation for making dinner. All was silent throughout the manor, until the door opened and the rush of the footsteps began marching towards him.

“Master Richard, I urge you to not run.”

“Bruce told me there was an emergency and to hurry to the manor?” Alfred sighed, “While it is an emergency, it is not one you can fix on your own.” No, this was something for Bruce to fix seeing tha all the problems stemmed from him.

Dick raised a brow, “What kind of emergency is it?” Alfred pursed her lips, “Miss Y/N Wayne is now Miss Y/N L/N once more.” He turned to look the man he has considered his grandson in the eyes, and he could see the revelation sink in.

“Y/N divorced Bruce?” Alfred nodded, “The papers have been signed.”

“Bruce would never sign those papers.” Alfred raised a brow, “They are signed and waiting for him to read.” Dick slowly walked out of the kitchen, “Is she still here?” Alfred turned back to the food and Dick began speed walking towards Y/N’s room. As a child it never occurred to him why they would they never slept together, but as he got older he understood.

He knocked on her doors, calling her name like he used to as a kid.

Dick had always understood that Bruce’s and Y/N’s relationship was not one of a couple in love. He also understood that Y/N’s treatment in the manor by the residents of the manor was unfair. Whenever he could, he would correct Damian’s harsh words, but even he himself couldn’t fully bring himself to be all that kind to her.

He tried. He desperately tried, because he saw all that she did for them behind the scenes. He saw the mistreatment and judging looks others would give her as her ‘husband’ was out fooling around.

Dick saw the blank look she had given Damian after her mother’s funeral. The one none of them had gone too.

“What do you mean you didn’t go?” His voice panicked as he talked to Tim, “I didn’t go. I was under the assumption someone else would go.”

Y/N could have been Gotham’s biggest bitch, but not even then would she have deserved that. What made it worse was that Y/N was not a bitch. She wasn’t cruel, or unkind. She was as much of a philanthropist as Bruce was. Always aiding those whose needed it and desperately trying to make Gotham a better place.

Dick opened her doors and was greeted with an empty room. Gone were the picture frames, and the closet was empty along with the bathroom. Her prized jewlery, the things she took care of almost obsessively, all of it was gone.

He could remember beng 9 and sitting next to her as she cleaned one of her sapphire earrings. Thin fingers with long nail held the earring next to him, a scrutinizing look on her face before she would break out into a grin, “As I thought, nothing could ever compare to our Dickie’s sapphire eyes.”

“Holy shit.”

“What’s going on- why is Y/N’s room empty?” Tim looked throughout the room, and Dick could see the wonder across his younger brother’s face. Right, between all of them, Tim and Y/N had the least amount of time spent together.

Dick stared at his brother as the image of Y/N smiling at a string of pearls entered his mind. She had explained to him when he asked that pearls, while feminine, also symbolized new beginnings. She had gotten it when Tim’s custody was signed over to the Waynes.

“She’s gone.” Tim met Dick’s eyes, “Like… taking a vacation gone?” Dick gave a humorless chuckle, “She divorced Bruce, Tim. Y/N is gone.” This must have been what Alfred saw when he broke the news to Dick. The confusion and then realization coming to light in those blue eyes.

“Bruce would never sign those papers.” Dick had said the same thing, and yet here she was. Gone. As if to emphasize his point, Dick made an exaggerated expression and motioned to the empty room.

Tim looked around and he could feel a headache forming, “Bruce is gonna be pissed.” Dick groaned, “Fuck Bruce for a second, the only stable-mentally healthy-adult figure that isn’t Alfred is gone, Tim.” The boy didn’t look all that bothered, “Well, if she’s happier then I don’t mind.”

Of course he doesn’t mind. Why? Because this little stalker most likely knows where she’s going. Tim did a good job hiding it, but Dick was raised by Bruce. He is trained to spot the mciroexpressions of people, and even if they are his own siblings.

Tim is panicking. The very thought of Y/N leaving had not once occurred to them, and for Tim who loves planning, this was not once ever in the plans.

