#fic year 23

[zarvasace]

14. A fic you didn't expect to write?

14. a fic you didn't expect to write

I participated in three once-a-day monthly challenges this year—February, April, AND July, not to mention a few ask game minifics, so most of what I published this year was unexpected. But! I will say that Nayru's Thorns was REALLY unexpected. It was an expansion of a smaller fic I wrote for a prompt for Blue/Red, and I liked it so much I turned it into a bigger fic. :)

A matching Vidow fairytale AU is technically in the works, but I got so frustrated with it. I still love it though... I want to share that one.

[monocaelia]

fragile.

' you have broken down my defenses, and i don’t really resent it. ' - vita sackville west

in which you really don't want to care about him and his careless attitude, but you always find yourself coming back to him. always. feat. diluc ragnvindr & gn!reader w.c : 5k warnings : childhood friends to lovers, diluc lore spoilers, minor angst but ends w fluff, diluc ragnvindr. note : happy new year! sorry for the delay hehe, but this is for @seraphiism's 2023 collab event !! please support the other authors and enjoy the fic ^^

your mother had always instructed you to stay close to her side, to never stray far away from her lest you find yourself in trouble with the master of the winery or the other servants working the orchards and tending to the land of the estate.

but with a beautiful land of ripe grapes and friendly staff greeting you as you rush past them, how could you ever just sit still beside your mother as she did her job around the winery?

the late summer breeze rushes past your face as you weave through the wooden stakes holding the wiry vines of grapes above you. the warm sun rays heat your skin as you leap over the small rocks that litter the passage leading into the main area of the ragnvindr estate. the wind whispers in your ear, making you grin as your little legs take you wherever it guides you.

you feel free, the wind pushing past your wings to lead you to your newest adventure around the manor.

your feet land firmly on the grounds behind the manor when you hear the gentle sniffles coming from behind a couple of barrels. despite your mother's warnings echoing in your head, you take gentle steps towards the sound as curiosity takes over.

you're not expecting to see a young boy with fiery red hair and matching eyes that hold the warmest, flickering fire glaring up at you with tears at the corner of his eyes and holding a bleeding knee.

"...are you okay?" you ask, kneeling down beside him. you begin to frown when he pulls his knee away from you and his glare deepens.

"i don't need your help," the young boy hisses at you and you roll your eyes.

"really? you don't need my help even though you're crying in a corner all by yourself?" you scoff at him. he doesn't say anything in retaliation and you take it as an okay for you to help him.

you pull a handkerchief from your pocket; nothing too fancy as your family couldn't afford the finest silks like the nobles could. it's cotton, white, and had a simple design of a little sparrow emroidered in the corner.

"i don't have any bandages on me," you mumble softly. your little fingers gently wrap the handkerchief around the young boy's knee several times before tying a small knot on it. without even blinking, you lean down to kiss the wounded knee.

"what are you doing?!" the young boy exclaims, yanking his knee away.

"kissing it better," you say as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. "my mother always does that when i get hurt. she says it takes the pain away and makes it heal faster."

"that's stupid," the boy mumbles with a glare.

"says the one who tripped and fell and hurt himself," you argue back. you stick your tongue out when the boy shouts out a 'hey!' and roll your eyes.

"who are you and what are you doing here anyways?" you ask the young boy, kneeling beside him once more. he's still glaring at you, but it's less hostile than it was a few moments ago. "my mom said strangers aren't allowed to be here."

the young boys eyes are red, vibrantly so. the life in them burn brightly, reminding you of a fire as it flickers with warmth and a promise of a brighter tomorrow. like the hearth of a fireplace, the young boy seems to be the incarnate of warmth itself with the way he's filled with the flame of life.

"i live here, dummy," he quips back at you with a frown and your eyes widen.

"really? i've never seen you around, and i've been everywhere on this estate," you reply, bringing your thumb and forefinger to your chin as you remain deep in thought. truly, the only people you've managed to catch were all adults working for the master of this winery. never once have you seen a kid running along.

with a bright smile of your own, you lean towards the young boy. "we should be friends! since i don't know anyone else to play with here, we can play!"

the boy looks you up and down with furrowed brows, but he slowly nods. "...okay," he mumbles and you grin brighter.

"great! what's your name then? i'm-"

your name is shouted as hurried footsteps rush towards you. your mother pulls you aside as she looks at the young boy in front of you with panicked eyes.

"young master, i'm so sorry if my child said or did anything to hurt you," your mother says in a rush. she pushes your head down to bow in front of the young boy. she hisses something into your ear and you stutter out your own apology too, even if you did nothing wrong.

you find out the young boy you helped earlier that day was the son of the nobleman your mother works for, diluc ragnvindr. apparently, he's some big deal because he's the young master, but what kind of big deal hurts himself and hides between the barrels instead of asking for help?

you huff as you kick your feet sitting down by your bedside. because of the whole debacle, your mother had ordered you to stay inside to prevent even more debacles from happening even if you explained that the young master getting injured was not your fault. the sun shining from your windowsill feels so far away as you stare outside and ponder what to do.

until you hear a light pattering sound come from your window.

your curiosity is piqued as your small frame approaches the glass panes, wide eyes peeking over the wooden frame as your eyes scan the scenery.

the foliage of the trees surrounding your home cast shadows over your house with small animals running back and forth from the greenery above, causing the rustling of the leaves. the sun trickles in through the gaps of the leaves and your eyes settle on the boy with red hair standing outside your window, a small rock in his hand.

there's a proper bandage on his knee now as it was properly dressed, and his fiery eyes meet yours. he looks hesitant at first, but his brows furrow and his lips open to prepare to speak.

"...come outside and play with me," he tells you when you push open the window in your bedroom, a slight pout in his voice.

"you got me in trouble," you reply shortly, "and now i'm stuck inside because of you."

the young boy bites his lip, pondering what he could do or say to make things better. from the way he's thinking hard enough for you to see steam coming out of his ears, you could tell that he was trying really hard to think of anything to say.

"i'm sorry," he mumbles, kicking the dirt with his shoe.

"sorry, what was that?" you ask, holding your ear out.

the young master huffs, his cheeks puffed out in annoyance. he stomps his foot before-

"i said 'i'm sorry'!"

you smile at him smugly before crossing your arms on the windowsill. it was amusing to see the supposed young master like this; for such a renowned young boy, he was such a cry baby.

"okay, i can't go outside, but we can still play inside if that's okay," you tell him with a bright smile. "i'll let you in!"

"diluc..." he says, red eyes meeting yours. he reminds you of a fire with the way he's looking at you; so full of life but almost burning you if you get him too riled up. but the flames are tame now compared to the anxious flickers you saw earlier before he apologized.

"okay; i'll let you in then, diluc!"

ever since that warm summer, you and diluc have been inseparable; every afternoon is spent exploring the land of the winery but never straying far enough to get lost or end up on the other side of the lake where monsters lurk.

you were there the evening master crepus brought home another young boy around your age home; his blue hair reminding you of the blueberries your mother bought from mondstadt for you to eat. it was a bit of an adjustment with another young boy to play with, but soon you got along well with him as well.

his bright blue eyes always sparkling as you invite him to play alongside diluc and his little hand held in yours. he reminded you of the stars above with the way his eyes twinkle with youth and reflect the night sky above you when the three of you snuck out of your homes to stargaze with your hands holding onto each other until the morning sun began to rise over the horizon.

with your hands held tightly with diluc's and kaeya's, your youth together was only just beginning.

it's a cool morning where the early frost is beginning to melt as the sun continues to rise over the horizon, spreading her warmth and love across the fields of dawn winery. the young master has been gone for a couple days now; something about some sort of knight exam or whatever happening in the city of mondstadt. you would have gone with him, but your duties lie in caring for the winery whilst your friends head off to the heart of mondstadt to finish their training and hopefully become part of the knights of favonius that crepus ragnvindr had always encouraged them to be a part of.

you know having their father's praise meant a lot to your dear friends and you could only hope for the best for both diluc and kaeya as they were off doing their duties.

your ears perk as your name is shouted through the winery along with the sound of hooves rapidly against the dirt road. over in the distance, you can make out a red haired young man galloping over on his steed at near full speed. with wide eyes, you try to tell him to slow down before you get trampled and-

"oof!" you groan as a heavy body slams into you, both his weight and warmth tackling you to the ground. you're thankful that his arms cradled your head as you both go tumbling into the dirt road underneath you and the only pain was that of your body against the floor.

you don't even get to question why diluc had tackled you to the floor when he pulls his face away from you, giving you a clear view of his expression. he's smiling brightly, a wide grin on his face and his eyes of rubies twinkling brighter than any flame you've ever seen. the flames of his soul flicker brilliantly in his excitement and you can't help your own match his energy.

