#and Bruce gets a whole new fit that’s still reminiscent of his old one

[soulmate-game]

Not related to the other two Bio!mom Harley AUs that I did. Just... similar. I wrote this instead of sleeping, as per the usual.

—*—*—*—*—*

“I need your help.”

No accent, no threats of violence, no beating around the bush (figurative or otherwise). No fighting or unconscious bodies.

Just Harley Quinn with her hair down, no makeup, and completely serious, in the center of the Bat Cave. Even though her usual exaggerated Brooklynn accent (circa 1950s) had become a pretty inseparable part of her personality over the years, every now and then she forcibly stuffed it down and used her mostly unaccented voice. The one reminiscent of days with less colors on her face, a high bun, and a pristine white lab coat.

Every single one of the Bats and Birds present, fresh from an interrupted patrol thanks to her, could count the number of times they had seen Harley like this on one hand. Bruce would have the most recollections, but everyone else would have plenty of fingers left on said hand. So they all knew, especially when Bruce willingly pulled down his cowl so he could look Harley in the eye, that this was the start of something they were not likely to forget. And maybe their chances of survival were slim too.

“Harley,” Bruce’s voice was still gruff, seeing as he was still mostly Batman at the moment, but his eyes were soft. “Maybe you should tell us what you need help with first. And sit down. You look exhausted.”

Sure enough, there were dark circles under Harley’s eyes. She let Bruce-man lead her over to one of their debriefing tables and sit her down. She let out a huge sigh, her fingers tangling in her loose blond locks.

“I have a confession, and it isn’t gonna leave this cave, capiche?” The slight return of her accent relieved a little of the tension, but not much. Taking this as their cue, the rest of the bats spread out into their usual seats at the table. Bruce stayed near Harley, keeping a hand on her shoulder in silent support. Harley didn’t continue talking until he gave her a solemn nod in agreement. She gulped— an action that immediately returned the tension.

“... fifteen years ago, back when I was still with Joker, I disappeared off the Gotham scene for a few months. I’m sure a few of you remember,” she looked up, and a couple of the older vigilantes nodded. Really, Jason has still been Robin back then. But the memory stuck out in his head now that he was thinking about it.

“Yeah, you were breaking away from him a little bit, which was weird at the time,” Red Hood mused aloud, arms crossed. “I think you helped us out a couple times and did some of your first team ups with Ivy before you vanished. Then a few months go by and you were back in action with Joker, so we mostly ignored it as you just being you.”

Harley nodded. “Ah, my Ivy’s a lifesaver, even back then. She helped cover up the timeline by keeping me in action for longer than I should’a been without putting me at too much risk.”

“Timeline…” Red Robin spoke up, eyes huge even behind his mask. “You don’t mean—“

“Harley,” Bruce breathed, having also caught on. “You were pregnant?”

The air went still. Harley sniffed, eyes watering even as she smiled.

“Oh yeah. Shouldn’t have been possible, ya know? Me ‘n Joker being dumped in that damn acid should have made us both more sterile than an operatin’ room. But I knew I couldn’t raise a kid, so after she was born—“

“You kept her?” Damian interrupted, earning a gentle cuff over the head from Dick. Harley just snorted.

“Yeah. Not gonna lie, I thought about abortion. But the baby didn’t do nothin’ wrong, and I was still in love with Joker back then so I was ecstatic that I was able to make something new with part ‘a him in it. Still, I knew a baby didn’t deserve to be raised in Gotham. Especially not my baby, not with my enemies and history. Not with who her father was. I knew he’d never want her, never let me keep her. So I spent the last five months of my pregnancy lookin’ around for the best possible family to take her in. And I found them in Paris, France. A sweet couple, both of them bakers. Sabine, she’s both adorably sweet and super kickass. Comes from a Chinese family that is crazy about teachin’ their women martial arts. But nothing shady about it, I triple checked. Just bonding through kicking people in the face. Which is perfect, I wanted my baby to know how to defend herself. I knew she’d need those skills eventually. And Tom, that’s Sabine’s wife, he’s a gentle giant. Same size as Bane, but as harmless as a puppy and makes the best croissants ever. Seriously, the best.”

“Harley,” Bruce gently prodded, but there was a tiny grin on his face. Seeing her behaving so… so normally, so proud and reminiscent, was a rare treat. Bruce would be lying if he said he wasn’t proud of how far the woman had come. How she had freed herself and become a better person, mostly on her own.

“Right, right. The point,” Harley took a breath, rubbing her forehead. “I came clean to Tom and Sabine, but apparently they knew who I was the whole time. They just didn’t care— did I mention they are perfect? Anyway, once I explained everything, they agreed immediately to adopting my baby. They’d been wanting kids, but it would’a been too risky for Sabine’s health. That’s how I found them anyway, they were in the market to adopt. We named her Marinette. She took Tom and Sabine’s last names, hyphenated. We decided Quinn would be her middle name. And after that, I came back to Gotham and told myself that she was in good hands and I needed to forget about her. Cuz I was no good for her. I knew that. I went back to my old tricks. And then…” Harley chuckled, but it was self-depreciating.

“Then a few years passed, and I started breaking away from Joker for real. Then we broke up, I blew up Ace Chemicals while you guys were outta town doing Justice League and Young Justice shit. I started dating Ivy. And—“ she smiled softly at the table, clearly seeing something the rest of them couldn’t. “Then Ivy convinced me to go see her. Visit my baby, see how she’s been. And I did. Marinette was seven years old, but damn it to hell she was gorgeous. And say whatever you want about me and Joker— most of it will even be true— but neither of us are stupid. And she inherited all of our intelligence. All of it. She got my blue eyes. But she got his hair, which meant Sabine teased me relentlessly about ‘are you sure she isn’t that Wayne’s kid?’ And don’t make that face Bruce, you’d be lucky to have a kid half as beautiful as my Mari-pie. No offense, Damian. Anyway. Anyway, this is the important part. Or part of it.

“She sat there and listened to everything I had to say. Everything. A little seven year old, who could barely understand English at the time, and she listened without interrupting once. She never threw a fit, she wasn’t angry or confused. I told her about the things I’d done in the past— well, G rated versions— and she didn’t care. She called me Momma Harley right away, said she wanted to meet Aunt Ivy sometime soon, and started telling me everything about her that I’d missed. From that day on, she became my sunshine. The light of my life, and I still call her at least once a week every week. When I disappear for a few days out of the city? I’m visiting her—“

“You’re banned from international travel, Harley,” Dick scolded, but he sounded way too amused for it to work. He knew she had her ways, anyway. Nobody could actually stop Harley damn Quinn from doing whatever she wanted.

“—Ugh, she tells me the same thing every time! Disappointed glare and everything. I don’t know how I gave birth to such a goodie goodie, but somehow I did. Not important though! The important thing is, I’m always the first to hear when something new happens in her life. And we had decided that she wouldn’t visit me in Gotham until she was at least eighteen, but apparently she disobeyed me— which I should have expected honestly— and entered you guys’ WE international scholastic competition.”

“Oh no,” Bruce pinched the bridge of her nose. “Marinette Dupain-Cheng? The contest winner?” He finally pulled out a chair and sat down. “The winner gets an all-expense paid trip to Gotham for them and their whole class.”

“Exactly!” Harley threw up her hands. “Mari told me last week, and I’ve been trying to talk her out of coming ever since. But she’s inherited both of our stubbornness too, and she isn’t budgin’ a bit. ‘Momma Harley, I wanna see you and Auntie Ivy though!’ And ‘Momma, Gotham’s nothing I can’t handle,’ or my favorite, ‘Maybe you’ll finally get to see me dropkick someone three times my size then, and I’ll prove it.’”

“So that’s what you meant by you need our help,” Tim said as he leaned forward over the table. “Joker just broke out of Arkham yesterday. You want us to protect her.”

“I’d prefer if one of you was with her outside of the mask too, as often as possible,” Harley confirmed. “I can’t stop her from coming here anymore, but I also don’t trust Joker for a second. As soon as he sees her, I’m afraid he’ll make the connection.”

“She looks like him?” Damian asked, scrunching up his nose at the ugly mental image of Joker as a teenage girl. Harley shook her head, solemn.

“She looks like a dark-haired mini-me,” she corrected. “She even keeps her hair in pigtails as her way of showing support for me. And I know Marinette can kick ass, Sabine’s trained her well. But Marinette inherited more than I’d like from me,” Harley ran a hand through her hair. “I didn’t notice it until she was thirteen. She got a crush on a classmate, and it was almost like watching videos of me back during the early days of— well, of Harley Quinn. Just without the crime and insanity. She didn’t even realize that she was almost stalking the poor kid until I pointed it out, and luckily I was able to put my doctorate to good use and we nipped that right in the bud ASAP. She never meant it that way, anyway. As soon as I explained things to her, she was horrified and immediately asked me to help her learn how to have a healthy relationship. That was a fun discussion,” Harley grimaced. “But she still gets attached to people really, really easily. Once she grew out of her crush on that boy, she adopted him as her unofficial brother. She already calls Selina “Auntie,” even though I’ve barely mentioned her to Marinette. She gets attached fast, and deeply. And I’m afraid that even after all the warning I’ve done, all the stories I’ve told her—“

“You’re afraid she’ll get attached to Joker just like you did,” Bruce finished for her, closing his eyes. “Because she knows he’s her father.”

“Yes,” Tears were slowly dripping down her face already, her hands curled into fists so tightly that her knuckles were paper white. “You know how he is. If he finds out she’s his biological daughter, he’ll immediately try to take advantage of that. And he’s far too good with his words for people like me and Mari. I’m worried outta my mind. Please. Help keep my baby safe from him.”

“We will,” Jason no longer had his helmet on, or the domino mask that he usually wore underneath it. All of them knew masks were merely formality with Harley nowadays. And he needed to look her directly in the eye so she could see how serious he was. “I can sign up as a bodyguard for the class. It won’t be weird, seeing as they’re tourists and this is Gotham. They also have several rich kids in their group if I remember right.”

Bruce nodded, agreeing with Jason. “That’s a good idea. I can lead the class on their tours of WE personally. That’ll serve the purpose of keeping an eye on her and shutting up the investors that keep begging me to make more public appearances for the sake of the company. Marinette’s name is already released to the news as the winner of the contest, so we can’t keep her out of the spotlight long. Tim, you’ll have to keep an eye on any and all pictures of the class. Try to erase or doctor the images with her in it well enough that connections between her and Harley can’t be easily made. Dick, you and Damian will be in charge of keeping an eye out for any activity from Joker. The slightest hint, and you notify all of us. We’ll decide on a case-by-case basis who is necessary to stick with the class and who goes after the clown.”

“She’s gonna sneak out of her hotel to stay with me and Ivy,” Harley admitted, bringing the (now slightly judgemental) attention back to her. She raised her hands up in surrender. “She didn’t tell me that, and I didn’t approve or suggest it! I just know my baby too well to not realize that that’s her plan. Could ya provide an escort?”

Bruce sighed. “This is gonna be an eventful month.”

[regrettablewritings]

Preference: Surviving the Holidays

Characters: Dewey Finn, Peter B. Parker, Tadashi Hamada, Bruce Wayne

Dewey Finn: Thanksgiving

Dewey’s relationship with Thanksgiving was wack, for lack of a better word. Really that could be said for his relationship with most holidays, but what made Thanksgiving stand out ever so slightly was just how obsessively tied to gatherings with loved ones it was when compared to other holidays: You could party for Christmas; you could party for New Years; you couldn’t really party for Thanksgiving. And given that most of his time growing up was just himself and his ma . . .Yeah, the guy wasn’t too crazy about what he considered to be a sham of a holiday. (Plus, he didn’t vibe with the parade.)

And none of that lessened as he got older, with his relationship with his mother becoming more and more strained. After a while, the most he really got from the holiday was tagging along accompanying Ned to his own family’s place. But once Patty came along, that window of opportunity closed.

But that didn’t mean he didn’t long for it. Quite the contrary, it had become sour grapes for Dewey: He could gripe and sneer about Thanksgiving being a “boring-ass” wannabe day all he wanted to; the truth simply was that deep down, he knew he wouldn’t really mind the idea of being in the presence of somebody who loved and appreciated him enough to share a meal with him. Or to be thankful that he was in their lives and wanted him to know it.

That, and he missed the option of not having to stay cooped up in the apartment he mooched off in, eating Kraft Mac straight out the pot while imagining others elsewhere eating homemade baked macaroni as a side to a much more delicious and filling meal.

You personally didn’t feel especially impassioned by the day one way or another to be frank. At least, not usually. You weren’t sure what had gotten into you -- maybe it was because the two of you had just moved in together and wanted to make a statement, or maybe the spirit of the season had finally possessed the both of you, or maybe it was because the delirium of moving in two weeks before a holiday had finally taken its hold (moving is statistically one of the most stressful events in a person’s life, after all) -- but there was a newfound determination in trying to “get this right.”

Of course, there’s nothing and no one who says that a house only becomes a home once it has been christened by a successful feast. But there was a sense of maturity that did come with the idea of holding down even a dinner for two that wasn’t picked up from the deli down the street, or delivered by some knock-kneed cyclist. And it was a maturity the both of you were far too eager to acquire.

Never mind the fact that most of your kitchenware was still lost amongst the boxes (what few of them you could fit in the glorified Fruit-By-the-Foot box you called an apartment). Or that you guys were on a budget. Or that the dinner table was an old plastic collapsible one reminiscent of the tables put up at parties held in gymnasiums. You two were adults, goddammit, and you were going to pull this off at least once! Just once, and things would go back to normal.

. . .

Like most things that tended to involve the great Dewey Finn, you had no idea how this happened.

There was no turkey, no green beans or corn on the cob or even mashed potatoes or a pumpkin pie. Instead, what cluttered the table was a plate of Bagel Bites, tater tots, a plastic case of Lofthouse cookies, and, of course, some Kraft Mac. Neither one of you said anything. At least, not out loud. But the sheepish expressions you gave one another said everything.

Time had gotten away from you both. As did proper ingredients to prepare the more traditional meals associated with the day. You supposed that, in a panicked haze, the both of you wound up grabbing and putting together whatever you could to salvage your pride efforts but you began to suspect that that might not’ve been enough.

“. . . At least we beat Snoopy’s meal,” Dewey tried. A beat passed. Then a snort.

“S-shut up!” you cried. How dare he criticize an animated beagle’s meal of popcorn and toast? Though you had to admit, he had a point: You’d take pizza-decorated bagelettes over popcorn any day -- including Thanksgiving Day, apparently.

In the end, it wasn’t the most . . . traditional situation. And it certainly wasn’t enough to change Dewey’s mind about the day. But you both had to agree: It was a feast that certainly christened your new home together as your own. And for that, you were quite thankful.

Peter B. Parker: Hanukkah

While it wasn’t the most important holiday on the Jewish calendar, Hanukkah still held a heavy level of importance in Peter’s heart. Growing up, it had served as a foundation for so many things in his life: In certain traditions, stability was established; in the togetherness it garnered, there was love; and in the activities partaken, there were memories. Memories of helping Aunt May in the kitchen and of Uncle Ben determining him to be old enough to recite the proper prayers. Of lighting the menorah and setting the room aglow with the history of a miracle . . .

It was therefore a huge regret of Peter’s when he had foregone observing both the winter holiday, as well as many others in his culture during the more recent years when his life began to slip and slide out of control. So when he reemerged from Miles’ dimension, ready and willing to take a chance on life again, it was only natural that Peter was also ready and willing to bring back more positive habits and influences – celebrating Hanukkah included.

And with you, now present in his life and curious and eager as ever, he couldn’t help but feel all the more encouraged to share it. And maybe perhaps show off. Just a little.

For example, once you removed the whole Spider-Man situation, Peter was a pretty simple guy. Especially when it came to foods: Far be it from Peter B. Parker to turn down a burger with some fries or some pizza or street food. So that’s what made it stick out all the more when, after the first night he announced his decision to attempt making challah. Followed by some latkes. Maybe a babka as well. And some sufganiyot. Never mind that he had never actually made some of these without the more experienced Aunt May taking up most of the task. But he was determined and literally and metaphorically hungry for success, and who were you to question his ambitions?

. . . Apparently somewhat saner and more aware than he was. The babka and latkes were simple enough, thankfully. But the sufganiyot? Peter couldn’t fry like that; not with the best materials money could by, when said money was provided on the budget of two people trying to make it in one of the pricier boroughs of New York. And the less said about the challah process, probably the better. . . . Though you still had plenty to say.

“You’re a spider, Peter – why is your weaving coming out so weird?” you questioned, eyeballing the tangled mess of dough. Peter huffed, trying to keep his glower on his failed efforts, rather than redirecting it at you.

“It’s not my fault the guy moves too fast,” he said, referring to the tutorial you had both played on loop. He muttered something along the lines of “for beginners, my ass.” At this rate, the real holiday miracle would be if you not only braided the challah correctly, but also if you didn’t burn down the raggedy apartment. You wanted to say that there would be no shame in calling it and just going to one of the nearby Jewish bakeries for a loaf, but your partner seemed invigorated by spite-induced determination to see this task through.

Never mind that the strands of dough flopped against one another in spite of his best efforts. At this point, it resembled less of a perfect princess braid and more like a flattened Tangela. It was pitiful, really, but you had to admit: The pout his failed efforts had earned him was cute. You didn’t want to think lightly of what he was deeming a situation, but it was quite nice seeing him like this at all. When you had first met he was quite nearly the opposite, all grumpy and aloof and wanting nothing to do with you.

Who would’ve guessed that in due time, he’d become the very man who stood before you, eager to interact with you and bond with you, sharing moments like these . . . Moments which you wish he would just go ahead and enjoy along with you.

“Hey, Peter?”

“Ye -- ” A small blast of flour collided with his crooked nose, stopping the man short. “HEY!” He cracked one eye open just enough to glare at your grinning face.

“Don’t be such a Grinch, Peeby -- ”

“Wrong holiday,” your boyfriend snarked as he wiped his face.

“Hush. Anyway, we still got a few more nights to figure this out,” you reminded. You placed a quick peck on his powdery cheek for good measure. His shoulders slumped with a sigh. As much as he didn’t want to say it, he knew you had a point. Maybe he had gotten a bit too (literally) wrapped up in getting all this right. Though he did feel his spirits lift somewhat as you placed your hand over his with assurance.

