#and now that the 'fic is out I can post this. yay :) Technically “Bones” was already in there but now it has a friend

[fountainpenguin]

🍒 Cherry Lane Arc

Fairly OddParents

(June 2018 - Ongoing)

Cosmo and Wanda burst into view with twin poofs beside the tree. “Timmy!” But Timmy ignored them. Keeping his arm outstretched, he looked Jorgen in the eye. His teeth ground together, his buck teeth scraping loudest of all. “Yeah, you heard me right. I’m happy, and I don’t need my fairies anymore!”

- You may also like the Pink Train arc, which precedes this one

- Romance, Angst, & Fluff

- Works related to the main FOP cast and close adjacents in their teen years: Timmy, Chloe, Kevin, Chester, A.J., Vicky, Mark, Tootie, Trixie, Sanjay, Elmer, Dale... and a quietly watching Poof

-> This arc picks up after Pink Train and focuses on humans. If you're looking for pieces centered around Poof and Foop, see Lavender Train

Summary

20 years pass between the end of Season 10 and Timmy raising Tammy and Tommy in his parents' home. Every year brings new developments, and this arc's main multichapter (Along the Cherry Lane) explores each one. Several other works fall under the designation of "main cast in their teen and adult years," so they're here too. The road to adulthood is long and bumpy, but it's about the friendships we make along the way.

☁️ This is a Cloudlands AU arc. It is not compliant with City Lights AU or the "A New Wish" spin-off. However, Dale and Hadley's arcs have been soft reset so they're the same in both AUs.

-> Hazel, Dev, and their schoolmates do not appear in this AU (except in relation to Dale or Hadley's arcs). Works that follow their journey from kidhood to adulthood are in the City Lights arc.

Any Rating - This is the "teenage growth & married lives" arc. Some works are mild while others are more intense. This arc contains flirting, dating, and sexual content.

This arc follows the "Channel Chasers" implication that Timmy had his kids young.

Read on FFN | Read this arc on AO3

130 Sums | Full 130 Prompt Series (AO3) | Other Arcs

Cloudlands AU - Detailed warnings & other AU info

#130 arc guides - More posts like this

More Fairly OddParents 'fics

Highlights of this arc:

- Timmy parts ways with his fairy family early. Chloe doesn't. Poof isn't bitter... Not even a little - Remy hides things from his parents while still living in their mansion... including the orphan child he invited to stay - Teen Dale Dimmadome in recovery (If you can call it that) - Elmer struggles against Bob for control of his body - Tootie wobbles between the lines of morality, fighting to change her life for the better all the while - Trixie garners the courage to show up for D&D night with the boys. Maybe this could work? - The unbearable lightness of raising Tammy and Tommy - Several weddings, some of which go more to plan than others - Vicky and Mark living their best(?) lives - Kevin Crocker makes an unfortunate discovery about his witch genes - Foop runs away from home... and stumbles across familiar faces - Poof watches his godbrother grow up... Very maturely and non-stalker-y, I'm sure

Read on FFN | Read this arc on AO3

"A dragon lives forever, but not so little boys... Painted wings and giant springs make way for other toys..." (x)

[lurkinglurkerwholurks]

Trapped

First posted: July 30, 2018

Focuses on: Jason Todd (and Bruce Wayne)

My favorite bookmark: "i think this is my favorite jason fic now?? shit" thank u but I've written better, please come back

Tier: Top 20 in terms of hits, kudos, and bookmarks, surprisingly

This is my "behind the scenes" series where I indulge myself horribly by annotating my fics. Link to the fic itself above. Thoughts below the cut.

Another BatFam Week entry, but this time the prompt is the title.

This one started with a very specific kinetic image of being able to feel Bruce's hand covering Jason's eyes and knowing why. Very horse blinders, but soft and dadly. From there it was just a matter of writing it.

A panicked whine whistled through the dark.

In my own fics, the use of "whine" is very "Oh hi, I've been binging fic indiscriminately for weeks and now have plunged headfirst into writing without knowing a thing about how to do it my own way." No shade on people who do use that verb. I just don't anymore, because it's not my style.

He was buried. Buried in the dark with the bugs and the worms and the dirt.

Treble parallel structures are just the best and I rely on them way too much but also I AM NOT SORRY.

He swung his arm in a panic, forearm slamming against the wall of rubble. Nothing moved, but his arm screamed, so he joined it.

☺️

That was him. Good, good, that was good, dead people didn’t know their own name, because they were dead, but he was going to be dead because he couldn’t see and couldn’t get out and oh god he was buried again—

I really hecking love stream-of-consciousness panic, though I would edit some of the commas here. They were technically, grammatically correct, but a few implied breaths Jason was definitely not taking.

Also I don't remember if it was this fic or another early one but some commenter tried to be like "capitalize that g." No. When the characters reference the deity or deliberately the name, that's God. This is god.

No matter where Jason had cried out for him—in a warehouse in Ethiopia, in a muddy grave, on the banks of the Pit—Bruce had never been here.

Listen, you might think you hate your dad, but when you're living out your worst nightmare, it's good to have him around! Like oh thank goodness AN ADULT, and not just any adult, the ADULT WHO FIXES THINGS.

Bruce’s hand tightened on his ankle.

Some things are just fun to write because it's less about imagining and more about, no, I can just tell you Bruce has his gloves on and his fingers are around Jason's ankle and the pad of his thumb is pressed to that little hollow between the ankle bone and the Achilles heel, I'm not conjuring it, that's just how it is.

It was a ludicrously heavy beam, and his muscles were already weak from panic and fading adrenaline.

I have no idea how heavy concrete with a rebar center actually is. If I were Audrey, I would have googled it and researched down to the ounce. As it is, my brain went "It's like the Little Billy scene in Rocketman, it's fine."

“I have died here,” Jason reminded him, voice teetering like a small figure on a bridge.

I pat past me on the back for that wording.

Bruce placed his hand over Jason’s eyes, sandpapery callouses rubbing across soft eyelashes and bloody skin.

Bruce has my dad's hands. Which doesn't actually make sense because Bruce is a manual labor guy and my dad's only callouses are writing callouses, but it's true.

“You’re not alone. I’m here, and I’m not leaving you.” Bruce kissed Jason’s forehead tenderly, then prompted, “Say it.”