"i got in!" diluc says, his boyish smile growing wider. the small divots in his cheeks are cute and evidence of how hard he was grinning at the news. "i passed the trials got to do the oath swear and- oh, i wish you could've been there!"

despite growing up into a more mature-ish teen, it is moments like these where you're reminded that even as time passes and he grows taller than you, diluc is still the bright eyed boy that you've known since you were young. he looks so cute, in an endearing way, when he eagerly tells you all about his trials and how tough they were.

you really hope that the young master stays the same as he is now.

with a gentle hand, you reach up to ruffle his hair; it's soft to the touch and your eyes don't miss the way diluc pauses in his excitement as your fingers weave into his hair. you assume it's because he's not used to your praise and brush it off, even as he leans into your touch and waits for your words.

"why don't we head inside first? i want to hear everything that happened, but inside where it's warm and comfortable rather than on the dirt floor, diluc," you say to him, a slight lilt in your voice. you laugh softly when you see his cheeks flush a little in embarrassment before he gets off of you.

"i apologize, i was just so eager to tell you," diluc says softly, reaching down to offer a hand to you. you take his hand; you can feel the natural warmth emanating from his body through his gloves and, before you know it, you've been pulled up from the ground. his arm wraps around your waist to assure that you're balanced as you stand up.

"i just," diluc begins. you watch him as the young master of the winery averts his gaze briefly before he meets yours, warm rubies enveloping you with nothing but the comfort he holds for you ever since you were both younger.

"i wanted you to be the first person i told and to tell you."

a wave of something pleasant washes over you knowing that diluc, the heir of dawn winery and one of the most hardworking and talented man in all of mondstadt, rushed back home on horseback in the early hours of this chilly morning just to announce the news to you in person.

just so he could be your first in regards to his good news.

you laugh softly as something warm settles into the pit of your heart, squeezing his hand in yours as you tug him towards the main mansion of the winery estate with no intentions of letting his go for the time being.

even with the budding flowers of youth begin to bloom and the happiness that was promised to you has yet to come, you would have never expected for the spring of your youth to end so abruptly.

it happened all so quickly; crepus ragnvindr wielding a delusion, his death and the anger of diluc exploding, and the fall of your friendship with kaeya and diluc.

you weren't given the details of either one's situation, just a witness of a near death experience and the unforgiven apologies spewing from kaeya's lips as he held his injured eye in the midst of the rain washing down on them as if mourning both the loss of crepus ragnvindr and the wound wedged deep between the relationship of the ragnvindr brothers.

it was like in a mere second, the once warm diluc that would blush and hold your hand so delicately had been wiped away and replaced by a diluc grieving the loss of his father as the flames of his anger and betrayal of both his own brother and the knights of favonius for trying to brush the murder of his father under the rug explode and engulf his entire being.

he doesn't even give you a proper goodbye, leaving only a letter dedicated to you and his vision dimly glowing on his nightstand behind.

it feels like a fever dream when you hear the news of diluc finally returning after all of these years. you don't even hear it from the man himself; rather, from the whispers and excited chatter that the master of dawn winery had returned home.

part of you is excited at the news that he's alive; with no news of his existence after he ran from home in search of the truth behind his father's death other than the faint glow and warmth radiating from his vision clutched in your hands when you missed and worried for him, you were ecstatic knowing that he truly was home now.

that he's alive and breathing and still with you.

and yet, another part of you twinges in pain that he didn't come to you and announce that he was home. he had left you without even a single goodbye, not even bothering to visit you and explain his situation before leaving you questioning whether or not he even cared about how you felt about him.

of course, you aren't entitled to being the first to know, but after growing up together and usually being the first to know of everything in your youth, your heart aches knowing you were one of the last to hear of this at the winery.

it doesn't help knowing that you have not even caught a glimpse of diluc after his supposed return.

so imagine your surprise coming home one evening, the cool night air biting against your skin as you return home after a long day's work, seeing a figure leaning against your home.

at first, your blood turns cold as your heart races in your ears; it couldn't be anyone bad... the winery is a safe place and any suspicious figures are dealt with accordingly before they even step close to the winery grounds. you don't even have anything to defend yourself against if they did happen to be someone with malicious intent.

you take a step back to turn tail back to the estate but freeze when you begin to recognize the figure outside your door; red curls resembling that of flames flickering in the air and warm ruby eyes that you could recognize anywhere. despite standing in the dim evening light and having only the glow of the lantern outside of your home, you could make out the injuries through his dark clothing.

just what did he get himself into?

you hesitate at first, but eventually let your instincts take control as you begin to walk over to your home. it's as if you were both in the blooming stages of your youth again, bringing diluc home to mend his wounds after training for the knight exams.

caring for him was like muscle memory to you, even after all of the events leading to him leaving you in the dust.

you don't say a word as you open the wooden door and guide diluc in, pulling out a chair by the fireplace. wordlessly, he sits in it as you leave to prepare to clean his wounds.

your fingers shake ever so slightly as you remove diluc's coat from his shoulders, the heavy fabric falling to the floor with a thud. you apologize softly as you begin to unbutton his shirt and, as each button is undone and reveals more of his skin, your fingers begin to flinch every time your skin brushes against the skin of his chest.

his breath is warm, you can feel it against your skin as you slide off the remaining clothes on his torso. his chest is bare to you, and normally you would be gawking at how much he has physically changed since you were younger. but you cannot help but stare at how much he had been injured in the last few years you have seen him.

aside from the scratches from the most recent scuffle which led him to your quaint home beside his manor, scars litter his chest and arms. although most of them are healed, the damage that he had experienced was still evident on his skin and you hold back a gasp at how deep some of them had been; there's a huge scar that runs diagonally from the top of his chest to his stomach and you could already feel your stomach churning at the pain.

you couldn't imagine having to sustain those injuries for so long, and being alone through it all.

and, now, you hope that the injuries currently on his body heal faster knowing that he isn't alone this time. not when he has you by his side.

diluc's eyes burn holes into your skull as he watches you dip a towel into the bucket of warm water at your side; you pretend to ignore him. twisting the soaked cloth to rid it of the excess water, you gently begin to clean the wounded man in front of you.

a man you consider an old friend, but you fear he doesn't hold the same sentiment. not anymore.

it's quiet, the only sound shared between the two of you being the occasional sound of the towel dumped back into the bucket and the crackling of the fireplace in your living space. the moon casts her illuminating rays through the window of your home, but her light is nothing compared to the comfort of the fire in your home.

the comfort of the man in front of you, even if you didn't want to ever admit it to him now.

the glass jars containing the disinfecting ointment for diluc's wounds clink gently as you open them to spread over his skin.

"why are you helping me?" his voice breaks the thick silence between you two. his sudden question makes your hands pause, but you don't raise your head as you think of something to reply.

"and let an old friend bleed to death outside my door? you think i'm that heartless, diluc?" you ask him. your fingers resume their previous job of slathering the medicine over his new wounds. "i could say the same to you, why show up to my house like this?"

another silence follows your words and you assume he's done interrogating you for your kindness to him.

"i had nowhere else to turn to," diluc says after a while. your eyes catch his fists tighten on his lap as he takes another breath. "you've shown me nothing but kindness even after i was so cruel to you."

you exhale softly at his words. of course he thinks dealing with his own problems this entire time was the worst thing he could do to you. if you were being honest, it did hurt when he seemingly pretended you didn't exist or pushed you away when he had returned home from whatever he was dealing with away from mondstadt.

you had hoped for a joyful reunion, one filled with tears as you finally welcome home your old friend. but he never announced when he was coming home and you only figured out through the grapevine. he was never home when you looked for him and when you finally caught a glimpse of him, your eyes would meet for barely a second before he rushed off elsewhere and leaving you in the dust.

according to kaeya, his brother whom you've kept in touch with throughout the years. diluc had changed even more ever since his return; he kept his feelings to himself and his face remained 'constipated,' as per kaeya's words, due to his inner turmoil.

but from everyone else, he had always been so kind to them. the old women in the city would always praise how gentle the young master was, helping them walk across the city or carrying their groceries if they needed it. the young women also constantly swooned over how mysterious, yet warm-hearted diluc was; seemingly cold in nature but treating children and animals with such tenderness.

