#bruce thread: code calling

[dramatisperscnae]

Bruce takes a moment, studies Jason as the boy drinks. Just how long Jason was with the League he has no idea, but he knows how Damian acts when he's hurt, and he knows just how badly Jason was injured in that last fight. There's no way on earth the boy isn't in pain, but if Damian's behavior is anything to go by then the League forbids any hint of showing such things.

At all.

Ever.

Fucking ridiculous, as far as Bruce is concerned, but that's a conversation they can have later. Dick's already been working with Damian on some of that, unlearning all the things the League taught him; hopefully things will be a little easier with Jason.

For now, Bruce just moves to reconnect the IV line. "It's saline," he says, making sure Jason can see his hands clearly as he works. "With painkillers. Once this bag is done we'll switch you over to pills."

Then he looks up at Jason, reaching out to gently ruffle his son's hair. "…You did exactly what you should have. You saved your brother. And as for his attitude, we've…we're working on it. He's taken to Dick almost like a duckling, which has helped a little with his culture shock, but there's still a lot he has to unlearn."

Bruce pauses for a moment then, hesitating before managing five more words, soft and quiet but very, very much meant.

"...I'm proud of you, Jason."

The water’s room temperature, has probably been sitting on the bedside table for god only knows how long, but it’s the best thing Jason’s tasted in his life. Both of them. He has to force himself not to just chug the whole thing, then and there. Takes a sip and swishes it around in his mouth for a moment before he swallows. It doesn’t help much with the taste being unconscious for so long left behind, but the small bit it does is welcomed.

He takes a few more sips before passing the glass back to Bruce. Stretching to put it on the bedside table closest to him would be a stupid move, as would holding it resting on his stomach, heavily bandaged as his torso is. He’s in a lot of pain, right now, but he doesn’t breathe a word of it. Doesn’t ask to be hooked back up to the painkillers. Keeps all that pain out of his expression.

Doing anything else might as well be a (second) death sentence. Logically, he knows that’s not true, here. But, well, it’s like they say—you can take the boy out of the League…

His shoulders release a bit of tension at the confirmation of the brat’s safety and he nods. “Good. That’s good.” Means Jason didn’t go through all that hell for nothing. He’s not sure what he’d do if he found out the kid had just gotten captured and carted back to Ra’s anyways.

A small shrug is given, fingers picking at a stray thread on the blanket laying across his lap. “Yeah, well. It was that or let Ra’s possess him, and it’s not like Talia was doing shit about it. Kid’s a goddamn feral gremlin that got fed after midnight, but…he doesn’t deserve that.”

He hesitates, before continuing. “I…wasn’t sure if you’d answer it, honestly. I mean, I hoped you’d at least be curious, if he needed to use it, but. I dunno. I just wanted to give him the best shot at getting to you in one piece, since I couldn’t go with him to protect him.”

[innorogers]

Lull

Steve Rogers x Reader (You / OFC)

Summary: So this is when you understood the difference between making love and banging, or, in this case, fucking.

Warning: Fluff / SMUT / MINORS DNI / 18+ / Unprotected Sex /

Characters: OC, Tony Stark, Maria Hill, Bruce Banner, Sam Wilson, Sharon Carter, Natasha Romanoff

Also: Thanks in advance for repost or any feedback ❤️ Let me know if you want to be included in the taglist (DM, comment, repost and tag, whatever works)❤️ You don't need to read the previous chapters but it will definitely enhance the experience if you do.

1: Insomnia | 2: Lucid | 3: Reverie | 4: Nightmare | 5: Awakening | 6: Dusk | 7: Hypnagogia

You slipped through the streets like shadows, holding hands, hearts racing, eyes darting over your shoulders, every sound amplified by the silence of the night. The Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder – or ‘Magic Stark-Potter Thing’ as Steve was calling it – had granted you some safe time. But time was fragile, and you both knew it.

Your powers pulsed beneath your skin, guiding Steve with quiet certainty. You could feel the city’s pulse, see through the walls, and peer into the hidden corners of every alley. You led him down paths that no one else knew, invisible threads pulling you toward safety. The streets, immersed in late hours after midnight, stretched before you like the remnants of some secret map.

When you reached a narrow street swallowed by the night, you knelt down and moved a pile of old garbage cans aside, revealing a small, grimy basement window. You glanced back at Steve, and gestured for him to follow you down.

Turned out to be an underground club, and the party was just getting good.

The air was thick with the smell of alcohol, sweat, and smoke. Neon lights painted the walls in erratic colors—electric blues and deep reds—while people shouted over the pounding music, their laughter swallowed by the deafening noise.

You exchanged a look with Steve as you pushed through the crowd. His usual composed demeanor flickered, his eyes scanning the chaotic scene while staying close behind you. You weaved through the press of bodies, brushing against strangers lost in their own worlds, music vibrating through your bones as you both made your way to the other side. It felt like a different universe—one that was wild, loud, and completely unaware of the chaos lurking outside its walls.

“I need a computer!” You raised your voice so he could hear.

“I really don’t think you’ll find one here.” He almost laughed, holding your waist and waving through the people around you as you moved forward.

“I know.” You tilted your jaw. “But that’s perfect, look.” You pointed to the computer they used as a register to take orders. “An older one, probably. I need to enter an untraceable code; our network is probably compromised, so I need to notify the only being who can’t be hacked or corrupted.”

“Really?” Now he was intrigued. “Who?”

“Vision.” You continued to scan the place as you moved through the dancing crowd. “These machines won’t work, they’re plugged into their private network. I’ll need something connected to the outside. C'mon… let’s go to another floor.” It was a huge underground bar, so you held Steve’s hand and moved to the stairs.

“I think we’ve got company.” Steve tightened his grip as he noticed some guys entering the floor. They looked like military—tense poses and sharp, alert eyes scanning the place. He looked up and saw more of them on the floor above, near the exits and moving through the whole place.

“Let’s go, we don’t have much time. I think there’s some gear on me that’s making us trackable.” You hurried with him to go down, but stopped when those military men started coming from downstairs. You pulled him aside, hiding in a dark corner, but they weren’t leaving. Steve’s figure—tall, handsome, blonde—was too easy to recognize. A lot of women (and men) were looking at him with flirtatious eyes, intrigued.

You passed by corridors and stairs full of people, using your powers and his sensitive perception to navigate the space. The men didn’t notice you were there, but their eyes were everywhere.

You felt Steve’s body tense beside you, ready to attack at any moment, and the place would turn into hell if that happened. You cupped his face, pulling him closer to the wall, your eyes scanning behind him.

“I’ve always wanted to do this with you…” You smirked as the men passed by, and with your hand on his neck, you kissed him deeply.

Shit. Steve’s body went rigid.

This was the worst place and the worst time, but somehow, it felt so right. He’d almost forgotten how much he needed this. The moment your lips met his, your body pressed against his, the scent of smoke and debris clinging to you from the chase. But your kiss, it grounded him—reminded him why every risk was worth it.

He kissed you in the flicker of shadows, under the flashing lights, in a dark corner of an underground club. Drunk, dancing strangers moved in their own ecstasy, oblivious to the danger. It wasn’t something he ever imagined doing, but then again, you always brought the unexpected. And again...How could you ever think he’d choose anyone else over you? Over this?

He deepened the kiss, pinning you to the wall, his tongue brushing yours, and it felt so right… you tasted like sweetness, laced with something wild, like sin and salvation entwined.

“Steve…” You broke away, eyes still on the men as they passed, and he lifted your leg, wrapping it around his waist. You grinned. “I really don’t think this is the time…”

“Well…” He chuckled, voice rough. “I think it’s the perfect time for this.”

“Come on. Let’s move now that we have the chance.” You pressed a soft kiss to his cheek before starting to move.

Taking advantage of the lack of enemies in sight, you made it to the last floor through doors and hidden passageways and arrived at what seemed to be a VIP room.

“There we go.” Your eyes locked onto a computer next to a more sophisticated bar. “That’ll do.” But as you approached, Steve’s senses sharpened, picking up the tension of a threat.

He glanced over his shoulder and saw a group of men—tall, armed, and bearing the unmistakable faces of movie villains. Why do they always look like the bad guys? He sighed, slowly rolling up his sleeves. Well, it was about damn time. He had been holding back this feeling of wanting to punch someone ever since a bomb exploded near your car.

“Mmm?” You turned back and noticed the surroundings. The only guy who had been on a date at a corner table rushed out with his partner as soon as the room filled with the approaching men, circling both of you. He was even polite enough to close the door behind him.

“Oh.” You blinked at the 1, 2, 3… 15 men surrounding you.

“Gentlemen, there’s really no need for this to escalate…” You advised as the tension thickened, movements slowing to a crawl before the inevitable first strike.

“Shut up, doll. We’ll take care of you later.” Said the man who seemed to be their leader, smirking at you. “And believe me, you’ll be well attended.”

“Oh … you really shouldn’t have said that.” You shook your head, already sensing Steve’s fists clenching in response.

“Sir, you’re about to get the smash of your life…” You spun just in time to grab the bartender’s hand as he reached for a weapon beneath the desk, a fight breaking out behind you. “Please don’t do that.” You blinked at him. “I just need to borrow your computer, okay?”

“Um…” The bartender, startled by your strong grip, noticed the Avengers logo on your gear and quickly reconsidered. “Um… this thing runs on Windows Millennium. Like…Yikes.” He gestured at the ancient machine. “Don’t you need something, I don’t know, more modern?”

“It’ll do, thanks.” You hopped over the bar counter and began typing. “If it doesn’t send Vision a signal, it’ll at least ping him with a virus warning.”

The moment Steve moved, the air shifted.

The first punch landed with the force of a freight train, sending one of the goons crashing into a table, shattering glass and upending chairs. Chaos erupted in the room as fists and bodies collided. Steve ducked under a wild swing, his movements sharp and precise, retaliating with a brutal uppercut that left another attacker sprawled on the floor. Damn, this is so boring. A punching bag in the training room felt even heavier.

One of the armed men lunged at him with a knife, but Steve twisted to the side, catching the man’s wrist and flipping him over with ease. The crack of bones echoed as the thug hit the ground hard, and Steve was already turning, launching a swift kick into another man’s chest, sending him crashing through the VIP room’s thin partition wall.

“Babe, you got that?” He moved his head, avoiding a knife—or whatever sharp thing was coming from the back—grabbed the guy by his arm, and twisted it like a towel.

“Just a sec.” You were typing the commands as bottles clinked and tables flew across the room, the thumping bass from the club floor below barely audible over the grunts and crashes of the fight. 

“Just… okay, there.” You turned to the bartender: “Do you want me to upgrade this system for you?”

The bartender wanted to answer, but suddenly bent over as a guy was thrown and hit against the wine cellar. He covered his head and screamed, so you raised your eyebrows and took that as a no.

With only three men left standing, they hesitated for a moment, locking eyes with each other as if silently deciding who would make the first move. But that took forever, and Steve was getting bored. He lunged forward, grabbing the nearest man by the collar, lifting him effortlessly before slamming him down onto the tables, the impact scattering bottles and glasses across the floor.

Before the next guy could even react, Steve spun, delivering a swift elbow to the second man’s jaw, sending him reeling backward into a bookshelf, knocking it over with a deafening crash.

The last man, clearly outmatched, pulled out a gun in a desperate attempt to regain control. But Steve was faster. In one fluid motion, he ducked low, dodging the shot, and surged forward, ripping the gun from the man’s hand and delivering a bone-crushing punch to his gut. The man doubled over in pain, gasping for breath, before Steve finished him off with a knee to the face, leaving him crumpled on the ground.

The room was now littered with unconscious bodies, shattered glass, and overturned furniture.

“Wow…” You said in awe. “You didn’t even sweat.” You were thinking that he sweats more when he’s in bed with you.

And he laughed, thinking the same: “I’m saving that for later.”

Just as the dust was settling and Steve was wiping his hands clean, the door burst open, and Tony sauntered in, his suit gleaming in the dim light.

"Everybody freeze!" Iron man said in a mechanical voice behind his helmet, raising his hand and pointing at… nothing. Then he lowered it, noticing the room was still, filled only with men groaning in pain on the floor, while you and Steve rolled your eyes at him.

"What? I was already nearby when Vis delivered the message just three seconds ago. It's not like I'm late..." He raised an eyebrow at the sight of unconscious bodies and broken furniture, clearly unfazed by the chaos, as the team led by Maria and Sam entered the room with their weapons raised.

"Get 'em all; we need intel," Steve sighed as he walked over to you. "There’s a lot of interrogation to do." He pulled you close. "C'mon, let's go home."

It was almost sunrise when you arrived at the compound. You slept a bit in the car, and when the heroes started debating in the command room about the next steps and strategies, you stretched your body and headed to the dressing room yawning.

You needed a cold water shower to clear your mind before helping Tony and Bruce decipher all the information. Plus, you had to get out of this suit that smelled like grilled cement, ashes, and burnt fabric.

Ugh, you were a mess. You opened the locker and started unzipping the gear when you suddenly heard footsteps behind you.

Steve’s arms locked around you before you could turn. He restrained your wrists as a frenzied kiss landed on your lips, fingers laced with yours, pinning you against the wall. While holding you captive with one hand, he explored your wrists with the other.

He was burning.

The kiss deepened, and all the feelings he had been holding back since the car chase, was poured into the embrace. 

He was so turned on by everything that had happened—the adrenaline, the action, the danger, and the risks. He was impressed, and aroused, so fucking aroused.

He knew you were special, but you didn’t even blink during the chaos. 

There were explosives, drones, and the entire freaking Iron Army chasing you in a car, and you didn’t step back an inch.

This unyielding, unwavering, fierce-as-fuck version of you was driving him insane.

“Steve…?” You broke the kiss because you needed air, though you were enjoying it. “Are you okay?” Didn’t you just kind of… escape from death?

“Better than ever.” He pressed his forehead against yours, breathing heavily. “I need you.” He said this while lowering your gear’s zipper, inhaling as your breasts sprang free from your clothes. He groaned, kneading them with desperate need.

Oh, okay… You moaned, tilting your head back when he sucked and lapped at them. Your gear was only half off as he pulled down your pants, kicked them aside, lifted your leg around his waist, and plunged into your already soaked folds.

Oh, wow. You gasped in awe as your inner walls stretched wide, completely filled by him, and your bodies slamming against the lockers.

And that’s when you understood the difference between making love and banging, or, in this case, fucking. 

Yup, what you’d been doing every night was making love. But this… 

This was Steve fucking you. And fucking you hard.

The pace was brutal, pounding with relentless intensity. He held your leg and gripped your ass to keep you in position. With one hand on your neck, forcing eye contact, he fucked you harder and harder.

His voice was hoarse and raw, groaning with lust. When he saw you bite your lip to stay quiet, he smiled and quickened his pace.

“I’ve wanted to do this since you kissed me in the nightclub…” He said, his body slamming into yours, locking you against the lockers.

“Keeping you like this in a dark corner, making love to you in the middle of the crowd…” With those images in mind, he murmured in your ear, his thrusts becoming stronger, admiring how waves of pleasure overtook you, making you pressed your leg tighter to his waist, your breath coming in silent gasps, pleading for more.

“Steve…” You could barely whisper. You couldn’t catch your breath as he pounded into you, shaking your body with the force of his thrusts. Your nails dug into his back, trying to hold back your voice, biting your lower lip so the moans wouldn’t escape. You didn’t even know if he had locked the door—someone could walk in at any moment.

But he was so hard, his pace so fast and relentless, completely out of control.

Steve never came before you did. He always made sure you were satisfied first. But this time, he cums when you finally gave in and moaned his name, his release hot and thick inside you.

Before you could even process it, he pulled out and turned you around.

Your breasts hit the lockers as his hands gripped your waist. He positioned you, and just when you were about to inhale, he was inside you again.

Fuck! This felt so good…! Steve never felt this urge, never wanted this so bad, his eyes darkening with further lust and desire, his hands pressing your waist and squeezing your bouncing ass cheek as he sees how he thrusts inside out of you. 

You are so tight, so wet, so fucking perfect for his cock, as you were tailored made for him. He was probably hard since you commanded him in the car, with that badass attitude and fierce determination, and now you were leaning there, with your elbows against the locker, your tits bouncing as he strokes, your ass cheeks marked as he squeezes and rubs them, and your folds still dripping remains of his last cum. Totally at his mercy. 

Fuck, this is hot.

He was going wild. Seeing you trying to mute what at home would be the sweetest or wildest moan, only spur him on, driving him to fuck you with greater velocity, snapping forward with greater intensity. 

“Let go, babe…” He said, snapping his hips forward. Each thrust hit that perfect spot deep inside you, sending shockwaves of pleasure rippling through both of your bodies. “Let it go… Cum for me honey… Come on… I know you’re about to…”

He leaned forward, grabbed your face, and kissed you fiercely, his tongue claiming yours. His hand found your breasts, tweaking and tugging at your nipples until they stiffened, begging for attention.

“Fuck, baby… You feel so good…” His voice was a ragged, hot breath near your ear. His fingers found your clit, rubbing fast circles as he continued to fuck you. 

Your moans were loader, and your clit was so sensitive, it couldn’t take more contact, Steve’s thumbs rubbed faster and stronger, and as he continues to fuck you in your spot, when he feels your walls about to clamp, he just whispers in a determined tone in your ear. “Cum, now.”

It was like he had a switch that controlled your body. Your inner walls clenched at his command, and you gave in, cumming long and hard around his cock, your body trembling. All you were making was lust sounds, mumbling his name, trying to breathe and to recover to the ecstasy that went from your clit to your mind. 

“That’s it, my love…” He smiled with satisfaction, hissing through clenched teeth, his fingers tangling in your hair as he guided you into another fervent kiss.

When his lips sealed yours, the thrusts became faster and rougher, uncontrollable moans escaping as his hands roamed over your breasts. His movements were frenetic, chasing his own orgasm.

You moved with him, drunk on lust, oblivious to everything else. You felt his hands squeezing harder, his gasps becoming heavier, his cock growing bigger and stronger. Finally, he buried himself inside you, erupting and flooding your depths with a hot load of cum. His hips jerked involuntarily as the last drops spilled inside you, and he was finally satisfied.

“Oh…god… fuck, babe…” He had one hand still rubbing your tits, another pressing your clit and feeling his cum overload your folds, and his body resting in yours, covered with sweat, gear at his feet, when the extreme edge washed over him. “That…was…amazing.”

"Steve..." You panted as he pulled out and turned you around, instantly leaning into him. "I need to sit..." Your knees were weak, and your thighs hurt a little, but in a good way, a very good way.

He let out a soft laugh. "I’m so sorry..." He kissed your forehead as he lifted you onto the bench and covered you with his shirt. "Did I hurt you? Oh..." He winced at the marks on your waist and thighs, nearly bruised from his hands.

"Shit, babe... I’m sorry I got carried away." His voice softened, apologetic. "Does it hurt?" He pressed a kiss on your wrists, where he had also been holding on so tight. "Fuck... I’m sorry."

"No." You grinned and kissed him back. "It was amazing..." You leaned toward him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. "I loved it. We should have more missions like this."

"As much as I’d love to..." He smiled and brushed a strand of hair out of your face, holding you close. "I hate the danger around you. But hey..." He hesitated for a moment. "About what I said earlier..."

"'Cum, now'?" You imitated his voice, and he let out a loud laugh.

"No, earlier..."

"Mmm..." You recalled your eidetic memory. "'Keeping you like this in a dark corner, making love to you in the middle of the crowd'?"

Your eyes brightened. "You wanna go back to the nightclub so we can make out?"

Steve actually considered it for a second. "We’ll talk about that later... but no, I meant what I said in the car before the Iron Army attacked us like Ultron’s possessed children."

"Yeah..." You didn’t remember. Well, no, you weren’t listening. "I was distracted by the giant bomb headed toward us, babe... I’m sorry I didn’t hear."

He leaned back, chuckling and shaking his head.

"Okay, what I was saying..." Now he was looking right at you. He cupped your face, leaving a soft kiss on your lips. "I think it’s just been proven how deeply, madly, utterly in love I am with you. I don’t have eyes for anyone else..."

"Ohhh!" Now you connected the dots. "So we’re talking about my insecurities because you hung out with your gorgeous ex-girlfriend all day?"

"She’s not..." Steve sighed, then softened his voice. "Well, there. There’s nothing for you to be insecure about. I love you. Only you. And I think I’ve proven my desire to be with you forever with the ring..."

"What?" Now you were shocked. "Wait, what?" You sat up straight. "Was the ring really... really... a ring?"

"Of course it is. What else would it be?"

"Um... you said it was a tracking device."

"It is." Steve sighed. "But eventually, when all this is over, it will be just a ring that means: you’re the love of my life, and I want to be with you forever." He smiles at your incredulous face, and holds you in his embrace, placing a kiss on your forehead: "In this life, and all the lifetimes to come. I want only you."

You stared at him, speechless, feeling the warmth of his arms around you and the weight of his words settling in. His gaze was so full of love, it made your heart race. For a moment, you couldn’t find the words, but then you leaned into him, resting your forehead against his.

"Steve..." You whispered, your voice thick with emotion. "I don’t know what to say."

"You don’t have to say anything." He replied softly, brushing a strand of hair away from your face. "Just... stay with me. That’s all I need."

You smiled, your heart overflowing. "Yes." You kissed him back. "Now. Always. Forever."

"Okay, now that we’re good..." He lifted you up in his arms. "C’mon princess, let’s take a bath, we are a mess here."

Oh. You raised your eyebrows. You don’t know who he’s kidding; you both know how this was going to end.

The End but TBD :)

Continue to:

9: Vigil |

10: Eclipse |

Divider Credits: to the wonderful @cafekitsune

And that's a wrap for chapter 8! Wohoo, I'm so glad I've made it to write a complete smut!! xD I really suck at writing it in english :D So with so many wonderful writers out there, thank you for reading up to here, hope you enjoyed it :D And thanks everyone for participating in the poll last post xD Can't believe fluff won, come on some angst and then a fluff and happy ending won't hurt, right? xD

I'll see you next friday for chapter 9! Wow 9 chapters!! <3

Tag list: @vioplay19 / @jamneuromain / @steviebbboi / @heletsmelovehim / @otterlycanadian / hisredheadedgoddess28

*can you let me know if I've missed anyone in the taglist? thanks <3

[bittersweetcreep]

Conception Part 4 Red Luna!Darling x Yandere!Damian

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Summary: After waking up from being dosed Damian comes to discover Luna has disappear with many suspects but nothing solid, and while Damian was sent on a wild goose chase Bruce started making plans to keep Talia from making the next-generation of assassins.

WARNING: unhealthy obsession, subtle manipulation, mentions of being drugged, violence and physical harm without aid, use of straitjacket and muzzle

Author's Note: Things to know before reading. Luna and Damian are both young adults in this time period. Luna wasn't educated on sex or that sex is used for reproduction. Also, a reminder that Luna is a mute who communicates through sign language and morse code. I'll use °theses° when she's speaking

A sleeping Damian woke up by the rays of sunlight shining in his eyes, squinting them open. He lifted his head off his desk, confused. 'When was the last time I fell asleep at my desk?' Brushing that thought to the side, he began getting ready for the day. When all dressed and morning routine done, the ravenette headed straight towards the entrance doors but was stopped by a familiar voice. "Heading out so early master Damian?" Turning his head around to see Alfred who's dressed as sharp as always. "Yeah, gotta get to Luna's before she wakes up." "Then farewell master Damian." With that, the ravenette took off all while Alfred's eyes never left the young master until he was out of sight

Once gone, Alfred then made his way over to Bruce's office to inform his master about the departure of his son. The opening of the office doors caught Bruce's attention as he asked the obvious. "Did he leave for Luna's?" "Indeed he did master Bruce." He answered with an ominous "Good."

Driving up to the lab, Damian saw the glass doors have been smashed open, alarmed he rushed inside frantically looking around at the damaged state of the lab. Quickly going down to the lower level to see large claw marks on the walls leading to Luna's living quarters. Slamming the door open Damian was greeted to what would be called a crime scene, with the living room furniture tossed and throw around on his left while the kitchen's refrigerator was knocked over on his right with broken dishes and silverware scattered everywhere. Fearing the safety of both Luna and their baby, Damian ran around looking for her while calling her name, hoping that hearing his voice would coax her out of wherever she's hiding but no such luck. "Fuck fuck fuck! She's gone!" Taking a minute to breathed in a deep breath to clear his panicked mind, Damian began to look around for some kind of clue but there was nothing solid enough to pinpoint it on anyone. There was only loose threads that connect to all of Gotham's criminals.

