#just pretend the flash isn’t there that day or Wonder Woman or-

[batfamgalore]

*Robin Dick on his first mission with Batman and the justice league*

Batman: Nobody else has come up with an idea.

Robin: I think I’ve got a good idea.

Batman: We don’t have time to build a rocket, buddy.

Robin: Nevermind.

[alyakthedorklord]

Omg literally it would be SO cool if you wrote the rest of the playboy bruce trying to kiss the justice league without them realizing it (I know you said figure it out but the way you wrote it was so good and funn I would love it if you gave maybe a couple of scenarios)

Lmao honestly executive dysfunction is kicking my ASS rn and it was intended as a prompt. I will try tho, definitely taking inspiration from the others who responded to the post because I love them.

If you haven’t, go check out the notes on the OG Post above! @britcision, @ivywing, and @help-i-need-a-cool-username all had amazing additions and @foursixtwonineoh-pieces-of-lego wrote a fic:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/48325771

As did @scrapcheck, still in progress

And Devilhorn!

Anyways LONG post under the cut

Hal Jordan

Hal is first to prove a POINT, as @britcision decided. Also because the bastard made it waaaay too easy. Remember- Hal was Joking. He genuinely thinks Batman isn’t going to try, because he’s way too straight-laced boring.

So when he’s at a bar in Coast City, and he sees this absolutely ravishing man lounging casually against the wall, bar lighting making him practically glow (he CALCULATED that) subtle makeup making his bright blue eyes pop as he looks Hal up and down… Well. Hal makes the first move.

Hal: “All on your own, handsome?”

Bruce, with “Mastermind” by Taylor Swift playing in his head, smiling sweetly at Hal: “Care to change that?”

They start talking. Hal doesn’t recognize Bruce Wayne at ALL (canonically he does not know who Bruce Wayne is, a point brought up by @help-i-need-a-cool-username) so all he knows is Bruce is a single father who works at a company he inherited from his parents, which is just (brucie voice) “so much less interesting than a test pilot!”

Bruce, grimacing internally but wrapped around Hal’s arm with the awed and interested eyes in full effect: “you have such a nice voice, tell me more about planes…”

He KNOWS what a fuselage is, thank you, Jordan. Whatever. He gets to gush about his kids, when its his turn to talk, good enough tradeoff. He can survive Hal Jordan’s bad pick up lines and pretend he’s into them. At a certain point Bruce breaks and kisses him just to shut him up. One down.

Diana Prince

I looked it up- kissing in Ancient Greece wasn’t always considered romantic, but also a greeting between two similarly-ranked people. Therefore, I think Diana would be pretty chill with kissing and honestly an easy target at a gala if Bruce plays respectful/clumsy/earnest himbo starstruck with the tall pretty woman, just a peck would make him the happiest man alive. But I wanna go a little more in depth.

Now, I’ve seen Flash and Martian Manhunter save Bruce and/or his kids and Bruce lays one on them, but honestly I think it would work well with Diana too, because she loves kids. Dick and/or Jason (whichever you want to imagine, I want them to team up screw canon) are WAY to excited for this, they’ve got a little script and everything.

WonderWoman, a kid in each arm, delivering them back to their tearful guardian: “Here we are, Mr. Wayne. Whole and healthy.”

Dick, playing into his role eagerly: “Oh my gosh, Bruce! Bruce we got saved by a princess! It’s like a fairytale! Except, you know, the princess is the hero this time, which is so freaking cool!”

Bruce, tears of gratitude rolling down his face (and he knows how to still look perfect while crying, its a skill): “I’m just glad the two of you are safe, Chum.”

Jason, big baby blues in full effect, absolutely asked Wonder Woman to be his mom earlier (to set groundwork, no other reason): “You know, usually the princess and the hero gets a kiss at the end of a fairytale, Bruce. But this princess is both. So how will she get a reward?”

Still choked up with relieved tears and now laughter, Bruce looks up at Diana and smiles: “Well, if the Princess wants a reward… then I would be a fool to refuse.”

Bruce kisses her on the lips, Dick and Jason both kiss her cheeks, Diana leaves charmed and amused by the sweet family. Such a good father, humoring his children and thier little fascination with her, so very respectful…

Two down.

J’ohn Jones

Okay, martians are telepathic. So this goes one of two ways, at some sort of charity or something-

Option 1, Batman is a realist: the charity event is a masquerade, and he wanders over to where MM is while thinking “it would be so funny, give me this.” As loudly as he can. And Martian Manhunter, who appreciates the audacity, gives him a kiss. (I don’t like this one because it technically breaks the rules of the bet, bc MM knows it’s Batman, but eh)

Option 2, Batman is a different breed: he manages to up the ante with his Himbo Persona. Creating a “slippery void” mental facade that blocks of his real thoughts and makes him read as really just that stupid. This would require functioning with two trains of thought at once, and making sure that the Martian can only read the surface level, “oh, this one is pretty” “I really wouldn’t mind kissing him” and other such decoy thoughts, instead of “target is approaching, signs of interest present despite this not being his natural form-“

Bruce also researches and copies Martian courting styles and copies them “by chance,” catching MM’s attention. (He offers him Oreos)

Martian Manhunter: “this man… he is so empty headed and yet clearly kind and willing. I would not take him for a life partner, but for some simple fun as he seems to desire…”

(Edit: Maybe, if B is confident enough, he lets through his loneliness. Missing his parents, wanting affection, an ache so strong it’s like a physical wound. J’onn feels the same ache for his lost family, and decides to try this human’s strategy to fill that void. Either way…)

Batman 3, League 0

Barry Allen

I’m strangely blank when it comes to the Flash let me just spitball and let it snowball

As I said above, people have had him save Bruce, had Bruce seduce him at his workplace while taking a tour, I even saw @help-i-need-a-cool-username have Dick set up a petition for Bruce to kiss the Flash. (An idea that I personally think would also go really well with Superman lmao.)

Anyways, I think it would be funny for Bruce to take it slow with Barry. For the irony of it all. Because Batman is doing this to prove a POINT. So he’s in central city, spots Barry coming his way, and “accidentally” slips right into his arms. Ooh, or covered in coffee, like a wealth disparity drama base script, and Barry’s like “omg i am so sorry let me pay you back.” And bruce is all “this shirt costs (stupid amount of money)”

Barry: (fear)

Bruce, rolling with it rn: “yes, it is horrendous, isn’t it? Hows this- I’m in central city for a day. You can pay me back by showing me around?”

He then proceeds to string barry along on an honest to god DATE for shits and giggles. They go clothes shopping, they go to restaurants, Bruce pays for a big meal bc this is after a fight or something and Barry got hurt, his speedster comrade needs to EAT, damnit.

After all this, he gives a cheeky smile and lightly smooches Barry. “Thanks for the fun day, Mr. Allen.”

Barry, bright red and goo brained: “hah- mmhmm. Yeah…”

Batman 4, League 0

Oliver Queen

This one… Oliver is on guard. He’s twitchy and suspicious, turning down men flirting with him, people are starting to notice. But Bruce? Bruce just walks up at a party while “tipsy” and lays one on him. Straight up. He wants to show just how EASY it is. Because Oliver doesn't even register it. He just laughs and goes: “Hey Brucie! Miss me?”

Batman 5, League 0

Dinah Lance

Of course, immediately after above, he turns and pouts at canary.

Bruce: “Dinah darling, you are a saint, I don’t know how you put up with the mess he’s got on his face. He was so much nicer to kiss when we were in (fancy private school name drop) together and didn’t have all this nonsense.”

Dinah, laughing at Ollie’s offended noises: “Oh, I don’t mind it. He’s a good kisser.”

Bruce: “Of course he is, I taught him. Care to compare?”

Dinah: “Don’t mind if I do.”

Batman 6, league 0

Clark Kent

For Clark, Bruce is originally talking to Lois before he turns his eyes on a quiet Clark and croons: “So, Miss Lane, does this lovely specimen have his own questions, or is he arm candy? And if he’s the latter, can I either tempt him off you, or secure an invitation?”

Lois, an excellent friend who will absolutely set Clark up with the hottest bachelor in Gotham: “Well, Mister Wayne, I’ve got all I need. Clark, take a page from my book and honeytrap a good quote out of him, hm?”

With an obnoxious wink, she pats a spluttering Clark on the shoulder, and leaves him with a very smug Batman.

(Bonus Superbat- Clark and Bruce’s conversation is going REALLY WELL and to the point where both of them seem on board with more than a heavy makeout when Bruce puts a hand on Clarks chest.

Bruce: “Stop.”

Clark, freezing immediately: “I’m sorry, did I go too far-?”

Bruce: “No, no. I think I might be though. See, I have all of you now, and I’ve won the bet.”

Clark: “What are you- oh. Oh- HUH?”

Cue sudden and shocked revelation, Clark’s mind going a hundred miles an hour, and then skidding to a stop on- he only did this for the bet. He’s not really interested. He stopped because I went too far-

Bruce: “You only consented to a kiss without knowing my identity. Right now, I’d like to do more, if you’d let me.”

Clark has the dial-up tone ringing in his ears, he has no idea whats going on anymore, the hot billionaire and his reclusive teammate aren’t quite slotting into place, because he wants both but rhey’re so different but they’re the same but-

“Yes.”

Lois doesn’t get Clark back that night and she is delighted.)

Anyways, final results:

Batman: 7

League: 0

Reveal:

Batman talking shit about their secret identities again, Green Lantern is scoffing about it again, says something along the lines of: “You still think you’re sooooo great, huh? Hows the bet going, spooky?” Fully expecting Batman to get huffy with him.

Instead, Batman smirks.

He leans in

And purrs: “So you didn’t notice?”

The League freezes. The implications are dangling over their head. Did he… did he really?

Green Lantern, absolutely terrified: “No. no, there’s no way…”

Batman: “Oh, there absolutely was a way. I’d say you were a good kisser, but honestly? I think it might have been the euphoria of getting you to shut up.”

He turns on the rest of the league, still smirking. “I have kissed every single person who consented at least once in the time since the bet was made. Two of you with tongue. And no one has called me out on it. Now that you know it’s happened, you should be able to figure me out, so whoever can tell me my real name first, wont get thier story used as an example in the brand new “how to avoid honeypots” seminar.”

(If bonus superbat, B shoots Superman a Look and goes “except for you, superman, because I told you my name.” Which just ends up distracting everyone else until they get THAT story)

Diana wins bc she matched up the boys to the robins. Everyone else gets their stories told in excruciating detail. Batman rates them by kissing ability and how obvious he was on his approach. Oliver gets docked points for “texture.” Dinah gets docked points because “i griped about the exact same thing in and out of costume, how did you not notice-“

(Different reveal below)

@chaos-n-kindness @she-went-that-way @geekonaleash @redh00dsbf @howabouticallyou

[dirtyvulture]

Envy and Venom

Heiress!Natasha Romanoff x CEO!Beefy!Fem!Reader

18+ only, read at your own risk

Summary: You are the notorious playboy who just inherited one of the biggest tech companies in the world. Your first move? Sleeping with the heiress of your rival company.

Word count: 4190

AN: Randomly came up with this idea, it's a little different than my other stuff, but give it a read. :)

DAY 1

“You couldn’t have picked a better person for the job,” you tease, gripping tightly onto your father’s hand as the sea of flashing lights fifteen feet away practically blinds you. The reporters call out for your attention but you ignore them, pausing in the awkward, hand-holding pose with your father so the photo can be plastered across the front page of news outlets around the world. 

“I trust you. Don’t ruin what I’ve started,” your father says, grabbing onto your shoulder and pulling you into a tight embrace. “And please try to keep your…escapades…a little more under wraps, okay?” he whispers into your ear. 

“I’ll try, Dad,” you say, but it isn’t really your fault that the public was so interested in what goes on in your bedroom. Then again, you hadn’t exactly been trying to be subtle when you were fucking your secretary against the penthouse window of your apartment, but people should try to mind their own business more. 

Your father pushes you back and the two of you turn in unison to wave at the crowd once more. 

“Congratulations!” you hear them echoing. “To Envy Industries’ new CEO, Y/N!”

***********************************************************************

Naturally, to celebrate your latest achievement, you host the party of the century, inviting other world-renowned millionaires, fellow tech company gurus, actors, singers, celebrities, and pretty much anyone else who fit society’s thinly-veiled description of “famous.” You initially show up with two models you had already spent the afternoon with, but you weren’t interested in stringing them along and were excited to find some new target to chase after. 

The first hour alone is spent wading through faces you recognize from online but have no personal connection with, and you have to pretend that you’re grateful when they take enough interest and ask about the future of your company. 

“We’ll probably stick to the production of GPUs for a while,” you say, yelling to be heard over the music and rumble of people. “We just signed a huge contract with Tesla, so we’ll be supplying all the hardware they need for their next products. They have a big need for AI software, and we’re one of the few companies that can build exactly what they need.”

“Wow, that’s very impressive.” The short-haired blonde woman suddenly throws herself at you, her nails digging into your bicep so hard you can feel the prick through your burgundy silk jacket.

“Thank you.” You’re not sure you’ve ever seen this woman before in your life and you wonder if she even understood half of what you were saying or she was just trying to get into your pants.

“I’m Carol, by the way. Do you want to get a drink?”

“I would never say no to a drink.” You let Carol lead you to the bar (that you are footing the bill for) and she orders for you, picking an old-fashioned cocktail for you. A decent choice, but if she had read your interview in The Chief Executive Magazine, she would have known that your favorite drink was actually a vodka martini. You join her at an empty table.

“So, what do you do for a living?” you ask out of politeness, taking a sip and letting the whiskey burn your throat.  

“I’m an influencer,” Carol says. “I have one-point-seven million followers on Tik Tok right now. I mostly post fitness routines or travel vlogs. And I also stream video games on Twitch.”

“Ah.” Now it’s your turn to act like you’re impressed when you have no idea what she’s talking about. 

Carol drones on about her next project, which involves a collaboration with another influencer you’ve never heard of. Your eyes scan the people walking by, looking for a new object of infatuation. It doesn’t take long until you make eye contact with a beautiful, redheaded woman, her voluptuous body hugged by an emerald green dress. Immediately, your heart rate spikes as you scan her up and down, not predatorily, but admiringly. The neckline of her dress plunges down to her belly button, a tasteful hint of her cleavage showing through, highlighted by a long  silver necklace with a thin gold bar tassel. 

You perk up, smoothing your hair back and puffing out your chest like a proud pigeon when she starts walking over.

“Congratulations,” the redhead says. “Your family must be very proud of you.”

“My dad didn’t want to give it to me,” you admit, completely oblivious to Carol’s pout as you instantly give your attention to this new woman. “But I convinced him the company would be in good hands.”

“I bet.”

“Can I get you a drink?” you ask, desperate to keep around for the conversation (and perhaps more).

“I should be the one treating you,” the redhead says. She takes the cocktail out of your hands and brings it to her lips. “Hmm. I didn’t think this was your taste,” she notes. “How does a vodka martini sound?”