"it did hurt knowing you were ignoring me," you confess as your fingers begin to unravel the gauze to wrap over his wounds. "even if you wanted everyone to think you've changed and have become cold and guarded, i know you're still the same caring boy i've known since we were young. i hope so, at least."

his skin is warm to the touch, another feature you realize has never changed about your old friend. with bated breath, you lift your head to let your gaze finally settle on diluc's own. just as you predicted, despite the physical changes, you can still see the diluc you once knew within the scarred and older man in front of you.

diluc has definitely gotten older; the baby fat on his face slimming down slightly to reveal a more defined jaw and the bags under his eyes were evidence of his restless nights away from mondstadt. there are light scars on his face, nothing too deep to keep from his princely demeanor but are definitely proof of a troubling journey, and he has grown taller than the last time you had seen him in your youth.

but one thing that has never changed is the fire the lights up his eyes. so red and warm, you're tempted to hold his face in your hands to get a closer look. they're so vibrant, alive like the embers that flicker in the fireplace that lights your home, as they stare back at you in anticipation of your next words.

"you would never intend to hurt me on purpose. so if i should have to wait forever for you to be ready to come to me like you've had in the past, i don't mind doing so."

diluc's stoic expression wavers at your words. a sliver of guilt shines in his eyes and he looks away briefly as he digests the words you've spoken to him.

he couldn't tell you the reasons why he always kept you at arm's length; was he wary of your intentions for always being kind to him despite how he treated you or was he so used to people close to him lying to his face that he feared you were also pulling a facade?

or was he scared of you sharing the same fate as his family should he loved you with his heart on his sleeve, a fate of being held in his arms as he feels the warmth that once comforted him when you were young fade away like the embers in the hearth of a fireplace?

diluc did not want to know and he did not need to know, not when you're looking at him with such trust and compassion that he finds it hard to even hold any distrust towards you.

his dear friend from his youth who was always there to pick him up when he fell.

you did not break through the walls shielding diluc's heart for you had already found your place beside it, holding he's life with your gentle hands and protecting his soul's flames with your faith in him.

"i'm sorry," diluc apologizes to you, looking into your eyes. one of your hands is grabbed to be held by him, rough and scarred and so calloused as it held the memories and grief of what he went through to become like the man in front of you, the gauze held in your other. his warmth seeps into your skin, heating up your skin as the flames of his heart grow and encase your entire being within its embrace.

your lips part to say something, but he continues to speak.

"i thought keeping you away would benefit us both," he takes a breath as his eyes scan over your own features, taking in all that has changed since the last time he saw you in your adolescent years; how much you've grown both physically and emotionally. you look so much more mature than the naughty child who ran around breaking their mother's rules just to play with him or the dear friend who would bicker with him endlessly during their teenage years.

the years of their beautiful youth, years that he wished so dearly he could go back to and live in that peace for eternity.

but while the winds continue to blow and move time along, you've continued to stay the same despite the change.

you're still so kind, so inviting to someone like him.

you treat him like the friend you've remembered in your adolescence, even if his hands were bloodied with vengeance and his heart is scarred and wounded from betrayal and deceit.

he is still diluc, just diluc in your bright and beautiful eyes; he always had been.

his hands squeeze yours tightly, hoping that he has the courage to say what he wants to say.

"i don't deserve your kindness, or your love. but if i imagine a life where i have succeeded in pushing you away and we no longer talk," diluc begins, the fire in his eyes wavering as they hold your gaze.

"i don't think i would ever want to live a life where you're not in it."

diluc's words shake you to your core; it's something you wouldn't expect him to say now after all these years. as much as you want to immediately forgive him and push back the years of agony, waiting for any sign that he was alive while leaving his vision behind, or even watching as he ignores you despite being home after all these years, your heart aches knowing knowing he even did this to you in the first place.

"how can i know that you won't leave me like you did?" your voice is small despite being so close to him. in fear of having him see how much his actions have affected you, you face tilts down to your lap to avoid his gaze. "i can't just wait for you forever, it hurts sitting here all these years with a promise i don't even know if you'll keep."

you take a shaky breath as you speak again.

"you didn't even say goodbye."

your voice breaks as you say those words and you can feel the burning sensation as the tears threaten to spill over your eyes.

there's a moment of silence between the two of you before you hear him gently call out your name. his free hand reaches up to cup your face, tentatively guiding you to face him. he says your name again, softly as if even saying your name too harshly would cause you to break, and you hesitantly meet his gaze.

there's a tenderness that you recognize deep in those fiery pools in his eyes, one that flickers like the hearth of your fireplace and suddenly you feel like you're experiencing the most beautiful yet fleeting moment in life once more. diluc's thumb gently presses against your cheek to wipe away any tears that overflowed from your already wet eyes.

his pinky links with your own, a childish thing to do but one that you still hold dear to your own heart.

a promise between the two of you bathed in firelight and your youth reflected back at you in the shape of the young man sitting before you.

[charmwasjess]

Makashi. Existence itself seemed to grow brighter and more beautiful. Things that had been closed up inside him before became infinitely possible. The movements - old and strange and lovely as edda - changed Dooku. No longer was he the awkward, critical boy who always missed the cue, his too-tall body ruled by a rabbit’s fumbling heart. He was remade, if only in this.

✨COMPLETE 10/10✨

[laniusbignaturals]

Arcade got one whiff of the daddy/mommy issues combo and not 24 hours later he’s snorted a perc and sucked off a man twice his age while he was behind the wheel of a rental car even though his BAC was 0.013%.

[a-sin-to-be-rin]

Children Shouldn't Gamble With Dead Things (Part 3)

When Bruce warned Dick about Two-Face, he set one inflexible rule:

Don't make deals with the devil.

But with the stakes this high, Dick has to do something. So here he is, flipping a coin with Harvey Dent.

Part 1

Part 2

---

“Well?”

Master Bruce hands the letter back to Alfred and turns away, staring out the window.

“Have you nothing to say for yourself?”

The following silence is deafening.

“I expected better of you, Master Bruce.”

Still, he says nothing.

“The lad is injured, upset, and missing. Aren’t you going to do something? Do you even care?”

Master Bruce turns back to Alfred, shoulders tense. “Harvey Dent escaped tonight. Two-Face is free.”

Alfred feels sick.

“Man the comms,” Master Bruce orders. “Watch for Two-Face sightings. I’ll find Dick.”

Heart in his throat, Alfred nods. He’s immediately on his feet and headed for the Batcave. Master Bruce isn’t far behind, silent.

In all of Alfred’s years of caring for him, Master Bruce has expressed three distinct forms of silence. The first is companionable, reserved only for those he’s closest with. The second (and most common) occurs when he’s thinking. He takes in new environments. He picks up little details and forms an analysis with it, like life is simply a logic puzzle, begging to be solved. And the third is for when Master Bruce’s head is filled with something other than thought. It happens when his emotions rampage in his mind like a herd of carnivorous rhinos. He becomes overwhelmed, stuck inside his head as he desperately tries to control the situation.

Today, Master Bruce’s silence is of the third kind. And Alfred is silent too, giving Master Bruce the space to wrangle his thoughts.

And to be honest, Alfred’s mind is raging a bit too. So the silence isn’t unwelcome. It’s the closest thing to relief that either of them will feel until Dick is found.

---

Dick left too soon. He was barely ready to walk, much less sneak out of the manor and roam the streets of Gotham. He should have waited - let himself heal a bit more - before he ran away.

But Dick needed to get out immediately. He couldn’t stand to be some useless little kid, staying in Bruce’s home and eating Alfred’s food without providing anything in return. If he had to stay in that bed for another five minutes, he would have lost his mind.

But now Dick’s out on the street, slinged arm tucked inside a red hoodie. His ribs are still a horrific shade of purple, though it’s beginning to yellow around the edges. He aches and he’s tired and his head spins a bit, but he keeps moving. He doubts Bruce is looking for him - and why would he? - so he’s not concerned about Batman catching up to him. The police, however, are bound to see a kid wandering around at 10 AM on a Tuesday and get suspicious. And that’s a one-way trip back to the manor.

Or…

No. Bruce would probably send him back to the youth center. What’s the point in keeping him? He’s not Robin. And Bruce doesn’t want a son.

So Dick keeps moving, even as his injuries wear on him. Even as his torso shrieks in pain. Even as his arm begins to throb and he gets lightheaded. The pain medicine must be wearing off. And Dick didn’t take any with him, so he simply endures it.

Doing his best to be discreet, Dick hops on a bus and rides it to Old Gotham. He hides behind a tall man during the ride, doing his best to keep his face covered (Gotham buses have more security cameras than the White House), but no one calls him out. The tall man doesn’t turn around and say, “Aha! You’re runaway Dick Grayson! I’m sending you back to the youth center!” He minds his business. Dick is just paranoid.