With no other leads Damian began going down the list of Gotham's criminals and for many weeks this man would go out to search through a suspect's hideout then interrogate them only to find no leads, then the process repeats. This man would be out day and night running on caffeine and 4 hours of sleep searching high and low but always finds nothing. By week 10, Damian has reached his boiling point and has become mentally unhinged with a tunnel vision obsession of finding Luna. The ravenette has become aggressively violent with a rude and irritable attitude snapping at everyone, even Alfred. Although Alfred remains unphased, he just makes sure his young master eats a warm meal and gets some rest before Damian leaves the mansion to search once again.

Although unpleased with his son's attitude, Bruce didn't interfere in his search as he too was busy with making plans to keep Talia away from Luna and his grandchild. A month later, Damian began to use physically harmful tactics in his interrogations and leaves whomever without any medical attention. When Bruce caught wind of this, he was stone cold lecturing Damian like a child and even revoking his Robin privileges until further notice, but the ravenette was hell bent on his search. Damian managed to snatch his Robin suit and snuck out, but Bruce was right behind him and was just in time before the green eyed rebel could snap the spine of Two-Face.

After that, Damian was confined into house arrest. That meant no searching for Luna. No going outside and no Robin, this drove him mad. House arrest was a waste of time, time that could be spended on looking for Luna, but no, he was denied looking for his love.

Damian was really worried about her and the baby, I mean he knows she can take care of herself [one of the many reasons why he fell for her] as he was a witness when she body slam a grown man 3× her size with ease. But he has no idea what happened to her, and not knowing is what makes him worry. He isn't just worried though he misses her too, he misses taking her out on dates or when they stayed in to cuddle on her bed, he misses the times when she tried to teach him how to cook or when they fought crime together and not having her in his arms is making him a mess.

During Damian's house arrest his aggression spiked and would constantly pick fights with his father as the ravenette resents him for halting his search for Luna, he even attacked Alfred in a aggressive rage which resulted in being shoved into a straitjacket and muzzle after biting Bruce when he struggled to put his son in the jacket. Feeling resentment towards his father and for being restrained like some animal Damian has long since begrudgingly resided to his fate.

3 long months past sitting in that danm straitjacket and Damian has bitterly accepted his new routine with being hand-feed every 3 meals and besides being untied to use the restroom, nothing in his routine changes. Being alone with nothing but his thoughts, Damian would go through his memories with Luna and think of names for his baby. He really likes the name Draco as the meaning dragon is filled with fiery pride perfect for his son, but if their having a girl then the name Nyxel that is a combination of the greek goddess of the night and the suffix "el" is perfect for his little girl. He really misses Luna, but what can he do? He's restrained with all autonomy gone. The only thing he can do is sit and wait for something to change.

It was the late into the night when Damian woke up to what sounded like heels clicking on the floor, now this wouldn't have bothered him if not for the fact that both Alfred and Bruce don't wear heels, it sounded like they're heading straight towards his room. Upon hearing his doorknob turn Damian tense up readying himself but upon seeing his mother his muscles relaxed. Seeing her son restrained and muzzled was a sight to behold, with a teasing tone the brunette spoke "Well would you look at that, how the mighty have fallen." With a muffled growl from her son Talia raised her hands in playful surrender. "No need to be hostile Damian, I'm here to get you out and bring Luna home." Bewildered but grateful Damian allowed his mother to come close enough to free him of his restraints. When taking off the muzzle Damian's first question was "Where's Luna?" "My men has tracked her down in a penthouse in Seattle. They say both she and Dick Grayson used one of the private jets to get there with Bruce's help as well. I wouldn't be surprised if he was the mastermind behind it all, all in attempt to keep me from my grandchild." Getting up from the bed Damian was finally able to stretch his stiff limbs. "You won't have to worry mother, because after we find Luna I'll be taking her and our baby to the League of Assassins." This pleased her.

While walking towards the manor's doors the mother and son duo came across Talia's men tying up a unconscious Alfred and a restrained Bruce who looked beaten and battered. Before they go Damian had a few choice words for his father, standing in front of his kneeling form his green eye son spoke with a sneer. "You are absolutely pathetic father, hiding away your son's pregnant love while you watch him chase his tail only to cage and muzzling him like some dog." The man could feel Damian's hatred and disdain for him. Looking down at his father Damian spoke with all the venom he has. "Alfred drugged me didn't he? He drugged me so you could take Luna and my child away from me, well jokes on you I'm taking back what's mine and we will be returning home." Bruce already knew the answer but asked secretly hoping it wasn't the case. "To the League of Assassins?" "Where else."

Bruce struggled in his restraints a bit and tried to talk some sense into his son. "Damian, you can't raise your child in the League. Think about it, when your child is of age, Talia is going to train them how she trained you. She's going to mold them into a weapon. Do you really want that for your child?" Looking at his son's face, Bruce couldn't see any emotion that'll tell him the ravenette doesn't want that. "Of course, Mother will, that's their birthright." Roughly grabbing his father's hair, Damian slammed his knee into the man's face, knocking him out cold.

The next morning in Seattle Dick woke up to the heavenly smell of breakfast. Getting up from bed, he made his way over to the kitchen. Upon entering he is welcomed to the sight of a woman with long (h/c) hair, (e/c) eyes, and a small but very noticeable baby bump preparing breakfast of two egg omelettes and a plate of bacon wrapped sausages. He couldn't stop the smile from creeping up his face. "Morning Luna, how're you feeling? Any morning sickness?" Picking up the closest utensil she exchanged with a greeting of her own. °Good morning and no, no rushing off to the bathroom this morning. Also, I made your coffee.° "Thanks, and don't worry about the plates I got them."

After getting the plates and his of joe Dick sat himself at the kitchen island while Luna served them both breakfast, but before digging into his food, the blue eye ravenette waited for her to get a drink. With orange juice in hand, they finally got to eating while also making small talk, which led to the topic of baby names. °I'm still having trouble finding baby names for girls, but I've found this really nice sounding name called Claude. In French, the name comes from the Latin name Claudius, which means "strong-willed." And in ancient Rome, the name was often given to people who showed strength and resilience despite physical challenges.° Swallowing the food in his mouth Dick opened his mouth in response. "Now that sounds like a name for royalty. Was that intentional?" Seeing her smile was all the answer he needed.

°Any updates on Damian's situation.° Pausing mid-bite Dick weigh his options as when he told her about his brother being put in a muzzle and straight jacket he woke up to a missing Luna. With the help of Bruce's satellite he found her 5 miles from the penthouse, and if it wasn't for her pregnancy then it would be a lot harder to convince her to come back. Even after that, knowing what's going on back home left Luna in a state of depression that got so bad it affected what's in her womb. But she got better and the pregnancy is once again safe, to keep it that way Dick responded. "You know what happened last time, you don't need to know. Not just for your sake but them too."

After finishing their breakfast Dick gathered up their plates and began to wash them up, much to the (h/c)'s protest. With a "You made breakfast it's only fair I clean up." did Luna ceased her protest. While Grayson washed the dishes Luna stay seated watching him, only getting up to refill her cup. "I gotta a couple of errands this morning, but it should only take me about 30 or 40 minutes. You want anything while I'm out?" °Yes! Can you go to that French café and get me a sweet crepe that is filled with natella, blueberries and strawberries.° With a sing-song tone he agreed to her request "You got it!"

After washing the dishes Dick headed straight to his room, once he did his daily routine he then put on a pair of clothes and headed straight out the door shouting out a quick "I'll be back!" And with that he was gone. The first thing the (h/c) did was to head back to her room to get ready for the day herself but after that she grabbed the book she's been reading then curl up on the hammock chair in her room. It wasn't even 7 minutes when she heard the front door open and the sound of shuffling footsteps. Thinking nothing of it she continued to read her book in peace, even when the footsteps came closer to her room or the sound of her door opening. But the focus on her book was shaken as her body stiffen with shock and her face was full of disbelief while her heart race with longing when a voice she's been desperate to hear again called her name "Luna?" She slowly raised her head to see the love of her life and the father of her womb Damian Wayne Al Ghul. With tears in her eyes she lunged herself into his arms grabbing him in a tight hold refusing to let him go anytime soon not that Damian was complaining as he too was holding on tight. Who knows how long they stayed in each other's embrace but eventually they loosen their hold to look each other in the eyes and without a second thought they locked their lips in a kiss, pouring all of their desired longing in to it.

If it wasn't for the need for air, they would have kissed longer, but it also gave Damian the chance to get a good look at Luna and her growing belly. Placing a gentle hand on her bump, he explored every inch, but the sudden feeling of a kick from their child finally broke him as tears fell for his eyes. Using her finger to wipe his tears, Luna began to sign. °I missed you, Damian, and I'm sorry for running away.° "You didn't run away. You were under the influence of my father and were taken from me. But it's ok now, I'm taking you to the League of Assassins so we can be together in peace without anyone else getting in the way." The thought of being with Damian and having a domestic life together sounded like heaven, and if they're staying at the League of Assassins then that means Talia would be there to hopefully give her wisdom on motherhood but.... °Bruce doesn't want Talia to make them a part of the League of Assassins, and it would be best to keep us in hiding until he comes up with a solution.° "You don't really want that, do you?" Feeling no hesitants, she reapplied. °Truth be told, I don't mind if Talia trains them but under my supervision, and them becoming assassins should be with their own will.° Giving her forehead a kiss, Damian mumbles his reapply into her skin. "Their is no reason to listen to father, just listen to yourself. But for now, it's time for us to go." °Ok but before we leave, you need to know two things.° Leaving the ravenette's arm, Luna rummaged around in her desk until she found a piece of paper and handed it to him. Green eyes scanned over the words carefully until they were the size of dinner plates. "Our baby could inherit other metahuman traits besides yours?" Tugging his sleeve for his attention, Luna told him the second thing he needed to know. °Babies Damian.° "What?" °We're having triplets, two boys, one girl.° She was swiftly flitted in the air, and with a joyous laugh, Damian spin them both around while a big smile was plastered on his face. "Three! We're having three children! HAHAHA!" Putting the (h/c) back on her feet, Damian let out a happy sigh. "Let's go home, my love. Our future waits for us."

[victusinveritas]

The Republic Is Dead, Long Live The Republic

(by Jim Wright, original blog entry found here)

Poor man wanna be rich

Rich man wanna be king

And a king ain't satisfied

'till he rules everything

-- Bruce Springsteen, Badlands

Thus ends The Republic.

Hail! Mr. President.

It should never have come to this,

But, hey, at least democracy was fun while it lasted.

I made a pithy comment.

A couple of them actually, as is my wont.

Well, maybe not so much pithy as bitterly sardonic observations on yesterday's Supreme Court Ruling.

Here's one:

I'm not a lawyer, so I'm not sure how this works, but basically Biden is President For Life now, right? So, does Biden just "officially" cancel the election or do we have to break some windows and beat up cops first?

Sarcasm, right?

Obviously a reference to January 6th, 2021 and the violent actions of the then president and his howling rabble. A reference to that president's impeachment and the legal troubles he finds himself in (for now).

Right? Obviously.

Meta, the platform behind Facebook, Instagram, and Threads, removed it.

"It looks like you shared or sent something that could encourage violence and lead to risk of physical harm, or a direct threat to public safety."

I beg your pardon? I did what now?

"This goes against our Community Guidelines on violence and incitement."

Community guidelines on violence and incitement, you say?

I literally laughed out loud.

Literally laughed loud enough to scare the dog out of a sound sleep.

Hilarious.

Absolutely fucking hilarious.

Meta removed a number of similar posts from my various timelines. And it just kept getting funnier to me.

Funny ha ha, but also funny ironic.

You see, Mark Zuckerberg has higher standards against incitement of violence and threats to the public safety than the Supreme Court.

Mark Zuckerberg. That Mark Zuckerberg. That Facebook. That Meta.

Hilarious.

And what's even funnier is that I've now faced more consequences for allegedly inciting violence against the Republic than Donald Trump has or ever will -- because he's now officially immune from the consequences of his own actions and I as a mere plebe of the Imperium am most assuredly not.

Quod Erat Demonstrandum and Hail! Caesar.

Somewhere right now, up there in Republican heaven, Richard Milhous Nixon is swearing bitterly and staring down in utter disbelief at those who called John Roberts a "moderate conservative."

And, yeah, while that's probably hyperbole, the truth of the matter is the Roberts Court would have let Tricky Dick get away with it.

And the really ironic part here is that this Republican Supreme Court hasn't just sounded the death knell of The Republic by making the president Caesar, immune from the law and from the consequences of his own actions, but the Court has effectively killed itself.

I mean, what's the point of a Legislative or Judicial Branch when the Executive has unlimited power and absolute immunity?

The checks and balances of the American government are now effectively null and void, because with absolute executive immunity comes absolute immunity from both the Court and from Congress.

And that's exactly what this ruling does.

But then again, what would you expect from a Court that has no enforceable ethical code of conduct and refuses to even consider one?

The majority opinion, penned by Roberts himself alleges the founders of this country, the Framers of the Constitution, those men who'd just fought a bloody war of rebellion to free themselves from a monarch utterly immune from accountability and the law, actually envisioned an Executive who would likewise be immune from the law and accountability but is also somehow not a king.

Ur?

Never mind, he's rollin'

The opinion uses words like “vigorous,” “energetic," "decisive," and "speedy execution” of the president's duty to "faithfully execute" the law -- something the president has been able to do for 248 years, through multiple wars and myriad national emergencies, somehow without having absolute immunity.

But today in this new age, apparently the law cannot be executed vigorously, energetically, decisively, or in a speedy fashion if the president actually has to obey the law he's "faithfully" executing.

Explain to me how the guy charged with enforcing the law should be immune from it.

Explain it to me like I'm not a lawyer. Go ahead.

Why does this only apply to Presidents? Why shouldn't attorney generals be likewise immune from the law, or the police, or Supreme Court Justices ... okay, those are bad examples but I think I've made my point here.

The President must have “absolute immunity” for any “official act within his exclusive sphere of constitutional authority," reasons the Chief Justice.

Now, again, I'm not a lawyer, but I noticed that the Chief Justice and his conservative Trump-appointed coconspirators on the Court didn't bother to define "official acts." That seems a strange omission, doesn't it? If they didn't define official acts, who does? The president? And Republicans don't see this as problematic?

But of course they wouldn't, would they?

But wait, there's more.

The opinion also offers up something called “presumptive immunity.”

Now, you'd think "absolute immunity" would cover it. If you have absolute immunity, how much more immunity do you need? That's pretty much what "absolute" mean, isn't it?

Ha ha. No.

According to John Roberts, the President also gets "presumptive immunity" for any action that falls outside his "official" duties, but within “the outer perimeter of his official responsibility.”

So there's official official and then there's also some other sort of official that's less official but also still official.

See? That's why I'm not a lawyer.

Anyway, this presidenting gig sounds like good work if you can get it.

As in the above decision regarding absolute immunity for official acts, the court doesn't provide any definition of "outer perimeter of official responsibility" or what non-official official duties might fall into it.

Confused?

It gets better, because Roberts goes on to say that this presumptive immunity for acts taken in the outer perimeter of officialdom might actually be absolute immunity after all, but “we need not decide that question today.”

So, we've determined there are official acts that get absolute immunity and there are less official acts that get presumptive immunity, but those less official acts might actually be official acts and entitled to absolute immunity instead of presumptive immunity but we don't have to actually spell out what any of those acts actually are today because something something gazpacho and the lower courts will just figure it out. Probably.

I'll pause for a minute so you can wipe at the blood which is no doubt running from you ear about now.

Unofficial acts, says Roberts, are not entitled to immunity, presumptive or absolute.

Oh, well, that's good.

We can hold the President accountable for unofficial acts.

Unofficial acts.

Unofficial.

The president can be held accountable for unofficial acts.

Heh heh. Riiiight.

When the president does it, that means it is not illegal!

-- Richard Nixon, 1977

Guess what? Turns out, Nixon was right.

If absolute immunity is only for official acts, then immunity is always going to be absolute because you can bet that when the president does it, whatever it is, it's always -- always -- going to be "official."

Bet on it.

You know why? Because the same court who made this decision, will make that one too.

And thus, the president can't be indicted and he can't be impeached.

There is no longer any Constitutional or governmental method of restraining a president.

And there is now no accountability to the American people whatsoever, not even voting if a president choses to "officially" ignore an unfavorable election and order his VP to change the results. That is exactly what the Supreme Court just said. This is quite literally the crux of this entire argument. That's what started all of this, a president who refused to accept the results of the election and who attempted to nullify those results through violence in order to seize power. Those are now official acts and immune from the law.

Up above I said I'd made a number of comments on social media that were later removed.

Here's another one:

When they line us up in front of that ditch they made us dig in the field outside the concentration camp gates, just before one of Supreme General Mike Flynn's Hauptsturmführers gives the order to fire, I'll be the guy who smacks you in the back of the head and snarls "I FUCKING TOLD YOU SO."

The post got several hundred responses.

-- You won't get the chance, I won't be there. I'm going for their throats with my bare teeth when they show up to "detain me for reeducation". They're going to have to shoot in the street in front of my own house in front of everybody.

-- I won't get there. I will take a few with me first.

-- Before that happens, I'm going to take out as many of those single helix mutant pieces of shit neckbeards as possible. You're welcome to join me. I will not go quietly.

-- Im not going down without taking a few of them with me.. jfs

-- I’ll be the girl who turns around and storms the bad guys. They may kill me, but I’ll go down fighting.

There were many, many more in the same spirit, I was in the process of recording them when Threads took the post down and I lost access to the feed.

We'll go down fighting!

Yeah. Great. Cool. I admire your spirit. War is fun. You're gonna love it. But the thing is, we wouldn't have to die fighting -- if you all showed the same grit at the ballot box.

Now, I'm not saying that those who shouted defiance up above didn't themselves vote. They follow me, they likely did.

But a lot of Americans didn't.

And they won't this time either -- despite their promise to go down fighting.

It should never have come to this and where does that leave us?

If the president does it, it's official. And if it's official then the president can't be impeached and he can't be indicted and he can't be convicted and he can't be held accountable to the people. He is, de facto, Caesar.

Or Vladimir Putin. Pick you poison.

That is literally Trump's entire argument.

Everything he did in office is official. He can't be impeached for it, he can't be prosecuted for it, and he fully intends to do it again, until he really is Caesar, or Putin.

And the Court said, Okay.

I'm not a lawyer, don't take my word for it. Instead listen to what Justice Sotomayor said:

The Court effectively creates a law-free zone around the President, upsetting the status quo that has existed since the Founding. … When he uses his official powers in any way, under the majority’s reasoning, he now will be insulated from criminal prosecution. Orders the Navy’s Seal Team 6 to assassinate a political rival? Immune. Organizes a military coup to hold onto power? Immune. Takes a bribe in exchange for a pardon? Immune. Immune, immune, immune.

Let the President violate the law, let him exploit the trappings of his office for personal gain, let him use his official power for evil ends. Because if he knew that he may one day face liability for breaking the law, he might not be as bold and fearless as we would like him to be.

That is the majority’s message today.

Even if these nightmare scenarios never play out, and I pray they never do, the damage has been done. The relationship between the President and the people he serves has shifted irrevocably. In every use of official power, the President is now a king above the law.

We probably could have avoided a lot of trouble and been much further ahead if we'd just paid our taxes, drank our tea, and knuckled under to King George III.

If nothing else, at least we'd have universal healthcare today.

So, where does that leave us?

Beyond guillotines and the Second Amendment, I mean.

November.

That's where it leaves us.

We have one chance to fix this without bloody war and revolution, and even that is a dicey proposition.

I lied up above. War isn't fun. Killing people is terrible. It's dirty and it's ugly and it's fucking horrifying and if you survive you'll never ever get the smell of death out of your brain. Ever. We're out of options. You don't get the luxury of sitting this one out or throwing away your vote because you don't like the choices. And bluntly, if you don't have what it takes to show up and vote, you probably don't have what it takes to pick up a gun and fight tyranny on the battlefield either.

It should never have come to this.

You want want a better nation, you're going to have to be better citizens.

With fear for our democracy, I dissent.

-- Supreme Court Justice Sonia Sotomayor

By Jim Wright

[mochegato]

Even the Losers

Chapter 2

Chapter 1

Bruce watched Lucius, or more specifically his hands, with a well concealed hostility.  If you didn’t truly know Bruce or weren’t well versed at reading suppressed emotions, you could believe it was just another artificially polite expression.  But Lucius had known Bruce since he was a child and Marinette hadn’t spent years fighting an emotional terrorist for nothing.  “I haven’t seen you all night and now I find you coopting this beautiful young lady’s time,” Bruce observed, his mouth tight.

Marinette eyed him apprehensively, subconsciously taking a half step back.  Her whole body stiffening.  Lucius took note of the change and moved slightly between the two of them and laughed politely.  He wasn’t sure what caused the change in demeanor but he still wanted to try to cultivate a business relationship with the young lady.  When they got the fabrics working, they would need a designer and she was not only clearly the perfect candidate for the position, they had already been considering her before everything she’d said during their dance.  

“Sorry, Mr. Wayne.  I assure you I was not avoiding you in favor of a prettier face,” he chuckled.  “Although I’ve been informed elusiveness seems to be a quality I exude unintentionally.” He winked at Marinette who smiled weakly at the attempt.

Bruce chuckled with him, tight and short exhales, his eyes never softening.  “I wouldn’t blame you at all.  She certainly is lovely.”

Marinette’s chest hollowed out, all the breath in her evaporating out of her chest as though it had never been there.  “Kind of you to say,” she rasped out just barely looking up to meet his eyes.

“Just saying the truth,” he assured her with more sincerity.  His eyes finally managed to soften as he looked at her, but immediately hardened again when he returned his gaze to Lucius.  “I’m sorry if Lucius has been keeping you captive.  I know he likes to talk and it can be hard to get him to stop, especially when he’s taken a particular interest in something… or someone.”  His eyes sharpened on Lucius as he spoke.  Lucius only raised his eyebrow in response, leaning back slightly as if to see Bruce a bit better.

Marinette immediately straightened back up, her eyes hardening.  All evidence of uncertainty and unease shattering as she did.  She had been the one to approach M. Fox.  She had been the one to coopt his time.  She had been the one manipulating the situation.  And now M. Wayne was going to try to twist this on M. Fox, who had been nothing but gracious and kind.  “I was just discussing innovation and the application process with M. Fox,” Marinette responded coldly before Lucius could.  “He was polite enough to entertain my questions.  He has been quite polite and charming and professional.”

“Were you thinking of working for WE?” Bruce asks perking up slightly.  

“You couldn’t pay me enough,” Marinette scoffed out before she could stop herself.  She immediately mentally face palmed.  This wasn’t the time for this.  Now was about Max, not her.  The mission had been successful she wasn’t going to blow it now by letting M. Fox see her overreactions.  

She let out a breath and looked back up with an overly wide smile.  “As I mentioned to M. Fox, I’m not really interested in technology.  I couldn’t imagine anything more boring than staring at numbers and code all day long,” she laughed in the way she’d seen Adrien laugh at events like this, an empty, meaningless laugh meant to indicate a lack of interest in the topic rather than actual entertainment, leaning toward Lucius as she said it, hoping to pull him into the conversation and rescue her from.

“It’s not my favorite part of the day either,” Lucius smiled graciously.  “I imagine you would still be good at it,” he assured her, “but I can’t say I blame you. I would likely react the same if faced with bolts of fabric and thread.”

Marinette smiled politely, grateful to him for the reprieve.  “Well that sounds interesting,” Bruce interjected.  “Perhaps we can discuss what would interest you during a dance.” He motioned toward the dancefloor and held his hand out toward her.

Marinette glanced down at the hand, a weight settling in the pit of her stomach.  If she gave in he’d have her for the duration of the song.  One-on-one.  No escape without creating a scene.  Trapped by the same societal conventions she’d used against M. Fox.  “Surely you must have more important guests to attend to,” she offered instead.

“I do not,” he assured her, sincerity radiating from his eyes.