Not once. Y/N had been a staple within the manor, and to imagine her not being here was rough. Evenw hen she left for business trips, it was fine because they all knew she was coming back. SHe would come back with souvenirs, handing each of them something that reminhded her of them, before running upstairs to get out of the family’s judgemental line of sight.

“Fucking hell.”

++++

Bruce entered the condo with ease. His steps light as he walked through the dark room, noting the all the furniture. There was no Y/N in the living room or kitchen, but when he looked out the balcony door, he could see her back. She was leaning against the edge of the infinity pool, without doubt a hot tub of some sorts because it was too cold to be swimming in a regular pool.

She didn’t even turn around to look at him, her attention focused on the view of the snowy mountains and raging seas in front of her. Bruce could see the wine bottle left on the side of the pool and the glass that looked like it was finished only a short while ago. When she did turn around, E/C reflected the stars and dimly lit light around the pool, making them shine and sparkle like they were the galaxy.

Bruce isn’t blind. He knows Y/N is an attractive woman who had many people lusting after her even when they were married. Talia even made a note of it, “You should see if she wants to join next time.” He should have known that his clipped response was a sign.

It was all there, and yet he did everything within his power to ensure that he would not fall in love with her. Falling in love has always been out of the question, and when Y/N came into his life, Bruce made it his mission to do just that. The woman before him had never complained, and she never seemed to fault him for it, but he could tell there was resentment. If he couldn’t have allowed himself to fall in love with her, he could have at least offered her friendship. One that made life more bearable for the both of them, and set a good example for the kids.

“What are you doing, Bruce?” She didn’t seem shocked that he was here, let alone in her vacation condo. Bruce took off his shirt and pants, stripping down to his boxers before joining her in the hot tub. He had grabbed two glasses of wine before doing so, handing her one and taking a sip from the other.

“Is it wrong of me to want to join my wife on her vacation?”

“Ex-wife. The documents are signed, and besides this is a girl trip.” Bruce re-read those documents and kicked his foot for not fucking reading them when he first signed them. He should have known she was up to something.

“Y/N, come back to the manor.” He stared into E/C eyes as she took another sip of the wine. Bruce had come with a speech prepared, ready to convince her to come back with him, but it was all lost as he stared and observed the woman in front of him drink delicately from the glass. Y/N L/N has always been a woman of class, even when she was near the bottom of high society. It wasn’t her good looks that landed her in the top 10, possibly even top 5%, and like every classy woman, she was only allowed to regret a few things. Their marriage is one, but leaving is not even an option on the list of things she wants to regret but can’t.

He knows this. She knows this.

And yet, Bruce could only focus on how beautiful she looks, and how beautiful she would look sprawled on the silk bed sheets. Y/N has aged like fine wine, looking even more beautifully and worth more and more with each passing year. Aging gracefully and beautifully as the years passed and still catching the attention of others.

It's a shame his younger self was more into whiskey than wine.

He wonders how different their relationship would be if he had gotten to know her before and during the early years of their marriage. Without a doubt it would be easier to talk to her. Easier to convince her to come back to a manor that now misses her.

“And why should I?” It’d be easier to answer her with a compelling reason, one that would have her actually debating on whether or not to come back. Bruce reached over and brushed a strand of hair out of her face, and he’s shocked that she even let him do that. She didn’t flinch, nor did she lean into his touch. Y/N stood still as he moved the H/C lock behind her ears.

“The manor misses you.” He’s never heard her laugh the way she did in that moment. Throwing her head back and exposing unblemished skin to the night air as she laughed, and continued to laugh. Her shoulders shaking from the force and slightly distilling the wine.

Once she was done, her cheeks were red from the laughter and she was gasping for breath, “Yeah, okay. So Alfred misses me, I’ll make sure to give him a call then.” She turned her back to Bruce and began walking towards the edge of the pool.

“The boys, girls, and I do too.” Chateau Petra was on his lips and the feeling of cold wine hitting his face and upper chest had him closing his eyes for a second. When he opened them, Y/N’s wine glass was empty and on her face was a hard expression. Cold E/C eyes glaring into his as she pulled herself out of the pool, and grabbed the rest of the wine bottle.

