#i say he is a worm not out of malice but with endearment. he is always there in eskew

[pensivespacepirate]

i think why david ward isn't winning much of the poor pathetic wet cat polls aside from the popularity issue would be. he's not that much of a cat compared to jarchivist or a. lester . he isn't actively fighting against the narrative nor is pitied. he narrates afterwards so his winces and fears are not on the record. he is definitely sopping wet from the rain but he isn't weighed down by it on voice recordings. he is pathetic not because he keeps losing his battles like the other contestants but rather he didn't pick his fights so by default he loses. like at least to me he's more like a wet worm more than anything

[cloudbattrolls]

Presence, Not Absence

Jameth Abnale | Shurin Castle | Present Night

Jamie hadn’t been to a party in a while, and he wasn’t sure he was ready for Civitrecce ones yet, much as he missed them; but the event he and Jikiro were attending was still a good one. There were even some famous trolls here, movie stars and the like, given it was a short film showing and dinner combined. The venue was an East Alternian one, but not in Jikiro’s native region; further south, on one of the islands closer to the wide-open ocean, surrounded by reefs that many seadwellers had made into their homes. 

Too bad there wasn’t any dancing, but honestly, he was too stiff to give it his best anyway. He had minimal pain, thankfully, but he was moving even more slowly than usual as he and his kismesis walked through a pair of wide doors into the castle. 

The place was already full of trolls from teal to fuchsia - though only a very few of the latter - and various servants scurrying about holding drinks and appetizers. 

Jikiro’s thick hand lay on top of his - of course he couldn’t hold it in his own while he walked - and the tealblood looked at him, mouth open to ask a question as his gaze wandered over the various chatting trolls.

Before he could, Jamie cut in.

“Yes, yes, go mingle.” He said dismissively, but not harshly. 

The ink maker smirked, taking his hand away. “Don’t miss me too much.”

“The only thing I’ll miss is the view from behind.” Retorted the blueblood snidely.

Jikiro chuckled as he walked away, going toward some business acquaintances he wanted to catch up with. 

Jamie stood there a moment, then went to the side of the room; he had to, being unable to quickly maneuver out of anyone’s way and not wanting a crack across the knees or the side for his lack of speed. Highbloods who could get away with it would play it off as an accident, laugh about it, and offer no apology before moving on. 

He stopped by the drinks table before he did, squinted, and then did a double take as he looked down the other end.

No.

It couldn’t be.

Yet they were unmistakable, that no-good worm swarm his quadrants and Viltau so inexplicably cuddled up to. Three-spined horns, graying hair, bright jade eyes. Those long needle-like fangs and the black marks under their eyes. 

They leaned their curvy figure against a taller, slimmer man who was pale and handsome, his long white hair magenta on the lower part. He couldn’t make out what the two were saying, but from the fond looks and the way the false jadeblood flicked the seadweller under the chin playfully as the two seemed to bicker…it reminded him all too much of his own banter with Jiji.

The fuchsia was given a gentle shove by the rainbowdrinker, who wagged their finger at him as he took a drink from the table with deliberate slowness before walking away. They shook their head, appearing annoyed yet endeared.

They turned their head, a glass of red liquid in their own hand - and noticed him.

“Hello, Abnale.” They said, seeming amused but not surprised to see him.

He huffed. 

“Don’t think just because we cooperated in the escape room that we’re square.” He grumbled. “You simply happen to the less obnoxious rainbowdrinker of the two I know.”

Their eyebrows raised. “Goodness, who’s cheating me of the top spot?”

“Ashell Bathre.” Jamie’s voice dripped pure venom. “My kismesis’s worthless moirail.”

They snorted softly. “Oh my. What did poor Ashe do to earn your ire?”

Jamie felt himself grow hot, and he gripped the handles of his crutches more firmly.

Tuuya’s expression softened.

“I am sorry for overstepping.” They said gently. 

He blinked. He hadn’t expected them to apologize.

“He is a friend of mine…but I am not unfamiliar with how his good intentions can lead him astray. Unfortunate, as I imagine this was the case with you.”

“You have no bloody idea.” Muttered the blueblood, but there was little true malice in it. 

“I don’t.” They said calmly. “None of my business, unless you wish to speak of it.”

He snorted, finally taking a few small pieces of fruit and vegetables to eat onto his beautifully ornamented plate.

“Hardly. What on Alternia are you doing here anyway? Who was that you’re with?”

“My kismesis.” They said fondly. “Channi Karuma.”

Jamie stopped in the middle of picking up a piece of orange.

“You’re having me on.”

“I am not.” They said with amusement, smiling widely. “He is my darling spade, bless his oft-dim heart.”

The kookaburra troll stared.

“You? You of all people? Ridiculous. What does a famous, good-looking man like that want with you?”

They grinned, their free hand on their wide hip.

“I think you can employ your imagination.”

Jamie looked at his plate.

“Thank you, I’ve lost my appetite! What little of it there was to begin with. Have you no shame?”

They winked. “My shame died about when my will to starve myself did, and besides, such things are for trolls.” They chuckle. 

“What do I have to be ashamed of? Choosing an appearance that makes me happier? Having quadrants? Goodness.”

“Being disgusting to others means nothing to you?” Muttered Jamie. 

Tuuya fixed him with a cool but somewhat amused gaze.

“Let us dispense with falsehoods, Abnale. You are too intelligent to care so deeply if I am foul or not. You jump on that trait with such vigor because it comforts you to imagine someone lower than yourself. Someone more deserving of the disgust some trolls treat you with.”

Jamie stopped breathing for a few moments, stiffening as his ears went rigid.

“You don’t know me.” He said, but it sounded weak and automatic even to his own ears, and his face burned blue.

“In some ways, no.” Tuuya conceded easily. “In others…we have more in common than you would like.”

Jamie gritted his teeth.

“I’m nothing like you.” He muttered, ears drooping. “Doing what you can do…it’s ridiculously unfair.”

Their ears flicked, expression intrigued and slightly concerned.

“What do you mean?”

“Change yourself. How you look.” He muttered, taking a bite of orange. “You don’t deserve that power.”

They chuckled softly. “Perhaps not. But I suffered enough for it. I might as well enjoy it. Do you wish you could do the same?”

“Maybe I do!” He spat. “What’s it to you?”

Their expression softened again in that annoying way.

“None of my business, true. I simply understand the desire, that’s all.”

He ate a few pieces of food in silence, sullen and knowing he should stop talking to this creature. Vannyn had sipped a decent amount from their glass, and he knew for damn sure from the flow of the liquid that that wasn’t wine; no surprises there.

Finally, the highblood spoke again, more quietly, yet more harshly.

“There’s no reason to like how I look. I have nothing a man would be interested in, not really, nothing to make one want me in his bed and at his lips. You’d know. You changed yourself too.” 

His voice was bitter, but not angry. Simply resigned. 

Tuuya’s eyebrows raised. 

“Your kismesis is chopped liver, then?”

Jamie huffed

“Jiji likes anything.” He muttered. “Any appearance. He’s hardly picky.”

“Oh? He doesn’t compliment you in particular? I find that hard to believe.”

Jamie flushed blue.

Tuuya grinned.

“Jikiro may not be picky, but it doesn’t mean he finds you any less attractive.” They said gently. “He chose you as his spade, not someone else.”

“As for myself -” They added with amusement. “ - well, yes, I did put on a lot of weight, and I’ve no regrets. But I was thin when my matesprit and kismesis first saw me, first kissed me, first adored me. 

The only difference is that now I feel better, more like myself. That appearance wasn’t at all less attractive. I just prefer this one.” They said, smiling gently. 

Jamie was silent for a few moments, then scoffed.

“I’d like being a little bigger.” He muttered. “Not much. A bit taller, less rail-thin…better face, maybe…”

“What’s wrong with your current one?” Asked the worm swarm calmly.

He gave a short, humorless laugh.

“Pointy enough to cut cheese isn’t anyone’s nightdream.” He said derisively. “All I’ve got is angles. Who wants to be poked with this when they’re going for a kiss?” He said, trying not to sigh as he gestured to his nose and failing. Then waved a hand, frustrated at his own reaction. 

“Oh, why am I telling you any of this? You’d never get it.”

Tuuya laughed softly, their ears waving up and down slightly.

“I am hardly a classic beauty myself, Abnale. Besides. I think your big nose gives you distinction, as do your freckles. You should be proud of them.”

He flushed slightly. “Proud of being spotty and beaky? Why? So I can get laughed at? No one finds those things appealing! No one! They’re jokes! It’s far smarter to take control of the joke before someone else makes one.” He said softly, two-tone eyes serious behind the light reflecting off his glasses. 

“That way it becomes mine and not someone else’s. It’s the only power I have.” He said, bitter and weary.

Tuuya’s bright green eyes looked at him with far more understanding than he liked.

“Do you think I would not be a joke if people knew?” They said gently. 

“Behold, a worm swarm that finds themself attractive! Isn’t that funny? That something so gross and bizarre claims such an impossibly silly thing? Pity them platonically, they must be delusional, poor stupid invertebrates. Pity their quadrants more, for such low standards, such humorously perverse tastes! Only perversion could lead them to make such a choice, clearly.” Tuuya murmured.

Jamie felt himself twist with entirely unwanted emotions.

“You’ve heard the same about yourself, haven’t you?” They said, tone low and knowing. Not sympathizing, no, Tuuya just knew. 

They understood.

He hated it.