You know instantly this is the woman you’re taking home with you tonight. “That sounds delightful.”

***********************************************************************

You ditch Carol without a second thought and follow the redhead back to the bar, where she picks up two vodka martinis. She brings you to a private booth, sitting so close to you that your knees are touching hers. You can almost feel her body heat through the fabric of your clothes. 

“To Envy Industries’ long and prosperous future,” she says, raising her drink in a toast.

“Cheers.” You clink your glass to hers and drink half of it in one long sip, smiling in satisfaction. “I didn’t catch your name,” you say.

“Natasha.” It sparks a familiar memory, a name you’ve heard before. But she’s so intoxicating that you give it no second thought. Natasha is one of the most gorgeous women you’ve ever seen in your life and you can’t believe she’s sitting here talking to you and you alone.

“It’s very nice to meet you,” you say, formally offering her your hand. She shakes it, and you gently bring her hand up to your lips to kiss her knuckles.

“Likewise,” she says, crossing one perfectly toned leg over the other, her foot nudging the back of your calf. “Not to eavesdrop, but I overheard you mention a contract with Tesla. Say what you want about that company, but you can’t deny the evidence that they’re one of the highest valued companies in the world. I wouldn’t be surprised if Envy Industries is soon up there with them.”

“Exactly.” Your interest in this woman skyrockets, because you know she isn’t bullshitting you. She isn’t like Carol. She knows what she’s talking about. 

“We’ve been trying to strike deals with the automotive industry for years,” Natasha goes on, “But you’ve beat us to it. And now that you’ve partnered up with Tesla, you’re basically unstoppable.”

“Not quite,” you correct, now unable to stop yourself from unraveling the schemes of your company’s next five years. “Our research on artificial intelligence is just getting started. We just applied for ten new patents within computing technologies and we’re on track to absolutely dominate the market for discrete graphics processing units by the end of the year.” 

Natasha grins at your enthusiasm and you feel yourself blush in embarrassment. You know the media often labeled you as stupid, reckless, irresponsible, unfit to lead, and constantly bashed your sexual appetite, but you were all those things and a technology genius. Your father had built this company from the ground up, but you had been there alongside him the past six years. While everyone classified your promotion to CEO as nepotism, you felt you had rightfully earned it. 

“I don’t know how you do it,” she comments.

“Well, it definitely wouldn’t be wise for the new CEO to be giving away all the secrets, now would it?” you chuckle, even though you’ve definitely already said more than you should’ve. 

“Your success is no trade secret.” Natasha turns her whole body to face you. The attention she’s giving you is almost more than you can bear. Your heart pounds against your chest. No woman has ever made you this excited before. “But if you want, maybe we can go somewhere a little more private, where you can share whatever else you’d like.”

“Hmm.” It was rare for another woman to be so bold with you. But you’ve never lusted after another woman like Natasha before. Arousal heats up in your stomach as Natasha leans forward, resting her hand on your thigh and squeezing it teasingly. Her breath fans over your face and you can smell the vodka and her cherry lipstick. You lean forward to meet her, moving like you’re in a dream, fireworks sparking in the back of your head the moment your lips touch. 

Suddenly, you’re overcome with the carnal desire to drag this woman up to your penthouse and have her squirming underneath you, crying out your name as she comes undone.

“Um, would you like to…” You can hardly think straight. “My room…apartment…is upstairs…if you want to…”

“Show me the way,” Natasha says, standing up and offering you her hand.

***********************************************************************

Your brain is swirling in a fog as you follow Natasha to the elevator. You don’t even register any of the people you pass, fully aware of the fact that someone will report this headline to the National Enquirer, at the very least. But all the worries of the future disappear the moment the elevator doors close and Natasha throws herself at you, her legs hooking around your narrow waist and her heels digging into the small of your back. Your hands support her supple bottom, squeezing in appreciation as her lips crash against yours in a desperate frenzy. 

You stumble into the wall, smashing your hand onto the top floor button and feeling the elevator start to rise, but not fast enough. 

“Lucky me,” Natasha pants between kisses. “Getting to go home with the newly-christened CEO of Envy Industries.”

“You’re the most beautiful woman here tonight,” you respond, heat rising between your legs. “Of course you were coming home with me.”

Natasha glows with the praise and pulls your head into her chest, where you instinctively lick and nip at the flesh of her exposed breasts and she keens at the attention. When the elevator doors open again, you stumble out with her still in your arms, your feet automatically taking you down the path to your apartment. Thankfully, your apartment door opens automatically when your key card is in range, so you’re able to kick it open with your foot, without having to put her down.   

You carry her straight to the bedroom, dropping her on the freshly-changed sheets you had housekeeping put on after you were done with the two models from earlier. You can hardly remember your time with them and your body is practically vibrating in anticipation like you haven’t had sex in years. You crawl on top of Natasha, lowering yourself to kiss her again, this time with more passion and her arms snake over your broad back, pressing your body against hers.  

“I need to get you out of this dress,” you pant, desperate for skin-to-skin contact with her. 

“You first,” she says, releasing you as you sit up, yanking off your jacket and throwing it to the floor. You’re annoyed at your choice of shirt, a white button-up that has way too many buttons, as you impatiently pop them off one at a time and remove your bra. Natasha watches you with hunger in her eyes and you’ve never felt more proud to reveal yourself to another partner. The daily, painful 2-hour visits to the gym and strict adherence to a customized diet showed in your chiseled physique, your biceps bulging like you had baseballs under your skin, your perfect washboard abs, and your thighs were sturdier than tree trunks. 

“Fuck,” she mutters, reaching up to run her hand across your abs like she can’t believe you’re really in front of her. “I could look at you all day.”

It’s a common reaction most people have, but it definitely heats you up more when it comes from Natasha. “Your turn, gorgeous.” 

She sits up and turns around so you can access the zipper of her dress. You sweep her hair to the side, stealing a kiss to her neck because you really can’t help yourself. Natasha hums in appreciation and you lower her zipper slowly. Her dress pools at her waist like a glimmering green puddle. She isn’t wearing a bra so your hands immediately gravitate to cup her breasts, and she arches her back against your bare chest. 

“Are you gonna fuck me the same way you do to every girl you have in here?” she asks, placing one of her hands over yours and guiding it down her stomach, where your fingers part through her soaking folds. 

“If you want me to,” you say, pressing deeper into her and she whines at your touch. “But I’ll give you whatever you want.” Normally, you enjoy being in full control in the bedroom, but you are absolutely willing to give that up if it pleases Natasha. 

She suddenly pushes your hand away from her center; you can still feel traces of her stickiness on your fingers. “Do you have a strap? I want to ride you.”

Your stomach flips at the thought of her on top of you, grinding down on you until she finishes. Her heaving bosom in your face for you to suck and kiss while she enjoys the orgasm you gave her. 

“Yeah, let me grab it.” While you launch yourself off the bed to go fishing around your nightstand drawer, Natasha nudges her dress to the floor and delicately removes her long necklace, settling back comfortably on your king-sized bed while she waits for you. You take off your pants and pull the harness over your waist, turning back to the mouth-watering sight of her naked and ready for your taking. Her body is toned and curved in all the right places: clearly, she respected her body as much as you did to yours. There are few things you love more than a woman who takes care of herself.

You climb back onto the bed and Natasha pounces on you while you’re still getting into position, holding onto your biceps to pin you down. You catch sight of her glimmering wetness as she drags herself along your abs, pressing back against your cock until it rubs against her butt. You reach over to grab the bottle of lube always present on your nightstand and squirt a generous glob onto your strap, not that it looks like Natasha will need it. 

“Look how wet you are. You’ve been waiting for this all night, sweetheart?” you tease, your hands running up and down her sides. Natasha takes you by surprise when she shoves you back against the headboard.  

“Shut up and let me fuck you,” she growls, her voice dangerously dropping an octave. Natasha lifts herself up to line herself with the head of your cock and slides down in one move. The slick noise as it fills her is downright sinful. Your big hands wrap around her tiny waist, guiding her to bounce in an aggressive rhythm as the two of you watch your cock disappear inside of her. 

“Fuck, Y/N,” she moans, throwing her head back, red hair spilling over her shoulders. “That feels so good.”

“Look how well you’re taking me,” you praise, your hips jerking up to match her rhythm. Even though you can’t necessarily feel it, you swear her pussy is clenching around the toy, greedily sucking you in and requiring physical effort to pull out. Your own clit is throbbing as the toy bumps it every time Natasha slams down on your thighs. 

“Deeper, babe. Go deeper,” Natasha begs, moving her hands from your shoulders to the headboard, grabbing it so firmly you hear the wood crack. You change the angle of your hips, punching them up to satisfy her command. The bed frame creaks and shakes; you know your father would be unhappy to hear he has to order you a new one so soon, but you can’t be bothered to care right now.

“Fuck, right there. That’s it,” Natasha moans, rolling her hips with such fluidity it makes your stomach clench. She looks down at you, admiring the flex of your muscles as you do your best to please her, a singular bead of sweat running over your collarbone and sliding down between your breasts. 

“I’m close. I’m almost fucking there,” she warns, her hips beginning to lose their rhythm. But you keep your intense pace, until your abs are cramping and you’re certain there are bruises on your thighs. Your own arousal burns like a ball of white-hot fire and you so desperately want to make this woman cum you will gladly ignore the ache of your own orgasm for hers. 

“You’re fucking me too well, baby. I’m gonna lose it,” Natasha pants and the praise almost breaks your control. She throws her head back as she finishes and you bury your face in her heaving chest, tasting the sweat on her skin and sucking one of her nipples into your mouth. Her hand abandons the headboard to tangle in your hair, yanking almost painfully at your roots while you feel her cum spill onto your lap. She pushes your head away once she’s done, your lips parting from her nipple with a string of saliva, and lifts herself off your cock. The two of you are panting in unison, while you’re still fighting the simmer of arousal in your gut.

“Hmm, that was nice. Do you normally let your partner finish first?” she asks, resting her hands on your chest again. “I didn’t think you were the type.”

Your face burns in embarrassment because she’s not wrong. “Um…no,” you admit, knowing full well you could lie, but you feel like she’ll be able to see through it.

Natasha smirks. “Such a gentlewoman with me,” she says, bending over to kiss you, this time much more softly than before. 

“Only for you,” you murmur back, shocked at how whipped you already are for her. 

“You want me to help you finish?” Natasha asks, pushing the strap aside to brush her fingers across your hot center. Your hips jerk off the bed, almost launching Natasha into the air. “I’ll take that as a yes,” she giggles, climbing off your lap and helping you pull the strap off your waist. You’re practically frozen in anticipation, watching with bated breath as Natasha scoots herself down the bed and lowers her head between your legs.

You melt at the feeling of her mouth against your center, perfectly hot and wet. Your back arches off the bed when her tongue glides through your folds, lapping up the mixture of body fluids like it’s some kind life-saving elixir. 

“Shit, baby, that feels amazing,” you moan, burying one of your hands in her red tresses, motioning with your hips that you want her deeper. She obliges by wrapping her lips around your clit and giving it a few hard sucks that have you seeing white stars behind your eyelids. You let go of her hair, afraid you’ll tear it out and grab onto the Egyptian cotton sheets tightly. Her tongue pushes into you and you swear you convulse around it, already leaking into her mouth when she’s only just started to go down on you.

Natasha’s arms wrap around your powerful thighs, trying to force them apart as you close them around her head. You don’t mean to put her in awkward, even dangerous position, but you can’t think about anything other than the pulsing in your center, soothed and encouraged by the heat of Natasha’s mouth. You dig your heels into the mattress to prevent yourself from bouncing across the bed at the rocking motion your body had adopted to maximize your pleasure. Every time her tongue slips into you, the muscles in your stomach contract so sharply it almost hurts, and when she laps at your clit, the stimulation is so great you feel immediately dizzy.

“Natasha,” you pant, unable to hold out any longer. “I’m gonna…Please let me…” 

She presses into you with even more enthusiasm than before and your body seizes as you release yourself into her mouth. Natasha eagerly collects all your slick, her red lipstick smeared on the insides of your thighs.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck,” you moan, feeling your high is going to last forever. But just the sensations start to fizz, you realize Natasha still has her iron grip on your legs, keeping them spread apart.

“I want another,” she demands, in a sultry tone that almost pulls the second orgasm from you right there.

“Natasha,” you whine, fearing you are too sensitive to deliver her wishes. You twist your body back and forth, half-heartedly trying to free yourself. But Natasha won’t let you, lowering her head to your heat and taking what she wants. Overly stimulated, every muscle in your body goes rigid as fireworks of pleasure, bordering the line of painful, explode inside of you. Natasha’s tongue somehow reaches even deeper than she had the first time, the tip pressing against your front ridged wall and you lose it for the second time in minutes.

“Oh, fuck!” you cry, your back arching off the bed but Natasha holds your waist down, determined to not let a drop of your essence go to waste. Your head is spinning and your body is like a live wire of excitement, twitching and trembling until you have no more energy left and and you melt into a limp mess.

Natasha kisses up your abs, between your breasts and licks at the column of your sweaty throat. Her lips finally connect with yours and you can taste a hint of yourself mixed with hers. You can’t wait to taste her straight from the source, but it’s going to take a bit of time to find the strength to move after two back-to-back orgasms. She wraps her arms around your torso, nuzzling into the side of your chest and inhaling deeply.

There is a long, but not uncomfortable silence as you two of you find your breath.

“I’m not letting you leave until you sit on my face,” you finally say. Natasha looks up at you with a satisfied grin.

“I wasn’t planning on it,” she says, crawling up so she can do just that.

***********************************************************************

The moment Natasha made eye contact with you, she knew you were done for. You were far too predictable. She knew exactly the kind of woman you chased after. She knew what she needed to say to catch your attention, to convince you that she deserved a private moment with you.

You were too easy.

When you were so busy looking at her lips, trying to figure out when the right moment to kiss her was, you didn’t notice her take your phone out of your pocket, plug a flash drive into the charging slot, and return it back to your pocket in record time.

As you carry her in the elevator, your face buried in her breasts while she slips a tiny audio recorder into the pocket of your blazer. Through the fog of pure lust for you, Natasha struggles to but succeeds in making a mental map of your apartment. Where your office is, how many computers you have.

After numerous orgasms, she’s sufficiently fucked your brains out and cuddled with you long enough for you to pass out into an impossibly deep slumber, she gets up and heads into your office. She doesn’t need more than five minutes to hack into your devices and steal all the data saved on them. She chuckles to herself at how easy the task is; if she had known it would’ve been this simple and enjoyable, she would’ve come after you a long time ago.

Natasha gathers all her things and excuses herself from your apartment without a good-bye.

***********************************************************************

DAY 2

When you wake up the next morning, your mind a haze from the absolute debauchery that occurred the previous night. You rub your eyes and roll over, finding yourself naked and alone in bed. There is a deep soreness in your body, in almost every muscle, and some you haven’t felt for a long time. Natasha’s scent of vanilla and cherry lingers, but she’s nowhere to be found.