“Sleep on the couch. You’re going home tomorrow.” Her steps quiet as she stalked into her home and she headed for the bathroom. Bruce sighed, and stared at the night sky with a new look in his eyes, ‘Desperate times call for desperate measures.’ He would like to believe that he is above this. He wants to believe that this was the worst case scenario happening and therefore this needs to happen.

Has to. The very thought of Y/N being away caused an itch to form under his skin and a burning fire in his chest. A fire he never knew blazed in him until it went out. Now, more aware and protective of it, Bruce found himself craving the warmth in ways that had his mouth foaming and muscles tensing. He looked down at the water and saw the red wine diluting and sprawling throughout the pool water, looking like blood for only a second.

A smile curled on his lips and he pulled himself out of the pool water, drying himself off before making his way into the shower with his ‘ex-wife.’ They may have never been lovers, but they were two adults living under the same roof.

So, of course they have had sex.

Hate sex is the best and worst sex. It is the best because Bruce can go as hard as he wants to and Y/N will love it. It is the worse because hate sex is all Y/N will see this as. Y/N will only see it has hate sex and not for the love Bruce feels for her. She won’t feel it in the way he caresses her skin or in the way he leaves his bite marks on her thighs. All Y/N will see this as, is hate sex.

Which is fine. If hate sex is what Y/N needs to see this as to work then Bruce will take it. He has time. He has plenty of time to show her how much he cares and loves her. Those divorce papers will be long gone, every single one of those copies non-existent. He loves her. He loves her in the way a cactus loves the sun, or how the stars love the moon.

Bruce was so enamored by her, that he couldn’t help but to fall deeper. Her soft hands, that have never broken a bone but have broken many hearts, cradling scarred shoulders and sharp cheeks. She didn’t flinch when his own rough hands gripped her’s, bruising and secure, and she didn’t flinch when intense blue eyes met hers. In fact, she smiled, like this was all a joke he was the butt of it.

It pissed him off that even she could have secrets and inside jokes that he doesn’t know about. As she laid there, her eyes now closed and body relaxed, Bruce pulled out a syringe filled with something that will keep her asleep. Only for a few days. Barbara is already working on getting rid of the divorce papers and the kids were preparing for her return.

Bruce kissed her forehead, smiling down at his Sleeping Beauty. If need be, the manor will be her castle and the kids her vines covered in thorns. Bruce, in all his daunting and terrifying glory shall be the dragon, keeping her locked within her castle because nowhere was safer than the castle. Only she could keep him calm, and only she could make him feel human.

Batman was never Prince Charming.

_________________________________________________________

Not my best work in my opinion... but I still like tbh.

@problematicreblogger

@kurai-hono-blog

@rosecentury

#yandere batfam #yandere dc #platonic yandere #batfam x reader #platonic batfam #batfam #platonic batman #bruce wayne #batman x reader #yandere dick grayson #yandere jason todd #yandere tim drake #yandere damian wayne #alfred pennyworth

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deadsetobsessions · 11 months ago

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Damian Wayne was like a duckling. A violent, stab-happy, danger-prone duckling, yes, but a duckling all the same. Which means when Danny almost got stabbed by a sleepy, instinct driven Damian, he was able to wave it off with a laugh. Damian, on the other hand, stared in horror at the butter knife firmly lodged in Danny’s arm.

“PENNYWORTH!” Danny jerked back at Damian’s scream. “RICHARD! FATHER!”

God damn, the kid had a pair of lungs on him. Danny’s wince was interpreted as pain to Damian, who gently grabbed his injured arm and started to pull him towards the kitchen’s marble island.

Danny blinked, non plussed as his hearing picked up a thundering of feet as the present family members scrambled towards Damian’s distress call.

“Wait, Damian, I’m fine. It’s-”

“You have been impaled, you imbecile! Had it been any of the other simpletons, they would have-!”

“Ouch.” Danny put his other hand in mock hurt over his slow-beating heart. He literally doesn’t care about the butter knife. He’s just impressed there was enough force in there to impale him. “Are you calling me names now? After- gasp- stabbing me?”

Before Damian could reply, the beginnings of regret, remorse, and guilt on his face, Alfred, Dick, and Bruce burst into the kitchen.