Gotham Public Library is a short five-minute walk from the bus stop. Dick makes it in fifteen. His body is starting to shut down, which is absolutely not in the escape plan. He musters all his strength and slips in through the library side door, sitting down at one of the computers. Dick doesn’t stay long. Just long enough to google “Haly’s Circus tour dates.”

Haly’s isn’t close. Not even a little. They’re currently in Tampa. But that’s okay, because Dick could stand a few days on a Greyhound bus. To be honest, it sounds like a relief. Dick could get a little sleep. He could definitely use a nap-

“Sweetheart, are you okay?” An elderly woman is gently tapping his good arm, concern cemented in the lines of her face.

Dick sits up. He must have fallen asleep at the computer. He blinks a few times (the lights are getting unbearable, and the painkillers have definitely worn off), trying to get his bearings.

“I… I’m okay,” he replies, trying and failing to give her a charming Flying Graysons smile.

But the woman isn’t convinced. “Did someone hurt you?”

And it’s a fair question. He is sporting a fair number of bruises and bandages.

“No,” he lies. “I fell off my bike.”

She's still frowning, expression reeking of concern. “Are you here all alone?”

Dick resents that question. Because first of all, Dick is plenty old enough to be in a library by himself, thank you very much. And secondly, if she thinks Dick is alone, she's probably going to call the police.

And Dick won’t let them take him back to the center. Never again.

“No. My, uh, my dad’s in the car. Our wi-fi went out, and I have an assignment due today. Online school, yanno?” Dick doesn’t know if online school is even a real thing, but the woman doesn’t call him on it. She just frowns deeper, eyes flicking to the computer screen, still open on Haly’s Circus tour dates.

“Can I talk to him? I want to make sure you’re safe.”

Darn it.

“Um… yeah. Yeah, he’s in the, um, the white Honda in the parking lot. But, um. I really need to use the bathroom, so I’ll catch up with you?”

The woman smiles sadly. “That’s okay, dear. The bathroom’s right there. I’ll wait for you.”

Dick almost cries. He’s in so much pain, and he’s so tired, and he’s so through with fighting people that he almost collapses on the floor and has a full-on toddler tantrum.

But he doesn’t, because Dick was Robin, once. He’s smart and capable and good at what he does.

“Yeah, okay,” he agrees, shuffling over to the bathroom. The minute the door shuts behind him, he searches the walls, trying to find a window. But Dick isn’t lucky enough to find one. The room is completely boxed in without an escape route in sight.

Dick sighs, splashes water from the sink on his face, and towels off, feeling stray drops hit his forehead. Then he returns to the woman.

“Let’s go see your dad, okay, hon?”

Dick nods, blinking away stars. “Yeah.”

They leave through the library’s main entrance, and (as expected) there are at least three white Hondas in the lot.

“Which one is it, dear?”

Dick picks the one at the far end of the lot. “That one.”

The woman’s brow furrows, worry sparking in her eyes. “That’s my car.”

Aaand that’s Dick’s exit. He turns and sprints away, his body screaming with every jolt. Each stride threatens to disappear beneath him, spilling him onto the concrete. But Dick really can’t afford this right now. He needs to get out of here before the librarian calls the police.

He runs for as long as he can. It isn’t nearly as long as he’d hoped. Busted up like this, he can’t do much of anything for too long. He can’t go down alleys either, which is proving to make his life more and more difficult each second that he spends out in the open. He needs a place to hide.

Now.

---

Bruce doesn’t usually patrol during the day. He’s done it once or twice before, but it’s always done out of necessity, not habit.

And today, it’s definitely a necessity.

“Penny-One, any hits?”

“Negative on both counts.”

“Not even the trackers?”

“No. It seems Master Dick took it upon himself to dig the trackers out of his trainers.”

“How did he even know they were there?” Bruce mutters, more to himself than Alfred. Alfred replies anyway.

“He was trained by you, sir.”

Bruce never should have taken him on as Robin. Truly, genuinely, if he hadn’t done any of this, Dick would be safe and healthy. As usual, the blame lands solidly on Bruce’s shoulders. (Or he believes it does, anyway.)

Bruce arrives at the apartment building at Gibson and Schwartz. He doesn’t waste time getting out of the car, instead popping the top of the Batmobile and grappling to the apartment roof.

It’s an old building, rife with the city’s infamous Gothic architecture. This includes, of course, a wide array of gargoyles. Dick’s favorite gargoyle is up here, and Bruce has found him hiding behind it more than once. Unfortunately, this is not the case today.

Bruce had suspected as much. Unless Dick had made a heat-of-the-moment decision, he wouldn’t have come to such an obvious spot. But still, Bruce had to try.

And now that the gargoyle is safely ruled out, Bruce can use the current facts to guide his investigation.

Fact: Dick is injured.

So Dick is either close to the manor or took some form of transportation. A bus or a taxi. The subway, possibly, but less likely due to the distance between the subway station and the manor. 

Fact: Dick said that he was going to “move on” and that he wasn’t sure what he was “supposed to do” if he wasn’t working as Robin.

Meaning the boy intends to go somewhere where he will know what to do. Where he does have a purpose. This could be anything, really, but as a nine-year-old, he knows very few ways to live his life. One is Robin. The other is the circus.

Fact: Dick didn’t take anything with him. His suit, equipment, and phone were left behind.

Though it’s not certain, Bruce feels comfortable inferring that Dick doesn’t intend to work as Robin on his own. At least until proven otherwise. If he really was going to be Robin, he would have taken at least some of his gear. A grapple gun. Maybe a few smoke bombs.

And if Dick doesn’t plan on being Robin, then he’s probably trying to find Haly’s Circus.

“Penny-One, where is Haly’s Circus currently touring?”

“One moment, sir… They’re in Tampa for the next week.”

“Got it.”

But one thing is not quite right.

Fact: Dick left his phone, and Haly’s isn’t in his search history.

Bruce knows, because he looked. It was the first thing he did. Some might interpret this as a sign that Dick isn’t looking for his old troupe, but Bruce knows better. He knows that before Robin, Haly’s was his only family. He wanted nothing more than to return to them, even after Bruce took him in.

So Dick doesn’t want Bruce to know where he’s going. He purposefully didn’t look up anything regarding Haly’s or his escape. He doesn’t know where Haly’s is, but he’s intent on finding out.

“Sir, I’ve intercepted a GCPD report that may be of interest.”

“Play it back,” Bruce orders, jumping off the building and allowing the grapple to ease his descent. 

“3014,” a woman’s voice crackles. “London at Amnesty. Suspected runaway. RP reported a male subject sleeping at the library. Subject was injured and ran away when asked about his parents. White male, ten-to-twelve years, dark hair, red jacket, blue jeans.”

Bruce hops in the Batmobile and peels out towards Gotham Public Library. Dick - assuming that report is about Dick - may have gotten some distance away by now, but he’s hurt. He can’t have made it far.

---

The Greyhound bus station is around here somewhere. Surely it’s in the financial district or maybe along the border of Old Gotham. But Dick has never been there before, and without a phone to look it up, he's flying blind. He makes random turns and crosses streets aimlessly. At best, he randomly runs into the station. And if that doesn't happen, he’ll at least leave a difficult trail to follow. His head is foggy, but he believes his logic to be sound.

“-escaped Arkham. If you see this man on the street, do not engage-”

Dick stops dead in his tracks, poking his head through the open cafe door. A TV above the barista bar shows a newscaster speaking beside a massive photo of Two-Face. Below the picture, in large font, are the words “MURDERER ESCAPES.” Dick tastes bile.

“Two-Face is incredibly dangerous and will cut you in half if that’s his prerogative. Twins and people born on February second should take extra caution when coming home tonight. We’ll keep you updated as the situation develops. Back to you, Betty.”

Alfred taught Dick all about the nervous system. He knows about the sympathetic response. That “fight, flight, or freeze” instinct. Unfortunately for Dick, none of those options are viable. Dick couldn’t win a fight against a day-old puppy, much less Two-Face and his goons. Flight is also impossible unless the Greyhound station is the next store over. (It is not, in fact, the next store over. That honor goes to a dual ballet studio and boxing gym.) And freezing has never been a choice.

But there’s an alternative. It’s arguably a form of flight, but it’s much kinder on Dick’s aching ribs and spinning head.

Hide.

“-okay?”