“So what if I have?” He croaked, hating that his voice shook and was robbed of its harshness. “That isn’t…hard to guess. It’s nothing. Just stupid trolls talking about what they don’t understand.”

“Mmm.” Said the jade. “Quite so.”

The kookaburra troll was silent for a minute or so, and Tuuya sipped blood from their glass.

“It’s not just my face, or being cullbait.” He murmured, watching the other party guests from their little corner. 

“It’s what remains from my surgeries…half my back is covered with scars, Vannyn. They’ve healed as best they can, but they’ll always be there, even if they’ve faded some with time. You can feel them, ropy and twisted. Press too hard, and they still hurt.”

“That does sound like a bother.” Tuuya agreed. “You have to be careful with Jikiro, then?”

With anyone else he might have broken their foot for asking such a personal thing - he’d done it before, for that exact reason - but from them it was simply an honest question to a peer. Not one asked with a sneer or prying curiosity, as if he were an object.

He hated that he wanted to talk to them. 

But he had never had anyone who understood before.

“Always.” He said, dour. “I have to take breaks…it’s pathetic. It’s better to play up my attractions, you know. If men are annoyed or think I’m vulgar, they won’t start wondering or feeling bad for me…plus, the looks on people’s faces when the little cripple says something risqué are delightful.” He said with the hint of a grin.

“Why is that pathetic?” 

Their calm voice made him scowl.

“How could it not be? I’ll never have more stamina. Pitiable Jamie, can’t even be a proper lay because god forbid he strain himself. Please do tell me how anyone besides Jiji would want to put up with that.”

“I’ve no idea if someone else would.” They said in the same calm voice. “But you don’t know for sure that it’s impossible.”

“Ugh, you sound like Jiji.” He complained. “Take your ruddy optimism and shove it. It’s no good! I don’t even know why I bother saying any of this.” He huffed.

“I don’t endure your trials, but I once bound my desires on purpose to not upset those I care for.” They said gently. 

“I was quite certain my feelings were offensive, for that was logical, yes? To offer trolls my affections, a monster’s gruesome feelings, would surely discomfort them, disturb them even. I did not want to be cruel, so I held back. Until…” they chuckled softly at themself. 

“Until I couldn’t anymore. I was encouraged. I was wanted, despite how little sense it made. It was true, it was really true. My resolve vanished like dew in the sun. If it can happen to me, why not you? You already have a kismesis and moirail.”

Jamie sighed deeply. “Flush is different. Flush is…soft. Intimate emotionally. I am no good at that side of it.” He admitted, ears drooping down. 

“I can charm my moirail, but I can’t be like that all the time even with him. It’s just not in me. I am too sharp. So let me not hurt any man I might want that way. Better for him, better for me.” He murmured, thinking of Helios.

They stood there in silence, the worm swarm and the blueblood, until Tuuya snorted.

“Oh, what now?” Jamie said crossly. “What’s so bloody funny?”

“Those are the words of a man who can’t stand to lose, so he won’t try.”

“Oh, piss off and eat your own teeth.” He snapped. “Did you not listen to a word we just exchanged? You didn’t want to try either! People came onto you, for some damn reason.” He said with an eye roll.

“I think you’re more afraid of being wanted than you are of being unwanted, Abnale.”

He squawked in offense. “I am not.”

“Really? What would you do if a man you liked actually flush-flirted with you, and as far as you could tell, he was sincere?”

A very telling silence stretched between the two individuals as Jamie looked at the floor intently.

“I can’t…I can’t imagine it.” He said quietly. “Everything I’ve ever experienced…”

“You are so young still, Abnale, and my goodness yes you’ve suffered, but that does not mean it is forever.”

“Maybe it should be.” He muttered. “I don’t…I’m not sure I could handle it if it didn’t work out, if by some chance I did get a matesprit.” He admitted through gritted teeth. 

Tuuya nodded. “It’s something to get accustomed to. But it’s possible to get yourself there.”

He blew air out in a steady stream, his ears flicking.

“Why are you being so nice to me?” He said, halfheartedly suspicious.

They snorted.

“I’m fond of your friend and your moirail, if you’ll recall. I have no desire to cause further enmity between us, especially since Jikiro and I have also now met. So it’s in my interests in that regard, but also…I have never overly disliked you, Abnale. My theft was not personal, despite you seeming to think otherwise. It was purely on Chimer’s orders.”

“That makes me feel so much better.” He retorted snidely, then sighed. “I suppose it doesn’t really matter now, especially since you don’t work for her anymore.”

“I do not.” Agreed Tuuya cheerfully. “I have no reason to touch anything of yours again.”

Despite his usual suspicions, Jamie’s psiionics confirmed they were telling the truth, and he felt they meant it.

“Truce then, I suppose.” Conceded the blueblood grudgingly, sticking a freckled hand out.

Surprised but gratified, Tuuya took it and shook it politely.

“Huh. You feel just like a regular troll.” He said with surprise, after letting go.

Tuuya smiled at him; not a full needle grin, but a warm expression, one with fondness.

“I emphasize what I have, Abnale, not what I lack. You owe it to yourself to do the same.”

The kookaburra troll flushed blue and looked down.

Quietly, so low the worm swarm almost couldn’t hear it, he said one final thing before he turned and slowly walked away. He had seen Jikiro looking for him. 

“You can call me Jamie.”

[frizz22]

Heavy is the Head

Hilda doesn’t let Zelda go back under the pretense of the Caligari spell.

Notes: This has been half finished in my drafts for ages, so sorry if it's an old idea. But it always bothered me that no one objected to Zelda going back after saying it was torture... anyway, hope you enjoy! Read on ao3 

Zelda sniffed in distaste as she picked up the bag with what remained of Leviathan. Steeling herself against the nausea roiling through her, Zelda forced her mask back into place.

Going back was the only way. Pretending, pretending to still be under the Caligari spell was the only way to keep them all safe and alive.

Deftly flipping her hair over her shoulder, Zelda sighed. “The things I do for this family.” She quipped, doing her best to sound unaffected by this decision.

As she made to leave, though, Hilda caught her arm. “I can’t.” She shook her head, lips pressed tightly together. “I can’t let you go back, Zelds.” 

Touched by her sister’s concern, Zelda gave her a small smile. “Hildie, I appreciate it, but there’s really no other—"

“We’ll find one.” Her sister interrupted, looking at her earnestly. “You said it was torture. This would be no different, or, or maybe it’d be even worse. I’m not letting you go back there either way.”

Forcing back tears of gratitude, Zelda swallowed hard. “Then what do you suggest we do? Faustus is expecting me back, if I don’t return, he’ll know, and Hell knows what would happen to Ambrose.”

A wicked smile curled her sister’s lips. “Oh, I have just the thing.” Eyes gleaming with rare malice, Hilda took her hand and led Zelda into the greenhouse.

Frowning, Zelda set the bag of mouse remains down and let herself be ushered deeper into the house. “Hilda...” she hedged. As much as she wanted an alternative, if they took too long Faustus would deduce something; he wasn’t an idiot, though he played the part convincingly enough at times.

Hilda held up a finger and flicked her free wrist to gather the supplies she needed. After everything floated to her worktable, Hilda arched a brow at Zelda. “A poppet.” She added, a little unnecessarily, given Zelda had recognized everything from when they made one for Shirley.

She huffed in disbelief. “Well, if it’s not broke...” she mumbled, joining her sister at the table. And it really was quite brilliant. Faustus would never be entrapped by a Caligari spell; he’d be too wary of any musical device after what he’d done to her.

They worked together in near silence, only occasionally asking to be handed an item. When the poppet was done, Hilda held up the tin of ear worms once more. “Take two, just to increase the strength.” She murmured, scowling at the miniature Faustus doll Zelda was holding. “Can’t chance the bastard wriggling his way out somehow.”  

Only too happy to comply, Zelda slipped two worms inside the poppet’s head and sewed it shut as she and Hilda sang the spell.

Once finished, Hilda looked up at her. “And now, we kill him.” She murmured darkly, likely picturing all the gruesome ways they could make Faustus kill himself.