“What happened?!”

“My word, master Danny!”

“What is it?!”

“I’m fine. It’s like a small stab. Not even a big stab. I’m good.”

Dick paled, seeing Danny’s arm clutched in Damian’s hand.

“That’s- that’s a knife. In your arm. How is that ‘fine’?!”

“What happened.” Bruce asked Damian, gently removing Danny’s arm from Damian’s death clutch.

“I- I did not mean to,” Damian starts, guilt coloring his voice.

“He didn’t,” Danny cuts in. “I startled him and got stabbed for being dumb. I won’t fault him for having a defense mechanism like that, ancient knows what I might do if you guys startled me.”

The awkward silence that settled at his words made Danny twitch awkwardly.

“Uh, so, can I add this knife to my collection? Even if I didn’t get mugged?”

“Danny.”

“Bruce.” Danny stared stubbornly back. With his uninsured hand, he patted Damian on the head. He was going to enjoy the fluffiness before Damian’s guilt was no longer enough to hold him back from snapping at Danny’s hand like a grumpy alligator. Bruce loses, obviously. He’s a teenager who was also an ex-vigilante. Batman’s got nothing on a determined halfa.

“Master Danny, I must insist you refrain from getting stabbed. There is only so much gauze and antiseptic cream in the house.” Alfred returned- huh, when did he leave?- with a med kit.

Danny called bullshit because he knows there’s a whole ass medical bay beneath the manor.

“Sorry.”

“No need to apologize.” Alfred said, promptly beginning the extraction of the butter knife.

“Are you okay?” Dick asked, hovering worriedly. “He- are you…?”

Damian was allowing Danny to ruffle his hair, so…

“Yep, I’m good. This isn’t even on my top thirty most painful stabbings,” and it really wasn’t. That honor was given to the GIW and that one time Jazz accidentally stabbed him with her earrings. “That was pretty impressive, actually. It’s like, a butter knife. The other ones had pointy ends.”

“Do not clump me with those pathetic wastes of spaces. I am naturally superior and would… would never harm you on purpose.” Damian said, getting quiet at the end like he was trying to plead to Danny to believe him.

“Of course not. But- if you want help me keep the knife, you can hit me with a mug, it would technically be a mugging.”

The pun got the desired effect. Damian leaned away with a disgruntled look and Dick stopped hovering as close in order to let out a small cackle.

“Done.”

“You should go get changed, kiddo. We’re going to see Tim’s photography at the Gotham Gallery today.”

“Oh, for real?” Danny patted Damian’s fluffy hair one last time, pushing away from the counter. “Oh, I’ll clean up here first and-”

“That will not be necessary,” Alfred scolded, a mop somehow already in his hands. “Please see to it you are prepared for the day.”

“Thanks, Alfred. Can I keep the knife.”

“Very well.”

“Sweet. See you guys later?” Danny pranced off after seeing the nods.

——

“He’s… he got stabbed a lot. Before us, I mean.” Dick tapped a furious rhythm onto the counter. “Not that we’ve stabbed him until now but even once is concerning for a civilian.”

“He was used to it.” Bruce replied.

“Perhaps we should join Todd in his endeavor and ensure that his worthless tormentors are permanently out of the picture.”

“God, he said top thirty. He was counting.”

Damian silently withdrew a kitchen knife.

“No murder with my quality chef’s knives, Master Damian.”

“Tt.”

“Master Jason follows the same rules. Now, out of the kitchen. I may be old, but I remember the last time master Bruce and master Dick stepped foot in here and I will not have a repeat.”

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nikibogwater · 4 months ago

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Actually while I'm thinking about it, I just wanna say that the more live-action remakes Disney shlups out like shoveled manure, the more amazed I am that Cinderella (2015) exists. It breaks literally every standard of Disney's LA remakes.

It's not a shot-for-shot remake of the original 1950 animated film, though it does include small references and homages to it, but only when such things can be incorporated organically into the story.

The creators understood and respected the cross-cultural significance of the Cinderella story. They didn't want to "fix" it, or add some wacky twist to it, they just wanted to make the best possible version of the Quintessential Cinderella that they could.