Marinette opened her mouth to say yes, resigning herself to her fate when she felt a hand on her hip.  “There you are M’lady.  I lost you in the sea of people for a moment.”  Adrien prompted her to turn slightly so he could look her in the eyes. “You okay?”

Her shoulders, she hadn’t even realized had worked their way up to almost touching her jaw, instantly relaxed.  She gave him a relieved smile and squeezed his hand.  “I’m good, Kitty.  Thank you.”

“Is this your date?” Bruce inserted, eyeing him coldly, but held his hand out to him.  “Bruce Wayne.”

Adrien gave him his practiced, social smile, perfect for galas with strangers and potentially hostile associates.  “Nice to meet you, sir.  This is a very nice gathering.  Very kind of you to do this for the orphans,” his tone was bordering on openly hostile but keeping to the socially acceptable side of the border. Marinette choked at the statement. She hadn’t really thought about the intent of the gala since she’d made the plan.  When she’d made it, the purpose hadn’t had any bearing.  But now…

“Thank you.  It is an important cause to my family and myself.”  He missed the way Adrien squeezed Marinette tighter at his words. “You mentioned talking to Mr. Fox about innovation at Wayne Enterprises.  Perhaps you would like a tour of the building.  I can arrange one personally for you.”

Adrien pulled his lips into a tight, sickeningly artificial smile.  “How very generous of you.  Unfortunately, we won’t be in town that long.  We are scheduled to leave town Tuesday.”

Bruce looked between the two, forcing his body to not stiffen at Adrien responding for Marinette.  “Tell me about yourself, son,” Bruce smiled stiffly, noting that he had artfully left out his name, not that Bruce didn’t know it already, although the physical proximity to Marinette was unexpected.

It took almost all of Marinette’s experience as Ladybug to keep a poker face instead of letting her jaw drop in offense.  “Why don’t you let these young people dance, Bruce,” Lucius interrupted, detecting Marinette’s increased discomfort.  “After all, it’s cruel to make the young have to endure making conversation with the old guard like us.”  He turned to Marinette and Adrien with a kind smile.  “Make sure you don’t miss your opportunity to dance tonight.”

Marinette smiled at him gratefully.  “Not at all, M. Fox.  I found our conversation very fascinating.  Thank you very much for sharing your time with me.  It was much appreciated.  But I will take you up on your advice.”  She turned to Adrien and motioned to the dancefloor.  “Shall we?”

“Always,” Adrien smiled.  “Gentlemen.”  He nodded to them and guided Marinette across the dancefloor, taking great care to escort her as far from them as he possibly could.  He glanced around to make sure the men couldn’t see them and pulled Marinette into a comforting, all-encompassing hug.  “How are you really?”

Marinette held him tightly and buried her head in his chest.  “I’ll be okay.  I just… Thank you for the save.”  She laid her head on his chest as they swayed to the music.  Her breath slowly shifted from shaky to more steady.  She lost track of the number of songs that passed while she found her voice again.  When she could breathe normally again, she stood straight and smiled at Adrien.  “It worked.”

“It worked?” Adrien asked excitedly.

Marinette nodded and had to stop herself from doing an entirely inappropriate victory dance.  “He wants to meet Max on Monday.  Well, me too,” she cringed slightly, not looking forward to being involved beyond what she had done already.  “But! But, he was floored by Max’s invention. Like completely floored!  And knows about Rabler now.  He did not look happy at all about the news.”  Her grin widened as she remembered the encounter.  “I think Max is really going to be taken care of.  It went so well!” she squealed.

Adrien grinned back and hugged her.  “We have to let Max know.”

Marinette nodded.  “He’ll call us when he’s done.  We just need to stay up until then.”

Adrien nodded.  “Coffee it is then.  Do you want to leave now or look around?”  Marinette looked around quickly.  By the time she looked back at Adrien, her eyes had lost their light. She looked exhausted suddenly, drained by the experience.  Adrien gave her an understanding smile and squeeze.  The mission was over.  She didn’t need to be in mission mode anymore, or at least not high alert.  She just had the meeting on Monday and she was done. Now she could stop blocking any potentially interfering emotions and actually let herself feel again.  “Let’s get out of here and find a coffee shop then. We can take it back to the hotel and watch bad movies until Max calls.”

Marinette gave him a weak smile.  “Maybe popcorn and candy and drinks instead,” she offered. She rested her head on his shoulder. “Sooooo many drinks and ice cream.”

Adrien laughed and slung his arm over her shoulder to help guide her and comfort her at the same time.  They wound through the crowd making their way to the exit and freedom, where Marinette could finally breathe freely.  They had almost made it to the doors when they heard someone call Adrien’s name.  Adrien looked around and cursed under his breath.  “Hey again.”

“Leaving so soon?” Tim asked.  He looked between the two with a concerned expression.  It was awfully early in the night to leave already.

“Yeah, I think so.  It’s a nice event but I think we’re ready to go home, take off the stuffy clothes, and drink,” he gave him a charming, conspiratorial smile. Nobody their age wanted to be here and they all knew it.

“Oh that sounds like a brilliant plan,” the blonde woman next to Tim grinned.  “I wish we could do that.  But we have to at least wait until the announcement.  And we can’t drink.  But it would help handle events like this.”  She gave them a wide smile and held out her hand.  “I’m Stephanie.  Nice to meet you.”

Adrien smiled politely back.  “Adrien.  Hi.”

Marinette smiled civilly.  “Marinette.  Nice to meet you.”

Stephanie’s smile widened.  “Oh Timmy, make sure to keep this one away from Bruce.  Black hair, blue eyes, looks beautiful but haunted. He’ll adopt her in an instant.”

Tim laughed and rolled his eyes, drawing Stephanie’s attention to him, both of them missing the way Marinette and Adrien balked and Marinette’s entire body went rigid again.  “Bruce’s breaking that habit with today’s announcement.”

Adrien paled slightly.  This could go nowhere good, but it was like watching an akuma hit someone when you’re too far away to help.  It was going to happen no matter what.  The damage would be inestimable and all he could do was watch as it got worse and worse.  “Oh?”

“Yeah, our new brother… or rather their new brother, I’m not officially adopted, just unofficially the favorite child,” Steph winked at them.  Tim huffed playfully but didn’t contradict her.  It was easier to just let it go.  “Anyway, the new Wayne doesn’t have blue eyes. Does have black hair, is beautiful and looks haunted, so maybe it’s just the blue eyes that don’t matter so much anymore.”

“N…new brother?” Adrien stuttered, struggling to keep his voice even and polite.  The normal reaction to such news would be interest and happiness.  Well, they certainly had his interest.  The happiness part though…  He pulled Marinette tighter as he sent her a furtive look.  She was doing an admirable job of masking her response but he knew her. He knew the signs.  He knew her lips were a bit tighter than usual.  He knew her jaw was clenched harder than was normal.  He knew her breathing was harder than average.  He knew he shouldn’t be able to feel her pulse from here.

“Yeah!” Stephanie enthused.  “Duke.”

“We were supposed to wait for the announcement,” Tim chastised with no real heat behind his words.  “But yes.  That’s what this gala is really for.  To officially announce the adoption of Duke Thomas.  So, yet another ‘poor orphan’ joins the rest of us,” he joked.  “I swear Bruce just can’t help himself.  He sees a kid and instantly feels the need to protect and help.”

“So thoughtful,” Marinette rasped out, pretending like her entire chest wasn’t breaking apart and disintegrating in front of them.  “You must all be so excited.”

Tim looked at her for a moment but before he could analyze her tone or body language, they heard someone tapping on a microphone.  “That’s our cue,” Stephanie squealed.  “Looks like you might make it for the announcement after all.  It was nice to meet you if I don’t see you after.”  Tim and Stephanie waved before making their way to the stage.

Once the two were gone, Marinette’s eyes bulged as Tim’s words reverberated in her head.  This whole thing was to introduce a new child, another new child he took in, another addition to his family, another child he wanted and brought into his life instead of throwing them out.  Her eyes darted among the family members as they all made their way up onto the stage.  All standing behind the new member, smiling at him, hugging him, eyes shining in acceptance for him.  One big happy family, not wanting for anything… or anyone.

Marinette didn’t realize she had stopped breathing until her body forced a deep gasping breath, knocking her out of her stupor. She tore her eyes away so violently, she stumbled back, or maybe it was just that her resilience had disappeared with the words.  They should not be here.  They… she should never have come.  This was a stupid, terrible plan.  She had no right to intrude.  She had no right to be here… for this.

Her heart raced out of control.  Her whole body started shaking.  She couldn’t breathe.  Why couldn’t she breathe now?  But suddenly there wasn’t enough air in the room.  Why wasn’t there air?  There had been air before, hadn’t there been?  She remembers being able to breathe earlier.  She thinks.  Maybe she made that up.  Maybe she hadn’t been able to breathe since she stepped in the room.

She stumbled again and reached out for support, never doubting it would be there for her.  Adrien responded instantly, bringing her into his chest and quickly guiding her out of the gala.  He whispered comforting and reassuring words as they moved, throwing empty smiles at anyone who bothered looking their way, as though helping his drunk date home, nothing scandalous or even unusual, nothing to look twice at.

They missed the eyes searching the crowd for them and the quickly covered up frown at finding them missing.

Chapter 3

Tags:

@maribat-bdbwm @jayjayspixiepop @redscarlet95 @alice-hazelwood @deathssilentapproach-blog @unoriginalmess @alyssadeliv @emotionalsupportginger 

[firebrands]

the square root of infinity | stevetony

2.7k, established relationship, first fight angst | on ao3 | for @maguna-stxrk

***

Tony finds out with his hands deep in JARVIS’ code. Former-JARVIS, actual-JARVIS, he hasn’t really decided on what to refer to the mess of numbers of letters that formed his former AI, and now, well—Vision, too. It’s all a mess, really, and Tony wanted something simple to do with his hands, minimal focus, low-risk.

He should have known better, really. Nothing about him, his work, his life, has ever been low-risk.

It’s a command from Steve with a privacy protocol. Search, identify, and surveil Sergeant James “Bucky” Barnes, also known as The Winter Soldier. Missing, found, and missing again as of six months ago. Tony frowns at the monitor. He knows he hasn’t read it wrong, but can’t believe it; he reads it again.

Somehow, in the span of time of Steve coming back from Washington, of them settling in together, he’d done this. He’d asked JARVIS to do this for him, and keep it from Tony.

Tony leans back against his chair. “FRI,” he says.

His new AI chirps to life. “Boss?”

“Gimme everything JARVIS found on this.”

“It’s on your phone now, boss.” In front of him, a hologram materializes as well, displaying hundreds of photos, grainy and filtered, and copies of reports on sightings. Tony stands up, takes a step back and frowns some more. He opens his mouth a few times, borne of his need to verbalize even without anyone listening; he’s angry. He’s more shocked than angry, but the anger is there, low and simmering.

Beneath it, though, is a grain of doubt: Why? Why did he keep it hidden? Especially now—after all the truth came spilling out of them, crystallizing into something Tony held dear. And after all Steve had said, about keeping secrets, about trust. He briefly considers asking FRIDAY to print it all out, just so he can throw the sheaf of paper in front of Steve and demand: what the fuck, but he’s better now, more mature. Or so he likes to tell himself.

So instead, he walks to the penthouse and finds Steve reading.

Tony clears his throat.

Steve looks up. “Hey,” he says, setting his book down. “You done working?”

Tony smiles, pained and tight. “So,” he says, sitting at the foot of the bed. “Bucky.”

Steve’s eyebrows meet, looking concerned. “What about him?”

Tony shuts his eyes and counts backward from five. “Why didn’t you just tell me?”

Steve inches closer to him and rests his hand on Tony’s knee. Tony doesn’t open his eyes.

“I didn’t want to worry you,” Steve says very quietly.

Tony’s eyes fly open, the anger now boiling over. “Oh is that it?” He asks sarcastically. “So you decided to use JARVIS—without my permission, to look for him?”

Steve’s mouth works, and he looks genuinely shocked. “You said I could talk to JARVIS.”

“That’s not the point!” He pushes Steve’s hand off him and stands. “Why would you keep that a secret?”

“I—I didn’t,” Steve says haltingly. “I wasn’t thinking. I just wanted to know if JARVIS could find him, but I knew it was almost impossible anyway, so there was no real point—”

“If there was no point,” Tony says, voice lowering, “then why’d you do it?”

“Tony,” Steve stands now, too, tries to reach out and touch Tony’s elbow, to disentangle Tony’s arms that have crossed over his chest on their own volition. “He’s my best friend. I’m worried about him. I just thought it was something I should do myself.”

Tony nods, not really listening. His head is swimming with what he thinks could be actual reasons why Steve had kept this from him. A tangled mess of fear and insecurity, then shock at his ability to be aware of it. Is this maturity? He doesn’t like it much. Better if it stayed Steve’s fault—and it is Steve’s fault, it is. But maybe Tony doesn’t need to work himself up like this. But then again, Tony’s already worked up. “Stop,” Tony grinds out.

So Steve stops, a foot away from Tony, looking more scared than Tony’s ever seen him.

“I’m going to go.”

“Don’t.”

Tony looks up at Steve. He hadn’t even realized he’d looked away. Steve takes a deep breath, closes the space between them, and takes Tony’s hands in his.

Tony sighs.

Steve threads their fingers together, squeezes Tony’s palms. “Hey.”

“Hi.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.”

“Want to say more than one syllable, maybe?”

A joke? Now? Tony feels his frown deepen.

“No.”

“Is this a fight?”

Tony looks up at him. “A fight means you don’t think you should be sorry.”

“Now, hold on a second,” Steve says, a small frown beginning to form on his face. Barely perceptible, if you didn’t know the signs. “I already explained why—”

“And that’s supposed to make it okay?”

“Where is this coming from?” Steve asks, letting go of Tony’s hands, which means he’s mad too, which drives Tony insane.

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

“There’s no need to raise your tone—”

“Don’t fucking use your de-escalation tactics on me.” Tony hisses, turns on his heel, and walks out the door. He gives himself the satisfaction of slamming it shut.

***

The next few days are filled with small acts of penitence: a cup of coffee on the bedside table when Tony wakes, a sandwich in the workshop, a completed report for a day-old mishap. It’s on Thursday that Tony’s heart finally softens. Over nothing, really, just a small doodle on his desk. He realizes, in that moment, that of all his achievements, perhaps learning to understand Steve Rogers should rank highest. Right up there with being understood by him, too.

Tony’s lying in bed, reading a report on his tablet, when Steve peeks in.

“Hey.” He sounds tentative.

Tony sighs, sets his tablet aside, and takes off his glasses. “Well, come in.”

Steve’s barely able to hide his grin, and nearly bowls Tony over when he hugs him. “Hi,” Steve says, burying his nose against Tony’s neck.

“Hello to you too, you overgrown labrador,” Tony laughs, pushing Steve away a little lest he be crushed under all combined weight of supersoldier and three bowls of pasta that Clint prepared for dinner.

“I missed you,” Steve says, hugging Tony closer to him. He looks up at Tony, resting his chin right on Tony’s sternum. “Was that our first fight?”

Tony snorts. “Unlikely to be our last,” he says.

“Hey,” Steve chides, leaning up and brushing Tony’s nose with his. “Don’t say that.”

“It’s true. Anyway,” Tony leans closer, brushes their lips together. “Make it up to me.”

Steve arches an eyebrow.

“Don’t start,” Tony warns.

Steve huffs out a laugh, tips them over until they’re lying down, and makes it up to him.

***

As a man of science, it behooves Tony to conduct experiments and to test hypotheses.

First, identify the problem.

Second, conduct research.

Third, develop a hypothesis: follow if / then structure.

Fourth, test through experiments: ensure factors are varied one at a time.

Fifth and final, draw a conclusion.

Tony’s tapping the tip of a screwdriver against his bottom lip as he thinks, and then two strong arms wrap around his waist and just like that, the problem has identified itself.

(One frustrating blind spot in Tony’s life: relationships. Which isn’t to say he hasn’t tried to make sense of them, sped read through self-help books and trawled through Reddit. Unlike everything else, research pales in comparison to experience, and there’s only so much he can do to make sure this one precious thing in his life is perfect.)

“Busy?” Steve presses a small kiss on the back of Tony’s neck. Tony can barely suppress a shiver.

He wants to say, I was, until you showed up. It doesn’t just apply to this moment. That fact shouldn’t hurt.

Instead, Tony says: “Yeah, kinda.”

“Okay,” Steve says easily, pulling away. He comes back to press a quick kiss to Tony’s cheek. “See you later?”

“Yup,” Tony says, and okay. Maybe he needs to spend a day or two really figuring out who the problem is, here. (It’s him. He knows this. He’s always the problem.)

 Two days later, Tony settles on having to review related literature. In this case, this means sitting alone in the workshop as he relives every moment when Steve was distracted. Was that a sign? In a brief moment of clarity, Tony asks: “Fri, am I crazy?”

“Signs point to no, boss. But I can pull up recent results on the search engines?”

“I’d rather not hear what the general public thinks, thanks,” Tony says, sighing. He rests his face in his hands. It’s not like he meant to think of this—what is wrong with his brain, that the intrusive thoughts come in the form of the few moments he’d asked Steve what was on his mind, only to be brushed off?

What did that mean?

Did it matter?

Step three: if that was a sign, then there was a problem.

If that wasn’t a sign, then there wasn’t a problem.

If Tony didn’t figure this out, then there would definitely be a problem.

This isn’t how a hypothesis is meant to sound. Tony’s a terrible scientist.

“Fri, call Bruce.”

“Tony?” Bruce’s voice is rough. He sounds annoyed.

“Hey, seven PhDs, how do I form a proper hypothesis?”

“Fuck you, Stark.” The line clicks off.

Tony turns his wrist, checks his watch. Three AM? Figures.

He stretches out his back. “Friday,” he says, standing up. “The search functions for Barnes.”

“On it, boss.”

“Atta girl.”

***

Try as Tony might—and he’s trying, which in itself feels like a failure, because Tony stark does or does not and there is no need to attempt—he feels like something has shifted between them, and he doesn’t know how to fix it.

Maybe he’s just making it all up in his head. That’s the easy solution, isn’t it? And that’s usually the answer: start with the easiest answer and work your way up. He can already see Natasha rolling her eyes at him. Maybe the solution is to stop treating your relationship like it’s quantum theory.

Steve’s hand is on his lower back, steering him inside a restaurant. He thinks only of what Steve said, all those weeks ago: I had to do it myself.

Tony wants to argue, right this moment. But how can he? It’s awful that they can be so alike. The only reason he keeps his mouth shut is because he knows that Tony’s used that argument before. Maybe this is growth, to know when to back down from a fight. Or to avoid one totally.

Steve reaches over the table, brushes his fingers over Tony’s wrist. “You okay?”

There are a lot of answers to that. Tony settles on the truth. “Not really.”

Steve’s brow creases with worry. “What’s wrong?”

Again: an infinite multiverse of answers to answer a question that simple. With this, Tony does struggle for a moment, and the next words are much harder to say—they almost feel caught in his throat, like a lump of meat. “I don’t know.”

“You can tell me anything, you know,” Steve says gently. So gentle, it almost breaks him; Tony doesn’t deserve this. Steve doesn’t deserve this.

“I know,” Tony says, and this is him lying through his teeth, and this is what he’s good at, and maybe this is why he’ll never know how relationships are. It’s a trust issue, probably. He doesn’t know if the issue is with Steve, or with himself. “Don’t worry about it.”

Tony tries harder, now: smiles more, eats with gusto. He knocks Steve’s thigh with his knee, looks up at him from under his lashes. This is what life is like for Tony Stark: it’s acting. He knows the approximations to get his point across. As their evening goes on, the small wrinkle on Steve’s forehead smooths out, and maybe Tony wishes he wasn’t so good at pretending.

Maybe he wishes that Steve read him better.

***

The moment of epiphany is often described as transcendental.

This one hits like a ton of bricks—literally, because Tony does know what that feels like, and the suit is shock proof, sure, but that shit still fucking hurts, and even in moments of epiphany, somehow he still manages to go off on a tangent. The point remains: Steve’s hand is on his hip, and they’re in bed, and epiphanies usually equate clarity, peace.

Tony freezes up.

“Tony?” Steve murmurs, sliding his hand up Tony’s side.

“I’m sorry,” Tony says, sitting up. “I know I’m being difficult.”

“I didn’t say you were.” Steve sits up beside him, rests his hand on Tony’s shoulder, and turns Tony to look at him. “Who said you were being difficult?”

“Me, I’m saying it,” Tony says. Panic is beginning to bubble in his belly, slowly rising up his throat. Typical of him to mistake a eureka moment with a panic attack. Par for the fucking course for Tony Stark. “I’m being difficult right now.”

“No you’re not,” Steve says, rubbing up and down his arms. “Tony. Look at me.”

Tony breathes out through his mouth, then in through his nose. Steve tips his chin up and meets his gaze.

“Here are the variables,” Tony breathes out, is afraid of what he’ll say next, his brain is fogged over and full of static. “I love you, and I don’t know what to do with that.”

Steve takes a deep breath, takes Tony’s face in his hands. “Here’s a constant,” he whispers, breath warm on Tony’s cheek. “I love you. I love you. You, Tony Stark. I love you.” He kisses Tony, hard and close lipped, more aggressive reminder than affection.

“Okay,” Tony says, because there’s a wild part of him that still thinks—there was a problem, there was a problem and if this is love, then what comes next? If this is constant, then what variable will arrive to change all of that?

Steve kisses Tony again, almost desperate, this time. “Is this about Bucky?” Tony sucks in a breath at the question, horrified at being discovered. Steve hums, then he runs one hand down Tony’s back, up his arm, down his side. A reminder of his presence. Tony is suddenly grateful for it.

“And if it is?” he murmurs.

“Tony,” and somehow, Steve sounds fond, which throws a wrench in this whole debacle, and deep in the recesses of Tony’s brain, rationality begins to take root. “He’s my best friend. You’re the love of my life.”

Tony breathes.

“Did you hear me? You. You’re the love of my life. Please don’t make me compare,” Steve huffs out a small laugh, and it warms Tony all over, like sunshine peeking through the clouds after a strong rain. “And maybe you don’t believe me just yet,” Steve touches their foreheads together, then rubs his nose against Tony’s, the affection plain and chaste. It makes Tony feel more loved than he’s ever felt in his life—not that there were many moments to compare against, but still.

“I feel a little crazy,” Tony says, finding it in himself to smile up at Steve.

“A little crazy in love?” Steve asks, grinning.

“I can’t believe you just made a Beyonce reference. In the middle of my panic attack.”

Steve bites his bottom lip, a poor attempt at stopping himself from laughing. Tony flicks his forehead. “Say it again,” Tony says, and his smile still feels a little wobbly, but it’s a step.

“Crazy in Love?” Steve asks, pulling Tony close and wrapping his arms around Tony’s waist.

It’s an odd angle, and eventually Steve shifts to lift Tony up onto his lap. “Ass,” Tony says. “You know what I meant.”

Steve smiles again, right before pressing a kiss to Tony’s shoulder. “Step one,” he says. “The problem is you’re afraid I don’t love you. Step two: find out how to show you that I do.” He pauses, and Tony feels breathless as he presses another kiss to Tony’s bare skin. “Step three. Hypothesis? If I show Tony I love him all the time, then eventually he’ll believe me.”

“Sounds like a shaky hypothesis,” Tony says, but his voice quivers a little as he says it. He can’t explain how he feels, other than warm in Steve’s embrace.

Steve tuts. “Step four, experimentation. Small gestures, date nights.” Steve rubs Tony’s back as he speaks, and stops to tilt Tony’s head up to face him. “Am I getting this right?”

Tony smiles. “I don’t know, what’s the conclusion?”

Steve wraps his arms around Tony’s waist once more. “You’re here. I’m here. I love you.” He leans up, brushes their lips together. “Is that enough?”