Yay forehead kiss.

“You are not alone.” “I am not alone.”

I am not fond of dialogue-only endings (when I do them.)

Also, to pull out one of my own replies from the comments:

The hill I choose to die on is that the majority of both the strife and bliss between Bruce and Jason at any point in their lives centers on the fact that Bruce is the closest anyone has come to earning total trust from Jason. Period. So that makes every betrayal ten times worse but also means that when the chips are down, Jason will turn to Bruce. 

Another gem from the comments: my elation that @cerusee (whose work I had devoured) read AND liked this fic AND liked it well enough to text it to @audreycritter (who had not yet appeared like a Jack-in-the-Box to drag me bodily into friendship.) I tried to play it cool in the reply. I was not chill in real life.

[quickspinner]

Plausible Deniability

Written for the LBSC sprint fic challenge. If you’d like to join in follow @lovebugs-and-snakecharmers for more information!

Challenge rules:

Pick a prompt and write for that prompt in up to three 15 minute sprints. No writing outside the sprints until you have completed all three! After the 3 sprints are complete, you have 24 hours to edit (which can include some new writing to smooth transitions, etc). After those 24 hours, post what you’ve got! More information on the challenge here!

Prompt: “I love you.” “Tell me that when you’re sober.”

Soooooo technically this is a fail as far as the challenge is concerned, because I only got the bare bones of it down during the allotted sprints and then I nearly doubled the length in “editing.” But, a failed challenge still means a completed fic, so yay for that. 

“She’s trouble in a tank top pretty little time bomb, blowing up, take you down,” Luka sang loudly, causing heads to turn towards them on the street. Marinette hushed him, and he obligingly dropped to a hum. 

Marinette gritted her teeth, adjusted Luka’s arm over her shoulders, and reminded herself that she had signed up for this. Had, in fact, assured Luka over and over that she didn’t mind and that he deserved to relax and celebrate, and just drink your shots, already, Luka I’ll make sure you get home safe. All of Luka’s friends were ecstatic for him and everyone wanted to buy him a drink, so Marinette had stood her self-appointed duty, making sure he had enough water and pacing things out so that when he staggered out of the bar at the end of the night, leaning heavily on her, he was still moving mostly under his own power, though he was certainly feeling no pain. 

Drunk Luka was chatty, though, and all the thoughts that normally stayed in his head seemed to just pour out of his mouth at random (along with, apparently, every song he’d ever heard or written).

“Snakebite heart, and a bubblegum smile,” he sang, fortunately at a more reasonable volume this time. 

“You’re so ridiculous,” Marinette grumbled, but there was fondness in it. 

“You’re the best,” he giggled. “I love you.” 

Marinette rolled her eyes. “Tell me that when you’re sober.”

“I did,” Luka snorted, and then laughed his drunk laugh again. “You avoided me for weeks.”

Marinette winced and bit her lip. She hadn’t been thinking about it when she said it. It was a reflexive response at this point, something she said to all her babbling drunk friends when she saw them home at the end of the night (Nino in particular was an ‘I love you, man!’ kind of drunk). She was used to this role, though it was the first time she’d done it for Luka. It hadn’t occurred to her until just then that her usual quip might hit a little differently with him. 

“Ma’nette.” Luka leaned on her more heavily and nuzzled at her temple—sort of. Really he more just bonked their heads together. “S’okay. Don’t get all moody. S’funny.” 

“It’s not funny,” Marinette sighed. 

“Everything’s funny,” Luka grinned, and then started laughing again. Marinette just shook her head, and settled his arm a little more comfortably over her shoulders. “Sides. I’m drunk. I can say whatever I want and we can just laugh it off in the morning. You don't even have to run away this time.” He leaned his head on hers, which tilted the rest of his body towards her, and she staggered slightly under his weight. “You’re so beautiful. Just...all the time. Fuckin’ gorgeous, you know that?”

Marinette blushed hotly. “You’re drunk,” she muttered. 

“Yep,” he grinned, and then added, “Drunk but not a liar.” He kissed the top of her head before straightening. Sort of. He took some of his weight off her, at least.

Luka sighed dreamily. “S’been years since then, right? An’ the first time was years before that.” He laughed. “God, I was such a dramatic little shit. Clear as a music note, sincere as a melody. You must have thought I was so stupid.”

“I thought it was beautiful,” Marinette replied quietly. 

Luka’s arm tightened around her shoulder, pulling her against his side in a hug. “Aw, you’re so sweet. You’ve always been great that way. You get me, even when I’m dumb.” 

“Yeah,” Marinette smiled, bumping him with her hip. “But come on, Luka, you got over all that a long time ago.”

Luka started to laugh so hard he nearly toppled over, and Marinette had to plant her feet and put all her weight into keeping him upright. When she did get him back onto his feet he was wiping away tears. 

“I am drunk as hell,” he chuckled, pulling his arm away.

“You really are,” Marinette agreed with a sigh.

He faced her, one hand curling behind her head. Marinette started slightly, out of surprise rather than fear, as he leaned toward her, his eyes unnaturally bright and liquor heavy on his breath. “I’m so drunk can tell you that I never got over you. That I’m still stupid in love with you and nobody ever makes me feel the way you do. You’re one in a million, Marinette. There’ll never be another girl as fascinating and brilliant and creative as you. I knew you were special from the second we met.” He grinned, one thumb gliding over her lower lip a little more roughly than he probably meant to. “And your lips make me think like a pervert. Also your ass is really cute.” He doubled over, giggling, his hands falling away from her as he started walking again. “You ever think about my ass?” he asked, rhetorically it seemed as without waiting for a reply, he tipped his head back and looked up at the sky. “Ugh, fuckin’ city lights. I miss the stars on the boat.” He started singing again, but casually, as if to himself, instead of belting it to the sky. “She’s outta control, so beautiful. I’ve been waiting so long, but she’ll never know…”

Marinette suddenly felt like she was reeling as much as Luka. She felt hot and cold all at once. She’d had no—

Well. That wasn’t true. She had had an idea that he still felt that way, but she didn’t trust her own judgement, not after years and years of reading into things and making mountains out of molehills, and their friendship was so perfect, so precious, she hadn’t wanted to make things weird. But all this time...oh, Luka...

