#but then Bruce grows discontent again

[frogaroundandfindout]

Tolstoy would’ve written a banger Bruce Wayne fic

[vivalafxxku]

Scruffing of the Robins + others

i wholeheartedly believe that Bruce is devastated when he can no longer or never got to scruff his kids. Not only is it because his kids have matured to the point that they no longer impulsively jump into shit and need to be physically pulled back, it's because they grew.

He nearly cries when he tried to scruff Dick (his Robin may have gotten better impulsive control, but he was still a little shit) and his son only rises to his toes rather than the air. A whole new wave of tears when Dick (while he didn't grow much taller) changes to his more streamlined Nightwing suit so there's nothing to scruff without accidentally hurting him. Dick would catch his look of discontent and laugh, saying that this was exactly why his suit was designed the way it is.

Then there's Jason. Jason who was always pretty small (street kid woes), so even at 15, Bruce can comfortably scruff him. And most of the time, Jason goads him into scruffing him 'cause it's fun. But then he died and when he came back, his son nearly towers over Bruce and weighs just as much and won't let Bruce within 6ft of him without risking a bullet to the shoulder.

Oh but he tries, out of instinct or maybe nostalgia? A whimsical wish for the past, for a different reality? Though it's not much of a scruff and more of a yank to the brown leather jacket collar that earns him a snarl on a good day and physical harm on a bad one.

Tim doesn't get scruffed much and Bruce regrets it in hindsight. But back then, he was drowning in grief and Tim didn't need much scruffing, the Robin was metaphorically scruffing him than the other way around.

By the time Bruce gets around to scruffing Tim, it's a rare occurrence. Tim has all the discipline in the world when in his company despite what his brothers and team say, mind carefully calculating move after move, from travelling the world (something Tim refuses to elaborate other than a splenectomy that Bruce had to dig to find out) during his little stint in the time stream. But when he does, it's a Dick situation all over again where he just rises to his toes.

Cassandra was much too elusive and disciplined to be scruffed (not to mention, too tall). His daughter, however, does find amusement in the impulse and allows Bruce to scruff her, pulling her knees inwards to have the full experience of being airborne. But it's not the same. It's a different kind of fond; it doesn't have the protectiveness laced in the action. There's no exasperation, no "hold on a minute, let's think about it."

Barbara, Stephanie and Duke were too tall when Bruce took them in. And unlike Cass, they don't indulge him either. The existence of Batgirl hinged on the fact that she listens to Batman and Bruce had his hands full with Dick and Jason. Stephanie teases him, rubbing in the fact that she's not actually his kid; therefore, doesn't have to right to scruff her. And Duke is much too awkward, too new, to know if he should.

Then, there's Damian.

His little boy that flinched the first time Bruce reached out to scruff him. Bruce was still working on getting Damian comfortable around him, to show that he would never lay a hand on him. Then he was lost in time. He considered himself lucky that Dick took up more than being Batman. He came back and all he needed to do was figure out his and Damian's dynamic as father and son. (Turns out, Dick made a habit of scruffing Damian. "Won't lie to you, B. It's pretty effective.")

It's only a matter of time before when Damian outgrows being scruffed. Bruce already missed 10 years with his boy on top of being lost in time and puberty is going to hit him like a truck in a few years if he is anything like Bruce.

But for now, he enjoys his little Robin's protests and huffiness when he tries to jump into the fray prematurely while his family listens in amusement through the comms.

[dcficrecs]

Turkey Song

By paganpunk2 on FanFiction.net

This fic is part of a series called "Spark In The Dark" that is unfortunately unfinished, the last published entry to the series being last updated in 2012. The first entry to the Spark In The Dark series is called Firework, and it is a Robin origin story with 300k words and a hundred chapters. Although I prefer Dick Grayson becoming Robin about a year or two after Batman appearing in Gotham and this fic has it happen after about eight years or more, it's still incredible and I would encourage all Dick Grayson/Robin fans to read it.

The premise to Turkey Song is really hard to explain so I'm not even going to bother, but basically Dick ends up with a pet turkey that dies and he gets so upset about it that he cries in his sleep. Alfred becomes sort of distant seeing Dick grieving for his pet, and Bruce gets a bit mad at him because Bruce doesn't know how to deal with grief either and Alfred is basically not helping, so Bruce decides to finally talk to Alfred about it. That's all you really need to know for this excerpt:

"Master Wayne," Alfred nodded to him as he entered the kitchen. "How is the young master?"

"Asleep. Still crying," his grimace deepened, "but...asleep."

"You didn't leave him alone?!"

"No. Clark's with him."

"Ah." The butler gave him an appraising look, and then a faint smile. "I'm quite pleased to see that your attitude towards Mister Kent has improved of late. It's a good thing, I think, for all three of you."

"Mm," Bruce frowned. It was true that his jealous animosity towards the Kryptonian had cooled somewhat over the past few months, but that wasn't what he'd come down to talk about. Sensing that the other man knew as much and was trying to avoid the heart of the matter, he grew agitated. "Alfred...where were you tonight?"

"...I beg your pardon, sir?" He glanced around from the dough he was kneading. "I don't understand."

"Where were you?" the billionaire repeated, his voice growing terse. "You kept running in and out of the shed, and now you're down here doing...what are you doing?" Where were you when I couldn't make him stop crying, Alfred? Now, and earlier...he's crying in his sleep, and where were you? Where were you when I needed you? Why did I have to chase you in order to get an answer for him?

"I'm preparing your breakfast. After the night we've had in this house, I thought something heavy would be needed in the morning before...before we do what must be done." Sighing as Bruce's posture remained rigid, he held up one finger and proceeded to wash the flour from his hands. He stepped closer and drew to a halt, crossing his arms. "...Well, go on, then. If you're determined to be upset at me about something you should let it out now, while he's asleep. It will only upset him more if he senses some sort of discontent between the two of us later on."

Fine. "The only time you've really spent around him tonight was when he was distracted by the story about the Project and when he was asleep. Every time he broke down, you vanished," the billionaire accused, his anger growing. "Where have you been?"

Alfred shook his head, his gaze perplexed. "I'm afraid you're mistaken, sir."

"...What?" Bullshit.

"I said that I'm afraid you're mistaken. I was present for the young master's tears in the cave, when you initially announced that his pet was doomed, and I stayed firmly in place outside when he cried again after eating his dinner. I said relatively little, it's true, but I left you only to bring things that were needed for your maintenance; food, blankets, information. I am endeavoring to continue that service now," he gestured to the dough on the counter, "but I rather get the feeling that my attempts to bring a modicum of comfort to this evening's unfortunate events have been misconstrued as lack of care. Am I right, Master Wayne?"

Bruce blinked at the butler's gentle tone, the misdirected ire that had been pumping through his veins washing away under a glut of guilt. Fucking hell, he bowed his head and raised one hand to his temple. How did I get so worked up over this? I know you care, Alfred, I just...he's crying, and I can't make it stop, and you weren't there for me to ask... "Alfred..."

"Don't say a word, my boy. I understand."

"...You do?" How?

"I do." A beat passed. "You said he's crying in his sleep, did you not?"

"Yes," Bruce whispered. "He...he did it earlier, too. It doesn't matter what I say to him, he just can't seem to stop, and I can't fucking stand it..."

"I know. I know, believe me." A wince crossed the older man's face. "You did the same thing, you know."

"...Huh?"

"After your parents died. You cried all the time at first, of course – perfectly natural – but soon after, when...when you got no suitable response...you changed your habits. You let your sadness out only at night, in your sleep. When you were alone." He coughed. "You never said a word," the sentence trembled minutely, "but I knew. Your pillowcase was always damp come dawn, and your eyes were bloodshot no matter how many drops I put in them. I remember what it feels like to not know how to make the tears stop. Trust me," he drew a deep breath, "I remember."

Bruce stood silently for a minute, stunned. He couldn't recall crying in his sleep, but now that it was mentioned he had a hazy memory of medicine being constantly applied to his eyes. Behind the hated bottle hovering over his face had been the butler's expression, a look of concentrated self-loathing that he hadn't recognized for what it was until now. "...Jesus, Alfred...I..."

"But this isn't about you and I, sir," Alfred cut him off softly. "This is about you and Master Dick. My track record for helping young people deal with grief is somewhat less than sterling," he confessed hoarsely, "and while I do believe that I took firm lessons from the past I've generally thought it best to leave comforting the boy to you whenever possible. I'm sorry if that's made me seem distant or, god forbid, uninterested, but...well, I trust you understand my intentions better now." He drew himself up straighter, banishing his emotions from his mien with obvious effort. "Now, you needed me for something, did you not? I can't imagine you'd have left him without some pressing mission."

...I'm so sorry, Alfred, the billionaire swallowed, eating his emotions in imitation of the older man. "...Yes," he choked, swiping at his eyes. "Uh...I need to know how to do it. How...how to make him stop crying. Nothing I've tried tonight has worked."

"I'm afraid I never learned the trick, sir, or I'd gladly share. Excuse me, please," he requested, dabbing at his cheeks as he returned to his abandoned baking. "We can continue talking, but if I leave this dough much longer..."

He trailed off, and Bruce knew better. Keep your hands busy so you can't concentrate on your heart. I can guess who I learned that from.

I love the entire series so much, and although this is probably my least favorite fic in the series, this is one of my favorite parts. The whole idea of Bruce crying in his sleep so many years ago and now his son is dealing with his grief the same way, and Alfred being present for both of these events and not having an answer because there really isn't an answer to grief is so heart wrenching yet makes so much sense. I love this scene so much even though it makes me so sad.

[anika-ann]

Errare Humanum Est - Pt.19

Us Redefined

Type: series, soulmate AU series  (part 1, part 2)  x Supernatural

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader       Word count: 4320

Summary: 3, 2, 1... ;)

Warnings: mentions of amnesia and death, swearing, light angst, tons of confusion because of communication issues

Story masterlist ༻༺༻༺༻ღ༺༻༺༻༺

I'm holding out till we're out of time Would you pierce the veil Would you cross the line I can feel you here, souls redefined I can't let go of our design Would you pierce the veil Would you cross the line Come back to me (Les Friction – Come Back to Me)

Soft, but frantic hands cradling your head, caressing your face.

Your body too heavy to move a muscle.

Weak ringing in your ears.

The world spinning.

An angel speaking, his whispered pleas squeezing your heart like a cold fist.

“…Oh, oh doll, sweetheart, please, look at me. Say something. Tell me you’re okay, please, please… don’t do this to me, not again, please, you’re gonna be okay…”

You knew that voice, that much you were aware of. You knew that touch too, careful and carrying gentleness despite the callouses on his fingers. Your mind was buzzing with blurry images and a building headache. You were sure the pain would get worse if you opened your eyes, but hearing the growing anxiety in the voice, you knew leaving them closed was not an option.

Dark spots were dancing in your field of vision, but you got glimpses of a worried angelic face, making you smile automatically, even when you were barely controlling your mimics or any muscles really. You were aware of meeting a real-life angel before, but Steve was simply something else.

You blinked heavily, hoping for the dark patches to disappear and reveal Steve fully. He was frowning, his lips moving rapidly and his eyes were glassy, the blue and green brought to life.  

Was he… was he crying?

You squeezed your eyes shut, convinced the image would resolve when looking at him after that. It didn’t change.

“Doll? Oh, thank god… can you hear me?”

One of his hands shifted, sliding under your shoulder blades to lift your torso from the hard floor, bringing you closer to him, while he was still cradling your head. He was so gentle in his motions, manipulating your body as if it was made of glass. It was nothing new to you, he had done it before; he would sometimes start making love to you that way, his demeanour gradually shifting as he got lost in his own pleasure after he took care of you.

You managed to sit upright on your own, Steve’s thumb running over your cheek.

“Doll?” he questioned lowly, his eyes widening as he finally realized this was probably not the appropriate way to address you. “I mean-“

“I’m fine,” you croaked, your throat dry. You couldn’t say more. The tide wave of emotions flooded your brain, sea of images, words, sensations, overwhelming.

And god, couldn’t you tear your eyes away from him. He was as beautiful as ever, even more so, even with dark bruise-like circles under his eyes, smeared with tears.

“I’m okay,” you repeated, hesitantly reaching to caress his cheek with your fingertips, wanting to assure yourself he wouldn’t dissolve.

You knew for a fact this was very real, but still… gotta make sure, right? Everything felt so surreal lately…

Steve blinked in surprise, few salty drops escaping from behind his eyelids as he was watching you with wonder. You felt the same burn in your eyes – you wanted to cry, you wanted to laugh, you wanted to- to-

His hand caught yours on his face, his fingers tenderly wrapping around your wrist, bringing it down. You pretended it didn’t hurt you, that you didn’t feel the pang near your heart; it grew rapidly when you realized just how much that gesture of yours could have hurt him. This was probably too much.

Steve didn’t know yet. He didn’t know what you knew.

“How do you feel?” he asked slowly, the pad of his thumb stroking the back of your hand.

You could tell he was holding something back, but hey, so were you. Your body was itching with the need to throw your arms around his neck and snuggle him. Your lips burned with the desire to get familiar with his again, craving to find out if they still tasted the same.

“I’m-ugh…“ my head hurts. Seeing the fear in his eyes, you didn’t have the heart to tell him the truth. This was too much already. “-okay.”

“I heard you screaming, Jarvis went on about an unauthorised entry. What happened? Do you remember?”

Oh, you did remember. There was a lot of things happening in your head, so many pictures, blending together and then falling into place only for another to appear. It was hard to make sense of it all and give him an acceptable answer. Your heart was ahead of your brain. Feelings were clearer than actual memories.

“There was a woman. Rather tall, long dark hair, dark gown. I’ve never seen her before, I’m sorry,” you babbled, too fascinated by more important matters.

Steve was here. Right here in your reach, touching you and you were… you were.

“I know. I saw her when I ran in. She just… disappeared. It’s okay, we’ll have Jarvis to show us the footage. We’ll track her, the others will get on it. You’re more important. Bruce is on his way to the medical. I’ll get you there, okay? Just hold onto me,” he coaxed and the next thing you knew, you did exactly as he asked. Mainly because he lifted you from the ground as if you weighted nothing and you really didn’t want to fall.

It brought a smile to your face and butterflies to your stomach. How many times he had done that and it still affected you so with such intensity, your fingertips tingling?

You stared at his face, so up close, wishing for nothing but to kiss him. There was a worried wrinkle on his forehead and you wanted to smoothen it with your fingertips. You recalled how he had reacted the last time you touched him though.

You needed to tell him.

“Steve, I-“ you started, only to be interrupted, much to your frustration.

“What is it? Are you uncomfortable like this? Tell me what hurts.”

You shook your head lightly, the movement actually making you dizzy. Alright, maybe a trip to the medical wasn’t that unjustified, but… but!

“No, Steve… I mean, yeah, my head hurts a bit-“

“Bruce will take a look at it and work it out,” he assured you with a sad smile and you just gaped, wanting to throw your hands in the air.

There was a sheer determination written all over his expression and you… understood. There was no way you two could talk until you were checked up. You had been hurt. Injury was a threat to you. Steve had seen you die before. It probably physically ached him to be left unsure and have something, anything to threaten your life again.

Not that you blamed him.

“I trust him that he will,” you said then, adjusting to Steve’s play, earning a faint smile and a nod. “And I trust you too.”

The lift of the corners of his lips still seemed pained, but more genuine now.

“Thank you. I’m sorry I wasn’t around when… when it happened.”

Yeah, that was probably the goal. To have you left alone so the woman – if she was a woman, because there was no way she was an ordinary human – could do whatever she had done with the bright light and bring your memories back.

“That’s not your fault, Steve. You can’t exactly watch me 24/7,” you whispered, his gaze flickering to you, the shadow in his eyes attempting to prove you wrong. You knew for certain that he was haunted by a different memory now. One that wasn’t entirely his fault either.

Oh, how much you wanted to tell him… instead, you allowed yourself to get lost in his beautiful eyes, so much that you barely noticed you reached the infirmary.

“So, what do we have here?” Bruce asked calmly, already observant of how quickly you reacted, if you were moving your head correctly. Steve lowered you to the bed, clearly paying special attention to being as gentle as possible. “Can’t walk?”

There was a slight hint of amusement in Bruce’s voice as if he knew Steve was being simply overprotective. The corners of your lips twitched when Steve shot him a mean look.

“Well, I had a very chivalrous fella at my disposal. I couldn’t refuse,” you announced, well-aware of the fact that using big words showed Bruce you weren’t that bad and your brain was working – and hell, was it working, finally. The ‘chivalrous fella’ part was for Steve’s benefit. He might get a hint… eventually. Better to ease him into it. “But my head does hurt a bit and I guess my balance might be a little off.”

“Okay. I’ll check your head for any bumps and bleeding, okay? Then I’ll shine a flashlight to your eyes and we go from here, hm?” he explained, pulling gloves on. You just nodded in understanding, watching Steve with a corner of your eye; he let Bruce work, but was still nearby.  

“Do you want me to leave?” Steve asked when he noticed your line of sight and you only smiled at him and shook your head, much to Bruce’s discontent. “Okay.”