[kimberly-spirits13]

Random Characters with Creative/ Designer S/O HC:

Characters: Damian Wayne, Tim Drake, Bart Allen, Conner Kent (RSS), Jamie Reyes

Damian Wayne (Fashion Design):

·      You’d started off your career when you were young

·      Your father wasn’t super supportive of everything and said that you were too young to start a business or what have you

·      So, with approval from your mother, you started one behind his back

·      He didn’t know until one day you ended up treading and going viral with a dress you made for a very famous celebrity

·      At that point he couldn’t stop you and was just impressed that you made it for months without him knowing

·      As long as you were keeping up schooling, it would fly

·      You ended up getting to travel the world and go to fashion week

·      More specifically NYFW

·      New York was the big one

·      That’s where you and Damian met

·      He was there for a business trip with Bruce and saw you at one of the shows the girls dragged him to

·      He was immediately infatuated with you and wanted to meet you

·      Thank the heavens he has sisters who wear your clothes to almost every gala

·      They got to go back stage and talk to you which led to you two exchanging numbers and the rest is history

·      When you started dating it was really hectic

·      You had a few kidnapping scares which made him want to break it off especially after you found out about the entire Robin thing

·      Heeeellllllllll no

·      You didn’t let that happen at all

·      Bruce actually commented and said that if you were that stubborn, Damian should probably keep you

·      Fashion week becomes more tiring and you also hate not being able to see Damian as much

·      He comes and visits though to make sure you don’t throw yourself out a window or something lol

·      When it’s over, you guys always take a long vacation to Lake Tahoe in a house Bruce owns on the Nevada side

·      He loves seeing your studio since it’s so organized and colorful

·      You’ve got walls of mood boards and mannequins with unfinished garments everywhere along with a massive soft couch that one of you is always sprawled out on

·      Sometimes he’ll send you pictures of pretty things he thinks you’d might like which ends up being incorporated into something

·      You taught him how to drape and make his own suit so that Alfred can have a day off

·      If anyone has a wardrobe malfunction and you’re around, you’ve got the needle and thread kit on hand at any given moment

·      Some things in the kit come in handy for picking locks too

·      He thinks it’s hilarious if you ever critique something or just call it straight ugly

·      If you’re at a gala and do it it’s even funnier

·      “Omg...”

·      “What is it beloved?”

·      “The drape and hem of that dress is the most preposterous thing I think I have ever seen. The fabric isn’t even the right material or fit for their shape. How rich are these people? And they can’t afford clothes that look decent on them?” You said giving them the famous inspecting side eye, “Also, who wears pearls with double sided sequins and fur?” “They can’t fix everything sweetie.”

·      *intense snickering from Damian*

Tim Drake (Software/ Web Designer):

·      It’s a match made in heaven

·      The two of you meet at a tech conference

·      He thought that you were such an interesting person to talk to and you had offers from places like MIT

·      You got along so well and then he found that you liked coffee like he did

·      Omg

·      He asked you out in the nerdiest way by making you decipher code on your own computer

·      You were kind of mad since you had been doing some other things for some major companies but after reading the message you determined you were fine with it

·      I mean how could you say no

·      Anyways the date when off great and eventually the media caught heavy wind of what was happening

·      You already knew about the Red Robin thing pretty quickly into the relationship though

·      Tim was a genius and you weren’t far behind

·      It was scary how similar you two were

·      From expressions and shared humor and meme taste, it was everything

·      Staying up together was another thing you did

·      Although, after some time one of you would pass out and the other would go to bed too

·      It was like a competition in sorts of who could stay up the longest but at the same time you needed him to sleep

·      The time he felt most betrayed by you was when you replaced his coffee with decaf

·      You guys just sometimes hang out in his bed tangled up in the weirdest way watching vines or weird movies

·      Totally the couple that would watch the worst rated movies just to laugh at them

·      Damian commented on it once and got a tired middle finger from you once

·      It wasn’t the classiest move however you couldn’t care less and Tim laughed his ass off

·      After that Damian seemed to respect you more

·      You guys probably have matching hoodies or something with really funny or obscure culture references

·      Clingy couple but nothing too over dramatic

Bart Allen:

·      Your designs in architecture went down in text books

·      You were famous for some really amazing builds and constructions

·      You started off by building these really insane LEGO sets or doll houses based off of designs in your notebook

·      Your mother still has the models in the attic which is kind of embarrassing when he sees it but he thinks it’s really cool

·      When he came to your time line he knew immediately who you were

·      He also totally came to you and complimented your work plus some additional hinting at what was going to happen pretty soon

·      Bart was there at the rise of your success

·      He basically was your number one fan the entire time

·      He’ll stay up with you as long as he can when you’re working

·      It’s kind of funny seeing that when you’re designing the things you went down in history for you’ll be stuck on something and he’ll just tiredly recommend what he remembers learning

·      You let him look through the designs sometimes but he understands if you don’t really feel comfortable with it

·      He also knows that in order to do all of this, you’re wicked smart

·      When the cave needed remodeling, you were the first person that they called in

·      The League was very glad that you were there and they didn’t have to pull any strings to get anyone different in

·      Plus, you knew what was needed since you were there all of the time

Kon Kent:

·      You got your start writing

·      It was the best thing that you did to relive stress

·      Once your parents saw that you were such an imaginative child, they got you in a ton of art related classes but you liked writing the most

·      Your writings had won awards before but then you wrote a book and it did amazing

·      So now, that’s what you do

·      Kon secretly actually really likes your books and met you at a book signing

·      Nerd

·      He got your number there and then you realized who he was

·      It was kind of funny cause you were both in that moment of realization like

·      Ohhhhh I know who you are.... kinda thing

·      He finds it hilarious that sometimes you’re just all over the place

·      When doing research your room isn’t terrible messy, it’s just piles and piles of notes and articles

·      You also probably have an expansive collection of literature yourself ranging from all genres

·      You don’t really like him to proof the book, however if you have an idea for something he’s all ears

·      Coffee dates to strange hole in the wall joints

·      Clark really likes you and finds your humor funny in the sense that it’s close to Bruce’s

·      Both very sarcastic and dry

·      Lex is just glad that his son found someone with an intellect

·      You don’t really like Lex though

·      That’s because you hear everything that Kon has to say about him

·      Although, without giving the man too much credit, the charade that he plays on the daily in quite impressive

·      You will never admit it however

·      Ma and Pa love you

·      So does Lois

·      You get along because of the writing

·      Sometimes Kon will just take you to some random part of the world if you need inspiration

·      “Hey wanna fly to Morocco?”

·      “Why not?”

·      You make a day trip out of it but if it’s a long one you’ll stay longer

·      Short distance he’ll fly you himself but overseas or something, he takes one of Lex’s jets

·      He likes to tease you sometimes but will take it easy during the editing phase

·      Those aren’t fun at alllll

·      You get cranky sometimes during that and he just backs off lol

·      He will make you sleep though

·      He doesn’t want you turning into Tim or anything for an extended amount of time

·      Nope

·      Not doing it

Jamie Reyes:

·      The team didn’t know anything about your job as an artist

·      You were internationally revered

·      No one knew of your job but for the boy wonder who saw the paint in your hair

·      Once the team did know however, everyone was amazed

·      You and Jamie were already dating by then though

·      He was always impressed with what you did

·      Laughed when you were covered in paint

·      He lets you paint or draw on his hand

·      You both have matching hoodies or jackets from your clothing line or merch that you painted

·      If you have a YouTube channel, he’s in some of the videos

·      Scarab notes that you have a more creative personality which Jamie responds to with a sarcastic remark

·      Your clothes are partly covered in paint

·      He’ll go to every show

·      During the Reach thing you still stayed with him

I have more parts of the Damian Wayne x reader story coming and also requests but I’m just getting into school which is my priority so that’s why I’ve been a bit more inactive. Anyways I hope you liked this one and I can’t wait to put out more 

[liberty-barnes]

Keep You Safe

Peter Parker x Female!Reader

Prompt: “I can’t decide if that’s cute or something characteristic of a psychopath”

Warnings: slightly creepy Peter, but like the endearing kind of creepy, also Petey being a dork,,,as always, protective Peter Parker, Endgame related angst but only for a sec, cuddlesssss, and fluff, lots of fluff, because I’m a hoe for fluff... and Tom Holland’s biceps but that’s a story for another day

Word Count: 2167 words

Estimated Reading Time: 9 minutes

A/N: School has officially closed which means that I’m now forced to stay home all day (which wouldn’t be so bad if I wasn’t locked at home with my dad and he’s getting on every single one of my nerves) and do the homework our teachers send us by email... I didn’t even know Microsoft Teams and OneNote existed until a week ago... so that’s something. I usually write stuff on paper during class cause let’s be honest, I only pay attention to what my teachers are saying when I’m forced to (don’t do this kids, listen to teachers, God I’m a such a bad example) so I’ve got about 5 stories written and I thought “Hey, since I’m too lazy to do my physics homework, why not post it all on tumblr?” So yeah, hi, this is my version of “quarantine is driving me crazy and I need an escape”. And before you ask, yes, I’ve succumbed to the toilet paper juggle thing already, it was not pretty.

Masterlist 

Peter Parker was not a creep, he was simply a worried boyfriend.

There is nothing wrong with following your girlfriend after school to make sure she gets home safe before going back to the Tower. Or asking Karen to alert him whenever you leave the house so he could follow you to make sure you were safe. Or gifting you one of those morse code bracelets that monitored your vitals and location because he knew you’d never take it off and that way he could constantly know where you were and how you were feeling.

Peter Parker was not a creep.

He watched from his vantage point on top of a building as you and MJ left the mall, Slurpees in hand and carrying at least five shopping bags each, most of them being from art stores and only a couple from clothing. The sight of your bright smile made his heart burst with affection and he listened intently, still able to hear your melodic laugh over the hustle and bustle of the busy street.

He followed you at a safe distance, losing sight of the two of you as you entered the subway. Karen kept him aware of your whereabouts though, and he saw you again when you exited the subway station, now alone.

You walked a couple more blocks and entered your apartment building, but Peter only truly relaxed once he saw you entering your bedroom, having a clear view through your window. 

He stayed for a few more minutes, admiring how beautiful you looked doing something as mundane as cutting tags off your newly bought clothes and throwing out the plastic wrapped around your new art supplies. 

He then made his way to the Tower, where the Avengers chose to live again, for practical purposes.

“Hey everyone!” He immediately greeted his teammates after walking into the kitchen, mask off and hair slightly messy.

“Hey Pete,” The twenty-year-old witch gave him a chilled bottle of water from the fridge, already knowing that the boy would be parched.

Peter kissed her cheek and did the same to Pepper, Carol, and Morgan who were all sitting at the table playing Uno, no doubt to make the young Stark happy.

“Where is everyone?” The young spiderling asked after downing his water bottle.

“Bucky and Sam are in the gym, Bruce is messing with something in the labs, and Sharon went grocery shopping with Rhodey.” Carol set down a blue five, not even looking up from her hand. For a superhero, she sure sucked at card games.

“Oh, okay. I’m going to my room, be back to help with dinner!” He called back before walking to the elevator and pressing the button to his and May’s floor. 

After everyone returned from the Blip, the Parkers lost their home and Pepper immediately offered them a floor at the Tower, not wanting her not-really-but-still-kind-of-feels-like-it son and his aunt to be living on the streets. Peter was very happy to be living with some of his favorite people in the world and very grateful for the opportunities it provided him.

He entered his room and pressed the button on his chest, the suit retracting to a simple spider pendant that hung around his neck, looking like an ordinary chain. He took it off and put it in his charging cradle before changing into a pair of grey sweatpants (your favorite though he still doesn’t understand why) and his blue Midtown sweatshirt.

He sat on his desk chair, ready to start his homework but a vibration from his phone made him postpone the task, choosing instead to open the messaging app on his custom made StarkPhone.

Princess 👑 ❤️:  heyy :) Princess 👑 ❤️:  can i meet you at the tower later? Princess 👑 ❤️:  i want cuddles :)))

He smiled at that and immediately texted you back.

Baby🕷️ ❤️: i’ll ask Rhodey and Shar to pick you up on their way home :) Baby🕷️ ❤️: love you <3 Princess 👑 ❤️: love you more <33

He texted Sharon and after receiving confirmation that you were in the car with them, he turned his phone face down on the desk to avoid any distractions and started on his English homework, hoping to be done with it when you got here so he could cuddle in peace with his beloved girlfriend.

Twenty minutes later, he was almost done with his homework, fully engrossed in the words on the page that he had to meticulously read, highlight and analyze. He barely noticed when you entered the room, his spidey sense no longer detecting you as a threat, but took a much-needed breath of relief when he felt your hands around his shoulder, rubbing softly.

No words were needed as you kept rubbing his shoulders while he finished his homework, relishing in the soft kisses you left on the crown of his head from time to time. He finished the last sentence on his analysis and set his pen down, sighing. He closed his eyes and put his head back so it rested on your shoulder and you kissed his forehead, hands around his neck, hugging his upper body from behind.

“Cuddles now?” You asked, voice soft and soothing reaching his over-worked brain.

“Yeah, baby, let’s go.”

You kissed him on the forehead once more and took off your shirt, staying in your white lace bra and pastel pink sweatpants before laying down on the king-sized bed. You made grabby hands at him and he took off his own shirt, laying down between your legs and resting his head on your breasts. Your right hand made its way to his soft brown curls while your left rested on his upper back, hugging him close to your chest. His arms tightened around your waist and a pleased sigh left his lips, his lashes fluttering and tickling your skin as the tension rolled off of him in waves with every gentle pass of your manicured nails through his scalp.

Peter loved this position. There was really nothing sexual about it, he just loved hearing your heartbeat and feeling your colder skin against his naturally overheated one. He loved protecting the city and all of its inhabitants but here, in your arms, in this bed, he wasn’t Spider-Man, the newest Avenger. He wasn’t the Starks’ unofficially adopted kid that would take over SI alongside Morgan and Harley. He wasn’t the kid who brightened up everyone’s day and felt solely responsible for their happiness and well-being.

He was just Pete. Your Pete. Your fragile, vulnerable boyfriend who just really needed a hug, and you were more than happy to provide.

“How was your day?” He asked, voice slightly muffled because of his mouth’s position, buried in the valley of your breasts.

“Pretty good. I went to the mall with MJ after class and we bought a bunch of new clothes and art supplies for our trip to DisneyWorld.”

“Why do you need new stuff just to go to DisneyWorld?”

“I need Disney themed stuff.”

“You already have Disney themed stuff.”

“But I need new ones so that every time I see them they’ll remind me of our trip to DisneyWorld.”

He chuckled at your over-the-top-ness and nuzzled his face deeper into your chest.

“‘M hungry.”

“Must be cause you didn’t eat.”

“Did too!” He snorted at that.

“A Slurpee doesn’t count as food, princess.”

A silence enveloped the room and he felt your heartbeat quicken.

“I never told you I had a Slurpee.”

Oh shit.

“Y-Yeah, you did, you said you went to the mall with MJ to do some shopping and had a Slurpee after.” He was panicking but focused on playing it off as best as he could.

Spoiler Alert: he’s a very bad liar and can’t hide anything from you.

“No, I didn’t so how do you know that?”

He stuttered and incoherent sentence your way, trying and failing TRYING VERY HARD to defend himself. 

“Have you been following me?”

Shitshitshit.

“N-No?” He hated that he couldn’t lie to you, one look at him and all his secrets would come out like some kind of verbal diarrhea.

You pushed him off your lap so the both of you were sitting up, looking at him with nothing short of hurt, confusion, and betrayal swirling in your beautiful sparkling eyes.

“Have you been taking advantage of EDITH and your powers to spy on me?”

He didn’t answer, simply hung his head, closed his eyes and waited for the blow-up that was bound to happen next... but it never came, only a broken whisper followed by a heart-breaking sob reached his ears.

“Do you not trust me?”

“What?” His head snapped up and he stared into your eyes, seeing the tears threatening to leak and cursing himself because he caused that, he caused his babygirl pain.

“W-Well if you're following me it must be because y-you don’t t-trust m-me.”

Your words were punctuated by a particularly loud sob and he quickly gathered you up in his arms, nuzzling his cheek on the top of your head soothingly and threading his fingers through your hair.

“Nonononononono, baby that’s not it, I promise.” He took your face between his hands and kissed your tear-stricken cheeks, resting his forehead on yours. “It’s just that... with everything that happened with Tony and Beck and my identity being revealed, then almost going to prison, thank God for Pepper, I just... I’m constantly worried that someone’ll come after you because of me, because of what you mean to me, and that I won’t be able to protect you and I just need to know you’re safe, always because you’re the most important person in my life and I don’t know what I’d without you, so I followed you and asked Karen to update me on your vitals every hour so I know you’re safe and alive, and real, and... I just need to know you’re safe.”

He took a deep breath after finishing his jumbled up explanation, finally shining light on the fears deeply installed within him for months.

“I can’t decide if that’s cute or something characteristic of a psychopath. Cause you wanna protect me but you do it by following me and invading my privacy.”

“Wha- psychopath?” You both burst into laughter, foreheads still resting against one another.

“Well, you’ve been following me around for a while. Do you have a camera in my bedroom?”

“No! Of course not! Just... in the lobby... and one facing your apartment door... and on your fire escape facing your window...”

His cheeks were flushed red and he was looking everywhere but at you, seemingly embarrassed by his predicament.

“You said you had Karen monitoring my vitals... how?”

“Oh, um... remember the bracelet I gave you for our six-month anniversary?”

You lifted your right wrist, cocking an eyebrow as if to say ‘this one’.

“Yeah, so um... I actually made that. It’s got nanosensors that monitor your heartbeat, blood pressure, sugar levels, emotional state and a bunch of other things along with a tracker that’s constantly activated. It’s all connected to Karen, so she can let me know whenever you’re in trouble...”

“Is that how you always know when I’m having a panic attack or when I’m on my period?” Your eyes softened up and an adoring smile graced your face when he nodded.

“You’re a dork.” You straddled him fully and properly, then kissed him on the lips softly.”But you’re my dork, and I love you. And I love that you want to keep me safe and that you’d be willing to sacrifice your dignity and do something quite illegal to make sure I stay safe.”

He smirked at you.

“You know, out of context that sounds a bit twisted.”

You rolled your eyes but smiled fondly at him.

“What can I say? From time to time, I sure do love me a bad boy.”

He smiled and kissed you on the lips, slow and passionate, filled with all his love and adoration and relief, pure and utter relief because you’re here, with him, and you know, and you don’t hate him, in fact, you love him even more.

He fell back on the bed, taking you with him as you resumed your previous position, only this time with you on top.

“So are we gonna mention that when Tony did the exact same thing to you you threw a fit and had Ned hack into the suit?”

“Shut up.”

That night, when Peter got back home after dropping you off, EDITH alerted him to movement on your fire escape. His heart was beating faster than a hummingbird’s as he pulled up the live footage but it all turned into a breathless chuckle when he saw the surveillance video.

You had put your whiteboard in such a way that it would be seen by the camera and scribbled a ‘Goodnight baby <3′ on it.

Baby🕷️ ❤️: goodnight princess <3

And this is what I do during my English and french classes... English because I don’t need to (perks of being trilingual) and french because the teacher spends the lesson talking about stuff I already know so I really don’t care.

With that said, please stay in school and listen to your teachers... do as I say, not as I do.

Anyway, I hope you liked this little one-shot. Please don’t forget to like, comment and/or reblog if you feel like it!

Love you all, Libby <3

[loosenedidylls]

Blessings, Curses, Autism

My earliest memories are of waiting rooms with musty carpets and buckets of donated, broken toys. I guess it was worse for my parents, who had nothing to stare at but walls and trashy lifestyle magazines. Eventually, the professionals decided I had a condition called Asperger’s Syndrome, and there was one thing they wanted me to understand:

“It’s a blessing, not a curse.”

If someone asked me to list blessings off the top of my head, I’d mention 20/20 vision, pitch-perfect hearing, or George Foreman’s chin — not a neurological disorder that transforms the most natural stages of personal development into a confusing struggle. In hindsight, I would have preferred more concrete advice than ‘it’s a blessing, not a curse.’ Something like:

“Watch out for the train!”

…But the quippy slogan is what stuck. My parents dispensed it like a cheap plaster, and I still don’t know whose benefit it was for — mine, or theirs. What I do know, is that I never once believed them: I felt I was being brushed aside, or told to accept something blatantly untrue. Besides, children don’t care to question whether they’re blessed or cursed, so it was an answer to a question that hadn’t been asked. Existentialism is for adults trying to make the best of a bad situation.

Being an Autistic Child.

Autism is not a superpower. Thanks to certain pieces of popular media, you might think of autistic people as quirky-yet-brilliant detectives, awkward-yet-sexy hackers (always female), or nonverbal children with a deep, instinctive connection to whatever animal or alien the protagonists are trying to communicate with. Often, people with severe autism are plot devices in the same vein as a forbidden orb or set of nuclear launch codes. Instead of damsels waiting for Bruce Willis to save them, they’re objects waiting for Bruce Willis to understand them.

A lot of autistic people are brilliant academically, though not for the reasons you might think. A common feature of autism is hyper-fixating on ‘special interests’, obsessing over a subject until one has learned everything about it, before moving on to the next. Very few people become maths geniuses this way; more often they become diehard Sonic fans or start giving lots of money to Games Workshop. Here are a few of the phases I went through:

-          Thomas the Tank Engine.

-          Pokémon.

-          Old English monster myths.

-          Naruto.

-          Peter Jackson’s King Kong (both the movie and the video game).

-          Bleach (the anime, thankfully, not the cleaning product).

Fairly normal interests for a young person, right? Now remember the hyper-fixation part. People with Asperger’s tend to focus on certain interests at the expense of others, and those ‘rejected interests’ are usually vital for social development. Now remember that high school is a psychopathic hellscape crawling with cruel little monsters ready to vent their newfound territorial instincts on anyone who doesn’t fit in. The kid who wants to discuss the depiction of brontosauruses in a sort-of-okay remake of a 1933 movie isn’t doing himself any favours — constant bullying drives him even deeper into reclusive interests and solitary hobbies, and from there, it’s the luck of the draw whether those hobbies resonate with any of the kids around him.

I’ve always known a lot about things no one knows about, and nothing about things everyone knows about. This, along with the fact that a lack of social life makes it easy to focus on one’s studies, creates the illusion that some autistic kids are eccentric geniuses-in-the-making. Parents — especially the parents of autistic children — are quick to latch onto any display of intelligence. They watch intently for any sign their long struggle is paying off, and when it happens, they praise their child endlessly, reinforcing behaviour patterns both good and bad. Because adults told me I was intelligent, I told other children I was intelligent, and you can imagine how well that went.

This misapprehension — confusing a bunch of random trivia for genius — followed me into high school, hurting me all the while, which is ironic, because it was the only positive way I could think about myself.

I’m lucky to have found books and writing as lifelong passions, but that almost didn’t happen; in fact, I used to despise any writing task the teacher set for me, to the point of outright refusing to do the work. In my defence, I was trying very hard to be somewhere else at the time — mentally, that is. The idea of putting my feelings on paper, for all to see? I couldn’t conceive of anything more terrifying.

Harry Potter changed things. I was gifted The Deathly Hallows when it was first published, and even though I had no idea what was going on in the story (I hadn’t even seen The Order of the Phoenix yet), I thought it was wonderful — maybe because I was getting a sneak peek into a future movie. Since then, I’ve always had a book close at hand, and it wasn’t long before I started writing my own novels (more on those another time).

 Voracious reading was, technically, another un-social activity that would consume my waking hours, but at least it was productive. My grades improved dramatically. I got good at writing essays. I became better at expressing myself, and I started to consider other people’s points of view. I made friends, lifelong bonds. I wouldn’t say I was happy at that stage of life — bullies tend to push back against things like improved mental health — but at least I was growing.

Looking back, I can’t help but wonder how close I came to disaster. I was 13 or so. If I’d left it any later, I doubt the outcome would have been so peachy. There are plenty of autistic adults with no friends, no employable skills, no human contact but ageing parents and rare, fleeting therapy sessions. Many of these people are quirky and brilliant, but there’s no happy ending for them.

Being an Autistic Adult.

Autism never goes away. It never gets ‘better’. It isn’t curable because it’s not a disease, despite what the vaccine deniers might tell you; autism is an intrinsic part of my neurological makeup, and living with it is a process of compromises.

I had to accept, early on, that I’m not the same sort of human being as the people around me. My brain is a different brand of brain: it makes different connections, processes different bits of data at different speeds. Things that seem obvious to you, need to be explained to me. I struggle to read a room, and I’m never quite sure if the person I’m talking to would really rather I shut up.