Dick blinks. Then he groans. He fell asleep. Again. Standing up. “Sorry,” he mutters, sitting up. “Sorry, sorry, sorry.”

“Are you… You look real busted up. Come inside, okay?”

Dick struggles to his feet, but he falls to one knee the second he straightens up.

“Whoa!” the barista says, grabbing under Dick’s arm. “Hey, I’m not gonna hurtcha. I just wanna get you off the sidewalk. There’s some bad guys out there today.”

It comes back to him. Two-Face. Two-Face is free.

Dazedly, Dick lets the teen pull him up and walk him to a cafe table. He all but collapses in the chair, even the slightest movement blurring his vision and setting his nerves on fire.

“There y’go,” the barista says reassuringly. “You’re alright.”

“Thanks,” Dick grunts, one arm coming up to guard his ribs.

“Molly,” the barista calls to his coworker behind the bar. “Couldja grab him a hot chocolate?”

And then he turns back to Dick, worry creasing his brow. “Are your parents around here somewhere?”

And Dick doesn’t have the energy to lie. “No,” he says, taking shallow breaths.

“Yeah.” The barista doesn’t question it. Like the librarian, he’s probably familiar with Gotham’s chaos. He knows better than to dig too deep. “Is there somewhere for you to go? Can I take you to the clinic or something? Dr. Thompkins’s place is down the street.”

Dr. Thompkins?

If Dick goes to Leslie, she’ll no doubt tell Bruce right away. And then he’ll get scolded and taken back to the manor. Back to that cold, stifling, tension-rife house that stopped being Dick’s home when Robin ended.

“No,” Dick pleads. “No, I can’t… I can’t go there. I don’t… I can’t…”

“Dick.”

That isn’t the barista talking. It isn’t the barista’s coworker. It’s deep and gravelly and oh-so distinct.

Batman.

“No,” Dick says, heart racing in his chest. He stumbles out of the chair and crashes to the ground. He pushes himself back, trying to just get away.

“Hey,” the barista says, stepping between Batman and Dick. “Leave him alone.”

“This doesn’t concern you,” Batman growls. And oh. He’s angry.

“It’s in the cafe. Pretty sure it does concern me. And if you think you’re gonna hurt a kid, y’better think again.”

The lenses of Batman’s cowl narrow. He chews on his tongue. “Dick,” he says simply, looking over the teenager’s head. “Bruce is very worried about you.”

Dick scowls. “Yeah, right. He doesn’t need me anymore. He doesn’t want me. So just leave me alone.”

“Bruce is sorry,” Batman insists. “He never should have taken that away from you. And he’s willing to negotiate. And he… He wants to talk to you. He’s scared.”

And that makes Dick hesitate. Because Bruce? Admitting he’s afraid?

Dick never thought it’d happen. Never.

“Two-Face escaped,” Batman continues. “If he found you, Bruce would never forgive himself.”

“I’ll go back to talk,” Dick agrees begrudgingly. “But I’m not staying.”

“That’s okay, chum. That’s alright.”

The barista looks between the two. “I… feel like I’m missing something.”

“Here.” Batman shoves a wad of cash in the tip jar. “Thank you for protecting him.”

“I was protecting him from you,” the barista says, more and more confused by the second. “I… Kid, you don’t have to go with him.”

Dick nods, painfully pulling himself up and leaning against a booth. “I know. I want to.”

“You’re sure?”

Dick looks at Batman. Even under the cowl, he’s devastated. Dick never thought he cared that much. And maybe this is just an act. But Batman doesn’t have emotions. Bruce does. So Batman, wrecked and desperate?

“Yeah,” Dick assures him. “I’m sure.”

---

The drive back is silent. Not in an awkward, not-sure-what-to-say kind of way. No, it's actually surprisingly relaxed.

But that's probably because Dick is asleep the whole time.

Bruce kind of prefers it this way. There’s no awkward, forced small talk. No bursts of outrage. No tension at all. Just Bruce and his overwhelming guilt.

Dick doesn’t look good. Bruce doesn’t know what he looked like when he first ran away (Bruce actively avoided the boy after breaking the news about Robin), but he probably looks worse. The kid managed to escape his watch for nearly a full day. The painkillers likely wore off ages ago. Dick put a ton of undue stress on his injuries just by walking, much less crossing the city.

And only Bruce is to blame for this. Dick is a kid. Or… he was a kid. Before his parents fell. Now he’s caught in the in-between, with the problems and trauma of a full grown man but the mind and body of a child.

Bruce knows the feeling well. And he knows what chaos can come of it. How much violence and fear and pain results. If Dick was illogical in running away (and he was), Bruce can’t hold him accountable. Even if he wants to.

No. This is Bruce’s fault. Even if Robin needed to end, Bruce should’ve stuck around. He assumed Dick just needed space. Time to think. He thought his presence would only mock Dick. After all, why would the ex-Robin ever want to see Batman? Why would he want to be reminded of what he lost?

But if Bruce is to believe Dick’s letter (and he does), it seems distance was exactly the opposite of what Dick needed. It made him feel isolated and unwanted. A nuisance. Bruce dropping out of his life made him think that if he wasn’t Robin, Bruce didn’t want him. (Didn’t need him.)

“Ugh.”

In the corner of Bruce’s eye, he sees Dick shift, hissing as the movement jars his ribs.

“...B?” Dick sounds confused.

“Dick,” he says back. “We’re almost there.”

“‘There…’” Dick echoes, rubbing his forehead. “The Cave. Right.”

“You’re still okay with that?” Bruce almost hits his head off the steering wheel. He shouldn’t even give Dick an opening to get out of this. As Dick’s guardian, Bruce has every right to bring him home. Dick really doesn’t have an option here.

But Dick is amiable, if exhausted. “Yeah,” he agrees, mopping his face with his good hand. “It’s cool.”

And that’s a relief, because Bruce is currently pulling the Batmobile into the Cave. He gets out and waits for Dick to do the same. When Dick doesn’t open the door, Bruce circles the car and pulls it open himself.

“You okay, chum?”

Dick stares ahead, eyes slightly unfocused. “Um. Yeah. Gimme a second, B.”

So, impatiently, Bruce waits, pulling his cowl off and jamming his gloves between his belt and his suit. After a long minute, Bruce stoops again, holding out a hand to Dick.

“C’mon, kiddo,” he urges. “Let’s get you out of there.”

Too slowly, Dick turns to look at him, grabs his hand, and allows himself to be pulled to his feet. The moment he’s upright, his knees give out, and Bruce has to slip one arm behind the boy’s back and the other under his knees. It’s an easy, practiced motion, if only because Bruce expected the boy to go down sooner or later. He’d left the manor far too soon. He’d stayed out far too long.

And the fact only makes Bruce’s guilt intensify.

“Master Bruce?” Alfred is looking across the Cave at him, and even from this distance, Bruce can see the tension in his shoulders. His hands are fluttering over the drug cart, already prepping an IV.

“He’s okay,” Bruce says, though he doesn’t know that. In fact, he’s moving faster than Alfred is, hurried steps taking Dick to the med bay.

“M’okay,” Dick murmurs softly, though his eyes still won’t focus. “S’all good.”

“What hurts, chum?” Bruce asks, setting the boy down on a cot.

“‘m just…” He hums, closes his eyes, and then slowly blinks them open again. “Just tired, B. And…” Dick searches for the right word, his good arm curling across his ribs. “Hurts.”

“What hurts?” Bruce asks, connecting the vitals monitor while Alfred throws in an IV.

Dick considers this. Or he looks like he considers it, anyway.

“... yes.”

“Uninsightful as ever, Master Dick,” Alfred tuts softly. “Look at my nose,” he orders, shining a penlight in Dick’s eyes.

Bruce lets Alfred fuss over the boy, helping where he can and stepping back when he can’t, trying to stay out of the way. When Alfred is done assessing and has adjusted medications accordingly, Dick is still awake and relatively aware, watching Alfred with a passive interest.

“You’re not to leave this bed,” Alfred orders. “Understood?”

“‘course, Alfie.”

“Prepare to face dish duty if you break that promise.”

Dick whines appropriately. While normally an annoyance, Bruce is happy to hear Dick’s complaining. It means he’s still with them. It means he’s alive and here and safe.

“Alfred.”

The butler turns towards Bruce, one eyebrow arched. “Sir?”

“Have there been any updates on Two-Face?”

Alfred’s expression sours. “No. And if you suggest returning to the streets to find him, I may put you on bedrest as well, sir.”

It goes against Bruce’s every instinct. Because knowing Two-Face is out there? Free and capable of killing innocents?