You did have quite a bump at the back of your head; the spot was definitely tender to say at least. Good news was that there was no external bleeding, your pupils were equally responsive, Bruce seemed happy that you remembered the incident – not that there was much to remember – and you didn’t feel nauseous. Your balance truly was a bit off, but nothing terrible. As long as you had something to lean on in a moment of weakness, you were fine. CT shots showed no swelling either, at least for now – mostly, you were good to go.

“It’s up to you – either you can stay here, someone checking up on you regularly, or you can be in the room Tony had set for you with the very same treatment,” Bruce offered with a reassuring smile and you instantly knew which you wanted.

“My room, please,” you pleaded (mentally chanting ‘Steve’s room! Steve’s room!’) and Bruce nodded.

“Alright. If anything changes, have Jarvis to let me know. Otherwise I’ll leave you to the hands of your chivalrous fella.”

Steve glared murder at him, but walked to your side.

Jarvis chose that moment to speak up.

“There are no signs of the woman, Steve,” the AI reported regretfully, causing Steve to clench his jaw.

“Goddammit!”

Your hand found his, squeezing reassuringly as you could feel his anger and helplessness.

“That’s… I think that’s okay.”

Steve spun to face you in a lightning speed, too distracted to evade the contact you initiated.

“Okay?! What if-- maybe she… maybe she’ll be back and we didn’t even know she got in until she- she-” he stuttered exasperatedly, but obviously holding back a lot.

It was time now.

“I don’t think she will be back. Uhm, would you mind…” You spun to the scientist slash doctor only to find him already making his way out. You stood face to face with the love of your life then, your soulmate and you couldn’t but take his other hand into yours as well, desperate to touch him. “Steve, what she did to me… she has no reason to come back. She’s finished.”

“What… what are you talking about?” he asked hesitantly, his gaze flickering to your joined hands; he didn’t free himself of your hold though. Had he caught the hint earlier then?

Your hand shook as it ran up his arm, over the crook of his shoulder, the side of his neck, ending up cradling his face.

Steve’s body went rigid, all muscles tense, but you could tell he was… he wanted to lean into your palm. He wanted it so bad, for things to be as they had been, to bask in your affection, but he knew it was wrong.

He was too much of a good man. He was your miracle and being with him again… that was a work of wonder.

“Can I kiss you?” you breathed, slowly rising to your toes, anticipation building up in your core.

You could probably pull out a water gun from behind your back now and shoot him and he would look less shocked. Also, he would look less pleased. And torn.

“I— y-yes? But-“

You couldn’t handle waiting until he finished whatever sentence he had in mind; you had waited too long already.

Your mouth caught his, warm soft lips and hot surprised exhale. He seemed frozen for a split second before he cautiously returned the kiss, slowly moving his lips against yours as if he was ready to stop the second you shoved him away.

At that thought, you grabbed a handful of his shirt to show that such thing was not fucking happening any time soon.

You parted your lips, delighted Steve actually tilted his head, giving you both better access to what you wanted and deepening the kiss. You could hear the crumbling of the walls he had tried built to stop himself from doing anything that could make you uncomfortable, anything he thought might be too much. The metaphorical noise was like music to your ears and you sighed into his mouth, revelling in the taste you didn’t realize you missed desperately.

His arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer, flush against his chest, his other hand cradling your face, taking control.

It was like a supernova bursting in your cells, the sensation your body knew and welcomed with arms open. It was everything. It was like coming home. Tears sprang from your eyes as his tongue teased your lower lip and-

-and that was it. Steve gasped, tasting your tears and backed away, dropping you so fast you nearly tipped over.

Your eyes snapped open, watching him dreadfully as you both panted.

Just don’t say-

“I’m sorry!”

-that.

You shook your head, grabbing his forearm before he could flee. You could still taste him on your lips and you craved more, more and more… but he seemed to be utterly panicking.

“Steve! I was the one to kiss you,” you blurted out with same urgency, trying your best to meet his eyes while he was skilfully avoiding it exactly that. You bit your lip and brought your hand to his face to make him look at you. “Because I wanted to.”

“I pushed it-”

“I wasn’t complaining,” you emphasized and he winced at the sharp tone. Goddammit! Be nice! “And I’m not sorry in the slightest.”

You took a deep breath and very, oh so slowly framed his face with your palms, ready to retreat if he hated it. He didn’t, except his confusion grew. His beautiful irises were nearly hidden with how blown his pupils were, but you only saw shame now, no excitement left.

“I missed it, Steve. I missed you,” you admitted, attempting a smile.

You didn’t think his eyes could have gone wider. You were wrong.

“I’m not— I don’t understand,” he stuttered weakly, utterly confused and sounding on the verge of breaking. Ouch, weren’t you an idiot to make him feel like this. “You don’t have to act like-“

“Like what?” you echoed and he looked away, tears he bravely kept at bay welling up in his eyes again.

Oh no, no…what kind of a person made their soulmate cry? Again?!

“Like you think I want you to. I understand you need time, that you- it’s not the same for you. You don’t remember-“

“That’s the thing,” you couldn’t but laugh in incredulous euphoria, feeling blessed, which you might actually be, considering an angel brought your soul back from Heaven and all the other stuff. “I do, actually.“

You could tell his brain froze. It was impossible for it not to. There even might be a tiny ‘loading’ line above his head as his gaze grew absent, wheels turning in his head with too much effort and too little outcome.

“What,” he breathed, the one word barely leaving his lips.

“I have no clue who the woman was, what she did or how she managed to do that, but I remember now, Steve.”

Steve observed you in silence, his eyes roaming your face, most likely seeking any trace of a lie. You were a bit insulted that he thought you would lie to him about such an important thing. On the other hand, you were pleased at him thinking you might go so far only to make him happy.

He didn’t say a thing, still searching. You wondered what you could tell him to convince him before you spoke again.

“Everything, Steve,” you repeated, your mind racing. “My family, Ryan…. Our meeting, your birthday…“ you continued, but he had told you all of those things, dammit. What hadn’t he told you? Was there-? Oh… oh. “Clint shooting a la paintball at you when fighting with Natasha-“

That last bit got him snap from his strange haze.

“I… I didn’t tell you about that,” he said slowly, sounding as guilty as hopeful.

Oh, you were a bit mad about it, okay. Telling you all the nice things and leaving out the bumps on the road to your happiness? Not fair. Except the not-funny joke was on him.

“No, you didn’t. Hate to break it to you, but if you wanted to protect me from the whole ‘my job is dangerous’ thing, think again, because even without my memories, I saw the video and you ran into the frame towards the bomb knowing it was right before everything would blow up.”

Including me.

Your not-so-gentle reminder must have been sharper than you had intended, because Steve casted his gaze down, his face paling. Seeing him like that, you waited a moment for him to digest your words before doing anything else.

You tipped his chin then with the smallest pressure only, letting him to look up on his own. When he did, you were met with a sight that not for the first time reminded you of a puppy. His eyes were so freaking huge and genuine.

“You… you really remember?” he whispered, shy and hopeful, his hands finding your hip and cheek with the lightest of touches. You couldn’t but smile, for some reason tearing up.

Damn, this was sappy. And heavy.

“Yes, Steve, I remember everything, including that one time we made out in the kitchen and you told me you couldn’t cross that line yet. I remember that before I died-“

A choked noise escaped him, his fingers clenching on you and you continued before he could apologize again. That was so not the point you were making.

“-I didn’t blame you for making that choice,” you soothed him, vainly.

“I-“

You had to actually physically stop him from talking, putting a finger over his lips. He had the decency to shut up at that, his eyes glued to you in mixture of exasperation, regret and adoration.

“As I didn’t when I woke up and was showed the footage that was broadcasted all over the US. It wasn’t your fault; that was an impossible choice to make. How would have we been able to live with the knowledge of thousands of people dying so we could be happy? You… you did the right thing, Steve.”

He grunted, his hand wrapping around yours to release his mouth and let him speak, but you shook your head and looked at him pointedly.

“I remember all of those things rushing through my mind. But most importantly, I remember what an incredible person you are. I remember every single reason why I love you.”

“Doll…” he breathed out, a crack in his voice even in that one word. A shiver ran down your spine at the addressing, so full of emotions. A tear escaped his eye and you couldn’t help but catch it with your finger. “I’m sorry. God, I’m so sorry, I can’t even-“

You frowned. You wanted to move on, to move so hard all of sudden. This was the moment you should be joyful, not full of angst and guilt.

“Hush, don’t cry and please stop apologizing.”

Steve bit his lip hard, waited for few seconds, but nodded. “Okay.”

“Really?” you blurted out, surprised. That easily…? Of course not. You could still see it was weighting him down – it would for a long, long time, you were sure of it and there probably wasn’t much you could do about it. But you could try. “Hey, if you still feel guilty about it, it doesn’t count. Just let it go, Steve. For me?”

You charmed your best pleading eyes he could never resist, bit your lip and placed your palms on his collarbones instead, deliberately reminding him of two soulmarks he carried, both for you. What other explanation was needed?

“This is how it was supposed to happen,” you whispered seriously, your gaze boring into his and yeah, the adoration in his eyes was definitely winning over the other emotions now, much to your delight. You could melt under that loving gaze. “Exactly like this.”

“You’re incredible,” he murmured, nuzzling his nose in your cheek, dropping the lightest of kisses there then.

The tenderness had your eyes flutter shut, basking in his soft affection. His lips brushed your skin as they moved towards your mouth and then they finally reached their destination.

You sighed into his mouth contentedly, your hand shifting to curl around his nape, brining yourself closer to him. God, how you loved this man. Especially when his hands moved to your shoulders, squeezing with a little too much force, desperately clinging to you so you wouldn’t dissolve into thin air.

Steve met your lips several times, always briefly, stealing little kisses, spiced with few more tears. You couldn’t tell which were yours and which were his anymore. Were you crying? Was he? You sunk into his lips before he could retreat again, earning a chuckle tickling your mouth.

Steve rested his forehead against yours, opening his eyes for you to drown in.

“You came back to me,” he whispered, voice thick with overwhelming emotions.

“I was given back,” you corrected him with a smile. He returned the gesture shortly before growing serious.

“I’m not giving you up, ever,” he declared, causing you to freeze.

You loved this. You adored this fairy-tale-like reunion and miracles, but this was reality. Steve had lost you once. There was no telling how he would react if something threatened your life again; hell, you could see it today when he carried you to the infirmary, so insistent on getting you checked up.  

You didn’t want to ruin this, you honestly didn’t. But you needed to bring it up and hear him say it anyway.

“Not even when I might be in danger?”

You could see the corner of his lips twitch nervously, knowing you hit the nail on the head with deadly precision.

His voice came out raspy as he spoke up. “I- I… oh my god, I’m so sorry. I don’t- I’m not- you- I-”

“Say you won’t leave me, Steve. Please. Tell me you won’t give me up,” you pleaded, fear twisting your gut.

What if he dreaded the history repeating itself so much it would come between you? What if he spun of his heels right now, leaving you, because of some ridiculous idea of protecting you? The thought grew like a lump in your throat, suffocating.

He shook his head and you couldn’t breathe until his fingers caressed you face tenderly, soft smile on his lips. “I can’t imagine losing you again, in any way.”

“Then don’t. Promise you won’t get any silly ideas about leaving me to supposedly keep me safe.”

Honesty was burning in his eyes, interlacing with each word that left his lips and you finally sucked in some air. “I won’t. I swear I won’t. I won’t leave unless you tell me to and it will break my heart even then. God, doll, I love you so much.”

This time, you were breathless for a different reason. Your lips parted, your heart racing like two hundred per minute. He meant it. He actually meant it, there was no doubt of the sincerity in his eyes, the severity of his vow.

Relieved smile spread on your face and you smacked your mouth to his, effectively taking him aback. He was quick to get on with the program though, his lips sinking into yours, breathing you in as if you were the air he needed to survive. You wanted to literally jump on him, wrapping your legs around his waist, but you realized where you were.

Your room. You needed to get to your room – no, his room, his room which you had claimed yours as much as his – to have some privacy.

You withdrew swiftly, catching him off guard once more and pulling at his hand almost harshly.

It was a great plan to drag him out of the medical. Except you faltered in your steps with the fast movement causing you to sway.

Of course, Steve was there to catch you, firm hands steadying you by your hips.

“Hey, hey, you’re okay?” he coaxed.

“Yeah, just a bit dizzy. It will pass,” you assured him, throwing a perfect smile over your shoulder. You might have missed his face when aiming due to the vertigo, but that was beside the point. You tugged on his hand that had settled on your hip, only not to be able to move an inch forward, Steve’s voice fussing over you once more.

“Maybe we should ask Bruce to check you over again-”

“I’m fine, I’m… almost okay. Maybe we could ask Sam and Dean later?” you vented your sudden brilliant idea. “They are more of experts on mysterious powerful people showing up and hitting people with strange light, I guess.”

“The what now?” he honest to God squeaked, making you jump and spin on your heels at the sudden high-pitched noise. “You were hit-?”

“Later, please? Can we go somewhere private and just… be?”

He did not seem very comfortable with that idea, shifting and clenching his fists for a short moment, but then his shoulders slumped and you knew you won, rewarding him with what you were hoping to be a blinding smile.

You probably succeeded, because his fingers traced your cheeks, a smile full of wonder attacking his own lips.

“As you wish, doll.”

༻༺༻༺༻ღ༺༻༺༻༺

Part 20

༻༺༻༺༻ღ༺༻༺༻༺

So... that happened.

Thank you for reading! If you read this soulmate AU from the beginning, know that you read slightly above 100k words. Thank you so much for sticking with me ♥

[jeromesxreader16]

Such A Joker (46)

Part 45 Here!!!

~o0o~

As we arrive in town Jeremiah holds my hand tightly. I lean on his arm smiling up towards him. "You're going to be okay." He nods letting out a shaky breath. "I know. I'm worried about what he will say about you. He will be mad." I nod looking away. "He won't know. I'll be going straight to the roof." His eyes grow sad as he gazes at me. "I won't see you again will I?" I smile at him and rest a hand on his cheek admiring his green eyes. "I don't know, Jer. I hope Jerome is going to be locked up and then we can move on. For the better."

Jeremiah nods placing his hand over my own. "Then this is goodbye, (Y/n)." I sigh look upon the sea of frightened citizens. "Until we meet again, Jeremiah." He grabs me smashing his lips upon mine. As my father pulls him away from me he calls out, "I love you!" I cover my mouth smiling.

I quickly run-up to the roof seeing both Bruce and Jeremiah hooked up to their bombs.

"No parent will admit it, but everyone's got their favorites. Right, brother? The one who cleans their room does their homework, doesn't try to kill everybody. Little Mr. Perfect here. Yeah. He was that guy. He got adopted by rich folks. I went to the top schools, then, a top college. Meanwhile, I got dragged through the circus by my depressed alcoholic mother. Forced to clean up elephant dung every day! Do you know how big those things are, folks? But I know something that Mommy and Daddy, they never knew."

Jerome smirks at his brother as he tells their tragic story. "You're as crazy as I am. It's in your DNA. See, we got the same blood running through us. We are practically identical. You are a killer. It's your nature. Stop trying to fight it. You changed (y/n). Pumped lies into her head of sanity. Took her away. I've got a plan for both of you."

Jerome opens a knife and slides it into Jeremiah's hand. "This is your chance, brother. Take your best shot."

Jeremiah screams lunging at his brother. Jerome simply doges it and punches him in the face. Gunfire rings out from the streets below. I lean over watching the chaos and losing sights on Jerome and Jeremiah.

As the panic increases, a blimp glides over the Square. The door to the rooftop burst open and a bleeding Jerome stumbles over to me laughing. "Look at her! Isn't she beautiful?"

Jerome looks to me pulling me to dance with him. "I'm not dumb, doll. I know where you've been." He squeezes my side sharply causing me to flinch. "You've been shot, Jerome." "Aw, what about that." He walks me over near the edge standing up on it and overlooking at his creation.

"Hands up." My father's voice rings out from behind us. Jerome turns around chuckling. He pulls out his phone raising a finger, "Just give me a second. Got to call the pilot. Tell him he's in position." In a split second Jerome's wrist is shot making him drop the phone.

"Not cool." He groans glaring at Jim.

"Jerome..." I state watching him with sad eyes.

He shakes his head. "It doesn't matter. Too late, anyway. Bombs away!" He shouts as another gunshot sounds. I scream as it enters his abdomen.

Jerome looks down at his wound. "Funny." He falls back making me run after him. "No!" My father grabs me as we both view Jerome dangling.

Jerome looks at me and smiles. This is where we end.

"You gonna let me fall and die? Or are you gonna pull me up and arrest me? What's it gonna be? Lawman or murderer?" I reach down but Jerome doesn't reach for me. "Dad... Please."

Jim reaches down but Jerome laughs swatting his hand away and hanging onto the pole with just his hands.

"Ah. Good ol' Gordons. The two of you! Always playing by the rules. That's why I'll outlive you. That's why I'm loved. It's why she loves me! 'cause I don't give a damn about the rules." He chuckles looking at the both of us.

"Jerome, grab my hand." He shakes his head smiling.

"It's a long way down. You sure you'll outlive me?"

"Oh, I'm sure. 'cause I'm more than a man. I'm an idea, a philosophy. And I will live on in the shadows within Gotham's discontent. I'll always be a part of you won't I, (y/n)? Say... Let my bro take care of you." He cackles blowing me a kiss. "You'll be seeing me soon. Au revoir!" Jerome lets go falling to the ground and onto a parked car ending his last seconds in Gotham.