“Fuck,” you grumble, reaching for your phone on the nightstand. It’s been blowing up with notifications, which is a little unusual, but you assume it’s mostly from friends still congratulating you on your promotion. You open a text from your best friend and work partner, Tony.

From Tony: You fucked up, dude.

He included a link to a TMZ article. You click on it, half-wondering if it’ll send you to some troll site. The headline reads:

New CEO of Envy Industries Y/N spotted getting cozy with Black Widow Corp. heiress Natasha Romanoff 

Everything clicks to you now.

“Oh, fuck.”

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

AN: Click here for Part 2!

Please like, reblog, and comment! Follow for more content. 🥰

[judesmoonbeauty]

Your Hand Please, My Lady CE: Jude Jazza Story

Fan translation only. Not 100% accurate. Please expect grammatical errors. Cybird owns everything. Feel free to re-blog, but please do not post my translations elsewhere. Thank you, for you support! ☾.

Jude was chosen to be my butler for a day through the Evil King game —

Jude: Good morning, Miss Kate. You seem well-rested today.

That morning when Jude came to my room, he spoke in beautiful Queen’s English.

(Jude’s accent is gone?! Moreover, why am I being called Miss….)

Kate: ….This is a dream, right?

Thinking it was a dream I sank back to bed when Jude grabbed my arm.

Jude: Excuse me, Miss Kate. I am also terribly disappointed, but this is not a dream.

Kate: I can feel you grabbing me….then this is real….?

Jude: Yesterday, Mister Victor gave an extremely unpleasant….no, a pleasant order, didn’t he?

Jude: To become a butler for one day.

Kate: Ah, that’s right….

Kate: I understand. Please take care of me today.

Jude: No, it’s I who should say that. Please take care of me today, Miss Kate.

Jude: Anyway, that wild hairstyle…..it’s like a work of art. It’s an honor to see it.

(Maybe, do I have bed hair…?)

Kate: I-I’m sorry. It’s unsightly! I’ll fix it right away.

Jude: Ah no, leave it as it is, my lady.

(What, leave my bed head as it is…?)

Jude: I’ll fix it for you, so please have a seat.

Kate: ….You will do it Jude?

Jude: Since I am your butler for today.

Jude skillfully arranged my hair, and tied it up neatly.

Afterwards, I was guided to the dining room where breakfast had been prepared.

(Jude’s an immaculate butler. But…)

Jude: My lady. You’re taking your time eating your meal with that small mouth.

Jude: As a result, tidying up will be delayed……no, please be careful, all right?

Kate: ….Thank you.

(Even though his tone was polite, his words somehow sounded sarcastic….)

He isn’t criticizing me as he usually does, so I can’t talk back, it’s oddly difficult.

Liam: Jude becoming a butler seems interesting! I wanted to see it, but…..it seems a bit shameless doesn’t it?

Kate: That’s just your nature Liam…..

Liam: Kate, now that Jude is your butler, you can do whatever you want.

Liam: Like going shopping and carrying your bags! I’m curious about Jude being used by you, Kate.

Jude: ….You’re using me to satisfy your curiosity? Mr. Liam, joke around in moderation.

Liam: Wow, scary!

Liam: But, Jude didn’t you ask me the other day about products women may like?

Liam: I don’t think it would be a bad idea to listen to Kate’s opinion while shopping.

Ellis: Kate’ll be happy to release her frustration, and Jude’ll be happy to do market research…..

Ellis: ….Yep, I think that’s very good.

Liam: Right?

Ellis and liam both approached Jude with sparkling eyes.

Jude: ……Seems like the both of you will be completely noisy until we go out?

So at Ellis’ and Liam’s recommendation, I went out with Jude.

There’s a hint of sarcasm in everything Jude says, but he carries all of my bags without being asked, fulling his role as a butler with precision.

(Although it was an order from the evil king game….., I’m starting to feel a bit sorry.)

(I’ll tell Jude that this is the last time he needs to pretend being a butler.)

As I stood in the bathroom and thought this, I started back to Jude.

At that moment —

Man: Excuse me. I’m lost, could you give me directions.

Kate: Yes, of course. Where are you going?

Man: It’s in this direction. Come with me for a moment.

Kate: What? That…

(This man…does he really need directions?)

Just as he was about to forcefully grab my arm, I stopped in confusion, and the man’s attitude changed.

Man: Tch…you’re Jude Jazza’s woman right? Listen up and follow me!

Kate: Mmgh.

A cloth was placed over my mouth preventing me from calling for help, and I was snatched away immediately.

I was taken to a warehouse-like place and my hands were tied with ropes.

(…..I wonder how many times I’ve been involved as Jude’s woman.)

(Come to think of it, when I was commanded to become Jude’s maid….)

[Flash Back Begins]

Jude: If yer gonna follow me ‘round, ya gotta ditch all the niceties ’n goodwill.

Jude: Or if ya don’t wanna get tossed aside, then forget the damn mission ‘n go back to sleep in yer castle, princess.

[Flash Back Ends]

(Even though I was warned…..my goodwill was taken advantage of.)

If Jude saw me, he’d laugh and say, “See, toldja.”

(…..Ugh. If that’s the case, I’d rather not be criticized.)

(There’s a chance I may be told not to tag along anymore because he’s fed up with me.)

I still don’t know a lot about Jude, I haven’t recorded enough.

(In order to stay by Jude’s side, I need to make it through this situation….!)

Just as the man turned his back to me, I picked up a nearby piece of wood.

I don’t have a firm grip because I’m tied with a rope, but it’s enough to swing down.

(…..Okay, now!)

I hit the man on the back of his knee, to get him to lose balance. At that time —

Jude: —You were late, so I came to collect you, my lady.

Man: Huh…..Jude Jazza?!

Jude appeared from the shadows and immediately closed the distance between him and the man,

Man: Urgh!

Jude’s brilliant roundhouse kick sent the man flying, and then fell to the ground.

Kate: ……Thank you for the help.

On the way back home, Jude stopped walking to listen as I began to speak.

Kate: But I …..I still want to know more about you, Jude.

Kate: Going forward, I’ll be more careful. So……

—So, please let me stay by your side. Before I could say anything Jude spoke.

Jude: ….Today you’re a young lady, and I am your butler.

Jude: Because of this, of course I’d help you.

(So my stupidity will be overlooked today…?)

Jude: Besides, you were swinging a piece of wood before I could even get in.

Kate: I was just completely absorbed in the moment….

Jude: …..It’s far better to beat someone to death with a piece of wood, than to be tortured.

While saying that, Jude lit a cigarette.

The long trailing smoke rises thinly into the sky and disappears.

For some reason, the lonely look on his face was burned into my heart.

Jude: ….Well, yer unfit as a young lady. Where d’ya find a young lady swingin’  wood ‘round.

Kate: You say that…., but Jude you’re also unfit as a butler!

Kate: You stopped speaking politely, and you started smoking without asking…..

Jude: If ya ain’t a young lady, then I ain’t a butler. This setup was rubbish from the start.

Jude: ….Or what, didja want me to wait on ya longer? Ya got good taste.

Kate: T-that’s not it! I….like the usual Jude best!

Jude: ……

Kate: Ah! T-that’s not right? Not like in that way, what I meant was

Jude: Ya rather be teased than waited on, right? ….Yer a woman with bad tastes.

I was frustrated that he laughed while mocking me.

But, it’s true that Jude’s ridiculing side fits better…..

(…..Maybe I do have bad tastes.)

While I felt a tinge of uneasiness about my preference in tastes…my strange day spent with Jude as my butler ended.

Jude really struggled to not say mean things lmao. So cute watching him correct himself. Let's give the fairy an A+ for effort.

And HELLO - are we not going to talk about how he couldn't resist Liam's and Ellis sparkly eyes?? ......or about how he lit a cigarette after that one line.

[Master List] Dividers: @.natimiles Tag List: @sh0jun @theimaginativelyreticent @sapphire-323 @letter-from-afar @nateko @cosmowgyrall. @lunaaka

[bimbosanddolls]

State of the Bimbo - New Year, Same Kiki

Hi Barbie!

A new year is approaching and, after the emotional roller coaster that was 2023, I’m deciding to dedicate 2024 to being the best version of myself because honestly… I deserve it. 

With that in mind, there is something that I've been debating telling you all for a long time. I’ve hinted at it in asks and such for a while, I’ve talked openly about it with people in DMs, but I’ve never actually said it outright on my blog.

I am a trans woman. I have always been a trans woman. I am also a bimbo. This isn’t just a kink for me; it’s a big part of who I am and who I'm becoming more and more every day.

So why did I wait so long to say something? Time for a quick history lesson and some Kiki lore. When I started this blog like 10 years ago, there was a super popular bimbo creator named Summer (also known as @bimboisbetter) and there was a huge controversy because Summer came out as a catfish. She was a man pretending to be Summer. Looking back, part of me wonders if Summer wasn't also trans… but it really isn’t my place to speak on that. (Also, that being said… Summer, if you’re still out there somewhere and reading this, I hope you’re doing well) Anyway, people were super upset because Summer deceived them. I, despite early accusations of being a woman, claimed I was a guy because I was masc-presenting and not even sure if I was trans or not at this point. I also RPed frequently as a tgtf (transgender transformation) that would get bimbofied. And playing a girl just… made sense. In retrospect, it felt more authentic to who I actually would realize I am way more than the masc person I believed I was “supposed” to be. But all I knew for sure that I didn’t want to face the same criticism Summer did, even if our situations were super different. Flash-forward a few years, a couple hiatuses, and a whole lot of soul-searching later, I’m now very comfortable with my identity. I know who I am. I know I was always her, even when I was making awful jokes like this. I’ve always been KIki; it’s just in the last few years that I’ve truly let her emerge from her cocoon. And I can’t wait to keep growing and becoming the best bimbo barbie I can be!

xoxo,

Kiki 💖🏳️‍⚧️

[hannahssimblr]

Jen is fully awake, bright eyed and stomping around looking at the art when we arrive at the gallery. I suspect she's hopped up on sugar after I bought her a plate of overpriced pancakes in a cafe in the middle of town. 

“Woman, yearning,” after reading aloud from a gallery placard next to an abstract work she stands back to ponder it for several seconds. “Where’s the woman? I just see blobs. Ugly blobs too.”

“Is that a serious question or are you just giving out?”

“I’m offering my critiques,” she says haughtily, narrowing her eyes at it. “The point is that I wouldn’t hang that in my house.”

“Hang it where? It’s like, fifteen feet tall.”

“Well, all I’ll say is that I’m now a woman, yearning for my ten seconds back.”

Evie titters. 

“Don’t encourage her,” I mutter, “It’s better to ignore it. She did this when I took her to the zoo once too.”

“You don’t like the zoo?” Jen doesn’t hear her because she’s already rushing to the next room, and as I suspect, to the merciful end as quickly as possible. I answer for her, “No, she hated it.”

“Was it the sad animals?”

“No, her feet just hurt. There was too much walking.”

The room we follow Jen into is stark and completely bare, save for an enormous, rusted iron sculpture dangling by a chain from the ceiling. I know what she is going to say about it before she does. 

“I just don’t understand how this is art. It’s just ugly, and it makes no sense to me. I’m sorry if that makes me sound ignorant, but I just don’t see the skill in this.”

“It’s not really about the skill though. It’s all in the process,” I'm explaining this for probably the fourth time this hour, but I can see in Jen’s face that she's frustrated, genuinely so, and I really do feel bad for her. While it was nice of her to come, I feel I should have just let her stay at home and hang out on the beach with one of her magazines for the day.

Evie bends to read the placard, “It’s supposed to evoke a reaction, and I guess you being confused by it counts as a reaction, so you could say that it’s done its job,” She turns and flashes a sympathetic smile at Jen. This is a very nice thing she’s done, attempting to help her to relate to the art, but I suspect from the aura of complete resignation emanating from her that we are past the point where such a thing is possible. 

As a last ditch effort I try to gently explain the purpose of modern art in a way that sounds accessible, and not like I’m just regurgitating my art history textbook, but her eyes have glazed over. She doesn’t care about the sculpture, she doesn’t care about what it means or how it’s intended to make her feel, she’s simply had enough. 

“I don’t know, guys, I think I'm going to go browse in the gift shop. I’m not picking up what this exhibition is putting down,” she trudges off towards the stairs and leaves us on our own, her footsteps echoing, distant, then gone.

I’m aware of the quiet once she isn’t there anymore, poking fun at the exhibit, and Evie, who was quiet already, becomes even more so. As she examines the sculpture for longer, I wonder what meaning she’s found in it. Really, to me it is just kind of a big rusted lump, but I’m nervous about admitting that to a person who seems to understand what she's looking at. I stand and pretend to enjoy it for an amount of time that feels more acceptable.

When she wanders into the next room I follow. This one has an old TV in the corner, and sunlight streaming in through the big sash windows catching specks of dust drifting through the air. We watch this uncomfortable performance art video of a man stripping down to his underwear and climbing into a bed. It feels sexual in nature, while also feeling kind of weird and not that way at all. I don’t know the intention, or which emotion it’s supposed to awaken in me. I say “cool” so that she thinks I understand the point of it, though I’ve never much liked performance art. I find it embarrassing to watch.

I don’t think she’s going to try and make any kind of conversation, but maybe she doesn’t want to make too much noise in an art gallery. Maybe she’s shy. My nose runs so I sniff, and even that sounds offensively loud. 

“So what’s your deal?” I ask her as we move onto another exhibit. 

She pauses, surprised, “To be honest, there’s not much to say about me.”

“Of course there is.”

“No, well,” she laughs self consciously, “I’m not that interesting, is all. I don’t want to bore you.”

“Seriously, I want to know.”

Her eyes dart around the room as though she might find something to distract the conversation away from herself, then failing, says, “Like, Tullamore is dull, I go to an all girls’ school and really, nothing very interesting happens day to day.”

I exhale a laugh. These are her bullet points. I bet this is what she says to everyone to make them stop asking. Unfortunately for her I'm only comfortable when someone is speaking. “So you wish you could leave.”

She makes a small sound of agreement, and then says nothing for a few seconds. From the centre of the room I watch her drift about glancing at the works. “Yeah,” she says eventually, “all the time. I kind of feel like… I don’t know, like I don’t belong there or something. It’s a small town and I think I’m just a bit different from a lot of people.”

“I understand that.”

She nods, “I’d love to be somewhere with likeminded people. That’s why I really envy you going to Berlin, I just imagine what it’d be like to be able to be fully myself and everyone would be just… fine with it.”

She envies me? Already?  She won’t for long. “Oh well, it was an easy choice for me. I feel the same as you sometimes too, like, I just want to know what else is out there. I don’t want to go back to the US, but I don’t really want to stay in Ireland either. I don’t know about needing to be a different person though. Don’t you think that if you were yourself here then people would be fine with it?” 