Somewhat. All that was missing was --

Pff!

“UGH! PETER!” Your hands flew to your face in an effort to wipe away the fistful of flour that now caked it. All the while, the offender himself laughed. He was probably going to have to appease you with some chocolate gelt “for damages” but as far as he was concerned, it was worth it. After all, what better way to share these important moments than with his favorite person?

Tadashi Hamada: Christmas

A local little cafe in the heart of San Fransokyo was simultaneously the best place to be for the holiday season, and the worst. The great things about it were the cute store-bought and homemade decorations that decked the cozy halls of the establishment; the seasonal baked goods and sandwich specials that made the Lucky Cat smell like cinnamon or roasted turkey; the cozy feeling that welcomed you like a hug whenever you walked in.

Alternatively, there was the whole to-do with picky or rude customers coming in from out of town; the saturation of Christmas music screeching through the speakers; and way-too-hype women taking up tables for hours at a time after spending the day shopping (and clogging the already small aisles with the bags from said shopping).

But all in all, Tadashi made it all better.

Having grown up in the Lucky Cat, he’d long since learned how to cancel out the grinchiness the holiday season brought out, and was more than happy to help you do the same using his own methods. If you focused on the little things, he figured, you could attach sweeter memories and associations to them. Especially if you veered a little off the usual path.

Sure, there was joining him in the kitchen to prepare and bake cranberry-speckled pastries and frost cookies to resemble familiar holiday characters and items. But there was also stringing popcorn garlands together (“Tadashi, you’re the youngest 70-something year-old I have ever met.” “Hush, you; I’m doing you a favor by laying my Christmas cheer all over you.” “Phrasing, ‘Dashi, geez!”). But at the end of the day, there was one thing in particular that your boyfriend did to sweeten the deal. The one thing only someone like Tadashi could do: Snowball fight a la manipulation of barometric pressure.

Following the incident with the snow machine two years ago, Tadashi had to make a promise to Aunt Cass to only use it outside. Away from the house. That suited Tadashi just fine. After all: What better way to pelt your loved one in the face using snow warfare than to do so in a wide-open space like the park? And while those fortunate (and unfortunate) enough to have come upon the unusual winter wonderland he had created, the facts still stood: This was about you and him. You vs him, diving behind mounds of snow, screeching with both joy and discomfort whenever the snow made an impact against bare skin, eyes tearing up from the cold . . .

You could’ve done this for hours, especially since you were pretty positive Tadashi was letting you win. If only he hadn’t called for an armistice.

“ ‘Armistice’? For what? You scared I’ll beat your butt again?” you taunted through chattering teeth.

“No, you ding-dong,” Tadashi shook his head. “Look at you: You’re clearly at your limit with the cold.”

“Nuh-uh!” As if to betray you, your body gave a sudden jolt; a release of shivers like a spring being let loose after coiling. As if unimpressed, the young man reached for your gloved hands and gave one a gentle squeeze.

“Does that hurt?” he questioned.

You winced. “N-no . . .”

You heard him click his tongue. “Ah. Enforced armistice.”

“No fair!” you whined.

“If you sign the treaty, I will include hot cocoa when we get back.”

. . . Well, he could make a mean hot chocolate. Not too sweet, not too bitter, it was perfectly creamy with only the slightest hint of cinnamon for kicks. It was the perfect thing to relax you, causing you to come undone as it’s warmth spread about you inside while the warmth of the kotatsu took care of you on the outside.

“Comfy?” your boyfriend asked. You purred, foregoing a more proper answer just to take another sip of the glorious hot drink. Your enthusiasm earned you a chuckle from him as he inched closer to you. Just enough to hold your hand in his. “For body heat purposes” he might’ve insisted, had you asked. Not that you minded it: It was just what the evening needed to feel complete. Not the goofy, awful ugly sweater he wore that made Rudolph’s nose blink when you pressed a certain spot; not the gentle crooning of Christmas classics sounding from the miniature stereo Tadashi had set up; not even stockings carefully lined along the makeshift mantle, or the presents glimmering beneath the lights of the twinkling tree.

Just the warm feeling of togetherness. That this beautiful man you get to call yours is so willing to share how he celebrates with you. And that you, it turn, get to celebrate with him.

“Hey, you made her cocoa?!” Hiro’s complaining ripped through the air.

And his small but nevertheless vibrant family, of course.

Bruce Wayne: New Years Eve

Let’s face it: New Years Eve sucks. All everyone wants to do is throw a party (even when they actually don’t really want to), the parties are either obnoxiously loud or awkwardly quiet (there is no in-between), there’s never any food because all people wanna do (or have been convinced to do) is drink, and the alcohol is usually crap by the time you get there because everyone already knew to tackle the good booze as soon as they arrived.

Suffice to say, you had some gripes when it came to New Years Eve. And in spite of the luxurious images that tended to come to mind, parties thrown by the wealthy weren’t any different from the average one thrown by the common man. Really, the only difference was that the alcohol was of higher quality and the gatherings were usually held at some large hall like a hotel ballroom or even at a prestigious gallery.

But even if you’d known that beforehand, you still would’ve accompanied Bruce to one such party. Bruce wasn’t fond of them himself, but he needed to at least make an appearance to save face with all the moochers and bigwigs from neighboring industries and enterprises. You were honestly just there for support, though it was just as agonizing for you as it was for him.

Well, at least you didn’t have to actually talk extensively with anyone, you mused. You’d been nursing your drink for the last half hour or so, trying to walk that thin line between going about undisturbed while also not coming across as frigid or wallflowery. Not too far off, you could see Bruce smiling at another partygoer: A buxom ginger, surely an important figure in her own right, but clearly seeing no harm in grinning coquettishly at the affluent Prince of Gotham. You felt no trace of jealousy within you, however. You knew Bruce’s real smile, and the one he was currently providing her wasn’t it in the slightest.

No, the real one was the one he flashed you when he glanced over at you to make sure that you were doing fine off and alone. A sweet, glorious smile that reached his eyes. Though, there were also traces of exhaustion. And you suspected that the smile you returned held just as much because soon after that, you watched him excuse himself from whatever conversation he’d been trying to carry before making his way over to you.

“How’re you holding up?” he inspected.

You shrugged and sighed, “It is what it is. I’m making peace with the fact that the last thing I would’ve eaten this year would’ve been an assortment of cocktail wienies, what I think might’ve been pate, and ginger ale.” You’d meant for it to come across as more humorous, but the dry tone you had delivered your words in ruined the effect.

Bruce winced and offered yet another smile: A wobbly, more sheepish one.

“You ready to go home?”

God, yes.

“No, no,” you replied. “Really, it’s fine. Besides, it’s almost midnight anyway -- it probably wouldn’t look good if Bruce Wayne ditched a party his glorious hosts have so graciously invited him to.”

You watched as your significant other raised his brow. “Honey, I’m Bruce Wayne: I’m known for ditching parties.”

“Oh,” you said simply. Fair point. To your minor relief and slight embarrassment, he huskily chuckled.

“C’mon,” he sighed, placing his hand on your lower back as guidance. “My ass is sore from all the butt-kissing. Let’s go home where it’s warm. And quiet.”

“And we can actually eat!” you chirped, a little too excitedly. Once again, your embarrassment was met with approval.

The outside was both quieter and just as noisy as the inside of the celebration. Quieter because of the muting effect the fallen snow had, but also more lively because of the surrounding restaurants and streets and bars filled with people cheering and blowing party horns and singing in slurred joy. You liked it better than the party, if you had to be honest. But maybe perhaps because as you wandered the snow-caked streets to reach where Bruce had parked the car, you felt his gloved hand wrap around your own.

Of course, it was probably just to keep your hand warm -- maybe even just to make sure you kept pace with him, or that if you wouldn’t fall if you hit a small patch of black ice. But in a little corner of your mind, you couldn’t help but romanticize it: It was like he was accompanying you into the new year in a way. Just you and him. No loud parties, no pressures, no being anywhere or with anyone you didn’t want to be.

“Thanks, by the way.” Bruce broke the silence in a puff of cold air. “I know these really aren’t your thing -- I mean, personally, they aren’t mine, either, but you really didn’t have to come if you didn’t want to. But I appreciate that you . . . that you did.”

Your cheeks burned, though not from the whipping cold of the late December air.

“Of course I did . . .” you reasoned. “I know it sounds goofy but . . . we’re in this together, y’know?” You gave his hand a small squeeze. He squeezed yours right back, but with a bit more power. The warmth of it traveled up into your chest and cheeks. You licked your chapping lips.

“Besides,” you continued, “if I had just stayed home, I would’ve been bored. And probably would’ve given my New Year’s Kiss to Alfred.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Oh, who knows? New year, new me, right?”

You couldn’t have imagined what Bruce would’ve responded with next if it weren’t for the sudden distraction: The air, disorderly and sloppy mere seconds before, had all at once seemed to become uniform with the sounds of chanting. A count down.

You’d lived through so many New Years before, you weren’t quite sure what made this one different. There was no reason for you to pause as you did, your heart suddenly thundering in your chest at the realization of what was to come. It was just another year, right? A new year with new promises, new disappointments, new surprises both good and bad, new --

“ -- two! One! HAPPY NEW YEAR!!”

You had barely had a moment to register the words before you became distracted with registering something entirely different: A pair of warm lips pressed against your own, the feeling of large arms wrapped about your waist to pull you in close.

As he parted from you, Bruce flashed you one of his real smiles once more. One that denoted the mischief only you were truly privy to.

“Beat him to it,” he teased.

And for as shocked as you were over the exchange of the midnight kiss, you couldn’t help but blink . . . and find yourself in a giggling fit. That was why this year felt different: You had never had a boyfriend on New Years before. Scratch that: You had never had Bruce for New Years. And that made a world of difference. You didn’t want to make any assumptions but . . . it was a pretty great way to start a new year, if you did say so yourself.

[atamascolily]

Unicorn Chronicles, Book 3: “Dark Whispers,” by Bruce Coville

Whenever people grumble about how long it's been since their favorite fanfic updated, I can't help but smile a little in sympathy. As someone who's read a lot of CLAMP manga, I've grown used to the stutter-stop of hiatuses and discontinued stories that will never be finished. To quote the Princess Bride, "Get used to disappointment". It's just an occupational hazard.

I know people who only read completed stories, but I would have missed out on a lot of great material and works that really matter to me if I followed their example. It also meant that I got really good at imagining what happens next.

So it was a delight to discover that Bruce Coville had actually finished the Unicorn Chronicles when I was busy with other stuff (i.e., life) and there were two more volumes. Coville specifically thanks readers for nagging him about finishing, which is simultaneously #hilarious and #relatable.

Song of the Wanderer came out in 1999, right on the cusp of the Harry Potter boom that shook up the juvenile fantasy genre. (Both series are published by Scholastic.) Dark Whispers came out in 2008, and you can see how much the genre has shifted in the cover art alone:

This is gorgeous art by Petar Mesedlzija, but it only tangentially fits the descriptions in the books: Cara doesn't really wear anything like this outfit, and the story emphasizes she keeps braiding her hair to keep it from tangling. She has a sword, but she doesn’t really ever use it?

Furthermore, the layout, design, and chapter headings of Dark Whispers are clearly meant to capitalize on Harry Potter: Grimmwold has a looping signature reminiscent of Dumbeldore's in the opening prologue, for instance. It's a very different feel from the way the first two volumes were presented, and tbh, I miss the old way that has gone the way of the dinosaurs now.

Inevitably, with such a long gap between volumes, Dark Whispers ended up with a very different style and tone than its predecessors. The most obvious difference is that it's REALLY LONG--464 pages in hardcover. Some of this increase in length is attributable to Harry Potter proving that giant fantasy tomes can sell like hotcakes, and some of it is the fact that the storyline is now really big, with a lot of different players moving in different directions.

Inevitably, this means that instead of following Cara's POV for the entire book, as we did in the first two volumes, we are constantly shifting narrators. It's completely understandable, but as a reader, I find it really annoying--like I am suddenly reading an entirely different series with overlapping plot and characters. It's not that this new series is bad, per se, it's just... not what I imagined when I was making up the ending in my head in the early 2000s. I do not know if this disjunct would be so obvious or unsettling to someone who was reading all four volumes together for the first time.

Anyway, so since it's been literally a decade, Coville makes the sensible decision to open with a recap from Grimmwold, in his role as the keeper of the Unicorn Chronicles: unicorns and human hunters are at war; the latter are lead by an immortal woman named Beloved with a personal grudge against the unicorns, and she just got an amulet so she can invade Luster.

In Cara's plotline, she is still coming to terms with the fact that her grandmother, Ivy Morris, was a unicorn in disguise, and is now Queen Amalia Flickerfoot. Her grandfather Jaques is super depressed (because literary references, yo) and also because this is super-weird for him, too. As they prepare for Beloved's assault on Luster, Grimmwold reveals that pages from the Unicorn Chronicles are missing, and that others reveal an unsettling prophecy about unicorns confronting their own darkness and a mysterious figure called the Whisperer.

Another human, Alma Leonetti, comes forth and suggests that the centaurs might know more details. The Queen sends Cara and her friends to investigate, while Jaques and Thomas the Tinker go on separate missions. Thomas does give her a watch that marks the days and also explodes, so you know right away she's gonna need both on her trip. M'Gama the geomancer is trying to determine where and when the Hunters will invade: the date is the forthcoming Blood Moon, but she's still working out the details on the place.  

Grimmwold tells the group a story about Alma Leonetti, and how she tracked down the wizard Bellenmore, who opened the gate to Luster for the unicorns. Bellenmore has a snarky talking lizard and great tastes in decorating:

On the mantel above the fireplace stood a row of earthenware mugs with hideous faces. One of them winked at me; another leered and rolled its eyes; a third stuck out its tongue and made a rude noise. Then they began to sing a bawdy song until Bellenmore waved a hand to silence them.

Alma bluffs her way to Luster and eventually persuades the unicorns to keep one of their kind on Earth so humans don't forget true beauty and goodness and the spark is kept alive. The hunters keep trying to kill the Guardian, but they always replace the fallen with a new one and the cycle repeats.

We also learn that Ivy summoned Moonheart to heal Cara as a child, which is what alerted Beloved to her presence, forcing her to kidnap Cara and flee because Beloved wanted the child, too. Ian Hunter was a first grade teacher who had no idea about any of this until Cara disappeared and he was radicalized by Beloved and went through an intensive training camp she's built up for her army.

Meanwhile, Ian is in India, tracking down the Rainbow Prison where Beloved has imprisoned his wife. He makes a deal with a mysterious entity, the Blind Man, trading occasional use of his sight for the knowledge he needs. Beloved's men attack Ian, but he is saved by a street urchin named Rajiv who is eager for adventure, and the mysterious Fallon, who is trying to find a doorway to Luster. The three of them team up and head for the Himalayas to find the doorway to the Rainbow Prison while Beloved's forces pursue them. We learn that Fallon is super-hot and also seeking his best bro Elihu, in a relationship that I'm pretty sure was sexual although it's never stated directly.

There's also a plotline involving the delvers - the evil dwarves we mostly forgot about in Book 2. The King keeps talking to the Whisperer, and sending his subjects to do Evil Things as the alliance with Beloved continues. (The delvers do not love humans, but they hate unicorns and so the "enemy of my enemy is my friend" at least temporarily).

The plotlines converge when the delvers attack M'Gama the earthmancer's house and steal a macguffin and kill Flensa, M'Gama's servant. Cara's party splits up, with Finder and Belle hunting the macguffin while Cara and Lightfoot continue on. Finder is killed (sob) and Belle regrets being a jerk to him. Cara's group is attacked by delvers and she is captured and taken underground. (The delvers either don't know Beloved has an amulet already/don't care/want one for their own purposes.) Cara tosses the amulet into an abyss when it fails to transport her to earth, and she is imprisoned in the dungeons with a delver dissident who has had his name ritually stripped from him for defiance.

Cara renames the delver "Rocky" and the Squijum shows up with the amulet and steals the key. They meet up with Grimmwold, and escape. They also encounter the gryphon Medafil, who is lost below ground, only to wake a monster known as the schwartz, a Terminator-like blind dragon that never gives up pursuit. Cara defeats it using the expanding light sphere from Medafil's nest, and they emerge in the centaur's valley, where Belle is waiting for them with the news of Finder's death.

The centaurs are standoffish, but eventually Cara persuades their leader Chiron to spill the beans: after the war with Beloved began, the unicorns decided to expunge all the darkness from their souls with the aid of a magician named Elihu (hi!), which gained sentience and has been egging Beloved on ever since. It's also corrupted the delvers,which is why they hate unicorns so much. In exchange for the info, Cara agrees to mercy-kill Chiron, which none of the centaurs can do for personal reasons. Cara reports this story to the unicorns, who are all :shrug emoji: about it.  

Meanwhile Ian and company are stuck in the Rainbow Prison, the Dimblethum is being tormented by the Whisperer, and ends up taking the macguffin the delvers stole and placing it at the Axis Mundi, the world-tree of Luster, so that Beloved and her forces can enter there. Lightfoot tries to stop the Dimblethum but isn't in time. And the book ends on the seriously metal note of Beloved opening the portal beneath the blood moon and invading Luster with her army. *cue 'Bad Moon Rising'*

[Which, I may note, is pretty much where the LAST BOOK also ended.]

SO. That was a lot.

Once again, the core group of characters from Book One gets broken up. Thomas the Tinker gets sidetracked pretty quickly and isn't seen again; the Dimblethum gets a few brief sequences, but doesn't do much until the end. Lightfoot and Cara are separated fairly early on and don't have much time together, though their musings about their sudden familial connections at the beginning are nice, even though Cara also keeps shipping Belle with Lightfoot. Lightfoot himself doesn't get to do much, Finder dies, and Belle is likewise sidelined by the narrative for a decent chunk of the story. Coville also keeps emphasizing that Lightfoot is a Prince, which just grates on me, too.

I would also like to see more of Cara? She has plenty of scenes, but after two books of focusing solely on her, it's so strange to suddenly be jerked in different directions and it makes me grumpy.

It's great to see Medafil again, but I found the whole delvers/underground plot to drag on too long for my tastes. I'm glad Coville brings back that one delver from the first book who let Cara go because he thinks (rightly) his king is batshit crazy.