Everything that could be done practically was done practically. The carriage was a real, the horses pulling it were real, and all of the other animals (with the exception of the mice and lizards, since their performance was a lot more involved than the others') were real living animals, the lizard footman and goose carriage driver were wearing prosthetics instead of just having their animal features added in post, the Fairy Godmother's dress had little LED lights sewn into it so that it would actually glow for real, the ballroom set was built by hand and included real chandeliers with more than 2000 total candles that were all actually lit for the scene, and I could go on but you get the point.

There's a ton of attention paid to little details that make the world feel real and lived in. Ella's shoes are always a little scuffed and dirty. Her farm dress is faded and wrinkled. When she breaks down and runs away to the woods, she rides her horse bareback (which, once again, was a thing Lily James actually did, no stunt-double or editing in post), because not only is that something a country girl like her would know how to do, but it also makes sense that with as upset as she is, she wouldn't want to waste time with saddling the horse. When she's dancing with the prince, it's visually obvious that he is leading her and giving her cues because of course Ella wouldn't know the latest ballroom dances, and would need him to guide her through it.

Hey speaking of dancing, y'know what else this movie does that no other LA remake has been allowed to do (at least not to this extent)? ROMANCE. Land sakes alive, this is one of the most unabashedly and yet still tastefully romantic movies I've ever seen. Ella and Kit are just oozing romantic chemistry from the moment they lock eyes for the first time. It all comes down to the fact that these two characters both have the same core values of courage and kindness, which makes their admiration for each other feel grounded and believable. Richard Madden also really sells Kit's feelings for Ella with the way his eyes go all big and soft whenever he looks at her. And don't even get me started on Lily's performance as Ella. Her quiet awe that someone as powerful as the prince loves her. The timidity and fear that she's not really worthy of that. The selfless determination to protect him from her family's cruelty, even if it means she'll never see him again, I'm just-- *banging my fist against the table and screaming into a pillow*

Absolutely god-tier costume design. No notes, I think Sandy Powell's work speaks for itself. Btw, in case you were somehow still wondering, yes, Ella's ballgown is fully practical--those layers upon layers of dreamy silk skirts are real. CG was only used to brighten up the blue color to make her stand out from the crowd more.

Wicked stepmother was allowed to actually be wicked. The movie never tries to make you sympathize with Lady Tremaine, or shift the blame off to someone else. And her villainy is given an extra layer of depth with the reveal that she is a dark reflection of Ella. They've both lost people they loved, but where Ella refused to let her grief get in the way of kindness, Lady Tremaine became utterly consumed by it. She views the death of her first husband as a sort of twisted justification for pursuing all her worst impulses. She despises Ella for her ability to flourish even while enduring terrible suffering, for being everything Lady Tremaine was either unable or flat-out refused to be.

Also Cate Blanchet absolutely SLAYS in this role. Hands-down my favorite portrayal of the wicked stepmother character.

Anyways, TLDR: Cinderella (2015) is the only Disney live-action remake that can justify its own existence and that's because it actively defies everything the LA remakes are today.

#niki rambles #cinderella 2015

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anonymous-existences · 13 days ago

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DCXDP Prompt 13 :

@demonic0angel I'm gonna borrow a bit of your 'First Burn' Prompt If ya don't mind <33 just a teeny bit(cuz song hehe) and make it more ANGSTY!!

Danny and Bruce are divorced, Only Dick knew they were together, Danny and Bruce's love started in college, oh how their love and passion were true and gentle, everyone around them wished them happy memories.

But as Bruce took the Mantle of Batman, He never told Danny, neither did Alfred have the heart to tell Danny that he was always getting into dangerous situations as he roamed around Gotham as a Vigilante, Sneaking out at night from their bed.

Bruce and Danny both adopted Dick, Little Richard 'Dick' Grayson, Danny's little boy, his precious little star. Bruce saw how much Danny cared for Dick, Bruce thought Dick could be a distraction for Danny so Danny doesn't notice his secret Vigilante nightlife.

....