My chest burns as his smile stay wide. His eyes looking up at me. I cry into my father's chest as he holds me. "It's alright, (Y/n). I'm here. I got you."

~

As we get down to the ground people are gathered around Jerome's body. "GCPD. Everybody get back!" Jim yells causing others to thin out.

Only leaving a few including Jeremiah. I walk over pulling on his sleeve. "(Y/n). Oh my god." He wraps his arm around me tightly. "I'm so sorry." I shake my head. "It's okay. He's in peace now."

He looks down at me with puffy eyes. "Can I come home?" I ask quietly. He smiles and cups my cheek nodding. "Of course you can. I wouldn't have you anywhere else."

"Mr. Valeska. Ms. Gordon. I'm sorry for the loss."

"Jeremiah, I meant what I said about your work being of importance to this city. Let Wayne Enterprises fund your work with a grant." Bruce offers with a nod.

"Thank you," Jeremiah says nodding. "We'll be in touch, Bruce."

As we walk away together I can't help but feel light. I look over at Jeremiah looping my arm in his. "Promise me that we will keep each other sane?" Jeremiah kisses my head nodding. "I promise, love."

~

I walk on the cold ground barefoot leading to the office. I knock twice before entering. "You know you need to go to sleep." I sit on the desk smiling at him as he scans his work. "I have slept." I pinch his nose rolling my eyes. "That kind of sleep doesn't count, Mr. Valeska." He shrugs coming around the desk and standing in between my legs.

"Alright. How about we open these and then we go to bed?" He passes me a small ring box with a tag while he holds a wrapped box. "Who are these from?" "Bruce Wayne." I giggle shaking mine. "Must be expensive."

As we tear into our gifts the tension is thick. "Same time?" Jeremiah asks like a child at Christmas. I nod smiling with excitement.

As I open the lid a tube spays me the purple gas. I cough falling on the floor. "Ahh, honey, do you smell that cooking?" Jerome's voice cackles in my mind. "You know how it feels love. It's just like a drug. Let it in. Let it flow. Let us grow." He laughs in my ears as I scream covering my ears.

Jeremiah thrashes around screaming as well. He soon starts to laugh and his smile grows wide. "Jer!" I scream as he falls on the floor.

I start laughing remembering all the things that made my blood-red hot. The screams of the victims I've taken. The wide fearful eyes of citizens.

"You wanted a new life, doll? You've got one! BURN IT DOWN!"

~

~Two Weeks Post Spray~

I sit on the couch keeping myself occupied with my phone as Ecco strolls in, sitting beside me. "Hey girlfriend."

"Hey Ecco! What are you doing here? I'm sure Jereminah gave you the week off." She shrugs smiling. "He did, doesn't mean I can't spend time with you, right? It's been a while since we hung out."

I look at the time seeing it's close to dinner and lock my phone. "You want to grab some drinks?" She nods standing. "It's a date. I'll drive." I laugh putting on my shoes and walking towards the office.

I peek my head in and see Jeremiah reading. "Hello (y/n)." He spills out my name like honey. He looks up smiling at me.

"Hi." I swoon as I walk over to him, resting on his leg. "I'm going to have a girls night with Ecco. Want me to get anything for you?" Jeremiah closes his book and removes his glasses. "You and Ecco?" I nod confused.

"We're good friends, Jer. She's looked after me for a while now." He hums smirking. "Would you rather me stay with you today?" Jeremiah shakes his head laughing. "No darling. Go out and have fun tonight!" He pats my hip standing me up. "Save some fun for me later, doll." He growls in my ear twirling me out the door.

I wink and salute to him. "Yes sir."

~

I laugh slamming my empty shot glass down. "Another!" Ecco shouts ringing us another round of shots.

I lean my head on her shoulder feeling foggy. "This- this is great! I haven't been able to just let go, ya know?" Ecco nods, "You out of everyone I've known deserves to drink." "What do you mean? My life isn't that nuts!" Ecco's eyes widen and she dies in laughter.

"R-really? Are you joking?" "I mean it's unusual, but not nuts! At least I'm happy."

Her eyes fall and she nods. "You're really happy with him?" I nod smiling. "He's great to me." "He's always working." Ecco agues.

"He makes time for me." Ecco scoffs muttering something under her breath. "Huh?" Ecco smiles shaking her head. "What do you say I get you home?" I nod standing and stumbling to the car.

"Heels are never a good idea when I've been drinking! I don't think I can- Whoa!" I trip falling.

Ecco grabs my waist catching me as I giggle drunkly. "You're so waisted!" She cackles leaning me against the car.

She opens the passage door letting me fall into the seat. "Hey Ecco." I whisper pulling her close. "Yes?"

I turn to her smiling, "think you could do me a favor?" She places a hand on my thigh gazing at me. "Anything (y/n)." She leans in awaiting. "Awesome. Can you take my shoes off? They're so far away." I slump back in my seat closing my eyes.

"Sure."

Seconds later my bare feet hit the floor mat and Ecco raised. I open my eyes checking on her, "Ecco, are you-" Her lips press flush against mine and she places her fingers in my hair.

She pulls away breathlessly. "Don't go back to him, (y/n). He doesn't give you enough." I stare at her confused. "You're drunk, Ecco." I giggle pushing her away softly.

She grabs my chin and she pecks my lips lightly. "Okay, (y/n). You're happy and I'll keep it at that." Before I close my eyes she mutters three words I never expected.

She buckles me into the seat, kisses my head, whispers "I love you." Then closes my door starting the long ride home.

~

I sit up groaning and fall back into the silk pillowcase. A sharp giggle causes me to open my eyes seeing Jerome sitting at the edge of the bed. "You got a little frisky last night didn't you?" I tilt my head looking at him. "What do you want?" He crawls up the bed kissing me cheeks.

"How is my dear brother? Any sign of insanity yet? Yours is kicking in nicely, but he's a tough cookie isn't he?" I roll my eyes covering my head with the pillow. "He'll never give into it." Jerome pulls the pillow off my face smiling. "You never used to be this naïve." He sighs rolling off the bed and hitting the floor. "Enjoy the sanity while you still can, doll. Dark days are coming for Gotham." Jerome places a hand on my stomach smiling. "But there is always a spark of light in the dark isn't there?" He giggles, vanishing as he leaves the pressure on my stomach.

I shake my head standing, but as soon as my feet hit the floor a rush of sickness washes over me. I run to the bathroom throwing my insides into the bowl.

Jeremiah rushes in kneeling next to me. "Oh, honey, too much fun last night?" I lean on the wall breathing hard. "It must've been." Jeremiah nods helping me up. "Jim called." "I missed his call?" "No, love, he called me." I smile leaning against the counter.

"For?" "He invited us over for dinner tonight. He said something about starting up the Weekly Gordon Dinner Fest and convinced me it was going to be amazing." "Wow. He's inviting you over. You know what that means? He likes you." Jeremiah shakes his head. "He likes that I keep his daughter safe." I giggle kissing his nose. "Nope. He likes you, Jeremiah. I can feel it."

~

"Do I need to dress fancy or is this purple tie too much?" Jeremiah asks, turning around to face me. "Purple? That's new for you." Jeremiah nods tugging at it and smirking. "It is. Makes me feel fresh. Do you like it, love?" I waltz over to him with his blazer. "You look great." Jeremiah slides his jacket on and wraps his arms around me. "And you... look darling in red."

He swings me around and I laugh leaning into him. As I hold my hand on his chest I notice the skin around his neckline is extremely pale. I pull at the collar looking at the ghostly skin beneath. "Something wrong, doll?" I looked up at him and for a moment his eyes were light as snow. I blink rapidly only to see them a healthy green again. "You're just... pale. More than usual." Jeremiah smiles, shrugging. "I live underground, (y/n). Sunlight isn't my best friend." I nod as he walks us away from our home.

~

"I just can't believe you made this all alone, dad." I laugh as I help set out the spread my father had made for tonight. "I'm not completely helpless." He says picking up a plater. "Here Jim, let me." Jeremiah takes it and sets the food on the table.

My dad nods smiling. "You did good this time, (y/n)." I nod smiling at my favorite men. "Oh, almost forgot!" Jeremiah pulls out a bottle of scotch and passes it to my father. "Can't come without a gift." My father pats Jeremiah's shoulder nodding. "Thank you Jeremiah. Care for a glass?" "Please." Jeremiah chuckles pulling out my chair.

As dinner runs on course everyone smiles and laughs. I gaze at my family with a smile. "Would you look at that?" Jerome strolls out of the kitchen drinking from the bottle of scotch. "That could've been us."

Jerome makes faces at the two of them as he downs his drink. "Just look at you. Such a happy family. Why don't you have a drink to celebrate?" Jerome starts to poor scotch in my glass but looks up at me with a smirk. "Oh wait... that wouldn't be healthy for the little babe, would it? Ah more for me!"

"(Y/n)?" I shake my head looking at my father. "I-I'm sorry. What?" "Are you okay, honey? You look like you're going to be sick." I place my hand on my stomach, but remove it quickly, placing it on the table. "I'm fine, Dad."

~

As I'm drying my hair, Jeremiah walks in the bathroom. "Are you going to tell me what happened at dinner?" I sigh looking at him.

"I think we need to go back two weeks and take a recap. We never talked about it." "About what?" "The spray, Jeremiah! We both got a spray special for us and woke up like nothing happened!" Jeremiah's eyes flash with fear as he looks at me. He trembles moving towards the bed. "I-I thought it was all a dream. I've been seeing him everywhere. I thought maybe it was just a way to cope." He holds his head in his hands.

I sit in front of him removing his hands. "What has he done to you, Jeremiah?" He holds my hands shaking. "I hear everything he says. He's always in the back of my mind just picking away. Putting thoughts in my head. Bad thoughts. It's getting harder to resist, (y/n)."

I took off his tie and unbuttoned his shirt revealing his pale chest. I run my fingers over it furrowing my brows. "It started at my legs. I hate to think what it will do when it gets to my face. I'll look horrid." I laugh shaking my head. "No. You'll look just as handsome."

Jeremiah laughs, grabbing my hands again. "And you?" I smile and sigh. "Just like all of your work was reversed. I can't even force him out of my mind now. He's just mocking me about everything. How happy we are. How Jim likes you."

Jeremiah holds me in his arms as I run my fingers over his ghostly skin. "No matter where this takes us we stay together." "Always, Jeremiah."

~

I gasp sitting up in bed. "You got about 1 minute." "Until what?" Jerome leans on his hands smirking at me. Suddenly a rush of sickness strikes me causing me to invade the bathroom once more.

Jerome laughs strolling in. "If it's a boy can you name him after his daddy? Jerome Valeska the second! Has a good ring don't you think?" "Y-you're not the father." Jerome smirks backing away. "You sure about that? I bet he'll even have my eyes!"

I wipe my mouth and crawl back in bed. He's not that father. I'm not pregnant at all.

"Or for a girl we could go for-" "SHUT UP!" I scream throwing a pillow at the figure.

[mischief-and-tea-by-the-sea]

First Lines

Rules: list the first line of your last 20 stories (if you have less than 20, just list them all!). see if there are any patterns, choose your favorite opening line, and then tag 10 of your favorite authors!

Tagged by @mcfiddlestan  Thanks for the tag!

20. Don’t you draw the queen of diamonds (She’ll beat you if she’s able)

Scott Summers/Logan; Words:3914

"I can't believe you're making me do this, Emma."

Scott held the cellphone to his ear with one bare shoulder and stared at himself in the mirror.  He tried to adjust what he was wearing.  What little he was wearing, and he wrinkled his nose at his reflection.

19. The spheres are in commotion

Bruce Banner/Jane Foster, post-Endgame.  Words: 2526

Tony's words echoed in Bruce's head, so much so that he nearly fucked up the experiment he was running with two very volatile chemicals that would've destroyed the freshly rebuilt Avengers base.

18. They Bid Me Take My Place Among Them

Loki + Tony Stark, post-Endgame AU, pre-Valhalla ship. Words: 2293

Tony screamed as the pain of a million suns flayed his right arm and side of his face.

17. She told me to come, but I was already there

Emma Frost/Tony Stark.  Words: 1488

"With this ring, I thee wed.  I, Emma Grace Frost, take you, Anthony Edward Stark to be my husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and health, until death parts us."  

16. Take me with all of my beautiful scars

Steve Rogers/Bucky Barnes. Post-Civil War (MCU), pre-cryo Bucky. Wakanda. Words: 817 

He slept most of the way from Siberia to Wakanda, but T'Challa nudged him awake for the view of sunrise over paradise.

15. The indefinite unshapen dawn with vacant gloaming

Loki/Tony Stark. Post-Endgame AU.  Words: 1370

All around the battlefield, the wounded were tended to.

14. Yet what can I give him, give my heart

Scott Summers/Logan.  Words: 3470

He came up to his lonely cabin in the middle of nowhere to get away from the after-holiday fuss.

13. And white the fading forests grow

Emma Frost/Loki/Tony Stark, Kate Pryde/Danni (tattoo artist from the comic, I named her because the comic didn’t), Bobby Drake/Christian Frost.  Words: 2643

If anyone had told Kate Pryde years ago that she'd wind up spending a whole holiday season at a quaint little (little being relative) cabin in the New England wilderness instead of the Xavier School or any other large gathering of mutants, she'd have laughed them right out of her face.

12. Now is the Winter of Our Discontent Made Glorious

Loki/Tony Stark.  No powers, college AU.  Words: 12510 (technically posting two lines of this one because the first is short dialogue.)

"Wanna listen to something else?"

Tony glanced over at his passenger.  He couldn't tell if Loki was bored or depressed or just lost in thought, but the screen on his tablet hadn't changed from the same page he'd been 'reading' for the last hour.

11. I know you’ll be a star In somebody else’s sky

Scott Summers/Logan, Emma Frost/Scott Summers.  Words: 482

Scott let out a soft moan when Logan's mouth crushed onto his.

10. Seemed like he knew me, he looked right through me

Loki + Tony Stark. Post-Infinity War AU. Words: 1296

It took months before Tony was well enough to leave the Avengers facility he'd built for a team he'd stopped 'consulting' for after Steve went rogue and disappeared.

9. All the losing and the knowing

Loki + Thor. Thor: Ragnarok canon divergent. Words: 542

The third time Thor's fist connected with his face, Loki heard the crunch of his nose.

8. Ghost of a Chance

Steve Rogers/Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers/Peggy Carter, Bucky Barnes + Peggy Carter.  Words: 1341

Scratchy tunes faded in and out from the radio in the training facility.

7. Behind Blue Eyes

Loki/Emma Frost; Loki/Tony Stark, Emma Frost/Scott Summers. Canon divergent comic’verse, involves shapechanging and mind-bending.  Words: 19142

Emma hissed as the cup burned her bottom lip, and she set it down with a scowl.

6. Supernaut

Loki + Tony Stark.  Post-Infinity War, pre-Endgame AU. Words: 2553

Whatever pieces of Loki were left in the wreckage of The Statesman were intact enough that healing from death...again...took only as long as Thanos' snap that ended half of all life across the known universe.

5. We Were Never Boy Scouts

Loki/Steve Rogers. Canon divergent, post-Civil War. Words: 5319

*

A frost giant and a once-frozen centenarian walk into a bar...

*

That's where the joke ends.  That bar isn't really a bar.  It's the middle of nowhere in the North Siberian Lowland, and there isn't a structure or building or person in sight.

4. Far away you were made in a sea just like me Part 1 of Hemispheres

Loki/Tony Stark. Canon divergent, alternate reality.  Words: 6730

It was the gray light that gently tugged him from sleep.

3. A spirit with a vision (Is a dream with a mission) Part 2 of Hemispheres

Loki/Tony Stark. Canon divergent, actual reality. Slow burn.  Words: 41901 (WIP)

"Tony, this is madness."

Tony finished his third cup of coffee and poured another for himself.

2. A Warrior’s Wound

Kurt Wagner/James Howlett (Logan).  Words: 596

In the near-two centuries since he’d been alive, Logan had been stabbed, sliced, gutted, burned, shot, survived grenades, canons, arrows, magic, inter-dimensional weaponry, Dracula’s bite, Sabertooth’s claws, Hulk’s smash, Black Widow’s knives, Cyclops’ eye-blast, Jean’s mind-punches, Hank eating his leg, Remy’s flying sparky cards, Rogue’s touch, Emma’s diamond slaps, Reed’s rubbery choke-holds, S.H.I.E.L.D removing his head, Mystique’s...everything, and sometimes, his own clumsiness.  

1. Hey Jealousy

Loki/Tony Stark, but...not exactly.  Loki’s jealous that Bruce has gotten into Tony’s pants.  Thor: Ragnarok, canon...tweaked.  Words: 1011

“Surpriiiiiise.”

Okay, seriously MY first line for this is: 

Before they split up to take care of their escape plans, Bruce tugs at the crotch of the pants again.

I’m not sure what patterns I have here other than maybe starting a fic with dialogue or starting with something short and punchy.  

Tagging: @scottxlogan @izhunny @kleenexwoman @iamanartichoke @mistressofmuses @stephrc79 @elvenferretots @oceanplait @gold-from-straw @gaslightgallows 

[primeemeraldheiress]

Brönte's Forgotten Child

(You did say to keep it coming) 

Her mother loved Emma. Those first lines were everything she ever wanted to be

“Emma Woodhouse, handsome, clever, and rich, with a comfortable home and a happy disposition... and had lived nearly twenty-one years in the world with very little to distress or vex her.” 