Luka’s lopsided path was taking him a little close to the street, so Marinette jogged a bit to catch up with his long legs, and slipped back under his arm. 

“There you are,” he sighed happily, leaning on her again. “I’m so glad you came back.” 

“Don’t I always?” she said, a little breathless from the revelation.

“Eventually,” he agreed. “Thank fuck for that. Don’t know what I’d do if I scared you off for good.” 

Marinette sighed, and put her arm around his waist. “Come on. Let’s just get you home.”

If she was quiet on the metro, he didn’t seem to notice, filling the silence with idle chatter and random drunken observations that earned them some amused glances from their fellow subway patrons. Marinette didn’t really pay attention, except to push him away when he buried his nose in the crook of her neck and murmured about how good she smelled. Not that she minded, exactly, but she was still processing his drunken declarations and it was hard to think properly with her really attractive friend-and-maybe-more snuggling up on her. Luka had always craved touch (although not usually like that) and it didn’t really rattle her anymore, she just...really needed to think, and it was hard to do that when she was really kind of feeling like— 

“Our stop,” Luka muttered, and it embarrassed her that he was the one to notice. The fact that she was more distracted than he was drunk should have been disturbing. Luka sighed as she helped him get up, and leaned on her a little more heavily. “Sorry,” he muttered. “Tired.”

“I bet,” Marinette said, squeezing his waist lightly. “We’re almost there.” His chatter subsided into slightly off-key humming on the way up to his apartment, and she could see that now that the hilarity was fading, Luka was struggling to stay awake. He couldn’t even manage to stick on one song, humming in increasingly broken snippets. 

“All right,” she said, when they finally made it into his apartment. “Bed for you.”

“Bed sounds nice,” Luka agreed, as Marinette opened the door to his bedroom.

“I think you can make it from here,” Marinette said, slipping out from under his arm.

“Thanks, Nette,” he said, smiling down at her, and as she looked up at him her heartbeat quickened. She felt the flush in her cheeks, and looked away quickly, unconsciously licking her lips, before her eyes darted back to his again. 

Unfortunately for her, even drunk off his ass, he could read her like a book. 

“Are you gonna kiss me, Marinette?” Luka asked, leaning over her with one elbow on the doorway. “Cause I’m not opposed but like, I had plans for your birthday and they’ll be ruined if you’re avoiding me, so if you do you gotta cap your running away at three...no...wait, how many weeks?” He blinked, looking confused. “What day is it?”

Marinette swallowed hard, flooded with shame, her eyes stinging. Luka’s gaze snapped back to her, losing some of that vague expression. 

“Aw, Mari, don’t cry,” he sighed, his hands coming up to cup her cheeks. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you cry. ‘M so sorry. I’m such an idiot, you were never supposed to cry because of me.” He sighed, letting his forehead fall to rest against hers. “Sober me is gonna kick my own ass tomorrow for making you cry.” 

Marinette closed her eyes and took a shaky breath. She’d never wanted to kiss him so badly, but it would be wrong while he was like this, and he’d trusted her to get him home safely. Luka would never take advantage of her this way and she wouldn’t do it to him, either. 

Instead she leaned up and wrapped her arms around his neck. Luka relaxed into the hug, folding his arms around her and squeezing so tight it made her gasp. He moved to bury his face in her shoulder. “Love you,” he sighed. 

“Luka,” she whispered, and he grunted. “Tell me all that when you’re sober, okay? All the stuff you said to me tonight. Tell me again when you’re sober. Tomorrow, okay?” He grunted again, though she really wasn’t sure if he was hearing her.

She gently pushed him back, and then took his face in her hands, and kissed his forehead tenderly. “Now go to bed. I’ll be on the couch if you need anything.” 

She knew he was already half asleep, because he didn’t protest her sleeping on the couch. He let her nudge him around, and took the three steps to his bed, and collapsed onto it. 

Marinette sighed, and followed him for just a moment to pull his shoes off and cover him with a blanket. He was snoring before she even closed his door. 

***

You know just what to say Shit that scares me

He noticed the music first, before he was even fully awake. 

I should just walk away but I can’t move my feet The more that I know you the more that I want to 

He knew that song. 

He knew a lot of songs, really, but more importantly, he knew that voice. 

Something inside me’s changed I was so much younger yesterday

The piping voice fell into place right about when he woke up enough to remember the night before. Luka groaned and pulled his covers over his head, wishing he could just curl up and die. He really did want to go back in time and kick drunk Luka’s ass. What had he been thinking, getting that drunk and letting Marinette bring him home alone?

He was thinking that she’d put him in a taxi and send him off, naturally. Because he’d already been a couple drinks in, which was why he’d been hesitating over having more to begin with, and when Marinette had told him to enjoy himself and she’d make sure he got home safe, his logic brain had ceded control to his wishful thinking brain, or something. Because he’d just sold three songs to one of the biggest artists in the country and his name was going to be on the album sleeve and the check had been more money than he’d ever seen in his life and when everyone told him he deserved to celebrate, he kinda wanted to believe them. In his right mind he would have known that Marinette would never just shove him into a cab. Dumbass, he chided himself. 

Even beneath the blanket, he could smell food, his stomach equal parts queasy and interested, and Luka knew he couldn’t hide here forever. He had to man up and face the music. Literally, apparently. 

Luka sat up slowly, pushing his blanket off, and then opted for honorable procrastination in the form of dragging himself into his bathroom to shower and brush his teeth. If he was going to have to grovel and find a way to pretend he hadn’t meant all those things his dumb drunk ass said last night, he at least wanted the small dignity of smelling decent. He owed Marinette big time after this. It was probably thanks to her pushing water and food on him all night that he didn’t feel worse than he did. He paused on the way to swallow the pills and down the glass of water Marinette had left on his nightstand. It didn’t help his stomach but his head didn’t hurt as much by the time he was out of the shower. 

Luka debated putting on real clothes but opted for sweatpants and an ancient t-shirt. It wasn’t like Marinette hadn’t seen him looking worse. 

Finally he took a deep breath and made his way out to the living room. He could see Marinette in his little kitchen, the counter piled with food and ingredients. Luka winced; she must have gotten up earlier and gone shopping. There was no way he had this much, or this kind, of food on hand. 