She runs slender fingers along the plush velvet of a barrier, and I’m struck by how easy she makes it to have this conversation, even with the back of her head. I don’t usually talk with strangers like this, but maybe it’s precisely because we are strangers that we can.

Michelle complained sometimes that strange men would corner her on the bus from time to time and start spilling their secrets entirely unsolicited, things like affairs they’d had, money they’d gambled away, unforgivable lies they had told. They unloaded it all on some random girl in her school uniform who couldn’t ruin them, who they’d never see again. I wonder is this like one of those demented conversations. There isn't much about Evie that strikes me as especially demented though. Her openness is refreshing.

“I don’t know. I feel like I’ve such a history of being… odd, and doing weird things, and I don’t know if I can come back from that,” she admits, “I’d rather just start again and be a new, better version of myself somewhere else.”

I suppose she is a bit odd. Not in a bad way, but there’s a certain manner in which she moves, floating about the room, this dreamy cadence to her speech, these brief moments of intensity that cross her face and interrupt that other worldly, spacey look she has. She’s her own person. I'm not surprised stuff is hard for her, since teenagers resent people they cannot understand.

I picture her at my school, how the girls might have spoken about someone like her, what the rugby boys would have thought. Yeah, obviously she’s real fine, imaginary Fitzy says in my head. He’s picking dirt out of his studs with a twig, bit kooky, though, isn't she? Weird. Like she’s an alien from Mars or something like that. 

She meanders over to a bench and sits. “What about your friends though?” I join her, “and your boyfriend? Don’t they like this current version of you?”

She squawks out a raucous laugh that ricochets through the room, and several people look at us. Her eyes widen and she clamps her hands over her mouth, like what I just heard was the expulsion of a demon and not just a natural laugh, “Sorry, I don’t know what that was!”  

“Did I say something I shouldn’t have? Sorry, your reaction was just-”

“No no, just you said that Liam is my boyfriend and-”

“Oh, shit, he’s not? My bad, I just assumed,” I assumed because he told me as much. Was he lying or does he just not know? 

“No, he’s not. I don’t know what he is, we just hang out and stuff. He’s a really nice person.”

“He is,” I debate whether to say more. “Hm. I always feel so bad about Liam.”

“What? Why?”

“Because we used to be so mean to him when we were younger.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, he was just this happy little kid, he always wanted to be involved with us, but it was like, he was always way too eager, you know what I mean? We thought he was this hokey little country boy, we used to think it was really funny to mess with him.”

“What kinds of things did you do?”

“Nothing terrible. Just… it was more like…” I shouldn’t have started this conversation, “He thought that we were really grown up or something, I guess, and he wanted to come and hang out the whole time, which was fine. The guys just had this thing about not sharing our drink with him, you know, because it’d be a waste because he’d just end up getting sick and having to get his mother to come and pick him up from the party. So we started pouring him drinks out of a vodka bottle filled with water, and he never noticed.”

“That’s not bad” Evie says charitably, “That’s actually responsible in my opinion, and I honestly wish that Kelly would fall for that kind of trick, but she can sniff out alcohol like a bloodhound.”

“Nah, like the bad part is how much he really didn’t notice it. It was like a crazy placebo effect or something, and he’d still stumble around like he was drunk. We thought it was hilarious. And then one time when we were fifteen Joe got weed from this guy in town and everyone wanted some, but like, Liam was there and we knew it’d be a bad idea to give him some.”

“So what did you do?”

“The classic - I got some herbs from the kitchen cabinet and rolled them up for him, and then guess what?”

“He didn’t notice?”

“Right! He didn’t even notice. He smoked our little fake joint and then-” God, why am I laughing? Shouldn't this story have stopped being funny? “-and then after an hour he was rolling around on the rug saying that he could taste colours and that like, the fibres of the rug felt so soft. We had to get his mother to collect him again.” It’s my turn to let out an obnoxious, echoing cackle, and once again, everyone in the room looks at us.

“You’re a mean boy,” Evie chides, but she doesn’t look like she means it. She looks like she likes it.

“I know. I’m a bastard.” 

I get to my feet. “We should go and see the rest of the exhibits. I don’t want to leave Jen down in the gift shop all day, she’ll be bored.”

Evie’s smile wavers, but she nods, “Okay. Sorry... I didn’t mean to hold you up.”

“You didn’t, I just thought you’d be rearing to see the rest of the art.”

“Yeah,” she says, then hesitating, “it’s a bit unusual, isn’t it?”

I chuckle, “To be honest I’m not sure I like it.”

“Oh, thank God you said that. I hate it too, I didn’t think I was allowed to say it.”

We giggle and I swerve straight for the exit. “C'mon then, let's do something else.”

Beginning // Prev // Next

Corresponding LG Chapter

[lawofnova]

haii i hope you’re well. u’re so beautiful btw! so ive already asked other people this question but i like getting possible different views or advice. so ive have manifested many things and have almost shifted. for example, changing my eyes from brown to become more green. i remember watching a visual sub on youtube for a few days and then my father kept commenting on how my eyes were turning green. or one day years later, i made myself pretend that i thought i was the most beautiful woman, i then went to work and someone said i looked more beautiful today than usual. i felt down one day in high school and prayed to the Universe that someone would call me pretty soon, the very next day, someone called me pretty. these are just a few examples but i still question my sanity and wonder if they’re just crazy coincidences. tbh im very insecure in my spirituality bc ive been told im dumb or naive for believing in it. also: with shifting ive had seen many flashing lights, felt being touched, and heard noises i scripted to hear once i shifted. i never have these symptoms when im trying to sleep or meditate but i have heard that these symptoms have nothing to do with shifting but they help me believe. however, i think im just such a skeptical person it’s annoying and wonder if my brain made those symptoms up. i’m just scared of getting my hopes up i guess which would make me so depressed. i listen to other’s success stories but im not one that trusts others easily. any advice is appreciated 🙏🏻

Hi, thank you for your kind words. You’re a little fairy dusting me with all your love! 🧚🏻‍♀️🧚🏻‍♀️

I’m going to give you the sweetest wake-up call you could ever receive. Please don’t be mad; I’m only doing this because I care about you and have been in the same situation before.

You need to build up your confidence, love. You know—and I mean you know—that your beliefs hold importance to you. You know they mean something within your awareness and consciousness. Why are you ashamed of that? Why is that so bad? Why are you beating yourself up for it?

Shouldn’t that be enough? To be curious and want to experience something despite the beliefs of others?

I can understand why you’re struggling. Your 3D reality has caused you to feel guilt for believing in something beyond yourself—something “strange,” “abnormal,” or maybe even as radical as giving up the adult logic that helps us survive. But that’s simply the ego at work.

Let me make another point:

Have you ever believed in the Christian God, or followed any other religion before discovering shifting and the Law of Assumption? What’s so different about having faith in the unseen in this scenario? Faith is simply more accepted in the context of religion.

And it’s not that you struggle to trust others—you struggle to trust yourself.

If it feels uncomfortable to put trust in yourself instead of in the 3D or others’ expectations, tell yourself that shifting and LOA are your secret experiments. You don’t have to put all your eggs in one basket. You don’t have to commit entirely to something unless you feel comfortable doing so. Thinking of it as an experiment puts less weight on you, making you feel less “crazy.”

It’s simple science, right? You put your theory into motion and work your hardest to fulfill it through practice. But with this level of detachment, you can say, “I’m not crazy for being curious.” Because curiosity is both human and Godly.

Isn’t that beautiful, little Einstein?

Much love to you, you are always free to ask for advice in the future! 💖💝🩷💓💕

[angst-fairygodmother]

Darkened Hearts (The Umbrella Academy)

It’s been ten years of trying to move on. But when Reginald Hargreeves’ death sets off a snowball of events leading to the end of the world, you may as well throw in reuniting with an ex. But can Diego and Y/N set aside their difference and fix things, before the countdown ends and the world blows up the same way as their marriage?

CHAPTER 1: BAD IDEA

Word Count: 2293 Pairing: Diego Hargreeves x (fem)Reader Warnings: Drug references, references to canon-typical violence, canon-typical language Rating: T Cross-posted to AO3: here

A Sequel to Light Fingers

There were still days when your bare ring finger felt wrong, naked and exposed, or like a piece was missing. Today was one of those days, and you wished you knew why, the foreboding in your stomach heavy and almost painful. But you forced yourself out of bed anyway, forced yourself to put on your uniform and go to work for a double-shift and pretend that everything was just fine. 

~

“Hey Y/N,” one of the busboys called from where the rest of the kitchen staff were all crowded around the small television set, “Hargreeves. Isn’t that your ex’s last name?”

You frowned, setting down the cup you had been drying off and joining them. 

“The explorer and intellectual, perhaps best known for his controversial adopted children, The Umbrella Academy, was found in his home after a complete heart failure and cardiac arrest,” the reporter continued, reading from a sheet of paper. 

“Well damn, who knew he even had one of those?” you muttered, watching the images flashing on the screen as the woman continued on cheerfully, describing Reginald’s various accolades, glossing over or ignoring entirely his flaws.

“Authorities pronounced him dead on the scene, and the world now watches with baited breath for what happens next? Will the estranged young superheroes return for their father’s funeral, and will any of them claim his place as patriarch and headmaster of the once-famed Academy?”

You wondered if you should call Diego. What would you say? He wouldn’t want your sympathy, if anything he’d be glad the man was dead. But it seemed crass to suggest getting a drink together, for old time’s sake, to celebrate. 

You shook your head, forcing your eyes from the staticy screen. Probably best to do nothing. 

~

An hour or so later, the doorbell chimed as someone came in, despite the fact that the door should have been locked.

“We’re closed,” you called, not looking up from your task refilling boxes of sugar packets. 

“Y/N!” a familiar voice called dramatically. “I thought you’d be here, you workaholic you.”

“Klaus?” you startled, looking up to stare at him as he sauntered in. “What are you doing here?”

“Well. I was on my way to dear old dad’s funeral. I’m sure you heard that he croaked. And I thought, hm. I should bring a plus one, and who better than my best friend in the whole world who used to be married to my brother til he was stupid enough to let you get away.”

“That’s a long winded way of saying you’re trying to cause trouble on purpose.”

“No. I’m saying, don’t you want to see Diego? You can offer him...comfort?”

“I can’t do that Klaus. Diego and I have to stay out of each other’s lives.”

“Why?” his voice took on a whiny quality. “You’re like the only person he’s ever actually liked. I’ve never seen Diego smile before. Or since. Just when you two were together.”

You felt your resolve wavering before you swallowed those emotions back down. “It’s like...heroin.”

“What?” 

You motioned for Klaus to take a seat on one of the stools across from you, already pouring him a cup of coffee from the pot the staff had made to get through cleanup. 

“When a person gives up heroin, it’s because they know they’re addicted. They need it and rely on it, and quitting is acknowledging that’s a problem. It’s not healthy or safe or good for you.”

“Diego wasn’t safe? Did he hurt you? I’ll kill him if he did.” Klaus’s brows knit together, studying your face carefully. Despite his usual peacefulness, something in the way he said it made you believe him, and it sent a chill through you. 

“No. That’s not...stay with me here okay, please? Even once you’ve acknowledged those things and given it up, it’s not gone just like that.” You snapped your fingers. “Right? You miss it, and mourn it, and...crave it. But you can’t give into that feeling. You can’t let yourself surrender. So whenever you feel that itch, that hunger and heartbreak gnawing at you and determined to leave a hole in your gut you...chew a piece of gum or whatever instead. To distract yourself.”

“You replaced my brother with gum?” his eyes narrowed suspiciously.

You sighed, rubbing your temple. “No. I mean there may have been an attempt to with the cute girl from--” you shook your head, interrupting yourself. “It’s a metaphor Klaus. The point is that you can’t go back to the heroin. You can’t call it and check up on it and see how it’s doing. Or go to its father’s funeral and offer your condolences. You can’t apologize or say you made a mistake and gave up the best thing in your life and that losing it was the worst pain you’ve ever felt and I know it’s my fault and can we please please start over and try again.” 

You were near tears and turned your back to your friend to try and hide them. 

“With this conversation? Absolutely. I’m confused.” His voice had a teasing lilt that grated in the wake of how serious you were trying to be.

You growled in frustration, turning sharply back to him. “Clearly using a drug metaphor with you was a bad idea. I thought it’d help you understand but you’ve never willingly quit one in your life.”

“Hey! I’ve gone to rehab…”

“By force or for the convenience of a bed. And stole pills from the nurses’ station usually.”

“You’re being very mean.”

“You can leave whenever you want.”

“He needs you, Y/N. Not that he’ll ever admit it.”

“Klaus, please…” you sighed, closing your eyes. When you opened them again, he was gone, empty coffee cup the only trace he’d been more than a figment of your imagination.

~

Diego knew it was all bullshit, most of what Luther ever said was, but he couldn't stop thinking about it anyway. "It was personal" "someone with a grudge." And his own conclusions that there were no signs of forced entry or struggle. Not many people had both motive and means to pull it off: Reginald's five remaining children, only three of whom were in town and able to get to the Academy; maybe Pogo, although he'd never seen anything to think the chimp thought less than the best of the old man; and her. His ex-wife hated his father, maybe even more than he did, for everything he had done, directly or indirectly. And she was an expert thief, if anyone could get in and out undetected it would be her. He wanted to believe the coroner's report, to believe that at the end of the day Reginald was human enough to die of something mundane. But even if he did, Number One never would, and Y/N would be the top of his suspect list.

It would almost be for the best if it was her, if the other options were his siblings. That's what he tried to tell himself anyway as he threw a dagger to land between the eyes of a looming water buffalo. For the split second between when the blade left his fingers to when it thunked into place, he even considered how easy it would be to point Number One in that direction and let him go. 

“Diego, please. I’ve told you this already, but I’ll keep saying it until you believe me,” her voice rang in his ears, one of the few, failed attempts to sit down and work things out. “I wouldn’t have been sad if your father had been caught in the crossfire. In fact I probably would have gotten a pinata with his face on it. But I swear. On my mother, on my brother, on my father’s grave. Luther was not supposed to be there. And I never wanted anyone to get hurt.” 

Back then, he wouldn’t have doubted it for a second. But now…something just didn’t feel right. He was still contemplating the theory, turning it over in his mind like he frequently turned a knife in his hand, spinning it to the tune of the music drifting through, when a sound like thunder crashed and the room went dark. All thought of his ex and his father’s death left his mind in a rush as he rushed out to the courtyard, following the direction of both the noise, and the metal which all seemed to be suddenly magnetized toward its adjoining walls. 

~

It had been a few hours, but Klaus's words still plagued you. In many ways, he was right. You missed Diego, more than you could find the words for or even wrap your thoughts around. You had just pushed those feelings down further and further, a dammed tide as resentment and time became a wall between you. But there were still floodgates, and the mechanisms might be rusted to hell but a little grease could open them, in theory.

This was a unique opportunity. And you were concerned about what the loss, and the reunion with his siblings, might be doing to his head. It was just the nice thing, the right thing, to try and reach out.