She wanted that.

The life of the socialites. Of Gotham’s beloved children that seemed inhuman for their beauty.

They garbed themselves in riches that she couldn’t attain, couldn’t even afford to dream.

So she tripped.

She tripped hard. 

She disconnected herself from the world and it’s cursed reality and pretended she was Emma Woodhouse being cathered and pampered instead of Catherine Todd laying on her own vomit in her run down little apartment in Crime Alley, new bruised eye from her Mr. Darcy, and her daughter trying to clean her up.

Her daughter.

Her Jane.

Catherine never wanted children.

But just like everything that involved Willis she either had to accept it or get bruised. 

“All my heart is yours, sir: it belongs to you; and with you it would remain, were fate to exile the rest of me from your presence forever.”

Jane Petra Todd was every bit of Sheila and every bit of Willis.

Willful, stubborn, obstinate, tenacious, dangerous, cunning little devil child with a heart too damn soft for this world.

She had come to her as a little girl with a profound scowl and pretty bows in her hair.

Her mother had ran away from a lawsuit after a botched abortion.

Talk about a contraceptive method.

Catherine never wanted children. 

She especially never wanted a girl.

If push ever came to shove (which it did most days with Willis drunk off his ass), she wanted a boy.

A strong, self-sufficient boy.

One she would make sure to raise right, away from the influence of her poisonous father.

Away from Crime Alley.

Away from this Hell.

He would be chivalrous and educated and well read and well spoken. He would be every bit the gentleman that managed to break through Elizabeth’s wall.

She always did like the name Jason.

“You — you strange — you almost unearthly thing! — I love as my own flesh. You — poor and obscure, and small and plain as you are”

Instead she got a Jane.

Soft, brittle, little Jane withe dark hair that fell in curls and bright blue eyes that made the Gotham sky seem dull. 

Catherine never wanted children.

But she loved her Jane. 

“I knew, you would do me good, in some way, at some time;- I saw it in your eyes when I first beheld you”

Catherine always knew she would die with a needle in her arm.

Rehab never worked.

It didn’t matter how many times she tried. 

How many books she read.

What words Elizabeth, or Emma, or Jane, or anyone said to her.

Willis would always show up with a little white powder and once again she was lost.

Jane always forgave her.

Looked after her.

Cleaned her.

Tucked her into bed.

Made sure she drank water.

Soft, brittle, little Jane who cried because kids made fun of her name. Stupid, selfish Catherine who took her into her arms and showed her the miracle that was Jane Austen.

Catherine always knew she would die with a needle in her arm.

She thought everything would be cold and dark.

Instead it was warm and bright.

The image of her sitting on the couch, little Gothamite princess in her arms, reading at loud:

“I desired more...than was within my reach. Who blames me? Many call me discontented. I couldn't help it: the restlessness is in my nature; it agitated me to pain sometimes.”

Daddy dearest died not too long after, a job with Two-Face gone wrong.

She was officially an orphan, and ran away before CPS came for her.

Jane wouldn’t be caught dead in foster care.

She barely survived her family.

She wouldn’t survive another one like that.

She was better off alone anyways. 

Soft, brittle, little Jane died the day she found Catherine overdosed on the bathroom floor.

Feral, menacing, savage Jay was born that same day.

She always did hate her name anyways. 

 “I see at intervals the glance of a curious sort of bird through the close set bars of a cage: a vivid, restless, resolute captive is there; were it but free, it would soar cloud-high.”

These glimpses of who she once was, of the life she left behind haunted her day and night.

Nagging, bugging, exhausting swarm of bees, that never fell silent, not even in her sleep.

Nightmares of mother, and ma.

Dreams of father and pa. 

Ironic that two men so different could be the same.

Violent, and proud with their heads shoved so far up their asses they could never see how they hurt everyone around them….or was it that they didn’t care?

                            “Am I hideous, Jane?

                   “Very, sir: you always were, you know.” 

She always hated her name.

Catherine appeased the hatred for a while, reminding her that Austen was an unbreakable woman. An unstoppable cyclone who wouldn’t budge at the circumstances.

Who wouldn’t budge, who wouldn’t bend, who didn’t just survive but THRIVE. 

Then again, fate always seemed to like to play jokes on her. God (if there was one) always found her pain very amusing.

She wasn’t Jane Austen.

She was Jane Eyre. 

“I desired liberty; for liberty I gasped; for liberty I uttered a prayer; it seemed scattered on the wind then faintly blowing.” 

She was the ghost that haunted Wayne Manor.

The failed Robin. The wayward child. The lost daughter. The absolute scourge of evil.

The cursed mark upon Batman’s perfect record. The problem child of Bruce Wayne.

The fucking blemish upon the family name. 

Her catastrophe etched on the walls of the place she once called home.

Her debacle immortalized in the cave that saw her grow.

Her fucking name forgotten, erased letter by letter and tossed in the air.

She lived now in the attic; Edward Rochester’s best kept secret, and burning shame.

Her screams and cries were ignored as they resonated in the halls. Her calls of justice silenced once for all.

“Something of vengeance I had tasted for the first time; as aromatic wine it seemed, on swallowing, warm and racy: its after-flavour, metallic and corroding, gave me a sensation as if I had been poisoned”

He locked her in the attic, let her memory haunt the place.

He locked her in the attic, let her memory fade.

He locked her in the attic, let her name never be displayed.

He locked her in the attic, let her go fucking insane. 

                      “Remorse is the poison of life.”

Jane always hated her name, Bruce never once called her “Jay”

One more reason to hate him. 

And hate everything he built after her.

The life that blossomed above her grave, flowers nourished by her corpse.

She hated him.

She hated all of them.

She hated Gotham, and her villains, hated her crime and her corruption.

But most of all she hated herself.

She hated her lack-luster hair, and the single white stripe on it, her dead eyes, with green specks bleeding through the blue. Hated her scars, covered by a million tattoos.

She hated herself.

Because despite it all.

She couldn't hate him too. 

“I could not unlove him now, merely because I found that he had ceased to notice me.”

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

Em here:

Excuse me?

Excuse me, where the fuck have you been hiding?!

This god damn knock-my-fucking-socks-off-amazing!

Is there an AO3 account out there I'm missing?! Holy shit!

I need more of your writing, do you hear me? MORE!

[caps-lockdown]

32 Days Later

32 Days Later (One shot)

Enjoy this piece of October Fluff! It’s my first real attempt at writing from Steve’s perspective, so sorry if it isn’t amazing. I also wrote this at four am after being up since twelve p.m the prior day.

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Avenger!Fem!Reader

Rating: PG (All fluff!)

Words: 2,245

Summary: It took exactly 32 days for Steve Rogers to fall for you.

No beta, only own mistakes and the reader. Again this is Y/N format but it is also from Steve’s point of view. Well sort of anyway. I TRIED PEOPLE.

Also if you’d like to be tagged for future fics just send a quick message, ask or comment!

32 Days Later

You were trouble. That’s what Fury said.

October first came in a blink and Steve Rogers walked out of his room ready for his morning run to find you in your pair of skeleton pajamas. Your feet tapped barefoot against the hardwood floor of the kitchen as you sipped from a giant bat shaped mug. No doubt you had been waiting to pull it out, and by the smells of it you had just made a batch of Nutella hot chocolate. It was seven in the morning.

“No time to sleep when it’s October!” You had exclaimed gleefully, sitting on the couch in the joining room and proceeding to fold yourself into multiple layers of blankets. Steve rolled his eyes as the start of some horror movie began, shaking his head as he stepped outside. You’d only joined the team five months ago, per Fury’s orders and Tony’s headache. Sure, everyone fell in love with you within the first month. Well everyone except Steve of course. Keep your friends close and all that. He couldn’t peg you. Usually he was a good judge of character, but he was continually finding himself plagued by not being able to figure you out. He wasn’t an idiot though. He knew how great you were in the field. How you rivaled Nat’s marksmanship and Tony’s sarcasm. He knew that Bucky and Sam protected you like you were their adopted little sister. Hell he even knew Thor took to calling you “The small and mighty Y/N”. And just like now he knew you had been looking forward to this particular month, as you had mentioned it precisely eighty-six times during the course of this week.

He knew you were trouble. He just didn’t know what kind yet.

On October third you asked him what day it was.

“It’s October Third.” He replied back simply, your giggling fit ringing in his ears as everyone else joined in. He quickly learned that it was a movie reference, having being forced to watch said movie that same evening. He came to understand why you always shouted “She doesn’t even go here!” when you found something out of place, and why everyone (including Bucky to his shock) were wearing pink articles of clothing as the film played.

The wink you sent him from across the living room made his face heat up.

He distinctly recalls the night of October seventh when you nearly begged to get him to accompany you to a new horror movie playing at the theater downtown. “Tony and Pepper are going and I don’t want to be a third wheel!” You whined, “I need big strong arms to hug when I get scared!” You pleaded. “I’ll make you snickerdoodles for a week!”

He didn’t have the faintest idea what was happening amongst the bloodshed and screaming victims being mutilated, but he would never forget your floral scent of perfume taking over his senses. How your hands felt on his skin as you clung on for dear life to his arm and attempted to hide just a sliver of your face in his shoulder. The snickerdoodles were delivered outside his room for seven days straight after that, always wrapped and his name written in beautiful, careful script.

“Come on man, it’s just a pumpkin! It isn’t going to bite cha!”

Steve stared in discontent at the large orange gourd in front of him on October thirteenth. The team decided it would be in their best interest to carve faces and designs on them. Team Building. Tony called it.  Festive you called it. Disgusting chaos would have been his chosen words. The tarp covering the floor was no match for everyone’s hacking carnage, Sam’s complaint of splattered pumpkin guts on the wall in the kitchen causing everyone to roll their eyes. You said you’d get Parker to clean it up. Everyone laughed at your perfect humor. Again.

Steve was never much for gawking or ogling, but watching you put your “carving skills” (he had no idea those were actual skills) on your own vegetable, fruit, whatever you had called it, made him worry about ever making you angry. You were so calm while you worked, blades shaving off top layers and poking holes in artistic ways. Your fingers were lighter than air the entire time, yet he was growing more and more afraid for his personal safety. And his progressively growing attraction to you. It was only when you were nearly done painting yours in glow in the dark paint that he came to the realization that he hadn’t carved a single feature into his own. He worked haphazardly in a frenzy after that, almost losing a finger in his rush to complete it. Maybe you wouldn’t put together that he had spent his entire evening watching you. He had to hope right? The poor thing came out looking so uneven and lopsided he almost wanted to accidentally push it out of a nearby window to put it out of its misery.

“I think it looks wonderful Steve.” You cooed, his blood pressure rising as you went to place your masterpiece in between his and Sam’s puking pumpkin. Yours was an extremely well done adaptation of “Starry Night”, carved and painted with such precision Steve didn’t know if you were real for five whole seconds. Bucky said you put his art to shame. He had to agree, thrown off for just a millisecond when you brought him down into a strong and grateful hug.

“I know you didn’t want to be here. Thank you.” All he could do is make a small “Sure” as you parted ways, watching you and Nat link arms as you headed back into the Compound. He was too busy in his own thoughts when Sam gave him a long look. His mind was occupied with how your breath had felt against his neck when you hugged him, and the way you said his name.

You were definitely trouble.

October twenty fifth was the annual Stark Industries “Trunk or Treat”. It was a wonderful night filled with young children dressed as the Avengers and various other things, visiting trunks of employees and Stark himself to get their yearly candy. Thor and Bruce along with other security stood watch, while Nat and Clint passed out candy as Elsa and Kristoff from Frozen. Bucky and Sam were Ghostbusters, your head nearly exploding when the former and Steve both had said they’d never seen it. You had demanded Sam and Tony’s “Movie Buff” cards, mumbling something about “failing this city.” Whatever that meant.

And what was he doing this fair and crisp autumn night? He could ask himself the same thing, reaching to tug at the itchy orange ascot that clung to his neck tightly. The bell bottoms were a bit tight, the sweater vest threatening to pop at the seams at his wide shoulders. Your ex boyfriend had told you to keep it when he broke your heart right after you joined the team. It had been your dream to go as Daphne Blake and Fred Jones, certain you’d clean house at costume parties with your previous beau. That was until Fury got you the job and the jerk you had been dating for nearly three years told you he couldn’t deal with you making more than him and being stronger than him. Steve leapt, dived at the chance when you asked for his help, agreeing without knowing much about the Scooby Gang. You fixed that too, staying up til three in the morning with him the day of the event watching reruns of the famous cartoon. He pretty much had your laughter locked in his memory now, the way your hair moved when you threw your head back when Shaggy made another absurd food concoction. Your ex was a fool.  How lucky this guy had been to have you in the first place, only to mess it up royally later. It made his blood boil how much of your time he had wasted in the past. Steve would never treat you like he had, you deserved so much more than that. He admired you for your opinions and strength, how you could shut him up with cold hard facts when you got into heated debates. What a fool he was to lose you. You kept telling everyone you were better off, but he heard the crying on the other side of his room wall. Late at night. When you didn’t think anyone was awake to pity you.

So he helped you pass out candy from the back of your cousin’s panel van, the happy children scurrying off with their candy as he had to remind himself not to move to quickly lest his costume rip in a non-flattering way.

He asked you to Tony’s Halloween party that very night, saying he would get a bigger costume. You asked if it was a date to which he sheepishly confirmed. Your smile nothing short of blinding him, the kiss you placed on his cheek burning into his skin when you accepted. He was branded by you, instantly craving your attention and affection and conceding he would stop at nothing to earn it. He was a goner.

Halloween night came, you spending all day in a hurried disheveled mess as you baked countless treats for the party guests. Tony had insisted that the event could be completely catered but you were having none of it, busying yourself and not accepting any help. How you managed to pull it off in such a time crunch was beyond him, and he felt a certain sense of pride as you received dozens of compliments during the evening, your arm interlaced with his.

“I knew you could do it Doll, my ma would have killed for your recipes.”

“She brought you into this world Steve,” you beamed at him as you adjusted your own scratchy ascot, “She wouldn’t even have had to ask.”

The two of you won the contest, coming in second was Thor and Bruce’s in their absolutely wretched attempt at going as each other. He was addicted to your laughter about the whole ordeal though, Bruce’s wig specifically causing a riot throughout the night with everyone. Thor said he was flattered none the less. After the party he helped you back to your room, your inebriated nature meaning you needed assistance. You swore and stumbled out of your clothes on the way down the hall, the scene endearing to say the least. Steve could only shake his head, picking up your heels (torture devices you called them), purple thigh high stockings, red wig (and wig cap) as you went, tipsy and carefree.

“Does this mean we’re a couple now?” You asked, shoving your room door open with comical effort. “Cause we won the couple…couple contest. It’s only fair.”

“Sure sweetheart, I think I’d like that. But I would prefer to hear you say you’d like that when you’re sober, alright?”

“But I asked you already…” You looked so confused and he wanted nothing more than to kiss you senseless. Make you see how completely smitten he already was with you. But he just repeated himself and smiled.

You asked him to stay which he politely declined, only to be smacked in the face with a lime green ascot in response to his quest to remain respectful. All you had to do to win him over was give him a sad look, batting your eyes up at him and making all of his resolve cave. He stripped down to his white tank top and boxer briefs while you got comfortable under the sheets.

“You can sleep on top of the covers. Buck said you super soldiers run hot.”

He smiled while snuggling into you, hoping you wouldn’t pick up on his racing heartbeat when you shifted your weight, leaning your head back against his chest. “Why’s that Y/N? Afraid I won’t be able to keep my hands to myself?”

“No,” You mumbled, already half asleep when his arm came around you. “I’m one-hundred percent sure I wouldn’t be able to keep my hands to myself.” He stiffened slightly, hearing you chuckle cheekily before falling into an easy slumber. He’d get even in the morning he decided.

November first came in a blink, Steve stretching at the first sign of sunrise. The bed was empty. Your bed was empty. He could faintly hear noise coming from the kitchen, throwing on his pants from the night prior and shutting the door behind him. The dark and sinister decorations were gone, replaced with bright and incredibly gaudy holiday lights and décor. He didn’t know they had twelve nutcracker statues, each eerily looking a lot like their real life Avenger counterparts. He chuckled at the sight of you, braid a mess and green and red striped pajamas covering you. His heart caught in his throat when you turned from the counter to face him, your beauty always managing to make his heart stop momentarily. Your feet padded across the floor as you sipped from your obnoxiously large ceramic mug shaped like a reindeer.

Your kiss tasted of peppermint mocha, the world drowned out as he returned it tenfold, tugging you close and spilling a hint of coffee onto his tank top.

“We’re so a couple Rogers,” You grinned after breaking away slightly, “So buckle up.”

You were trouble. But he definitely didn’t mind.

The end.

Tag List: @kaytizzle @cuffski @giggleberts @pies-wands-and-more @zombiepotterfour @chrisevansfanfic @patzammit 

[aileysmirnov]

◇◆Ailey Villains Gallery: Scarecrow◇◆

Scarecrow's face claim: Adrien Brody

Secret vs Scarecrow! How did they met?