I like Alma Leonetti's story, but it feels unrelated to the plot, so I'm not entirely sure why it's there. I think it was originally a stand-alone short story, and I think it's better suited as one, because I can't figure out what its narrative purpose is. Or is it just that Grimmwold is contractually obligated to tell at least one story per book?? Or maybe this is something that will pay off in Book 4.

Ian Hunter's story basically bores me, and I found that whole subplot extremely tedious. He's been more or less retconned to be sympathetic and a victim, and I just don't know how I feel about that.

I HAVE SUCH MIXED FEELINGS ABOUT THE BIG REVEAL. On the one hand, it's a great twist to see the psychological shadow as the literal villain; on the other hand, it takes away some of the delvers' and Beloved's agency as villains in their own right because they're now Pawns of a Bigger Bad. It also just seems like such a weird thing for the unicorns to do--and maybe that's a way of making them more alien, but I don't know.

Coville explicitly uses the word 'hubris,' so it also feels weirdly victim-blaming to me because the unicorns are doing it to themselves (and this isn't just a war, but genocide we're talking about here!). For better or worse, this twist muddies the black and white/good vs. evil paradigm into shades of gray: the unicorns are beautiful and good but also arrogant assholes; Beloved is homicidal but also in terrible pain; the delvers are misunderstood and need to be embraced rather than ignored.

Alma Leonetti consistently delivers the best lines - I guess she's taken over the role Ivy Morris used to play, since Ivy is now a unicorn:

"Perhaps the unicorns need to try to recover some of what they have lost?... You face a dedicated enemy who has shown no mercy, one who will stop at nothing to destroy you. And what have you done? Gathered together, which is good. Prepared to defend yourselves, which is good, too. But is it enough? How fiercely are you willing to fight to save your lives? How strong can unicorns be? ... Maybe you need to take in some of that darkness you once released."

I remember feeling oddly disappointed on my first reading, which unfortunately persists on re-read. This story has now moved in a very different direction from the one I expected, and while that's not necessarily bad, it is unsettling and strange. As I mentioned earlier, some of that might just be that the final result doesn't match the story I made up in my head; or it could just be the inevitable result of such a long gap between books and the changes in the fantasy market post-Harry Potter. I don't know.

(I wish I had written down my thoughts about an ending--aka fanfic--because while I could write one now, it’d be reacting to canon, rather than creating it.)

Either way, major kudos to Coville for writing this book, because I had assumed the series was dead and would never be completed, and he fucking did it. That’s such an inspiration, honestly.

[golddaggers]

untouched || chapter two

gif’s not mine!

pairings: alpha!thor/omega!reader, mainly, some thor/natasha and natasha/reader (friendship guys).

warnings: just a whole lot of fluff, thor acting as a father figure, mentions to arousal, but eh, nothing explicit, don’t need to worry about people behind ya! haha

a/n: i know. two fucking months to get this out. but life has been so so so messy and i got that writer’s block bad guys. it’s here though, i sincerely hope it was worth the wait!

word count: 7,8k+

song to this chapter: delicate by taylor swift

A gush of cool air ripples across the room, stirring Feisty awake yet again that morning, her achy body groaning in pain when she curled under the sheets, seeking warmth, gripping the pillow that still smelt like him. Petrichor strong in the back of her mouth. It soothed her, pinning her down to the room, bringing joy to her eyes.  

Thor, unfortunately, was no longer there. He had left a little past five am and despite doing everything to keep quiet, Feisty jolted awake with the lack of him nestling her in his arms. The lack of his broad, strong chest pressed to her back, thick fingers swirling on the skin of her tummy that glowed bare. Something she never knew she wanted until she experienced it.  

The whine she let out still pooled blood on the back of her neck, embarrassed of her actions. There were stories about the attachment of a new Omega to the Alpha of a pack, which often ended as soon as a new one joined the pack. A tinge of jealousy widens her eyes as she realised she didn’t want that to come to an end. Yes. It would be nice to not feel so heightened around him, as if he switches on a button inside her, lowering everything and yet keeping her running. But the way he made her feel protected? That she didn’t. She wished nothing but to sleep between his arms every night, hear the thrumming of his heart as he dozes off into sleep, snoring lightly. 

After so long, more time than she would ever admit, she had had a decent night of sleep. Although the reminiscents of the prior day still made themselves very noticeable, Feisty felt somewhat relaxed. At peace. 

Gazing over at a small clock on the wall, one that the woman failed to notice up until earlier that morning, she realised she still had a few minutes to just lie there. Soaked in her thoughts. She wished her mother could be here with her to instruct as to how to act with all these new things happening. All these experiences she hadn’t had before. 

A low sigh escaped while she buried her face back on the pillow, closing her eyes and wondering to herself what would she do that day. Nat hadn’t given her a schedule or something like that, so she wasn’t sure if today they were going to go back to the mat and punch some more sandbags or do something else entirely. Perhaps Steve would steal her away to show the rest of the property like he promised he’d do the night before, at dinner. 

The meal with the others was nice, they were welcoming and overall gentle with her, though Feisty was sure they were only doing what Thor must’ve told them to do. With Steve, however, it was just different. She could tell he genuinely wanted to talk to her, to listen as she went on about old grannies from the nursing home. It was oddly satisfying. Refreshing even.

Flipping onto her back, eyes still sealed shut, she allowed her mind to spin around his beauty. Maybe there was something in the water that made those wolves so absurdly beautiful. The blond hair swept to one side, sweet blue eyes shining when he spoke about his teen years, squared chin and a strong body that certainly put many of his fellow pack members to shame. 

The ink and old parchment smell was easy on her nose, drawing her in. It wasn’t quite like Thor’s. Not even remotely close. Still, when he leaned in closer to whisper some joke on her ear, the odour made her feel at ease. Ugh. That house was a festival of scents that got Feisty feeling funny. 

Sounds from the outside stole her attention away, the girl reassuring herself briefly that it was better not to focus on that. Men, Alphas, in particular, were nothing but trouble. At least, it was what she wanted to believe in. 

Still putting her mind into the chirping birds sound, she stands up, heading to the bathroom to at least brush her teeth. This time nobody brought food to her bedroom, which meant she'd have to go to the kitchen herself. Not that she was expecting to be treated like that all the time, but the thought of people catching her making herself food made her nervous. Like she was stealing or something on those lines. 

With a heavy sigh, she splashed water on her face, drying it swiftly with a fluffy towel by the sink. Glaring at herself in the mirror, Feisty huffed, noticing that she still had bags under her eyes regardless of sleeping well the night prior. It would take a lot more than two days to recover from all sleepless nights she's had. 

Cleaning her teeth felt incredible and so did combing her hair up in a ponytail, deciding that she'd only shower after a good walk around the house. She slipped on a pair of black leggings and a pink tank top, shoving the pyjamas in the back of her wardrobe in a messy pile. 

Feet in flip flops, Feisty went out to an empty corridor, taking careful steps towards the kitchen. Everyone was probably already up and about, nonetheless, there was still a lingering need to keep it quiet, sure to not bother any single living soul. 

While she made her way downstairs, she noticed a few paintings hanging on the wall, from a long line of immeasurably gorgeous people. Women, men. Families even. This house was older than she thought it to be. At last, by the staircase, there was his picture. Blond hair pulled back, fair strands framing his handsome face still, a long beard, enough to have it braided, and eyes. Electric blue, so poorly depicted. A chill ran down her spine as she remembered it. It was art, in the literal sense of the word. It could’ve been the creative imagination of a painter if she hadn’t seen his beauty with her own eyes. 

Only then it came down to her that this house, it had been passing on through the generations of the supreme Alphas. She was standing in the wooden ground where the most powerful wolves, ones that lead revolutions, had stood years and years before. It made her feel fuzzy. Actual history had happened within these very walls. 

“I must say it’s not exactly my most endearing portrait.” A whiskey deep voice came from behind, Thor towering as he stood beside her. A surprised gasp slipping as she failed to notice him approaching. “How are you feeling today, little wolf?”

“Good,” She shrugs, “I was going downstairs to eat.” 

“Wanda made pancakes today,” One heavy hand falls to her hip, guiding her down, “Do you like it?”

“Yes, of course!” Cocking a brow, she musters an act of unknown courage to joke, “Who in their right mind doesn’t?”

“Believe me, Bruce utterly hates it.” His laugh is light, melodic, it has Feisty unconsciously leaning towards him, a grin beaming on her face, “Come. I can tell you need food.” 

As if it was agreeing with him, her stomach groaned, Feisty placing a hand over her tummy to muffle it. Thor simply chuckled, inching her closer to him, fingers going up so he could have an arm draped around her shoulder, a place she fit way too easily. He was warm, welcoming. Exactly like the bed she had left. 

The kitchen was packed with a couple of toddlers. Morgan and Harvey were soundly asleep in a bassinet, tiny hands together. There were four more at the table, one little girl and three boys. She had to be about six years old and the most adorable kid Feisty had ever seen - freckles peppered her pale skin, a blazing red hair falling in soft locks and green eyes sparkling as she saw Wanda approach her with a plate stacked with pancakes. She sat at the left corner of the table. 

Then there were the boys. The first one that caught her attention was the eldest of them, he couldn’t be more than eleven years old, he just had a childish gleam in his blue eyes. Thor’s eyes. That boy was his miniature. So alike it gave her goosebumps. Maybe it was his son? She looked up at him, silently quizzing. His eyes met hers with tenderness, easily figuring out what she wanted to know. 

“That’s Vithar, my baby brother.” The said boy scowls, rolling his eyes and muttering a curse under his breath, “Manners!” 

“You know I hate that name with all my strength, Thor.” He counters, snorting. “And who is she?”

“Don’t be rude, Vi,” A second boy elbows him. Brown eyes kind. He was probably the same age as Vithar, she presumes, “I’m Sam, by the way. And that’s Humphrey, but we just call him Freddie. He’s new around here. Nat told us your name is Feisty? Is that true? Because that’s such a cool name!”

Humphrey was pale and nervous. Feisty had to refrain the urge to wrap him in a hug, relating to him in some sort of way. She was a shy kid herself, always seeming about to cry. Probably why the other kids picked up at her so much when she went to a public school in her early years. Sam, on the other hand, was tall and confident, a bright smile forever resting on his thin lips. 

“You boys so silly,” The little girl says, quirking brows at them whilst rolling her eyes, “I’m Rosie.” 

“I, um-” Thor pats you on the shoulder, in hopes to comfort you with all that interaction with the kids, “Yeah, I suppose you can call me Feisty.” 

“Cool!” Sam screeched, “You’re going to help Auntie Wanda out? You look so nice! I mean, I can tell why Mr Thor likes you so much.” 

“He does?” Her ears get suddenly warm, the boy earning a stern look from his Alpha. 

“Enough,” Wanda finally intervenes, “You’re all scaring her! You know, they have the most unspeakable energy but are actually pretty nice when you get to know,” Tugging Feisty into a hug, Wanda presses a quick kiss on her cheek. She smells like white lilies. Soft and sweet. “Good morning, sweetheart. Why don’t you take a seat? I can fix you scrambled eggs or some toasts, what do you want to eat?”

“No, please, don’t bother doing anything else. Just the pancakes are good.”  

“Okay. Right. Well, there’s coffee on the coffee pot.” She directs a glare towards the man beside Feisty, “Will you stay with us, Boss?” 

After a brief nod from him, she goes back to the stove, pouring more of the sticky batter into the frying pan so more pancakes could be made. By now, the kids had swooped all of them into their plates, soaking with maple syrup. She snickered at the sight, accepting gladly when Thor puts her sitting down on one of the chairs at the table, whispering that he’d fetch her some coffee. 

She shrinks a bit in her seat, her gaze lost over the children, fumbling with her fingers as she waits for Thor to sit next to her again. Rosie’s eyes inspect the new girl closely, chewing her pancakes slowly, a pout growing on her lips, which draws Feisty's attention, who tilts her head at the girl, frightened that she was going to start crying any time soon. 

A tall, white mug filled with coffee appears in front of her, a hand squeezing her shoulder fondly, stealing her attention away from Rosie. She looks up at him, his blue irises blown, pupils very little. There's nothing but unspoken care swimming there.

It spreads a thick wave of peacefulness through her, eyes suddenly growing heavy. Thor lets out a harsh breath, sitting beside her, one large hand going to her knee, refraining the urge to rub his cheek against hers and then bury his face in the crook of her neck. It wasn't fair that she smelt so good. 

Wanda placed a plate filled with food, three fat pancakes, scrambled eggs in one corner and two slices of bread on the other. It's more food than she thinks she's able to eat, but, fork in hand, Feisty digs in, humming lowly to taste, so scrumptious and easy to swallow. 

"Where's Nat?" It's nearly a mute question, focus on the half-eaten pancake in front of her. "I thought we were going to pick up where we left off…?" 

"Natasha is busy," Shrugging off, Thor steals a bit of her eggs, shoving a full spoon into his mouth, "You'll be with me today. Hope you don't mind." 

"No. Not at all." 

Their little chat came to an abrupt end when the seven-year-old girl ran off of the table crying. Feisty's eyes widen in shock while Thor sighed, possibly already knowing what was going on. He presses his cheek lightly on hers, mumbling that he'd be right back, that she shouldn't worry.

Still quiet, she watches him leave, walking in large steps towards the girl, gripping her by one ankle and bringing her back to the kitchen, tears still staining the flushed cheeks. He was carrying Rosie like she was a bratty pup. Wanda leans against the countertop, glaring as Thor sits Rosie back on her chair. The boys are laughing at this point. 

"Now, leaving the table like that, especially when we have guests, it's not nice, is it?" The tone is austere, but Thor looks soft as he speaks, "I'm sure that's not what auntie Wanda teaches you." 

Her bottom lip quivers while she cries hard, sobbing childishly. Feisty grows concerned, worried that she might have done something without realising it. 

“Show some respect and apologise to her, Rosie. She’s a friend and deserves to be treated nicely.”

"N-no, Uncle Thor," Crossing her little arms flush against her chest, she stares at him, bottom lip sticking out sweetly, "She's no friend. She's stealing you from me, that's not a friend." 

A heavyweight falls upon her chest. So she was indeed responsible for that tantrum. There was no way she couldn't have known they were so close, not that it helped either way. She was overwhelmed with guilt, this was not the scenario she had in mind when joining them for breakfast.

"You're such a daddy's girl, Rosie," Sam rolls his eyes, mouth still full. It seemed like a normal day for them, "And he's not even your real dad."

"Rosie, I…" She's hesitant when speaking, bringing everybody's attention to her. Feisty feels her stomach swirl, "I'm not stealing him from you. He’s still your Uncle Thor." 

"Liar!" Rosie cries and so do the sleeping babies. Wanda groans, easily allowing Thor to do the parenting while she grabs the bassinet, taking the infants to their nursing room. "You are here for only a day and my Uncle Thor is always with you! That's stealing."

"Okay, enough, Rosalie," Thor's features are grim now, he stands up in front of her, his size making her smaller than she was already, "You are not to treat anyone like that. I won't allow it." 

"Thor, I, well, it's fine," Feisty voices weakly, "Don't treat her like her, I can leave. It's not a problem." 

"No, little wolf." With a short wave, he dismisses her attempt to leave, so she sits back, complying, "Rosalie, she needs our help, okay? Look at your brothers, they've all welcomed her nicely, you're always so proud to be as grown-up as them, and, still, you're acting like a spoilt brat I know you’re not." 

"But Uncle Thor…" It breaks the woman's heart to see that little girl crying, instincts haywire to protect and care for her, "I-I miss you vewy much and 'm jealous of Feisty, she has you a lot."

Taken aback by her words, his face softens as he falls back to his knees, eyes meeting hers filled with tenderness. One of Thor's hands cradles Rosie's cheek, big enough to cover her whole face, one thumb circling soothingly her red chubby cheek, wiping away the tears. Feisty watches everything quietly, her heart melting upon beholding the way he treats her. The awareness of how great of a father he'd be ignites something inside her, something she has to fight it off to keep herself grounded. 

Before Feisty can even consider her steps, she stands beside the magnificent Alpha, her hand seeming small when it gripped his shoulder. The boys were watching with weary eyes, though what really gets her is the warm blue, a grin pulling those pink lips up. 

"Rosie" The little girl is fierce when she looks at the new Omega. She envies her strength. Despite her youth, Feisty could smell she'd be an Alpha. "Listen," 

Rosie hums, exchanging a glare with Thor, who nods, signalling for her to pay attention. Then blazing green stares at the woman, chin up like she's about to defend herself. 

"I am not here to steal anyone," There's hope a reassuring smile is bright on her face. "You're still his favourite girl. You'll always be, okay?" 

"B-but-" Stammering, tears well up in her eyes. "Do you pwomise?" It sounds so sweet all she manages to do is shoot a smile at the child, nodding, "Am sowwy, Feisty. You are pwetty nice." 

"I told you she was, my sweet girl," Thor winks at her, pressing a quick kiss on her cheek, her cheerful laughter making everybody smile. "And I'll make sure to be around more often." 

"That is great. Now we'll have a watch." Vithar complains, being the first to discard his dishes in the sink. "Way to go, Rosalie." 

"You talk like we're doing something wrong." 

"Sam, haven't you realised by now that Thor always finds something wrong in the things I do?" 

"You are so dramatic, Vithar." 

A rough hand intertwines with Feisty's, an amusement gleam in Thor's face as he hears his brother's banter. She giggles too, lowering her head and taking some time to inspect their smells. It was a habit she developed whilst growing up. It’s still child-like, so they hadn't reached their first rut just yet, which was funny to realise, because, with Rosalie, Feisty could just tell she'd be an Alpha. A powerful one and she was further from them to have it decided. With the boys, nonetheless, it was still blurry, undefined. Even Thor's brother.

There's uncertainty in her face, but she quickly shrugs it off. It's not unusual. Nothing she should be worrying about. A lingering, tepid touch sneaks up her arm, snapping her out of the thoughts, Thor nudges her to go back to the unfinished plate and half-filled mug. He whispers something like she's going to need the energy for later. 

Both Sam and Freddie go over to the sink, standing beside each side of Vithar. The three boys start cleaning the dishes, mumbling to themselves things Feisty doesn’t bother to catch. She stuffs eggs between two pieces of bread, eating some more, her stomach stretching with the delicious, full meal. 

Rosie's puffy eyes slowly fade away as she goes back to the syrupy pancakes, humming in satisfaction. 