Smiling cruelly, Zelda weighed the poppet in her hand. “No.” She breathed, possibilities flashing through her mind of how else they could approach this. While she wanted to punish Faustus, killing him was too easy, too final. “I have much better plans for him than death.” Feeling lighter than she had since that cursed spell was forced on her, Zelda winked at her sister, picked up the bag full of Leviathan, and teleported away. 

~~~

Faustus looked up from his book when she reappeared. Arching a brow, he marked his spot. “Run into trouble, dearest? It took you some time.”

Daintily placing the bag on his book, smothering a smile at how he sneered at how it leaked onto the pages, Zelda clasped her hands together. “They cloaked the mouse, husband, thinking they were being clever. I found it and dealt with it as you instructed.”

“Of course you did, Zelda.” He stood and rounded the table to stand in front of her. “Because you’re my good girl, aren’t you?” Faustus stroked the back of his fingers along her cheek before slipping his hand into her hair.

And oh, how such an action would have made her feel, even just a week ago, before the spell. Now it took all her self-control not to shred him for daring to touch her.

Carefully keeping her face blank except an empty smile, Zelda nodded despite the nausea growing in her stomach.

“I have something else for you, your Excellency.” Zelda added as Faustus turned to pick up his drink. He hummed and reached for the decanter to refill his glass without looking at her. Letting the Caligari demeanor drop, Zelda stepped up behind him and started to sing into his ear.

The worms crawl in, the worms crawl out, the worms play pinochle on your snout. They eat your eyes, they eat your nose, they eat the jelly between your toes.

The drink fell from Faustus’ hand and he stiffened. Pleased with herself, Zelda rounded her husband and gave him and assessing look.... he was fully bound by her spell.

Lifting her chin, Zelda smirked and moved to settle in his chair, propping her feet up on his desk. “Faustus, dearest,” she mocked the endearment, “pour me a drink.”

Face blank, Faustus moved automatically to fulfill her order.  

As the warmth of victory and revenge spread through her, Zelda lit a cigarette, taking a long, satisfying drag and blowing the smoke into Faustus’ face before she took the drink from him.

“Very good, husband.” She huffed in amusement at the title. “Now, sit and listen like a good little Antipope.” When he complied, Zelda continued. “I entered this marriage for power. And sex,” she admitted, “the sex was incredible and why would I have denied myself? It seemed such a simple marriage, both of us enjoying power and sex so why not get more of each by working together. But you had to go and reach beyond yourself. Tried to turn that power on me.” She tsked and knocked some ash off her cigarette. “You should have known better. Should have known you couldn’t control me, not for long at least. So now, as your punishment, I’ll control you.”

She took a sip and watched Faustus carefully, ensuring no facial tics indicating he wasn’t fully under her spell. Satisfied, she continued. “Only I did it better. Nothing to smash to end my spell... seems I’ve bested you again, Faustus, just like in our academy days.” Zelda arched a brow and took another drag of nicotine. “Sadly, I still need you. Don’t go convincing yourself it’s sentimental, it’s that you’re too powerful to waste. I’d have killed you by now otherwise. No,” she sighed and knocked back the rest of her drink and held out the glass to him, Faustus immediately stood to fill it. “I have to keep you if I want to rule. The witching realm isn’t ready for a witch leader, misogynistic as most warlocks are. So, I’ll rule through you, make sweeping reforms, raise up witches...” she looked off to the side, a small smile tugging her lips as she envisioned the future. Refocusing on the warlock in front of her, Zelda dropped her feet to the ground and stood. “I suppose all your conniving paid off in the end, I’d never be able to make such a difference with a mere High Priest for a husband, an Antipope though...” she lifted a brow and stubbed out her cigarette. “Clean up this mess, Faustus,” she indicated to the bag still leaking mouse fluids on the book, “and then come find me, we have a lot of work to do.” 

~~~

The following years passed smoothly.

Her reforms were questioned at first, but with Antipope Faustus as her mouthpiece the witching realm accepted them as the Dark Lord’s will and adopted them with alacrity and enthusiasm.

Sometimes, to toy with Faustus and gloat, rub his face in how well the witching realm was doing with her as the ruler, Zelda would let him surface—with a number of restrictive spells, of course.

Tonight was one of those times. Zelda had just passed a law stating witches could hold positions of power within their covens and the Churches of Darkness.  

Lounging on the couch in what was technically Faustus’ office, Zelda watched as the warlock struggled against his bounds. “I won’t need you much longer, dear husband.” She informed him, eyes gleaming cruelly. “As I’m sure you’re aware, you’ve praised me highly to both the High Council and the witching realm as the inspiration for all these popular reforms, for the peace we’ve been enjoying. With this new law, I will be the logical choice to become the next Antipope when you meet a sudden and unfortunate end. I’ll mourn you publicly, of course, but then I’ll bravely rally to carry the cause my late husband and I worked so hard to further. The High Council will fall over themselves in their haste to appoint me.”

“You won’t get away with it.” Faustus forced through clenched teeth, eyes a little manic. “You’ll crumble under the power and pressure.”

She smirked and continued to paint her nails. “Heavy is the head that wears the crown, dearest. You’d know, you crumbled pathetically fast under the weight when you got your hands on it. Fortunately for the witching realm, I wear and bear the crown so much better.”

Before he could argue further, Zelda cocked her head. “The worm crawls in...” she sang, inspecting her now finished manicure, and Faustus was back under.

Muttering a quick spell to dry her nails, Zelda teleported home, perhaps Hilda would have some creative ideas for murdering her husband and making it look an accident when the time came.

[violetsmoak]

Tabula Rasa [1/?]

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20183281/chapters/47822500

Blanket Disclaimer

Summary: Tim and Jason have known they are soulmates for years, though neither has said anything about it. Tim thinks Jason doesn't know, and is just trying to live with it. Jason thinks Tim knows but doesn't care, which is fine with him, he thinks the soulmate thing is a crock anyway. But one night, a minor mishap forces them to confront the issue head-on, leading to a series of events no one could have predicted.

Rating: PG-13 (rating may change later)

JayTimBingo Prompts This Chapter: #a lie #bright vivid colours #danger #enemies to lovers #soulmate aversion #soulmark tattoo

Canon-Compliance: Follows the New Earth continuity, with elements of New 52 (ie the ones that don’t completely contradict everything that happened pre-Flashpoint). Ignores Rebirth completely. So, up to about 2016 in terms of publication dates? Robins War happened, but Red Hood hasn’t met Artemis or Bizarro, and nothing bad has happened to Roy ffs! 

Beta Reader: I'll get back to you on that.

________________________________________________________________

“Three cheers for the happy couple!”

The south wing ballroom of Wayne Manor erupts with the raucous shouts and applause of a hundred and twenty reception attendees. Tim’s congratulations get lost in the din, but he does catch Dick’s eye and flash him a thumbs up.

Seated at the high table, his older brother leans in and kisses his bride, which causes more cheering and catcalls from the guests, and makes the normally unflappable and newly named Barbara Gordon-Grayson blush.

Tim turns away and pastes a smile on his face as the Davenports, a senior couple and two of Wayne Enterprises' most influential shareholders, approach him.

Time to be ‘on’ again…

A generous mix of family friends (most of whom are vigilantes or heroes), and GCPD officers, fill the ballroom. These are interspersed with a few Haly’s Circus performers, and the requisite number of elite guests required by the Society pages of the Gotham Gazette.

Bride and bridegroom sit at the head table with their respective entourages, engaged in animated chatter. Babs and her maid of honor Alysia dissolve into laughter as Dick says something to Damian, who scowls and turns redder by the minute. The Gordon family is there, the Commissioner conversing in stiff politeness with his ex-wife Barbara, and Bruce is in full “Brucie” mode. In the background, Alfred directs the hired staff with his usual decorum and efficiency.

Across the room, Cassandra drags Stephanie over to the dance floor. At a smaller round table near the bride and groom, Duke just misses being speared with a fork by his girlfriend when he tries to sneak a piece of Izzy’s cake. Helena flirts with both Luke and Kate and Tim’s sure Selina is somewhere in the house stealing something to lure Bruce over to her place later.

It’s rare to have so many members of the family together in one room, and so Tim does his best to ignore the lingering dismay at the glaring absence in their numbers.

Dick and Babs look at each other now and again, like they’re the only ones in the world, and he makes an effort to find it adorable. He bolsters the jovial front he’s been wearing all night, reminding himself that his happiness for his brother and new sister-in-law isn’t something that needs faking. It took so long for them to sort everything out between them; it goes to show that being soulmates doesn’t equal an automatic perfect relationship.

I know that better than anyone.

It’s just getting more difficult with every passing hour to maintain the graceful Timothy Drake-Wayne façade.

“It will be your turn next,” Mrs. Davenport informs him, while her husband nods along. “Since Richard and dear Cassandra have found their matches, you’re the only one left.”

Tim’s smile becomes a little more forced. “Well, there is Damian.”

The demon brat looks as if he swallowed a mouthful of peppercorns as Brucie leans over and ruffles his hair, laughing his raucous fake laugh.

Now I’m glad Dick didn’t ask me to be his best man, or I’d be the chump stuck up there.

Not that he was that upset when he heard the news.

Tim’s distanced himself enough from the loss of Robin to accept Damian needs as much help as they can offer if he is ever to be a ‘real boy’. Little gestures like this from Dick are part of a larger plan. And it was endearing, in a way, to see the kid stomping around in the weeks leading up to the wedding, trying to check off a list of best man duties he’d printed off the internet.

And dissolving into teenaged fury when innocent things went wrong or when the groom teased him by flouting what Damian considered ‘according to convention’.

And then there was that bachelor party he organized…

It would seem extreme trampoline parks were a thing; also, getting banned from said parks within an hour for trampolining while drunk was a thing.

“Yes, but he’s still so…young,” Mrs. Davenport says, bringing him back to the present. Tim perceives how she hesitates on the best word to describe the youngest member of the Wayne family.

“It’s fine, you can call him a prepubescent terror. I always do.”

“Oh, Timothy!” Garish laughter as if he told the most hilarious joke of the season. “You are such a character. Why haven’t you found your someone yet?”

Tim catches sight of Steph once again, dancing with Cass and looking carefree and blissful and in love. And this time it’s a bit harder to experience only joy for his siblings, more of a struggle to fight the pang of hurt and jealousy that rears its head.

“You’re almost eighteen,” her husband remarks, interrupting his thoughts. “Most people find their matches much younger. Eleanor and I met when we were fourteen.”

“Oh, it was a beautiful summer in the Hamptons.”

“And it seems like youth today are finding each other earlier every year.”

“My sister and Stephanie didn’t,” Tim points out, only somewhat strained because that one still stings.