Ailey (Secret) and Scarecrow met 'thanks' to Batman:

One night in Gotham, Scarecrow infiltrated the Iceberg Lounge with the intention to Kill some of Penguin's Henchmen.

With a more "upgraded" (and letal) version of his fear gas.

Just as a way to send a message to Oswald who had stolen some of his gas and now was selling it for a very high price on the dark market.

To prevent Batman from intervening, Scarecrow convinced Riddler and Dr Pig to create a "distraction" (if murdering almost 11 people between the two and then make an "spectacle" about it, can be called like that) for the Bat.

And unfortunately when the "Caped Crusader" realized it was a trap (thanks to one of Riddler's "funny" riddles) he was already too far from the building.

Too far from stopping Scarecrow.

He analyzed all of his options pretty fast: he couldn't send Damian, he was with him, Dick was in Blüdhaven, He already send Tim after Riddler and Steph after Pig, Cass and Barbara where in another state with the Birds of prey, Duke and Kate where teaming up to solve a crime involving a new rising homicidal cult and Jason…he wasn't in good terms with Jason…again…and he losed his track at least 2 weeks ago.

And so…he reluctantly took the phone and dialed the number of the one person he could think of.

Ailey was doing the usual: shouting angrily and throwing a tantrum towards her employees (like the good little tyrant she is) for a last minute cancellation of 4 of the stellar models for the upcoming Winter collection of SVELLYO. When all of a sudden she received a call from the one and only: Bruce fucking Wayne.

—B! What a perfect timing! Is not bothersome at all!—she remarked the words sarcastically annoyed a tone that sounded like the venomous hissing of a snake.

—Listen Ailey, I don't have time for thi-

She cut him off

—What a coincidence! Neither do I, B's man! Byee~

—Ailey…—He didn't shout at her but his more menacing (than usually) tone, make her feel like he did; it was a voice tone that Bruce normally just used when he was with Joker and when he used it. Oh boy, You just knew the man ain't taking any shit.

—Listen to me. And listen. C A R E F U L L Y. Scarecrow is in the Iceberg Lounge it's 2 minutes away from you by flying. I need you to go after him and prevent whatever he's up to against Cobblepot.—He said a little more ""nicer"" (if it's even possible) this time, but still with a hint of frustration in his voice.

—yeah…well…I also need this little favor, B—Bruce was about to fucking lose it in that moment, there where lives in danger and this CHILD was just thinking of herself!! But before he could lash out at her with a "I'm dissapointed" speech; Damian took the phone.

—He said he'll do it, you have my word. Now…Go! —Robin said without thinking twice

—Thank you, my zelenyy*! I'm on my way! —and with an Angry Bruce Lashing out at every single thing on earth on the background, Ailey hanged up, wrote a quick note to his secretary, asking him to give all of her employees a rise (including him, of course) and sprinted out to SVELLYO's roof top; without a word to the perplexed staff.

Once she stood there.She could feel the cold night breeze hitting her face and without any doubt she jumped abruptly from one of the highest points in the city.

Her eyes opened at the middle of his falling, adrenaline and renewed energy cursing trough her veins, her blonde hair replaced with a glowing rose gold, a metalic blue growing in her gaze and her outfit conveniently transformed on an all black bodysuit with slight hints of gold on the bottom of her sleeves.

His whole body defying gravity, flying through the night sky with the same grace and glory of a swan and leaving a subtle trace of light glowing pink as she passed by.

She arrived at the Iceberg Lounge back entrance at least 5 seconds earlier from what Batman had predicted.

Penguin's henchmen where all gathered in what appeared to be a small cellar on the very back of the casino, they were complaining about an out of the blue"meeting".

Secret (Ailey) assumed it was Scarecrow's way to get them all in the same place and avoid any unnecessary complications.

With extreme caution she stood and watched near the skylight, trying to fade away her own slightly glowing nature with the moonlight.

Her eyes searched quickly inside the room, ans she soon spotted atleast 6 gas tanks oddly put in some of the poorly lighted corners of the cellar.

But no sign of the maniac

Or so she though until the abrupt pain in her neck and the obscure presence behind her sooner than later make her realize; she wasn't alone.

She could feel the infernal pain from the toxin filling his lungs and cutting her breath and her vision becoming a little bit dizzy.

—You should know better than spying on people, dear…It might not end up being what you expected—his voice was deep and unforgiving, a condescending tone and the weight of countless sleepless nights leaked through every word.

She tried to speak but only felt her throat closing.

—Now, now, dear…all will end up soon. —His tall and lanky figure covered by worn out clothes to match his own psychotic aesthetic made him look intimidating. And without any glimpse of empathy he proceeded to toss her body aside with a kick like if she was a filthy dead rat, and continue to watch expectantly to the ignorant henchmen above.

He was waiting, waiting for one of them to foolishly reveal where his beloved toxin was and after a couple of minutes one of them casually mentioned a secret basement where the most important items waited patiently for whoever was able to afford his almost ridiculously expensive price.

Crane smiled wickedly to himself…he had just what he wanted…almost.

He activated the slightly hidden tanks of fear gas and watched in admiration as some of the henchmen faces started to change into a horrified expression.

—Head's up, asshole!—He didn't even had time to process the situation properly, when Secret's hands where at both sides of his head, the tip of her fingers illuminated and emanating Rose gold strings of pure energy attaching themselves to Crane's mind.

And at that exact moment he remembered: the pain, the panic, the fear.

The very first time he tested his toxin, was on himself: he was laying in to that dirty old shack for what felt like an eternity; he screamed and begged and yet the hallucinations didn't leave him, his mind was racing with the most horrible thought it could possibly even consider, everything so real and yet so distant. He felt hopeless.

And the delicate strings clinging tight around his mind. Lord, what a bittersweet nostalgia! He felt the same, the same way as the first time, he could hear the screams, the voices, the endless discontent. But couldn't find anything around him…just…hollow and for some strange reason…that scared the shit out of him.

Ironically it had been years since the last time Crane felt genuine fear.

When Crane woke up, he was already in that horrible place: a worn out cell from Arkham

But strangely he didn't feel any kind of anger or frustration. No…he felt…elated in the best way possible almost like if he had reborn!

And so…he stood there; staring blankly at the small window with an almost devilish smile across his face.

Waiting for the next encounter

◆◇◆◇

Ailey felt so proud of herself, she had successfully managed to knock out Scarecrow, control the gas leak and save Penguin's henchmen! All alone! And even took the liberty to recover all of Crane's toxin samples Penguin had!

She couldn't wait to see Bruce's face, Oh that man owed her BIG TIME!

When Bruce and Damian finally arrived at the Batcave, he was welcomed by her.

She looked like a 10 year-old who approved one of his test and was proudly showing off the paper to his parents.

Wich made Bruce smile…a little (even if he doesn't admit to it)

—See? You can trust me, B!—she said handing him the samples.

—So you send him to Arkham? Hmm…honestly I didn't though you'll made it…but good job…I guess…?—Damian admitted, while taking off his mask.

—Well, I'm glad I'm not THAT disappointing, sir! —Her tone expressing the sarcasm and slight frustration and offence in every word. Which Damian only replayed with a faint little smile.

—…Good Job, Ailey…—Bruce spoke for the first time since they arrived

—…and thank you for your help…—He completed with a slightly more """friendly""" tone (which just means less stiffness in his voice but still maintaining his authoritarian tone)

—yeah…well…don't thank me yet…we had a deal!—She said while playfully floating around him and touching the ears of his Bat-suit; Bruce could only do as much as to touching the bridge of his nose trying to contain his very obvious nuisance.

—…What do want? —He said sighing heavily.

—Nothing much, really! I want You, Damian, Dick and Katy modeling for SVELLYO winter collection catwalk, next week! —

◆◇◆◇

OMG! That was fun! I was going to put a small and cute little drawing of Ailey touching the ears of the Bat-suit but I still haven't finished yet! So yeah…I will edit it once I have it done!

Anyway! I loved writing this, and I will be uploading more content for Ailey, wich now she has her official anti-hero name! And is called

🥁🥁🥁🥁

Secret!

Shout out to @melyaliz / @insideoflit for the name idea! I honestly struggle so much with names 😅

Thanks to @Shiro.GURu (on insta) for helping me with this! Love ya, girl <3

Tagging: @lobodesaturno @snowflake2sstuff @lord-carstairs @weam0theblueblues @morefarthanaway

[beccarooni]

Until the Sun

(A.N: wow, all these people reading my fics and liking makes my heart sing! soon ill do some fluff I swear! This one's not my best but enjoy 💜💚)

Bruce didn't have a good relationship with alcohol. The memories of his childhood still hurt, the stench of whiskey and beer still made his stomach turn and the hairs on the back of his neck raise.

He knew it. The avengers knew it. And Thor definitely knew it. The two had often stayed up long into the night, talking for god knows how long until tears started falling about anything and everything.

He supposed that was why he was so angry when Thor stumbled in one night, leaning heavily against the wall, carrying that smell with him.

"I ask you to do one thing, Thor. One." Bruce kept his distance, the risk of a 'code green' too great to even consider in their apartment. "The one rule I have, and you can't even follow that?"

"I wasn't aware that I was being kept." Thor's voice never crept above talking volume, never loud enough to make Bruce flinch, instead it seemed he channeled his energy into pacing, or rather stumbling, around the living room, hands trying to find balance on any surface they could reach. "Is that why you keep me around? You want a nice Asgardian to be your- what, your exotic pet?"

"Oh come on. Don't give me that. As someone who spent 2 freakin' years as a pet on an alien planet, I can assure you it's not that nice."

"That was Hulk." Thor folded his arms, staring at the ceiling, the ground, anywhere but Bruce. "Not you."

"Yeah, well Hulk's pretty pissed at you, too." Bruce turned to face the window, running a hand over his face to try and quell the rapidly growing spots of green in his vision. "I have half a mind to let him out to shake some sense into you."

"Oh, come on Bruce. It was one time, I barely ever-"

"That's not the point!" Bruce finally turned, the volume of his own voice immediately being enough to make him wince. His chest ached with breaths that just weren't taking in enough oxygen. The walls felt like they were getting closer, and jesus even the feeling of his own clothes brushing against his skin was too much. It was all too much. "The point is...you know what the point is."

Thor stopped pacing, looking at Bruce with a sudden clarity. His eyebrows furrowed in concern, and gradually brought himself to a standstill. Shifting from foot to foot, like he wasn't exactly sure where to go.

"Bruce..." His next few words were careful, chosen with a specific slowness. "You know I would never hurt you, right? No matter the state I was in. I'd rather I die before my hand fell anywhere near you."

Bruce's posture relaxed slightly, although nowhere near as relaxed as he wanted to be. "I know." He said, a little stiffly. Too stiff. He caught Thor flinch out of the corner of his eye.

Despite the smell of whiskey lingering on his breath, Thor's voice was still so quiet, his words coming out in hushed mumbles that was so terrifyingly different to anything Bruce had heard before. He'd expected yelling, cruel words, loud laughter that stung his ears. Not these barely legible mutters, spoken from a man who looked like he was barely managing to stand up.

Thor ran his hand over his face, regret stinging in his eyes as he made his way around him, heading over to the kitchen sink. "Bruce, 'm sorry, okay? I just-" He sighed, staring blankly ahead at the wall in front, looking like he was about a minute away from collapse. "It was the only way to make them stop."

Bruce was about to retort, tasting the sharp words on his tongue, but something stopped him. Maybe it was Thor's voice, the uncharacteristic smoothness failing to blunt the impact of his words. Or maybe it was his posture, the strong, regal stance he usually adopted reducing to a half crumpled state, relying entirely on the kitchen counter to keep him upright.

Bruce ventured forward slowly, enough to make his presence known, at least. "Who's 'them', Thor?"

The way Thor's shoulders tensed at the question led Bruce to believe he wasn't as drunk as he was trying to convey. It was instant, his form freezing, like he was a child who had just dropped a dinner plate and was hoping that being still would somehow camouflage the damage done.

"It's nothing." He whispered, shaking his head. "It's no one."

"Thor." Bruce was insistent now, he was worried. He kept moving forward until he was just behind Thor, placing his hand on the Gods warm shoulder.

"Bruce, please-"

"Tell me."

Another sigh followed, this one more like a deep groaning than the hurried confession prior. This one was a sound of exhaustion that clung to the bones themselves, a feeling of just being so tired that he didn't even know how to object anymore.

His shoulders sank, and he twisted away from Bruce's touch.

"The ghosts. Of Loki, of Heimdall, of everyone." He swallowed, nervously, as if expecting to be scolded. "They don't stop, Bruce. I just see them all the time. And I thought they'd go away if I just..." He shrugged his heavy shoulders, sinking with an abrupt suddenness down until he was sitting on the kitchen floor, resting his forehead against the cabinet. "Doesn't matter. It didn't work. It just made you sad."

Bruce didn't quite know what to say. The feeling of unease hadn't stopped twisting in his gut, coiling and writhing ever since the sharp smell of whiskey on breath began to burn at his nose.

So, he didn't say anything.

Bruce moved to the floor, the sharp corners of the kitchen cabinet digging into his back, and held Thor's hand with a tightness that he hoped would convey all the words he couldn't say. And Thor held back, the air of tension between them lifting with a comforting squeeze of the fingers. The silence wasn't deafening anymore, it was sheltering. The safe kind of quiet that exists behind closed doors, where the world outside was muffled by blankets and warm cups of cocoa.

"I'm sorry." Bruce finally managed to squeeze out, lifting his free hand to run through Thor's hair. When exactly the God had made the move from sitting to laying square in Bruce's lap, he really couldn't say. He could only say that he was grateful for the comforting weight that now lay on his legs.

"Don't." Thor mumbled into his thigh, face turned away from the dim light of the kitchen like it was the sun itself. "It's my fault. I betrayed you. You have every right to be angry."

Bruce lowered his head at that, a small chuckle escaping from his lips despite where his hand was pressed against it to muffle them.

Thor shifted, tilting his head to look up at Bruce with barely conscious offence. "You're mocking me?"

"No, Thor, it's just-"

Bruce cut himself off, suddenly unsure.

What was it?

Because this had hurt him. The memories, however far away they were, still seemed to lurk just beneath the surface.

Maybe it was the fact that Thor, who'd been stabbed, electrocuted, and tossed around, was wailing into his lap as if he'd committed an act of treason.

Maybe it was the twisted irony. Both of them trying to drown out their pasts, yet every attempt only served to stir the memories of the other.

Bruce sighed, holding Thor just that little bit tighter. "Why didn't you say something? I mean, I know my conversational skills aren't great, but I didn't think you'd prefer to pass out in a gutter rather than talk to me."

Thor's hand weakly swatted at him in protest, although the alcohol had clearly gotten to his aim, as his hand met the hard stone of the counter instead of Bruce's shoulder.

Thor yelped, nursing his injury, but pressing himself closer to Bruce's side. "It's not you, Bruce. I just...I was ashamed. I didn't want to burden you, and now look at what happened." He pushed himself onto his hands and knees, nose almost brushing Bruce's. "You're perfect, Bruce. I should've spoken to you."

Bruce blinked, raising an eyebrow slowly. "That was remarkably easy. Are you actually going to follow through on that promise or are you just saying it to shut me up?"

Thor clumsily leaned forward, pressing his lips against Bruce's forehead in a kiss that was surprisingly tender. "I swear it. No more secrets."

Bruce took a steadying breath, as his world finally began to come back together.

"Great." He forced out a whisper, trying to force back the tightness in his throat that he hadn't realised was there. He cleared his throat, shifting to his feet, and extending his hand down to Thor. "Now, come on. Let's get you to bed."

Thor's face lit up in another beaten smile as he took his hand, although it was quick to turn to horror when Bruce set him down on the sofa.

"You are mad at me" Thor grumbled his discontent, although didn't seem to mind the amount of blankets Bruce was piling on top of him."You're putting me on the sofa. I'm in the house of dogs.

"That's the doghouse, Thor. And you're not in there." Bruce propped another pillow under the gods head, meeting his tired eyes with a weak smile. "I just don't want you throwing up on me during the night."

"Cruel, but fair." Thor's eye glinted up at him from beneath one of the more fluffy blankets, his hand peeking out and grabbing at Bruce's wrist. "I am truly sorry for my actions, beloved. It won't happen again, I swear on my honour."

"How are you more Shakespearean drunk than you are sober?" Bruce tutted, shaking his head with a worn smile. He gently set Thor's hand back down on the sofa, leaning over to press a kiss onto the forehead that still burned with that reassuring heat that always seemed to follow the God around. "It's fine, Thor. Really. Just next time, talk to me, okay?"

Thor nodded from beneath the pile. "Okay. Goodnight, Bruce."

"Night, Thor." He pressed his hand in a final gesture against where he guessed Thor's side was, and then headed into the bedroom.

Their bedroom.

Bruce hadn't expected to sleep well that night, because, well, when did he sleep well? Years of all night science experiments fuelled by coffee and rage induced adrenaline had certainly done a number on his sleeping schedule.

But still, something felt wrong. The bed was too wide, too cold, the room itself too silent even with the sounds of distant traffic coming through the window.

He didn't need 7 PhD's to figure it out. The last year of his life the bed had never been cold. His room had always been filled with the sound of snoring, or rain, or random snatches of Asgardian mumbled in sleep.