"Is Maggie up for a ride today, Vi?" Thor's booming voice fills the room, alongside the banging of plates. They are nearly done cleaning them, "I only checked up on Stormbreaker, but you know he's not with the rest, so I didn’t see her at all."  

"I do, yeah, but I honestly have no clue. Clint has been using Maggie to teach Rosie, but that was a few days ago." He stares at the little girl. "Which reminds me, tomorrow is your day, miss." 

"I know." 

"Also, that’s kind of Peter’s responsibility, Thor.”  

"Vithar, how many times will I have to tell you that when I'm not here, you're the one supposed to watch over the others? Anything that happens in this house is your responsibility." Electric blue eyes fly back to Thor, pink bottom lip puckered. His baby brother looks like he's been told nonsense, "Now, little wolf, are you good? Do you want more food?" 

"I'm good." 

"Then we should get going." 

With a nod, sipping on her mug to end the coffee she still had left, Feisty gets back up, collecting the things she used so she could wash them quickly. Thor snorts, taking them away only to pile them up with the rest, earning a dreadful glare from his baby brother. 

Feisty sees herself refraining a laugh. She never had any siblings, so it was nice and new to see those sort of interactions. A large hand tugs her hip, guiding her out to meet a rather sunny, warm day. White, fluffy clouds peppered across the blue sky. It never ceases to amaze her. 

Thor is quiet, softly pulling her to follow him. He doesn't feel like letting go of her, although he knows she can follow him. The silky of her skin feels comforting under his fingertips, a pungent smell of relaxation coming from her. It's good on his nose, good on him.  

The walk comes to halt when they reach a beautiful stable. Strong, wild horses running freely across a green field, only a wooden fence keeping them contained. A little giggle slips as she sees them play together, groomed and well taken care of.

As a child, she never had the opportunity to do these things. It was all far too complicated, there was no time to be a kid with a father like hers, despite all of her mother's efforts to make sure she had a nice childhood. 

"Do you like horses?" He questions, palm flush with the small of her back as he leads her towards a small door, ducking when following her inside. 

"Um, I'm not sure. I didn't-" Feisty purses her lips in a polite smile, "-I didn't have any animals. My father didn't allow them." 

"Oh" There's a shade of sadness beneath his voice whilst he reached for two pairs of boots stored above the wardrobe. It smelt like dust when he dropped them on the floor, "You'll need that, flip flops aren’t exactly nice footwear for riding. It belonged to Natasha, I figure you two have the same size." 

“Won’t she be bothered?”

“No, I don’t think she will. She hasn’t ridden in years.”

"I see. She doesn’t like it now, does she?" 

Thor shakes his head briefly, bending to undo the ties on his brown leather boots, he is quick to replace them with the rubber ones, smirking at Feisty once he's back on his feet. It makes her stomach do a spin, the way the blue in his eyes sparkled electrifying something inside her. It's so strong she sees herself looking away, cheeks warm. 

Kicking the flip flops away, she tries out Natasha's shoes, surprised that they fit her nicely. He stands beside her, gripping one of her arms, the flesh soft under his rough fingertips. Thor feels at ease when he touches her and it scares him. This, all of it, it's too much too soon. But she doesn't push him away, all she does is stare at him, curious. 

They both remain silent as they move to the gate that meets the place where the horses are running up and about. There's riding gear piled up on a dusty table. The whole place looks like it needed a thorough cleaning. 

Before Thor gets to instruct her to stay back while he deals with them, a buzz on his phone disturbs the bubble he's in. It near insanity how she can just make him forget there are other duties he needs to focus on. 

He grunts annoyed. 

"Wait here, okay, little wolf?" There's a slight pressure of his cheek on her temple, his beard itching her skin in nicely, "I'll be right back." 

Feisty barely makes a nod, a spasm on her lower tummy almost urging a whimper out. The petrichor lingers when he leaves, her lips parted in a shallow breath. It's embarrassing how he can affect her so much with such small actions. 

In the first minutes, she just stands there, hands clasped together, shifting the weight between her legs. Though she knows she doesn't have to be frightened to explore, the years of getting scolded by her father for being curious get her restrained. At first. 

On the opposite side of where the Alpha had escaped to the outside, there's another door. It instantly lights up her curiosity, so there's no time to hold back the footsteps that lead to opening it, finding a comfortable room in which an absolutely gorgeous horse sleeps. Its fur glimmers in the dim light, pitch black. What indeed draws her attention, however, it's the size. That animal is at least twice the size of the rest! 

It had to belong to him. A majestic ride fit for royalty such as Thor. She walks softly towards him, being careful to fall to her knees, the horse suddenly awake and confused to the unknown presence. He stands up way too fast, startling her and affecting her balance, she falls to the hay covered ground. 

A low chuckle slips as she looks up at the animal, mumbling under her breath a nasty word. He watches her with daring eyes, black as the night, like he's questioning whether she will or not try to do something to him. 

The Omega props herself up on her knees again, moving towards him just enough to pet his nose. It feels wet against her hand, she's glad he lets her touch him. His fur is soft as she goes further up his nose. 

"You had me worried for a minute there, little wolf," Thor leans against the door's threshold, thick arms crossed, "Stormbreaker isn't nice to strangers, I'm glad he hasn't done anything, but you should've been more careful." 

"Oh" Guilt sinks in as he helps her up, "I'm sorry. I just- I'm really sorry." 

His smile is soft and tender, one large hand wrapping around her wrist to pull her back out. The horse follows them promptly. 

"I was worried, that's all. You shouldn't be wandering off alone."  

She nods then, remaining silent and constraining herself to just watch him gather the necessary gear. Thor is taken aback by the scared, saddened way she acts and looks at him. He drops what's in his hands to swoop her in his arms, bent to rub his cheek on hers. 

There's a smooth noise coming from her chest as she closes her eyes. Scenting it's not unusual between Alphas and Omegas, although it's normally done after they have mated. Either way, Feisty holds no strength to fight back to the easiness the gentle bristle of his beard against her temple gives. 

A deep rumble shakes his chest when she places her hand there, fingers toying with the buttons of his shirt. Her fingers feel like pure fire marking his skin, burning every bit she touched. Thor couldn't shake away that all of it was insane. Yet so delicate. That pure Omega in his arms brought out all of the animalistic instincts he tried so hard to shove inside the pit of his being. 

"Don't feel like I'm giving you orders," It comes out as a whisper, his voice pitching lower than usual, "I want to keep you safe, little wolf."

Feisty lets out a little grunt, clinging to him, standing on her tiptoes to get hold of his neck. It's heady, addictive. And day after day it feels like it's growing stronger on her when it should be fading away. 

"When…" The words die on her lips, his thick arms lightly holding her up, bodies glued together, "Never mind."  

There's a wrinkle between his eyebrows, blue eyes curious. 

"What is it?" 

"It's embarrassing." 

"I thought you weren't shy when I was around," His laugh is warm, it makes her smile absent-minded, "When what happens?" 

"I know this-" She points to the two of them, "-I know it's because I'm new. But I, well, you make me feel safe, Thor. I don't want that to end." 

"I'll always protect you, little wolf. As long as you need me to." Thor squeezes her further in his arms, "This isn't about being new or not. It's my duty." 

"Sleeping with me is not your duty," Feisty brings up, blood warming her face as she feels shame settle in, "Is it selfish of me to not want to share that?" 

Her body slides against his as he lets her back down, despite not breaking the skin contact so soon. Thor isn’t sure what to do. What to say. He doesn’t feel like sharing that bond either. It doesn’t matter that it was new, that it was way too rushed. Her presence felt better than any of the other Omegas that had tried to sneak their way into his arms. None had the sweet, flowery-like smell that put him through his paces like she did. Plus, the thought of another Alpha laying hands on her, well, it made him way past angry. It was wrath. Fury. A predatory instinct that had frightened him from the very first moment. 

Thor’s nose trails up along her cheek, smooth lips pressing a kiss on her cheekbone. 

“No” It’s low, filled with something neither of them can pinpoint, “Because I don’t want to share this either. Don't wanna' share you.”

A gasp escapes as he tightens the grip on her waistline, only to finally let her go, regardless of dreading the idea. He picks up the riding gear, Stormbreaker glaring at him with judgy eyes, which makes him roll his. That horse sometimes felt like an actual human person. 

Feisty approaches him again, her chubby, child-like hands running along with the jet black horsehair. Stormbreaker neighs, leaning towards her to get her to scratch his ears, bringing a laugh out of the woman. A sound that makes Thor sway on his steps. He'd heard her giggle, seen her smile, but an actual laugh, it was the first time. 

If it was even possible, that makes him even more aware of his craving for her. No. Sharing that intimacy with somebody else was not an option for him. 

"I was going to get Maggie for you," He says, fastening the girth to secure the saddle on his horse, a bright blue saddle blanket underneath the leather seat, "But since he's taken a liking for you, I don't mind you riding him." 

"Isn't he too big for me?" Uncertainty soaks up her question, "What if I fall off?" 

"Don't worry, Stormbreaker is a nice horse-" Thor is cut off by a loud neigh, a booming laugh following, "-See? It'll be fine."  

"Okay," She smirks patting the majestic animal again, "Go easy on me, alright?" It comes off as a secret between her and Stormbreaker, the Alpha gazes at that amused. Feisty certainly belongs to that place, "How do I, um, get up there?" 

"Here, let me help you." 

With a quick instruction to place her left foot in the stirrup, Thor helps her up to settle on top of his horse, her shaky fingers barely grasping the reins to remain in place. This is going to be fun, he thinks as he watches her finally find balance. He doesn’t want to admit out loud, but on those thin leggings, boots and all perched up on his horse, he’s never seen someone so gorgeous. 

The soothing words he mumbles, whilst they go out, give Feisty a sense of protection. There is no doubt he’ll watch her and care for her. For once, she doesn’t feel vulnerable in that position, it actually imbues her with a sense of bravery she always lacked. Feels good, reassuring, so a grin takes up, hips wavering to the slow stride the horse is taking. 

It’s not before they reach an empty field, far from where the other horses were, that he stops, giving back the reins to her so she could be the lead. 

“It’s quite simple” Thor discloses, blue all blown out in those eyes. Feisty couldn’t remember seeing that colour before, it made her all wobbly and warm inside, “One tug at his belly, he’ll walk, two, he runs. If you want him to stop, pull back the reins gently.”

Feisty nods in agreement. Indeed quite simple. 

He crosses his strong arms against his chest, a smile encouraging her to start, which she doesn’t do right away, opting for a big deep breath instead. Then, Feisty looks back at him, admiring for a second his unique beauty, the way his hair falls on his shoulders and how the skin glimmers under the bright sun, a peach shade of pink covering the skin of his cheeks. 

“Thor?”

“Yes, little wolf?”

“Will you be watching me?” 

There’s a shift in his breath and he pierces his stare at her, giving one short nod.   

“Yes, now go!” He urges, giving one last squeeze to her hand, “I’ll be right here, watching you.”

As she finally goes off, steadily controlling Stormbreaker as if she had done that many times before. Thor can’t help but drift off into his thoughts, spiralling around the sweet scent she lets off. Two days. It was insane. He had been with Jane for far more than that and she never quite got to him like that. Not in the same way, at least.  

Doomed. That’s what he was. And when Natasha finds out, she’d be sure to break his nose yet anew. 

Grey, heavy clouds started to gather up as the hours went on, a thunderstorm ever so close from pouring down. It drives him to whistle so his horse returns with the lovely Omega atop him. The lesson ending a little earlier than he had planned. Being fairly honest, he’d have to find something else to teach her, she was just a natural at horse riding. If she hadn’t told him she never ridden one before, Thor would be sure to say she grew up riding one. 

Stormbreaker came back trotting at full speed, Feisty bouncing above him, legs tight around his stomach. There was an easy smile shimmering on her face, something that bubbled up Thor’s insides, a proud smirk as he welcomed her back, arms stretched out to help her come down to the ground, which she did as soon as she stopped, gently tugging the reins. 

There was a playful giggle when she jumped into his embrace. 

“You’re in a good mood today, little wolf.” 

Her arms are clasped around his neck, eyes pierced to his for a split second. 

“Should I not be?” 

While she slips down and stands back up on his feet, he snorts, like he’s been told gibberish. 

“Yes. Of course you should.” Thor mumbles, his gaze analytical when noticing a slight tinge of pain on her steps back inside the stable. “Are you okay? Do you need some medicine?”

“I am fine,” Her voice goes back to the shy, low tone. As if the memory of whom she really is sinks back in, the fleeting moment of wilderness over, “I really am.”

“If you say so.” 

With a shrug, he drags Stormbreaker back inside, careful when removing the saddle, the saddle blanket and the reins. His big hands stroking its neck for a moment, murmuring something Feisty couldn’t quite make out. Despite not knowing what he’s saying, the Omega can’t help but find the interaction sweet. It was definitely a side of a supreme Alpha she wasn’t expecting to see. 

As an infant, all she heard was that they were ruthless, cruel. Never measuring the consequences when deciding to strike. Thor, on the other hand, was gentle. Sure, that scent coming from him warned her that he was powerful, dangerous even, nonetheless, reminiscing on how he dealt the Rosalie situation, how he watched over his baby brother and how… How he nurtured herself. It strayed far from that definition.

Sitting down on the sand-covered floor to remove the rubber boots, she once more thinks about her new life under his care. It way past what she thought she deserved. But after the second day, being there was starting to grow roots within her, which was a completely foreign sensation to an abandoned Omega such as Feisty. 

“It’s almost lunchtime,” A deep voice comes from above, hands sneaking under her arms and lifting her, a squeal escaping from her while he does so, “Are you hungry? I don’t know if you’ll eat what Wanda cooks today.”

She scoffs, dumbfounded that he’d think such a thing. Thor glares at the Omega in confusion, one brow cocked. 

“I spent days without any food, Thor... Whatever she cooks, it'll feel like heaven to me,” His fingers greedily take hers, feeling them cold under his touch, “Don’t pity me, please.” 

“I’m not," Sighing, he pulls her deeper into his embrace, guiding them both out, the wind stinging, a lot rougher than before, “There’s so much I still don’t know about you.”

Feisty smacks at her lips, unsure of what to answer. Embarrassed that there wasn’t much to tell, self-conscious about what he’d think once he knew she was nothing but a mutt. It wasn’t something she gave a lot of attention to, however, when it came to him, there was this need to impress, to show herself off. This… She didn’t understand. Didn’t want to. 

They start walking back to the house, her mind swirling around what to reply. 

“And what is it you want to know?” It’s shaky and unsure when she finally speaks, “There isn’t much to know about me.”

There’s an abiding moment of silence, the tugging of his thick arm around her growing tighter. He doesn’t quite know where to begin, wishing nothing but to dive deep into her memories, into her niceness. Thor enjoyed the quietness she gave him, how he could be entirely silent and she’d respect his space, never urging words, never urging a stance. It made a whole lot easier to be around her. 

Slightly pressing his nose to her temple, a fainting soap smell mixing with her natural one coming off of it. Inwardly, he wondered if he would ever grow tired of it. If the effect she had over him would weaken with time. Feisty looks up at him then, questioningly, half a smile on her lips. Right then, he feels a tightening sensation on his lower abdomen, an awareness that, by that simple act, she had answered his silent question. 

No. He wouldn’t. 

“I’m curious about you too,” She as much as whispers, distressed at his sudden silence, “If I can, I mean.”

A puff escapes, his plump lips finally pressing her face, a peck on the cheek, not more than that. He mouths a yes against her skin, anything, little wolf. And that alone brings goosebumps to crawl all over, a secretive gasp falling. Feisty feels the shift in the air, the way Thor reacts to her sounds coming off too strong. She can taste his need. 

There's a subtle recoil on her shoulders, eyes growing heavy. It was nowhere near what it had been the day before, when she was left a heaving mess, yet, powerful enough for her to feel drawn to him. 

“Is it too much?” 

“Not too much,” A giggle slips as she hides her face on his chest, by now they were almost home, visible to people, “but I figure it's better to keep a little distance, I don't want people to think-"

“Think what, little wolf?” 

“That I, um-” 

The moment was suddenly over when, the exact minute they walked into the porch, little arms wrapped themselves around Thor’s legs, Rosalie much too excited to see him again to not throw herself against him. He smiled, quickly breaking the contact from Feisty to perch the girl on his hip, a childish grin on her cute face, dimples deep into her cheeks. The Omega couldn’t stifle the grin in pure glee that followed. 

"Hi, sweetheart" He presses his lips to her head, ever so fondly, "Are you okay?"

"Yes" Rosie snickers, green eyes turning to Feisty, "You liked Maggie? She’s a lil’ nowty with stwangers.” 

"Oh really?" 

Rosie nods, nosing Thor's cheek fondly, "She's a nice horsie, though my favourite is Stormbweaka,” The child scowls at the word, “Stormy, Uncle Thor’s horsie.”

"He's beautiful indeed," She agrees, still sustaining the smile. It feels so painfully domestic, a child on his arms, the way he sneaks a glare towards her… Feisty finds herself fighting off the urge to lean towards him, fighting his strong magnetic field, "Have you ever ridden him?" 

"No," A pout grows on her little face, "Uncle Thor says he's too big for me." 

"He is," Thor chimes in, putting her back down, one hand grasping hers and the other on Feisty's shoulder, urging both of them inside, where they met a delicious smell of food being cooked, "If you were to fall off of him…" 

"I'm a big girl!" 

There's a booming laugh, "Even big girls get hurt, Rosie," A large hand strokes her much smaller cheek, the two exchanging a swift gaze, "Now go, wash your hands so you can have lunch." 

"They're clean!" She cried. 

"Rosalie…"

Before the girl disappears into the hall, possibly heading to the bathroom as she was instructed, Feisty is still able to hear a whispered “fine”. It makes both her and Thor laugh, her eyes quickly darting to him, staring a little bit too obviously - today she just didn’t seem like she could prevent herself from it. Nor contain the way her imagination ignites a fire inside her, going on and on about how smooth his skin felt under her touch. 

There’s no hiding those emotions from him, a sweet flavoured infatuation stealing a grunt from the Alpha. 

“It’s not polite to stare, little wolf,” In no time she feels the piercing blue onto her, shame drilling into her brain and forcing her gaze down, “No, no. No need for that, it was a stupid joke.”