It was a flimsy excuse, but you let it carry you and played it over and over while you toyed with the end of a sleeve and dialed the number on the old, faded post-it.

You almost hung up on the first ring, sucking a deep breath through your nose and steeling yourself when no one answered. 

The phone kept ringing, and you were just about to give up entirely when a voice you half-recognized answered.

“Hello? Who is this?” they asked.

“Uh. Hi. I’m looking for Diego Hargreeves. I’m a...an old friend, and I heard about his father…”

“He already left. I don’t know if he’ll be back for you to leave a message.”

“Oh. That’s okay. Am I speaking to one of his siblings then?”

“Yes. This is Luther Hargreeves.”

‘Shit,’ you couldn’t help thinking. ‘Of course it would be the sibling you most wanted to avoid.’

“Oh. I...I’m sorry for your loss then. I won’t take up any more of your time…”

“What did you say your name was again?”

“I...didn’t. I’m Y/N…”

“Y/N? As in--” you hung up the phone in a panic before he could finish his question and then sat, staring at the phone as if afraid it would, or daring it to, ring.

He had already left. He hated his father and that house. There was no reason to linger now, so he would have wasted no time. He was probably back at the Lion (you briefly considered calling there too, but Al was terrible at forwarding calls in the best times) or out on patrol.

You scrubbed your hands tiredly over your face and laughed bitterly at yourself. The whole idea had been so stupid.

~

Klaus rushed to follow his brother as he walked off. This day had been a laughable disaster, and it was probably a good thing that Y/N hadn't come after all. But he still wanted to do something. He missed happy Diego (he missed all of his siblings, Diego especially. Other than Ben, he had lost track of all of them a bit, or maybe more aptly lost himself. But this wasn't about him. It was about doing something good for once, and fixing Diego and Y/N's relationship, for them).

As he climbed into the back of the car over protest, he made a comment, something flippant and off-color and out of nowhere that he forgot as soon as it left his lips, and smiled when Diego cracked a smile in spite of himself. That was good, that was a start. 

They turned down dark side streets in silence while Klaus gnawed on a hang nail and tried to think.

“Hey, about what you said to Allison, the failed marriage thing,” he started suddenly.

“I don't want to talk about it Klaus,” Diego growled. “Just tell me where I'm dumping your ass so today can finally be over.”

“It's just…it felt like projection. And I'd know all about that. Do you want to talk about you and–”

“No Klaus, I just said I don't want to talk about it. Not now, not ever. It's over. It's done.”

“But–” Klaus yelped as Diego turned a sharp corner and he was nearly knocked into Ben's spectral lap. He gritted his teeth as he sat back upright. The direct approach was out then, time for plan B, in this case standing for Breakfast. Or maybe it should be D for Diner? W for Waitress? 

Not long after, they were parked down by the water, Diego doing something that involved a lot of staring and brooding, which was not unusual, but left Klaus uncomfortably alone with his thoughts, which were not being very productive. The only remotely helpful thing he remembered thinking was that the diner would be closing soon, and if they didn’t get there, it would all be wasted, take two, and he wouldn’t get a third try.

Klaus heard the vague crackle of Diego's bootleg police scanner but decided not to pay much attention to it, since through the closed door he couldn’t hear what exactly was said.

“Diego, thank you for joining us, we have decided on…drumroll…” he tapped tapped a rough pattern on the back of his brother’s seat, “wwwaafflllles.”

“I’m gonna drop you off at the bus stop. I gotta get back to work.”

Klaus's heart sank. And then somehow sank again when Diego slipped his old mask on, a sure sign there was no chance of changing his mind.

So much for a reunion.

[th3radlad]

Thread Breaker 3.5!

Hey there~! It seems we have the introduction of Yuri Hayashi, the bookworm with a hidden thread ability...? Anyhow, here's a neat backstory to learn more about her..!

Thread Breaker Vol.1 Chapter 3.5

From the earliest age Yuri could remember, the world was never a quiet place. She’d been only four years old when her Perception Thread awoke, though at the time, she’d had no words to explain it, no one to tell her that her mind wasn’t supposed to be filled with whispers, glimpses, and shadows that didn’t belong to her. She could see physical threads emerge out of people’s heads, and when she grabbed them, she could look into their minds. See their inner insecurities, their inner desires, what they were truly thinking. Her parents would wave a friendly goodbye as she toddled off to her first day of school, their thoughts lingering in her mind long after she left. Her mother’s voice—soft, hesitant—would surface at unexpected moments:

“Will she grow out of this strange behaviour?”

Or her father’s voice, more impatient, his worry leaking out like a broken dam:

“Our little girl... why doesn’t she act like other kids?”

And though she was only a child, Yuri’s awareness stretched out like delicate webs, catching fragments and flashes of strangers’ thoughts, like the woman at the grocery store who wondered if her boyfriend was cheating, or the teenager across the street who stole a vape and was debating whether to go back and confess. 
 


Then, she came home from school, and saw a thread emerge from her mother’s fingers.
 


“Momma! Look! Another Thread! Can you see? Can you see?”
 


Her mother simply sighed and put on a fake smile, believing it to just be an imaginary friend or a tulpa or some sort.
 


“Great to hear sweetie! Now why don’t you go chill out in your room, okay?”

But it was at school that Yuri’s awakening became unbearable. Her teachers were kind enough on the surface, with warm smiles and patient voices. But she heard their thoughts too, clearer than she ever wanted to. The cheerful teacher who praised her drawings thought, “Poor little girl, always alone. No wonder she doodles those threads on her work all the time —she has no friends.” Another teacher, who watched her curiously from afar, had a harsher thought surface one day: “Odd little thing, isn’t she? Doesn’t even respond when you call her. Probably a lost cause. I don’t even understand why we let runts like her into this school anyway...”

Those words sunk into her heart, more painful than any insult shouted out loud. Each whisper, each silent judgment, settled into her bones, adding another layer of isolation. And soon, Yuri started to avoid people altogether.

As she grew older, her ability sharpened, and the thoughts became louder, more intrusive. The Threads became easier to clutch, and more was able to be read from them. She’d sit in the back of the classroom, pretending to be lost in her own world, but she was listening to her classmates’ thoughts—hearing secrets, insecurities, wants, and needs she had no right to know.

One day, she overheard her friend Saki’s thoughts while they were drawing together. They’d been laughing and talking about their favourite shows, but Saki’s smile was only skin-deep. Yuri heard the stray thought, clear and unfiltered:

“Why is she so weird? Why doesn’t she talk like the others? Being her friend is so hard sometimes. Honestly... I’m only her friend because I feel bad...”

The words cut through her, and her hand froze mid-drawing. She looked up, meeting Saki’s eyes with a blank stare, and for a second, she saw the pity in her friend’s gaze.

Yuri stopped talking to Saki after that, letting the friendship fall apart like an untended garden. Afterward, she found herself more alone than ever, sinking further into the shadows of her mind, drowning in the thoughts of those around her. Eventually, she learned to put up walls, to block out the ceaseless chatter, but the strain of keeping those walls up was exhausting. Still, it was the only way she could get through the day without being overwhelmed by the twisted maze of human thoughts.

The Perception Thread allowed her access to the minds of strangers, but as she got older, her power grew even sharper, picking up the darkest, most hidden thoughts of the people closest to her. The day she turned ten, she overheard her mother arguing with her father in the kitchen. The words were muffled by the door, but Yuri didn’t need to hear them. She already knew what her mother was thinking.

“I don’t know how much longer I can do this. She’s not normal. I just... I want my daughter back.”

Her father’s thoughts were more understanding, yet still stung in a way she couldn’t shake:

“Maybe she just needs more time, more patience. But what if we can’t help her?”

Yuri backed away from the door, the words searing themselves into her mind, and with a heavy heart, she decided then and there to never let her parents know how much she could truly hear. She buried it deep inside, acting like the quiet, detached child they thought she was, blending into the background of her own life. Fine, if that’s what they thought of her, that’s what she’ll be.

Years passed, but the Thread only grew more demanding, revealing things she desperately wished she could un-see. She learned the true nature of humanity from an early age: that people wore masks of politeness, of cheer, of kindness—masks that hid envy, deceit, anger, and worse. Teachers who felt trapped in their own lives, resenting their students for living and achieving futures they themselves had lost. Friends who spoke kindly in her presence, only to harbour jealousy or scorn in private.

It was a burden that weighed on her more heavily with each year. By the time she was in high school, she had built walls so high that no one could get close to her, and she refused to lower them. People saw her as quiet, nerdy, detached, and somewhat strange—an image she was perfectly content to uphold. She hid in her books, diving into worlds where she didn’t have to hear anyone’s thoughts but the characters’ on the page, escaping into stories where thoughts stayed where they belonged: hidden and private.

One night, alone in her room, Yuri sat on her bed, staring at her own reflection in the mirror, the soft glow of the moon casting her features in a cold light. She traced her finger along the faint symbol of her Perception Thread that lay hidden on her wrist—a small, spiralling glyph that shimmered faintly in the dark.

“Why?” she whispered, her voice hoarse and aching. “Why was I given this?”

No answer came, only the silent reflections in the mirror. She would never understand why the Threads had chosen her, why she had to bear the unbearable burden of others’ innermost secrets and lies. But one thing was certain: if she could, she would cast it all away without a second thought.

Yuri clenched her fist, the glyph glowing faintly under her skin as if mocking her, and she curled up into a ball and cried. She sobbed her heart out, wishing she had the ability to ‘be normal’. That maybe Saki would’ve acted differently... Her parents wouldn’t be so deathly worried about her, that her teachers would actually care about those they were entrusted to prepare for the future. The ability to see into people’s souls had shown her one devastating truth: the closer she came to others, the more isolated she felt. No one wanted to be seen so fully, so deeply. And no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t close her mind to what lay beneath the masks.

It was at that moment, staring into her own unblinking eyes, that Yuri made a vow to herself. She would never let herself get close to anyone—not because she wanted to be alone, but because the weight of their thoughts was too much for her to bear. People were cruel, and they hid it behind smiles and friendly gestures. She would carry this burden in silence, shouldering the darkness, the twisted truths that others hid from the world.

In time, perhaps, she would find a way to live with it. But until then, she’d stay in the background, fading into shadows like an invisible ghost, letting people’s true thoughts drift by her, unseen and unheard.

And so, Yuri Hayashi became the quiet, studious girl who never seemed to smile too widely or linger too long in anyone’s company. And no one ever guessed that beneath her calm exterior lay a world of thoughts, secrets, and pain—a prison of perception she could never escape. And so while she was able to perceive others for who they really were, no one would perceive Yuri the same way. [SIDE CHAPTER FIN]

[tiny-wooden-robot-fics]

Against the Tide - Seven

Rating: Explicit Pairing(s): Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez x Original Female Character, Silvio Ricci x Original Female Character Characters: Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez (Bleach), Silvio Ricci (Ikemen Prince), Olivia DuBois (Original Female Character of Color) Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergent, Pirates and Princes, Slow Burn, Action/Adventure, Worldbuilding, Angst, Some Subtle Racism, Sexual Tension, Political Subplot

Previous Chapter: Six | Next Chapter: Eight

Summary:

He pauses, his eyes finding hers again. "You really think you could live like this all the time?"

Olivia wonders if his question is merely a simple jab at the life of a seafaring individual, or if he's asking her something deeper, something much more personal. "Do you not think that I could?"

Read on AO3

“Do you like living on a ship like this?” Daisy asks the question out of curiosity, Olivia knows, and the answer is more than just a simple ‘yes’ or ‘no’ would cover. 

“There are some things I like about it,” Olivia starts thoughtfully, her eyes on the never-ending horizon ahead of her. “I like watching the crew work together to make this big, beautiful vessel go where we need it to. I like watching the Captain with his men… seeing how much he cares about them and how they look up to him.”

Daisy looks over at Olivia with a bashful smile. “I like watching him, too,” she admits. “He’s a bit magical sometimes.” 

“Yes,” Olivia laughs. “Yes, he can be quite magical.” 

“What else do you like?” 

“I like the feeling of freedom being out on the open sea gives me,” she sighs contentedly. “I’m sure you already know this, but the place we’re going - Vora? That’s my home. It’s where I was born and where I spent the first ten years of my life. It’s where I first learned how beautiful the open sea and sky can be.” 

“Before we left, I heard Prince Silvio say that you miss it very much,” Daisy remarks. 

Olivia looks over at her in surprise. “He said that?” 

The younger woman nods. “I didn’t think I was supposed to hear it, so I pretended that I didn’t. I’ve been training to be the Queen’s maid for a few years now, in order to take over those duties when my mother retires. When Prince Silvio came to the Queen to ask for me, they went out of the room to talk in private.” She flashes Olivia another bashful smile. “I could still hear bits of their conversation, even though I was trying very hard not to eavesdrop.” 

Olivia wonders what the rest of that conversation sounded like. I never could figure out how his mother felt about me, she thinks wistfully. I guess that’s where he gets his propensity for being hard to read. “That was very nice of the Queen to lend one of her maids to me,” she says aloud. “I should remember to thank her when we get back.”

Daisy smiles at her. 

“Is there anything you like about living on a ship like this, Daisy?”

The young woman wrinkles her nose. “I think there are more things I don’t like,” she confesses. “Like how the food all tastes the same all the time, and the way it’s noisy even when the ship isn’t moving… all the creaks and groans. But,” she adds, her eyes lighting up, “I wasn’t expecting to have water for bathing as often as we do.” 

“Mmhm,” Olivia laughs. “Captain Jaegerjaquez invented that system for catching and storing rainwater himself,” she explains. “He likes his baths… so in a way, we have his vanity to thank for our baths, too.”

“You think I’m vain?” There’s amusement in his voice, and both women turn at the sound of it. 

Her face grows hot when she catches sight of him. The day has been unseasonably warm for autumn at sea, and most of the crew have elected to forego their shirts in favor of letting the sun kiss their skin. The Captain is no exception. 

“Oh,” Daisy exclaims softly, her pale face flushing rosy. She quickly turns in Olivia’s direction, dropping into a hurried curtsy. “I believe I have some laundry to finish in your room,” she says, before beating a hasty retreat. 

Grimmjow watches her go, an amused smirk on his face. “The way she ran outta here, you’d think she’s never seen a shirtless man before.” 

“She probably hadn’t before coming on the Hellcat,” Olivia points out. “She’s very young, you know. And she’s a lady’s maid, not a seasoned bar wench like me.”  

He shrugs. “She’s gonna have to get used to it.” He turns back to face her. “And for a seasoned bar wench, you look pretty flustered.”

“Bite your tongue.” 

“I’d rather you bite it for me,” he retorts, completely unruffled. He moves to the railing next to her, his gaze drifting out to the water ahead of them. “So. You think I’m vain, huh?”

“One would have to be at least a little vain to stay as well put together as you do after six days at sea,” she teases him. To illustrate her point, she raises one arm, sniffing at the fabric of her shirt. “I think you smell better than I do.” 