He swung his feet back over the side of the bed after 3 hours of unsuccessful tossing and turning, draping a blanket over his shoulders as he paused at the doorway to the living room, casting one last glance at the bed behind him.

He moved on, with a small shake of his head.

Neither of them should be alone, not tonight, anyway.

Besides, he'd definitely risk being thrown up on to see Thor's face brighten in a sleepy smile when Bruce scooted in beside him, burrowing under the blankets.

They'd need to talk in the morning. It'd be painful, but it had to be done. The wounds hadn't healed, not completely.

But they could ignore the past, just for now.

Just until the sun rose.

[youngjusticeslut]

And They Were Roommates (Chapter 6)

Fandom: Young Justice Links: FF.net // AO3 Characters:  Artemis Crock, Dick Grayson, Lian Harper, Roy Will Harper, Jade Nguyen Ships: RedCat Summary: While Jade and Roy were out on their date, Artemis babysits her niece. Rating: T Word Count: 2545 Disclaimer: I don’t own any of these characters.

Babysitting wasn't so hard.

Artemis had never seen herself as a motherly person, by any definition of the word. Really, she hadn't given kids much thought at all before her and Wally had gotten together. Even then, they'd both known it was a long way off. Aside from a couple comments on how cute their future offspring would be, they hadn't even discussed it. She knew Wally had wanted kids, someday, and she'd accepted it.

There had been a short period of time, in the weeks after his ceasing, that Artemis bought a bag full of pregnancy tests. Just in case. Zatanna had found her once, crying on the floor of the bathroom with three negative tests all around her, insisting that now she had nothing. Not exactly a highlight of her summer. At the time, having Wally's baby seemed like the perfect way to remember him by. Looking back, she wanted to shake herself for being so illogical. With him gone, the only kids in her future would be the pre-teenage kind; 'mentor' sounded a whole lot more appealing than 'mother'.

Still, there was something about Lian that was so easy. An adjective she never would have guessed would be used to describe any offspring of her sister's. Upon first learning about Lian, Artemis could only imagine the little terror she would grow up to become. She never would have expected her to turn out to be such a sweet little thing.

Artemis wasn't sure if it was genetics, the parenting, or sheer luck; all three bore equal chances as to how her niece turned out.

"Boosey," Lian insisted, clapping her hands and trying to scoot closer to the dog. When he heard his name, Brucely wagged his tail for a quick moment. Upon realizing that it was his new torturer, he scampered away to the kitchen. Artemis couldn't help but laugh at the disappointment on Lian's face, smoothing back her hair.

"I told you, Babe, he doesn't forgive easy. You pulled his tail one too many times."

"Boosey!"

"Who needs Brucely when you have your cool aunt Artemis?" she asked, picking up Lian and holding her over her head, making her fly. That quickly eliminated any displeasure on the baby's face, instead morphing into utter glee.

Artemis laughed again, making her niece fly for a few moments before setting her down in front of her toys. "What do you suppose Mama and Daddy are up to?" she asked, handing Lian a couple of blocks. The blocks fascinated her enough to miss Artemis' question, thus no answer.

It was a wonder Jade had agreed to go out with Roy at all. Artemis could only imagine how terrible the night would go. "It's going to go one of two ways, Lian," she explained, helping her build a block tower. "Either your Mama and Daddy are going to fight, or they're going to have sex. You know what that means?"

Lian ignored her, knocking down the block tower and cheering in delight.

"It means," Artemis said, building up the tower once again, "that either way, I'm going to end up with a headache. But between you and me, I think I'd prefer the sex," she muttered.

The baby nodded thoughtfully. "Sex," she repeated, picking up a block and trying to place it at the top of the small tower.

Artemis' eyes widened and she balked, unsure of what to say. Her first thought was that Roy was going to kill her. The immediate afterthought was that she didn't care, because this was hilarious. "We're going to keep this little development between the both of us, cool?" she asked.

In response, Lian knocked down the tower again; it was close enough to an agreement.

They played together for a while, building block towers and tossing different toys around. At some point, Lian started to stick everything in her mouth so Artemis gave her a pacifier. All in all, Lian was a very low-maintenance baby; it was no wonder how Jade got along with her so well.

Around nine, Artemis' phone buzzed in her pocket. She pulled it out, her stomach sinking when she saw the name on the text. While part of her, the weaker part, told her to ignore it, she couldn't. Artemis hadn't heard from him since the funeral. Her fingers were clumsy as she dialed him, praying that he wouldn't send yet another one of her calls to voicemail.

Luck was on her side, today.

"You're in Gotham?"

"Promised Tim a visit. Thought I'd see if you were around."

Artemis smiled, curling her legs underneath her and handing Lian one of her toy trucks. "No such luck, Grayson. Thought the world's greatest detective would know that."

"He's been a little off his game lately. Where are you?"

"Long Beach."

"Working on your tan?"

She scoffed. "Not quite. I'm babysitting."

"I hope the kid is cute, at least."

"The cutest." Lian squealed in discontent as Artemis ignored the rattling toy she tried to give her. Her aunt mouthed an apology and took the toy, shaking it and bopping her on the head. "I'm watching my niece."

Dick hummed on the other end. "I was wondering why Cheshire had gone quiet." There was no judgement in Dick's voice. Her other friends, they either wouldn't ask, or there would be a note of discontent in their voices when they did. Everyone who met Lian loved her. It was just her parents' relationship they disapproved of. "She and Roy still trying to make things work?"

"They're on a date. God only knows what kind of trouble they're getting up to."

"Want some company?"

"Maybe not tonight. Lian's being very insistent for her aunt's full attention," Artemis said, pulling her niece onto her lap and cuddling her. "But soon. I want to see you."

"Miss me?"

"More than you know, Batboy. Have you finally come out of hiding?"

Dick laughed, but it was forced. "You could say that. Fancy a trip to the east coast next week?"

"You mean you don't want to experience the California sun?"

"Thought we could go to Bibbo's. Like old times."

It took a second for Artemis to come up with a response. Her, Wally and Dick had spent far too many evenings at Bibbo's, gorging on milkshakes and french fries, pretending to study but doing anything but. The team had used to go, too. They would order one of everything on the menu and Wally would eat anything they didn't finish. It would never be like old times.

"Maybe not Bibbo's," Dick said to her silence. "Pizza?"

"Yeah, Pizza works," she sighed, holding Lian closer to her chest. She was so lucky that she was too young for heartache. "I just want to see you."

"I want to see you too, 'Mis. Talk soon, okay?"

"You got it, Dick."

Artemis was never, ever going to let them live this down. Not long after she finished her conversation with Dick, she spied the ever telling flash of blue and red lights. At first she hadn't looked outside, figuring it was just a drug-bust, or some overzealous teenagers getting caught. The aching urge to spy took over and she finally opened the balcony door to observe.

The sight of Jade and Roy, barely clothed and in handcuffs was something she was never going to forget. It didn't take five minutes before she was down there, planning to do some damage control.

"Well look at what we have here," Artemis simpered, smirking at her sister and brother-in-law. "I thought you said she was kidding, Roy."

"Miss, this is a private matter. I suggest you take yourself elsewhere," the policeman urged, nodding towards the street.

"I'm their family. You mind telling me what they're being charged with?" Artemis asked, turning her gaze to Jade who looked far too comfortable for her liking.

"Indecent exposure. Having sex in public is a misdemeanor, Ma'am." Artemis' eyes narrowed at her two roommates. On the one hand, she couldn't believe that they were stupid enough as to do this; on the other, she wasn't surprised in the least.

Jade rolled her eyes. "We don't need your help, Sis. I was handling it just fine," she insisted in Vietnamese, only to be shoved by Roy, who was nearly as red as his hair.

"Just get us out of here. I'm cold and this is embarrassing," he muttered back, his Vietnamese not nearly as polished as his wife's.

"Really?" Jade cocked her head to the side. "More embarrassing than the time you-"

"Shut up, Jade. For the love of whatever is up there, I'm begging you."

Artemis shook her head before looking to the officer. He was young and a little naive looking; this wouldn't be too hard to get out of. She'd managed to get out of worse. "Right. Well, as you can see, these two are tourists," she explained, rocking Lian's stroller back and forth when she felt her shifting. The last thing they all needed was for her to wake up and start screaming. "They didn't know what they were doing."

"Tourists?" the officer frowned, glancing at Jade, who grinned, and then Roy. "The both of them?"

"That's a little racist, don't you think?" Artemis asked, turning her glare on the officer. "They're visiting me from Vietnam. These two idiots didn't know any better."

"I'll need to see their passports," the policeman said, wavering a bit when Jade winked at him.

"Look, Officer, I'll be honest with you," Artemis began, leaning against the stroller. "This can go one of two ways. You can wait here for me to get their passports, arrest them, and take them to court. But I assure you, this trial won't be as cut and dry as you think."

"Are you threatening me?" the policeman asked, narrowing his eyes.

Artemis held up her hands. "Not at all, Sir. I'm just saying, you don't seem to have a lot of evidence. Are you sure you caught them having sex?"

"They were in the water, Ma'am."

"Yes, but they still have their underwear on," she said, nodding to the two.

"Not by choice," Jade piped up. "Roy was being so awfully slow."

"Shut up, Jade."

Artemis pretended to listen to them before looking back at the policeman. "They were intending on going skinny dipping and got carried away. How can I be sure that you're not prejudicing against them because they're foreign?"

"Well, I-"

"Look, I don't want a case, and I'm pretty sure you don't. So why don't you let these two off with a warning and let the embarrassment of being caught be enough of a punishment?" Artemis concluded before nodding to the baby in the stroller. "If not for them, do it for their poor child, who has to live with these idiots."

"I can't just let them go-"

"If you need a crime to bust, I heard a scuffle coming in that direction," she said, gesturing to the busy street.

The policeman looked between Artemis to Jade and Roy before he finally sighed and moved to uncuff them. "A warning," he agreed. "Make sure they're well versed on the law here in America. Next time, they won't be so lucky."

"I assure you, there won't be a next time," Artemis promised.

Jade grinned as she was uncuffed, drinking in the young policeman without hesitation. "I wouldn't be so sure about that. I'd get in all kinds of trouble just to see him again," she purred, still in Vietnamese.

"No, you won't," Roy growled, rubbing his wrists and trying to locate his pants.

Once the policeman was out of sight, Artemis glared at the two. "I can't believe you let yourselves be caught. Really, don't you two know any better?"

Jade shrugged. "We've never been caught before. I thought it would be kinky."

Her husband immediately whirled on her, blue eyes wide. "You knew?"

"Of course. Did you really think that I didn't know a rent-a-cop was sneaking up on us. I'm more surprised that you didn't know."

Artemis snickered. "She has a point. No wonder the Shadows found you out." She could tell that Roy was about to explode, so she shushed him before he could, nodding to Lian who was still miraculously asleep. "Wouldn't want to wake the baby, now would you?"

"Well, that was fun. It was nice to speak Vietnamese for a bit," Jade mused, slipping into her clothes far too easily. "You should really work on yours, Red. Your pronunciation is atrocious."

"You're awfully calm for someone who almost just got arrested. What would have happened if they found you out, Jade?" Artemis scolded, pushing the stroller back to the apartment once the two were dressed. "There are hotels for a reason, you know."

"We weren't thinking," Roy muttered. "It won't happen again."

"Right, like I believe that. Please, next time, be a little more careful. I had to drag your baby out here, and it's chilly, and she could get sick," Artemis continued. "If this had gone any further, I probably would have had to get Ollie involved, and we all know how that would have turned out. So next time you guys are feeling kinky, try a sex shop," she muttered, turning to look at them.

But they were gone.

"For fuck's sake," she muttered, shaking her head as she entered the lobby of the apartment. Still, she wasn't surprised. At least she didn't have to worry about their thwarted sexcapade taking place in the room next to hers. "Your parents suck," she said to her sleeping niece as they entered the elevator.

Still, at least they seemed to be getting along better. It would make meals a lot more enjoyable; before she could cut the tension between them with a knife. Hopefully this was the start of the two of them working out their issues.

She exited the elevator and rolled the stroller towards the apartment, looking forward to nothing more than a quiet night of Netflix and wine. Instead, Artemis was greeted with a folded paper on the door. She raised a brow and opened it.

Thanks for the breakout, Sis. Door will be unlocked before midnight.

"No. No, this is not happening," Artemis growled, banging on the door. "Jade! Jade, I swear to god, you better open this door right fucking now," she growled, reaching in her pocket for her key. But it was gone. She swore she heard a chuckle from inside the apartment, followed by a concerning amount of banging.

Artemis groaned, sliding down the wall and banging the door for good measure, pulling out her phone again. "Correction, Lian. Your parents are the fucking worst."

[rason-rodd]

Trusting (’Begging’ part2) (Arkham Knight! Jason xReader)

Summary: Guilt is haunting you as you remember the things you’ve done until Jason shows up into your room. 

Warning: Language, Graphic Violence, Mentions of sex, PTSD, Anxiety

Author’s note: Another long chapter that follows the event of Begging but with a series of flashbacks included. I plan on writing 3 or 4 parts for this fanfic. Texts in Italics are flashbacks.

Tagged: @usernightwing, @queen-fighter, @anaboo-thewriter, @piratefrost, (WHO ELSE WANT TO BE TAGGED?)

(PART 1)

The pollen was still dancing in the air on that night. And all around you smelled like fresh flowers and plants mixed to a thick cloud of pollution that you could only smell in Gotham. The war between the Dark Knight and the Arkham Knight was over. Scarecrow was still in jail, victim of his own evil doing, Cobblepot and Dent in neighbouring cells. And Bruce … Bruce was dead. The Batman was dead.   And Gotham was slowly drowning again under a wave of crime that was growing more and more each day.       Thugs had retaken the darkness of the streets, terrorising families and innocents and the incarceration of the most famous crime lords had permitted the rise of some others. Among them, Roman Sionis aka Black Mask.

He had taken control of the docks, made them the key point of his business. Drugs. Weapons. Dirty money. He had his filthy hands on everything. A smart businessman. But a smart business who was drawing too much attention. A smart businessman with a target on his back.

Aiming at that target, the Red Hood. That’s the name he had chosen. But you knew who was really underneath that crimson mask. Jason Todd. Robin. or also more recently known as The Arkham Knight. You had never met him, just heard stories, some anecdotes that Dick had spilled with a saddened melancholic smile that was now almost frozen on his young face or some rumours whispered in the streets. A dangerous man undoubtedly. But a broken man above all.

You had built a plan, Dick, Barbara, Tim and you, a plan the young Robin had characterised as “well put together”. It never sounded “well put together” to you though or to Dick. But you had volunteered to make it a success anyway and thus whatever the means. You just had to meet him. And what better place than Crime Alley to do it.

High heels, beautiful dress, a young woman coming back home alone.  Yes, that night you were the perfect bait. So tempting, so attractive. “ Hey baby, where are you going like that?” And so easy to take.             “Home.”         “ Want us to escort you? The night is dangerous” You glanced at both men, tightening you hands around your purse to look a bit scared. Bu you were not scared. Not even a bit. After all, you had been trained. You were the new Batgirl, even though you didn’t like carrying someone else’s name.             “No need, but thanks.” You retorted but a man grasped your arm rather brutally.  “Don’t touch me!” You shouted as you immediately took a pepper spray out of your bag. Tim’s idea. Makes you look more like a Gotham damsel in distress. If a pepper spray were useful everybody would know it. ”Look, mate. Kitty’s got claws”       “ I think she’s threatening us.”  They both came closer to you and, as you walked backwards, you fell down on your bottom, dropping the spray. You didn’t mean to. “Down on the ground? Very good.” One of them unzipped his pants and you immediately closed your eyes. You didn’t want to see this.

BANG BANG.

Echoing like thunder in the alley.     And blood poured on your face and on your body like a hot summer rain. And both men fell like birds stricken by lightning, by fate wearing a red hood.

You opened your eyes very carefully. What a horrific vision. Agonizing men on the floor, moaning, crying, chocking in their blood, castrated by two efficient bullets in their bloody genitals. So much blood. And that reek. It was on you. It was in you, maybe. It was everywhere.

You looked away when you heard footsteps coming closer. It was him. The vengeful crimson ghost. The Red Hood. Guns in his hands.         He stared at both men in silence and you guessed disdain and disgust behind his mask. He shot again to put an end to their suffering even though, you were sure, it was not out of mercy.             You backed down again, still on the floor when he knelt by your side. “Do you understand why I did this?”     You frowned. Could he read your mind? Could he see on your face your contempt for killers regardless of their motives? Could he see you were not a fan of men like him who fancied themselves judges, juries and executioners?       You nodded anyway. “Scumbags like them deserved to be put down. They lie. They abuse. They try to gain their victim’s trust but There's no trust, No faith, no honesty in men; all perjured, All forsworn, all naught, all dissemblers.”     “Shakespeare” “You know your classics”       “ And you’re quite a literature nerd for a crazy ass vigilante”

Trust. How ironic was that. How ironic that the first words you shared proved to be the perfect words to describe the awfulness you were doing today. Gaining his trust. Using him. Trapping him. And you hated yourself for it. And you hated the others as well, for letting you do this and for making sure you would fulfil this mission.       Because you needed to remember. Jason was a mission, a dangerous mission.

You sighed as the memories of that night faded away to move on to another memory. A memory of last night, when Nightwing had appeared.