“I’m-, I know I’m crossing boundaries, I-”

“You don’t have to worry about that,” A rumbling shake his chest, “God knows I want to stare at you all day long.”

 “Why?” Bottom lip quivering, she shoots subtle look towards the Alpha, “I know why I want to stare at you, but me? I’m not really that special.”

“Don’t say that,” Thor frowns, nearing her slowly, “You really don’t know what your scent does to me, do you?”

Feisty gasps, shaking her head weakly as he finally holds both her hands, bringing them to his lips, kissing the knuckles with an adoration. She was so astonishingly delicate, regardless of all the bad situations she must’ve endured - such a stark contrast to him. Thor could tell she was starved of all that human interaction. 

They stay like that for a little longer, not minding the fact they were standing in the middle of the hallway, that anybody could see them. A thick bubble surrounding them that was only broken when Natasha runs inside, almost bumping into them, quickly endorsing them to split, essentially ending the mood that enveloped the pair. Feisty swallows dryly, diverting her glaring to the red hair. 

There’s nothing but plain uncertainty on her face, the smell of fear and anxiety easily stealing Thor’s attention. It was probably related to the business that had kept her away all morning, the Omega presumes, and, by the looks of it, whatever it was, she didn’t bring good news about it. 

“What happened? Are you okay?” His voice dropped a tone, eyes wide, “Natasha...”

“I’m fine,” Nat’s voice doesn’t mirror what she says, trembling, “It’s just… They almost saw me, Boss. I almost ruined everything.”

“Breathe, Natasha, they didn’t see you after all, did they?”

She denies with a head shake, “Brunhilde helped me.”

“You talked to her?” 

“Yes, she says she’s down to help us, with a price. Honestly, the things she told me...” Suddenly, as if only then she was realising they were in company, her speech comes to pause, glaring at the Omega slightly behind where both her and Thor stood, “Hey, sweetie,” Feisty gains a sympathetic smile from the red hair, “Look Boss, I can’t discuss it all here, it’s just not safe.”

“She won’t tell anybody,” He counters, “Will you, little wolf?”

“No, it’s not that I don’t trust her,” Natasha shrugs, inhaling deeply, “We just need to gather everyone and-”

“So you did find out something,” It wasn’t a question. 

The air started to thicken, Thor’s anger boiling and stretching to the three people that. His reaction brought an itching curiosity to rest annoyingly at the back of Feisty’s brain; she wanted to understand what affected him so much, as if it was her responsibility to soothe him, to make him calmer. Possibly why she reached for his hand, noticing him go tense before melting to her touch.  

“Yeah,” Nat nods, slowly gathering her emotions, “It’s far more complicated than we thought it’d be. I-I, damn. I don’t know what we can do.”

“Just,” Squeezing the hand intertwined with his, the Alpha tries to unclench his jaw, he needed to keep himself grounded, for the sake of everyone, “Calm down. Nobody saw you,”

“No, of course not.” 

“Then we still have time to figure things out,” Caringly, he pats his friend on the shoulder, "I suggest you go rest and later we will discuss everything." 

"Are you sure?" 

Admiration seeps from Feisty's eyes, the firm way he nods and reassures Natasha, the way he leads. It's mesmerising, despite her just then realising there was trouble looming over the pack. Perhaps, and this got her feeling sick, it was her fault, maybe a witch placed a curse so troubles followed where she went. 

The strong figure of a man towering her senses the troubles nagging her. This time he doesn't push the itch on his lower abdomen back, just tugging the woman to his arms, noticing how she complies gladly, finding the place that appeared made especially to fit her. More than ever, Thor feels the insane will to protect her, like a secret. 

"Do you want to go somewhere?" 

"I think-" Warmth reaches her cheeks, "Um, I should be asking you that." 

A quick, low laugh slips as he murmurs for her to follow him, guiding her outside, towards the big garage where several cars were parked. She gawks in awe at all of them, walking behind him until they stop in front of a sports one - Feisty was nearly sure that was a Porsche, but she didn't know enough about cars to risk it. 

They don't talk, it's not necessary. One large hand settles on her knee whilst he starts the car. Feisty feels odd - she hadn't felt this energy before him, like pure lightning coursing through her veins when he touched her. Either way, it didn't stop her from craving more. To soak up every bit of care he was willing to give her.  

Neither needed saving, but both wanted to run away from everything. 

tags!

the ones in italics i couldn’t tag for some reason!

forever

@sea040561 @momc95

marvel

@frenfics @mrscutiefandobhaz

thor

@lancsnerd @rishlo @desia22 

untouched

@slutlanna976 @rahma29417 @truthdaze @innerpaperexpertcloud @watermelons-aura @gluemakesmyhandsticky @ellsbells2143 @ghostlysweetsturtle @lovelylostminds @shelbyaesthetic @dreaminofpoison @marikochi @bagpipes606 @littlephyschos-world @mannls @savagemickey03

[thepurplebutterflythings]

Lucky Man - Dick Grayson

Gif: emmagraves on tenor

Word Count: 1.8K

Paring: Dick Grayson (Titans) x (f)Reader

Summary: After Y/N and Dick have had their daughter, Mary, Y/N comments that Dick spoils Mary and reminisces on their relationship.

Warnings: N/A

A/N: Mary, the daughter in this piece, is named after Dick Grayson’s mother.

Masterlist

Requested: @iamcheese13

________________________________________________________________

“Honey, I’m home,” Dick called through the house as he came back from the shop, carrying nappies under one arm and baby wipes under the other. You heard him struggling to close the door to your home, but finally, manage it and let out a little noise of pride when he succeeded.

With your daughter on your hip, you walk out of the nursery to see your husband standing there with a gleeful grin.

“You know how 1950s sitcom of you that sounded, right?”

“Shut up,” Dick laughed as he walked up to you and your daughter, kissing you on the lips and your baby on the top of her head. “How are my girls?”

“We’re great, aren’t we, Mary?” You cooed at your daughter, bouncing her on your hip causing her to squeal with glee. Dick put the nappies and wipes down before gesturing for you to pass your daughter over to him. You smiled and nodded, gently passing Mary over.

“She looked so much like my Mum,” Dick sighed, holding his daughter close to him, “and she would love you,” he said in a fussing voice to Mary, “she really would. She would spoil you rotten.”

“Like her father does already,” you scoffed teasingly.

“I don’t spoil her,” Dick defended himself as Mary placed her chubby hands on Dick’s cheeks. Dick met Mary’s eyes and melted. He smiled and kissed Mary’s cheek with making a loud ‘Mwau’ sound as he did and nuzzling her cheek with his stubble, causing Mary to giggle wildly.

“If she wanted a pony, you’d buy her a whole god-damn farm of them.”

“And why shouldn’t she have everything she wants?” Dick said not looking at you but completely captivated by Mary.

“God, as much as I do look forward to it, I also dread the day she gets married.”

Dick finally looked away from Mary to you with a bemused expression on his face. He was bouncing Mary all she wanted and smiled at her one more time before looking at you again.

“And why is that?”

“Cause you can’t say ‘no’ to her and I can already imagine the hit our savings will take.”

“She deserves to look like a princess on her special day,” Dick insisted, “like her mother.”

“You trying to sweet talk me, Mr Grayson?”

“Only cause it works, Mrs Grayson?” Dick said leaning over and kissing you gently. “I’m a lucky man,” he stated, “look at what I’ve got. What did I do to deserve this? – I never thought I’d have anything like this.”

“Neither did I,” you sighed as you leaned into Dick, stroking the soft hair of your daughter’s head. This truly was a life neither of you believed was possible, with Dick’s upbringing with Bruce which led to him being somewhat emotionally distant and yourself being a Gotham resident who had resided yourself to living alone due to the constant danger of villains around every corner, anything aside from a two-month fling seemed impossible for the both of you, but somehow, beyond all odds, you had made something, a relationship, a marriage and a family.

“I love you both,” Dick said, wrapping his free arm around your waist, “I love my girls so much.”

“And I love you both so much,” you tell him. You watched as Dick walked Mary to her room and place her in her crib before returning and wrapping you in his arms. “My lovely daughter and my incredible husband.”

“Who is a sexy, sexy detective?”

“Who is a sexy, sexy detective,” you nodded with a chuckle and a roll of the eye. “Modest much?”

“Extremely so,” Dick nodded as he kissed your cheek.

“You’re very lucky I love you, Richard Grayson.”

“I know I am,” Dick nodded, running his hand through your hair. Dick always looked at you so lovingly and made you feel as though you were royalty, and he never asked for anything in return, all he wanted was to make you feel loved and safe and he succeeded in that. You also made him feel loved and safe, so loved and safe that he opened up to you about his parents, his past in the circus and his life with Bruce Wayne, and so much more that he had never spoken to anyone about.

You still remembered the first night he told you about Bruce Wayne and how he was Batman and that Dick himself was the Original Robin. At first, you didn’t believe it and laughed it off – Bruce Wayne was Batman? Yeah right! But then the look that was on Dick’s face was all you needed to see to tell you that it was the truth. Bruce Wayne was Batman. Dick Grayson was once Robin. You were in your bedroom, both of you had just moved from Gotham to Detroit and moved into a flat together. The whole day had been spent putting the essential things together, ending with the marathon task of the bed from Ikea, and you had just put the mattress on the bed before both collapsing on the bed and staring up at the ceiling with deep breaths from the struggle against the mattress. You were both lying there, staring upwards, when Dick spoke.

“I was Robin in Gotham,” he told you. You laughed breathlessly and turned your head to look at Dick, who turned to look at you.

“Right, okay, and who was Batman? Alfred?”

“No, Bruce is.” He said, knowing he could trust you. You blinked and sat up, staring at him. Dick slowly sat up too. He stared at you so intently, and you knew when Dick was lying. Dick could never lie to you.

“Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

“You are Robin?”

“Were Robin. I was Robin.”

“And Bruce Wayne is Batman?”

“Yes,” Dick nodded, waiting for your reaction, but there was no outburst, no screaming, no yelling, no accusations like he thought. You just sat there on your new mattress staring at him with a faintly opened mouth. “Are you alright?” He asked, concerned by the lack of reaction.

“I don’t know what to say. I don’t know what to do.” You confessed, “I wasn’t expecting that sorta confession when we started living together. Maybe that you take obscenely long showers or that you can’t cook, but a secret double life? Well, that wasn’t on the list.”

“I’m sorry,” Dick said, “that I lied to you for so long.”

“You never really lied to me Dick,” you assured him, “I never asked if you were Robin. I never had a reason to believe you were.”

“But I hid it from you.”

“It was your every right to.” You said, “you’ve given it up? Being Robin?”

“Yes,” he nodded, “I had to. I didn’t like who I was becoming.”

“How old were you when you started?”

“I was a kid,” Dick said, “it wasn’t long after Bruce took me in.”

“Oh Dick,” you sighed, wrapping your arms around his neck and hugging him. Dick was right, he was a kid when it started. Dick was 12 when his parents died. He wasn’t even a teenager and hearing how young he was broke your heart. He was a child, and Bruce was willingly putting him in danger facing people like The Joker or The Riddler. What if Dick hadn’t been so lucky? Would Bruce have regretted bringing Dick into his world? When you pulled away and looked Dick in the eye, he looked at you sadly.

“Promise me something, Y/N,” Dick said quietly, stroking your hip where your shirt lifted up with his thumb.

“Of course.”

“That we’d never raise our children how Bruce raised me, that we’ll keep them safe, and that we will not let someone like Bruce raise them if something were to happen to us.”

“I promise,” you nodded with a gentle smile before you both lay back down, you resting on Dick’s chest. “So you think about us having kids huh?”

“Sometimes,” he mumbled sheepishly. “Why? Does it worry you?”

“No,” you said, “it’s sweet.”

The conversation from all those years ago echoed in your head as you stood in your house with Dick holding you in his arms, who was now your husband, and your baby daughter sleeping in her crib. It all seemed like a beautiful dream that you could wake up from any minute to discover you were back in Gotham, fearing of someone breaking into your flat and holding you hostage while they stole your stuff. Dick’s lips against your reminded you how real it all was. It was perfect. He was perfect. You daughter was Perfect. Everything was perfect. You stood on your tip-toes and leaned up to kiss Dick again.

“What you think of?” He asked curiously, seeing the nostalgic look on your face.

“When you told me about Robin,” you admitted. “And that you thought about us having kids.”

“I was so worried it freaked you out and that you’d leave.”

“What? Robin or Kids?”

“Both,” he confessed with a laugh.

“Well, I’m still here.”

“Yes you are,” Dick nodded, holding you close.

“And you aren’t going to lose me, or Mary, and even if something were to happen to us Rachel and Gar could do right by us in raising Mary, and any other children we’ll have.”

“Other kids?” Dick grinned.

“Thought a little boy might be nice too,” you shrugged, “we could name him ‘Robin’” you teased causing Dick to laugh and kiss your neck multiple times to make you laugh as well.

“Honestly, not the worst idea but I was thinking ‘Troy’,” Dick said.

“Like Donna Troy?”

“I lost a bet with her – long story.”

“Which you have to tell me now.”

“I was young and stupid.” Dick shrugged, “I’ll tell you more later.”

“I actually like the name ‘Troy’,” you laughed, “plus I like Donna.”

“That’s good because she was already pissed that she lost out on Mary being called Donna.”

“In our defence,” you said, “we chose Mary’s name the day we found out I was pregnant.”

“Mum’s birthday.”

“It seemed fitting. A sign.”

“Donna understood when I explained it,” Dick told you.

“Good,” you smiled, holding back a yawn. Dick led you to the bedroom and towards the bed. You both laid down, and you rested your head on Dick’s chest, much like that day all those years ago when you first moved in together.

“I think with Mary sleeping, you and I should catch up on it ourselves,” Dick explained.

“And here I thought you were trying to seduce me, you sexy, sexy detective,” you laughed with a yawn.

“Alright, alright,” Dick chuckled, causing his chest to vibrate. “That was an arrogant stupid thing of me to say.”

“I thought it was funny – and true,” you said leaning up to kiss him before placing your head back on his chest and closing your eyes.

“Lucky, lucky man,” Dick sighed, holding you close.

[quaememinisse]

Helpful Husband Chapter 2

Title: Helpful Husband 

Genre: Romance/fluff 

Word count: 2,041 

Author's note: Previous chapter here 

           Bucky didn’t like leaving Cherise alone for long periods of time during this final trimester. Her pain had been getting worse and he genuinely feared that she would go into labor prematurely. Something similar had happened with their daughter, Christina, and she had to be born via emergency C-section. Earlier in the week, Bucky had suggested they temporarily move into the Avengers Facility until after the baby is born, because he didn’t like to worry about being at work while Cherise was home alone with Christina if something should happen. He had realized it was an issue when the previous week, he was tucking his daughter into bed and she fearfully asked him whether mommy was dying. When he’d asked Christina why she would ever think such a thing was happening, the girl admitted that she got scared because she had gone into the kitchen and found her mother groaning in pain leaning against the counter as she tried to finish cooking dinner. At the time that it happened, Bucky was teaching a self-defense class in the evening, something he did a few nights a week in addition to or instead of the fitness classes he usually taught during the day for veterans. He was upset when he tried to talk to Cherise about it and she downplayed it. Truthfully, Cherise hadn’t noticed her daughter sneak around the corner to the kitchen and pause to watch worriedly as she tried to breathe through a moment where the baby was sitting in such a way that aggravated her sciatic nerve. 

           Cherise promised that she would explain to their daughter that sciatic pain isn’t deadly. But that didn’t seem to put Bucky at ease. Cherise wanted to be at home, where she was most comfortable. Bucky compensated by cutting back on his hours at work, so that he could spend most of his time staying home with Cherise, who wasn’t working for the remainder of the pregnancy. He was otherwise dropping Christina at school, picking her up, and doing the grocery shopping and house work. It had taken a while to convince Cherise just to leave work in the first place. She was usually in the labs at the Avengers Facility, doing whatever she did with Dr. Banner, Dr. Selvig, Dr. Cho, etc. There was really no need for Cherise to work, as Bucky had explained to her earlier in her pregnancy, considering all the VA benefits he had been owed over the past couple of decades, which was enough to take care of Bucky and his family. On top of that, Cherise was family to the Avengers, and her maternity leave was paid. They weren’t suffering in the least financially.

Cherise is simply the kind of woman who always wants to be productive. Bucky had learned the hard way that if she couldn’t be productive, it made her unhappy. He felt sad coming home at the end of the day or from grocery shopping to find that Cherise was groaning in pain on the couch, sometimes crying, because she wished she could go for a run or to her lab. It didn’t seem to matter how many times Bucky told her she was pregnant and should go easy on herself, that it wasn’t going to last forever, she would still get frustrated and want to exert herself in some way or other. To compensate for that, Bucky kept the house spic and span, so that Cherise couldn’t make the excuse that anything was a mess in the house that she just had to clean up. It wasn’t that he never cleaned, it was that Cherise liked things very particularly and often beat him to certain household chores.

Still, Bucky tries his best to keep Cherise entertained. He had gone so far as to plant new lavender shrubs in the front yard, and add a Zen garden area with more hydrangeas to the backyard, all in Cherise’s favorite colors. He even started having movie nights with her almost every night of the week to show her old films from the 20s, 30s, and 40s, things that he grew up with, to try and keep her mind busy. He stopped joining Sam and Steve on Friday nights for beers at one of their favorite bars. All Bucky could do was focus on his pregnant wife and try to think of new ways to make her comfortable, or at the very least, smile.

Thus, when he drives back home after dropping Christina at school, he’s delighted to find that Cherise is still asleep past 9AM. He decided to cook her some eggs and pancakes with a side of fruit before venturing again into the back of his side of the closet, where he had hidden her body pillow the previous night. Little did Cherise know, he decided he would take off from work today, have someone else cover him, so that he could bring the pillow to Dr. Banner and have it fitted with wires to give it heating capacity. He just knew that it would help Cherise out at night with sleeping. He knew she needed it badly and was sorry he’d forgotten it was stored away. He didn’t like leaving her for long, but figured this was a small task that could be completed relatively quickly. He’s not at the facility long before Cherise texts him around 11:30AM asking him how his day is going. She had texted Bucky a picture of the empty plate of food he had made for her. He smiles, hoping she actually enjoys his cooking, because some days, she still couldn’t eat much without nausea.