Before she can lower her arm, he buries his nose in the fabric and inhales deeply. “It’s sweat,” he says casually, once he’s raised his head again. “Just in case you didn’t know, everybody does it.”

“You didn’t have to stick your nose in it like that,” Olivia grumbles, a little embarrassed though she isn’t sure why. 

“And if you ain’t that keen on sweatin’ through your shirt,” he goes on, looking her up and down lazily, “you could just take it off like the rest of us.”

She stares at him. “Now I know you’ve taken leave of your senses.” 

He shrugs. “Thought it was worth a try.”

Olivia laughs. “Daisy thinks you’re magical,” she tells him. “I think she’s got a bit of a crush on you, Captain.” 

Grimmjow laughs with her. “You tell her to stay away from me? That I’m a dangerous man?”

“I don’t think she’d listen to me at this point,” Olivia scoffs. “She’s too far gone.” 

“Too bad for her I only got eyes for one woman.” 

“You’re a damn liar,” she laughs raucously. “How many beds have you been in this year?” 

“Gentlemen never kiss and tell,” he drawls. 

Olivia pulls a face. “And we both know you’re no gentleman, so that doesn’t apply to you at all.” 

“Well,” he concedes, “you got me there.” He pauses for a moment, looking at her with a smug, self-satisfied smile on his face. “If you’re really that bent out of shape about bein’ sweaty,'' he goes on, “I can have some fresh water sent to ya… just say the word.” He doesn’t wait for a response, instead pushing off of the railing and leaving her alone with the horizon.

--

“What is this?” Silvio asks, when she sets the plate on the table in front of him. 

“Dinner,” Olivia answers. “You didn’t come up, and I figured you might be hungry.” 

“I don’t see the need for everyone to sit around tables together like pigs at a trough,” he sneers. 

It makes her laugh. “Don’t you eat with your family?” 

He shoots her a withering look. “It is not the same.” 

“It is,” she insists. “This crew is his family. So they all eat dinner together when they can.” She settles herself at the table across from him with her own plate. “I think it’s sweet.” 

“Then why don’t you go eat with them?” 

She heaves a sigh. “Because I thought bringing you dinner was an obvious way of asking for a truce,” she tells him. “Considering the fact that the last conversation we had ended so… abruptly.” 

He doesn’t answer. 

“Besides,” she goes on. “Once upon a time, you loved eating dinner with me.” 

“Don’t,” he warns her. It is only one word, but it is heavy with all the things Olivia knows he could say and is choosing not to.

“Fine,” she relents. “Will you at least finish the conversation we started about your plan once we get to Vora?” She asks. “You fired a pretty significant cannon at me when you told me that my father declined to go back.” 

Silvio looks up at her curiously. “You really had no idea?” 

“No,” she shakes her head. “I didn’t.” 

He looks at her for a moment longer, then pulls the plate of food towards him. “I will never understand why anyone would want to eat like this on purpose.” 

Olivia laughs. “It’s not all that bad,” she says. “Not all of us have deeply refined palates.”

“You used to,” he reminds her. 

She shrugs. “It’s amazing what the human body can get accustomed to if given enough time.” 

He pauses, his eyes finding hers again. “You really think you could live like this all the time?” 

Olivia wonders if his question is merely a simple jab at the life of a seafaring individual, or if he’s asking her something deeper, something much more personal. “Do you not think that I could?” 

She’s expecting him to say something snide, perhaps a rude commentary on what she does for a living. What she isn’t expecting is the honesty in his eyes when he speaks again. “I think what you crave most is your independence,” he starts quietly. “I think part of you believes that living this way - living the way you do now - is what independence really means. I think you were frightened by the idea of being tied down to anything that would strip away your freedom and make you into something you didn’t want to be.” His gaze slides away from her. 

Olivia swallows thickly. “And here I thought you weren’t paying attention.” She intends for it to sound like a joke, but it doesn’t quite come out that way. 

“I was always paying attention, Olivia.” 

She isn’t quite sure what to say to that. Something heavy and sad settles in the pit of her stomach, and she pushes her plate away, her appetite suddenly gone. 

“Your father,” he goes on after a moment, “thinks that Vora would be better suited with a younger prime minister. Someone fresh who could go in, listen to what the people really want, and implement change without inciting rebellion.” 

He’s speaking neutrally, but she gets the feeling there is something he isn’t saying. “So a visible ruling representative of Clario,” she surmises. 

Silvio nods. 

“Say what you want to,” she prods him, noting the expression on his face. 

“When your father left Vora, he knew he would never go back.” he starts slowly. “The intention was always for someone in Clario to go in his place eventually. You and I weren’t old enough right away, but…” He trails off. 

“But we would have been eventually, if we’d---” She cuts herself off, the implications of it hitting her square in the chest. She looks up at him. “They never said. They never told me any of that.” 

“Well, when that plan failed,” Silvio laughs wryly, “I suppose our parents set their sights on Alessio and Thalia.” 

“Only by that time, Jarron Barnes was already wreaking havoc,” Olivia finishes. She feels like she’s been punched in the stomach. “So now what do we do?” 

“I don’t know,” Silvio says, in an uncharacteristic show of uncertainty. “Find Jarron Barnes. Find out what he wants. Find out what the people of Vora want. And then,” he adds somberly, “figure out if we can give it to them.” 

She mulls over his words. “I haven’t been home in twenty years,” she remarks quietly. “I don’t know if it will still be the way that I remember it… the way I’ve seen it so many times in my dreams.” She shakes her head. “He brings me something from Vora every time he passes through it, you knew that,” she goes on.

He looks annoyed that she’s mentioned Grimmjow, but lets the comment pass. “I did.”

“Marie Hudson,” she smiles fondly at the woman’s name. “She was my governess before we left Vora. She was old when I was little,” she continues with a laugh. “She must be ancient now. But he stops by to see her every time, and every time, she gives him a care package for me. And then he picks up little things along the way, things he thinks I might like, things that remind me of home. And he brings them back for me.” 

Silvio wants to ask her why she’s telling him this - why she thinks he cares about anything that damn pirate does. But she hasn’t looked this way in a long time, not that he’s seen: childlike, carefree, happy in the unguarded way she used to, when they were younger. 

He’s missed that. 

--

“What,” Olivia sighs, when she feels his blue eyes on her. “You’re staring.” 

“No I wasn’t,” he rebuffs with a scoff. “Why the hell would I stare at you?” 

She rolls her eyes at him. “I don’t know, asshole. Why would you?” 

The look on her face is a clear view of her thoughts. She’s caught him out and doesn’t plan on letting him get away with it. She looks back at him stubbornly, her arms crossed over her chest. It only pushes her breasts - the breasts that are usually completely covered up with some loose, high-collared button-down shirt - further up over the neckline of her gown. 

He lifts his chin, trying to keep his eyes on her face. “I wasn’t staring,” he snaps. “I’ve just… I’m not used to seeing you in dresses.” 

“Because I hate them,” she huffs. “But my mother insisted that I come to this stupid ball, and in order to do that, I had to wear a dress.” She yanks on the bodice of it, nearly giving him a heart attack when the neckline dips lower. 

“Stop that,” he hisses, unable to completely keep the near-panic out of his voice. “Or they’ll pop right out.” 

Her mouth drops open in silent surprise, and it isn’t until he goes back over the words in his mind that he realizes what he’s said. “Shit,” he mumbles. “I didn’t mean to say that out loud.” 

Olivia stares at him for a few seconds. He braces himself for a severe tongue lashing. Instead, she laughs unabashedly. “Your face is red,” she points out in a teasing tone. “You’re blushing.” 

“The hell I am,” he counters hotly. 

“The hell you are,” Olivia laughs again. “Your face is as red as a tomato. You look like a tapestry, with your silver hair and your bright red face.” 

“Shut up---”

“What’s wrong, Prince Silvio?” She asks coyly, squaring her shoulders back and poking her chest out as she advances a few steps towards him. “Are you afraid of my breasts?” 

“Idiot,” he huffs. He is equal parts indignation, embarrassment, and teenage hormones, and he knows his face is only getting more flushed by the second. His eyes are scanning the ballroom for an escape route when they are interrupted by a soft, shy voice. 

“Lady Olivia,” the young man standing a few feet away from her calls politely. Robert Brito, Silvio remembers his name. The son of the governor of Mecre. “May I have the next dance, if it pleases you?” 

Suddenly remembering her etiquette, Olivia straightens up, wiping the amused smile off of her face and replacing it with an appropriately polite one. She dips into a curtsy. “Of course, I would be honored,” she replies, her manners flawless. She takes the hand offered to her by the other young man, casting a glance back at Silvio before letting herself be led out to the dance floor. 

“She’s certainly grown into a beauty.” 

Silvio turns at the sound of his father’s voice. “Whatever,” he mutters sullenly, his mouth turned down into a frown that looks a lot like a pout from where the older man is standing. 

The king chuckles quietly. “If you wanted to dance with her,” he starts, “all you had to do was ask. I’m sure she would have said yes.” 

“Nobody said I wanted to dance with her,” the young prince snaps irritably. 

“What a shame.” His father clicks his tongue. “I’m sure that look in her eyes when she glanced back at you meant something.” 

Having planted those seeds, his father drifts off, leaving him alone to watch the couples on the floor. There are many young ladies lining the walls of the other side of the ballroom, and Silvio knows that he is expected to ask at least two or three of them to join him for a turn about the dance floor. 

Still, he can’t take his eyes off of one couple moving gracefully across the floor. The dress she has chosen - the dress her mother has chosen for her, he reminds himself - is made of chiffon in a butter-yellow color that complements her smooth, unblemished dark skin perfectly. 

He knows that she hates these kinds of events more than anything. She hates getting dressed up, and has confessed to him on occasion that she despises the way her naturally curly hair is subjected to many rigorous rounds of uncomfortable and damaging heat in an attempt to make it as straight as the hair of some of her fairer-skinned peers. 

Silvio will never tell her, but he doesn’t like her hair straightened either. He has spent countless hours staring at the way it looks when she wears it as it grows out of her head, thick and fluffy and full of tiny little corkscrew curls. He will never tell her that his fingers twitch whenever he’s near her, itching with the desire to bury themselves in it, wanting to feel its softness against his skin, wanting to wrap each tiny little curl around his finger and pull on it just to see it bounce back into place again. 

He will never - not even under the threat of death - tell her that he’d like to see the way her soft, dark skin looks against his sheets, to dig his fingers into the curves of her hips and pull her close enough to feel that smooth skin against his own. Fifteen, he knows, is not yet a man grown, and she is already a woman of seventeen. Still he has had experience - as a prince he has had his pick of girls who have been more than willing, and he longs to test the limits of that experience with her. 

Not just because of the way she looks, although he would agree (if only silently) with his father that Olivia has grown into a beauty. But because of the spirit she possesses, the one that makes her wild and free, well-learned and well-versed, opinionated and brave, but kinder than most. 

He doesn’t want to tame her. Not now, not ever. 

He simply wants her.

--

“---lvio,” Olivia calls again, rapping her knuckles on the table to get his attention. 

“What,” he says, his brain crammed full with the memory, like stuffing in a cushion. 

She looks at him closely. “Are you alright? You seemed like you were lost in thought for a minute there.” 

He shakes his head. “I’m fine,” he grumbles. “I was just… thinking about something.” 

Olivia looks at him for a moment longer. She looks as though she wants to ask him something else, and he is silently grateful when she doesn’t. “Alright,” she says after a beat. “If you say so.” 

Previous Chapter: Six | Next Chapter: Eight

[vicstmichael]

Tag Game: Find the Words

Y'all know I love these. Thanks for the tag, @artcoffeecats 🖤 I'll be pulling from The Fourth Key once again this time around, I think I forgot to say that last time I did this!

My words are: bound, scream, silence, prove, and scan.

Bound

How could he bear it, Kieryn wondered, sequestered here day in and day out, doing nothing but read his maps and spellbooks? His skin was pale and sallow, much like Arabella’s, and Kieryn realized that his life of solitude was not much different than that of his twin far away in Orinthe. Only Arabella was bound within the castle walls by their parents, while Antony had been discarded by them.

Scream

“So why does Brynja want it?” Arabella's hand was at her throat, running absently along the outline of the key beneath her tunic. “We knew each other as girls. Surely she wouldn’t… Well, in any case, I thought Order Agents were uninterested in power.”  “Only the ones who join up by their own will,” Gideon replied. “Not all Highborns who go away to join the Orders go quietly like yer brother did, m’lady. And rumour has it Brynja Echethier went kickin’ and screamin’. She may’ve renounced her claim to Eyresaine, but make no mistake, in her mind that title’s still hers.” “Bringing home the Fourth Tome would be a sure way to curry her family’s favour,” Mathe mused aloud. “A public assassination isn’t exactly a subtle way of starting things off,” Kieryn pointed out.

Silence

“Do you think we’re in danger?” Arabella whispered. She wriggled out of Kieryn’s grip, already reaching for her bow.  “No more than usual,” Kieryn lied. Mathe was right—there was no way of knowing what would happen with Arabella onboard. This was a place of dark magick. Chaos magick. Kieryn could feel it, humming far beneath the waves. But it felt wrong, somehow, leaving a metallic taste in her mouth. It called to her Gyft. Even now she could feel it, stoking its embers and spreading fire through her unwilling veins. Arabella rolled her eyes, catching the lie as soon as it left Kieryn’s lips. “You’re scared,” she accused. “I can tell.” “There’s dark magick here,” Kieryn admitted after a long, reluctant silence. She stepped aside as they reached the ladder to the crew’s quarters, gesturing for Arabella to descend first. “Well, corrupted magick. Like it’s gone sour or something. And there’s no telling how it’ll interact with… well, you. And I don’t care to find out.”

Prove

Arabella sniffed indignantly as she loosed another arrow. Thock. “Mother always said Antony’s Gyft would be wasted here,” she replied. “That the Order of Terras would bring him opportunities we could not. She made out like it was some grand tradition, but we all know she’s full of shit.” A barking laugh burst from Kieryn’s lips before she could stop it. “My Lady!” She grinned. “Such foul language. You’ll cause a scandal.” Arabella rolled her eyes, but her high cheekbones were pink again. “Well, it’s true. The two of them are all too happy to pretend Antony doesn’t exist. Like he’s been shoved into the closet, along with all the other skeletons my family’s been hiding. They’re ashamed of us both, I think, in different ways. Supposedly I’ve been confined here for my protection, but they know as well as I do that I’m perfectly capable of protecting myself.” As if to prove her point, she released another arrow. They both watched as it struck the target dead centre, just as the others had.

Scan

The leader of the group removed her hood to reveal a shock of red hair secured in an elaborate plait. Her hooded eyes scanned the room as the group approached the bartop, flicking back and forth. “This is the place?” murmured the robed man closest to the red-haired woman. He was tall and thin, and the way he stooped when he walked reminded Kieryn of a living gargoyle. “Yes,” the woman answered. Her voice was smooth, husky, almost sultry. Her eyes flicked across the room again, flashing amethyst. “I do believe so.”  Kieryn took note of the silver sickle strapped to the woman’s back. The weapon radiated magick—Kieryn could feel it from across the room. Her Gyft stirred inside her; its flames licked the inside of her belly. Her skin crawled. That is one powerful weapon.