Her phone was on the counter, the music—his music—blaring through the bluetooth speakers he’d long ago given her access to.  

“I didn’t know that I was starving till I tasted you,” she sang, bobbing slightly as she transferred food to the plates she had ready. “Don’t need no butterflies when you give me the whole damn zoo…” 

Luka couldn’t help a smile. He’d covered and recorded the song for her birthday, teasingly telling her he that couldn’t stand to listen to the original anymore, but that was a lie. Luka had wide-ranging music taste and could appreciate even things he wouldn’t necessarily seek out on his own. Mostly, he just wanted to sing it for her. He’d recognized her singing it when he woke up; either she had it on repeat or her playlist had cycled in the time it took him to get cleaned up.

“By the way, by the way, you do things to my boooodEEEEK!” Marinette gasped and dropped the plate she was holding. Luka watched calmly as the shatter-resistant dish (that he’d bought on purpose because a surprising number of people he loved had a tendency to break things) cracked into several large shards. “Damn it, Luka,” she sighed, looking at the mess. “You startled me.” 

“Sorry. I’ll get it,” he said quickly, moving to pick up the pieces. His head reeled when he bent over though, sending him to his knees, and Marinette shoved him back as she crouched down instead. 

“No, I got it,” she murmured, not looking him in the eye, and Luka bit the inside of his cheek, feeling a flush of shame. He pulled his hands back and leaned back, intending to sit on his heels but falling back on his ass instead. Folding his legs under him like he meant to do that, he raked both hands through his hair and sighed. 

“I’m so sorry,” he muttered, as Marinette cleaned up the mess. “About last night. So, so sorry, Marinette, I was petty, and mean, and I said a bunch of really unnecessary things, and I swear I don’t—”

“Stop,” Marinette ordered, dumping the broken plate in the trash, along with the remains of the omelet that had been on it. Luka winced and shut his mouth and his eyes, rubbing his forehead with one hand.

Small, warm hands pushed his away and slender but strong fingers began massaging his temples and forehead. He leaned into her touch with a little moan. 

“How do you feel?” Marinette asked gently. 

Luka gave a lopsided smile, eyes still closed. “Like I don’t deserve this. It sure feels good though.” 

Marinette sighed, her breath wafting over his face. “Can you eat?” 

“A Marinette hangover special?” Luka’s grin widened. “Definitely. If there’s any left.” 

“There is,” Marinette told him, amusement in her voice. “I always make plenty. Sorry about the dish though.” Her fingers slid down to gently cup his face. Luka opened his eyes, to find he was looking into hers. Her beautiful, stunning eyes that still took his breath even after all these years. They looked red-rimmed and tired, though, and a stab of guilt went through him. 

Needle and the thread, gotta get you outta my head, get you outta my head  

Luka cringed at his own voice coming from the speakers. “Did you have to keep that one?” he asked plaintively. “I made you a better one.” 

“I know,” Marinette giggled. “But I like this one. It’s the first one you made for me.” 

“The quality is shit,” Luka grunted. He’d recorded it on his phone on the boat, on his acoustic back when they were teenagers. The boat hull gave it a weird hollow sound, and in a couple of places he’d gotten too loud and blown out the mic so that it sounded all staticy, and the p’s popped awfully, and he didn’t even know how she could stand to listen to that song because the whole reason he’d made her the cover was because she was playing the song nonstop as she mourned her breakup with—and he’d wanted to do something, anything to help— 

Marinette’s lips pressed to the wrinkle in his forehead, snapping him out of his thoughts. “It has sentimental value. Go sit at the table, I’ll bring out the food.”

Luka got up off the floor, swaying only slightly, and dragged himself to his small table. Marinette brought him a loaded plate, bacon piled beside the spinach omelet, sliced banana arranged on the other side. Luka avoided the bacon for the moment, going after the banana first, and then nibbling cautiously at the omelet. Marinette slid a plate of avocado toast and sliced french bread drizzled with honey over to him, and he ate a slice of each obediently. 

“Why is this so good when I feel so crappy?” he muttered.

"Science,” Marinette informed him, and he cracked a smile. 

“You didn’t have to stay,” Luka said after a moment. “Not that I don’t appreciate this, but…well. You didn’t have to.” 

Marinette glanced up at him and then seemed to consider her words for a moment. “I guess I was hoping...maybe you had some things to tell me this morning.” 

His fork froze halfway to his mouth as he stared at her, remembering the way she’d held him last night. What’s she’d said in his ear as he nearly dozed off on her. 

Tell me that again when you’re sober .

She held his gaze, taking a deliberately dainty bite of honey-drizzled bread, her tongue darting out to lick a stray drop off her lip. Luka swallowed, wondering wildly if she would taste like honey if he kissed her.

“M-maybe I do,” he mumbled, and then took a too large bite of omelet. He stared at his plate as he chewed, not even tasting it as his body went cold and then hot and a sudden wave of dizziness washed over him that he didn’t think had anything to do with the hangover. He was suddenly finding it hard to breathe. 

He glanced up to see Marinette still watching him. 

“Well,” she said, blushing and looking down at her own plate with a self-deprecating smile that he found much too adorable. “I promise if you do, I won’t run away this time.” 

There was a beat of silence as he stared at her and she stared at her plate, and then he mumbled, “Good to know,” and took another bite, trying not to smile too broadly while inside he was screaming like a teenage girl. 

Fiction Master Post

Music:

[innocentbi-stander]

just stumbled across your blog in my conquest to consume all feral and bamf Jaskier content within 24 hours, and i read your headcanons for necromancer Jaskier and was wondering if you had anymore, or if you had a small ficlet involving some sort of necromancer Jaskier?? (i also saw your demigod Jaskier, where he was a son of Hades, and LOVED IT) if you don't, or aren't into that trope, that's okay. i absolutely love what you've already written. god-tier writing, truly

Hi there! I’m so glad you’ve enjoyed my writing! I do have a small little ficlet that I wrote that I posted on ao3 featuring necromancer Jaskier, I’ll link it below! However I’m also never above writing more necromancer Jaskier content, so here you are:

Fic: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25272997

______________

Sometimes Jaskier cursed the day Death had made a pact with his unborn soul, tying him to the immortal life of a necromancer and all of the bizarre powers that came with it.