The last thing Bruce wants to do is stand by and watch it happen.

“Need I remind you of what happened the last time you abandoned the boy? Or is yesterday recent enough for you to recall?

Bruce scowls, but point taken. “I remember, Alfred.”

“Good. Then perhaps you’ll heed my counsel this time.”

“You were right,” Bruce agrees. “No need to remind me.”

“Respectfully, I think there was a need, but I appreciate your attempt at character growth.”

“You’re dismissed, Alfred.”

Alfred walks away without another word, but Bruce doesn’t hear his footsteps up the stairs. He’s still in the Cave, though Bruce can’t tell if it’s to monitor Dick’s condition or to keep Bruce from saying something stupid.

“B?” Dick says, voice suddenly desperate as he tries to sit up. His gaze flicks around the room before settling on Bruce. He falls back against the pillow, expression easing a touch.

“I’m here.”

“B, I’m…” He sighs, twisting the blankets with his thumb and forefinger. “I’m sorry. I never shoulda… I shoulda known it was a trap, but… B, I thought he was gonna kill you. I didn’t want to…” His eyes water, but he stubbornly looks up, trying to keep the tears from leaking out. “I couldn’t lose you. Not after…” He doesn’t finish the thought.

“I know,” Bruce assures him, sitting on the edge of the bed and running a hesitant hand through Dick’s hair. The boy leans into his touch, and he repeats the motion, slightly more confident. “And I never should have put you in that position. That’s why you can’t be Robin. You shouldn’t have to make that choice. And the rogues see Robin as a target. I can’t make you some bartering chip in Batman’s mission.”

Dick tenses. “No. No, you can’t take that from me,” he insists, fatigue softening the intensity of his conviction. “I’m Robin. I can’t… I can’t go back to being… I can’t be an orphan for the rest of my life, B.”

Bruce frowns. “What do you-? Wait. Robin isn’t Batman’s kid.”

The boy looks away, expression breaking. A tear slips down his cheek. “I… I know.” But his tone isn’t one of knowledge. It’s one of realization. He’s just now seeing it the way Bruce does.

“Did you…?” Bruce’s hand hovers near Dick’s face, but he can’t bring himself to brush away the tear. He doesn’t deserve to comfort the boy. “Did you think this was conditional? I’m not kicking you out for not being Robin. I took you in to help you, not to fill a position.”

“You fired me,” Dick seethes, voice strengthening with pure ire. “Of course you were filling a position!” He pushes himself up, catching himself on his hands when vertigo almost pulls him back down. Bruce reaches out to help, and Dick swats his hands away. “How could you pretend to care when you stopped caring after Robin died? You never wanted me. And now you don’t even want Robin. Don’t lie.”

“I-” Bruce is taken aback. He knows just how angry Dick can get. But this is a new level. “Of course I still want you. I was giving you space.”

Dick scowls, tears falling freely now. “Liar. You’re Batman. You’ve always been Batman. Bruce Wayne isn’t a real person. He doesn’t want me because he doesn’t exist. And if Batman doesn’t want Robin, then no one wants Dick Grayson.” He watches Bruce with unrivaled fury. “Why did you bring me back? So you could reject me again? Just let me…” His breath catches in his throat, strength failing him. He buries his face in the pillow. “Just let me go, B,” he mumbles.

Bruce swallows hard. He isn’t a father. He’s never been a guardian before. But he’d thought…  He’d just assumed that having that similar history - that sharing a tragic past - would tie them. Even if Dick wasn’t Robin, Bruce thought they’d still have that. But now it’s quite clear:

Both Bruce and Dick watched their parents die. But Dick was the only one who got a taste of belonging after, only to have it taken away.

To Bruce, Batman is a duty. An obligation to prevent others from facing the same tragedy as him. But to Dick, Robin is an opportunity. A chance to have a family again. A chance to feel wanted again.

And Bruce neglected that critical difference.

“What can I do?” Bruce asks, softening his voice. “I can’t let you get hurt.”

Dick ignores him.

“Dick, chum, I…”

What can he say? Bruce cares about Dick. He’s warmed up to the boy’s cheesy humor and easy demeanor. He’s grown to like (and perhaps love) this child, but Bruce has no clue how to express it.

Because Bruce is a man who rarely shows his face. Not when Batman occupies his every waking thought. So Dick has a point. If Bruce is only Batman and Batman got rid of Robin, then who’s supposed to care about Dick Grayson? Not only has Bruce taken away Dick’s chance to seek justice, but he’s also taken away his only hope at being loved.

God, this is depressing.

“Dick, let’s…” He rests a tentative hand on Dick’s back. The boy doesn’t flinch away. “We’ll talk about Robin again. I swear. I shouldn’t have taken that from you. But I don’t think… I don’t know what to do right now. Can we wait a bit? Let’s get you better first. Then we can come back to Robin.”

Dick turns onto his side, watching Bruce with bloodshot, betrayed eyes. “You’re just trying to shut me up. You’ll fire me again the second I’m better.”

“No,” Bruce says softly, brushing back Dick’s hair. “I… I care about you, chum. I don’t know if I’ve ever been as scared as…” He takes a deep breath, hand settling heavily on Dick’s neck. He can feel the boy’s pulse against his palm, and it reassures him, if only slightly. “I don’t think I’ve ever been as scared as I was watching Dent hurt you. And you were so still, I… God, I thought you were gone.” He shakes his head, trying to force the thought from his mind. “I’ll admit, I don’t know how I care about you. I don’t know if it’s Bruce or Batman or some weird in-between, but I can say with complete confidence that I care about you. Not Robin. You. Dick.”

Dick’s skepticism melts into something far more vulnerable. Something far more childlike than this world-weary nine-year-old has ever expressed. His good hand comes up to grab Bruce’s hand. He sighs, almost content. Uncertain, but perhaps hopeful.

“I care about you too,” the boy admits. He closes his eyes, but he doesn’t release Bruce’s hand. “Can you… stay? At least for a little?”

“I’m not leaving you, chum,” Bruce swears. “Not ever again.”

[rivalmelty]

they are fukuzawa’s boys, adopted twins, and menaces to the yokohama police

(pls do not tag as beast)

[kyouka-supremacy]

That fic from Akutagawa's pov that remarked how although Dazai had left a bomb under Chuuya's car, at least that showed he had thought about him before going, while he never cared enough to spare a thought for Akutagawa.

[add1ctedt0you]

What's your version of Jiang Cheng Gives Up? *chinhands*

Hiii! My version of jc gives up is very boring: he gives up on wwx and their shared past and moves on.

An overexposure to yunmeng bros reconciliations has brought me to one conclusion: I don't necessarily need them to reconcile. (Not because: 'jc/wwx is so toxic!' or 'jc/wwx deserves better than that selfish asshole!'. Like, I always roll my eyes. They are two horrible human - fictional- beings who deserve each other!).

But imo, post-canon jc has two priorities:

Jin ling

Himself

First point: he needs to be there for jl. Not only politically! But emotionally too. jl is going through a rough time jc too experienced: a loved ones betrayal. jc knows what it does to you. And listen, one of the things I love about jc is how he is trying his best. Always. In particular when it comes to people he loves. ('but he did a lot of things wrong', thank fuck! He is a traumatized character who behaves like a traumatized character. This scene explains so much about jc imo: jc knows that not having an adult in your life who believes in you is shit. So he tries to give space - in his way- to jl, while fighting his urge to protect him, because the last time every one of his family member was on a battlefield, they died.) So yeah, he is going to try being there for jl, in his imperfect way. And that brings me to point two.

jc has to recalibrate himself, to be there for jl: what he thought were truths, are revealed to be lies. All his life was a lie.

That's my favorite jc's speech. It's visceral, it's painfully honest. He is literally saying to us his state of mind: he is feeling guilty, wronged and confused.

'who am I?' hits hard, because who you are when you have built your life on lies?! Should he feel guilty?! wwx has made this huge sacrifice for him, but he has hurt him too: what should he feel?!

So, because I interpret jc as someone who overthinks, I want him to lose his mind over his doubts and start a journey of healing (or, what realistically someone without therapy can manage).

I want him to look at Lotus Pier, his home, and think: 'dang, what I have managed is incredible'. I what him to realize: 'what wwx made for me was an huge sacrifice, but my feelings are valid too'. I want him to be, not happy, but satisfied, when thinking about his life. And I don't need him and wwx to reconcile, because I like the bittersweet taste their broken relationship leaves in his mouth.

So, my jc gives up is: he learns to live with himself and jl, peacefully.