I never know what the appropriate length is for these things, haha. Some 'Kierbella' scenes this time! Did I make up a ship name for my own characters? Yes. Yes I did.

I'll tag @scribe-of-stories, @writeblrfantasy, @brieflyinfatuated and @ashirisu! Your words are: gentle, curse, forgive, star and endless.

[cinewhore]

To the Ends of the Earth (4)

Pairing: Lara Croft & Marcus Pike (Tomb Raider AU)

Rating: Mature

warnings: mentions of guns, fighting. Pretty safe. 

Summary: After obtaining a seemingly normal piece of art from a flea market, Marcus Pike enlists the help of an old friend in tracking down its origins. They both get more than they bargain for.

A/N: Next chapter after this will be fresh! This is the last of the reuploads. credits to the gif maker.

Lara concentrates on her breathing, exhaling softly as the plane rattles more. Taking the cargo plane wasn’t ideal but it was the better choice of getting into the country undetected for the time being. The last time she came to India was when she was younger, accompanying her father to an academic conference. She pretended to be an important council woman of sorts, eagerly following her fathers every move and taking heed of everything around her. The tears threaten to fall but Lara just takes another breath, attempting to find her center.

“I don’t see how anyone sleeps on these things.” Marcus grumbles, rubbing at his lower back. “Promise we get to sleep on actual beds tonight.”

“You have my word.” Lara smirks, eyes still closed.

“I miss anything?” Marcus questions, plopping down next to Lara, careful to avoid knocking into her.

“Not really. I got in touch with my contact and she’s agreed to meet us at the hangar once we land. She has scouts on the ground but so far, it’s been quiet.”

Marcus hums. “Too quiet.”

“Exactly.”

“No word on Nanko’s lover?”

Lara exhales. “She passed away about five years ago. There were no reports of Nanko fathering any children so it’s another dead end, so to speak.”

“That guy in Germany, how well do you trust him? Can’t help but to think he might have some other plans up his, uh, sleeve.”

Lara finally cracks one eye open, cutting it at her friend. “Ezra doesn’t concern me in the slightest. He’s harmless.”

Marcus nods, trusting Lara’s words. She was the extrovert out of the both of them and had a good sense on how to read people. If she said that Ezra was harmless, then that was it. He takes a second to admire her in her serenity, frown lines gone and any sign of stress impossible to trace. He doesn’t know how she does it and often wondered if she ever got tired.

A red light flashes, accompanied by an alarm, causing Lara to sigh quietly. The small bubble she wrapped herself in at the moment was now broken and the Lara that Marucs knew best was out in full force.

“What’s going on?” Marcus yells over the sound, heart rate speeding up.

“We’re getting close.” Lara announces, rummaging through a box a few feet away from her. She pulls out a parachute, gearing herself up to exit the plane.

Marcus’s eyes widened. “You’re jumping?!”

Lara shrugs nonchalantly. “You aren’t?”

“What happened to staying below the radar?”

“It’s a bit more fun to do it this way, don’t you think?” Lara smiles with her teeth, checking to make sure that her parachute was fully functioning.

Marcus rolls his eyes and doubles down in his seat. “Don’t break anything.”

The red light shuts off as the green light flashes on and one of the plane passengers slides the door open for her. She takes a look back at Marcus and winks. “Party pooper.”

Marcus flips Lara off as she jumps and the door gets shut behind her.

Deepti shields the sun from her face, a smirk tugging at her lips when Lara comes into view. She takes a step back, allowing Lara to land without getting caught up in her parachute.

“It's a good day for a jump, isn’t it?” Deepti asks, embracing Lara.

“It always is. How have you been?”

Deepti guides Lara through the hangar, a few of Deepti’s men clearing the runway so that the cargo plane could land safely. “Things have been a bit interesting since we’ve last spoken.”

“Is that so?”

Lara untangles herself from the parachute gauging Deepti’s expressions.

“Yes, the house of Nanko’s supposed lover was discovered. I had my people comb it over but it seems that someone got to it before we did.”

Lara sighs, Baloshov no doubt. “Did you happen to find anything at all?”

Deepti nods. Reaching for her back pocket, Lara gets the barrel of a gun shoved in her face. She smiles faintly. Slowly reaching her hands up, Lara never breaks eye contact with Deepti as her men strip Lara of her weapons.

The plane soon lands and Marcus is also met with hostility as he exits. Lara can see the panicked look on his face but she shakes her head, silently assuring Marcus that they were ok.

Deepti ushers the pair into a truck which sets off for the city. The ride was quick and bumpy, Mumbai traffic bursting with energy. They arrive at a warehouse, nestled in the more quiet parts of town.

Lara gets out of the truck first, Marcus close on her heels. He walks beside her, talking under his breath. “Which way should I go?”

Lara eyes their companions. Out of the five men, only two were armed. She nods to her left. Marcus clenches his fist, taking another step forward-

He suddenly shifts to the left, slamming his fist into the face of the guard next to Lara. She instantly eliminates the man to her right, shifting on her feet lightly as she works to fight off one of the armed guards. Marcus manages to knock his opponent out and helps Lara finish off hers. Deepti takes out the last guard and they all stop to take a breath.

“You still got it.” Lara comments. Deepti nods, holding a hand over her chest.

“It’s been a while.”

“These all belong to Balashov?” Lara questions, checking over her gun.

“No, they used to be mine. Turns out Balashov sent out a message. High price for the missing treasure and an even higher price for your head. Money talks.”

“How much money, exactly?” Marcus asks.

“Half a billion.”

Marcus inhales sharply. “Fucking hell. I might kill you for half a billion.”

Lara chuckles as they gather back into the truck. “In your dreams.”

Deepti takes them back to her home base for the night, providing them safety from the many foes combing the streets looking for Lara. Once word got out about the men found at the warehouse, it was important to be on high alert.

Lara was off taking a shower while Deepti looked over the information Marcus was giving her.

“How long have you known her?” Deepti attempts a conversation while compiling sketches of the epitaph Marcus secured.

“All my life, just about. You?”

“Eh, teenagers. She came here from London to do a study abroad program.”

Marcus smiles at that. “Were you her host family?”

“No, I tried to pickpocket her.” Deepti snorts. “We’ve been friends ever since.”

“All this stuff pertaining to black magic, do you believe in it?” Marcus frowns, lowering his voice.

“I believe that there are things beyond our comprehension that exist and if Balashov is working this hard to obtain such an item, there has to be some truth in this rumor.”  Deepti exhales as she finishes, now centering her attention to the map of Mumbai she has open on the table.

Flickering her eyes back and forth between the two, her eyes enlarge as she notices something. “Marcus?”

He hums. “Yeah?”

“This inscription here, can you read it?” Deepti points to a spot near the bottom of the epitaph.

Marcus leans in closer to get a better look, mumbling to himself. “It looks like a bunch of letters but I’m not sure how to unscramble them.”

“That’s because it’s backwards!” Deepti grabs the sketch, running to a mirror that hangs in her foyer. “Look.”

“Oh wow!” Marcus begins to read the words aloud. “You shine always, brighter than the morning star, take a look at yourself, my jaan. I was always mesmerized by your moves.”

“Life.” Deepti whispers.

“What do you think it all means?” Marcus racks his brain but his Hindi was just as bad as his German.

“Light, moves…I think Nanko’s lover worked in the red light district here.” Marcus’s brain goes blank but Deepti keeps going. “Kamathipura is a neighborhood that was established back in the 1700s and is widely known for its sex tourism. The place is filled with brothels and bars, many women rushed there to find work after India gained its independence from the british.”

Marcus nods, trying to follow along. “So you think the other part is hidden in a brothel?”

“I’m not sure. I’ll make some calls to see if anyone knows anything.” Deepti sighs. “You should get some rest, we’ll have to be prepared for anything tomorrow.”

Marcus is thankful that Lara didn’t go back on her word when it came to beds, it was doing wonders for his back. Deepti only had one spare room so that meant sharing a bed with Lara and even though he swore he’d be ok with sleeping on the floor, Lara wasn’t having it.

“You’re getting old, Marcus.” Lara smirks, doing a little stretch before crawling into bed. She lays in the opposite direction, back to Marcus and his feet. Luckily they agreed to wear socks to bed.

A hush falls over the old friends. Marcus can’t fight sleep any longer but he does his best as he addresses Lara.

“You sleeping?”

She says nothing, he knows she’s listening.

“I hope that when this ends, you’ll find the peace you’ve been searching for. You deserve that, you know. She would, too. Both of your parents.”

The bed groans as Macus flips onto his side, instantly slipping into a deep slumber. Lara brushes a stray tear away from her face and forces herself to do the same.

[kudosmyhero]

Batman (vol. 1) #465: Debut

Read Date: February 19, 2023 Cover Date: July 1991 ● Writer: Alan Grant ● Penciler: Norm Breyfogle ● Inker: Steve Mitchell ● Colorist: Adrienne Roy ● Letterer: Todd Klein ● Editor: Dennis O'Neil ◦ Kelley Puckett ●

**HERE BE SPOILERS: Skip ahead to the fan art/podcast to avoid spoilers

Reactions As I Read: ● oo, this cover is definitely eye-catching! ● Batman keeping close watch on Robin as they go over rooftops. I wonder if he usually does that with his Robins, or if he is being extra vigilant because Tim is such a new Robin. My guess is the latter. ● Batman lets Robin call the shots. Getting a feel for how he does in the field. ● Since the potential burglars are young and scared, Robin opts to just put a scare into them.

● Robin notices an odd expression on Batman’s face and asks him if he’d done something wrong. ● Batman says, “No—you were fine. You showed good judgment. But I know those boys. Bruce Wayne sponsors their schooling under the IHAD Program.” ● oooooh, Tim really sticks his foot in his mouth by saying that an extra half hour on his own won’t kill him. As Batman leaves, he reminds Tim of the rules: no risks. ● Robin stops a drunk from hitting on a woman. The woman thanks him by complaining about men, slapping Robin, and getting into a cab. Tim takes it well, though, reflecting that Batman didn’t cover that in his training. ● Back at Wayne Manor, Alfred and… Harold? whozzat? Are watching a soap opera on the Batcomputer. Alfred pretends not to be invested, but he totally is! (this all makes me so happy)

● Doggo! What’s doggo’s name… isn’t it “Ace” or somesuch? ● Batman smiles when Ace greets him. It always feels odd to see Batman smiling. ● back in the field, Robin stops a pair of thugs from mugging a Marine ● Gordon and Sarah… can’t remember her last name. He’s talking about feeling better and taking care of himself. Apparently he’s had some sort of health issue in previous issues ● Robin’s voice comes over the squad radio to pick up the two muggers and an ambulance for the victim ● Gordon addresses Robin, obviously thinking he’s the Jason Todd Robin. Tim says that he’s… been away. ● Sarah tries to get a statement from Robin, but he vanishes. Gordon tells her, “You’ll get used to it.” ^_^ ● Back to the two kids who initially were going to break into a place before Robin and Batman scared them off. We’re in their apartment and they hear a knock at the door. To Chico’s surprise, it’s Bruce Wayne. ● Chico accuses Bruce of slumming it, says he doesn’t know why Wayne is paying for their college, but to leave him out of it. He goes to his room and slams the door. Bruce asks the other, Larry, what Chico’s problem is. Larry tells Bruce that Chico’s dad was out of jail all of two days before he took the family’s welfare money for the month and left. Chico’s mom is in the hospital and there are two younger sisters as well. ● Bruce goes into Chico’s room to talk to him. ● pg 12-13 is a beautiful spread of Robin swinging over the city. There are panels of him visiting his father in the hospital, and after he leaves, we see his father regain consciousness. ● omg Bruce Wayne is drinking a cola… ● anyway, he offers Chico and Larry a job of doing market research on weekends. They accept. (yay! they seem really sweet) ● ugh, Vicki Vale. (sorry. she annoyed me in Batman ‘89.) ● the flowers Bruce gave Vicki were pink. …now they’re yellow? ● Robin comes across the woman who slapped him earlier ● ah, so Harold created some sort of device that Robin can use to create a link between a payphone and the Batcomputer. He looks up Ginny Gray, who has a police record ● back at the charity event, Bruce Wayne is Bruce Wayning ● Ginny uses a gun to get past the doorman to crash the charity event ● Bruce is in the middle of donating a check when his watch flashes, alerting him that Robin’s signaling something wrong. He feigns dizziness and excuses himself. ● that’s when Ginny fires a shot into the ceiling ● ohhhhh, poor Ginny is delusional. She has the actor Bob Dane mixed up with “Duval Pesney,” a character he plays in the soap opera ● Ginny fires a shot and misses his head by millimeters ● Bruce Wayne seems to declare his love for Duval Pesney, too, as a distraction? Ah, nope. He’s playing into Ginny’s delusion, shouting for Duval Pesney to keep away from his wife. (The poor actor, Bob Dane, is so confused) Bruce punches the actor, which causes Ginny to run to him in concern. ● This gives the cops time to come arrest Ginny; Bruce tells them to be gentle with her. ● Vicki Vale runs off to the office with the headline “Bruce Wayne Socks Bob Dane” ● later, Batman and Robin answer the Batsignal. Both Gordon and Sarah are on the roof. Batman tells Gordon that he’s supposed to be taking it easy, and if everything is okay. ● Gordon tells Batman that he wanted Batman to be the first to know that he and Sarah are going to be married. (so goddamned cute.)

● then we cut to Wayne Manor. Alfred answers the phone and takes a message that Tim’s father is awake and asking for him. (Alfred’s happy smile on the next page made my eyes misty, dammit!) ● any comic that gets tears out of me gets and automatic 5-clap review! ● 👏👏👏👏👏

Synopsis: Tim Drake returns to Gotham City and joins Batman on his first patrol as Robin. They come across two kids from the educational program Bruce sponsors trying to rob a store, and when Batman asks Robin his opinion, he says they should scare them off this path rather than turn them into the police. Batman is impressed by his judgment.

Bruce Wayne visits the two teenagers and offers them jobs at Wayne Enterprises. After that, Bruce goes to a charity bash where the cast of a popular soap opera called "Calistoga" helps raise half a million dollars.

Robin patrols the streets on his own. He helps a woman named Ginny Gray, who is distraught over her boyfriend's engagement to another woman, not knowing that her "boyfriend" Duval Pesney is really a fictional character in "Calistoga."

Ginny breaks into charity bash and holds the actor Bob Dane at gunpoint, but thanks to Bruce Wayne's quick thinking, she is stopped and arrested.

James Gordon and Sarah Essen summon the Dynamic Duo to tell them they are engaged, and Alfred receives a phone call saying Jack Drake has woken up.