He and Steph had been together for most of their teenage years. She hadn’t possessed a soulmark, and Tim’s…would lead nowhere. He truly loved her, and if things were different, he knows they would have had a happy future. Lots of people whose marks don’t match are.

But then the day Spoiler and Black Bat met, they’d shaken hands, and everything fell into place. He’ll never forget either of their eyes—Steph bemused as her mark appeared for the first time and then exploded into color across her forearms; Cass puzzled until she realized what was happening. Then her face became an open book of joy rivaled only by how she looked when Bruce told her he intended to adopt her.

Faced with their happiness, it was only natural that Tim took a step back, much as it hurt to do.

“Perhaps your soulmate lives in another country,” Mr. Davenport suggests; it is clear he is not picking up on Tim’s reluctance.

“Oh!” his wife cries. “You should go on that television show they have now! You know, the one where they try to help you track down your match? I can’t remember the name, but it’s something like The Amazing Race or the Bachelorette.”

“Perhaps yours is younger than you. That happens sometimes.”

“Yes! May-December relationships aren’t that uncommon with your generation, I hear.”

“Or maybe they’re dead,” Tim suggests, and though his tone is light and friendly, his words shut them up in an instant.

Because if very well could be true.

Tim’s never shown off his mark in public, and he told Steph that exact story when she asked all those years ago. At the time, he wasn’t even lying.

Soulmarks develop around puberty and last the duration of the lifespan of the shorter-lived partner. Some people are born with several, the way Dick was, and some only share platonic or familial bonds, like Alfred and Bruce. Others have none at all. When a soulmate dies, the mark associated with them vanishes.

That’s because most don’t come back from the dead.

Still smiling at the now cringing couple, Tim takes his leave, letting them stew in their faux pas as he wanders toward the bride and groom’s table. He’s reached his limit.

Not wanting to crouch down in the middle of their group, he gestures until his brother sees him and makes an excuse to Babs. She’s following his gaze, offering Tim a worried look, but he smiles and shakes his head, trying to telegraph ‘It’s nothing. Go back to your celebration.’

Dick is red-faced and his eyes brighter than usual when he gets to Tim; people been plying him with generous amounts of alcohol all day. “Hey, Timmy, what’s up?”

“I think I‘ll make my way out,” he replies. “Do a bit of patrolling and then turn in.”

“Tim…”

Dick’s expression becomes concerned, and Tim shifts in discomfort.

“Someone has to be on the streets while you guys are slacking,” he jokes. “You know it took an Act of Alfred to get Bruce to take the night off, right?”

(It was also pointed out that if any of big players had planned anything tonight, probability and precedent suggested they would try it at the Gordon-Grayson reception.)

“You don’t have to do that! I’ve already got one brother missing.”

“Consider this my wedding present. You get to stay and enjoy your party with the rest of the family.”

“You’re just trying to worm your way of giving us a real gift,” Dick accuses, but the words lack malice. With a surreptitious glance around to ensure they aren’t being overheard, he lowers his voice and asks, “Are things getting bad again? Do you need to talk? Because Babs won’t mind if I duck out for a bit.”

And he’s always doing this, checking in with Tim, even years after it’s been an issue.

There’s a distinct possibility Dick has noticed how uncomfortable the atmosphere is making him, despite him doing his utmost to hide it, to keep from casting a dark cloud over the festivities.

And Tim should be okay.

Bruce is back from having lost his memories, Damian’s stopped his determined attempts to sabotage or kill him, his relationship with Dick is almost normal again, he has his team and place with the Titans, and there hasn’t been a major crisis in Gotham for about a month which is a record.

Yet he still feels raw and exposed, ill at ease in his skin.

Bruce has been questioning him a lot more, criticizing the way he handles not only cases but projects at WE. Tim worries there’s less time for him to recover between being Tim Wayne, CEO, and Red Robin. And the Titans are getting to the age where many of them want to strike out on their own or pursue more civilian interests—jobs and schools and a normal life. He respects that, even if he doesn’t understand it.

He has never had a normal life, and never will.

But he does have more and more days now where he looks at himself in the mirror and wonders how he’s supposed to keep doing this forever. Can’t figure out how Bruce has managed it for so long. Tim suspects he’s becoming little more than his daytime public persona and his nighttime alter ego.

Who exactly is Tim Drake?

Instead of voicing any of this, though, he musters up a comforting smile for his brother and assures him, “There’s nothing to talk about. It’s like every day. Just one step at a time, right?”

Dick’s expression clears then, and he nods, relieved. “Okay. If you’re sure.”

“And Dick?”

“Yeah?”

“Congrats.”

“Aw, thanks, Timmy.”

A bone-crushing hug later, and Tim’s car peels out of the estate parking garage, still ignoring the growing pit in his stomach.

He returns to his apartment in the Theater District, shedding his suit and tie in a pile that Alfred would have a coronary over if he were there to see it. Jumping in the shower, he scrubs himself of any traces of his cologne or other identifying scents he might have picked up at the reception and tries to get himself back into a clearer headspace.

He pauses for a moment at the sink, trying to shake off the lingering, bone-deep exhaustion. Several prescription bottles line the mirror—various sleeping aids, most of which don’t help anymore (but the rebound insomnia of stopping them isn’t worth the trouble). These days it’s only the heavy-duty sleep narcotics that work when he needs to turn his brain off for a few hours.

Among the personal pharmacy are several combinations of anti-depressants he tried in the past few months. Most of the time he powers through it, the way he’s done his whole life, but in recent weeks Tim’s noticed things getting hard again. The helpful alerts he sets on his phone don’t always convince him to leave his bed and even video games lack the usual draw. He sometimes gets lost in his head for hours; on bad nights, he hesitates a second longer before shooting a grapple line or dodging a knife. In rare moments, he considers his sleeping pills a little too much consideration, at which point he calls Dick or Connor. Talks to someone so he isn’t so alone.

As he dries off, Tim stares down at his right wrist, examining the complicated knotwork design emblazoned there. Swirls of crimson and gold loop in and out of each other, before cutting off along his forearm.

Everyone has a soulmark, an arrangement of swirling shapes across their skin; each is distinctive to the individuals bonded by them. They first appear when a person is in the general vicinity of their soulmate, manifesting as a colorless pattern of darker and lighter shades of melanin. Those patterns fill with bright, rich colors upon physical touching one’s mate. When pressed together, they interlock in only one way and retreat when contact stops.

Soulmates who have reciprocated bonds sport their marks in full and everlasting display. The sight is both beautiful and frustrating to see, even on his family, as he’ll never experience that himself.

His mark might be a stunning amalgamation of scarlet and gold, twisted into a mandala upon his wrist, but it will never be permanent. While it’s been a while since Jason’s made any energetic attempts to kill him, Tim’s resigned himself to living without a completed bond; tolerance is about the only thing he can hope for from his predecessor.

Finding Steph when they were younger had been a joy and a relief. Her not having a mark meant they both had a chance for a fulfilling connection. Until Cass.

Tim forces himself to stop dwelling on it and shoves the bleak thoughts down behind the wall he puts everything uncomfortable and not cohesive to whatever task he’s given himself. Instead, he busies himself with covering up his mark using the spray-on cover that doesn’t fade with water or perspiration, only coming off when scrubbed with a special soap. One of Bruce’s earliest and more practical inventions, since Brucie Wayne and Batman couldn’t have a soulmark in common.

Bruce covers his pretty much all the time, but Tim’s only been covering his when he suits up. He lives his life in disguise, he doesn’t want to hide such an important part of himself when he’s off the clock.

He heads down to the lower levels of his Nest, gets dressed while having the computer scan for trouble. The program calculates probabilities for where violence will crop up, where he should begin his patrol. He hopes for a busy night, something to distract him from his convoluted thoughts.

As usual, he intends to start his rounds off in Tricorner, and then go through Chinatown—which is when he notices movement on a camera that concerns him.

A familiar gleaming scarlet helmet.

Red Hood.

He debates with himself for several minutes.

On the one hand, it’s his regular patrol territory; on the other, seeing the other vigilante tonight, while his mood is already so low, isn’t something he wishes to contend with.

He clenches his fist.

He knew of Jason Todd for a year before discovering the second Robin was his soulmate. By the time he wanted to do anything about it, the older boy was dead, and Tim consigned to grieving in secret.

Then Jason came back, but it was almost worse than him being gone because he hated him. Without having ever met him.

Even now that he’s mellowed out (sort of), Jason appears to reserve more dislike for his successor than anyone else in the family, not counting Bruce and Dick for obvious reasons. Red Hood and Red Robin have run into each other enough in and out of costume that there have been ample opportunities for Jason’s soulmark to make itself known. That Tim has seen nothing close to resembling it means one of two things: either the other man hasn’t developed his mark yet, which is possible albeit rare, or he has, and like Batman, always keeps it covered.

Which says more than enough about his sentiments on the matter.

Between Jason refusing to acknowledge their connection, or just not being aware of it, Tim prefers to believe the latter, if only to make himself feel better. There’s no point in bringing up the soulmate thing at this juncture. He decided years ago to respect the status quo, for the simple reason it’s less painful than the alternative.

All that being said, he doesn’t enjoy watching Jason get in trouble, even more so when the situation is avoidable and he’s near enough to help. At the moment the big idiot is courting a potential gang war.

Sometimes protecting someone means protecting them from themselves and their bad choices, I guess.

Static crackles through the comm in his ear, and then he hears Batman’s low growl. “What’s going on in Chinatown?”