“Aaand…it should be all set now,” Dr. Banner explains, twisting something further into the body pillow before an intern starts to close it up with needle and thread.

“Thanks, Bruce. I really owe ya one,” Bucky explains, extending his flesh hand to shake. Dr. Banner’s green hand encircles Bucky’s entire fist briefly, gently.

“Nah. It’s nothing. When she finishes sewing it closed, just, uh, don’t forget the remote,” Dr. Banner explains, pointing to the table where he has left a few tools.

“And let me know if it needs anything else.”

The physicist grins and makes his way towards a closed off room behind glass walls to continue working on something with Dr. Selvig. And briefly, Bucky understands why Cherise can’t stand to be on maternity leave. The labs at the Avengers Facility are always active, and fascinating, things going on and experiments running that Bucky can’t even make sense of. He figures it’s exciting to Cherise, and had he not been doing a lot to keep her occupied, he would also have gone stir crazy being at home most of the time. Bucky decides to drop by the new agent recruit training level to briefly catch up with Steve, who asks him whether Cherise has agreed to move into the facility for the remainder of her pregnancy.

           “Says she’s more comfortable at home. So, I stopped working. For the most part. I don’t like the idea of her being home alone all day while she’s so close to our son’s due date,” Bucky explains nervously, shifting the pillow over his left shoulder with ease.

           “I don’t like it either, Buck. Sometimes I’d pass her in the cafeteria and swear she was taking ten seconds to move one foot,” Steve explains, cocking a wheat gold eyebrow, “I thought we were going to have to straight up fire her to get her out of the labs and on leave.”

Bucky giggles for a moment.

           “Yeah, she’s been in a lot of pain these past two weeks or so. The doctor said it’s normal, but it keeps her up at night, it’s so bad. I can’t stand seein’ her in so much pain while I just lie there, feeling none of it. I’m just glad Bruce was able to help me get this pillow upgraded. I’m surprising her with it tonight.”

           “Well, you know you’re family to the whole team around here. Everyone’s always eager to help,” Steve explains as they start down some stairs. The Captain wipes sweat off his brow before opening a bottle of water and downing half of it. He’d promised Bucky he would keep a few rooms vacant in the facility for him and Cherise to move into, should he be able to convince her she needed some place he trusted more than the general hospital.

           “When’s the little guy due?” Steve asks, opening the door to one of the rooms so that Bucky can see that they had brought in a bigger bed. It’s bigger than the one in Bucky’s and Cherise’s room at home, and Bucky wishes Cherise would have seen how much more rolling around she could be doing at night without waking him up.

“She’s almost eight months,” Bucky sighs, pushing a hand through his hair anxiously, reminiscing carrying Cherise to the tub before the sun was even up this morning, “So, about a month away. I’m excited, but at the same time, I’m not ready to see her go through a difficult labor. She had that with Christina, too.”

           “Don’t worry, Buck. Reese is a trooper,” Steve says reassuringly, planting a hand on Bucky’s shoulder supportively.

           “Well, I’ll talk to Nat tonight. They’re still close. You know how women are. Maybe I can get her to convince Reese to come spend time here. You know there’s always extra space for you guys and your little ones.”

           “Thanks, Steve.”

 When Bucky walks through the front door, the first thing he does is call for Cherise.

“Kitchen!” she yells, and he catches a whiff of what smells like fries or potatoes baking. He stealthily and quickly makes his way up to their room with her pillow, hiding it behind his clothes.

“James!” Cherise calls from the kitchen.

He smiles to himself, fishing the remote out of his pocket and hiding it in his boxer drawer.

           “Comin’ doll!”

And when he makes his way into the kitchen, he finds Cherise frying potatoes at the stove. His nose hadn’t been far off.

           “Natasha was saying there’s a room for us at the facility.”

           “There always is, doll,” Bucky explains, cradling her hips in his hands and kissing the top of her head.

           “Well, look at this bed! She sent me pictures,” Cherise explains, reaching for her phone and handing it to Bucky. He fights a laugh, thankful that Steve’s wife has managed to get Cherise interested in the room again. He simply thought that with all their advanced technology and staff, it was probably safer than a hospital. He only wanted the best, should the delivery be difficult as he remembers it being with their daughter.

             While Cherise is in the tub and their daughter is tucked in, Bucky sneaks the pillow out of the closet and starts to set it up on Cherise’s side of the bed. By the time she comes out of her bath, she’s having trouble keeping her eyes open. And when she looks to find a large lump under the quilt, she cocks an eyebrow at Bucky. He only smiles wide as she feels the lump, at first assuming it’s their little girl playing games with her, but when she peels the blanket back to find the pillow she had forgotten about, she gasps.

           “Where did you find this? …Why is it so warm?” she asks excitedly, pulling her towel off and crawling into their bed, allowing herself to be enveloped.

           “I had it upgraded for you, baby. So your pain doesn’t keep you awake all night.”

Cherise turns to face Bucky with a smile on her lips and tears in her eyes.

           “You’re the perfect husband.”

           “I could get used to hearing that!” Bucky laughs. She kisses him appreciatively. Cherise snuggles up to him while they start on another movie, and she only shifts a few times due to a limb falling asleep. Bucky doesn’t hear her groan in pain once. It doesn’t surprise him when Cherise falls asleep before she can catch the ending of City Lights, leaving him to sleepily press both his flesh and bionic hands to her belly and smile at the sensation of his son kicking his palms.

[solarcelest]

star gazing and shaky hands

day #1 of whumptober

It was getting colder in Gotham, crisp fall air coming in as the seasons passed. The wind picked up as the sun set, much earlier than in the summer, and the night brought in a chill. We will have to switch out our uniforms soon, Damian thought. The summer ones will be too thin for Gotham’s brittle nights. Pennyworth will do it silently in the next week or so, so subtly that it will take Bruce a few nights to notice that he has been unknowingly wearing a thicker suit. Perhaps Pennyworth had already switched them tonight, Damian would not know and, if his father noticed, it was not something that would be said to the boy. They didn’t have meaningless, casual conversations such as that. Nothing that wasn’t related to the mission.

The sky is fairly clear, only a cloud or two visible from where Damian was sitting on the back deck. He came out shortly after dinner, just post a rather nasty fight with Father and Todd. Damian was banned from patrol as a result, forced to watch as Father and his brothers filed into the cave to suit up. It was a rarity these days for the entire family to be in the same place and in good enough health to patrol together, and Damian was being forced to miss it. It bothered him a great deal and caused a spark of something, he would never admit to jealousy, flair in his chest.

He clenched his shaking fists.

He looked up at the sky again. It was a calm and clear night and still, he could count the number of stars visible on his two, small hands. It was nothing like the quilt of never ending lights he had been used to seeing in the desert.

Damian laughs, a hollow, reminiscent laugh. It’s funny, how a year ago Damian would have thought of Nanda Parbat as his home. Would have referred to Talia as his mother. It’s even more funny that it took him eleven years to figure her out, to uncover her real motives. Perhaps it’s insane that he thinks all that to be comical, but Damian isn’t so sure he’s too far from insane anymore. Too many runs in with the Joker. Too many threats from his mother for him to keep his sanity. He had experienced death a time too many to hold onto any real sense of reality.

Damian laughed again as his nails dig into his palms. His hands shook with the pressure.

Damian couldn’t comprehend why it was him that was always cast away, why he was the one that blood on his hands before he was three. He wanted to get rid of the feeling of having the weight of two great legacies on his shoulders. He wanted to get rid of the feeling of an empty heart, of having an endless void in his chest. Of not having anyone who truly loved him.

There was a scratch behind him, followed by a whine before the door clicked open and the sound of claws against the wooden desk echoed in the night.

“Good boy, Titus.” Damian praised. It was one of the first tricks he had taught the dane, to open the door without Damian’s assistance. It was helpful, and much appreciated by Pennyworth, since the dog was much too large for a door flap and the butler had far too much on his plate already.

Another thing Damian supposed was his fault. He pressed his nails in harder, his hands shook more.

Titus whined again, nuzzling Damian’s fisted hands until the boy unclenched one. Palm up, he held it in front of Titus. The great dane whined again and licked away a drop of his owner's blood before spinning in a circle and making himself comfortable besides Damian, who looked back up at the stars.

“You would have loved the compound.” Damian told Titus, who rested his head on the boy’s lap in return. “There was so much space to run and explore.” Damian continued, stroking the dogs ears. “And the night sky, it was so beautiful. When I was little I used to look out my bedroom window and wonder if Father was looking at the same stars.”

“There was one time, I don’t remember how old I was, but I wished on one. I asked to meet father, I wished that I wouldn’t have to kill anyone else. I didn’t want to hurt people anymore.” Damian paused, sniffling.

“I wished for a dog too, you know.” He said. “A large one, good for defense and training. One that was smarter than the majority of people so that I would be able to talk to him and know that even though he couldn’t speak back to me, he was listening. I guess… I guess that part was because I didn't have anyone else to talk to.”

Damian unclenched his other hand, blood warm and sticky on his palm. He wiped his running nose on his sleeve.

“There was another wish too.” He whispered after a moment of silence. “I wanted siblings. Four of them, three brothers and one sister of whom I could train with and maybe even be permitted to enjoy other things with.”

Titus licked Damian’s hand again, swiping more drops of blood away.

“My wish came true Titus, I just wasn’t specific enough.” Titus made a sound, throaty and if Damian listened the right way, encouraging.

“I didn’t wish for love because at the time, the concept was foreign to me. It still is I suppose.”

“Mother never coddled me, not unless we were undercover for a mission and even then it was always forced and cold. Sometimes I wonder if mother knew how to love. I know Father does, I see it in the way he looks at Todd and the way he smiles at Grayson and especially how he always praises Drake.”

Damian stifled a sob, hugging Titus’ head and pressing his face into the dogs soft fur.

“Why can’t it be the same with me?” He cried.

For a moment, however brief, Damian thought about trying to wish again, on one of the few stars visible to him at that moment. But he thought against it, he wasn’t a child any longer.

Naivety, was a characteristic Damian considered fit only for a child and, even at eleven, Damian hadn’t ever thought himself a child. Still, Damian new he was naive. He looked it straight in the face every morning when he saw himself in the mirror and faced it again every night in the reflection of a dirty puddle. He saw why his father avoided him, why people didn’t trust him, why all his mother wanted out of him was a perfect soldier. He saw it in the scars on his skin. He knew, yet, he didn’t understand.

Damian was the only one that truthfully belonged there, he was the only blood son, the only one with any true rights to his father's inheritance and yet, he always felt like he was the one who least belonged. He always felt like he was the one who was least wanted.

Not that he would admit that, of course, not over his dead body.

Though…. even after the Heretic he had not admitted to it. Still would not. He didn’t need to be told that he was only needed for the mission, that Father had only brought him back because he too had needed a soldier.

Damian already knew that.

For know, he had Titus and that should have been enough, that should have been more than enough. But it wasn’t satisfactory. He needed something more, he just didn’t understand why it was so difficult for him to obtain it.

“Titus.” He whispered, voice clogged with tears and emotion. His whole body shook as he asked: “Why am I impossible to love?”

[scienceboyfriendscollegeau]

Title: Just Ask

Pairing: Bruce Banner/Tony Stark

Warnings: some swearing, some discussion of being fascinated by bombs, slight sexual innuendo, some negative self talk, mild angst but there’s a happy ending. :)

Synopsis: Bruce and Tony are grad students at Caltech where Bruce is a college DJ in the spring of 1990. Tony is a frequent caller of Bruce’s late night show, but his last call leaves Bruce with a lot of confusing feelings to sort out. 

This is a part of my 80s college AU. It will probably play out a bit differently in the scheme of things, but I was really inspired by this song (”Ask” by the Smiths) and wrote the entire thing in one sitting, so I thought i would post it to inspire myself to write more. Also if it ends up playing out differently, I don’t really want to lose this. So I hope you enjoy this oneshot and hopefully there will be more of this AU soon. :) 

Word Count: 1,809

Bruce settled in the old orange colored office chair, propping his feet on the edge of a crate of records. He flipped through the box of his favorite tapes and put in Three Imaginary Boys. He thought he’d just play the whole thing, Tony probably wasn’t listening tonight and if Tony wasn’t going to heckle him about what he played, he didn’t really care what other people thought. Though Bruce would have been lying if he said he didn’t sometimes play a particularly poppy or techno sounding song just so Tony would tease him. The Cure’s debut record wasn’t really mock worthy, but it wasn’t critically acclaimed either. It was kind of weird and rough and had been mostly been ignored. If Bruce had been talking to Tony he would have added “like me” in his classic self-deprecating way, that didn’t seem to make Tony uncomfortable like it did everybody else. Tony was somehow encouraging even when he was teasing and razzing him. Bruce never felt ashamed for the things he said about himself when they were together, but somehow ended up leaving conversation liking himself a little more or at least laughing more than usual.

Bruce shook his head and exhaled heavily. He hadn’t come here to think about Tony. He had come here because, well, he had been every Wednesday from 1:30-3:30AM for the past five months. Even if no one listened this late, he had requested this time slot to DJ and felt obligated even if no one would notice if he stopped. Anyway, he enjoyed it.

It wasn’t like he and Tony were even fighting. It had just been...different lately and he hadn’t seen him since Friday. Bruce tried his best to shake all his thoughts away and pulled out his homework and zoned out to the abrasive yet jaunty sounds of his favorite band in their garage state.

“No sound. No clocks. No people.. Stop. Short. Grinding halt. Everything’s coming to a grinding halt.”

When Side A ended Bruce didn’t bother to flip the tape right away, opting to finish the page he was reading instead. It was already 2AM, the only people listening were probably drunk and busy doing something more stimulating. Bruce jumped a little when the silence was interrupted by the loud ring of the studio phone.

“Hey, Mr Tamborine Man, will you play a song for me?”

It was Tony. Full of energy and spice like always. Even at two in the morning. Especially at two in the morning. Before Bruce could say “you’re on the air” Tony kept talking

“I like your new Avant-garde approach to radio, but if I could interrupt Simon and Garfunkel for a moment, I’d like to dedicate this one to someone special.” When Tony said ‘someone special’ his words oozed with romance and playful flirtation and it almost made Bruce’s stomach turn with a mix of anxiety, attraction and jealously.

“I’ll play anything you like…” Bruce said, his voice calm and casual and in complete contrast to how he felt. He closed his eyes tight and thanked himself for not saying “do” instead of “play.”

“You like the Smiths: Cousin Brucie?”

“Don’t call me that, I can’t afford a law suit on a grad student’s pay…” Bruce paused to smile and shake his head a little, Tony could almost hear it “but you know I do”

“Well there’s a song I think really fits this situation I’m in….it’s a single they put out a few years ago….Ask… I’d like to dedicate to my...lab partner. I think we’ve gotten a lot closer, but they won’t give me the go ahead, and I’m just not sure where we stand…”

Bruce suddenly felt warm and that awful drop in his stomach again. Lab partner? Tony had a lab partner? Who?

He continued in his cool, even voice; that didn’t even have a hint of the rejection (no matter how irrational) and panic he was feeling.

“Sure, of course, the Smiths 1988 single “Ask” coming right up. I hope your lab partner’s pulling an all nighter.”

He hung up the phone and found the tape and started to play it, listening intently trying to picture who Tony was talking about. Tony always joked that they were lab partners, but it was just a joke. Bruce helped him with physics sometimes because it was one of the few things that didn’t come completely naturally to him, but they didn’t actually have any classes together. Who was he talking about? They didn’t really do lab partners in grad school…did they?

The jaunty, island-y guitar reminiscent of Paul Simon filled the airwaves. It was one of the Smith’s happier sounding songs, something that had done intentionally to off-set a the previously politically leaning single.

“Shyness is nice, and, Shyness can stop you, From doing all the things in life, You'd like to”

Tony was never shy. Bruce didn’t think shy girls..or boys..were really his type.

“So, if there's something you'd like to try

If there's something you'd like to try

Ask me, I won't say no, how could I?”

It sounded like Morrissey was trying to get his significant other to be more adventurous. In bed probably. Was Tony seeing someone? And didn’t bother to tell him? Bruce took a deep death and tried not to feel hurt. It wasn’t any of his business, really. He had just thought they were closer than keeping those kind of things from each other, but then again, Tony had so many friends and Bruce had one other good friend, he was probably over estimating the closeness of their friendship. It had happened before.

“Ask me, ask me, ask me,

Ask me, ask me, ask me

Because if it's not love

Then it's the bomb, the bomb, the bomb, the bomb, the bomb, the bomb, the bomb

That will bring us together”

The bomb. And when it finally hit Bruce it did feel kind of like a bomb.

Of course. Why else would Tony request the Smiths? Tony didn’t even like the Smiths. He said they were sad and boring. A point Bruce had neither agreed or disagreed with, but had simply shrugged in response to and said he couldn’t really explain why but he loved them anyway. Everything was suddenly starting to make sense. It felt like the turning point from when Burce was just learning Physics to when he really started to know and understand it.

“the bomb would bring us together.” From the very beginning it had always been bombs that brought them together. It was a dark secret understanding that only they shared. They both knew that it was their fate to work on them for the rest of their lives and were both darkly fascinated and horrified by them at the same time.

Bruce started frantically going through his tapes and records, trying to find the perfect follow-up. Something to let him know. He did want to ask Tony. There were lots of things he would like to try with him. Everything. Anything. All at once.

Bruce pretended that he only cared about work, but he was really just a horny, lovesick bastard underneath it all and he had been for months ever since he and Tony had started spending long, late nights together. He could still remember the first time Tony had called in at the radio to complain about the lack of “barn burners” he was playing.

“If you’re listening to the radio this late, you’re trying to stay AWAKE.” He had ranted to him, while pushing him to play more AC/DC. Bruce had been annoyed at first, but even before they had met in person, he had started secretly looking forward to his calls and requests. Then one day after class, this gorgeous brunette with a smile to kill over, tapped him on the shoulder and asked “are you the night radio guy on Wednesday’s that plays all the goth techno shit?” and the rest had been history.

Bruce went for the Cure automatically and then stopped. No, Tony had chose his language, Bruce had to at least meet him half way. And he couldn’t pick something like Orchestral Maneuvers in the fucking Dark. He flipped through the classic rock, and the punk side of New Wave, frantically trying to find something appropriate. He paused at the Blondie record, not fully able to remember what he liked on it. He flipped it over. “Atomic” was written in yellow cursive. Bruce had never put a record on so fast. Perfect.