“ Do you realise what could have happened?” You didn’t reply. Instead you just gritted your teeth, eyes staring at the moon, arms tightened around the sheets covering your naked body “Y/N! I’m talking to you!”           “ And I’m listening.” You growled, more than annoyed       “ No you’re not!”       Nightwing’s gauntlet suddenly rang and Oracle appeared on a holographic screen. She had a sun-kissed – though rather red - face and she looked jolly and very smiley, like anyone after well-deserved holidays on a beach you supposed.       “ Nightwing. I’ve got news on the mysterious… I’m bothering, maybe.”     “ We were having a conversation.” Dick answered with a softer and calmer voice. “ A conversation? You mean a lecture.” You corrected, curtly. Barbara’s eyes widened and for a second she hoped she had listened to Tim. They were so good on that beach. But they were not on the beach in anymore and here she was, back at work, in Gotham.           “ Okay. I definitely can feel the tension between both of you. So why don’t you tell me what’s going on?”       “ Dick is being a jerk. That’s what’s going on.” You shouted. “ A fucking distrustful pervert jerk.” He snickered and brushed his hair backwards. He couldn’t believe what you were saying. “ When did I say I didn’t trust you?”           “ So you admit you’re a pervert?” Barbara asked. “What? No.”         “ You always keep an eye on me! If that not distrust then what is it?” He grumbled and you kept talking. “You.Watched.Me!” You enunciated every syllable distinctively. “Having sex” Barbara stared at Dick in shock, ready to defend you. “You did what? That’s creepy!” “That’s voyeurism!” You clarified.     “ I didn’t do that. I didn’t see anything.” You crossed your arms above your chest to show your discontent. He had to be kidding you. “ Well maybe I saw a few things. But it wasn’t anything I had never really seen.”             The red haired girl suddenly looked horrified. “ Wait, what?” But no one paid attention to her. “ Oh, because the fact we fucked a couple of times grants you the authorisation to consider me as a living breathing porn movie.”     “ You two … you … What?” Barbara mumbled. Three weeks on a honeymoon and everything had gone to shit.           “ Long story, Babs.”   “ Not that long. 20 minutes each time, is that it?” You confessed with a sneer.                 “ Like you didn’t enjoy it.”     “ STOP!!!” Barbara shouted. You both immediately shut up and breathed in and out deeply to calm yourself. “I didn’t call to listen to you guys talking about such intimate things. So this is what we are going to do. We are going to act as adults and listen to each other, okay?”

None of you replied but Oracle took it has a sign you were both ready to do as she said. “ I want Y/N out of the mission.” You sighed and opened you mouth to defend yourself but Barbara ordered you to stay silent. “It’s too dangerous. You’re not trained enough for this and you’re especially too emotionally involved” He cared about you. You knew he did. But he couldn’t ask you this. “I watched you. It’s true. I shouldn’t have. But imagine what I felt when I saw Jason hurting you, Y/N, when I saw him chocking you. He could have killed you.”         “ He didn’t. He would never hurt me. It was an accident.”             “ Do you even hear yourself?” He asked, completely staggered by your naivety. “Have you seen your bruises?” Yes you have. But they did not matter. They were just bruises. Part of the job. “ He needs us, Dick. He needs me. I know I can help him.”           “ He is sick!” He shouted, hoping to reason you. “ He’s my brother, Y/N. I care about him too. But Jason took the name of the Red Hood, a name Joker had once. He killed Killermoth. He killed Black Mask and so many other people. He put Gotham to fire and the sword. He kidnapped Barbara. He tried to kill Bruce and he’s responsible for everything that’s happened lately. You can’t help him. He needs professional help.”     “ How can you say that?” You asked with eyes widened and watery. The Dick Grayson you knew would never say such awful things. He would not let his family down like that.             “ It’s the truth.”         “ You want to send him to a new Arkham Asylum? What a fantastic idea! Being locked up in the same kind of place in which he was tortured for over a year. I thought you were smarter than that… No I thought you were more compassionate than that. What a Batman move for someone who doesn’t want to be him and who has been whining like a kid for the past months because there is no way for him to wear the cowl and give back hope to this city”     “ Y/N!!” Barbara shouted but you didn’t listen. Instead you came closer to Dick with clenched fists. “You don’t wanna do what Bruce had planned for you? Fine. But let me do what was expected from me, what you all expected from me. Let me do what I want. Dangerous or not.” He frowned, not liking your tone at all. But he was wiser than you. “What was asked of you Y/N?”     “ To save Jason.”  You replied simply. He shook his head. “No. The mission was to keep an eye on Jason and to do what was necessary if he ever crossed the line. What is necessary is not comforting him using sex or whispering sweet words to his ear. What is necessary is to put him behind bars and give him the help he truly needs. You agreed to this when you volunteered. You agreed to do anything to make sure he would not go on a killing spree. You agreed to deceive him if you had too. You failed. So now you’re out of the mission.”

You rolled over and over in your bed. You couldn’t sleep. Out of the mission? Maybe was it a good thing after all. But out of the family? No way.     You sighed deeply and closed you eyes, trying to find some sleep. But no time to meet Mr Sandman. A small noise and your eyes were open again. The window had creaked and now you could feel a small breeze on your skin. You sat up and you saw him, in his gear, knelt on the floor. “Jay?” You frowned.

You repeated his name another time when you heard no sound coming from his mouth but a heavy panting distorted by his mask. “Baby.” You worried as you immediately got up to kneel before him. “What is it?” He didn’t answer, focused on his breathing or maybe was his mind completely elsewhere. You took off his red hood to help him breathe and threw it on the ground. The light bump on the wooden floor made him jump.         He was completely alarmed and frightened, like a hunted stag. His now-red face was covered in sweat and his black hair were completely wet. But what worried you the most was that terror in his blue eyes. The pupils were weirdly contracted and he looked as if he didn’t know where he was or what was going on. “Jay.” You whispered, heartbroken, trying to bring him back to you. You reached out to caress his cheek but he hissed and moved backwards. “I’m … su…focating” He managed to say.       Tears started streaming down your cheeks. You never felt so helpless, so useless or so scared and seeing him in such pain was tearing your heart out.

Without thinking, you jumped on him to hug him tight. You were not sure it was the right thing to do but it happened as a reflex, as a way to show him or whoever was hurting him that he was yours and that you were there to protect him. He immediately screamed in pain and tried to push you away but you resisted and used all your weight to keep him still. You forced him to nestle his face in your neck and then you whispered sweet loving words in his ear, your hand caressing his hair. “I’m here. I’m with you, baby. I’m not leaving.”  

He started to slowly relax. The cries and screams began to fade and now you could feel his heart beating against your chest going back to a more leisurely rhythm. “You’re okay.” The panting soon disappeared and Jason let himself slide along your body as if he couldn’t stay straight anymore. You held him back, his head against your chest, and he clang to your body as a baby koala. “Shh” You whispered still caressing his hair.     “ Don’t ever leave me. Don’t ever let me down” He cried against you.       “I won’t” You kissed the top of his head and you both remained like this for a couple of minutes before you helped him stand up to sit him down on your bed.

“He was in my head.” You nodded and murmured, “I know” as you brushed away his sweaty strands of hair away from his forehead. “He was laughing” You took off his black and white leather jacket. “That sick son of a bitch.” He was still in chock, still a bit disconnected from reality but you let him talk. He needed it. He needed someone to listen to him, to take care of him. You removed his gloves and his thick long-sleeved top to leave him bare-chested on your bed and soon unstrapped his shin guards and holsters. “I want him gone. I want him gone from my head. I want my life back” You looked up at him with a compassionate look. “But I won’t have it back, will I?”         “ Just give it some time.” You tried to be optimistic. “ It’s been years.” He mumbled as you removed his boots. “But you didn’t have me.” You timidly whispered. He stared at you and put a hand on your cheeks in a weird attempt to caress it. He was so uncomfortable when loving touches were involved. “I didn’t have you.”         He made you straddle him to gaze at you the same way a believer would look at a goddess. You were so pure to him, so delicate, so surreal that sometimes he would wonder if you were not the fruit of hallucinations created by his mind to help him process all the raging emotions inside of him. “I don’t know what I would be without you”           You smiled lightly. “Just lay down.” He nodded and you pushed him flat on the mattress to take off his trousers so that he would be in his boxers.  Then you lied down next to him and took his arm to make him spoon you since you knew he would not do it himself even if wanted it.  He loudly smelt the perfume in your hair, tightened his embrace and closed his eyes. “I love you so much.”       “ I love you too.” You gave a faint smile and turned around to kiss him. And what was supposed to be a simple peck on the lips became something more needy, something that sucked the air from your lungs. You were his oxygen. And if it was what he needed then fine.

Screw them all. Screw their stupid mission. You had your own agenda now.

If Jason Todd trusted you then you knew you couldn’t deceive him anymore.

If Jason Todd trusted you then you would do anything to show how worthy of his trust you were.

[admin-cock-creations]

A Worthy Investment

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Fandom: N/A Pairing: Achim Lankanotvitch [OC] / Taryn Nargarian [OC] Summary: Achim goes down to see if his latest investment has been worth it or not, and Taryn has quite the surprise to show him. Length: 1,760 words Warnings: N/A Other Locations: AO3

A little treat for my wonderful gf @achim-and-bruce and her amazing OC <3

The nip of November chill had begun to seep into the TCCS facility, reminding the infamous Achim Lankanotvitch of the fact that he should have a better AC unit installed soon before the place grew any colder. Time had seemed to fly by the past few months leading up to that point. Usually, the dark-haired man was used to running the facility alone and doing most important tasks by himself, but with the recent hiring of the woman he used to call his enemy, there was no longer a massive stack of work constantly looming over his shoulder.

The latest addition to the facility – a woman by the name of Taryn Nargarian – seemed rather eager to please from day one and had taken every job she was assigned without a word of discontent. Even when there was still an air of distrust between her and her boss, she was nothing less than over productive in her work. She’d quickly risen through the ranks and had even approached her boss for permission to have her own section added to the facility recently. It was no secret that she was one of – if not the top—best robot builder around. She’d had original funding from a rather prestigious company and learned from the best, so it took little thought from Achim to agree and quickly have a robotics laboratory and the required workers prepared for his latest apprentice.

Speaking of the woman, he couldn’t recall a time in the past few months when he’d seen her for more than a few moments when she was getting paperwork signed or dropping off something.

A look of thought caused the man’s brows to furrow a bit, tapping his pen against the notes he’d been quickly writing down on his prized experiment. Truthfully, even with her addition to the facility, Taryn had been busy as ever and kept almost everything off Achim’s shoulders, so he wasn’t busy, and he had yet to see the robotics lab for himself. Perhaps it was time to take a trip down there and see what the madwoman was up to.

The two soldiers who stood guard outside the office overlooking the center enclosure were quick to snap to attention as the doors slid open, prepared to escort their boss until he wordlessly motioned for them to stay put. The elevator was just down the corridor, and surely there was at least one guard downstairs with all the important equipment Taryn used for her work. He rarely came down to the lower levels of the facility, most of the jobs done there were for the soldiers and lesser workers, and he almost felt bad for having the lab built there.

Almost.

With a soft ding, the doors to the elevator slid open, revealing a pristine corridor lined with six guards and a large steel door at the end. The only sound was of the man’s shoes tapping against the floor until he reached the door, pulling a card from his coat pocket and swiping it past the scanner to his right. There was a distinct beep, and a red light above the door went blue before the heavy sound of machinery whirring began. The British woman must have designed the door. It certainly wasn’t something he would have installed himself but the mechanics behind it seemed quite impressive. There were a few minutes of gears grinding and latches being undone before the heavy doors opened, revealing the bustle of people and hum of work in the robotics section.

Brows lifting slightly and blinking once, Achim couldn’t help but stand there with his arms folded behind his back, taking in the expansive setup his apprentice led. Machines tirelessly worked on melting metal and forming it into unique parts, dozens of workers bustled about with materials and papers that he could only guess contained plans for current and future projects, and a few screens on the walls ran statistics and data by so quickly the man couldn’t catch a single bit of information.

He must have looked clearly out of place as he stood there in front of the security door because a worker who appeared to be a little higher ranking soon approached with a clipboard, speaking hesitantly to him with a soft voice.

“Mr. Lankanotvitch, are you here to speak with Ms. Nargarian?”

Achim snapped his attention to the worker, brows lowering again as he spoke in a firm tone.

“Speak up, you. I can barely hear over all this machinery.”

The worker was a little shaken but cleared their throat and spoke up quickly.

“I’ll take you to Ms. Nargarian’s office, sir. She’s been waiting for you.”

Waiting for him? How did she know he was coming?

He said nothing further, instead focusing his attention back on the work around them as he was led to a quieter section of the laboratory. Here workers spoke in hushed tones and looked over mountains of paperwork, a few speaking over phones in different languages. In the very back was a large office, and the worker knocked gently before speaking up.

“Ms. Nargarian, Mr. Lankanotvitch is here to see you.”

There was a pause of silence before the woman’s voice rang out.

“Thank you. Leave us be now.”

It was clear now this person was something akin to an assistant, and they bowed quickly before leaving the man alone in front of the door, allowing him to open it and enter the unknown space of Taryn’s private office.

The room was much emptier than his own office. Pure white walls were empty, filing cabinets with open drawers had yet to be filled entirely, and even though the lab had been around for a few months now, the woman still was without a proper desk and was working diligently at a makeshift workbench with a simple wooden chair. Once he entered, however, her attention snapped to him, and she stood with a small smile.

“Good day, sir. I was hoping you’d make your way down to the lab sometime soon.”

Achim pretended to look around the room some more, eyes focusing on everything except her as he spoke calmly and lowly.

“Is that so? You speak as if you have something to show, aside from the mediocre entourage you’re in charge of. I merely came down to see what that large chunk of July’s budget was spent on.”

The redhead nodded silently, accepting her boss’ characteristically harsh words without a complaint. Clasping her hands behind her back, she drew up what confidence she had at the moment and spoke openly.

“Well, I do have something more to show you, sir. That is, if you don’t mind a short trip up to the loading docks. Unfortunately, the space in the lab wasn’t big enough to house the final model of the prototype I was designing for you.”

That piqued his curiosity. Although he wasn’t about to admit or show it in his expression, he did finally look at the woman properly, arching his brow a bit and staring her down until he sighed heavily.

“I suppose a short trip couldn’t hurt. But make it quick. I don’t want to be standing out in the cold for too long, there’s already a nip upstairs.”

A pleased smile briefly crossed the Brit’s lips, and she slipped on her matching onyx lab coat before leading him back into the corridor. Walking down a smaller hallway, the pair entered another elevator and began their ride to the surface. The air steadily got colder, and Achim huffed a bit as he buttoned his lab coat the rest of the way, at least to preserve a little warmth. His apprentice, however, kept her coat open and a satisfied smile on her lips, even as they finally reached the loading docks and unfiltered November wind hit them directly in the face. With a heavy, shivering breath, her boss shoved his hands under each arm, desperately keeping in as much warmth as he could and speaking harshly to her once more as they walked towards the nearest hangar.

“This had better be good, Nargarian! I’m already questioning giving you that laboratory.”

Rushing ahead of him, the woman pulled a lever to get the hangar door to slowly groan open, a smile still on her face as she back up towards him once more. Not another word was spoken from her end, and she stopped a few feet in front of him, facing the pitch blackness of the inside of the building as the cold wind whipped her fiery hair and lab coat about. Lifting a single hand, she snapped once, crisp and clear.

Then the only sound was the wind.

Achim was quickly growing irritated, and as his lips parted to yell at Taryn he was interrupted by a loud mechanical hum.

Inside the darkness of the hangar, three distinct sets of glowing eyes appeared. One yellow, one orange, and one blood red. The hum grew louder, and the ground began to tremble slightly as the man spoke in an unsure, slightly panicked tone.

“What the hell is that?”

Instead of the redhead answering, his response was given in the form of a massive paw stepping out from the darkness and crushing into the asphalt. Slowly but fluidly, three terrifyingly massive mechanical wolves emerged from the hangar, jaws snapping and unearthly growls rumbling in their synthetic bodies.

The dark-haired man couldn’t stop himself from taking a few steps back out of shock, jaw dropping as he gazed between the robots and the woman standing proudly before them. Never before had he experienced fear of her, but now, as he looked upon how she stood before her monstrous creations and imagined how she looked as her army of robots destroyed her past boss and company, Achim felt a pang of fear for what this woman was capable of.

The robotic wolves continued stepping closer until they were before their creator, the center beast lowering its large metal head to allow the tiny woman to press her hand to its snout as it huffed. She was clearly pleased with her work, and she pat the robot without fear before turning to face her boss, a wild look in her eyes that matched the wildness of her windblown hair.

“Well… what do you think, sir?”

Achim gawked in pure silence, having totally forgotten the chill of the air as his gaze flicked back and forth between the three massive robots and his apprentice until he finally spoke.

“I think you’ve got great potential here at TCCS.”

[neremite-blog]

Pilgrims In Motion

Psalm 84:4 “Happy are the people whose strength is in you! Whose hearts are set on the pilgrim’s way…” 

I like the word “pilgrim”. A traveler. A wayfarer. Someone on a journey. Bruce Cockburn sings in his song The Gift that everything is motion and therefore to the motion be true. I love that line! He also says in the song that not even Death can make us static. We keep journeying. Pilgrims are in motion; they refuse to grow stale, refuse boredom, refuse the status quo. Eugene Peterson would have agreed with this. He wrote about the movement of God’s love and how it moves us into new places of creativity, and yet the crazy thing is, that movement can start with loss. 