Put simply, my childhood experiences made me keenly aware of myself as an outsider. I need to watch for people’s reactions to anything I say or do, all the while navigating a maze of social cues and left-unsaids — but sooner or later, I’m always going to slip up. When you are differently-brained, it’s easy to misinterpret instructions, or to misjudge which thread of discussion is most important; and when you’re processing so much data at any one time, small-yet-vital points are going to slip under the radar. The result is being told off, being laughed at (‘laughing with you, not at you’ is another fun slogan I’ve learned to endure), and generally feeling stupid or useless for overlooking one point of data among hundreds.

 As I grew into an adult, I got better at performing normal. Nowadays, only those who spend a lot of time around me can spot the signs of my condition: I seem confident, funny, sympathetic, and I make friends easily. As I write this, I can’t help but feel uneasy: it makes me wonder, and not for the first time, how much of my personality is genuine. In high-stress situations, the generic piece of advice is ‘relax and be yourself.’ Succeeding in life as an autistic person means learning not to be yourself, or at least creating a version of yourself that can exist in public — so, where does the real me end, and the performance begin? Are they one and the same? I’ll never know the answer to that question.

Being an autistic adult, then, means pretending I’m not autistic for the benefit of other people. It’s a lifelong, often exhausting performance, and the temptation to retreat into my shell is ever present. But, just like anyone else, I long for human contact, so the compromise is a necessary one.

Blessings & Curses: Redux.

Terry Pratchett wrote that humans need to learn to believe the little lies so they can believe in big ones. There’s something I wish I knew during the bad years; that I was far from the only person suffering from my condition. My parents were stumbling in the dark just like me, except they had to pretend everything was under control.

My dad confided in me, recently, how he used to cry — a lot — during those days when I would return from school after another worst day of my life, talking about footballs thrown at my head, being cornered and verbally abused, or being removed from class after another tantrum. These were practically daily occurrences, and they’ve left their lifelong marks on me, but I’ve never lacked for brilliant people willing to help, people who were alongside me in my suffering. Raising a child is hard, and raising a neurodivergent child is even harder. Can I blame my parents for wanting to believe in blessings, and not curses?

Most of the time, those bad years seem like a distant memory. I don’t see autism as my blessing or my curse; it’s just a part of me — a frustrating, limiting, often embarrassing part of me, but one just as vital as my eye colour or ethnicity. I’ve come to accept it and be content despite it, and I suppose that’s the best outcome I could hope for.

[beyondflashpoint]

Prologue 2: Homeward Bound :

“I don’t understand the detour, Todd. We could have made port directly in Gotham bay and gone directly to father. Your palaver with the addict in Steel city cost us days. Hours at best.”

Jason rolled his eyes. He could sense the kid’s unease even without glancing at him in the rearview. A slight vocalization from the passenger seat indicated that Cassie agreed with the kid.

“First, the ‘addict’ has a name. Roy is an old friend. Second, that pal-whatever got us this car, so we aren’t walking. Third, the League would be expecting us to make landfall in Gotham, and I feel like an extended ninja fight would waste more time than my plan and also draw a lot more unwanted attention. Relax Damian. We’ll have you playing catch with daddy-dearest soon enough.”

“Smart.” Cassie said from beside him, her voice low and gravely from underuse. He couldn’t be sure, but Jason thought she sounded surprised. At least she was talking now, even if it was only one or two words every few days. The constant charades made his head hurt.

Damian clicked his tongue in that annoying way he did and prepared to retort, but Jason nipped that in the bud.

“Bruce has a bunker in Blüdhaven where we can swipe some equipment and feel out the situation in Gotham. According to Roy, Lady Shiva has been spotted in G-town, and there haven’t been any killings that fit her m.o., so it’s safe to assume the League dispatched her to catch us. So caution is the word.”

Cassie shifted uncomfortably at her mother’s name. They had never been close, but they had left things especially messy, as in duel to the death, excommunication messy. Shiva would kill Cassie on sight, and Jason probably not long after. Returning Damian al’Ghul to the Demon’s side was priority one. If he had to guess, Shiva would have deployed with a full attachment, foot soldiers and four other heavy hitters. A full Demon’s Fist, as the League called it. That could be very bad for G-town. Jason was by no means eager to put on tights again, but Bruce’s uniforms offered much better protection than swiped tourist threads, and he needed all the extra time he could get to figure out exactly how this reunion was going to go.

‘Hi Bruce, I’m not dead anymore. Ras dunked me in the Lazarus Pit. Also, I kinda kidnapped your son from Talia because Ras was planning on having him kill you. Also, you have a son. In case you didn’t know. Also this is Lady Shiva’s daughter, but she’s cool. She kicks ass and has decided to leave the League. Also the League is after us.’

Bruce would have a stroke. Maybe he should lead with the son thing.

Jason merged as they approached the exit he wanted.

Come to think of it, there were probably a few of his old friends running the streets of his old stomping grounds. Probably most of them were dead or incarcerated, but one or two of them had to be out and about. He could use eyes on the streets, and slum kids saw things that even the big bad bat didn’t. He’d look into it.

Five years changed things. Roy was a big indication of that. Before Jason’s temporary vacation from the mortal coil, Roy Harper had been a Titan, and Jason’s top guy in the team. Finding out that he’d dropped the mask game had been shocking enough, but the fact that he had been hooked on H AND working out rehab really opened his eyes. Roy had stayed in touch with Dick, as an unofficial sponsor, but he’d completely cut off Olly and the rest of the Star City crew. And now he was running a garage, just a few hours out of the Haven. Jason shuddered to think how the Batfam had changed. And now that he thought about it, five years may as well be fifty on the streets, especially in the Haven.

When Bruce had taken him in, the Red Hood gang had mostly run the Haven, and the less formal Hoodz had sprung up to replace the smaller crews and cliques that permeated Blüdhaven. Time served with the Hoodz could lead to an opportunity at the big leagues with the real Red Hood Gang. That had been Jason’s plan, which had put him in the alley where the batmobile had been parked, which had made him hungry enough for the cred that would come from boosting the tires from the Bat’s whip, which had led him to getting caught by the big bad bat, yadda-yadda, Robin, mother, Clown, crowbar.

But the Hoodz had already been on their way out even back then, with the Black Mask Gang snatching turf on the outskirts. Jason couldn’t begin to imagine who was running the Haven now.

They rode in silence until Jason finally parked in the alley. The sharpness and clarity of memory had to be a result of his dip in the pit. He’d only been to this bunker once, and it had been in the frantic haze of searching for his mother, the first stop on his way out of Gotham for the last time in his old life. Now it was his last stop on his way back to Gotham for the first time in his new life. Ka is a wheel, to quote Mr Stephen King.

He shook these thoughts off as he scanned the street, making sure their entry would go unnoticed, then opened the secret panel and typed the old code into the hidden keypad. The section of wall slid back, and opened to a flight of stairs and the blessed buzz of ac.

“Alright gang, to the bat-bunker.”

He started in without waiting for a reply. Lights buzzed to life as the trio descended the steps and were deposited into the armory. According to Roy, Dick had lived here until he’d gotten on his feet after splitting from Bruce. He still used it as a backup base/crash pad, and Jason could tell from the ratty couch and scattering of clothes. But Grayson was running with Titans 3.0 at the moment, looking into the evil tech dealer called H.I.V.E. so they would have the run of the place for now.

True to fashion, though Dick’s personal possessions were a mess, the armory itself was perfectly organized and orderly. Jason could barely suppress a scoff at the tube containing one of Barbara’s spare batsuits. Vintage black and yellow. He always suspected the two were hooking up. He and Dick didn’t agree on much, but both were of one mind when it came to red heads in tights. It was a shame Roy had let himself go recently. Before he could get too lost in that thought, he realized Damian and Cassandra were both staring at him expectantly.

“Right. We have a few hours of daylight left. I don’t want to move on Gotham till nightfall. Till then, I want you two taking inventory of the gear we have available to us. While you do that, I’ll grab us some food, and scope out the situation street side.”

“If I never have to eat any more of that greasy slop you call fast food, it will be too soon.” Damian said as he made close study of a wall of weapons Grayson had no doubt thought were cool as hell.

“Now you listen here, boy. Big Belly Burger is a staple of American fine dining, and I will not have you blaspheme against it like that in my presence. Besides, you and Cassie order and eat twice as much as I do every time we stop there.”

“TT.”

Cassandra grabbed his shoulder and shared a look that said her next words would be of the utmost importance.

“Milkshake. Strawberry.” She managed without any of the usual false starts.

“Actually, since we’re in the Haven, I thought I’d treat you two to the height of fine dining. Bibbo’s Diner is only a few blocks from here, and you haven’t lived until you’ve had his chicken and waffles.”

Alarm flashed in Cassandra’s eyes, but before it could settle, Jason reassured her.

“And Bibbo’s happens to be the home of the world famous Robin shake. Strawberry, chocolate and banana. It’ll be right up your alley Cassie. And their homemade peach cobbler is out of this world.”

She looked as if she was about to argue, then considered, and acquiesced, lulled into acceptance by the promise of a new sweet treat. The poor girl had been practically made to starve as part of her training. Combined with the laundry list of other abuses she’d faced, Jason had no problem shelling out the extra cash to keep her quickly developing sweet tooth satisfied. Besides, it wasn’t really his money.

It had been quite the adventure so far, and while Bruce would halve balked at Jason’s decision to loot scumbags they’d encountered along the six month journey from Nanda Parbat, Damian and Cassandra saw the necessity of it. Jason had found his people.

“Pull that suit on under your clothes Cass, it’s Kevlar microfiber woven over a layer of high density impact gel. Might not look like it, but it can stop a bullet. There might be an old Robin suit around here somewhere. You’ll know it if you see it. That might fit Damian. Gear up, stretch out, and be ready to move as soon as I get back. If something goes down while I’m gone, find the tallest building in town and wait for me on the roof.” As he talked, he scooped up a spare utility belt from the shelves and clipped it on his waist. A cursory search rewarded him with a tank top sporting the blue bird Dick used as a logo these days (because of corse Dick fucking Grayson bought his own merch), a flannel Jason could tie around his hips to hide the belt, a Gotham Knights cap, and a wad of cash Dick no doubt kept for emergencies.

This qualified, Jason rationalized as he stuffed the bills into a pouch on his belt. Satisfied with his civilian disguise, Jason returned his focus to the duo studying the tools laid out before them. Damian had slipped a samurai sword into his belt at some point and was now testing the weight of the stylized throwing stars (Wingdings?) laid out on the shelves. Cassandra was running through forms with a pair of batons, and was mildly startled by the arc of electricity that cracked between them when she happened upon the triggers. Shock turned to awe, turned to a pleased smirk. They’d be fine for a few hours. Probably.

He tried not to think too hard about the many ways they could kill, explode, or otherwise maim each other in his absence.

They’d be fine.

It took him an hour of scoping the usual hangs to get anything useful. The Row kids had relocated to an orphanage in G-town. The Brown girl and the kid that followed her like a lost puppy were m.i.a., Rome was in Blackgate, Garcia was dead, Diego dead, Carter dead, Crock m.i.a., Philippe jail, Jessie jail, dead, jail, jail, jail, dead, dead, Morales was working the youth center after a stint in Blackgate, which was good to hear. Finally he happened upon a decent lead, almost by accident.

One of his old crew from the Hoodz days was still out and about, and running a little cluster of the Hoodz.

Jason entered the ratty apartment Sasha shared with her father Nico though the fire escape. It was just as messy as he remembered. On the table beside the couch was a glass bowl, packed but untouched. It was tempting, but Jason hadn’t gotten high since his Robin days. The siren song of the crumpled pack of full flavored cigarettes, however, was irresistible. He plucked one free and lit it as he dropped into the tattered leather recliner across from the couch where Sasha snoozed. That first draw was harsh, and started him coughing. Five years had robbed him of his experienced smoker status.

Sasha groaned groggily, stirred by his hacking and sat up slowly, blindly groping for a cig herself.

“Told you to stop snatching my smokes if you can’t handle ‘em old man.” She chastised drowsily.

“Just out of practice Sash. Haven’t had one since the last time we talked.”

It took a moment for the strange voice to register, but when it did, her hand flew under her pillow. Before it came back out, Jason freed a birdarang (wingding?) and sent the glock flying.

“Fuck!”

“Shit, Sash, you pack now? I must’a missed a lot.”

Her eyes darted from her hand, which would be bruised for the next few days, and Jason, who chanced a longer drag from the stolen cigarette and pulled off his hat. This one went down smoothly.

“Jay-bird?” She stuttered as the pieces came together. Even without the shoot of white hair and the scars crisscrossing his face, five years was a lot of growing room.

“Nah. Nah, man. You died.” He leaned over the table, plucked another cig from the pack and offered it to her. She took it and let him light it.

“Didn’t take.”

“Dude, you definitely died. Me and the crew crashed the funeral, had to cause daddy Warbucks wouldn’t let no street rats in. News said you bought it in a skiing accident in the Alps or some shit.”

“I ain’t here for that Sash. I just want some info.”

She dropped the cigarette half smoked into an open beer can, opting to wake-and-bake instead. Jason couldn’t blame her. It wasn’t often you woke up to a ghost chilling in your living room. She took a few hits and offered him the pipe and lighter.

“Another time Sash. I got shit to do.”

“Right, and you need little Sasha to tell you what’s what. But little Sasha wants some info too, Jay-bird. Like where you been for five, and why you look like rough road.”

“I got blown up, and ninja’s in the Middle East brought me back to life and taught me ninja shit. My turn. Anyone strange running jobs in the Haven, or is it all Loco shit?”

“Hold up, ninjas? The fuck man?”

“Sash.” She hesitated, then took another hit from the bowl.

“Okay. Since you been gone, the Hoodz and the Black Masks called a truce to push out the Riddler gang. Falcone’s kid made a comeback, and is trying to take the whole Haven. Masks and Hoodz are gonna push him out too. His boys mostly run the Narrows. Then there’s this new guy my dad is running supplies for. Very strange. Outsider type. Fuckin spooky. He wears a pig mask and steals kids. The Masks are scared he’s gonna bring the Bat down on us. I’m not gonna lie, I kinda hope the Bat does come for him. I only seen him once and he freaked me out. Lucky you dropped in when you did. Dad’s talking about splitting soon. He don’t like Pig-face either.”

Jason listened intently. By the time she’d finished talking, he’d finished his cigarette. Paying attention was hard in that woozy high that came from the sudden influx of nicotine, but he’d gathered what he needed. The League wasn’t moving in Blüdhaven.

“You filled out good Jay-bird. I’d almost believe you were hanging with ninjas.”

Jarred from his thoughts, Jason stood, swiping another cigarette from the pack.

“I’d get out of town if I were you Sash. And out of gang-life.” He paused and scooped up the stylized ski-mask that marked members of the Hoodz. “I’d rather not have to crash your funeral.” She watched him make his way to the window, but said nothing.

With daylight to burn, Jason began his trek back to the bunker, taking a detour by Bibbo’s to acquire the promised delicacies.

He was not prepared for what his triumphant return to the bunker brought him.

Silence hung eerily over the now dark headquarters. The space had been tidied thoroughly, Dick’s discarded clothing organized, folded, and neatly stacked. Pinned to the chair in front of the large Bat Computer doppelgänger with a batarang (wingding?) was a note written in neat, curling scrawl which Jason instantly recognized as belonging to Damian.

“Todd,

In your absence I have determined that your course of action is actually strategically sound. After overcoming the computer’s laughable attempt at security, I have ascertained that there is a criminal element operating in this city which might draw,” the word father was struck through with two neat lines, “Batman, and potentially ruin any attempt at stealth. I believe we must handle the meeting between ourselves and Batman delicately, and on our own terms. Because of this I have determined the best course of action is to deal with this so-called ‘Professor Pyg’ with haste.

Should you return before we have settled matters, and wish to join us on this mission, you may find all the relevant information pertaining to Pyg (alias to one Lazlo Valentin) by pressing the large rectangular key which reads enter. I’m sure Cain and I would benefit from your expertises in these matters.”

Jason hadn’t believed it was possible to convey sarcasm through the written word. Until today.

“Ps. If you are determined to acquire sustenance before returning, I still do not like ketchup. Mushrooms are okay. Cain requests extra fries.

Pps. In keeping with the traditions laid out in your tales of the Batman’s adventures, Cain and I have decided to wear masks. If you do decide to join us, you might not recognize us, but we have agreed not to harm you.

Sincerely,

Damian al’Ghul, Grandson of the Demon, Heir to the Demon’s Head.”

Jason crumpled the note. The Batgirl uniform was gone, as well as a reasonable chunk of the armory. He’d have to move quickly.

-

The decision to pursue and subdue Valentin had been mostly motivated by three things. The first he had laid out in his letter to Todd. The second he had shared with Cain, boredom. The third he would reveal to no one, on pain of death. In the years since he had regained his memory, Todd had recounted every story he knew pertaining to Batman. Those stories had motivated him to come to Gotham and meet his father, leaving behind his mother and grandfather, possibly abandoning his great destiny. Those stories had told him more about his father as a man than his mother or grandfather ever had. They painted Bruce Wayne as a titan among men, a pillar of strength and will, and a paragon of virtue and honor. In all honesty, Damian was intimidated by that man. But he was also inspired. The third reason he had decided to pursue and subdue Valentin was to feel connected with his father.

Locating “Pyg” was a simple enough matter. First he plotted out all of the kidnappings that matched Pyg’s M.O. it would seem that Batman had been keeping an eye on Pyg, because he was the chief suspect in the manufacture and distribution of a drug gangs were using to pacify prostitutes. But he’d overlooked the kidnappings. By mapping those, cross referencing places that stored or manufactured components for the drug, Damian was able to triangulate possible hideouts this Pyg could be using. Of the three possibilities, only one was currently unused, an so Damian had settled on the abandoned theme park, ignoring how horribly cliched it was.

Cain had followed Todd’s instructions and donned the Batgirl uniform, but had decided against layering civilian clothes over it. He couldn’t blame her, with the summer heat stifling as it was. Damian had opted for the League’s stealth uniform which he’d carried across half the world. Then the two had gone at the veritable armory like children in a candy shop. Few of Todd’s stories included Grayson, and those that did made him out to be asinine and annoying. But his selection of toys was impressive by all accounts. Smoke bombs, flash-bangs, teargas, plastic explosives, acetylene torches, inferred flashlights, air powered line launchers, and many of the oddly shaped throwing stars Todd had called “batarangs.” The belts which Damian had crisscrossed his chest like bandoliers were jam packed with more of these tools than Damian had imagined was possible, as well as a first-aid kit and handcuffs.

Once they were outfitted and armed, Damian led them to the car Todd had conned out of the addict. The drive to their location was in silence, both mentally preparing for whatever they might encounter along the way. They passed the location several times, marking potential hiding places, paths of retreat and places that could host an ambush.

Once Damian was satisfied he parked the car a block away and they took to the rooftops to preform reconnaissance from above. The park was dilapidated, derelict, and most likely overflowing with vermin. But for the most part it seemed structurally sound. After brief deliberation, the duo decided they were adequately prepared for whatever they may encounter, and thus began their assault.

There is an old proverb that Damian would often think back on when remembering this first act of vigilantism.

“Pride goeth before destruction, and a haughty spirit before a fall.”

He thought he was ready for anything, but he was wrong.

-

Dick Grayson had apparently undergone a biker phase, which was good for Jason, because Roy’s car was gone. The modified superbike flew through the streets and cut between traffic like a dream. Jason had intended to return everything he’d stolen from Dick, but with every hairpin turn he grew more and more inclined to keep the bike. And maybe the jacket too. It matched the mask he’d swiped from Sash. And it was way too badass for Richard John Grayson.

He’d rushed out of the bunker with a stomach full of rage and fear, blended poorly so an acrid burn stung at the back of his throat. He imagined this was how Bruce must have felt every time he did something reckless. The dynamic dumbasses hadn’t even taken communicators with them.

He briefly wished he’d inventoried his belt before stepping out, but Dick had always been anal about his gear. So had he, now that he though about it. Bruce had drilled him on it relentlessly, having him empty and refill his belt over and over for hours until Jason knew exactly how much of what was in each pouch, and could find anything blindfolded or in the heat of battle. Thinking about it brought back the sharpened calm that came with patrols and missions. It was like the emotions were compressed and pushed back into a compartment on his brain’s utility belt. Not gone, just stored away. He twisted the throttle as far as it would go.

Once upon a time, he’d have cased the joint before getting close. Once upon a time, he’d have come from above, all stealth and shadows, and only dropped in once he had a clear vision of what was happening inside. Today he barreled through a hole in the fence at almost two hundred miles per hour with the engine screaming and fishtailed to a stop as close to the park’s rotting funhouse as he could without transforming himself into a pancake.

Kickstand dropped, and feet pounded against dry rotted wood. Jason had almost made it to the door before his ears registered the sounds of a struggle from within. He cursed his favorite curse as he filled his hand with smoke pellets and prepared to join the fray. With his free hand he pulled the line-launcher and took aim. He was topside in a heartbeat, and could practically hear the cape flutter that would have accompanied the motion in his Robin days. With practiced proficiency he located a skylight and paused to survey the scene from above.

Damian and Cass were surrounded. As if that wasn’t bad enough, their attackers were the aforementioned legion of League foot soldiers Jason had been eager to avoid. They seemed to be holding their own well enough for now, but outside their field of view Shiva was preparing to join the battle. Also moving in were the rest of the Demon’s Fist. Bronze Tiger, Cheshire, Ubu, and Mara al’Ghul. Things were well on their way to getting messy. Jason cursed again. Ubu was the meanest and the ugliest. Also the closest.

“Fuck it. Prison rules.”

He tossed the fistful I’d smoke pellets and dropped in as the cloud spread over the crowd.

Ubu was a hulking brute, and made a piss poor cushion, but he was a big enough target that Jason had no fear of missing. The sound the giant’s head made when Jason’s knee made contact with it was something like a watermelon falling off a truck at fifty, and was nostalgically comedic combined with the guttural grunt he released before flopping onto the floor like a sack of potatoes. But Jason couldn’t say if he laughed or not. All of his attention was on hurling wingdings (wingdings) into the smoke at the predicted positions of his foes. There were more than a few grunts, and a couple of clatters as weapons were dropped from struck hands. But not nearly enough, and the disorientation didn’t last long. This was League tactics, after all, and only slightly modified by Batman. Cass and Damian also got back to business, and everything was chaos once more.

Jason registered a shift in the cloud with barely enough time to dodge, and one of Shiva’s twin swords cut through the haze only millimeters from his chin. It was quickly followed by the other, this time arching towards his chest. Robin loosed a volley of wingdings in rapid succession, but the clash of metal on metal told him how effective that tactic was. Gripping one of the larger tools like a set of knuckle dusters, he advanced.

In his day the birdarangs had focused more on reducing weight than on durability, and it seemed that was still the case. Robin had only redirected a few glancing blows, and he could already feel the thing cracking. The smoke was fading quickly, and he could mostly see Shiva now. Which meant she could see him too. After blocking yet another strike which came way to close to opening his throat Robin stepped back and loosed one of the explosive discs that had been his favorites. Shiva was an expert, and had her swords prepared to swat it aside when it detonated, and the small explosion sent her blades flying.

Pressing the advantage Robin moved in. Hand-to-hand odds not in his favor either. Better than unarmed against swords. No cape to distract or disorient. Fight dirty.

Dodge high, block low. Opening when she kicks high, knock her off her feet.

It was alarming how quickly he fell back into his training. Batman had taught him a lot, and years of street fights had taught him more. Then there was his time playing amnesiac with the League. Jason winning.

Shiva was on her feet again before anything more than her shoulders touched the ground, and at some point she’d regained her swords, but Jason was ready, and before she realized what was happening, he clapped her ears. The pressure of the strike would have been disorienting on its own, but coupled with the detonation of the micro-flash-bangs cupped in Jason’s hands, Shiva crumpled like a rag doll.

The cloud had completely dissolved now, and Jason easily dodged the sai Cheshire flung at him. Of course this put him in excellent position to catch Bronze Tiger’s shin with his whole stomach. Breathless and airborne, he could do nothing about the pinwheel kick Cheshire dropped on his rib cage. The familiar crunch told him that two were cracked before the pain started up.