Danny knew. He knew everything alright. Danny tries to not cry every night as he feels Bruce sneak away in the middle of the night, every whispers of love that Bruce utters to Danny felt like lies, Danny knew he had secrets too, His Past Vigilante life as a teenager is something he never told Bruce.

But this is something Danny is slowly breaking himself into denial, His husband is a vigilante, that's fine, he was fine with that, but the way he interacted with other women made Danny's heart break, even other heroes... Too close, Too Intimate, Too Comfortable.

Danny stopped following Bruce everytime he left by that time, he felt so hurt and so insecure of himself everytime he saw 'Batman' Interact with those others so.. closely.

It made Danny's core scream in doubt and his emotions derailing into confronting Bruce.

He thought Confronting Bruce about his nightly sneaking would get Bruce to finally trust Danny with the information about Him being Batman but no, it made Danny doubt so much more, Days of constant fight and reuniting, His Little Boy, Dick , and Alfred was the last thing keeping Danny in mental order, Organized and Composed as he always should be. Even if Bruce is Acting like a Playboy Brucie Wayne.

He tried to do what Jazz would have done but nothing FUCKING worked and Danny was always on edge, he felt that everything his husband said was a lie, he loved Bruce but why won't Bruce trust him? Please... please, just tell him the truth, I won't be mad. Please. Just tell me. Tell me everything. TELL ME! PLEASE! IM BEGGING YOU! JUST TELL M—

Danny loves Bruce, But as day passes, that love slowly felt one sided.

....

Dick didn't mean it, it was supposed to be a harmless little prank, he didn't know how rocky Bruce and Danny's Marriage was, he didn't know. He really didn't.

He didn't know a picture of Batman with Selina would seal it off. He didn't know a single lipstick would finish it all. He was only a child. It was his fault. He felt that it was his fault— why wouldn't he? He didn't know.. he really didn't.

Danny and Bruce screamed, it was nothing that Dick could have ever heard before, he didn't know at all. He really didn't.... It was only supposed to be a prank.. He didn't mean it...

...

Bruce soon took in Jason, Dick noticed how much Jason looked like Danny, Dick wanted to yell, he wanted to scream at Bruce, He wanted to confront him about passing the mantle to Jason— but... It's no use fighting against someone that's like Bruce. Not like Batman.

Dick secretly kept contact with Danny and his Family, Dani And Jazz was still his aunt as they lived in Bludhaven, he could always go to them as Nightwing and they'd know to help him without questioning. Dick felt bad everytime he did. He felt as though he was burdening the family of the person who's marriage he ruined, his own Father.

The only Father who could actually handle and was a real father.

Everything passed by so quickly.

Jason Died.

Tim Was adopted and he became Robin.

Jason came back to life.

Dick immediately took Jason to Danny.

Damian Came into their lives. Dick felt his blood Boil when Damian did but he couldn't blame Damian, Dick accepted Damian with a whole heart, acting like the Danny which the Manor Lost because of Bruce.

He will be the person who loved everyone, just like Danny, even if sometimes it's tiring— he just needs to keep being the Father of these children that Bruce struggles to be, It's the only Way Dick could honor Danny.

...

Bruce misses Danny Dearly, he regrets many things.

But the one he regrets the most is...

Losing Danny.

Danny and Bruce are Divorced Because Bruce Fucked up with being Batman and didn't tell the truth, Dick wanted to do a little prank cuz a kid will do pranks and snuck a lipstick on Bruce's coat and a picture of Selina with a kiss mark on it. Danny and Bruce's marriage are rocky as fuck, Dick secretly takes the other Wayne kids to Danny and they come to love Danny as their father much like Dick is attached to Danny, Jazz and Dani are the Wayne's Therapists. Specifically Jazz, she's the Best, Uncle Dan is Jason's Favorite mechanic.

Bruce Misses Danny dearly and wants him back and will try and probably try to court Danny again, nonstop as Batman, Danny still loves Bruce and hadn't moved on, His core is very much attached and embedded in the memory and love of Bruce Wayne, thus he is just waiting for Bruce to finally step up.

Yes this was Angsty, I apologize <33 but yes.