[marmot-bee-person]

i have decided that Padmé just passed out and Obi-Wan, Bail, and Yoda were dumb. Padmé went into hiding and she was living a content-ish life somewhere or other.

[voidcat]

Can’t stop thinking about an alternate life for jakdf!reader and if they never met and therefore lost their lover-

Always a more offensive in the defensive force, aggressive, even deemed a little unhinged by those who’ve seen them only once or twice, unnerving all esp when they’re on field with Hoshina and p much an energetic young blood that must be hiding something behind that facade of all expressions and excessive emotions

[zarvasace]

1, 3, 14, 15 for the fic asks!

1. favorite fic you wrote this year

My actual favorite—I know I have mentioned it a lot today—is still going to be Blood-Sucker's Guide to High School. :) I had a lot of help (THANKS) and the plot isn't exactly original, but I still am really proud of how it came out. If I ever get into bookbinding and turn a fic I wrote into a pretty hardcover, it'll be this one, I think!

3. favorite line/scene you wrote this year

Another fic I'm REALLY proud of is the keenest pangs have last remained, the one about Red turning into a vampire. I don't play with poetry or anything very often, but I think it worked really well in that little disorienting story. It isn't a masterpiece, but that one makes me happy to remember that I wrote it.

14. a fic you didn't expect to write

I'd Pay Your Bail. I think I explicitly say in the author's note that I wrote it in a haze in like three days. And that's true.

I had a very specific scene in mind for it that I didn't even end up writing: Shadow taking a rather battered Vio to the police station on his motorcycle, the desk guy taking a second to process, then pointing and going "you're that missing kid!" And then Vio, wiping blood from his nose, responds "no shit."

Obviously, I changed a few things about the situation so that one scene didn't pan out, but it was a fun seed.

15. something you learned this year

Where to use swear words and where not to. I'm not perfect about it, but I feel like I've loosened up a bit and have learned some about how they work in fiction, specifically in my prose. (You helped with that too thank you.)

[mr-stottlemonk]

made a timeline for monk tv for the folks cause it makes no sense sometimes.

[more in the tags]

[update: stottlemeyer's timeline found here]

[charmwasjess]

yesssss please "welcome" for the WIP guessing game :D

Okay, this is hilarious: both you and @purple-ant (who chose "spoon") picked words that appear only ONCE in my billions of drafts, and it's the same small section of Twelve Months to Murder Count Dooku, the upcoming chapter "Lost One." So I'll answer you both with a snip of the scene. “No!” Kenobi lifted his elegant hands, palms flat, fingers pointing up in some motion of disarming. “Yoda wanted you both to know that you would always be welcomed home, but no, I don’t think that…” 

“If you’re lying to me to get to Dooku, we’re going to have a problem, I don't care whose Padawan you were.” Sifo-Dyas didn’t have a lightsaber anymore, but he gestured with his spoon. “You…you had better not be lying.” 

Obi-Wan raised his eyebrows. He actually looked a little bit interested instead of threatened. “You’re a Master of Soresu.” 

“I was,” Sifo-Dyas admitted, returning the spoon to the soup and giving it a stir. “Once.” 

“And… and of cooking?” The younger Jedi’s eyes followed the path of the spoon. 

“I like to cook.” Sifo-Dyas leveled his dark eyes at the younger man with as much menace as he could summon at the moment. “You have a problem with that?” 

[laniusbignaturals]

Arcade having thick gaudy scars from gender affirming surgery and Edward having thick gaudy scars from a frat branding he got at the same age is something that can be so personal actually

[a-sin-to-be-rin]

Children Shouldn't Gamble With Dead Things (Part 1)

When Bruce warned Dick about Two-Face, he set one inflexible rule:

Don’t make deals with the devil.

But with stakes this high, Dick has to do something. So here he is, flipping a coin with Harvey Dent.

Part 2

Part 3

---

“Rock-a-bye, baby, in the treetops.”

The bundles fly into the air, pastel blue fluttering across the inky black above the Gotham skyline.

“Dear god, NO!!” a woman screams.

“When the wind blows, the cradle will rock.”

One blanket soars over the rooftop. The other falls over the edge, plummeting towards the road below.

“NO!!” Without another thought, Robin dives off the roof, grappling hook in hand. He doesn't wait for Batman. He can't. There's no time.

“When the bough breaks, the cradle will fall-”

The air rushes past his ears, heart fighting his lungs. He falls closer, closer-

Got him!

Robin feels the grapple line pull taut as his arms tighten around the precious bundle. He swings his feet, disengaging the hook and landing on the ledge of a lower roof. For a moment, he clutches the baby to his chest, heart still racing. Then he takes a breath and looks down.

“Don't worry. You're safe n- What?”

“Mah-ma,” the baby intones robotically. Then it blows a cloud of gas in Robin’s face.

Robin coughs, wheezing and choking on false air. He can't breathe. He can't breathe-

And then he collapses to the ground, dropping the baby doll.

“And down will come baby, cradle and all.”

---

“Wakey, wakey.”

“C’mon. Yer holdin’ up the show.”

Dick’s vision returns slowly, the figures in front of him blurry and faded. He has to blink a few times to make out the faces clearly, but even then, Dick is still seeing double.

“Hey, kid,” the face on the right says.

“Welcome back,” an identical face on the left greets. He smiles warmly, like he’s genuinely glad to see Dick.

“What possessed him?” It's a new voice, crawling and oozing and gravelly. The man - the twins - step aside to reveal Two-Face, in all his scaly, dichotomous glory.

“Huh?” Dick glances down. He’s wearing his gear - Robin is wearing Robin’s gear - and the twins are holding him upright. His hands are bound behind his back, but his legs are left free.

“You were the only choice for a comrade-in-arms?” Two-Face reiterates.

Robin scowls. Straightens. “I was the best choice.”

Two-Face lets out a cackle, garbled and phlegmy and muffled in the back of his throat. It makes Robin’s skin crawl.

“Defiant to the end,” Two-Face scoffs. “I like it.” He reaches behind him, pulling back red velvet curtains. “But let’s see how you deal with this. The fate of your big, scary buddy.”

The sight from behind the curtains makes Robin feel nauseous.

“It’s a gallows,” Two-Face explains, like Robin is some dumb kid who doesn’t know anything about traditional forms of public execution. “Custom, of course. Built for twofers. Two necks stretch at once.”

Robin pays attention because Batman taught him better than to ignore a man holding a gun, but only barely. The gallows would be fine - unnoteable, really - if not for the two men tied to it. Their hands are bound, necks looped with the foreboding spirals of a noose. Bags cover both of their heads, but the clothes of one man in particular are a dead giveaway for his identity.

“There are twelve steps, of course.” Two-Face is still rambling, going over every specification of his custom murder machine. Robin does his best not to interrupt, though he wants nothing more than to tell Two-Face to shut up. “Twelve, instead of thirteen. I hate odd numbers.”

The villain ascends said steps, pacing until he’s standing on the platform between Batman and the other man. “So. Two birds, killed with one gallows. The Batman and Judge “Let ‘Em Go” Watkins. Their fates are sealed. Double death penalties.” His eye - the unscarred one - narrows. “Of course, there are a few side bets open.”

“No…” Batman groans from under the hood. “Don’t play his game, Robin…”

“YOU’VE HAD YOUR LAST WORDS!” Two-Face roars, pistol-whipping Batman. Then he turns back to Robin, malice glinting in his eyes, smile dangerous and feral.

“Who dies first?” Two-Face rolls his trademark coin over his fingers. “The odds are fifty-fifty. What are the stakes, kid?”

Robin’s mouth goes dry. He knows all about making deals with Two-Face. Batman gave Robin a week-long lecture on it. And Batman’s number one rule deals with Two-Face?

Don't make them.

But adrenaline is shaking Robin’s hands. His heart is thudding in his throat. His stomach flips, blood running cold. Because this isn't what Batman discussed. Batman warned about making deals with Two-Face. He said nothing about making deals when Batman’s life is on the line. It's a totally different situation, and despite the nausea, Robin thinks he might have a handle on this. He might be able to fix this.

Batman must have a plan. He always does. But Judge Watkins doesn't, because Judge Watkins doesn't deal with Two-Face. It's not in his job description. So for now, Robin has to prolong the judge’s hanging for as long as possible.

“Who dies first?” Even saying it makes Robin’s heart miss a beat. “Scarred face, it's Batman. Clean, it's the judge.”

Two-Face grins, flipping the coin high with his thumb. The coin spins, spins, spins before landing solidly in his palm. He slaps it onto the back of his right hand and uncovers it. “Clean side. Judge goes first.”