Jason landed hard, and Cheshire straddled his waist the second he had. Her other sai raised in both hands, prepared to fall into his throat.

“Enough.”

Silence fell in place of the killing blow. Cheshire looks to her left and Jason followed suit.

The few League grunts that remained standing parted as Talia al’Ghul strode across the battle field to Damian, who still held his blade in a ready position with eyes glued to his cousin. She hadn’t lowered her weapons either. The two had been bitter rivals from the day they’d met.

“Mother.” Damian said with all the tenderness of a freezer burned pork chop.

Without another word she dropped to her knees and embraced him.

After a brief awkward silence, she turned his face towards hers.“What is the reason for this foolishness, son?”

Damian freed himself from her grip. “Is it foolish for a boy to seek his father?”

Talia clicked her tongue in the same fashion that Damian was so fond of, and rose to her feet.

“I would have taken you to meet him in time, Damian. When I decided you were ready.”

“Taken me to kill him. Todd told me everything.” Talia turned her gaze to Jason, who waved awkwardly.

“Let him up, Cheshire.” The masked assassin complied quickly, and even gave Jason a hand standing.

“So this was your doing Ibn al Xu’ffasch?”

‘Son of the Bat.’ The name they had given him at the dawn of his second life. Jason pulled off the mask which was apparently doing him no good, and shrugged.

“Tt” Talia turned her attention to Cassandra, who had frozen in place with her baton less than an inch from a grunt’s nose. There was a circle of (probably) unconscious goons at her feet.

“I’d suspected you’d finally had your fill of your mother’s poor treatment and taken the boys hostage.” She turned back to Jason. “When did you regain your memory?”

“Midway through my second year with you all.” Talia nodded as if she’d expected as much, then turned back to Damian.

“I assume that you are serious about meeting your father, yes? Even if I were to drag you back, you’d simply escape again, isn’t that right?”

“Yes mother.” Talia nodded again. Then produced a sealed envelope from within her jumpsuit.

“I expected as much you are at that age where you think you know everything. This letter will explain everything. Deliver it directly to your father, and no one else. Understand?” Damian took the envelope cautiously, as if expecting it to bite him. Once he had it in hand she knelt again, placing her hands on his shoulders tenderly. “I would never send you to kill your father. Nor you Ibn al Xu’ffasch. My father would do no such thing either.”

“But Todd said-“

“Do not misunderstand me, I do not claim Ibn al Xu’ffasch lied. There are those within the League that believe Ras al’Ghul has been too long the Demon’s Head. There are whispers of a coupe. I do not doubt such plans involve removing my beloved from play. I intended to see you in his care soon enough.” She turned to look over the assassins. “We return to Nanda Parbat. None shall further impede these three, by my word, or face my wrath. My will is the Demon’s will.”

The assassins snapped as one into a bow, and set about gathering the wounded. She moved through the crowd to stand in front of Jason and cupped his face, smiling gently.

“Father swore to make no move on Gotham for as long as my beloved draws breath. He made this oath before the whole of the League of Assassins, and forbade any of them to move on Gotham in his name, on pain of death. This was his penance for your death. His sole intent was to return the son he’d taken from my beloved.”

“Uh, okay?”

“I have enjoyed having you in my home Ibn al Xu’ffasch. You have been as a brother to my son, and a son to me. Look after him, Ibn, for he is too much like his father for his own good.”

“If he’s anything like Bruce, I won’t have to.” Talia chuckled, pat his shoulder, and turned to Cassandra, who seemed to materialize at Jason’s side.

“Cassandra, you are welcome to return with us. You have my word that you will have no trouble.” Cass shook her head.

“They die without me.” She said, patting Jason’s shoulder. His jaw dropped, he’d never heard Cass say so much at one time. Talia had never heard her speak period, but to her credit she only cocked an eyebrow.

“Quite.” She said then returned to Damian.

“When all is well once more, I will send for you, my son. Learn what you can from your father. He is a great man.” Damian nodded, and Talia only lingered for a moment before following the last of the assassins out of the building.

The trio stood in silence for a time, until Jason realized they were waiting for him to tell them what to do next.

“Well. That was fun. Who wants soggy chicken and waffles?” Damian narrowed his eyes, but Cass’s hand shot up. “What? So I picked up food. I wasn’t expecting you two to run off for some daring-do and stumble into an obvious trap.” Damian’s eyes narrowed further. “Okay, after we eat we’ll go straight to the Batcave, no detours, no shenanigans, scouts honor.”

Damian rolled his eyes and started for the exit. “I’ll drive.” He stated as Jason and Cass fell in behind him.

“My turn.” Cass retorted.

“Do you even know how?” Damian probed, eyeing her doubtfully.

“You’re mighty talkative today Cass.” Jason quipped. Cassandra replied by sticking her tongue out. He understood her good mood. Their six month misadventure was almost over. As they stepped out into the summer night Jason looked to the sky, and pulled the pair to a stop. From this side of Blüdhaven you could see it clearly enough. For the first time in five years Jason looked up at the Bat-Signal, and pointed it out to the others.

He couldn’t hold back the smile brought on by the wonder he saw in his companion’s faces.

Homeward bound.

-END

Author’s Notes: this chapter is long, and maybe a bit rambling, but mostly because there’s room for two whole multichapter fics in here. Seriously, I was half tempted to start writing a Damian Cass and Jason cross country road trip full of shenanigans and hilarity. For those wondering, this takes place five years after prologue 1. It took me longer than I thought it would to edit, between baking cheesecake, doing some bag work, and feeling out crafting with worbla. That being said, the next prologue will take even longer (unfortunately(?)) because I want to make sure my events make sense and everything is lined up perfectly and ready for the series proper to begin immediately after.

Feel free to comment, complain, keysmash, or just like and reblog. I THRIVE on your reactions.

Till next time!

[chonkychornes]

Open Arms Part 1

Synopsis: You come back broken from a mission, and the one person who could barely put himself back together is the one who is trying to help you.

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: Language? Angst. Smut...eventually. 1 of ? parts. How’s this as a warning: this is my first reader insert fic and it was a challenge, y’all. So, as long as it isn’t the worst thing anyone has ever read, I’m still doing okay! I hope you enjoy it!

Also, this is really for @quant-um-fizzx​ I couldn’t have/wouldn’t have done any of this without her help and guidance. 

You can see the compound as the quinjet hovers for landing and you release the breath you’ve been holding. You can see the small electric cart driving out to meet you, but you can’t bring yourself to release the ramp and walk out. 

After all, 10 months of deep-cover is enough time to make anyone second guess themselves.

 An hour later Steve finally manually overrides the controls and opens the ramp from the outside to find you sitting with your knees drawn up to your chest. You aren’t crying; you haven’t cried since the first week you were gone.

 No, you’re just staring blankly out at nothing, because that’s all you feel now. 

Knowing Steve, you’re sure his first instinct is to lift your body and take you inside, but he seems to think better of it and sits down next to you instead. You can feel the warmth radiating off his body and you focus your eyes enough to see the building in the distance with a few cars littered in front.

And the grass … it’s so green. You haven’t seen any other colors except for black, white, and red for so long that the grass looks odd to you, fake.

 “It’s been a while,” Steve says and deep down inside you want to laugh, but it comes out like a garbled cry.

 “I came back, Captain.”

 He sucks in a breath at the formality. The two of you had been best friends, occasionally lovers. Inseparable in every way until this mission had come around.

 “You did good, kid,” Steve wraps an arm around your shoulders and presses his face to your hair. “Let’s get you home.”

Home.

You don’t know that word anymore, but how can you explain that to the man next to you. The man that gave you a home.

He stands and pulls you up into his arms and carries you past the little cart and all the hundreds of yards from where you landed straight into the medical wing where an anxious-looking team has been waiting. 

Of course, they have a full staff now; it makes perfect sense. You crane your neck over Steve’s shoulder and look around.

 “You know it’s SOP,” he murmurs so quietly to you as he sets down carefully on the examination table. “You have to get cleared after every mission.”

“I want Banner,” your voice is soft but firm. You know him and even if he isn’t a medical doctor, he can clear you just as easily. 

Steve looks to one of the scrub-clad people in the room and everyone clears out except for a single female nurse. You roll your eyes and hear him chuckle about SOP again under his breath. Mere minutes later Bruce walks in looking disheveled accompanied by a long-haired man with piercing blue eyes. 

“I should have been here,” Bruce is sliding his glasses into place and carefully avoiding looking in your direction as you shimmy out of the worn sweatpants and the long sleeve shirt. Steve helps you when you falter and you lock eyes with the blue-eyed man.

 You hear Steve gasp and you know he’s really looking at your body as you sit at the end of the table in nothing more than your underwear.

 Bruises in various shades of green, purple, and yellow are scattered all over your legs, arms, and torso. Old cuts, fresh cuts that have been hastily sewn shut line your arms. 

You start pointing out to Bruce where they planted trackers in you that you removed before making your way to the rendezvous point.

“What are these?” He’s pointing to the wounds where you drew a jagged thread through the torn skin. 

“That’s my intel.” A tear slips down your cheek and Steve wipes it away as the nurse begins to cut out the primitive stitches. 

“You could have found another way. We have dozens of fail-safes.” Steve was pleading with you and you couldn’t understand why.

 “It’s because she can’t feel the pain anymore.” The long-haired man finally speaks from the doorway. He’s been flipping through a file, your file, absently while watching everything with hawk-like eyes. 

He would know how it is to feel the pain resonate deep within your soul as it rattles around in your bones. He would know what it’s like to turn it off, to train your body not to register the pain anymore.

“You’re James.” You’ve never met him, but you know him. Steve never faltered in his devotion to his first best friend.

 “Jesus, nobody calls me that,” his smile is tight, polite. His eyes rake over you, but you can tell he’s taking inventory of all your injuries.

 “You're right, I can’t feel it.” Another tear escapes and this time Bruce grabs your hand and begins to softly ask you questions. When did this start and why? Was it torture or training? Your eyes, now glistening, are still locked with the blue ones as you try to answer. Every question brings more answers and more tears until you’re dried up and shivering. 

You want him, James, to ask you how long it took for you to stop crying in the cells. The sooner you stop crying, the sooner they relent, if only slightly. He knows. 

He slaps the file into Steve’s chest and kicks a small duffle towards him.

 “You know where to find me if you need me,” he offers over his shoulder as he leaves. 

Bruce finally clears you after an MRI and CT scan. You’ve had multiple breaks and fractures, but everything had healed perfectly. Other than looking worse for the wear, you are physically fine, if not a little malnourished and dehydrated. Some rest and regular eating will fix that soon enough. 

He gives you a small smile and escorts the nurse out of the room. Still shivering you look to Steve. Your team leader, your best friend, and once upon a time, your compass.

 “C’mon, you’re freezing,” he grabs your discarded sweats and offers them to you, but you shake your head and push them away.

 “They were hers.” Your eyes land on the bag on the floor and Steve reaches for it to find it filled with clothes from your quarters. 

Steve helps you to strip away the underwear and sports bra and drops them in a heap with the other woman’s clothes. He’ll burn them later if you want. You’ll ask him to.

 You suppose you should be a little upset that a virtual stranger went into your room and rifled through your belongings, but you’re grateful for the comfortable and familiar. Steve helps you dress and asks if you are steady enough to walk. 

You don’t answer because you just aren’t sure. You aren’t sure of anything anymore. He helps you towards the door and when you take a deep breath, he sweeps you up into his arms once again. 

The corridors are dark and quiet. It’s late and not everyone is at the compound. When Steve reaches the door of your quarters you reach down to punch in the code and the door slides open.

Stark had been generous and only teased you two a little when it came to your living arrangements. Not long after you were recruited and you and Steve became so close, you asked for double occupancy quarters. 

Two bedrooms, two bathrooms, and communal living spaces. You two had wanted to be close enough to take care of each other and still have the privacy you desired. You’d shared each of your beds with each other when it was necessary. Sometimes the mission didn’t go to plan, sometimes you didn’t get to do the damage you wanted or needed. So you used each other’s bodies to fill the void of what was missing from other places.

 Of course, you didn’t just use each other. 

There was that time after one of Stark’s birthday parties when you dragged that fresh recruit to bed and Steve playfully gave you shit for a week because the poor the kid was terrified to share coffee with Captain America the next morning. 

Or the time that Steve ended up getting dry-humped by some paid intern in a pencil skirt on the couch and you scolded them when you walked by to grab some crackers out of the kitchen. 

You were teammates and friends first. The sex was just sex. You enjoyed the pillow talk that came with it, neither of you felt the need to escape to your respective beds when the tryst was over, choosing instead to snuggle into each other and enjoy the comfort of another being.��

Truth be told, more often than not that’s all you ever did. Just to sleep sheltered and safe with another person. 

So when Steve stepped into your personal room you look up with him with pleading eyes and he smiles down at you and walks directly across the apartment and into his bedroom. 

He set you down gently and you notice that you recognize the scent. The idiot uses Ivory because he always has and it leaves behind a distinctive Steve smell that mixes with his cologne and detergent.

 He flips on the light by the bedside and finds you hunched over and still shivering. You seriously begin to think you’ll never be warm again.

 “Friday? Remind me to make some soup tomorrow,” his voice is a whisper as he runs a hand down your back. 

“You got it, Sir. I’ll load your mother’s recipe into the kitchen for you.” 

He rustles around in his dresser and you watch him change into his own sweats and when he kneels in front of you with a pair of socks in hand, you just stare back at him. 

“I know you hate to wear them to bed, but you’re still cold.” He slips a sock onto each of your feet and then gently drags you up the bed and tucks you in. 

You grab his wrist as he moves to leave, “Please don’t leave.” 

“I’m just getting you some water. Do you want anything else?” 

You shake your head and try to relax into the pillows. It’s just like you remember … you think. The dark slate of the walls, the matching sheets of Egyptian cotton. The small stack of books you left on the nightstand on this side of the bed. 

There are echoes in the room. Echoes of pain, need, and ecstasy. Shadows of the time where you both thought that maybe there was more between you. The relic of those three words linger here and the laughter that followed.

 It’s hard to pinpoint what’s a real memory or something you made up to try to keep your sanity all that time. 

By the time he comes back, your eyes are drooping and you’re reaching for him again. So he slides into the bed next to you and coaxes some water into you. 

You settle into his chest as his hand moves to your hair. It's dirty and tangled, but it doesn’t matter right now. He'll finger comb it all night because he knows you like it. 

“It hasn’t been right here without you.” He sighs against your forehead and the tears come freely then, from both of you. “We were worried when you went dark, that you weren’t coming back.” 

This is it, the moment you were dreading. Because you aren’t who you were when you were prepping for this mission. Something has broken you and broken inside you, and there’s a big chance there isn’t any chance of recovery. 

“Steve, I don’t think all of me made it.”

 In the dark and the quiet compound, Steve clutches you close and takes every sob and scream until your voice is hoarse and you’ve exhausted yourself with your tears.

 Down the hall, the man with the icy blue eyes counts every scream, every hiccup. He’s been there too. He knows the hell you’re going through now, the hell you’ll go through forever if he’s any indication.

 Infiltration and torture are one thing. 

When Hydra does it … they fuck you up for life. 

[lyssismagical]

as simple as possible, but no simpler

Whumptober Day Twenty-Four. Secret Injury 

Read on AO3

{Graphic Depictions of Violence}

It’s simple.

Peter’s sitting on the floor of his bathroom, May’s out for work, a roll of gauze in his mouth. He holds a lighter under a pair of May’s tweezers, breathing heavily around the gauze, watching as blood sluggishly pours onto the floor around him. Eventually, he moves, plunging the tweezers into his stomach with as much caution as his shaking hands will allow him.

His noises, whimpers and cries of pain, are all muffled by the gauze in his mouth, teeth clenching painfully around it. At least this time he had the good sense to turn on some music in his bedroom to drown himself out.

It takes him a few extra minutes, precious minutes where tears roll down his pale, sweaty face and his throat aches and his jaw is sore, but he finally pulls the bullet and tweezers out of his body.

Unfortunately, his job’s not done yet. He slumps against the wall, moving to grab the needle and thread he stole from May’s old sewing kit, and starts the next part, stitching up the bullet wound. After he’s done, he takes a square of the gauze from his mouth and messily tapes it over his blood-stained stomach.

He looks around at the mess he’s made of the bathroom, and sighs. Convincing himself not to pass out, he painstakingly cleans the blood off the tiles, disposes of evidence and repacks his medical kit, hiding it away under the sink.

He barely makes it into bed before his vision goes dark.

Simple as that.

*

Okay, Peter would admit, maybe he should take better care of himself. He does have both Bruce and Cho who have told him countless times that they’re always in New York, always ready to help him out. But it’s either they put him through the torture of doing it all without medication, or he does it himself. It doesn’t really make a huge difference.

Plus, he’s hacked into Karen’s coding, with the help of his guy in the chair, of course, and they’ve removed the protocol that had her reporting injuries back to Mister Stark. Therefore, he’s never going to get in trouble for hiding these injuries.

His wounds heal anyways. It’s not a big deal if he stitches himself up in his bathroom after patrols. He heals. Why would it make a difference to spend the night in an uncomfortable hospital bed over spending the night in his own bed in his apartment?

He’s always careful, too. May’s a nurse. He knows about infections and dangers if he doesn’t clean everything properly. So he does. Simple as that.

*

“Patrol was okay?” May asks. She always does. Peter always does the same thing, ramble about the lighter things that happened – bike thefts and muggers with unloaded guns and helping people get home in the dark – never about the darker things like the drug rings and the gangs and the killers, and the NYPD shooting at him if they see him, even after proving to only be helpful to the city.

And May laughs, like she always does, lighthearted and relieved that Peter’s not getting into any trouble, just swinging around the city and helping teenagers get home after parties. Nothing dangerous. She ruffles his curls, presses a kiss to his forehead, and asks him what they should have for dinner.

It’s always the same. Lies woven out of fear for causing May more worry than she deserves. Pushing down the twinges of pain through his body as his stitches are pulled. Ignoring Karen’s constant pleas to just call Mister Stark or Doctor Banner or Helen Cho and get the help he needs.

It’s always the same. A fake smile that irritates the bruise he’s covered up on his cheek, a hug that sends shooting pain through his stomach, lies that hurt his chest, not because of wounds but something deeper and invisible. But he pushes it all down and doesn’t let it show.

Simple as that.

*

Sometimes, Peter ignores injuries in favour of helping people. Which he thinks is totally fair. He heals, they don’t. Simple as that. Even if it means letting wounds close up over bullets and having to cut himself back open to dig it out. Even if it means swinging deep into the forest so nobody can hear his screams when he resets bones that healed wrong. Even if it means passing out in vulnerable places like in dumpsters or on rooftops while attempting to tend to his wounds.

No matter what it means.

Because in Peter’s head, everyone else comes before him.

Simple as that.

*

The thing with all of this, though, is that it isn’t just simple. It isn’t this thing that Peter can just brush under the rug or box away or push down. It isn’t as simple as that.

Because Peter nearly bleeding out on his bathroom floor while May’s at work, Peter ignoring all of Karen’s pleas to call someone, Peter brushing off Banner and Cho and most importantly Tony in favour of doing it himself, Peter stitching himself up and rebreaking his own bones without help, it isn’t okay. It isn’t simple.

Everyone knows that. It should be simple logic. Just ask the doctors and nurses he knows to help him. It should be simple. But it’s not because the complex Peter’s grown is deeper than just logic.

It isn’t simple. It never was.

*

He isn’t careful enough. He knows he wasn’t. But he had been tired and in so much pain and so prepared to just fall apart, that he hadn’t thoroughly washed the bathroom.

Waking up to May bursting into his room, tears shining in her wide eyes, isn’t simple. May not having any clue what could’ve happened to him because she doesn’t know about the violence he faces every single day, isn’t simple. May’s hands tracing the healing bruise on his cheekbone, tears streaking down her face, glaring at the messy stitches in his side and the bloody tweezers sitting on his nightstand, a shiny copper bullet glinting in the sunrise beside them, isn’t simple.

May sending him to Tony because she feels like she failed him as a parent isn’t simple. It’s the farthest thing from simple.

Watching Tony break down, someone who hasn’t cried in over a decade in front of anyone, while watching the Baby Monitor Protocol. Of the two years he’d been doing this, hiding injuries and cutting himself back open to fish out bullets and stitching himself up. Of him swinging far enough away for no one to ever know to fix the broken ankle he’d been ignoring for the extent of the weekend. Of him pushing a roll of gauze into his mouth, muffling the cries of pain that threaten to escape him, and pulling it out blood-stained. Of him not caring about himself. It isn’t simple.

Nothing about it was ever simple.

[snicketstrange]

Beatrice was alive many years after the fire at her house

This is part 7 of Strange Interpretation by Jean Lúcio from Brazil.

To understand this text, it is necessary to read some of my previous texts.

If you have understood the Great Hiatus theory well, you will understand why I believe so much that Beatrice survived for many years after the burning of her house.

It is important to remember some important facts about the letter of R. The letter indicates that Lemony was captured that night of the Masked Ball to which the letter refers. In the letter it is written:

"You took a terrible chance in contacting me, but I'm glad you did. I am so sorry that I was unable to prevent, or least delay, your CAPTURE at my masked ball that evening, and I have been worried sick ALL THESE YEARS THAT YOU WERE DEAD, despite rumors of your activities spreading through the network of loyal members . "

Remember that what started the Great Hiatus was the capture of Lemony in this Masked Ball. This capture of Lemony occurred after he had published the books TBB, TRR and TWW.

Please note the following:

"I can not, however, help you answer the question YOU WROTE ME ON THAT GUM WRAPPER." That was the LAST PUBLIC EVENT the members of the organization dared attend together ... Mr. Snicket, everything you kept in my home is gone. BULLFIGHTING COSTUME IS GONE ... Everything in that guest room is gone, and all the things in the guest room next door BEATRICE, OF COURSE, IS FAR PAST COMPLAINING ABOUT LOST POSSESSIONS - THE VERY REASON, I AM CERTAIN, THAT YOU HAVE DEDICATED YOUR LIFE RESEARCHING THE LIVES OF THOSE THREE POOR CHILDREN ... "

Beatrice was in that Masked Ball that happened after the publication of books 1, 2 and 3. As it was explained, When the book TRR was published, it had been years (in the plural) that the main events recorded in the TRR book had already happened. Thus, Beatrice was fully alive years after the fire at her house. According to the letter, Beatrice stayed in the guest room next to the room where Lemony stayed. It is interesting that the pamphlet "13 shocking secrets" says:

Secret 10: "Lemony Snicket was disguised as a bullfighterwhen he was captured."

If R was talking about a Masked Ball that happened more than 15 years before the Beatrice house fire, the letter would not make any sense.

In the first place, this would mean that the ball that took place 15 or more years before the mansion would have been the last until the day R wrote the letter, and since then R would have been in doubt whether Lemony was alive or dead until the day he saw arrive the manuscript of the book 4. But, proof that Lemony would be alive would be the publication for the Great Public of the books TBB, TRR and TWW. According to Lemony, when he wrote the book TRR there was no doubt that he was alive or dead, as he attended dinners, such as Madame d'Lustro's dinner. 

Similarly, when Lemony wrote TWW, he had not yet been captured, for he was still in his house, in his room. He wrote:

" I wish I had the power to go back and tell them that they were wrong. But of course, I cannot. I am not on top of the hill, overlooking Lake Lachrymose , on that gloomy morning. I am sitting in my room, in the middle of the night, writing down this story and looking out my window at the graveyard behind my home."

In addition, according to chapter 9 of the UA, there was at least one masked ball after the events recorded in TRR. In a letter to R, Lemony states in Sebald Code that he will go to the Masked Ball of the Duchess of Winnipeg. In the same letter, Lemony states that his enemies are searching for Unty Monty's reptiles. Notice what is written in this letter:

"Your Royal Duchessness,

The bell of regret, I'm sorry to say, must ring. ATTENDINGyour Masked Ball is impossible. Though I'd love to attendYOUR Masked Ball, my enemies are unlikely to cancel their plans - MASKED Ball, perhaps, or a Regular Ball or another kind of BALL - of finding and capturing me. Deep, deep, deep, deep regret IS what I feel for refusing your invitation, but it's too DANGEROUS. They're searching furiously for the survivors of Dr. Montgomery's collection, BUT imagine how furiously they'll search for me. So I'LL run. I'll hide. I'll run to hiding places. I'll do everything except BE at your Masked Ball, even though I'd love to be THERE.