“Why am I not surprised you’re still listening to the comms at your son’s wedding,” Tim sighs. “Nothing. I’m handling it.”

“Are you sure?”

“B, I’ll help A drug you every day for a week,” he threatens. “And you know we both can and will find new and interesting ways of doing it.”

There’s a huff on the other side of the line. “…Noted. Reach out if you need backup.”

“You’ll be the first.”

“You’re lying.”

“Wow, you must be a detective or something,” he deadpans. “Red Robin out.”

Jason is the last person he wants to run into right now, but Tim’s also been cultivating a few informants there and he can’t have that jeopardized.

Looks like I’m going to Chinatown. Hope Lynx is in a good mood…

He wonders if tonight he’ll end up getting beaten up, or just insulted. He’s not even sure which would hurt more.

⁂

Jason goes flying out of the upper story of the restaurant, followed closely by a very tiny woman wielding a very big sword. She reminds him of Cheshire, with a shade less lethality.

Actually, if it were Jade, he would end up critically injured when she lands on him, using him as a cushion against the pavement. He manages to turn his body to land in a way that won’t break his back—though his right side will be a giant bruise tomorrow—and scrambles to his feet.

This is one of the reasons I avoid Chinatown.

Things never go well for him here, especially not since that thing with the Su family. It’s just better to avoid the place. But before that, he and the Ghost Dragons at least used to get along—professional courtesy and all that, along with an unspoken agreement not to step on each other’s toes. 

That’s over, apparently.

All he’d wanted to do was ask some questions. One of his stool pigeons passed him some information on a human trafficking ring; according to him, it was based on Chinatown. It would seem sex slavers were luring young women over to the United States with the premise of work and accommodations.  Then, upon arrival, the girls were hauled into a life of sexual servitude.

Jason didn’t even go in guns blazing this time or wearing the helmet. Just a domino and a hankering for some barbecue pork bun.

So, either someone tipped them off what I was coming around for, or this kid in the mask has something to prove.

There’s a slow curl of heat moving up the back of his left wrist and up his arm, and his first thought is he’s been cut. Except while the sensation is familiar, it isn’t the liquid warmth of blood.

The woman moves fast, and a beat later her sword is swinging downward. Jason’s hands fly to his holsters, thinking he’s going to have to break out the guns after all when there’s a clang.

Suddenly there’s a bō staff in front of his face, catching the sword inches before it slams into Jason’s nose.

Ah. And there’s the other reason I avoid Chinatown.

Because in the past year or so, it’s been part of the patrol route for a certain Timothy Drake.

A.k.a. his replacement.

A.k.a. Red Robin.

A.k.a. his soulmate.

No wonder that warmth in his hand was familiar; the soulmark must have reacted to the younger man’s approach.

After a brief tussle, there’s the sound of a grapple line firing, and then Tim flies upward, ridiculous cape fluttering, still holding the struggling woman.

Her sword stays on the ground.

“Oh, hell no,” Jason growls, because this is his business, damn it!

When he reaches the roof where Tim’s carried off Jason’s would-be-murderer, he notes they are standing close together, conversing in rapid Cantonese. Jason’s rustier at that than he’d like, but he gets the gist when the woman stalks right up to him and begins yelling and gesturing.

Then she shoves him and pushes away; a smoke bomb goes off, and then she’s gone.

Tim makes no move to go after her.

Which, seriously?

Jason stalks over, looming over the shorter man and touching his hand to the still holstered gun in his belt in an implicit (and mostly baseless) threat. He’s always amused at just how much of a height difference there is between him and his replacement, and tonight he makes a point of lording it over him.

“You guys looked awfully cozy there, Timbers.” Which shouldn’t bother him, but he can’t fight a twinge of irritation. “Care to share with the class what your little tête-à-tête was about?”

The cowl covers Tim’s face, but Jason can imagine the judgemental stare.

“She said your poking around her territory will jeopardize her investigation into the sex traffickers.”

“Her investigation? She’s the damn head of the Ghost Dragons!”

“Yeah, and she’s also an undercover operative sent by Hong Kong PD, which I’m only telling you, so you don’t decide to go and kill her for apparent crimes.”

And that was not what he was expecting.

“How do you know this?”

“She told me. She’s one of my CIs.”

“And you believed her?”

“Cass looked into her for me. She’s legit, even if she’s a little…unorthodox.” Tim’s head tilts to one side, considering; with the cowl it makes him look like his avian namesake. “You’d think you’d appreciate that.”

“On the list of things I don’t appreciate, you showin’ up while I’m chasin’ a lead is one of them,” Jason growls. “Don’t you have a party to be at?”

“I ducked out early.”

“Well, that’s lame.”

“Not as lame as someone who ignores the fifteen invitations he was sent.”

Ah, and now they’re back on familiar ground.

“Pfft, I’ve seen enough Brucie to last me several lifetimes.”

“Yeah, but it was for Dick. All you had to do was show up—” his mouth twitches here; Jason can’t tell if it’s amusement or irritation, “—in jeans, even.”

“I’ve been dead once; I don’t need Alfie murderin’ me for that big a faux pas. And somehow I doubt Barbie would appreciate if her wedding photos included Dickiebird sporting a swollen eye.”

Tim sighs. “What are you fighting about this time?”

“Other than the usual stuff? We’re not. But I’m sure he’d put his foot in it at some point and need a nice bit of cognitive recalibration.”

“And you, the perfectly innocent party in all this, would happily provide that?”

“Call it a civic duty.”

Tim shakes his head, but Jason thinks it’s done in amusement this time, instead of exasperation.

“I don’t know how she can settle for that birdbrain,” he continues. “How does she stand bein’ around him so often without wantin’ to punch him in the face every time he opens his mouth?”

“Maybe not every time.”

“Point still stands.”

“Well, they’re soulmates,” Tim says vaguely, distant like he’s not paying attention to what he’s saying. He fiddles with his wrist computer, giving no indication that he is aware of anything else.

Jason’s pretty sure that’s not the case.

After all, he’s practiced in the art of pretending not to feel how his soulmark warms the closer he stands to Tim. There’s no question Tim’s learned to do the same.

It might be hypocritical of him, but that makes him angry somehow.

“As if that explains it all,” Jason sneers. “Come on, Replacement, I thought out of all of them, your whole logical-scientific-question-everything-Klingon-mind wouldn’t go for that hokey soulmate crap.”

“Vulcan.”

That brings him up short. “What?”

“It’s Vulcan culture that’s more focussed on logicality and empirical data-gathering. Klingons are more combat-oriented and tend toward more aggressive means of…” He trails off when he realizes Jason staring at him. “What?”

“You complete nerd,” Jason tells him. “No wonder you left the wedding early. I bet socializin’ with normal people probably stressed you right the fuck out, didn’t it?”

Tim gives a noncommittal shrug.

“Havin’ a soulmate doesn’t mean people should be together,” Jason goes on, filled with the sudden need to hammer home this point. “Look at all the examples from history—Cleopatra and Antony, Henry VIII and Anne Boleyn, Bonnie and Clyde—” He ticks the couples off his finger. “They were all soulmates and they all either made each other miserable or got each other killed.”

“You can’t apply a few historical anomalies to every soulmate pair,” Tim counters. “Life circumstances skew the data.”

“Doesn’t change the fact that fate shouldn’t decide if people will magically work out!”

“That’s not…” Tim appears frustrated, at last, putting down his wrist computer and clenching his jaw. “It’s not supposed to work out magically. It’s about finding the person who completes you. You still need to work at it. It’s not all magically going to fall in place, and you’ll be happy forever right away. Even soulmates don’t get to live perfect lives.”

Ain’t that the truth, Jason muses, considering Tim.

“Sounds like you want a soulmate,” he points out, a little stiffly, and what the hell possessed him to say that?

He wonders what the kid is going to say now, or if this is the day their careful pretense, the lie of not knowing gets shattered.

Luckily, though, Tim avoids opening that can of worms.

He takes a step back from Jason, looks away and mutters, “It’s not relevant to the Mission.” Which is a total cop-out, but Jason will take it. “Anyway, if you’re done causing trouble here and riling up the gangs, I’ll take my leave.”

“Wish you would.”

Tim shoots him an unimpressed glare—or at least, that’s what it seems like to Jason. “Don’t make me come back here. And for god’s sake, at least call and congratulate the happy couple.”

He grapples away rather than allow a witty retort; Jason watches him go with a scowl. Once he’s sure the other vigilante is gone, he tugs the glove off his left hand, frowning at the whorls of crimson and yellow retreating down his forearm and back to his wrist.

His soulmark appeared one night a few evenings before the Garzonas incident. Jason vaguely remembers swinging through an alley to escape yet another argument with Bruce and knocking out a bunch of thugs threatening a kid. He’d been so buzzed on adrenaline and fury he hadn’t noticed the warmth in his wrist. He only caught sight of the mark itself when he returned to the Cave.

And then he spent the night wondering if one of the assholes he knocked around was his soulmate. It wasn’t a comforting idea, and he’d decided then and there to cover up the mark and forget about it. The disappointment about his potential soulmate had been a contributing factor in a long line of shit the universe decided to dump on him that sent him to Ethiopia. If he was linked to scum like that, he wanted to be as far as possible from Gotham.

It never even occurred to him to imagine the kid in the alley was his match. Hell, it didn’t even register when he discovered that Tim Drake had been following Batman and Robin around for years.