Robin’s jaw tightens. “How about best two out of three?” It's a pathetic, desperate attempt to delay the inevitable.

But this widens the villain’s sly grin. “Two out of three, huh? I like it. What's the bet?”

There's a chance here. An opportunity to change the rules.

“Clean side up, the judge doesn't hang.” Robin doesn't say that the judge hangs second. He says the judge doesn't hang at all. He fully expects Two-Face to call him out on this, but instead, the man just shakes his head.

“Your call, brat.” Two-Face flips the coin again and chuckles. “Whaddya know? The kid’s a winner!” He cuts the judge’s noose from the crossbeam. “The judge doesn't hang.” And then he pulls the lever, releasing a trapdoor and dropping the judge below with a splash. “But he might just wish he had.”

Panic shoots up Robin’s spine. The judge is still bound. He's still got a hood over his face. He’ll drown. Robin rushes forward, but the twins hold him back. “But the coin toss-!”

“You gotta be careful of the terms when you place a bet,” Two-Face warns, still staring down the trapdoor at the pool hidden below. “You gotta be real specific. Otherwise you find yourself in over your head.”

Robin swallows hard, pulse thrumming in his ears. Batman was right. Robin never should have made that bet.

“Wake up, Bats,” Two-Face croons, pulling the hood off Batman’s head. It's hard to tell with the cowl on, but Batman looks… dazed. Aware, but not in fighting shape yet. “There's something I want you to see.

“Now you and your pal are even,” Two-Face explains to Robin, waltzing down the stairs. He holds out his arms, and one of the twins pulls Two-Face’s suit jacket off. “Your pal failed to kill Harvey Dent, and you killed Judge Watkins. And now I’m gonna kill both of you.” He rolls up his sleeves with a casual ease. “A two-for-one, but you're first. And the Bat?”

A fist collides with Robin’s left cheek, wrenching his head to the side and knocking him to the ground. He grunts, a sorry trail of blood streaming from both nostrils.

“The Bat will watch.”

Robin struggles to rise, but his head is spinning, and with his hands still tied behind his back, he can’t keep his balance long enough to stand.

“The kid can take a hit,” Two-Face laughs. “That’s good. There’s more comin’.

“You see-” The stiff toe of a dress shoe slams into Robin’s gut. “Harvey Dent was one of the good guys. Being good in this town means you need guts.” Another shoe - the same shoe? - shatters Robin’s cheekbone. “You gotta be tough. You gotta do things that aren’t in the lawbooks.”

There’s another dry, rattling chuckle. Robin’s eyes are tearing too much to tell if the next blow to his head is a kick or a punch.

“The Bat didn’t have the stomach for it,” Two-Face continues, tone bitter and cruel. “He punked out on Harvey.” He kneels down and pulls Robin up by his hair.

Two-Face’s visage, already warped and twisted by the acid, is barely human at all in Robin’s blurry gaze. His smile is bitter and cutting. His eyes gleam with the bloodlust of a starving lion.

“Batman, the great outlaw protector of Gotham, hid behind Lady Justice’s skirts. But she’s blind,” Two-Face explains. “She doesn’t see what needs to be done in her name.”

Two-Face stands, one hand still holding a fierce grip on Robin’s hair. “I wanted you to understand that.” He holds out his free hand, and one twin places a baseball bat in it. Two-Face’s fingers curl around the handle. “Before everything was said and done, I wanted you to know: It wasn’t me that killed you. It was the Bat.”

Then Two-Face sends the baseball bat crashing into Robin’s skull. He beats him across the floor. Pins him to the floor with a foot and cracks his ribs. Breaks an arm. Clobbers his stomach. Beats him until all he can taste is blood and all he can see is the fading theater lights.

Bravo, Robin. Take a bow.

The spotlight goes out. The curtains fall.

End scene. Exit stage right.

---

“Wake up, Bats.”

The voice is sickeningly sweet. Sickeningly familiar.

Harvey.

… Two-Face.

Suddenly, the room is blinding with light. With the hood gone, Batman can feel air against his skin. The fuzzy - but dangerous - image of Two-Face smirks down at him. “There's something I want you to see,” he caws.

Two-Face turns away, hands laced behind his back as he walks down the gallows. “Now you and your pal are even,” he says, but he’s not speaking to Batman. He’s looking at the short figure in front of Batman, flanked by two men. He’s speaking to-

“Your pal failed to kill Harvey Dent, and you killed Judge Watkins.”

The babies. The gallows. The bet.

Robin.

“And now I’m gonna kill both of you,” Two-Face continues, worryingly close to Batman’s…

… to Robin.

“A two-for-one, but you're first. And the Bat?”

Wham! Two-Face knocks Robin to the ground. Blood sprays.

“The Bat will watch.”

Bile floods Batman’s mouth. He tugs at his wrists, but the ropes hold strong.

“The kid can take a hit,” Two-Face laughs, nodding at Batman.

Good job, his expression reads. You trained the boy on how to withstand pain.

But he doesn’t say that. He just smiles that nauseatingly saccharine, dizzyingly charismatic courtroom grin. “That’s good. There’s more comin’.

“You see-” He kicks Robin in the stomach and then the face. “Harvey Dent was one of the good guys. Being good in this town means you need guts. You gotta be tough. You gotta do things that aren’t in the lawbooks.” He stomps viciously on Robin’s ribs.

Batman feels for the bottle of corrosive in his glove. It’s right where he left it, but it won’t slip out, the ropes trapping the bottle in.

“The Bat didn’t have the stomach for it,” Two-Face continues. Even if he pretends to be speaking to Robin, Batman knows a lecture when he hears one. And this is certainly a lecture intended for Batman. “He punked out on Harvey.”

Two-Face yanks Robin up by his hair. “Batman, the great outlaw protector of Gotham, hid behind Lady Justice’s skirts. But she’s blind. She doesn’t see what needs to be done in her name.”

Batman flexes his wrists and angles his hands. He has to do this perfectly if he wants to slide the bottle out without dropping it on the ground.

Two-Face stands. “I wanted you to understand that.” A lackey places a baseball bat in his hand. “Before everything was said and done, I wanted you to know: It wasn’t me that killed you. It was the Bat.”

More bile turns Batman’s mouth bitter. He doesn’t miss the play-on-words. It’s so undeniably Harvey that Batman feels his stomach drop through the trapdoor and sink to the bottom of the pool.

There's a dull thump as Two-Face swings the bat like he's playing tee ball. Except Robin’s head is the target. Then he swings it like a golf club. A tennis racket. An ax.

Batman fights desperately with his gloves, unable to look away as Two-Face beats the boy across the room. The bottle finally slips past the ropes and lands in Batman’s hand. He desperately removes the cork and dumps the bottle’s contents on the ropes. His jaw tenses all the while, lips pulled back in a snarl.

The ropes break free. Far, far too late, the ropes break free.

“Whew!” Two-Face sighs, standing over the tiny, bloody figure on the floor. “That’s thirsty work! But one good shot to the skull should finish it.” He raises the bat above his head, both hands braced on the grip. “Then I’ll bat for a double play!”

And Batman tackles Two-Face to the ground with an unrestrained fury.

“You son of a-” Two-Face swings at Batman, but the Caped Crusader ducks and lands a blow to Two-Face’s trick knee. Maybe if the situation was different, Batman would appreciate his own preparedness. He’d be grateful that he knew about the knee at all. But the situation isn’t different, so Batman doesn’t revel in anything but his own incompetence.

Two-Face goes down like a ton of bricks. His goons approach Batman from behind, but Batman rips the bat - the dark red bat, stained and splattered with the blood of a child - from Two-Face’s hands and swings it around, knocking both goons out. Then he knocks the gun from Two-Face’s grip and grabs the villain’s collar.

“Do your worst,” Two-Face goads. “I’ve already done mine.”

“I don’t have time to give you the beating you deserve,” Batman growls. “This will have to do.” And then he uppercuts Two-Face, sending him sprawling to the floor.

Batman doesn’t waste another precious second, crouching by the boy in the bloody yellow cape. “Robin?”

Robin doesn’t respond. He’s breathing, fighting for every wheeze of air, but his eyes are shut. Two-Face better pray they don’t stay that way.

“I’m here, partner,” Batman murmurs, collecting the boy in his arms and rushing for the Batmobile. “I’m here.” He doesn’t look back to check on Two-Face. He just runs.

Part 2

[gay-strawberry]

how hard can it be to make an official spiderman (peter parker) movie thats gay for me ?????????