Maybe nest time. I hope so.

With all due respect,

LEMONY Snicket

P.S. Ring, bells of regret! "

The message in Sebald Code is: "ATTENDING YOUR MASKED BALL IS DANGEROUS BUT I'LL BE THERE. LEMONY"

But in addition to the code message note the following snippets:

"They're searching furiously for the SURVIVORS of Dr. Montgomery's collection."

When I talked to D., he explained to me that the classical interpretation of this passage is that there were several moments in history when the reptiles in Dr. Montgomery's collection were lost. According to classical interpretation, the loss of reptiles at the end of TRR can not be regarded as a "Time Mark", because of Daniel Handler's tendency to create duplicates of events to confuse the reader. Thus, D. explained to me that the classical interpretation considers Beatrice's death as a true Time Mark, and all other evidence that all other Time Marks pointing to a possible Beatrice survival would actually be an attempt by Daniel Hanlder to deceive the reader. But of course, I disagree with the classical interpretation. I respect classical interpretation quite a lot, and I can not prove that classical interpretation is wrong. What I do know is that for the classical interpretation to work you need to believe that Lemony Snicket would never lie to his target audience, and that Daniel Hanlder made chronological mistakes.

On the other hand, the Strange Interpretation of Jean Lúcio from Brazil, has as premise that Lemony Snicket tells lies to the Great public of his universe whenever he believes it is good and necessary and that Daniel Hanlder did not make chronological errors. The assumptions are different, and so the results are different. And that is why in the Strange Interpretation of Jean Lúcio from Brazil, the death of Beatrice was removed as a time mark. In my understanding, in this letter from Lemony to R the word "survivors" leaves no doubt as to when Lemony's enemies were searching for reptiles. Individuals from a group of people or animals are called "survivors" when part of the group dies in a single tragic event. Although Uncle Monty had lost his reptiles on a few occasions before the TRR events, he recovered them. However, after the events described in TRR, there was a real death threat to the reptiles and amphibians that were part of that collection.

Bruce explained in TRR chap. 13:

"These snakes need to be taken care of, so we're giving them away to other scientists, zoos, and retirement homes. Those we can not find homes for we'll have PUT TO SLEEP. "

"Put to sleep" is an expression that probably means "to kill some animals".

These links contain a list of meanings in English for "Put to sleep":

www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/put%20to%20sleep

www.yourdictionary.com/put-to-sleep

Among the meanings is: "to give drugs to animal that will make it die without pain".

Thus, the Masked Ball in which Lemony is referring in the letter to R in chapter 9 of the UA happened after most of the reptiles in Uncle Monty's collection were killed. This happened after the events described in TRR. Thus, the LAST MASKED BALL that happened in the R mansion could not have happened before the events described in TRR. Moreover, in Lemony's letter to R, Lemony states the following:

"My enemies are unlikely to cancel their plans of finding and capturing me ... They're furiously searching for the survivors of Dr. Montgomery's collection, but imagine how furiously they'll search for me."

This means that in this Ball, Lemony was sure that his enemies could search for him to capture him. As we all know, this is exactly what happened at the masked ball described in TAA and UA.

Apparently Lemony had to remove his bullfighter costume when he was captured, and left the costume at the Duchess's house. Soon after, the costume was destroyed in the fire. Why is this significant?

Note the description of this Masked Ball as found in TAA cap 11.

"I once attended one of the famed masked balls hosted by the Duchess of Winnipeg, and it was one of the most exciting and dangerous events of my life. I was disguised as a BULLFIGHTER and slipped into the party while being pursued by the palace guards , who were disguised as scorpions The moment I entered the Grand Ballroom, I felt as if Lemony Snicket had disappeared I WAS WEARING CLOTHES I HAD NEVER WORN BEFORE-a scarlet cape made of silk and a vest embroidered with gold thread and a skinny black mask-and it made me feel as if I was a different person, and because I felt like a different person, I dared to approach a woman I had been forbidden to approach the rest of my life. -the word "veranda" is a fancy term for the porch made of polished gray marble-and costumed as a dragonfly, with a glittering green mask and enormous silvery wings. As my pursuers scurried around the party, trying to guess which guest was me I slipped out to the veranda and gav and her the message I'd been trying to give her for fifteen long and lonely years. "BEATRICE," I cried, just as the scorpions spotted me, "COUNT OLAF IS--" I CAN NOT GO ON. It makes me weep to think of THAT EVENING, AND OF THE DARK AND DESPERATE TIMES THAT FOLLOWED. "

Another important detail is that the masked ball in which Lemony was captured dressed as a bullfighter was the last to occur until the time when the letter from R to Lemony was written. The letter was written when Lemony had already begun his research on Beatrice's children. Lemony only began his search after the fire of the Baudelaire mansion. Between the day Lemony once used his bullfighter costume and the day the letter was written, there was no other masked ball. The letter was written after R had seen the arrival of the original TMM book. Then all this indicates that this masked ball happened after the publication of TWW and before the publication of TMM.

Please realize that the only time Lemony ever used a bullfighter's guise (at least until he wrote TAA) was when he went to that particular Masked Ball. He was captured on that Masked Ball. After that, he became a fugitive, he had his death published again in the newspapers, and he spent several years abroad. In the book TAA, Lemony refers to these years as THE DARK AND DESPERATE TIMES THAT FOLLOWED the Masked Ball.

In the book TCC chap. 6, Klaus finds written information about a masked ball. But it's not the same Masked Ball. Klaus finds a paper where it says:

'' My Dear Duchess, Your masked ball sounds like a fantastic evening, and I look forward to ... '"

According to ATWQ, there have been many Masked Balls in the house of R. This is a duplicate event. The difference lies in the fact that in just one of these Masked Balls Lemony was disguised as Bullfighter. And it was in the Masked Ball that Lemony was captured. The masked ball that Klaus read about it on paper, happened before or during the main events of ASOUE. However, due to the evidence we have already considered, I believe that the Masked Ball in Lemony was captured happened 15 years after Olaf's death.

According to the description in TAA, Lemony gave Beatrice information on Count Olaf. "COUNT OLAF IS ..." I can only imagine a word to close this sentence. "COUNT OLAF IS DEAD!" Lemony told this to Beatrice 15 years AFTER Count Olaf's death. After all, just like Kit, Olaf died on a desert island with few witnesses. Lemony states that he can not expose the phrase to the Great Public. If he did this, all the readers of the Great Public of his universe would realize that Beatrice survived the fire and was still alive after many years had passed. My conclusion is that Beatrice survived for many years after the fire at the Baudelaire mansion.

If we continue analyzing chapter 9 of the UA using the premises I have listed, we will come to the same conclusions.

After Lemony's letter to R, there is a letter from an enemy of Lemony to someone named Genius. It's interesting that the letter is not for Olaf. By this time Olaf had evidently died.

Below I've copied some highlights from the letter

"Dear Genius,

Gathering information on Dr. Montgomery's reptile collection, as you requested, is a simple as you find a needle in a haystack, if there were a sign over the haystack reading "Needle Here!" with a brightly colored arrow pointing to the exact location of the needle. Finding the reptiles themselves are the difficult ones falling off the log, if the log were so sticky that it was practically impossible to remove oneself from it ...

With my disguise in place, I went to my local library, and it was decorated with a new sign that looked like this

"The World is at your Fingertips at Libray! Please Quiet Here."

Whistling one of my favorite tune, I entered the building and found the librarian, and old man with neatly trimmed gray hair and the mustache that tuned up at the ends. ... When I told him he was looking for information on the reptiles in Dr. Montgomery’s collection, the old man ... said, "well, young lady, have you been good to your mother?"

"What?" I replied. "Never Mind" he said quickly, and led me to the Children’s Room, where to my amazement there was a book all about Dr. Montgomery’s collection and three obnoxious children who visited it. The book is called The Reptile Room, so I was quickly able to find several passages describing the collection. "

After that, we find excerpts from the book TRR. Why is this significant?

As Lemony described in the letter to R in Chapter 9 of the AU, this enemy, at the request of one of his leaders, was searching for the survivors of Uncle Monty's collection. He was looking after the end of events recorded in TRR, and so some of the reptiles probably had already died. After all, he found information about the collection in the TRR book.

According to chapter 9 of the UA, after searching for information in the book TRR, the enemy of Lemony disguised like a cow.

He searched for reptiles in various places. Finally, note what happened:

"7 - Approached a married couple who apparently own the Prospero to ask if any reptiles had recently boarded the ship.

Couple, alarmed by talking cow, refused to participate.

8 - Saw signs indicating there was a dairy nearby. Did not approach due to fear of being milked. "

After this letter, in chapter 9 of the UA, we find a personal note from Lemony. Notice what he wrote:

"Note to file:

The library at Prufrock Preparatory School was a pleasant place, with comfortable chairs, huge wooden bookshelves, brass lamps in the shapes of different fish, and bright blue curtains that rippled like water as a breeze came in from the window. The librarian was an old man with neatly trimmed gray hair and the mustache that turned up at the ends ... As soon as I began to sing the coded song, the old man, whose back was straight, saluted me as if I were a soldier and said "Well, young lady, have you been good to your mother?" a phase with here means "I have a message for you." I gave the coded reply - "The question is, has she been good to me?" - and received the following note in return: "

Thus, we can conclude that the enemy went to look for information in Prufrock Prep, because like Lemony, he found exactly the same librarian, and this librarian spoke exactly the same message. The librarian was confused because coincidentally Lemony's enemy was whistling exactly the same song that Lemony whistled.

Thus, we can conclude that the book TRR was already published in Lemony's universe before the closing of Prufrock Prep.

From my point of view, this confirms the theory of the Great Hiatus, and shows that the TAA book was written many years after the writing of the TRR book, since in the TAA book, Lemony states that during the writing of the book TAA Prufrock Pre was closed many years ago. More than that, this confirms that the Ball in which Lemony was capithed, happened after the writing of TRR. In the very book TRR, we find the passage in which Lemony states that Klaus years after the events described in TRR, had difficulty sleeping.

What was the message to Lemony? It was a message from a couple. The couple that the enemy of Lemony disguised as cow approached. The message read:

"Dear Mr. Snicket,

Dr. Montgomery's reptiles. "We're not going to do that," he said. Do not worry - we did not mention anything about our assistance with the Incredibly Deadly Viper - but we fear that the henchman cold use his disguise to cause trouble at Valorous Farms Dairy. The world is quiet here. "

1 - Klaus, Sunny, Violet are adopted by Uncle Monty.

All of this leads me to believe that Lemony knew about the enemies looking for the SURVIVORS of Uncle Monty's collection through this message. Knowing this, Lemony sent the letter to R, talking about the Masked Ball in Sebald code. This to me, is a logical sequence of events.

More than that, this confirms that the Ball in which Lemony was captured happened after the writing of TRR.

All this indicates that Beatrice survived for many years after the destruction of her house. Knowing this, you can begin to create theories about Beatrice's motivations.

In a future text I will explain better on this subject, according to some hypotheses that I have created. But before moving on to try to imagine Beatrice's motivations, we need to be sure of what really happened.

1 - Klaus, Sunny, Violet are adopted by Uncle Monty.

2 - After a few days almost all reptiles and amphibians of Uncle Monty are taken to the Herpetological Society.

3 - After some time, most reptiles are killed.

4 - A few years later, Klaus finds it difficult to sleep because of what happened while he was at Uncle Monty's house.

5 - Some time later, Lemony publishes TRR.

6 - Some time later Lemony publishes TWW.

7 - Sometime later, Lemony's enemy looks for information about Uncle Monty's collection in the book TRR in Prufrock Prep.

8 - Some time later, Lemony goes to Prufrock Prep and receives a letter, where two volunteers inform him about this enemy.

9 - Lemony then receives the invitation letter to a Masked Ball of the Duchess of Winnipeg.

10 - Lemony answers the letter, using Sebald code, and informs the Duchess that the enemies are looking for the survivors of the collection of Uncle Monty.

11 - Fifteen years after Olaf's death, Lemony goes to the Ball disguised as a bullfighter. It is the first and only time he wears these clothes. There he meets Beatrice, who was alive, and tells him that Count Olaf was dead.

12 - Lemony is captured, but escapes and becomes a fugitive.

13 - Lemony's death is published again in the daily Punctilio. A little later, Lemony flees abroad in Prospero, and spends many years out of the country.

14 - The Prufrock Prep stops working at some point after Lemony's departure abroad. 

15 - Lemony returns from the outside and sends a letter to R along with the original TMM.

16 - R realizes that Lemony is alive, and then she answers the letter with another letter.

17 - The TMM book is published in Lemony's universe.

18 - The TAA book is published in Lemony's universe. In this book, Lemony reports how the Masked Ball he was captured in, and states that Purfrock Prep has been closed for many years.

In the next Text, I will write about the secret message that is in TSS, and why I believe it is a message to Beatrice. And because I do not believe in the classical interpretation of ASOUE that that letter is evidence that Lemony wrote ASOUE during recorded events, and then sent it to Kit, and then revised it and then published years later. Thanks for reading here. Until the next text.

[fangirlfiction]

Addicted to you, pt. iii

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Series Word Count: 6.8k

Description: The aftermath.

Warnings: Mild cursing, mentions of blood and injuries, mentions of getting sick, death, mild smut, angst.

A/N: This is a reupload of the entire series because tumblr sucks. That is all. FYI, ‘spicy’ is my new code for uh, intimate, moments.

series masterlist

You open your eyes in surprise when the bullets tear through your body and out the other side. The pain spreads throughout your chest and stomach, lighting a fire within you. As you fall backwards, head landing on Bucky’s chest, a glimpse of red and gold catches your eye. Your head lulls to the side, body already growing weak from the blood loss. As you slip into unconsciousness, one last thought crosses your mind: Bucky.

*

You dash up the stairs, a stack of mission files piled under your arm. A quick glance at your watch indicates that you aren’t just late, you are very late. You finally make it to your floor, your feet carrying you down the hall and to the meeting room. You burst into the room, breathless, cheeks tinged with pink, hair a little wild. Everyone inside looks up at you, distracted from the information Steve is sharing with the group.

You pass out the file folders, fingers brushing the last man’s hand, causing you to make eye contact. Your breath stutters in your throat when your eyes meet his blue ones, and he offers you a soft smile. You smile back before taking a seat in the back, away from the eyes of the group, but still in the line of sight of the mystery man.

The rest of the meeting is a blur, passing quickly from stolen glances and shy smiles. Before you know it, everyone is standing and packing up. You gather your things and walk over to Steve, sheepish. “I am so sorry that I was late today.”

Steve offers you an easy smile, “Hey, it’s no problem. Everyone is late sometimes.”

A voice chimes in from the other side of the room, “You never are.”

Steve smiles in response, and you stand there awkwardly, glancing at the mystery man. Steve takes notice, “Oh, have you met Bucky?”

You shake your head and Bucky walks over to you and Steve, giving you a bright smile. “This is my best friend, Bucky. He recently decided to get back into missions.”

Steve gestures to you and tells Bucky your name. “She works pretty close with us for missions. Usually collects all the data and intel, helps us coordinate the mission. She also joins us on missions pretty often, mostly deals with the tech stuff.”

You and Bucky exchange smiles and a handshake, and Steve checks his watch before bumping Bucky on the shoulder. “We gotta go, Nat’s expecting us.”

Bucky offers you another bright smile and mutters, “Nice to meet you.”

*

A hand on your face. Warm. Familiar. The fingers tap lightly on your cheek. “Hey, hey, hey, stay with me now.”

You know that voice, but your thoughts are fuzzy. You channel all your strength into lifting your eyelids, blinking against the light. Blue eyes swim in your vision, a soft smile right below them. “There she is. Hang in there.”

Your eyelids droop, then close again, the weight to hold them open too heavy. You hear him call your name one more time before you pass out again.

*

You hold Bucky’s hand tightly in yours, and you turn to look at him as you guide him behind you. His eyes are squeezed tightly shut, and you giggle at his scrunched up expression. He smiles at you in return and you remind him, “No peeking.”

His grin widens, and he nods, “I know, I know.”

You lead him to the end of the path before turning and taking a lesser known path. Bucky’s hold on your hand is steady and firm, and you’re hit with emotion when you realize how much he must trust you to allow you to lead him somewhere blindly. You finally reach your destination, and you drop his hand to stand beside him. You whisper, “Okay, open.”

Bucky opens his eyes to take in the lake in front of him, the water smooth and glassy, undisturbed. You see him smile at the fiery trees around the lake, the leaves bursting with reds, oranges, and yellows. He turns to you with a smile that threatens to split his face. “It’s beautiful.”

“A beautiful scene for a beautiful man.”

Bucky bumps you with his shoulder. “Oh stop, you’re making me blush.”

You look up at him to see the pink tint blushing his cheeks, and the sight of it brings a smile to your face. Bucky turns to face you, his hands reaching to your side to thread your fingers together. You look up at him to find him watching you intently, and you take in a sharp breath when he leans down to you. His lips meet yours softly, and you’re struck with the tenderness of your first kiss with Bucky.

He pulls back and you both share matching grins, goofy with affection. Bucky whispers, “You’re gonna be the death of me, I know it.”

*

The fire wakes you up again, and now it’s spreading. Every nerve ending in your body was alive, searing. 

You realize you’re moving. Head held against someone’s chest, the motion of their steps jostling you. Burning you. You turn your head to the side and vomit, but the release does nothing to ease the pain.

“Guys, she just threw up. Are you ready for us in the jet?”

You weakly lift a hand and press it to your burning stomach and chest, hoping you can push the fire out of you. You lift your hand to find it coated in fresh blood.

“Shit, she’s bleeding again. This is bad.”

And then the blackness takes you.

*

You run down the hall towards the rooms of the Compound, Steve’s voice echoing in your head. “He’s back and he asked for you.”

You reach his door and stand there for a minute, trying to catch your breath before you push it open. You burst into Bucky’s room and before you finish scanning it, a hand grabs you and pushes you against the wall before a pair of lips crash onto yours. You pull away a moment later, breathless, and Bucky’s lips brush yours as he whispers, “I missed you.”

You smile against his lips, dizzy with building desire as you whisper back, “Show me how much.”

Bucky kisses you again and he grabs your legs and wraps them around his waist. You moan as his hand climbs up your body before it settles at the base of your throat. He squeezes lightly as he kisses you, the gesture cutting off more air and making you dizzier. You start to push your hips closer to him, chasing friction. Bucky pulls away from the wall, backing up until his knees hit the bed, and he lowers himself onto his back, pulling you on top of him.

You blindly pull the layers of his uniform from his body, and he reaches down between you to tug your shirt up and over your head. Your mouths connect again as Bucky reaches down between you again, pushing your clothes to the side for better access. You let out a moan before grabbing him, both of you panting and moaning into each other’s mouths. He pushes your hand away when he gets close, whispering, “Not yet.”

You nod and hover above him, making eye contact as you settle onto him, both of you letting out a satisfied sound. Bucky’s eyes never leave yours as you chase your high and lead him to his, his expression fixed into one of pure pleasure. Bucky tumbles over the edge first, and you follow seconds behind him.

You finish with a silent scream.

*

You wake up screaming.

The pain in your body has doubled. Tripled. Climbed off the charts.

You didn’t think that was possible. But your screams drown out Steve’s voice trying to calm you. They drown out Bruce’s voice. Tony’s. Wanda’s. Sam’s. Nat’s.

There is only one voice that can calm you now.

*

You stand in the middle of the room, looking down at the bodies of the Shield agents, all killed in cold blood. You turn to the side and throw up, stomach still churning as you back out of the room like a frightened animal. You run back to the Quinjet in a daze, and you wave off Natasha’s concerns as you board the jet, quietly muttering for her to go.

You land back at the Compound and stumble back to your room, the shock of the mission still dulling your senses. You don’t even bother seeking out Bucky. Instead, you crawl into bed and curl into a ball, the tears coming as soon as you get comfortable. The sobs shake your body as you mourn for the agents, allowing the guilt of your actions to swallow you whole.

You don’t know how much time passes before you feel the bed dip behind you, a strong set of arms wrapping around you and pulling you towards him. You continue to cry until there is nothing left, your sobs quieting down to a soft whimper. Bucky adjusts you in his arms when you start to go quiet, turning you to face him. He reaches up and brushes the tears from your cheeks before he whispers, “It’s not your fault.”

You shake your head and croak, “I was too late.”

He places a finger under your chin and tips your head up, forcing you to make eye contact with him. He is insistent when he repeats, “It is not your fault.”

Your lip quivers and you duck your head again, and he whispers, “I don’t know if this is the right time, but I need you to know this. I love you.”

You snap your head up and meet his eyes again, a soft smile tugging at your lips. “I love you too.”

*

“God damn it!” You hear something hit the ground, thrown out of frustration. “I gave them bad intel. I got her shot. I got Bucky-“

“Steve, stop. Getting angry won’t change anything.” You turn your head and see Natasha place a comforting hand on Steve’s arm. He shrugs her off.

Tony interjects from the row of seats opposite you, “I don’t know. Getting angry and killing every Hydra bastard in a five mile radius felt pretty good.” Sam hums in agreement.

Nat’s tone is a warning. “Tony-“

“No! No. I don’t want to hear anything logical right now, Romanoff. This is our team. Our family.”

Wanda’s whisper comes from behind you, “This will destroy her.”

What will?

*

You look at Bucky with a blank expression, trying to swallow the lump of emotion in your chest. “What do you mean ‘you can’t be in a relationship’?”

Bucky huffs out a sigh and runs a hand through his hair. “I mean that I’m not cut out for this. The domesticated mornings where we wake up and drink coffee together while we read the newspaper. Eating dinner out. Telling you how I feel. Discussing our dreams, plans for the future. I can’t do that.” He gestures between you. “I can’t do this.”

And just like every other time you fight with Bucky, anger boils over into your blood. “You can’t do this? You’ve been doing it for almost two years, Bucky! What the hell changed?”

He shrugs but says nothing. His silence fuels your anger. “No! You don’t get to just decide that you can’t do this and then shut me out. That’s not how this works. Talk to me!”

He remains quiet, eyes looking everywhere but yours. You slam your hand on the wall beside you and yell, “Fine! Consider us done.” Before brushing past him and storming from his room.

*

The steady beeps are the first thing you hear.

You stay still, breathing, trying to take inventory of your body. There’s no pain, not now. But, you can feel the phantom pain from memories past, lingering. Your hand is heavy, so you wiggle your fingers. You get a light squeeze in reply.

You pull your eyes open, and it’s easier this time, but it’s brighter. You blink, waiting for the world to focus around you. You can make out the boring beige ceiling tiles, and walls to match. A few chairs, all empty. Your bed, and

Bucky?

“There’s my girl.”

The nickname splits your face into a grin. “Hi, Buck.”

“You’ve been out a while. I was getting worried.”

You offer him a apologetic smile. “Have I? I’m sorry.”

He leans forward, presses a kiss to your cheek. “Don’t be. How are you feeling?”

“Better. No pain.”

He gives you his prettiest smile. “Good.”

You scoot over, making room for him to join you on the bed. He climbs in, careful of all your tubes and wires, pulling you close to him. You snuggle into his chest. Content. Happy. “You should get some rest, I’ll be here when you-

*

“Wake up.”

You groan, forcing your eyes open, squinting at Nat in the afternoon light. You mutter, “What are you doing here?”

She plops down onto the bed beside you. “You moved out of the Compound. I never see you anymore.”

You sigh and rub the sleep from your eyes. “Yeah, I just…it was getting hard seeing Bucky every day.”

“He moved out too. Said he needed some space.”

You hum in acknowledgement but offer nothing. Natasha grabs your arm and tugs you forward. “It’s been months. You have to get out. Move on.”

You stare at her with a blank expression, and she stands and moves to your closet. “Come on, we’re going out tonight. Wanda found a new club in Soho.”

“Fine, but only because I know there’s no getting out of this.”

*

The beeping is back and it’s driving you mad.

You open your eyes slowly, blinking against the bright light again. The chairs in the room are empty, save for one. You smile at the blond, his eyes closed, head leaned back against the chair, breathing soft and steady. You watch him for a second, feeling guilty about wanting to wake him up, because you know how much he has to carry. The burden of Atlas, stuck with the world.