The need to let go of the trapeze bar, hang in the air for what seems like an interminable amount of time, then grab onto the next bar. Having arms so full we can’t receive anything new - we have to let go of all that stuff in order to get something fresh and new. We can feel deprived in these instances - deprived of things, deprived of safety, deprived of the familiar, deprived of the comfortable. And yet we are called to be pilgrims, people in motion. Letting go of the old to make room for the new. 

My pastor, Beth Larocca Pitts, preached on Luke’s version of Jesus’ Beatitudes. Luke has weal and woe, blessed are and cursed are. And each of them border on absurd: blessed are the poor and cursed are those who laugh now. How can being poor be blessed? What’s so wrong with laughing? Beth suggested that Luke is showing that all things are in transition, nothing lasts, not the bad nor the good. Impermanence. Things come and things go. Ralph Waldo Emerson wrote about this idea in his essay “Circles”. This too shall pass is the basic premise; the Circle of Life sort of thing. It’s all in motion. It’s up to us, with God’s help, to keep up with it all. 

A poem called The Road of Life by Unknown (found in Tim Hansel’s excellent book Holy Sweat) is all about meeting Jesus and inviting him to ride on a tandem bicycle with you. Eventually Jesus suggests that he take the lead and then the real adventures begin - wild rides and gorgeous vistas, taking him places he never would have gone on his own. An adventure. Steven Curtis Chapman sang about this. The Great Adventure, the wild west, setting off in unknown directions, seeing new beauty, life untamed and unpredictable and glorious - a life with God. Motion. Exploration. 

Eugene Peterson writes, “The road we travel is the well-traveled road of discipleship. It is not a way of boredom or despair or confusion. It is not a miserable groping, but a way of blessing.” Travelers on the way. Living life to its fullest. Yes, we work and eat and pay bills and sleep, and wake up the next day and do it all over again. But God implores us to not just live for the weekends or long for that next vacation. God wants us to be pilgrims; God wants us to be in motion, every day. To see Life as God sees it. Feeling bored, restless, discontented? It’s time to look to God with fresh eyes so that we can really see the world and our life within it; willing to let go of the comfortable and go where God leads. Willing to risk loss and deprivation in order to bear new Life into our world. We are called to be in motion, to resist being static. We are called to be pilgrims.

[camsthisky]

Stephanie and "whose blood is that?"

Turns out the next fic is right now. Go figure. Thanks to anonymous for donating! You didn’t leave a prompt, so I just chose one from my inbox.

Stephanie is sittingon the island in Alfred’s kitchen at four in the morning when it happens. Thelights flip on, Stephanie’s head snaps up from the ice cream she’s devouring,and Bruce Wayne asks, “Whose blood is that?”

All in all, not a verygood way to start her day, Stephanie thinks. Or end it. It is fourin the morning, after all, and Steph hasn’t really gone to sleep yet. She’dskipped patrol since she’d been exhausted and spent—and considering she doesn’tlike to half kill herself when she knows she’s at her limit like half thecrazies in this house do—and all she’d wanted was some ice cream and some peaceand quiet in order to think.

Of course, Bruce justhad to ruin that for her.

And then Bruce’squestion registers with her. She looks down at the front of her shirt. There’sblood staining it–old, she knows. From an old gunshot wound that had bledthrough bandages and her thin shirt while she’d slept, and Steph hadn’tbothered to try washing it when she was well enough to move. She knows there’sno way it’s coming out now. Not unless Alfred’s involved, at least.

“Mine,” Steph says,shoving another spoonful of mint chocolate chip ice cream into her mouth. Bruceis still tense, though, so when she swallows, she continues, “Chill. Ithappened like a bazillion years ago. It was the cleanest shirt I had.”

Bruce’s face does thatweird thing where his emotions try to come out or something, but Stephanieknows for a fact that Bruce doesn’t know how to deal with emotions that aren’tanger or discontent, so she isn’t surprised when a frown is the thing to winthe Battle of Feelings.

“Don’t hurt yourself,”Steph jokes.

“Why are you in mykitchen?” he asks, and then he glances at the clock like he hadn’t alreadyknown exactly what time it was with his freaky Batman powers—andyes. They were definitely powers. Otherwise, there’s no way that Bruce wouldhave known anything about that bruise she’d gotten from the Riddler when Brucehadn’t even known she’d fought the Riddler. Because he’d beenshot himself. He was freaky that way.

Anyways. Bruce glances at the clock. And then hisfrown grows deeper. Oh goody. More feelings. Or more of the same feeling. Atleast she’s got him confused. It’s usually on Jason that has the pleasure ofbaffling the Batman.

“It’s four in themorning,” Bruce says.

“I know.”

“And you’re in mykitchen.”

“Technically it’smore Alfred’s kitchen than yours,” Steph tells him, stuffingmore ice cream in her mouth. It’s Dick’s ice cream, she remembers, but it’s theonly thing in the freezer that had looked appealing. She’ll buy him a new tublater, if he wants. “And besides, I thought I was welcome here.”

“You are,” Bruce says,his eyebrows furrowed. Oh look, more emotions. Steph thinks that maybe sheshould do this more often.

Actually, she thinksback to what led to today’s venture for ice cream and sitting in Bruce Wayne’s—Alfred’s—kitchen,and she doesn’t really want to experience that shitty day running aroundbetween college classes that ran into one another, assholes who wouldn’t knowrespect even if it hit them straight in the face, and Tim who was workinghimself ragged again. It had been a tiring day, and she’s had enough of thosein her life.

“Are you alright?”Bruce asks her.

“Ohhh,” Steph says, asmirk playing on her lips. “Was that actual concern from Bruce Wayne Iheard?” Bruce shoots her an impressed look, and Steph’s smirk falters, and shelets it fall. “Sorry. I didn’t mean that. Thanks for letting me crashhere.”

“Anytime, Stephanie,”Bruce says, and then he hesitates, looking a little uncertain. His eyes flickto the ice cream Steph’s still eating. “Just make sure you replace thatbefore Dick finds out. He’s staying in the manor for the week.”

Steph thinks thatwasn’t what Bruce had been about to say, but she smiles anyway, giving Bruce asloppy one-handed salute. “Whatever you say, Boss man.”

Bruce nods, and thenhe leaves. The lights stay on. Stephanie eats ice cream. It’s odd, she thinks.She still feels exhausted, but she feels a bit more settled than before. Maybeher ex-boyfriend’s and current best friend’s dad deserves a little more creditthan Stephanie gives him.

She definitely won’t tell anyone that, but she can think it.

[carbonjen]

French Revolution/Le mis jaydick AU where Dick is a prominent member of high society and Jason is a student leading the revolution and they meet during the revolt.

This was really fun to write and I can definitely see myself continuing it. What can I say, I’m a sucker for period pieces involving nobility in France.

Revolution in Love

Things in Paris had been rough to say the least. Dick knew what it was like to grow up in poverty, being in the circus meant travelling and performing, but it also meant he shared a small cart with his parents and on winter nights they curled up for warmth. People used to spit on him as he walked through the streets. When his parents died, Dick had been privy to the experience of the French orphanage for a day before Bruce Wayne came and took him in. He remembered how horrible it was, the beds were too small, the blankets were made of a rough material that didn’t keep him warm, and the boys were cruel. They went through the little things that he had and said it was a curse from God that his parents died because they were gypsies.

Despite living in Bruce Wayne’s home, Dick was well aware that things on the streets of Paris were bad. The people didn’t have enough money to eat, the cold ravaged them, made them sick, and they looked up at him with hatred anytime he walked by.

Dick and Bruce did all they could. They donated to the poor houses, Bruce even opened his own orphanage and held lavish galas and balls to raise money for the poor. The charities lauded him, and so did the other members of Paris high society. Bruce was a Chevalier, a member of the nobility that had a family name that went back generations and had accomplished much for France. He owned properties all over the country, had supported the army in the fights against the English, German, and Dutch. It was rumored that he had even advised the king on occasion. However that would mean the king listened to him and acted for France instead of helping the people.

Dick was explaining this to a group of people at a party when one of them- Elise, the daughter of a Baron- put a hand on his shoulder.

“Richard, we really do appreciate your kindness, but we hear enough politics from our parents. We are here tonight to celebrate!”

“Celebrate what, Elise?” Dick asked.

“A birthday, a marriage, anything and everything that can be celebrated. The poor are suffering, yes, but must we really suffer because they do?”

Dick opened his mouth to reply but he was cut off.

“Richard, please, enjoy yourself for once.” Elise turned to one of the nearby servants and grabbed a glass of champagne, placing it in his hand. “There are many pretty women here,” she said as she nudged his shoulder. “Men too.”

“Are you trying to marry me off, Elise?”

“She’s trying to make sure you enjoy yourself, Richard. When was the last time you let go and enjoyed yourself?” This time, Jacque, the son of a Duke, piped in. “We are lucky enough to live in Paris instead of being cooped up in Versailles, live a little Grayson.”

“I don’t think I’ve seen Richard enjoying himself since his birthday celebration, even then, I think we had more fun than he did.”

“You probably did,” Dick said. “I was hosting.”

Elise reached over, tugging his cravat and ruffling his hair. “Finish that glass of champagne and get another, tonight, we celebrate!”

-

“Tonight, we fight!” Jason shouted. “The nobility doesn’t care about us, and we must show them that we deserve bread! Let them eat cake? Let them eat justice!”

The crowd cheered and Jason grinned. The unrest in Paris has grown and it is time for a change, but it cannot happen without the people rising up and letting the monarchy know that they are fighters. While the Queen spends the money that they earn for the monarchy, people starve in poorhouses. Jason, an orphan, is lucky to be alive. A child in Paris should not have to survive by stealing and selling themselves, but it is what the world has become. No more.

Jason steps down from the table he was standing on, listening to the buzz in the room. It’s the buzz of progress, the buzz of their future. He can feel it fueling him like the hottest of fires. They are planning a protest in one of the richer areas of Paris, in hopes that the nobility will hear them. It’s risky, marching through the streets and demanding change, but it will let the nobility know they are voices that need to be heard.

“Come now,” Jason shouts. “Grab your torches, ready your voices. The time for change begins now!”

The crowd cheers again and Jason leads them on a march of the city. It works well at first, but the further they go, the more out of control the crowd gets. A man steps out of his home to yell at them and a few members fight him. Some start running, and the crowd grows when more of the upset poor grow in. They do not know to keep things calm, and soon Jason is overwhelmed. He tries to maintain the peace, but around him all he sees is fire and anger. All he hears are the shouts of discontent and chaos.

-

Dick managed to escape the party after only two glasses of champagne, but the moment he stepped onto the streets, something felt wrong. There was an orange glow in the sky and he could hear the roar of a crowd. They weren’t cheering, like he was used to hearing at the circus or at parties. They were screaming in anger. He made his way back towards the Wayne home, but the streets grew more crowded. There were men and women with torches, yelling about the royals, and when they saw him, they aimed their anger at him. He ran, climbing over messes in the alleys and he managed to escape temporarily, but he always seemed to run back into another crowd.

The orange glow in the sky cast the buildings in a strange light, and when Dick stepped out onto a quieter street, he realized he’d lost his bearings. He knew Paris well, but the shouts of anger, the rush of running from the crowd, and the eerie light made him feel lost.

He turned around a corner and smacked straight into another person. He took in the man, his worn out coat, his shaggy hair, and the lack of overall formality. The man was holding a burnt out torch and Dick stepped back, knowing he must have been part of the revolt.

“Please,” Dick said as he held his hands up. “I’m just trying to return home. I don’t want trouble.”

“Did they do this to you?” The man asked, pointing to the rips in Dick’s coat from where they’d grabbed at him.

“Yes,” Dick said. “Listen, I understand the people are angry and I’ve heard them, but I cannot help unless I am allowed to go home.”

“Where are you from?” The man asked. The street didn’t have any angry protesters, but the light still hung in the air, illuminating the planes of the man’s face. Despite everything, the man was extremely handsome.

“I live on Rue Scribe, right near L’Opera.”

“You’re far from your home,” the man said. “On the wrong side of the river.”

“I got lost,” Dick said. “I was at a party and I left but the people had taken to the streets and they were screaming at me, grabbing me, I didn’t know where to go, so I ran and I ended up here.”

“What’s your name?”

“Dick Grayson.”

The stranger’s eyebrows shot up. “Of House Wayne?”

“Yes.”

“I’ve heard lots of things about your father,” the man said. “And luckily for you, not many of them have been bad. I’ve heard things about you too.”

“What kinds of things?” Dick asked, still afraid that this man may hurt him.

“That you’re kind, charitable, a gypsy, and that you’re quite good looking.” The man looked him over. “Listen, I’ll let you come stay with me tonight. I was the one that planned this and it got out of hand. I wanted a message to be heard, but now there’s only chaos.”

“You organized this?”

“It was supposed to be a peaceful march through the streets, but I underestimated the anger of the people. I don’t have much, but I will let you into my home because you and your family have done more for us than anyone else has. In return I only ask that you support us.”

“I do,” Dick whispered, stepping in close. Voicing support of a revolution was risky. If the wrong person heard, he could be beheaded.

“Good.” The man held out a hand. “My name is Jason Todd. Take off your coat and take mine. It will make you look a little less obvious.”

Dick shed his coat and slipped Jason’s on. It was warm and didn’t smell terribly. The rumors that the poor smelled terrible were awful and rampant. The only ones that smelled bad were the ones that didn’t have access to clean water, but Dick also knew that was a high number. He folded his coat over his arms, a little surprised that Jason didn’t ask for it.

He followed Jason through the streets and watched as the buildings grew more dilapidated and rough. He had been through the poorer areas of Paris before, but this was a much more personal view. They got to a house and Jason opened the door for him, guiding him inside. They went up a few narrow staircases to the top floor of the building.

“It may be warmer in the summer, but the heat from the building stays at the top,” Jason said. “It makes winters easier. I keep the roof and windows sealed and it isn’t so bad.”

Jason opened the door and while the apartment was modest, it wasn’t terrible. There was a fireplace in the main area, and a bed tucked away to the back. The kitchen was made up of a few shelves and a large wooden table, but it seemed sturdy.

Dick set his coat down on one of the chairs and handed the one he was wearing back to Jason. “Thank you for letting me stay here.” He said.

“Of course,” Jason went back to the small kitchen area and rummaged around. He pulled out some cheese and started cutting it. “Would you like anything to eat?”

“No, no,” Dick said. “I don’t need anything, please don’t waste your food on me. I know how much it costs.”

Jason looked up at him for a long moment. “How about wine then? They say that the wine is less likely to make you ill than the water here.”

“I’ll take some,” Dick said as he sat down on a small chaise near the fireplace. Jason joined him a minute later, handing him a glass of wine before he sat down and sipped at his own glass, eating cheese with a bit of salted fish.

Dick sipped at the wine and it wasn’t bad. It was a table wine, cheap, not aged very long, but it was still made from decent grapes.

“So what is it that you do when you’re not planning revolts?” He asked.

“I read,” Jason said as he gestured back to a bookshelf filled with books. Most of them were old and worn, but Dick saw that as a sign of appreciation. “I managed to get a copy of Machiavelli’s The Prince and it’s quite obvious our own King never read it.”

“I’ve heard he’s more obsessed with locks and keys than ruling a country,” Dick said. “It is quite difficult to become a king at such a young age, but you have to think, he’s been raised to be a king. He should be better at it.”

“He went and got into another country’s war when we already couldn’t afford it,” Jason said. “Look at where that’s left us.”

“Even though we were poor, I almost wish I was still with the circus some days,” Dick mused as he took another sip out of his wine. “We went from country to country and didn’t have to deal with taxes or worry about monarchies, only our own problems. It was nice. Simpler than all of this.”

“Only a rich man can wish he was poor again,” Jason said. “A poor man can only wish he survives.”

“I’m sorry,” Dick looked down. “It’s terrible of me to be saying these things here.”

“Don’t worry,” Jason replied. “You’re more aware than any rich man I’ve ever met. And ten times more handsome.”

Dick could feel heat on his cheeks and he knew it wasn’t from the wine or the warmth of Jason’s apartment. “You’re also much more handsome than any rich man I’ve ever met,” Dick replied. “And I would know. You see lots of them at the circus.”

“Well I’m glad to know that I’m at least handsome,” Jason said with a small smile. He had the loveliest eyes, a shade of blue green that matched the sea.

“I don’t know you well yet, but I’d also bet you’re quite smart.” Dick noticed that the space between them was growing smaller, but he didn’t mind.

“And what else do you think I am?” Jason asked. Dick’s eyes moved down to Jason’s lips, his tongue darted out and wetted them.

“Oh,” Dick whispered, eyes meeting Jason’s again. “Lots of things.”

Their lips met and Dick sighed. Jason tasted like wine and something else, it reminded him of the way it felt to fly through the air on a trapeze. It felt like falling, but into the most beautiful abyss he could ever imagine.

“There’s only one bed,” Jason said. “But I don’t think you’ll mind that very much.”

Dick grinned. “Definitely smart.”