As the Smiths winded down, he pressed the “on air” button. “this one goes out to my lab partner.” And with that he let the needle drop on the record, turned off the lights and locked the door.

“Make me tonight, tonight, make it magnificent, tonight”

“Atomic.”

.............

The warm Californian spring air whizzed by as Bruce peddled his bike as fast as he could down to Tony’s apartment. The streets were empty and everything was quiet except for the faint sound of some undergrads’ drunken shouting in the distance. He skidded to a stop on the sidewalk below Tony’s apartment. Tony’s bedroom light was still on.

Bruce paused. He didn’t usually put himself in situations like this. There was still a chance he has misinterpreted everything, but there still seemed to be a bigger chance that he had been being an oblivious idiot for awhile and Tony had been trying his best to patiently spell things out for him. He leaned his bike against the railing, took a deep breath, and ran up the stairs, like he was in one of the romantic comedies he not so secretly loved.

Before he could even knock on the door, it swung open to reveal Tony’s trademark cocky grin.

“I’m really digging your new hands off approach to DJ-ing, Banner.”

Bruce laughed, still out of breath from the bike ride over. “Tony…Tony!” he stammered, finding it difficult to even hear himself, his heart was beating so fast and loud in his ears. “Tony, I want...I want to ask you…”

“You don’t even have to ask” And there was that sly, but warm smirk that made some guys want to punch him, but made Bruce want to do a whole variety of different things.

Tony’s lips were still at first, when Bruce’s met his, surprised that Bruce had made his move so fast. Tony felt one hand on the small of his back and the other grasping at his hair, but before Bruce could pull away, thinking he had made some kind of terrible mistake, Tony bit his lip and pulled him back in, not hesitating to deepen the kiss with his tongue. He pulled on Bruce’s shirt, guiding him out of the door way, and kicked the door shut loudly.

He knew Bruce was a sucker for cheesy romantic comedies.

[camsthisky]

Is it bad that I'd rather have had Tim be Dick's support character in this arc instead? Bab's is doing okay (she's got her solo and appearences in other stuff like Bruce's wedding specials and guest appearances). I mean, I hate what DC has done to Tim but if Percy could write him just a little more like his pre 52 days then I'd appreciate seeing the two be bat bros on missions again (okay at least I wouldn't have to worry about Dick and Bab's being dragged through the romance gutter).

It’s not bad. I honestly wish it was a direction they’d taken, because it would put Tim in another series besides ‘tec, and we have been severely lacking in Tim and Dick’s relationship lately. They need a chance to resolve the tension that’s still between them. A chance to get back to where they were before Damian and Jason came into the picture again.

Because Dick basically came back from Spyral and then Tim “died”, and that was it! And then he comes back and Dick’s practically just blowing past it, and I’d really like for comics to backpedal a little and give us a proper relationship between the two, like what we got preboot.

And maybe I wouldn’t mind Percy’s run too much if it had Tim in it, because then it really would read more like old canon. But the problem with that is, as a friend said, Percy “just approached that straight up like a 90s era fanfic,” and I’m just straight up annoyed with the entire thing, because it is so reminiscent of old 90s era content, and I feel like the Nightwing Seeley and Humphries presented us with fits the vision Percy’s trying to get us to see. If we’d started out this way, maybe I wouldn’t have cared, but he’s changing the character mid-series.

Back to Tim and Babs, one of the things that I wasn’t quite expecting was the Orcale-era vibe I got from Babs, and (while I love Oracle Babs) that’s not how she’s being written in current comics canon, and it’s disconcerting. I think if Tim had been written in place of Babs, as Dick’s support, maybe it wouldn’t have been as jarring, because Tim’s relatively new in Rebirth. The only comics he’s really been in is ‘tec, so this would give Percy a chance to give the readers a view of Tim that we haven’t seen since preboot days. It might have been less of a jolt, too, to have Tim there, because we’re not used to Babs being Oracle anymore, but Tim’s a whole other ballgame. 

I’m pretty sure that this is just a clump of thoughts thrown together, and this could have been worded a lot better, but this is where I’m at right now.

Let. Dick. And. Tim. Be. Brothers.

[vadhnatta]

Justice League Rant

Have you ever been to a movie where you hoped it would be decent, despite assorted warning signs, but then you end up having a CinemaSins track running through your head the entire time as you slowly crush the empty box of concession stand candy and wonder if it actually is possible to murder a man with the force of sheer hatred, disgust, and a growing tension headache? Because that was this movie. I could have been sleeping. I could have been working on my projects due next week. I haven’t really seen many DC movies, or been invested in their world at all, but I saw Wonder Woman and loved it and Diana was featured prominently in the trailer, which looked pretty good, so I figured, hey, maybe they actually figured out how to make a good character and can keep this momentum going for a bit. It won’t be as good as Wonder Woman, but I could at least probably see Diana be a badass for a bit, and Aquaman looks like a decently amusing character. I saw a few episodes of the Flash TV series and that wasn’t awful. Maybe this will be okay.

No.

No it’s not.

I’m mostly waiting for the Excedrin to kick in so I can take a nap before diving back into a project with a program that has most of its documentation in Polish (which I do not speak), so this isn’t going to be a detailed or coherent meta analysis of all the points wrong with this film, or how I’m not sure there wasn’t a woman under the age of 60/over the age of 10 that wasn’t immediately sexualized, or how Joss Whedon should never be allowed within 30 feet of a woman apparently. But here’s a list of thoughts that went through my head while I watched this, for amusement and catharsis, because Wonder Woman was a fluke, Patty Jenkins and Gal Gadot both deserved better, and DC Comics is incapable of having nice things.

((Spoilers, obviously))

--I heard beforehand that there were four ass-shots of Diana, all added in by Joss Whedon, and I was hoping that was an exaggeration or not horribly noticeable, but yeah. I actually think there were more than four, but I didn’t count. 

--On the ass-shot note, at first I didn’t think Diana was wearing underwear under her skirt because we saw her ass cheek. Yeah. But she was. It’s dark blue. I know that because we saw up her skirt again, multiple times. 

--People tried to say the bikini armor was only in a flashback. No it wasn’t. They lied to us. We get to see Amazon warriors crushed to death under large stone gate things, straining to hold it up for their queen to run underneath it like that one bit from Prince Caspian, except with women in metal bikinis. 

--You know how the Amazons all had really cool armor that wasn’t super sexualizing based on actual ancient armor forms and construction techniques? Nope. Now they have similar highly-stylized banded chestplates like Diana’s, form-fitted around their boobs, and about half of those come in bikini form! Because variety!

--The Amazons can’t leave their island??? Um. But the entire reason they didn’t leave in Wonder Woman was because Hippolyta didn’t want to sacrifice her warriors for a war that wasn’t theirs, not because they physically couldn’t leave the island? So there’s an attack on their home, many warriors slain, and the only thing they can do at all is light a fucking signal fire??? They are way better than this.

--Did they actually kill Hippolyta’s wife/partner? Because that’s how that scene read to me. Fuck you movie.

--At least they didn’t actually destroy all of Themyscira. I’ll take my small victories there because I was convinced they were going to take my favorite part of Wonder Woman and burn it the first chance they got.

--How did they light this fire? Where was this temple? It’s obviously visible to the rest of the world, so it’s not on Themyscira. Was that a magic bow that could fire across dimensions? How could you aim it? I’m so confused by this scene. It’s one temple on fire, how did you know it would make the news and Diana would also happen to be watching the news when they ran that story, that’s hardly the biggest news story out there.

--So Diana had lightning powers. Or did the final battle of Wonder Woman not actually happen now. You know, the bit where she shot a giant lightning bolt thing out of her bracers. Vaporized a god. That. So, why the fuck is the only thing her bracer boosh move is good for now is creating a small shockwave to knock people back. It does nothing.

--Also, “we need an electric charge to shock the cube so we can activate the resurrection bullshit.” “Okay, so we need the Flash to run really fast down a hallway to build up electricity and poke the cube at exactly the right moment. That’s the best and simplest way to do this. I mean, it’s not like we have a literal daughter of the god of lightning bolts that has enough lightning powers to vaporize a god standing right next to us, where she could make lightning.”

--I thought the whole point of this movie was an Avengers-style team up where they actually worked together to take down the evil guy. But they just teamed up to bring back Superman, distract the bad guy long enough for Superman to show up, then Superman handles it. So. You just proved the point that you’re all worthless without Superman. 

--Rich isn’t a superpower, how are you not dead yet Batman.

--Batman is bitter/jealous/??? because Clark is more human than him for... getting a job and living a middle-class lifestyle when he didn’t have to? Bruce. You could do that. You too can put on glasses and go get a day job. You could give away all your money and go live on a farm and be a reporter or whatever. Like. That’s an option for you. Being rich isn’t a handicap.

--Aquaman I don’t care what you are or that you’re Legolas-surfing on a bug-orc, if you fall from hundreds of feet in the air, you die. At the very least your legs should be shattered. 

--Also, I have to agree with Batman on that one, you literally just brought a trident. You. You’re powers are water-related. Yeah, you have combat abilities apparently on par with Amazons, but. You couldn’t have steered this fight towards a lake? Brought some water with you? I feel like you could have been more effective in this fight somehow.

--I actually liked Aquaman for a good bit during this film. He came across kind of like Thor did to me early on, but with more whiskey and less ties to his home. I can totally get behind the vigilante merman defender of this town that rescues fishermen and hangs out at bars and randomly wanders into the ocean. He felt nicely reminiscent of old mythology stories for a bit there.

--But then the plane scene. Yeah, good points about how Batman doesn’t have a superpower, Flash is just tripping over his feet and slamming into walls all the time, and Cyborg may or may not be controlled by the cube things, or at least not have full control of his powers, agreed. But your point on Diana was “you’re gorgeous”, then increased rambling, leading into more rambling motivated by the lasso. You were actually doing okay, you didn’t need the sexist bullshit. It seemed like Atlanteans and Amazons fought, but still respected each other as powerful warrior cultures (at the very least, they seemed really similar), and she’s the one that’s actually shown the most effectiveness and power in fighting so far. So what the fuck.

--Did we really need the disparity between the male and female Atlantean armor. Did we really need the boobplate.

--Can Atlanteans not talk underwater? They live underwater. Do they need to create air bubbles every time they want to say anything? 

--What are Cyborg’s powers exactly? Anything electronic/machine related? Regenerating machine(??) body parts? Can he change his limbs into anything? Does he need fuel? What is his deal, idk. 

--”The plane won’t fly that fast (to get across the world in under a few hours).” Cyborg: “It will for me.” ...I don’t. That’s. That’s not how planes work. Or can you expand your entire body/infinitely-shapeshifting limbs to cover the entire plane so it won’t fall apart from higher speeds than it was meant to fly at. Can you just restructure the engines, or reshape the plane to make it more aerodynamic. Are you just going to merge with the plane and turn it into an SR-71 Blackbird. Is that the plan here. BECAUSE THAT’S NOT HOW PLANES WORK. YOU CAN’T JUST TELL IT TO GO FASTER BECAUSE YOU HACKED IT WITH MAGIC SHIT.

--Why is there an egg thing around the town for a few minutes. I don’t. Is that a bug thing? That’s not what the cube did in the flashback. 

--What’s with the purple tendril rock things? It looks sort of like the Crystal Dragon landscaping stuff from GW2. Idk. How that fits.

--So. I’m sure Superman can pick up a building and he’s strong enough for that. But. I don’t think that’s how buildings work? Like if you put the entire weight of the building supported by two hands in the middle, especially an apartment structure that large/wide, it’s probably going to collapse at the ends. Unless Superman also has magic forcefield building-holding powers, idk, maybe he does, what do I know.

--I’m really not sure what was going on with this bad guy, but he looked like a frost giant from Thor, mixed with the plot-line of Pitch Black from Rise of the Guardians. Literally both movies ended the same way. Also not sure how nothing seemed to hurt him, how does something get more powerful than all the armies, when did this become Lord of the Rings? Was he supposed to be Sauron? 

--How did they all just. Forget the cube. When Superman woke up. You just. Left the apocalypse-causing mcguffin in the empty plane. Unguarded. What. Did the DM just rush the party out of the room without letting any of the players say anything about taking the thing with them because he wanted to progress the story in a certain way? Because I’ve had that happen, that’s plausible, but. 

--Why was calling Lois to handle newly-resurrected Superman not the first plan? I mean, protect her, obviously, in case he has no memories at all, but. That seems like the obvious first plan. Wake him up, have Flash waiting to get her out of there quickly if something goes wrong and Diana standing with her (not with armor and sword and everything out looking ready for battle), and talk to him? Don’t immediately trigger a threat response because he’s disoriented and confused and why are battle-ready people staring at him?

--Why did Diana always need her sword to fight? She even jumped down the reactor thing to get her sword back. What’s so special about this sword? It’s not the Godkiller sword, that was destroyed in the last movie by Ares. So. It’s a regular sword, presumably. She has lots of them. Bring an extra.

--Also Diana can use other weapons. She trained with Amazons, she can wield all the weapons.

--I almost left to go to the bathroom during the final climactic fight. Because I had no investment in this film, and the only thing that kept me there was the last shred of a chance that Diana could at least do something cool during this fight. She didn’t. She swung her sword at the bad guy, which didn’t do anything, made a shockwave a couple times. She broke his axe after Superman froze it. Wow. 

--Is that really it? Was his power all in his axe? This really is Sauron.

--So did the cubes just vaporize when they separated? Didn’t happen last time. But we don’t see them anymore. So. Are they not a threat? Also “big power surge” on separation really seemed like it should be more than that. It knocked Superman and Cyborg back by a foot or so and onto their backs (also how did they both handle that the same way, I don’t care if you have magically regenerating metal, I’m pretty sure you’re not as explosion-resistant as Superman). And the rest of the team didn’t seem to feel it at all, and they were in the same complex. I thought power surge on separating this planet-destroying nuclear bomb of a power core would at least take out that town.

--Why. Did it make flowers? I’m. Really confused by the terraforming at the end. I think they tried to frame it earlier as a life-regenerating thing that just worked so fast it destroyed everything, but. That’s not really an explanation. Also don’t stick your face in that small child, the bright colors probably mean it will kill you. Also alien plants. Probably going to completely fuck up the ecosystem for a good while. But sure, it’s pretty so it’s fine.

--Oh, and the boob-faceplant did happen. She was facing away from the camera, so I easily believe the body-double story because they were so fucking desperate to have this happen.

--Was the Flash always an idiot? I feel like his entire character was just played for laughs as the dumb one because he was younger/less experienced, which is disappointing. Seriously, who meets Batman and the first thing you talk about is that you don’t understand people because they’re on a different frequency/slow, and what is brunch?? 

I’m sure there’s a lot more, but those are the things that immediately came to mind, so. Save yourself the headache. Don’t see this movie. Just go watch Wonder Woman again. Or Thor: Ragnarok, that one was good.

EDIT: WAIT I HAVE MORE.

--Fuck you Bruce you little shit, you have no right to call out Diana for not superheroing all the time. First of all, we’ve already seen her on multiple occasions out helping people, like the opening of the film where she saves a bunch of people from that terrorist group, and whatever happened in BvS. Second, she didn’t leave her home and everyone she loved to help clean up your shit or put up with you, she specifically left to stop WW1 and kill Ares. Guess what. She did it. She did her explicit mission, and then stayed to help when she wanted to because she’s a good person. Yeah, I think she gets to “shut down” for however long she fucking wants to after the person she cared most about outside of Themiscyra died and she had to deal with the entire “no, men actually suck and will go to war and commit atrocities because it’s their nature” thing she had to come to terms with, WHILE STILL STAYING AND FIGHTING FOR THEM ANYWAY. She has no obligations to you, you do not own her attention or her help, yes Barry, we would all cover for her if she murdered your ass for antagonizing her and insinuating that she has done anything wrong in her life.

--Also, what have you done huh? You dress up like a bat in your costume and run around the city because you like an adrenaline rush and want to feel cool taking down criminals. Sure, you donate to charity, whoopdee-fucking-do. You could probably buy a country. You have so much money. What were the stats on how much money it would take to end world hunger? 5% of what the US spends on their military budget or something? Less? You probably have more money than that. You want to do something more than cosplay with it??

[soulmate-game]

New fic *test*

New Bio!dad Bruce story? I’m testing out this first chapter, and if I like where it’s going I might add it to my growing pile of WIPs. If I have inspiration, I might as well use it. Because of life events stressing me the hell out, I’m throwing any writing plans out the window and I’m purely gonna write to destress right now. Whether that means updating THG or not, or continuing Maribat March, we’ll just have to see how this all pans out. Things are subject to day-to-day change.

I got inspiration from this from rereading my day 1 story for Bio!dad Bruce Wayne month from last year. I’m just gonna change a few things.

—*—*—*—*—*

For once, an unfamiliar face attracted the attention of everyone who caught even a glimpse of them. It wasn’t even because of the person themselves at first, but their dress. The skirt like the most fantastical of storybook ball gowns, fluffy layers of satin over a luxurious petticoat, with a stunning pink floral pattern whose busy appearance was tastefully offset by a shorter, sheer layer of leaf green tulle artistically weaved and somehow sculpted over the floral in order to tame it. The effect turned what should be a grandmotherly pattern into something softer, sophisticated and youthful and yet also reminiscent of fairytale princesses. Over top the short layer of green tulle was an even shorter later of white tulle, almost invisible except for the elegant embroidery of crystal-white vines that twined all over it, connecting the green below it to the bottom-most floral pattern and oddly adding a layer of childishness instead of maturity. At the waist of the dress was a dark plum pink satin ribbon, to separate the elaborate ballgown skirt from the bodice. Attached to the simple ribbon was a large brooch of fabric flowers, with a single plastic ladybug in the center.

The bodice of the dress came up into a cheongsam neckline, but was sleeveless. It was a simple design, of half green and half dark pink, with a white border separating the two. The white border had expertly done embroideries in a soft silver thread that would only be visible close up, the images the thread made being that of fairies and ladybugs dancing around one another.