“Steve?”

He wakes immediately, eyes shooting open and face softening into a small smile. “Hey there. I was starting to think you were gonna sleep forever.”

You laugh, and the motion causes pain to light up in your body, making you wince. Guilt crosses Steve’s features and you whisper, “What happened?”

“You went on a mission with Bucky to retrieve high level intel. It was in a castle full of Hydra agents.” You nod, remembering. “From what we can gather, you and Buck got separated. You on one side, him on the other. It shouldn’t have mattered, because no one was expecting you guys. Or so we thought.”

You look at him in confusion, and he continues, “Our intel was bad. Hydra found out we were listening, set us up to be slaughtered. They thought the whole team was coming to the mission. They didn’t realize it’d just be you and Bucky. But when they figured it out, they didn’t care. They came for you both anyways. Only reason you’re still alive is because Parker realized that they knew, and we came flying over ASAP. Found ya with 4 bullets in your body, stomach, arm, chest.”

“Oh. Well, I’ll have to thank Peter then. For saving my life.”

Steve nods. “He was here earlier. Whole team was. They left about an hour ago.”

“Where’s Bucky?”

Steve freezes, not expecting the question. “What?”

You smile, oblivious to Steve’s discomfort. “Where’s Bucky? I want to see him.”

“Bucky is…Bucky’s dead.” You stare at him blankly. “I’m sorry, I thought you knew.”

You laugh, thinking he’s joking, but the laugh dies in your throat when you see his expression. And for the first time that day, you look at Steve. Really look at him. His eyes are red and raw. Bloodshot, puffy. There are bags beneath them that are so large they brush his cheekbones. He seems skinnier. Pale. Haunted. Your mouth runs dry, and you struggle to swallow the lump in your throat. “He can’t be dead. I saw him! He was here!”

Steve simply shakes his head, and you ask, “How?”

“We think he distracted the agents from you, fighting them by himself. They shot and killed him.”

Anger bubbles up within you, and this is a burn that you welcome. You start to yell, “Why didn’t you help him, huh?” You start yanking tubes and wires from your body, and alarms start sounding all around you. You ignore them, as Steve stands and comes towards you in panic. When he gets close enough, you start to flail and punch, hitting him with what little strength you have. “Why didn’t you help him! You sent us to die!”

Steve is crying, tears falling down his cheeks as he allows you to punch and hit him. You scream out, “You left him to die!” and collapse onto his chest with a painful sob. He wraps his arms around you, muttering, over and over again. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

When your sobs grow quiet, Steve whispers, “We’re gonna be okay. You’re gonna be okay.”

You stare at a spot on the wall behind him and deadpan, “Oh Steve, don’t you know? There’s no comfort in lost love.”

[w-m-blake]

I’m very proud of the writing I’ve done this week! Mortal Truth; and You Wish You Didn’t Ask the Question came out on Sunday; You Are Dead, My Life, and I Still Breathe came out yesterday; and I just posted the fifth chapter of The Sands of Titan! This week has been very productive! To celebrate (and because I want to know what people are interested in reading next), under the cut I’m putting the titles and short synopses of fics I’ve got on my to-do list. Message me if you want more information/want to weigh in on what to write next.

If Even Death Were Grace: “we begin in the dark/and birth is the death of us,” Anne Carson, “antigonick.” Anthony Stark, son of Howard Stark, Titan of the Forge, and Maria Carbonell, Titaness of Family and the Hearth, God of Invention, finds himself like Iphigenia, a sacrifice—a pawn—to placate the furies of other deities, for transgressions he didn’t commit. Nevertheless, he holds his chin up and walks the path to Hel, averting a war and agreeing to a marriage both. Better this than the alternative. Frostiron, retelling of Persephone and Hades (at least inspired by) with Tony in the place of Persephone and Loki as Hades.

I’m Not Playing God: (All this time, I’ve been playing human.) Frostiron, ThorBruce. Tony Stark walks out of the abandoned bunker in Siberia having awakened, realizing he was a god born to walk with humans. Rewriting from about the end of Ragnarok to Endgame.

I Hear You Whisper underneath Your Breath/I Hear You Whisper You Have Nothing Left: Tony wakes from nightmares of a life he can hardly imagine, a life where he’s left behind in a freezing bunker by an enemy wearing Steve Rogers’ face. Loki tries to comfort him, to distract him from these visions, but they become harder and harder to ignore—until something has to give. Frostiron.

Desiring More Yet: Harley Keener is always hungry, always starving, always looking for the next thing to drive his teeth into. He burns through ideas, through petty lovers, through inventions and motivations and addictions, looking for something—anything—that will satisfy him. He was hungry before leaving Rose Hill, his hunger driving him to New York, and he's still hungry even now, even cared for and loved by Tony and Pepper, even in this place that was supposed to be everything that he wanted. Perhaps it was some kind of idle dream, expecting thing new place to be all that he wanted, all that he needed.It did, at least, provide more distractions from his hunger than Rose Hill, Tennessee did. Peter Parker is content with what he has. Most of the time, at least. Sure, sometimes he's a little lonely—but Aunt May, Ned, MJ, Tony, Pepper, they're all there for him, just a phone call or a text away at their farthest. Sure, sometimes he carries this guilt from not doing enough, not being enough, failing people—but he's Spiderman, and he can't afford to get too down, because he's got other people counting on him. He pulls through. Sure, sometimes, the night is so big and dark and he feels like it's so empty it's going to swallow him whole, but Karen's in his ear all night, keeping him going. He's fine. Really. Maybe he's not as fine as he wants to be. Parkner.

One-Part Sadness, Two-Parts Tragedy: a Harley Keener character study told in three parts: the first is his time in Rose Hill, the second his transition from Rose Hill to NYC with Tony and Pepper’s help, and the third NYC post-Endgame. Major character death, no happy ending.

Warfare and a Man at War: a Tony Stark character study that will be a series, beginning with Warfare and a Man at War, followed by Of Gods and Men and concluding with In Hope and Fear. Warfare and a Man at War will focus on human conflict, the struggles of human war and its effects. Of Gods and Men will be the introduction of aliens and Other threats, justified paranoia, and how one fights an outmatched battle to win. In Hope and Fear will conclude the series; it will be the end results, the conclusion, what happens to civilians once the threat is “gone.”

Brinesoaked Bodies: mermaid!au. Chapter titles: “Left Broadside onto Breaking Seas;” “The Black Hurricane;” “Worn by Winds on Every Sea;” “The Whole Uproar of the Great Sea Fell Silent;” “Serenity that Calms the Weather;” “Brinesoaked Bodies.”

Insensible Shades: a Rapunzel/Tangled au meets Orpheus/Eurydice. Harley is the stolen child of King Anthony and Queen Virginia. Peter, a thief/vigilante dubbed “Spiderman,” is on the run from the kingdom’s guards—a misunderstanding, he insists—and comes across a tower. He takes Harley to see the lanterns, initially rather unwillingly, only to accidentally drag Harley into the mess of his non-legal affairs. Peter sacrifices himself to save Harley; Harley, in turn, becomes like Orpheus and travels to Hel to trade for Peter. Parkner, angst with a happy ending.

Boyfriend Clothes: Harley Keener lives in the same dorm as his friend, Peter Parker. They aren’t the closest—Ned Leeds and Michelle Jones definitely take up more of Peter’s time than Harley does—but they share physics and engineering courses, and both work as personal interns for Tony Stark—which is kind of code for Tony pseudo-adopting the young geniuses. Harley’s best friend is Shuri. She laughs at how Harley gushes over Peter—so long as he isn’t around. In turn, Harley teases Shuri for how she stammers around MJ. They’re both disaster gays. One night, Harley sees Peter walking to/from the bathroom (or something similar in the dorm) in pajama bottoms (shorts, which barely come past the shirt he’s wearing over them) and a giant fleece button down. It reached down almost to his mid-thigh and hung off his shoulder a little, the top button undone so the shirt was open to about his mid-sternum. Harley took this as obvious evidence that Peter now had a boyfriend (maybe even staying in his room that very night) and had to get to the bottom of it; he had to at least know who Peter was with—if only for the purposes of moving on. Parkner, college!au, no powers, silly fluff & humor, shenanigans.

Untitled #1: In order to keep the Time Stone from Thanos, Stephen Strange liquefies it (the way that the Reality Stone becomes Aether) and places it inside the only one on Titan who has withstood an infinity stone before: Tony. Thanos retreats temporarily to plan again; Tony must learn to use his newly-gained magic before he returns in order to save the universe.

Untitled #2: Disturbances occurring in the magical “ley lines” or Circumstances lead to Stephen investigating the multiverse; the disturbances aren’t coming from within this universe, or perhaps even any specific universe. They seem to be coming from all universes and none of them at the same time; it’s the roots of Yggdrasil, shaking with anticipation for whatever is on its way. A horror lurks in the void between Yggdrasil’s roots, and Stephen has to locate and banish it. Frostironstrange, Ironstrange, multiple universes, alternate timelines, horror/lovecraftian horror.

Untitled #3: Space pirates. The Ironfam (Tony, Pepper, Rhodey, Bruce, Peter, Harley, Morgan) are on the run from the imperial rule of the SHIELD system upon Tony, Rhodey, and Bruce discovering the way their military employers maintain and gain power. They’re pursued by a small task-force (Steve, Natasha, Clint, and Sam; Phil is their handler) from SHIELD and the Winter Soldier, a ship from the HYDRA system (once a colony of SHIELD which revolted and is now in the throes of a Reign of Terror, French revolution style) commandeered by a (brain-washed) captain proficient at hiding his ship using comets and ice rock fields. (The Winter Soldier is captained by James Barnes, a spy sent by SHIELD to keep an eye on HYDRA, only to fall into their hands.) The Winter Soldier has commands to capture Tony, Rhodey, and Bruce for their military & scientific knowledge. Yggdrasil is a system far enough from SHIELD and HYDRA that neither know of it; it’s ruled by Odin, king of Asgard and conqueror of Jotunheimr, Vanaheimr, Alfheim, Muspell, Svartalfheim, Niflheim, and Nidavellir. Loki was taken from Jotunheimr when it was the last planet to be subdued by Asgard, being the furthest planet from the system’s star; Odin intends on making Loki the ambassador for the Jotuns, knowing that they still mourn the loss of their prince. Loki doesn’t take this well when he finds out; his mother Freyja helps him to flee. Odin sends Thor after him to capture him “on grounds of treason.” Stephen Strange flees the Sanctum Sanctorum System when his planet, Kamar-Taj, is invaded by the rapidly-spreading empire Dormammu. The Ancient One had been grooming Stephen for taking her position as the protector of Kamar-Taj once she had stepped down, but Kaecilius, a jealous pupil of hers, aided Dormammu in infiltrating Kamar-Taj’s defenses as what he saw as retribution for being looked over for the position. The Ancient One, worried for the fate of the people she protects (not necessarily governs, though almost every government on Kamar-Taj recognized her as an influential power), sent Stephen away, having one of her trusted advisers, Wong, take him from the system. Kaecilius hears of the plot to sneak Stephen off the planet before the Dormammu forces could invade, and he attempts to prevent their escape. This fails, but Stephen does gain the favor of the Cloak of Levitation in this fight. Stephen and Wong escape, bringing the Cloak. Stephen intends on someday returning to rid Kamar-Taj of Dormammu rule, but he has a lot to learn from Wong and the universe first. All of these plotlines intersect, threading through, around, and with one another. Polycule: Tony, Pepper, Rhodey, Bruce. Eventual additions of Frostironstrange and ThorBruce

Untitled #4: sick!fic; I have the list of headcanons/ideas here. Parkner. Cute & fluffy, featuring trans Peter with an unidentified but minor sickness and Harley being a good boyfriend.

Untitled #5: Stardust!au. Part One: Tony Stark leaves Wall to explore the land beyond it which beckons him, but only for a short time, with people depending on him back home. He falls for an imprisoned fae, attempts to free him, but ultimately fails and must return to Wall. Not long after, the watcher of the wall brings him a child in a wicker basket named Harley. Part Two: Eighteen years later, Harley Keener is infatuated with a girl named Victoria. He, trying to win her hand over her other suitor, E.J., promises to bring her a star that they see falling from the sky. He expects something like a precious stone; he, instead, meets Peter. They get dragged into an adventure running from star-eating warlocks, meeting lightning-catching pirates—who always make sure to dock frequently, so their captain can see his alchemist spouse—and a wild scramble for a throne that seems to have no viable heir. (Whether the fae is Loki or Stephen, I haven’t yet decided. Weigh in if you have a preference.) Parkner, ThorBruce, either Frostiron or Ironstrange.

Beyond these, I have my NaNoWriMo story (rough hands//soft hearts) and my Clint Barton Bingo card.

[sassycassie-s-writing]

Prison Break

By: SassyShoulderAngel319

Fandom/Character(s): DC, BatFam - Damian Wayne/Robin/Nightwing

Rating: PG-13/T

Original Idea: Injustice (2?) Universe AU

Notes: (Masterlist)(By Character)(About Me) I don’t play video games much anymore because they make my anxiety get worse but I used to play Injustice with my roommate. Somehow I kicked her butt (button-mashing and beginner’s luck). So I watched the Game Movie of the cutscenes to both games on YouTube and here you go. @welovegroot @batboys-and-other-messes

^^^^^

“Next,” the guard said boredly.

I took a step forward. “Here to see Damian Wayne.”

“He’s a high-level prisoner. He doesn’t get visitors.”

“Batman sent me. I'm Cloudburst. Was Cloudburst,” I said. I held out the note in my hand. “Please. Batman sent me.”

The guard looked at the note, complete with an official stamp of Bruce’s, and his signature. He sighed. “Third floor. First door to the left. Sign here.” He tapped a paper on the desk between us. I bent down and signed it.

I dodged over to the door to the stairs and rushed up them. It had been a long time since I’d climbed more than one flight at a time. Going up two almost tuckered me out.

The first door on the left was a visitor center with the phones and the glass plates.

I sat where another guard directed me to sit.

There came a loud buzz through the glass. Damian sauntered in, prison jumpsuit in near-pristine condition and handcuffs on his wrists, followed closely by another guard.

When he saw me, his eyes widened in surprise and his gait hitched a step.

He sat down opposite me and picked up the phone on his side while I did the same on mine. “What are you doing here, beloved?” he demanded, snarling the endearment that once made my heart flutter in excitement. I sighed internally at the sadness that descended over me but didn’t display any of it. I couldn’t let Damian sense any weakness.

“Batman sent me,” I said blandly.

“Whatever message he gave you, I have no interest I hearing it.” He moved to stand up and hang up the phone.

“Ibn al Xu’ffash!” I shouted, immediately catching his attention. He whirled a glare on me, eyes emerald daggers cutting right into my heart. I imagined no one had called him his Arabic name in years. Clenching his jaw, he set the phone to his ear again. “I don’t have much time. Batman sent me to get me in. You’re not allowed other visitors.”

“Tt. Alright. So what do you want?” he snapped.

I sucked in a deep breath. “I wanted to see you again before I die,” I said.

The creases in his forehead softened a little. “Meaning?”

I tilted my head to the right, baring the left side of my neck and brushing my hair out of the way to reveal the patchwork of nasty green that had been climbing up my arteries. “Blood poisoning. I’ve got… days. Maybe. Once it reaches my brain it shuts down all my other organs.”

“Is there no cure?” Damian asked, looking concerned. He leaned closer to the glass to see the damage better.

“None,” I said. “I'm going to die. When I found out there was no way I’d recover from this, I begged Bruce to let me come see you. I know we… I know we went separate ways with… the Regime and all. But… truth is… I never stopped loving you, Damian. Never. You’ve every right to hate me, Damian. To shut me down and order me out. But I had to see you again. To say goodbye. To tell you I still love you. So you’d know I never stopped and I’ll love you till my dying day.” I put my hand on the glass, tears in my eyes and a pleading expression on my face.

Damian couldn’t reach to put his hand on the glass and hold the phone at the same time with the handcuffs on. “Cloudburst…” he whispered.

I tapped my thumbnail on the glass. “Just do me one favor after I'm gone, okay, beloved?” I asked.

“Don’t talk like that.”

“Don’t worry, Dami. I’ve made my peace with my death. But do me one favor, okay?”

“They’ll never let me out of here.”

“It’s nothing to do with you being in here or not,” I said. “Just this one thing. Promise me.”

“I promise.”

“Make Dick proud.”

“It was an accident,” Damian ground out.

“I know. I was there. But he loved you so much. Just do him proud. He… he would have wanted you to be Nightwing in the event of his death.” I tapped my thumbnail on the glass again. “Make Dick Grayson proud of you, Damian Wayne. I love you.”

“Alright. Time’s up!” the guard on Damian’s side of the glass ordered, stomping forward with a bad glower and hauling Damian off the stool.

“I love you, Cloudburst!” Damian called. I could hear it through the phone.

One guard hauled him through the door he’d come through. Another stepped forward and put the phone back. Tearing up, I got up, thanked the guard on my side, and left.

I ducked out the front door. “Did it work?” Bruce asked once I was in his car.

“They didn’t even question it,” I said, scrubbing at my neck till the green came off.

“Really? And Damian understood?”

“Oh yeah. You didn’t spend months teaching us all a complex network of codes for Damian not to understand.”

“Good.”

We drove off.

“How come you forgave him after years behind bars?” I asked quietly.

“He’s my son, Cloudburst.”

“Dick was too. You said you’d never forgive him for that.”

“Are you trying to get me to change my mind?” Bruce demanded.

“No. I'm wondering what was with the change of heart. Yours is pretty… stubborn.”

Bruce sighed. “You helped me see that what happened to Dick that day was accident. Everything else came easier after that.”

“I love Damian, Bruce.”

“I know you do. That’s why he believed you were telling the truth. That’s why he’ll listen.”

I nodded. “Thank you for understanding, Bruce.”

He nodded too. “You were right, by the way.”

“What?” I asked, surprised. Batman never admitted when someone else was right.

“Dick would have wanted Damian to take the name Nightwing.”

“Of course he did. He told me that.”

“He did?”

“Mmhmm. Not long before… what happened to him. ‘Mark my words, Nora. Damian will make a better Nightwing than I ever was.’” I paused. “If I know Damian he’ll be out of prison before we reach the Batcave. I’ll pick up my bike there and go pick him up.”

“Hrn,” Bruce grunted in, what I guessed, was assent.

“You know, you could have just let him out yourself. You have the authorization.”

“And if I did Damian would be nothing but suspicious of me the whole time—both during and after. He has to get himself out. That way he knows I trust him.”

I pursed my lips in thought as a long silence stretched between me and one of my greatest mentors. Bruce was right, of course, but that didn’t mean I fully understood the way the Waynes’ minds worked. “How much?” I asked. Bruce flicked a curious look at me but didn’t deign to respond verbally. “How much do you trust him?”

Bruce’s hands tightened on the wheel, making the leather creak. “Enough,” he said.

“Because that’s not vague at all,” I said.

“Let’s just say I trust in his loyalty to you more than I trust his loyalty to me,” he said.

We reached the Batcave. I finished scrubbing the green makeup off my neck, pulled on my super-suit, and slung my leg over my bike. “Be back soon, Bats,” I said.

He nodded.

I revved my engine and zipped out of the cave.

As I drove, I got a ping from an unknown number on my helmet visor’s HUD. It was coordinates, followed by, Meet me here. ~Nw

My HUD immediately plotted the course. I started to follow the map to those coordinates.

“Chop shop. Nice,” I muttered as I arrived and swung my leg off my bike. I yanked my helmet off.

Whoosh—thud! Someone dropped from the shadows. Damian emerged. “Seemed out of the way,” he said. “Nice private place for our reunion.”

I bounced my eyebrows. “Nice new threads. They suit you,” I said.

Damian glanced down at the Nightwing suit he was wearing then back up to me. “Thanks,” he said.

“Got out alright, I see,” I said.

He nodded. “Yup,” he said.

“You okay?”

“Yeah. Can we just skip to the part where we make out until Big Bad Bats starts ordering you to bring me home?” Damian asked.

I snorted. “Someone’s eager,” I said.

“I spent ages in that cell dreaming of having you by my side again. It was the only thing that kept me sane.”

I approached him, automatically scanning for signs of threat but finding none. I threaded my fingers into the hair on the back of his head. “I dreamt about that too,” I said, tilting up onto my toes to kiss him. His arms wrapped around my waist and upper back. Our heads tilted to the sides for more comfortable angles. I felt him smile against my lips. “I missed you,” I whispered.

“I missed you too, habibi.”

I pulled away a little. “You have to promise me one thing though. Okay, maybe two.”

“Depends on what they are.”

“The first is that you’ll do Dick proud as Nightwing.”

“Of course.”

“The second is that you won’t betray me. It was one of the reasons Bruce decided to agree to my offhand idea of letting you out. I swore to him you wouldn’t. Please don’t make a liar out of me. I promised you and I were loyal to each other. I'm not telling you to follow my orders. I'm asking you to follow your heart. You have such a good heart, Damian. You’ve always done your best with what you had. Please don’t leave me again.”

“I’ll do my best, my love.”

I closed the kiss again, with desperate fervor. It had been a long time since I’d felt this happy, scared, and relieved all at once. Or maybe I never had before. I wasn’t sure.

Damian returned the kiss enthusiastically.

I felt like I was home again.

The Regime and stuff sucked and Superman basically becoming a dictator was, like, an actual nightmare, but losing Damian was the worst part for me. I understood why it had to be done, but I’d cried for hours the day he was locked away.

“Cloudburst. Have you found my son yet?” Batman asked in my comm.

I pulled back from the kiss with a quick suctioning noise, a sigh of exasperation, and a, “Yes, Batman, I’ve located Nightwing.”

“Well that was quick. Both of you. Enjoying your reunion?”

“Yup.”

“Get back to the cave as… quickly as you can manage.”

“Copy that, Batman,” I said. “Might need a few minutes to… arrange some things first.”

“Hrn. Spare me the details.”

“I was planning on it.” I muted my mic. “I missed you,” I whispered to Damian, kissing him between each word. Several times.

“I missed you too,” he replied, still holding on to me.

“Thank you for believing me.”

“Any chance to see you again. Hold you again.”

I smiled. “Time for me to be the buzzkill.”

“Is it time to return to the cave?”

“Yeah. We can talk more there. I promise. Batman… well. It’ll be interesting. Try not to pick a fight and I’ll have him do the same.”

“Tt. Just for you.” He brushed my hair out of me face.

I nodded to my bike. “You wanna drive?”

“I’d much rather you did. I haven’t driven in a long time.”

“Wow. Damian Wayne wanting someone else to drive. This world really has gone nuts,” I teased.

He flicked the tip of my nose gently. “Play nice,” he chastised.

I grinned. “Dick would be proud of you. Let’s get going. We have a lot of stuff to do.”

“Indeed we do.”

^^^^^

I woke up curled against Damian’s side. He was warm and more peaceful in sleep than I’d ever seen him awake. His arm was around my shoulders, holding me against him. My hand and face were both on his bare chest. I could feel his heartbeat.

The communicator on my wristband gave a single gentle buzz. I wore it on the other wrist so Damian didn’t feel it. Didn’t wake up.

I slowly tapped the wristband with my opposite finger to look at what caused the vibration.

Batman: You think this’ll work? He seemed pretty loyal to Superman.

I sighed and carefully typed out a reply, trying to make sure Damian didn’t wake up.

Me: I have faith in him. If you don’t trust him, trust me.

Batman: I trust both of you. But it’s my job to be suspicious.

Me: I know. But it’ll be fine. And IF he double-crosses us, which I doubt, I’ll accept whatever punishment you deem worthy.

Batman: If he double-crosses us it’ll be his choice and not your fault. We’ll see.

“You trust me that much? To just take whatever punishment the Bat can throw at you?” Damian asked.

Crap. He woke up.

“I do,” I confirmed. “Cloudburst is going to be dead in a few days and my civilian identity along with her. We’re going to have to be cautious, Damian. News of your escape is going to spread fast and I need a new identity. You’re sure you’re up for this?”

“I'm up for anything. Especially when I'm with you.”

“You’re cheesy when no one else is around.”

“Just for you, beloved.”

I smiled. “Let’s do this.”