Only that day at the Tower, when Jason made his first move against Batman and attacked his replacement, did he finally make the connection.

His mark reacted the minute they were in the same room, spreading across his skin and swirling about seeking its partner. Jason had been so far gone with rage that the sight of it had made him angrier, made him hit harder—because if he didn’t meet Tim before, it meant their bond hadn’t been strong enough to keep him from making the biggest mistake of his life.

It meant he was supposed to meet him after being ripped apart and rebuilt as a weapon.

Luckily, or not, Tim was unconscious before the manifested completed, sneaking out from beneath the long green gauntlets of Jason’s fake Robin suit.

And if he did happen to notice before passing out, the kid hasn’t said anything about it.

Probably hates me and doesn’t want to acknowledge the universe’s idea of a shit joke.

Jason doesn’t blame him. Soulmates are a crock of shit anyway, and Tim’s better off without being tethered to him, and vice versa. They should keep pretending.

Because Jason doesn’t get to be happy.

And Tim deserves better than him because Tim—as much as he’s a pain in the ass—is good.

“And on that note,” Jason murmurs to himself, putting his gauntlet back on, “time to play the villain.”

The tip he received put him in the Ghost Dragons’ crosshairs—which means someone on his payroll is making a move, either against him or against someone else.

Time to find out for sure.

And no more moping over this soulmate crap.

Johnny Lino is the head of an investment company that’s just a front for his money laundering. He’s been passing the Red Hood information about his clients for the better part of a year now, ever since Jason put the fear of Hood in him. Quite a feat, considering the man’s a few inches taller and broader.

Jason finds him in a condo off the Diamond District, watching the Knights game and stuffing his face with pretzels.

Ponzi schemes don’t buy manners, I guess.

“Johnny,” he greets in a clear, would-be friendly manner that has the older man choking up his most recent handful. “Long time no see. Got a bone to pick with you.”

He expects there to be some mumbling and groveling, a few bald-faced lies that require the generous application of foot to face and the reassurance that everything in Jason’s sandbox is back to the way it should be.

So, it surprises him when Johnny scrambles for something that Jason notes too late is a panic button. All of a sudden, half a dozen masked men in combat gear and carrying assault rifles are busting through the door.

“That’s a bit of an overreaction to some conversation, don’t ya think?” Jason asks, throwing himself into action to deal with the interlopers. Bullets fly and knives slice toward him, but in five minutes he’s standing in the ruins of the room with six unconscious men.

And one dead one.

Johnny’s got a neat hole in the side of his head, from one of his hired muscle’s guns, Jason presumes.

“And doesn’t that say a lot about the quality of hired muscle in Gotham these days?” he grumbles, kicking at the body. “Can’t even trust your own people not to shoot you by accident.”

He can hear sirens, knows a neighbor or someone has called in the noise and heads for the fire exit before anyone can link him to the scene. That’s all he needs is the big Bat thinking he pulled the trigger in there.

And damn it, the giant bastard was one of my best sources. Now I’ve got to find someone else.

The encounter bothers him.

He’s had people on his payroll get shifty before, but it’s been his experience that there’s more of a prelude before the attempt to stab him in the back. They try to run or talk their way out of it; it seems Johnny went all out, trying to take out the Red Hood, all because of a bit of questionable information.

If he was so desperate to hire a kill squad rather than answer some well-deserved questions…

Maybe it’s not me that spooked him.

He thinks back to the shot that killed Johnny, remembers the angle it hit the head, and where the exit wound was. The opposite direction from where the thugs entered—from the window.

“There was another shooter,” he realizes.

A quick visit to the building opposite confirms his suspicion: the scrape where someone set up a tripod, bullet casing rolled to one side.

It wasn’t Johnny afraid to talk to the Red Hood—someone else feared he would.

Question is, were they worried he’d talk or worried he’d talk to me?

⁂⁂⁂ 

Next Chapter

This blog isn’t my primary, so my reblogs don’t show up very well. As such, please reblog the fic, otherwise not a lot of people are going to see it :)

<3 Violet

[seasaltmemories]

Germination

Rating: G

Summary: Reiji stopped in his tracks with a sigh.  Whatever had been planted in his heart back then had finally bloomed.

He was in love with Hiragi Yuzu and there was no stopping it.

It was a creeping thing, slowly growing in the background of everyday life.  As much as Reiji tried to be prepared for any and all possibilities, this one had left him completely off-guard.

So far he had pinpointed its start after his duel with Yuya.  For the first time in three years, he had found himself with no immediate plans for the future.  While he had both a company and a family to go back to, both situations were unlikely to have any drastic short-term changes.  He hadn’t wanted to admit it, even to himself, but the situation was genuinely frightening.

He must have not been hiding his distress very well, because suddenly he found the Hiragi Yuzu girl looking at him so intently with those blue eyes, he wondered if she could see straight though him.

“Excuse me?”  He quirked an eyebrow towards her.

“Oh, I didn’t mean to stare,” A slight bit of color rushed to her cheeks.  “Just was trying to put together my thoughts and what I was gonna say.  I wasn’t sure how I wanted to phrase it.”

“Might as well speak your mind.”  He gave a slight shrug in response.  It was better to have it out and done with, then be stuck in this awkward state.

“Well I was wondering if I could get your number--”  Before he could question such an unprompted request, she barreled right through and explained, “--you’ve been a great help to us dealing with all this--”  She gestured to her surroundings as she searched for the right word.  “--stuff.  And I thought it might be nice for Yuya, you, and I to actually get to, you know, hang out?  Get to know each other outside of life-threatening situations?”

It only had occurred to him then that for as linked as their roles and lives been, he knew barely a thing about her.  

“That would not be an unpleasant experience,”  He readjusted his glasses.

“Awesome, why don’t we switch duel disks?”  Next thing he knew, he was punching in his duel disk id’s into her’s and vice versa.  When they switched back, he found her contact info entered into all neat and organized.

“Thanks, sorry if I made it awkward for you.”

“You’re fine,” Reiji replied, and with that he went to find Mother and see if she needed any assistance from him.  The event was pushed to the back of his mind until a few day later he got a text from her asking if he was up for ice cream.  While at first it took him off-guard, he had decided an hour out of his schedule wouldn’t hurt.

It was impossible to deny the awkwardness from the event.  It seemed the other former Lancers and You Show students were surprised by his appearance.  Not to mention that it was his first time talking with many of them without the world in danger.  Still that Yuzu Hiragi welcomed without a hint of uneasiness.  While she gave him plenty of space, her occasional snarky comment or knowing glance made him feel more a part of the group than anything else.

So things continued like that.  Yuzu would text him about every event she and the others were participating in.  He was only about to join them about a third of them, but over time Reiji was starting to feel like he was genuinely becoming a part of the group.

Then another shift took place.  Over time, the texts started to include more than just their latest plans.  First there were a few emoji’s scattered about.  As pointless as they were the little smiley faces and other expressions endeared themselves to him.  Then a few questions about math or history wormed their way through.  Reiji hardly batted an eye though; it was only understandable since he had finished his schooling already.  Still somehow his advice ended up including dueling advice.  And once they covered that topic there was no stopping the extent of their conversations.

While Reiji still enjoyed being included with the others in their scrapes and happenings, he couldn’t help but cherish this time with Yuzu one-on-one.  She was a bold, fiery soul, unafraid to speak her mind.  Yet that fierceness was tempered both by a charming personality and a quick intellect.  It was rare to find someone with the drive to pursue what they wanted, the empathy to focus others, and the knowledge to understand which side of her personality was needed when.  No excuse of his would fly by her, yet her bluntness held no malice, ignorant or otherwise.

Her presence becomes expected, and it really only hits him how deep he was in when he found himself standing outside her house, sweating bullets.

“Reiji?”  She cocked her head to the side in confusion.  “You wanna come inside or--”

“This shouldn’t take too long.”  He readjusted his glasses.  “I just came to give you this.”  Gingerly, he handed her a small package.

Yuzu scrunched her nose.  “I don’t want to look a gift horse in the mouth, but you do know it isn’t my birthday right?”

A flush of heat ran to the tips of his ears.  “I know, but isn’t this the kind of thing...friends do?”  The words fell awkward off his tongue. Was he even allowed to use that word at this point?

Regardless of his behavior, she opened the package, letting out a small gasp when its contents were revealed.

“Melodious Pendulums?!”  She shifted the cards around in her hand.  “You made them just for me!?”

“I figured they’d be useful in your next tournament.  It was really quite simple.”  Despite his words, he felt a slight surge of pride.

“Well it means a lot to me.  Thank you.”  Her smile was almost blinding in its radiance as Reiji averted his gaze and mused that maybe friend didn’t fully capture the extent of his feelings towards her.

Oh no.

He quickly excused himself afterwords, but it did nothing to stop the thoughts racing through his head.  The more he mulled it over, the more it seemed to ring true.

Reiji stopped in his tracks with a sigh.  Whatever had been planted in his heart back then had finally bloomed.

He was in love with Hiragi Yuzu and there was no stopping it.

I am so screwed.

A.N. Happy Birthday @pendulum-sonata, you’ve always been so encouraging to me about my writing, I consider you a friend and a great part of the Arc V fandom 

[serpentinred]

blackmantagirl mentioned you in a post “@serpentinred LOL! Same here. Most of the time, I follow new people...”