Today was not one of those days.

Because when you’ve been locked in a cage in the depths of some decrepit castle after being ambushed on the road with your witcher boyfriend and badass witch friend, those powers really come in handy. 

The bard pulled himself up into a sitting position on the cold stone floor, taking a look at his surroundings.

He was clearly in the dungeon of a long forgotten keep, by the look of the worn stone walls and rusted bars. The room was dark, and shadows flickered in the light of the few torches along the wall.

Jaskier cursed to himself as he felt the ache of his head, where he had been knocked unconscious during the attack.

The attack. The attack on the path that he had most certainly not been alone for.

A look around the cells confirmed the location of Geralt and Yennefer, each located in their own cells across the room. Clearly their attackers had deemed them the more worthy threat, as Geralt was weighed down in chains and Yennefer sported her own pair of silver cuffs decorated in runes. Magic suppressants. 

Jaskier scoffed. They hadn’t even bothered to use rope to bind his arms, too confident that the supposedly human bard would be little more than a nuisance. It was their mistake.

The pounding of his head moved into the background of his thoughts, and Jaskier became increasingly aware of a pain in his stomach. His fingers that caressed the area came away covered in blood. Shit.

Flashes of memory reminded him of the man who had run him through with his sword when one hit to the skull hadn’t stopped him from fighting back. On any other human this wound would have been fatal. For Jaskier, it meant a bothersome hole through his torso for a few days, and a very fussy witcher poking at his bandages and offering bowl and bowl of soup.

Yay necromancy powers. 

The bard lazily scanned the inside of his cell, looking for anything that might aid them in their mistake. Not that he necessarily needed any assistance, but Jaskier wasn’t fond of revealing the true depths of his powers to anyone, much less some low budget crew of hired bandits. He preferred to keep his abilities known to the few, better to be underestimated than overtaken.

He spared a glance over to the corner where Geralt and Yennefer lay. Jaskier sighed, a long and bothersome sound. For such a great witcher and even mightier witch couldn’t they wake up a little bit faster? He’d prefer being able to break them out when they could walk on their own, Jaskier didn’t think he could haul either of them back to their campsite. 

As if on cue a small moan sounded from the other side of the dungeon.

Jaskier glanced up to meet violet eyes blinking at him. 

“Ah, Yennefer, welcome to the land of the living! Or should I say ‘land of the living, also occupied by me’?” 

“Jaskier?” Yennefer’s brow furrowed, “What happened?”

“It appears as if we were attacked by bandits on the way back to the campsite, and not even clever ones at that. Hired men. Probably from that lordling Geralt and I pissed off a contract back. He seemed like the type for stupid baseless vengence.” Yennefer sat up, pulling herself to her feet to pace her cell. She jangled the cuffs on her wrists.

“Magic resistant cuffs. They must have been fairly well informed.” Jaskier laughed.

“Not well informed enough it seems. They haven’t bound me at all.” He flashed his unbound arms at her along with a smirk. A stupid mistake really, he had forgotten the blood that streaked his hands and forearms from his middle. Maybe Yen wouldn’t see.

Yennefer, clever witch that she is, noticed immediately. She crossed to the front of her cell, narrowing her eyes at him through the darkness.

“Jaskier, are you hurt?” 

“......no.” 

The look on Yennefer’s face had killed better men than he. 

“We’ve talked about not covering up injuries to look braver. That includes you too.” Jaskier had a will as strong as a limp noodle when it came to his witcher and his witcher. So he fessed up immediately.

“One of the men may have poked me a little with his sword when they nabbed us on the road.” 

“Jaskier” 

“Fine, he ran me through like he was intending to make the most musically inclined shish kebob known to mankind. Happy?”

“Ecstatic. Are you still bleeding?”

Jaskier sucked in a breath as he peeled up his blood-soaked shirt. Even though he wasn’t technically dying, that didn’t mean it didn’t still hurt like a bitch. He winced at the blood running down his stomach in little rivulets.

“Yeah, it’s still bleeding a little.” Yennefer cursed.

“Fuck. We need to get out of here as soon as possible or you’re going to have to end up taking one of my blood replenishing potions again.”

Jaskier resolved to leave immediately. Those potions were fucking disgusting. Luckily, Geralt seemed to sense the urgency and chose that moment to reawaken.

“The fuck?” Geralt threw himself to his feet at the ready as quick as one wrapped in chains possibly could. Yennefer clapped her hands together, drawing his attention to her.

“Fantastic Geralt, you’re finally up. It appears we’ve been kidnapped, you’re covered in chains, I’ve got magic suppressing cuffs, and Jaskier’s been run through with another man’s steel.”

Nothing got Geralt furious quicker than hearing of harm done to his bard.

“Jaskier?” The witcher pressed himself against the bars of his cell, eyes searching to meet Jaskier’s own. He raised his arm in an awkward wave, trying not to flinch at the steadily increasing pain.

“Hello Geralt. Lovely day to get stabbed, isn’t it?” Geralt wasn’t amused.

“Are you okay?’

“I’ll be better as soon as we get the fuck out of this awful, disgusting dungeon. I feel like I’m going to catch a disease just from brushing up the wall in here. Now how about I get us the hell out of here?”

The look on Geralt and Yennefer’s faces was one of intense worry as they watched Jaskier heave himself to his feet, almost gagging at the pain that flared throughout his stomach. Geralt barely stopped himself from reaching out to assist him, realizing that he’d never be able to help through the iron bars between them.

“You don’t have to Jaskier. You’re hurt, you need the energy to heal, not drain it summoning the undead. We can find another way.” Jaskier laughed.

“Another way? You’re covered in chains and Yen’s locked off from her magic. I can get us out of here, and then take a nice long nap.” 

He met Geralt and Yennefer’s eyes, waiting for each of them to nod their assent before his next actions.

The bard held out a hand in front of him, closing his eyes and letting his subconscious drag down into the earth below. He could feel his power begin to condense in his fingertips, creating a soft blue glow. His power sent a call out to the underworld, and a smile crossed his face when he felt something answer.