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grimdarling69 · 2 months ago

Text

Another deaged Ellie and Dan, but Danny was reincarnated as Damian Wayne

Danny Damian because he was Damian now, wasn't he? He remembers now the Fentons, the GIW, Sam and Tucker, jazz. He wonders if they could have also followed him here. A part of him longs to see his fraid again, but are they his fraid still? He was a new person. Son of The Bat and Heir to the Demon Head. Something Dami he remembers reminding people of. If only Sam could see him now, he knows she'd love that. "Who's edgy now?" He can picture her saying. He can almost see Tucker laughing so hard he'd fall out of his seat.

Crack

The sharp sound of the thunder brings him to the present. He looked over at his clock, 3:00 A.M. The witching hour he can hear Ellie tell him with a mischievous smile on one of their flights around Amity Park. She loved to drag him and Dan sometimes Vlad if he was feeling friendly. Dan, his future evil self tormented by the deaths of all his family and friends, so hurt he got Vlad to rip his human half out so he didn't have to feel the pain. Ellie, his clone, created by Vlad to be the perfect son, too bad she was a daughter. Looking down at his stomach where their cores are now incubating, he couldn't help but wonder if Vlad had anything to do with this.

He shook his head as if that would rid himself of that thought. Vlad was a real fruitloop,but he would never purposefully endanger Dan or Ellie. Vlad, in his twisted and weird ways, did love them in his own ways like kidnapping and keeping him hostage to save Ellie. He had forgiven vlad for the desperate attempt to save his daughter, but incubating Ellie and Dan's cores would make him their father now, too. Ew, coparenting with Vlad does not sound like a fun time. He glanced down and lifted his shirt hesitantly. If he focused on his stomach, he could see a faint blue and red glow emanating from his stomach. Red, Vlads' color, he thought distantly. Hopefully, it didn't mean much. As if signaling him, the envelope they had carried with them to him fell off the bed carried to the floor by the slight breeze.

Lighting lumineating the bedroom, making the crisp white color shine for just a second. He tentatively reached down to grab it. He was being a baby. He was a trained assassin from birth, and his fear trained beaten out of him a long time ago. Some part of him whispered his father and Richard's teachings of being brave but not without fear.

He paused. Father would want to know everything. His past life, Ellie and Dan, the ghosts, being a halfa. He wouldn't understand, Richard would try to, but not even he could never really understand. He couldn't subject his babies to that. He couldn't live with the threat to being ripped apart molecule by molecule. His father's lack of emotional intelligence certainly would not help young halfas. He was fourteen again the age he was killed in his first life. The age he started facing ghosts from another dimension.

He started younger in this life. Killing younger, he learned to fight his whole life. Jazz would hate that. Jazz... he wondered if she was alright if she survived the attack... no, there's no time to think of that right now. He ripped open the envelope( like a band-aid, Richard would remind him), and he noticed Vlad's familiar fancy fruitloop writing immediately(he had fancy fruitloop writing now, instead of the chicken scratch Jazz chided him over). So he was right about one thing this had vlad all over it.

Dear Daniel,

Though I understand you might not be Daniel when this letter finds you. I have been reincarnated into another life as I believe you have as well. My new name is Alexander Luther. I own a corporation called Lexcorp. I unfortunately can not change the name according to my board. The idiot lot of them.

He snickered at that. His smile dropped immediately. Vlad was Lex Luthor, the archnemesis of Superman. Jon would most certainly not like this. He forced himself to read on before he spiraled further.

I regained my memories after an experiment went wrong. I know how original. My new incarnation was able to open a small portal that grew in size, and eventually, somehow Danielle and Dan fell through. The portal then exploded, and I regained my memories. Unfortunately, it destabilized their clone bodies. I couldn't grow working bodies in time, and eventually, I had to hope they could find you. I hoped somehow that the yeti doctor would have imparted some of his strange knowledge onto you that might save them.

Vlad, no Lex still wrong. Vlad was somewhat right about that. During one of his all things ghostly lessons from Frostbite, he told him of how in the old ages ghosts often incubated their ghostlings. A protective measure back when magic and spirits were more prevalent. He didn't really understand it back then, and he doesn't understand it much now, either. Apart from the fact he was doing it, he supposed. What if he did something wrong and he lost them? He doesn't think he could live out his half-life if he lost them again. He needed to get to Vlad, and quickly too so they could start building a new portal to the infinite realms.