@ serpentinred LOL! Same here. Most…

@blackmantagirl Well, then, that’s good. At least we can gang up on anyone who dares to call us anything but young and beautiful. ;)

No, it wasn’t Jump! *goes to search on the Internet for the comic book name* It MIGHT have been Nakayoshi. I don’t quite remember it, to be honest, although I’m certain that it was translated version of it (I think they imported it from Hong Kong at that time, since I got it in Chinatown, Manhattan). I'm checking it up, and it still might be Nakayoshi, since I think I saw Cardcaptor Sakura being published in the same book. I didn’t read it but remember my second older sister liking one of the other mangas being published in there, and I THINK it was Cardcaptor. I think there was also a manga of a female Robin Hood-ish in there as well. Anyhow ... too many years ago. LOL!

I haven’t rewatched Super/Stars as much as Classics/R/S, so I’m not really certain about Chibs’ birthday. 

Also, after Luna-P went over to the dark side and turned into that drill-umbrella. Like, sure, some people might argue that it’s because of the black crystal, but I really don’t think so. Chibs was exposed to that crystal, not Luna-P. Luna-P just changed itself to be with Chibs. Knowing kids, when they are bullied to the extent that the franchise wanted us to believe Chibs was, they’re going to retaliate pretty harshly without thinking of the consequences unless it was in retrospect. Heck, I know of a child who drew blood (by scratching) who only knew remorse after they were confronted by someone they liked, not when they’d first done it. Well, actually, it was only that case - the kid scratched more than one person already, so ...

Kids (well, humans in general, to be honest) can be very cruel in the right (or is it wrong?) situations.

Anyhow, Chibs in the 90′s anime gave me no indication that she would hold back in dishing out pain towards the people that bullied her that much, tbh.

ROTFLMAO! Exactly! I recall thinking “How the hell didn’t they know she was the Queen’s child when she has the freaking moon symbol on her forehead whenever she had the temper tantrum?” But I tend to ignore plot holes when the rest of the story is entertaining, so I was willing to let it slide. Didn’t stop me from disliking Chibs though. XDDD

Now you’re making me imagine the Senshi running all over CT trying to pacify the worried citizens - “No, we’re not under attack ... No, it’s just the Princess getting hungry ... NO, SHE HADN’T BEEN POSSESSED BY A YOUMA."

In retrospect, no wonder nobody knew that the Black Moon clan was going to attack CT in the 30th century. Any signs were brushed under “another Princess anomaly” until it was too late. XDDD

Well, ignoring SenShi (or in general, Shitennou) fan theories of the Shitennou being brought back to life to have extra guards for Mamoru, they had at least 4 Sailor Senshi protecting the Queen and the King. So ... um ... shouldn’t at least one of them be, like, protecting the Princess, too? I mean, she is the next in line to the throne. Sure, CT is supposed to be a utopia, but, erm ... did you forget that you happened to banish people to Nemesis? And besides, if it WERE a complete utopia, there shouldn’t be any needs of guards for the Queen and King. So, why weren’t the Senshi helping Chibiusa control her powers anyway?

Maybe they were going for “Chibs had the power because she absorbed the Silver Crystal”, yeah, no, not buying it because how did the Black Moon clan knew that it was Chibs shining the beacon?

Yeah, Manga!Chibs had more basis for being insecure, and it made sense for her to question if she were the Queen’s kid because if Sailor Moon was so powerful, and Neo-queen Serenity could wield the Silver Crystal, what was she, Chibs, doing? Why didn’t she have any powers?

Agreed with what you said about the difference between two different Black Lady. 

Well, I think 90′s Usagi also gets distracted rather easily. She’ll set herself for a goal to do better and then the next second she’s like “Oh, video games! Manga!” whereas Manga!Usagi doesn’t bother setting a goal for schoolwork. At least, I don’t remember her doing this in the manga. 

Like I’ve said, binge watching Crystal these couple of days, I can say with confidence that you can see that Usagi pretty much matured from Season 1 to Season 3. 

Anyhow, I agree that there’s a way to keep immaturity and maturity at a balance, which wasn’t accomplished in Classics, unfortunately.

Agreed about the running around bit in Season 3. Well, to be honest, it’s a bit jarring to go from the elegant and graceful artwork of S1 and S2 and then to S3. Not that S3 isn’t pretty, but imho, it lacks the elegance of S1 and S2. So when the running around bit came around, I guess I was already a bit ... numb? Anyhow ...

Yeah, I know a lot of people didn’t like it because it felt too convenient with everyone pairing off. I didn’t mind it much because it gave me plenty of things to play with. LOL! I’m that strange kid in the back of the room that has to make pairs with everything (not humans of course, but with things, yeah ...).

No, I get what you mean about some of the personality. I think Jadeite’s boyish laid-back attitude came from PGSM where they had a scene in which Jadeite was jumping around in the back. But I never really got that feel from Jadeite. To me, he was serious, rash at some points. He was probably a bit more relaxed when he was with his Shitennou brothers and Endymion (and with Rei, if we’re going with SenShi fanfics). Sure, he might troll people every once in a while because being with the rest of the Shitennou has to rub off on him after a while. So basically, I see him more as an even more serious, more rash, and more sarcastic version of Ami. 

Oh, Nephrite is definitely the Casanova type with a love for being over-dramatic in everything he does. Seriously, you’re from the Dark Kingdom and the leader of youma, what are you doing riding around town in a freaking red sports car and having a mansion in the middle of some spooky forest? Are you seriously trying to tell me that you can’t look at stars elsewhere? LOL! 

Zoisite is a whole other can of worms, imho. I don’t get when people make him introverted. To me, he’s the refined version of Nephrite? Like ... he’s dramatic but more in the peacock way while Nephrite is more the Lion King way, I guess. LOL!

No, I get what you mean. Though I admit that I’m a fangirl of the traditional pairings, I do see why mixing things up will be fun. :)

I still think that it’s because they were trying to stuff everything into 13 Acts. I agree with what you said about the reveal. Like perhaps let the Senshi somewhat feel something after they’d defeated the Shitennou? Like even if they’d wanted something stupid dramatic like having Metallia blast the Shitennou, they could’ve done something along the lines of:

[Mercury freezes Zoisite, harming him significantly. However, before she could proceed to permanently dust him, a voice resounded in her ears, that sounded suspiciously like Zoisite, but with a lot less malice and with more friendliness, and even endearment, if the production team wanted it to go that way.

That pause proved to enough time for Zoisite to break free of his confines and escape back to the Dark Kingdom.]

Something similar for the rest of the girls and then the girls discuss this with Venus, who then reveal that yes, they had relationships before, but she didn’t want to tell them in case it got in the way. So the girls know that the Shitennou were good people before getting brainwashed. Then the Metallia scene and they mourn that good people were killed, rather than for relationships that could never be.

Well, it broke my running record of shipping pairings that are never canon, so there’s that. My friend joked to me that it must be some kind of phenomenon that I actually liked a pairing that became canon. LOL!

(Oh, the musicals are great. I still need to go through all of them, but nearly every one I’d watched was immensely entertaining.)

ROTFLMAO! Oh no. Now you’re going to create a monster. As if this reply isn’t already long enough without me complaining about the break-up arc. ;)

Anyhow, let’s see ...

For one thing, Mamoru was stupid in there.

There is absolutely no other way around it or to say it kindly. Like yeah, a voice that you don’t know (or is vaguely familiar with) tells you that if you don’t break up with Usagi, she’s going to die.

Let’s look at the statistics here, shall we? Starting from the Silver Millennium, it was YOU, Mamoru Chiba, who’d died first. Okay, fine, 90′s anime, you died together, but still only evens the score to Mamoru: 1, Usagi: 1. Then we go to the Dark Kingdom era where you got yourself fatally injured which then got you brainwashed. Mamoru: 2, Usagi: 1. During Alan and Ann’s period, you forget about Usagi, while she had a full set of powers, and you had to become schizophrenic to save her. Remind me if I’m wrong, but you could’ve easily died near the Doom Tree if Ann wasn’t fond of you. So, I’ll be nice Mamoru: 2 1/2, Usagi: 1.

Hell, with those statistics, I don’t know, maybe YOU’RE the one who should be worried about dying, instead of worrying about Usagi dying? It’s pretty much established that though she’s klutzy at times, she’s not the damsel in distress here. More often than not, it’s YOU, Mamoru Chiba, who’s the damsel in distress.

Let’s move on the the scenes - not the artwork, of course. Some of the angsty parts were well-drawn. Seriously, I love a regency romance as much Ami-chan, and I’m guilty of shipping crack pairing that are very controversial and in which there’s nothing redeemable about one of the parties in said pairing.

However with Sailor Moon, you want me to believe that she’s the strongest warrior alive and then you made her become Twilight!Bella. Sure, Bella came after her, but still. What’s up with Usagi nearly wanting her life to end because Mamoru dumped her?

Seriously, I don’t need my female heroines to super heroes. I belong to the HP fandom, and while I do believe Hermione is strong, I click on the X button out of the fic whenever someone makes her stronger than Voldemort, shit rainbows, and barges into Death Eater meetings in order to ruin their plans. However, with Usagi in the break-up arc ...

Seriously, I know that she’s heartbroken, so of course, she’s under depression. My problem is that she doesn’t walk OUT of it before she knows she has a chance with Mamoru again. Without even knowing why he was breaking up with her in the first place.