Jaskier opened his eyes to see a skeleton pulling itself from the earth in front of his cell. As soon as it stood in front of him, it swept into a low bow and hissed words in a language foreign to all living beings except those with a connection to Death. 

Masterrrrrrrrr……..

Jaskier grinned.

“Hello there! As you can see, we’re in a little bit of a predicament, if you wouldn’t mind it would be great if you could release us?”

The skeleton spared no second thought before enacting Jaskier’s wishes, ripping open the bars of his cell like they were made of paper, and proceeding to do the same for Yen and Geralt and their bonds. 

Just as the skeleton was finishing up with Geralt’s chains, a troop of bandits swarmed into the dungeon, a man dressed in red at the head.

He was no doubt the leader of the crew, and was understandably shocked to see all of his prisoners standing free. 

“I hate to interrupt the part of this whole ordeal where you’ve undoubtedly come down here to tell us all about your evil plan of capturing us, who hired you, and what’s going to become of us, but I’m afraid we simply must go. Places to be, and all that. Luckily you won’t have to go explaining to the lordling who hired you why we’ve gone missing, because you’ll be a little preoccupied dealing with some of my dear friends!” Jaskier performed a lazy wave of his hand, his fingertips resuming the familiar glowing blue hue. The bandit seemed to be having trouble processing what exactly was going on.

“What-how,” he sputtered, but was interrupted by the screams of his men in the halls behind him. The clickity clack of bone on the stone floors brought a smile to Jaskier’s face, and the tears of flesh and ligaments being torn away filled the dungeon. The men spun around, attention taken by the new imminent threat, swords raising in shaking hands. Too easy.

Jaskier felt a hand tug on his shoulder, and was pulled through a door into a forgotten corridor after Yen and Geralt. They traipsed down hallway after hallway, collecting Jaskier’s lute and Geralt’s confiscated swords. 

After a few minutes Jaskier’s steps became less steady, and his knees began to feel more like jelly. The third time the bard had to grab the wall for support Geralt lifted him into his arms seamlessly, making sure he was comfortable before ambling on. 

It wasn’t long until they reached sunlight, but by then the world had already begun to go hazy for Jaskier. He had used up too much of his energy summoning the undead and he had lost too much blood. 

Jaskier allowed the gentle rocking of Geralt’s pace to lull him to sleep, his eyelids drifting shut against the midday sun. He knew that when he woke he would be safe and the campsite, protected in his lover’s arms and soon to be met with his overbearing fussing. There would be a warm bowl of stew, a roaring fire, and plenty of blankets. There would be laughter as Yennefer told the tale of the most recent fool who had dared to cross her, and Geralt would bury his face in Jaskier’s hair to disguise his amused smile. It would be home.

Jaskier closed his eyes, and allowed himself to dream.

___________

Hope you enjoyed! Feel free to send more prompts!

[krixel]

1, 5, 9, 15

1) What fandom(s) did you join this year?

I guess the best answer is The Dragon Prince. I watched the series as it released, and enjoyed it, but for some reason, it didn’t invest me to the point of seeking out the fandom for it. Then, while stuck in quarantine, I rewatched it and it struck home. I think having more free time than I’ve had in ages also helped, but it kind of dragged me back into participating in fandom in general, and now I’m writing fanfiction again for it and others, which I would not have predicted.

5) What creative work are you most proud of (you own or someone else’s)?

Hmm, good question. I think for myself, there’s a few this year for my writing, which is funny because I’ve also probably struggled more with writing this year than any other, but there are a few pieces I can look at and actually see improvement.

I’ve got some stuff brewing in my original work, which has been on the back burner for a while, because I finally feel confident enough as a writer to try and tackle it. As for things actually posted, Dreaming Wide Awake is probably my favorite piece for TDP, because I just really enjoy the style my writing took in that one, and it came across pretty much how I envisioned wanting it to go, which almost never happens.

I don’t know if this counts because it technically didn’t get posted in 2020, but I’m pretty proud of my upcoming Beyblade fic. I think it has some of my best writing to date, in certain places, and I mainly set out to write it for myself, so it’s been more enjoyable.

9) Recommend something that you really enjoyed in 2020.

Ooh, yay! I love recommending things, and despite what a terrible year this was overall, I encountered some great media.

Book: Kings of the Wyld - this was 100% my escape novel and I’m about to start re-reading it once I finish the current book I’m reading. It was just such a joy and ticked pretty much all my favorite boxes.

Video Game: I’m going to be predictable, but the FFVII:Remake delivered for me, and I’m just a sucker for that world and characters, so it was nice to get a bit of a fresh take with old friends. Also, high-def Reno. I love that slimy bastard. I also sank an insane amount of hours into Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild and Stardew Valley.

Music: To the shock of absolutely no one, Poets of the Fall! They chose 12 of their past songs and re-recorded them in live acoustic sessions at the Alexander Theatre in Helsinki, Finland, and the result is gorgeous. I think they can be found in most streaming services under a collected album now, or all the live videos are on youtube.

15) What are you looking forward to coming out in 2021?

Hopefully the next season of The Dragon Prince. XD I’m so behind on everything, and 2020 was such a bonkers year, I don’t even know release dates for things anymore.

Um, I’m actually quite excited for the Shadow & Bones adaptation to release on Netflix in April. I’m curious how they combined the Grisha Trilogy/Six of Crows story lines.

I’m sure there are books coming out, but I can’t think of any of them, and I’m years behind on my TBR, so a bunch of series I have intentions of reading are releasing conclusions in the next year, but I still need to read the first books.

[fire-fira]

submitted by @getcreative19

(Second Attempt. Yay, tumblr.)

So like…If every good character has a personality flaw, then what’s Jaime’s flaw? He’s sensitive and emotionally vulnerable, but that’s not a flaw. It helps him relate to others and make friends with people other people would try to avoid (The Pose) because their villainous reputation. It even helps him to get through to his scarab, an emotionless, vicious A.I. who was intended to destroy civilisations and to enslave whole races of living beings, and change him. He’s kind, calm, and understanding, but he’s not a push over. He tries to help people but he knows where to draw the line. He’s willing to listen to people, but he’s not naive or too trusting. He opens up to the right people, he is constantly trying to improve himself and he listens to those who can help him. He’s got good self esteem without being arrogant. He’s not afraid to make jokes about himself, too. He values his friends and family, and he’s loyal. He knows how to balance his life. He’s smart and strategic. Maybe his inexperience is a flaw? Though, I’m not really sure about that. Lack of knowledge can’t really be a character flaw, can it? Perhaps he’s too hard on himself sometimes? The comics don’t paint it that way, but it’s the only thing I could find.