It was, all in all, a stunning display that made the small eurasian woman wearing them look like absolute royalty. Perhaps a long lost fairy princess. Her black-blue hair was even done up in elaborate looping braids and a braided bun, with silver and green pins that further completed the regal ensemble. And yes, while the expertly done dress was what initially captivated her current audience, it was not what kept them from leaving her alone. That was all her personality, bubbly and bright as her blinding smile. It was a sunny disposition that very few people present had any exposure to at all, and it drew them like a sunflower to the daylight. They could not help but flock closer, or even just stand back and keep themselves turned to her presence. Already she had been at the gala for two hours, but there was no issue. She just kept proving her generosity, admitting she had donated both a dress and a suit of her own making to the charity auction that would begin soon, one of the main attractions of the gala. She skillfully charmed the more snooty of the attendants, and artfully twisted her words so that they felt compelled to donate more money that they truly had no use for. Later, they would remember their donation and wonder what compelled it, but come up with no satisfying answer.

And yet she was entirely unaware of her more silent audience, who stood back and observed. Truth be told, every one of them was glad to not be the center of that attention for a change, to have room to breathe for so long at an event where usually that commodity was so scarce that it demanded a fierce competition for. Compared to her garden of color, they were all shadows in shades of blacks and blues and whites, with a touch of red here and there that was entirely too thematic for their home city. The one who sported a royal blue suit tilted his head at the scene they were all calmly witnessing, his bright azure eyes glittering.

“She’s like magic,” he mused, clearly enchanted despite having not said a single word to the woman. “Perfect socialite. She’s kind, generous, she made that dress and the ones she donated to the auction herself so she’s obviously got an intimidating amount of skill for her age. She even tricks those old fuddy-duddies into spending money. It’s like a dream come true!”

“I don't trust it,” the one to his right said, a man just a few inches shorter in a classic black suit with a red dress shirt underneath. He absently swept his bangs away from his face as he narrowed his eyes at the woman. “It seems too perfect. She doesn’t have any identifiable character flaw, except maybe being a little clumsy and too energetic. She does babble a little… but nothing that actually suggests any depth besides her just being— good. That’s impossible, and I don’t trust it.”

“Tt. I agree with Drake for once. She seems entirely too comfortable with this setting, despite her blushes and rambles,” the one who spoke this like was taller, clearly a teen in the middle of his growth spurt. He, too, wore a plain black suit but his had subtle charcoal embroidery and he wore an emerald-green dress shirt under it that made his matching eyes gleam dangerously. “It seems almost playacted. Expertly so, but nonetheless not entirely genuine.”

“Wow, not many pick up on that. I’m gonna give your observations a solid eight out of ten. They’re all perfectly sound, but not quite complete,” a new voice made all of the silent group stiffen— somehow they had been snuck up on. The newcomer smirked at them as if having fully expected their reaction but still being pleased at being able to evoke it. This was yet another stunner; far too much color in her outfit to be a Gotham native, and far too much skill in the construction for it to signify anything less than extreme influence. She had bright golden-blond hair that was coiled into a low bun, with her bangs artfully curled and arranged to display her crystal blue eyes.

In contrast to the garden-themed dress of the Eurasian woman who had garnered their attention at first, this newcomer was wearing a pantsuit. It was all in a dark honey-gold, in a stiff fabric with construction that made it lay entirely in perfect, straight lines and hug her form in the right places. Black embroidery decorated the long, flared sleeves and pant legs and dripped around the square neckline like a faux necklace. A cape made out of the same material as the rest of the pantsuit was draped on one shoulder. It started out as the same honey-gold color, but it became a gradient as it faded to a solid black at the ends. Gold thread embroidery decorated the solid black bottom of the cape in delicate, deceptively simplistic swirls. The top half of the pantsuit was clearly inspired by military garb, simultaneously rigidly constructed yet fitted, with circular onyx buttons going down the center of the chest and a thick metal belt, all in swirling silver and black, sat perfectly clasped around her waist. It was far more solid-colored and simplistic compared to the fairytale dress in the center, but no less show stopping and luxurious. It simply showcased an entirely different attitude, almost as if the two women could never get along if their personalities matched their outfits.

“And who are you?” The man who had been the center of the group of shadow-like adults spoke up, back straightening to milk every speck of his generous six-feet-and-three-inches of height. This was none other than Bruce Wayne, the host of this annual charity gala. And normally, his current stance would either intimidate or utterly charm whoever it was directed at— but not this pantsuit-clad blond warrior. Her smirk merely widened, and her blue eyes took on a slight shade of teal as if trying to mimic the dangerous ocean depths.

“I am Chloe Bourgeois, the daughter of Andre Bourgeois, the mayor of Paris, and Audrey Bourgeois, the Style Queen. It’s nice to meet you again, Monsieur Wayne,” she introduced herself imperiously. “I also happen to be the best friend of the girl you were just staring at.”

Bruce nodded, but had trouble reconciling this clear powerhouse of a woman with the bratty and entitled preteen he had met years ago, at the last gala she had attended with her mother. “Of course, I didn’t recognize you at first Chloe. You’ve grown a lot since the last Gala I saw you at.”

Chloe wrinkled her nose, clearly not appreciating the reminder. “I was a bitch,” she admitted easily, seemingly not at all bothered by the confession. It caused not only Bruce but also the oldest three of his sons, who had all also met her in the past, to blink in silent shock. “Things have changed. Paris is apparently the perfect chaotic environment right now to promote emotional growth and smack spoiled kids over the head with reality,” she shrugged. Part of the reason her and her whole class had even been able to come to the Gala in the first place was the fact that Bruce wanted to offer the most attacked group of Parisians a respite and some support from their crazy lives. The fact that even Gotham seemed sane in comparison to Paris was a bit of a hard hit for both involved parties, but in the end everyone understood that “more sane” didn’t always equate with “less dangerous.” Considering all that, Chloe had no reason to sugarcoat the situation in her home city. “But it wasn’t easy at all, and Marinette was largely responsible for my improvement too.”

“Marinette?” The heathen who somehow got away with attending a gala in a black leather jacket over a dress shirt and suit pants asked, raising a brow. Chloe nodded.

“The girl you were just goggling at. Marinette Dupain-Cheng, the class president and resident workaholic. Does she ever sleep? Nobody knows,” Chloe shrugged.

The blue-suited man, Dick Grayson, shot a suspicious glance at Tim, who was standing to his right, as if he was worried his brother had made a female clone of himself just so he could continue to work hard and never rest. Tim ignored him and sipped from the thermos of coffee he had somehow snuck in.

Bruce cleared his throat to bring the focus back onto himself, and shot his most charming smile at Chloe. “They would have known who she was, if they had read the brief information I gave them about your class. But they never do listen to me,” he complained with good humor. “But back to the original topic, Miss Bourgeois, do you care to correct us on how our observations are lacking?”

Chloe laughed easily, smiling and nodding to indicate Marinette, still stuck in a circle of socialites and not seeming the least bit worn out.

“Of course. First; She is not completely acting. She really is like magic sometimes— disgustingly kind, generous, far too willing to help just about anyone for just about any reason. She’s one of the best people I’ve ever met, as much as it pains me to admit it. But she is exaggerating her personality a bit and hiding the parts she doesn’t want anyone to see, so there is a little acting involved. Just not as much as you seem to think,” Chloe then waved her arm in a flourish as if she were presenting Marinette to them. “In short; behold Mari Dupain-Cheng, the ridiculously likeable, disgustingly cute, extremely philanthropic mask that she shows everyone at public events like this. You don’t see any of the insomnia, or the anxiety, or the self doubt. Just the parts she wants you to see, accompanied with a smile to blind you to everything else,” her all-too-deep blue eyes settled back on Bruce then, a knowing glint shining in them. “Don’t you think that’s ridiculously similar to Brucie Wayne for you, Monsieur? Utterly, ridiculously, similar?”

Bruce grit his teeth. He hadn’t expected anyone else to know about his exceptionally well hidden secret, not even his kids had caught on or found his buried evidence yet. Yet his heiress comes up, nearly flaunting her knowledge in his face with all too many unspoken questions and criticisms.

And her cryptic words had succeeded in making all of his kids look at him with extreme suspicion. Shit.

“What are you saying, Miss Bourgeois?” he cautiously prodded. She hummed noncommittally before dropping the bomb all too casually;

“I’m saying I’ve seen her adoption papers, and you won’t be able to run from her for long Monsieur Wayne. As soon as she gets an opening, she’s going to pounce,” Chloe’s eyes glittered dangerously again. “And nowadays, Marinette doesn’t ever let people escape her. Your problem with adoption has created a rather unique problem, you know. You’re at fault for a large majority of her self confidence issues, and I want you to know that I am not going to forget or forgive that anytime soon.”

“Bruce,” Jason’s voice was dark and threatening. “What is she talking about?”

“Something we don’t want getting in the tabloids,” Yet another new voice popped up, allowing Chloe to smugly sink back into the background.

Somewhere during their discussion, Marinette had ambushed them.

“Chloe and I are very good at locating all the reporters in a room and distracting them, but we’re not infallible and this event has far too much coverage,” Her smile reeked confidence and charm, but this close all the Waynes could see the doubt hiding in her bluebell eyes. “Since I’m about to turn eighteen, I figured this would be as good a time as any to finally confront you. I want to make it clear that I seek nothing from you, except the occasional contact. I would like to keep in touch, if nothing else. But if you are adverse to that… then at least answer my questions after the gala,” her eyes developed a hint of carefully controlled desperation. “Please.”

Bruce met her eyes evenly, trying to read her. But she was difficult, simultaneously too many emotions to sort through in her demeanor and much too little. After an extremely tense moment of silence, his voice came out barely above a whisper:

“You do not want anybody to know?”

And hell, if she didn’t recognize the hidden vulnerability in his voice as the very same she heard in her own far too often. In a much tamer version of her own rambling, he went on:

“I can keep it silent if that is what you want. But I want you to know that I will not be adverse to you admitting it anywhere. I don’t expect you to change your name, but I would not be ashamed of the truth getting out. I am not ashamed of it, of you.”

Marinette’s smile grew a little watery. She had to clear her throat to keep herself from tearing up. “Maybe eventually, but not yet. I… I want to stay a little more anonymous for now. It’s one thing to be a well known designer with good connections. It’s an entirely different thing to be…”

“A Wayne?” Bruce finished, ignoring the daggers that were being stared into his back. “I understand completely.

“Father,” Damian’s voice was all sharp edges and rapidly suppressed panic. “What. Is going. On?”

Marinette shot him an apologetic smile. “Apparently, eighteen years ago, his prerogative was to put the child he actually knew about up for adoption when the mother died in childbirth,” her voice was once again only barely loud enough for them to hear, since she didn’t want any eavesdroppers. “Imagine my surprise when I find out he completely flipped sides only months later.”

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Hey, so please share your feedback on this. This is just to test out a possible new bio dad, multichapter fic and this is the opening scene I'm trying out. If you like it, please tell me what you like about it and please suggest titles for the story! I love you guys' feedback so much!

[hexusproductions]

Art and Snark

Title: Art and Snark Summary: Bruce runs into a familiar face at an art gallery. Jesus... Author’s Notes: I’ve wanted to do this one for a while now, actually. Enjoy!

The art gallery seems to have repaired quite well following Crazy Quilt’s last attack. Even if the people around him had known about the former blue paint and the liquid that had been red but definitely had not been paint strewn across the walls, they wouldn’t be able to tell where it had been. Unlike him, of course.

“Bruce!” Claire sauntered up to him, drunk off of praise and a little bit of champagne, “Liking the exhibition so far?”

“It’s wonderful, Claire. You truly are a gifted artist.” He chuckled, flashing a smile. Claire beamed and released her grip on his arm, no doubt trying to hide that she had been using him as a support, and went off to another group of admirers. Bruce turned his attention back to the piece in front of him, a mix of browns and greens and reminiscent of a forest.

He was happy for Claire, he really was. She’d come a long way since the last time he’d seen her, struggling to make ends meet and get an idea onto the canvas. The only problem was that he felt like he had been invited merely to attract attention to the exhibition, like a lantern in an air full of moths.

Bruce’s lips twisted into a faint smile, more genuine this time.

Still, he was happy to be here if it meant supporting a former friend.

Bruce was brought back to Earth as an athletic-looking brunette stepped beside him, wearing a short, modest, and fairly loose-fitting red dress. A silver chain hung around her neck, hair pulled up in a high ponytail, and a pair of dark sunglasses hiding her eyes.

All of this registered in the short glance up and down that Bruce gave to the woman, and he frowned slightly.

It couldn’t be, could it?

“Enjoying the exhibition?” Bruce questioned, keeping his tone conversational, and the brunette shrugged.

“Not really my kind of thing, to be honest.”

The accent was a dead giveaway, and Bruce glanced around quickly. When he looked back with a scowl, the brunette was smiling widely.

“Hiya Bruce.”

He turned his attention back to the painted canvas, making sure any passers-by would think they were discussing the art.

“What are you doing here?” Bruce hissed.

“No hello? Rude. And it’s been so long since we last saw each other.” Sorceress grinned, acting casual herself.

“Because last time you and your power-hungry partner tried to take over the theatre district.”

“First of all, he’s not hungry, he just likes it. Just like you and stormy rooftops.” Sorceress corrected, cocky all the while, “And second, it wasn’t the entire theatre district. Just a block or two.”

“So why are you here now?”

“Thought I’d come and appreciate the art. Is that a crime?”

“No, but theft is.” Bruce replied flatly, and Sorceress looked at him, nothing but that smile showing with the sunglasses still on her face.

“Compared to, what, breaking and entering? Assault? Vigilantism?”

Bruce was quiet for a moment, and Sorceress chuckled.

“Got ya, didn’t-“

“You used to enjoy it too.”

Sorceress blinked, or at least she seemed to.

“Excuse me?”

“You used to enjoy it too. Helping to stop them. Helping to stop crime.” Bruce continued, and Sorceress crossed her arms casually but with hints of a familiar defiance.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself. I enjoyed the thrill.”

“Now why do I have trouble believing you?”

Sorceress didn’t reply, staring at Bruce for a few minutes until just after he mentally decided that he was a little uncomfortable.

“Seeing you shift from Bruce voice to Batman voice to Bruce again is extremely unnerving.” Sorceress remarked. They both fell into silence as an overweight man passed behind them, nodding towards the artwork appreciatively. The silence continued after he was gone.

“So do you miss me?” Sorceress spoke eventually, smiling again. Bruce didn’t answer, and Sorceress frowned.

“You’re such a killjoy.”

“As you’ve said. Repeatedly.” Bruce replied, and Sorceress quickly pulled a face at him before looking forward again. Her arms were still crossed, but tenser than before.

“You never really liked me did you?”

Bruce didn’t answer. He could see that Sorceress was getting restless, and that could easily mean that she was about to flare up. He couldn’t let anyone get hurt.

“You know I’m not exactly the friendly type.” Bruce remarked casually.

“Yeah no kidding.” Sorceress chuckled. She paused, and Bruce looked at her.

“You didn’t do anything.” She sighed, sounding exasperated, “I left ‘cause I wasn’t happy.”

“Were you ever really capable of such a thing.”

“Oh ha ha ha, detective.” Sorceress pulled another face before shrugging, “It was mostly all the rules. You and the other heroes expected a certain mould, and I just didn’t fit.” Bruce looked at her, an eyebrow raised slightly. Sorceress saw the look, and turned her head back to the painting.

“There’s always been this,” She waved her hand, an unnoticeable gesture by itself, “And the thrill-seeking, and the adrenaline addiction.”

Bruce looked at her in surprise.

“You mean…?“

“Yep. Hopefully only a minor one, early diagnosis and everythin’.” Sorceress shrugged, before continuing, “Plus there’s a lot, a lot of anger and aggression. But again, you’d know something about that wouldn’t you?” She smiled teasingly. Bruce was admittedly a little shocked. It wasn’t surprising, but…

“You know what you’re doing isn’t right.”

“You’ve always been so stubborn.” Sorceress smiled, turning to him, “You’re thinkin’ of someone like Crane or Edward. But I don’t hurt innocent people, and my biggest crime is probably the occasional bank break in.”

“And jewellery stores.”

“That was a phase.” Sorceress retorted, “The whole new villain thing was exciting and I got a little too hyped.”

“Oh so you’ll be returning the priceless twin sapphires you stole.”

“Can’t. We sold them to Two-Face.” Sorceress said simply, then continued, “Bottom line, Bruce, I feel happier. It’s stupid and illegal, but I’m not being towed behind anyone anymore. Feels good on the soul.” Sorceress emphasized the last sentence by holding a hand over her heart. The two of them looked at each other and chuckled. Bruce rolled his eyes. She was always going to stay the same.

A man walked towards the two of them, dressed in a dark suit with a smile just as sharp. Bruce recognized him immediately and his smile faded.

“Hello, beautiful.” Music Meister put his arm around Sorceress’s waist, smile widening to a grin, “I hope Mr Wayne here hasn’t been trying to sweep you off your feet while I’ve been gone.”

The thought shared between Bruce and Sorceress was almost telepathic.

He doesn’t know. Keep it that way.

“Oh I couldn’t if I tried.” Bruce laughed, shifting back into the usual persona, “Morgan here is certainly a witty young woman, but she’s too smart to be tricked.”

“Well,” Meister chuckled, tilting her chin up towards him with a more devilish smile, “I wouldn’t know about that.”

“You’re embarrassing sometimes, y’know that?” Sorceress told him before stepping away, and Michel raised an eyebrow.

“Time to go, Morgan?” He questioned, and Bruce saw the mischievous look that passed between them. They were definitely planning something.

“Yes.” Sorceress agreed before gesturing, “You go and I’ll catch up, I still gotta say goodbye to Bruce.” Meister nodded, smiled towards Bruce, and walked away with a casual, unhurried stride. Sorceress and Bruce shook hands like they were old friends who wanted to meet at another, less formal time, before Sorceress suddenly hugged him.

“’Witty young woman’?”

“It worked, didn’t it?”

“Yeah well now you’ve got Claire the art bimbo to look forward to. You know she-“

“I don’t want to hear it.”

“Then shut up and enjoy the show.”

“You know I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

“This is so fucking weird.”

Sorceress released him, quickly hiding her discomfort. She fixed the glasses on her face and grinned before waving and walking away. Bruce watched her leave, then walked quickly through the gallery. He brushed by people and gently pushed a few more on his path towards the back exit. By the time he got to the door, a loud shout of surprise came from close by, followed by a few gasps.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I hope you’re all enjoying yourselves!”

Bruce quickly darted through the door.