I know that there are women out there who becomes completely AWOL when they go through heartbreak, but imho, this is not a good message to send out to young girls. It’s the same old trope of “If you hang on long enough, you’ll have him back again” and “If he broke up with you, there must be something wrong, not because he’s out of love with you. Just wait for him to come around and he’ll love you again because it’s TRUUUU WUV!!!” 

While it’s not explicitly said like that, the subliminal messages being sent out with that arc makes me frown.

As a disclaimer, I have to say that I adore the Usagi/Mamoru relationship in manga (and of course, now, in Crystal as well), but in Classics, I really, really wanted Usagi to just dump him. Seriously. I wanted her to go out with someone else because he was such a douche to her. Sure, we knew he did it for a reason, but Usagi doesn’t know this. Without the context, I really wanted to be Makoto so I can beat the crap out of Mamoru. 

Tanya already made wonderful posts as to why the Senshi were horrible friends in other posts, so I won’t repeat it here. I’ll just say I completely agree with her points. 

During that break-up arc, it made me wonder why the Senshi were friends with Usagi anyway. Actually, it would probably be more accurate to say: Why was Usagi friends with them anyway? I would’ve stayed away from them if they kept telling me “It’s because of ______, that’s why Mamoru doesn’t want you anymore.” Hell, if I were one of the Senshi, I would’ve either told her to get over it, gave her a makeover, go party, and hook up with some new guys or grab a bunch of ice cream, find some movies, and cry over those tubs of ice cream with her, whichever way she wanted. It’s shitty of them to put her down when she’s going through break-up. 

Hell, it would’ve made more sense for BERYL to be doing that to Usagi, but not the girls. Or maybe they’d gotten possessed by Beryl after that final showdown between Metallia!Beryl and Usagi. After all, we only knew that Beryl got enveloped by the pink light. Maybe some residue of Beryl got incorporated into the girls. :P

And I mentioned it before, but I’ll mention it again, I really, really hated when Usagi was all Twilight: New Moon!Bella-ish in the break-up arc. I mean, sure, I know they’d wanted it as a way for Usagi and Mamoru to make up, but ugh. UGGGGGGH. I’m pretty certain the break-up arc was also responsible for me rearranging my list of fave Senshi, but anyhow ...

Okay, don’t know if I’d missed anything, but if I did, I’ll probably come back and mention it, but ... yeah ... those are some of the reasons why I hated the break up arc.

Oh, I’ve been interested in villains ever since who-knows-when, although the interest itself didn’t make itself clear until I was a bit older. But yeah, I don’t really like the cardboard cutouts of villains and antagonists either. Also, I prefer them to be intelligent. Give me villains with the minds of Albert Einstein and the elegance of royalty. XDD Of course, I wouldn’t say no if they were also pretty boys, but that’s just the additional plus points at the bottom at the resume that might or might not be reviewed.

It’s really no wonder why Zoisite is my favorite Shitennou, really, regardless of whether he’s paired with Kunzite, Mercury, or whatever. He’s just so evilly delightful. (Yeah, I also see him as being a major troll with a vengeful attitude even if he returns to Mamoru’s side.)

PGSM did well with the character development, much better than most, if not all, of the different versions. This reminds me that I should go back and rewatch PGSM one of these days.

ROTFLMAO! I don’t know why, but I giggled when I read this part: “Anime wise, I didn’t get why they just didn’t take their ships and go to a different star system that has habitable planets using time travel. Or going to a distant future. Like..guys.. for real.” 

Yes, I totally agree with your assessment of the Black Moon clan, but yeah, I liked the Dead Moon Circus more than the Black Moon clan. I recall Nehellenia having different backgrounds in the anime and the manga, but nonetheless, both of them were interesting and intriguing.

LOL! Yeah, I’m not a huge fan of redemption either. I mean, if you do it every once in a while, it’s fine. But except for the Big Bads, you get nearly every mini-boss having some sob story about why they’d turned bad and that just gets annoying. 

ROTFLMAO! Same here. Well, it’s not just the Sailor Moon fandom having that problem, unfortunately. So I find myself disconnecting from a lot of general fandom and just hanging around with people with similar tastes. Though I suppose that might get me attacked as well. LOL!

[preserving-ferretbrain]

Harry Potter and the Order Phoenix - Review

by Wardog

Monday, 30 July 2007

Wardog continues Potterfest 2007 with some faint praise.~

It turns out my Harry Potter bitterness hasn't yet tainted the movies because I quite enjoyed Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix. Although it's possible to argue reasonably cogently that the fifth book is the most subversive of the seven, it's also obvious that it's the worst. It's a sprawling, incoherent mess of irrelevant detail beneath which, if you look very hard, you can just about find a moderately interesting plot involving Umbridge's slow corruption of Hogwarts, mirroring Voldemort's equally subtle infiltration of the wizarding world. Slow being the optimum word.

The movie does what all the Harry Potter movies do: it removes a large quantity of the plot leaving behind a lot of exciting action sequences run together without anything particular to unify them. If you haven't read the book, it makes very little sense at all. It can't stand alone but, as a visual adjunct to the book, it works very well indeed and it's futile to judge it by any other standard.

Thankfully, the movie does indeed offer up some very splendid visuals: the Order of the Phoenix rushing Harry across brightly lit London on brooms is a gorgeous and exhilarating spectacle and the collection of mewling kitten presentation plates that line Umbridge's office walls is one of the most bizarre and creepy things I've seen for a while. Of course, it sometimes shoots and misses: I could have really done without the extremely tiny mini-dress Petunia Dursley (yes Petunia!) is wearing at the beginning of the movie. The final battle between Voldemort and Dumbledore feels a little uninspired. And the thestrals looked more like skeletal pigeons to me.

One of the other main pleasures of the movies is, of course, seeing the characters and locations made flesh and, err, whatever it is locations are made of (computer graphics?). The Ministry of Magic wasn't quite what I had expected but works nonetheless, although the World War II imagery was perhaps more than a trifle overdone. The Department of Mysteries, however, was breathtaking and I found The Veil rather less risible than it was in the book (truthfully, not a difficult accomplishment). As usual, the legions of respectable British actors do their best to bring life and purpose to their roles: Maggie Smith and Emma Thompson are, as ever, criminally under-used and Alan Rickman steals in the show in two regrettably brief scenes. Imelda Staunton's Dolores Umbridge is perfect in every conceivable way, evincing a shudder-inducing combination of malice and sweetness. Gary Oldman, a rather more foppish Sirius than I had envisioned (although I'm perfectly happy to yield on this) is equally fabulous, especially the tattoo-showing dressing-gown.

I'm probably one of the few to prefer Michael Gambon's vigorously batshit old coot to Richard Harris's venerable Dumbledore but I do and it's satisfying to see him kicking dark lord ass. Lord Voldemort, himself, however continues to be something of a disappointment. Ralph Fiennes just looks silly without a nose and all the sinister hissing in the world can't blot that out. On a similar note, Helena Bonham Carter's Belletrix looks the part (skanky goth?) but seems so ludicrously cracked that she doesn't quite work. As for the kids, they're on their usual form. I have certain soft spot for the chap who plays Neville, and Emma Watson and Rupert Grint are both decent and not without charm. The Weasley twins seem to have settled nicely into their roles, but Daniel Radcliff is rather mechanical, as if he'd rather be back in Equus. And Luna Lovegood is very pretty and Irish, possibly too pretty, but who's complaining? She makes a nice addition to the cast. I'm not even going to mention Cho Chang: she's pointless in the books and she's pointless in the movie.

It's sadly indicative of just how disillusioned with Harry Potter I am that some of the sequences in the movie struck me as being more effective than the book. Although Umbridge's totalitarian regime is depressing in the book, the lack of pace and structure means it never really acquires any force. The film, however, manages accrue a considerable quantity of tension that is beautifully discharged when Fred and George decide to abandon academia and turn an exam into a glorious magical firework display. Similarly, the fight in the Department of Mysteries between a bunch of teenagers with first level spells and a group of brutal, murderous Death Eaters isn't quite the Home Alone comedy fest it is in the book. Whereas in the book the kids throw around their stupifys with gay abandon and the Death Eaters keep shooting each other in the back and getting hit in the face by frying pans (well not quite), the movie makes good use of visual effects to make the whole encounter genuinely threatening. Sirius's death, also, seems rather more meaningful than in the Worms Armageddon "prod death" it is in the book.

This is not to say the movie does not occasionally make questionable decisions. I'm not sure if the film makers were intending to ship Harry and Sirius but with all the lingering looks, winks and smiles between them that's certainly how it appeared to me. And I'm not even a slasher. Also quite why Lucius Malfoy, heading up the Death Eater contingent in the Department of Mysteries, is wearing what looks suspiciously like a leather bustier I do not care to speculate. I can only presume he borrowed it from Bellatrix Lestrange. Given the rush to get everything in, the film has a rather breathless to feel it and a few semi important characters fall by the wayside. Tonks looks feisty for about half a second and Kreacher's role is reduced to mere muttering. Similarly, in a film so pushed for time, the sheer pointless of the Grawp subplot is breathtaking. Also, Snape's Worst Memory (an endearing sequence, actually - Emo!Snape is the cutest thing I think I've ever seen) is so ruthlessly curtailed that, having just read the final book in which it is rather important, I have no idea how they are going to make the films even make the slightest bit of sense.

But then that's always been the case: they movies are like a big snowball rolling ponderously down a hill, gathering stuff and shedding it again completely at random. It doesn't augur well for coherency but it's certainly fun to watch in action.