When there’s a flaw within characters, the whole story kind of resolves around that. They make mistakes, and they try to better themselves in the things they lack.

But with Jaime, it’s really only about him trying to grow into the role of the Blue Beetle.

(Or at least, that’s what I saw.)

What do you think?

Forewarning for a LOOOONG response under the cut.

I’m reminded of a post I’ve seen floating around (I’d have to dig through my writing-references tag to find it and that’d take a while tbh) that has the suggestion of taking a character’s good qualities and pushing them to the level where you can see their flaws more clearly. And I think Jaime is a good example of where that kind of thinking is necessary in order to pick out his flaws.

So with that in mind–

Yeah it could be argued that his inexperience is a flaw, but it’s a temporary one that will fade over time. Likewise, how smoothly Jaime and Khaji Da work and fight together will improve over time. Their actions in a fight are more likely to flow into one without much thought as they become more experienced with each other and the boundaries they’re operating by. Again, if inexperience is a flaw, it’s a temporary one.

We know Jaime wants to see the best in others. In many instances he has a gift in coaxing the best out of others and seeming to somehow know the difference between someone who’s harsh and lashing out because they’re defensive and/or wounded, and someone who’s causing havoc just for havoc’s sake. So what’s the flip-side of this? The big one that comes to my mind is if he tries to reach out to someone he can tell is someone who isn’t all bad, but doesn’t manage to talk them down before they do something catastrophic. Now this may not be entirely a flaw as such, but if he wasn’t able to talk the person down quickly enough and people died, that drags us straight into what could be an overwhelming result for him.

Guilt. Jaime generally isn’t the sort of person to beat himself up– he’s got a good support system, close family, strong friendships, and all the rest of it– but he’s also one person (with a VERY close partner) who’s trying to do the best he can and prevent people from dying or suffering. If someone died in front of him, or if he couldn’t talk someone down before they did something drastic (especially if he and Khaji Da both thought he’d been getting through), then chances are high that he would be eaten alive with guilt for a long time after. Fortunately he’s got Khaji Da with him to provide sympathy and healthy doses of logic (so he’d probably only get so far with mentally beating himself up over it), but I would not be surprised if he’d end up doubting himself and whether he should keep doing the hero thing or not. But-! That leads us to another ‘flaw’!

He’s stubborn. Jaime isn’t the kind of person to give up easily. He’s also not the sort of person to give up long past the point where most other people would throw their hands up in the air and walk away. This is the guy who wound up temporarily stranded in space in at least two of the comic runs he’s been in (yes, I’m also counting those where he wasn’t the title character but was one of the main characters) and made up his mind that NO MATTER WHAT he was going to go home. He was prepared to die in one of the runs (which unfortunately ended before that arc could be resolved– UGH), and in the other he was clearly traumatized by having been accidentally left behind by the League (though to be fair, they did think he died). In that second one it took him a year to get home, but he managed it. He was. IN SPACE. FOR A YEAR. AND FOUND HIS WAY BACK HOME. And okay, yes, in that instance it was a positive– but it also implies that he might have been willing to break himself out of sheer stubbornness if it meant getting to go home faster. True, any damage done to him Khaji Da can fix, but it doesn’t change the fact that he could have broken himself.

Which leads us to a possible flaw that, thus far, hasn’t been confirmed but I can see developing after Jaime and Khaji Da have been together long enough (and which I can see annoying Khaji Da to no end): Jaime might end up coming to treat a lot of his injuries as no big deal. In their first title run there was one part where– in order to save Jaime’s life (read the pre-52 series, it’ll make sense if it doesn’t now)– Khaji Da temporarily stopped Jaime’s heart. In that instance Khaji Da did it out of necessity and Jaime had his justified freak out after his heart was restarted, buuuuut if he got used to Khaji Da being able to fix serious things like that and came to rely on it, it’s entirely possible that he might take to not paying much attention to gashes, concussions, fractured (or possibly outright broken) bones, etc. Not that Jaime would enjoy that pain by any means, but more that he might develop the approach of “Can I still stand and do what I need to do in a limited amount of time? Yes? Then I’m fine and the injury can wait.” To increasing levels of severity (though I’m sure he and Khaji Da would have a limit– or that Khaji Da would have a limit as to how far they’d be willing to let Jaime push himself).

An argument could be made for the way he might drop everything to protect his family and friends being a flaw, but personally I think it’s a bit of a stretch. For it to be a flaw he’d have to be consumed with ensuring their safety even if they’re fine and have others giving them back up while whichever baddie is rampaging around hurting people, despite Jaime being perfectly equipped to stop said baddie. It’d have to be complete neglect of what he feels is right in most cases in order to keep those closest to him safe. (Which actually could work as a trauma reaction from him. Yay fic fodder.)

There’s also the possibility that with those he does put a stop to quickly that he might second-guess himself in some situations, but that heavily depends on the circumstances around that situation.

Sensitivity to magic (thanks to Khaji Da) isn’t necessarily a ‘flaw’ so much as a weakness, but I suppose it could count on a technicality.

I’m sure if I gave it more thought I could probably coax out a few more ideas, but I’ve had you waiting on this long enough.

[violetsmoak]

No Safety or Surprise [Part I - Excerpt]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

After the madness subsided, at least.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He knows the dog is smarter than most people.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Familiar.

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

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

The Police Commissioner. The Justice League.

And a Catwoman too, for Christ sakes.

He wonders what Selina would think about that.

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

At least Dick’s back in contact now.

Sort of.

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

“Batman doesn’t get a day off.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Barbara did, after all.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bruce’s first family.

Or maybe just the first phase of the family.