If this letter finds you. Come find me immediately at these coordinates. I've gone deep underground to escape my new archnimesis's suoer senses. I've m started research on a new portal, but I'll need your endeneering skills. This world is severely lacking in ectoplasmic science and engineering. I am once again forced to start from scratch on my own. Once we get the portal open, you'll need to go straight to The Far Frozen.

It's as if he's reading my mind, I think jokingly.

P.s. One of my experiments may or not have regiven then my new DNA in an attempt to restabilize them.

Only Vlad.

Well, it looks like they actually were going to be coparenting after all. This was going to go great.

I sigh and lean my head back down on my pillow. He committed the cords to memory before lighting the letter on fire with the lighter he kept in his bedside drawer. Point to assassin training. Jason would be proud. He supposed he could stay for a month or so before leaving, which would give him enough time to get away or think of some kind of mission to give himself. He shoots up. Todd had died and came back. He was a revenant. He couldn't stick around if he were to visit he'd know something was wrong immediately even if he didn't understand it.

He sprung out of bed quickly, but quietly, his foot steps perfectly silent despite his rushed mood of packing a bag. He packed a few pairs of clothes and lots of hidden weapons, some snacks he kept hidden for that should keep him fed on his journey but leaving any sentimental things behind. He glanced longingly at his sketch pad, but Vlad was most likely under the water judging by the coordinates he was given. Who knows if it would survive.

He checked the pack, making sure he got all he needed. He promptly checked it again. Twice. After deeming it sufficient, he willed himself to open the door. He mentally cataloged everyone in the manor. Pennyworth was most likely still in Father's room, making sure he actually listened to his insructions. Richard and Todd in Bludhaven and Crime Alley, respectfully. Cain and Brown in Hong Kong. Thomas was sleeping after his dayshift.

Everyone accounted for except Drake. He was most likely using Pennyworth's attention on Father to work cases. He just had to take the risk. For his ghostlings, for himself, Vlad. He crept down the hallways. He was opening the grandfather clock in record time. He went slower this time. He would use his powers, but his father had supernatural wards of all kinds in the cave. Who knows what they did. He was also admittedly trying to save his little energy for his voyage on the open sea. Light snoring hit his ears as he peered around the corner.

Thank ancients.

Drake was sleeping at the batcomputer, still in his Red Robin suit sans mask surrounded by his poor choices. Empty coffee cups and files spread around. He would still need to be quiet, Drake was a light sleeper, as was everyone else in his family. He grabbed the keys to his bike quickly, sneaking by. If he wasn't ditching his bike at Gotham Bridge, he would have disabled his trackers. He checked the gas and made sure he could make it. That's when he made his first mistake.

Putting the gas jug back down, he accidently hit another of one of his siblings' tools to the floor. He tried catching it without success, but it fell anyway, the loud clang echoing. Mistake number two.

Shit.

"Huh? What's happening?" Drake arose sleepily rubbing his eyes.

He froze. Mistake number three.

"Damian? What are you doing down here?" His eyes landed on him, and he spoke confusedly with his voice heavy with sleep or lack thereof.

He panics. He's blaming the pregnancy hormones on this.

He runs.

"Damian!" Drake responded to his dead sprint with his own. "Stop!"

He reaches his bike, and he turns the keys and prays. Luckily, it comes to life. He fumbles with his helmet it would hide his tears he needed it. who knows if he'll ever get to see them again. He shoots off down the tunnel. Flicking the cave door open remotely.

Another bike rears to life behind him. "Damian wants going on?" Drakes voice echoes in his ears. He can almost taste the concern in it amplified by the helmet. He ignores it and accelerates. He ignores the returned acceleration behind him.

----------------

Tim has no clue what made Damian panic enough to run away. He quickly ran to his own bike while swearing. Damian is already gaining distance on him. After another attempt at getting Damian to calm down and talk, he calls the only person Damian would actually listen to.

He hopes Dick will forgive him for waking him at five o'clock in the morning on his day off.

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