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

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

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

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

TBC

NEXT

[revwinchester]

Rewriting Rev Y1K Challenge

Two awesome things are happening all at once!  I’ve hit 1,000 followers and we’re approaching my one year tumblr-versary!  Though I’d been writing for a while before joining tumblr, my first post here was on August 20, 2016 and I’ve posted 58 fics on this blog between my one shots and drabbles (and one series).  That’s more than one a week, which is awesome and kind of surprising because I feel like I’ve had so much writer’s block this year!

To celebrate I’m hosting a challenge!  Huzzah!  The twist on this challenge is that I’ve taken my favorite line from 50 of my fics and I want to see what that line inspires YOU to write!

There are some rules under the cut followed by the prompts!!

Rules:

Send me an ask - not a message/reply/reblog, I’ll just tell you to send an ask - with your first and second choices for prompts.

Please be following me, this is a follower celebration (among other things) after all!

There is no minimum or maximum word count.  However, if you’re writing more than 500 words, please use the “Keep Reading” function.  Also, if this is going to be a series, I ask that you use the prompt in the first part of a new series.

All are welcome to participate!  If this is your 1st fic or your 1000th, feel free to join in the fun.  I would never have gotten this far without other people hosting challenges and inspiring me!

I don’t read RPF or Wincest/Incest Ships of any kind but, besides that, anything SPN goes!  Reader insert, shipping, original characters, gen!fic… it’s all good!

I don’t post smut on this blog but you can write smut, just know that I will be reblogging any smutty entries on @impalasutra.  Fluff, Angst, and Crack are all awesome and appreciated, too!

Entries must be posted by October 21, which is 2.5 months from now. (Note: Signups won’t close so if you’re finding this challenge in September or October, feel inspired by an available prompt, and feel like you’ll have the time to write, feel free to sign up!  Just let me know your ask is about the challenge.)

Tag me, @revwinchester in your A/N and use the tag #RewritingRev when you post so that folks can find everything.  And if I don’t like your post within 3 days, shoot me a message - my tags have been working on and off all summer and I don’t want to miss anything!

Prompts:

I’m not going to tell you which fic the prompts are from until I reblog your fic because I don’t want to influence anyone’s creativity :)

This is all a tequila induced hallucination @samwinjarpad

If you don’t mind my asking, Your Highness, what were you expecting?

You know which bones you need to burn, right?

So what are you “researching” with this Pixar movie? @lacqueluster

There will be plenty of time for apologies and self loathing later @mrspadackles

When have I ever striven to be normal, Dean? @masksandtruths

The next person to ask me if I’m alright is getting punched in the mouth @jpadjackles

What if I want that?  What if I’ve wanted that for a long time? @roxy-davenport

This is not a courtroom, there are no grounds for objection here @theriverscribe

And remember to always practice safe sexting @impalaimagining

I basically invited myself and didn’t want to stick around long enough for you to realize it and change your mind

It worked for the two of you, though, and that was all that mattered as you took out one of the two remaining teams on the map @justanotherdeangirl

As he lit the contents of the bowl on fire, the tell tale sounds of another wrestling match broke out. @lucilepiewhiskey

A strong handshake and you baked a pie?

Tonight all three of you died because of me

This is ridiculous.  I am an adult and I can handle this on my own @supernaturallymarvellous

If you hadn’t taken so long with that last lady, we wouldn’t be rushing right now

That was supposed to get you in the back of the head, but you turned around at the perfect moment

Dean wasn’t the only Winchester who didn’t care to talk about his feelings on the regular

Don’t be an idiot, get in the car @feelinthefanfiction

I definitely wouldn’t have untied my robe if I had known he was there @fangirlextraordinaire

That was, like, three apocalypses ago @queencflair

But don’t feel like you have to rush.  Unless, you know, you want to @not-that-rude-but-very-ginger

Any holiday that was basically about getting drunk was on their list of “acceptable holidays to celebrate”

I should probably sabotage you so that you’re stuck with us forever

You’re allowed to know about my career but I can’t be a fan of yours? @nanika67

I’m an archangel’s soulmate, not a damsel in distress @archangel-with-a-shotgun

I don’t think it’s gonna be that kind of party @uniquewerewolfsuit

Promise you won’t say another word and I’ll start praying

He hit a particularly pungent pathway in the tunnel and smiled to himself as he imagined what his humans’ reactions would be

Unlike that song, this is irony.  Situational irony if we’re being specific

You are not wearing the shirt that you used to disguise yourself as a hooker to go out on a date with some random guy

I promised to stay out of your head; please don’t make me break that promise.  Tell me what’s going on @winchestergirl-13

God knows you’ve got the hair for it…

What the hell are you talking about? And how are you so damn chipper?

Her friend had always had that talent; perhaps it was why they had grown so close

That uniform covers way too much to be anything but standard issue @crispychrissy

Yeah, we didn’t really get too far into my magical training before I killed the assholes who killed my parents

Though, from the looks of things, we were probably next on the menu.

You’re the brightest, most promising technical mind in the immediate area and we have need of your skills

I want to help people, still but not… not like this

Love you too, little bug @thecuriouscrusader

So, how much was my total and complete mortification worth?

“I know who Sam is, I’m talking to the guy next to him

We’re already a family

Oh, good, he does have a personality @savvywrites 

With the way he looked at her, like she was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, how could she not end up believing it?

I should have realized, should have known, that it was your voice but not your words @thinkwritexpress-official

I’m just so happy to have you back safe and mostly sound

Now, there’s the snark I’ve come to expect! @imaginesforthose-wholovefandoms

So, yeah!  Yay!  Join the challenge and celebrate with me!  I’m tagging some people in the hopes of a signal boost :D

ALL THE TAGS! (forevers): @deathtonormalcy56 @supernaturalyobsessed @roxy-davenport @sumara62 @ginamsmith @gallifreyansass

Mooselings: @jared-padaloveme

Squirrel Scouts: @akshi8278

People who participated in my last challenge: @avasmommy224 @roxy-davenport @maximumkillshot @impala-dreamer @chaos-and-the-calm67 @deansdirtylittlesecretsblog @buckysmetallicstump @supernaturallymarvellous @impalaimagining @paigeinastory

Some others who I hope will signal boost (or just ignore this post, either way haha): @atc74 @mrswhozeewhatsis @thing-you-do-with-that-thing @nanika67

Anyone else who wouldn’t mind signal boosting, please do so!!  And consider joining!