(https://dc.fandom.com/wiki/Batman_Vol_1_465)

Fan Art: Ace The BatHound (#10) by BoomLabStudio

Accompanying Podcast: ● Robin: Everyone Loves the Drake - episode 15

[gaddaboutgriffon]

Ok trying to pick back where I left off.

Danny, Superboy 2, and the twins trouble toddlers are moving into Mount Justice and going through a name book trying to find a name for the new Superboy.

Danny realizes just how many social skills were not included in the download ask he is explaining to the newly named Connor why he needed a regular name at all.

Martian manhunter is on his way back from mars but it is going to be a couple weeks before he gets back to earth. And in the meantime time Superman is coming every other day to try and talk to Danny and get him to come home. Unfortunately neither are budging on their position, and it is making things worse. Connor can hear everything.

Danny is also using staying at mount justice as a way to practice getting control of his new intangibility power with out Superman finding out about it. It was impossible to keep it a secret from Connor, as he has seen Danny accidentally get stuck in a wall or floor or chair. Connor helps him out as best he can but sometimes thing break. Much to the amusement of Ellie and Jordan.

It isn’t long before Robin, Kid Flash and Aqualad come to visit and witness one of those accidents too. And the bombardment of questions about his new superpower begins. At this point Danny then tells them that he knows he was adopted by Superman and the letter but he doesn’t actually know What he is. And after Superman didn’t accept Connor and the twins like Danny expected he is unsure how big blue will react to this very non kryptonian power.

Wally wanting to dispel the somber mood asks, “Wait, if you’re not kryptonian then why does kryptonite affect you?”

“It actually doesn’t.”Danny answered with a mischievous smile. “I just ham it up pretending like it does and the when the bad guy of the week looks away I’ll throw it as far away from Dad as possible. Plus I was getting free candy from other league members in the feel better cards.”

“That’s actually a brilliant strategy.” Dick smiled wishing he could have done something like that.

A week later and Martian Manhunter arrives on earth with his stow away niece. Superman is quick to greet him and explain the situation asking for j’on to do the mind scan for any hidden programming so he can get this conflict with Danny resolved.

After the mind scan confirmed there isn’t anything to worry about Superman tries to apologize for over reacting. However after spending too weeks hearing Danny and Clark argue and feeling like it is fault Connor says he is going to stay at mount justice anyway. Thinking that Danny is better off with his Superman if he is out of the way. Danny and Clark both realize the messed up but don’t know what to do about it.

Meanwhile Batman and Martian manhunter, is off in another room talking over video call with Green arrow and Wonder Woman about their new protégés joining this new team.

Time skip another week and M’Gan/Megan is now living at the mountain. Danny is going back and forth. But until they come up with a cover story where the twins came from they are staying at mount justice too. Superman thinks the godfather story would only work once.

To tired to do more now.

Super Phantom

Writing prompt #3

Danny reveals his ghost half to his parents and they took it well accepting him. As a result the doctors Fenton then backed out of the weapons deal they had with the GIW and are actively protecting Phantom from them.

The GIW don’t give up even after the anti ecto acts are being repealed and sabotaged the gas tank for Nasty Burger’s grill. This causes the explosion that would Kill Danny’s family and friends there for Jazz’s graduation celebration. Clockwork foresaw of a Dan event happening and froze time to take and de-age Danny, Jazz, Sam, Tucker and Vallarta. (Clockwork is a jerk and frankly blames Jack and Maddie for making the he portals that caused both Vlad and Danny’s halfa status and a lot more work for him. He is letting those two die.)

Clockwork then sends the Deaged to babies/toddler to different places in the Yong Justice cartoon DC universe. All the kids are liminal and have powers.

Jazz now a 3 year old is sent to Hippallita on Themescira. (Excuse my spelling) liminal powers make her strength on par with Amazons.

Sam, age 1 as well and sent to Giovanni Zattarra. Three year old Zatana gets a younger sister that also has the gift of magic. Especially nature/plant magic.

Tucker I had a hard time deciding but eventually chose Lucius Fox. (If you can think of someone better go ahead and make suggestions.)

Vallarie was Supposed to be sent to Ted Kord, but Lex Luthor was trying to tap into the watchtower’s zeta tubs but accidentally got clockwork’s portal instead. It cased he basket to be dropped instead of gently set down. Startled, two year old Vallarie instinctively activates her ghost tech armor. Now that is a curious unexpected asset Lex will find a way to utilize.

And finally deaged to one year old Danny is sent in a in a basket with a solar system print blanket with a envelope sitting on top. The portal opens and the basket is carefully set on the table with the note. Then clockwork places a folder thick with other papers of to the side. He retreats into the portal closing it behind him just as the apartment door is opening.

Clark Kent has just finished his third week of work at the Daily Planet, the evening patrol and even grocery shopping. Thoughts of the paper he needs to write and turn in the morning are on his mind as he enters his apartment in time to notice a Green glow wink out of existence from his kitchen door. He drops the now forgotten grocery bags when he hears the tiny heartbeat and rushes over to the basket on the table.

A sleeping baby. A baby! Wha- how had anyone. When his brain stops stalling he notices the letter. It reads:

Superman,

The boy’s name is Danny. You are the most likely to survive him learning to use his powers as they emerge. His parents died trying to protect him. It is not safe for him here.

I have already forged the legal documents naming you as his godfather and a cover story in the attached folder. Also three gold coins will be sent to you each month as child support. If anyone else looks at this letter the text will change to simply read that you are the godfather of this recently orphaned boy.

Clockwork.

Clark stood in shock rereading the letter in shock a dozen times. Before Lois snapped him out of it.

“Hey Smallville, it may not be Gotham but even in Metropolis you shouldn’t just leave your door open.” She called as she entered from the hall. Then she noticed the spilled bags of groceries on the floor. And came in. “Are you ok? You may be a klutz but you always pick u- Oh My God, That’s a Baby!”

Well that is enough for tonight. I will add on more later. Wonder how quickly this would grow if I don’t tag anyone? Eh just a few. @bloggerspam @confusedshades @hypewinter @zylev-blog @kizzer55555

[sukirichi]

closer | gojo satoru x reader

a/n: aaah my first ask and it’s a request! thanks so much this is so kind and sweet of you 🥺 and here it is! I’m not sure if it’s exactly what you wanted but I hope you like it anyway! 

summary: in which Gojo has the need to be closer to you after a long day of hard work

pairings: jealous! Gojo x reader

warnings: none, other than this isn’t proofread! (This is just a fluffy domestic short fic!)

masterlist ! 

The best part about being the strongest jujutsu sorcerer isn’t the power (although Gojo basks in that too) but rather the fact that he allows himself to completely tear his walls down and be putty in your hands once he comes home from work.

Gojo would never say it out loud that the best part of his days is waking up next to you, pressing kisses in your still sleepy face and you whining for five more minutes, then watching as you wobble like a penguin to the shower so you can start your day. Although he doesn’t really ask much from you, his heart still swells every time you make him a sandwich, kiss it and claim that it’s “made with love” before he proudly shows off his ‘breakfast’ of the day to his students.

Even in work, he still thinks of you. It’s quite impossible for this man to stop thinking of you; you and him never left that honeymoon phase even after two years of marriage and a much longer time of dating.

He could be exorcising a curse then get distracted afterwards after seeing an Italian restaurant that he just knows you’ll love. Next thing you know, Gojo flicks his wrist and exorcises the curse in a flash before hopping into that restaurant to look at the menu. Loving is knowing; Gojo takes the time to see if the restaurant would be respectful of your allergies every time before booking reservations.

It’s no secret that this man is completely enamoured with you, if his sappy good morning kisses accompanied with light, teasing touches down your legs is not an indication already. Gojo is confident and feels safe in your relationship and he’s never the type to get jealous because Gojo is Gojo – who else would be better than him for you?

Or at least that’s what he used to believe, until he comes home with a bag of pumpkin spice bread for you, arms wide open and a “Darling~” about to leave his lips when he sees your current predicament.

Nanami is leaning against one of the chairs in your cafe downstairs from your home, the usual stoic man’s lips and cheekbones slightly raised in laughter as you tell him something about your day. Gojo can’t exactly understand the worse falling from your lips because he’s too focused on the way you’re leaning forward, eyes absolutely crinkled into half-moons while you share a strawberry tart with him. Gojo sees the cups of tea have already been emptied, meaning Nanami has been here for a much longer time than he is welcomed.

Gojo clenches his jaw. He’s told you many times you should get a bell so you’d know when a customer comes in, but now he’s thankful you’re stubborn and refused to have one because he can hide in one of the propped up tables and chairs hidden in the darkness.

He can’t help the sigh he releases. He’s late – like he always is.

You’re a regular human who isn’t able to see curses. You’ve only ever known about their existence ever since you started dating Gojo, but other than that, you’re completely unaware of how these things work. It doesn’t bother Gojo. In fact, he quite likes that he can be just a regular man around you, and he basks in the comfort of not having to worry about your safety if ever you were also like him.

He met you when you were just still a barista who helped your boss bake from time to time. Gojo was only a student then who hopped from one cafe to another in search of the best delicacy, but he got more than what he bargained from when he met the fresh-faced and bubbly young woman standing behind the counter whose smile was sweeter than the most sugary dessert you’ve ever made.

As the two of you grew older, Gojo supported you in building your own cafe since you’re so passionate about it and it’s been your dream since childhood.

He still remembers how you’d spend hours in the kitchen trying out new ingredients, so much so that you forget to eat on most days. Gojo is left with the task of literally hauling your ass up upstairs and force you to shower with him. You lie that you’re not really tired, but the moment his skilled hands roll the tension out of your shoulders, a contented and grateful sigh paints those lips he loves to kiss.

One of the things Gojo loves doing with you is taste-testing. He’s not around the house most of the time when you work since he’s a busy man himself, but on the days he actively chooses to annoy Principal Yaga and go AWOL, he’d sit obediently on the counter and let you use him as your own taste experimenting dummy.

When night falls and you’re just about ready to head to bed; satisfied and proud of another day of hard work, Gojo comes home early to help you clean up the cafe and prop the furniture so you don’t overstrain your muscles.

Or at least, he wants to come home early to help you. It’s just that he often gets carried away on his missions and stays behind a lot longer than he’d like because the world of curses is extremely demanding. After seeing that you probably already lifted all these heavy chairs and cleaned up everything by yourself even when you’re tired, and you still have the ability to smile and laugh like that in Nanami’s presence when he should be the one on the receiving end, Gojo is unable to fight back the twisting feeling that pools in his stomach.

Forcing a huge grin on his face, Gojo loudly smacks the paper bag in the table between you and Nanami, his hands resting on the blond’s shoulder who only groans at his presence. “Yo!” He greets, winking when your eyes gleam brighter now that your husband is home.

There’s no trace or hint of anything that could indicate you’re upset with him because he didn’t come home early. Instead, you bow and excuse yourself while picking up your cups and the small plate where remnants of your signature tart had been, and Gojo watches with longing eyes as you disappear in the back room.

Now that you’re gone, Gojo drops in your seat, takes off his blindfold, and glares at Nanami. “Nanamin,” he drawls out. “I wasn’t expecting to see you here – getting chummy with my wife, no less.”

Gojo knows he’s being petty and childish. Of course he is. This is Nanamin we’re talking about; the man is as frigid and stone and he’s as interested in romantic relationships as much as he respects Gojo Satoru. Plus, it’s you, and you have eyes for Gojo and Gojo only, but it’s also Gojo Satoru who’s mixed in the formula, and he’s not the least bit ashamed that he’s being immature right now.

Of course he’s jealous. Of course he’s possessive.

You’re his sweet, little wife – of course he doesn’t like it.

As if reading his mind but couldn’t be bothered to deal with him, Nanami slides an envelope across the table. “Ijichi took a sick leave so he couldn’t give this to you. I was tasked to hand it over to you instead so I came around. It’s not my fault you come home late and your wife insisted I have a short meal before I came home,” Gojo opens his to retort something stupid when you emerge from the back, pretty face tired yet still patient as ever.

“Leaving already, Nanami?” You smile up at him, hand slipping through Gojo’s bigger and rough ones. He doesn’t know why the gesture leaves him stunned, especially when you step close enough that he feels your heat on this sudden cold night. He’s so entranced by everything about you he doesn’t even notice the blond bidding his farewell.

Gojo watches as you turn to face him, smaller hands reaching up to caress his face. Now that his blindfold is gone, his hair falls down to forehead, your dainty fingers brushing them away from his eyes so you could marvel in its beauty.

Like a little kid, he melts into a puddle when you do that exact eye-smile he’s seen you do with Nanami, only this time, it’s reserved, private, and intimate.

Gojo shuts his eyes in the process, nearly stumbling forward, which he doesn’t really let happen with anyone because he’s the Gojo Satoru; strongest jujutsu sorcerer. But you don’t mind, you never do, and if anything it only makes you laugh when he pretends to be deadweight by collapsing into the crook of your neck.

“What a big baby,” you tease with your hand rubbing up and down his back in a soothing motion, all the tiredness and exhaustion from his day disappearing into thin air.

“Yes,” he concedes as he follows you up the stairs where you both change into your pyjamas and settle in for the night. “But I’m your big baby.”

The nickname makes you laugh, head thrown back as giggles erupted in your chest. You’ve already removed your makeup, hair down from your work hairnet and flowing in loose waves. Gojo stifles a gasp then, because you’re in his arms, in his bed, smelling like him, and you’re so soft, so free, so vulnerable and the way you lean into his shoulders while he rubs his cheek on the crown of your head makes him feel like he’s falling in love all over again.

He’ll never get tired of this – of you.

The mere thought of seeing you with someone else that isn’t him doesn’t sit well with Gojo. Now he understands why he’s so jealous and immature – it’s because he hasn’t wanted anyone or anything as much as he loves you.

He can’t imagine a life where he’ll wake up to his mornings without your limbs sprawled across his longer ones, or how he may never hear your sleep talks about birds and butterflies; which is utterly ridiculous, but because it’s you, he finds it adorable. Sometimes Gojo wonders how he ever even lived before meeting, but of course, those were days filled with nothing but him doing weird stupid shit.

Not that he’s stopped doing that, but now at least he’s doing those weird stupid with you.

And he only ever wants to share those with you, so he doesn’t and will never allow anyone else to take what’s rightfully his. You’re his wife, the love of his life, the sunshine in his mornings and the sunset of his beautiful dusk.

He doesn’t care if he’s petty – he’s got every right to be jealous because Gojo Satoru never shares what’s his.

When his mind races back to the way you smile for Nanami again, his hold on you grows tighter. You don’t complain when Gojo suddenly presses his lips into yours, a breathy moan blessing his ears once he finally moves on top of you. Gojo runs his hand under your – his – shirt, letting those talented hands of his roam upon the expanse of his skin like an artwork he’ll never get tired of looking at.

“Missed you,” he mumbles in between the lip-locking, leaning closer when your nails start to scratch his scalp as a way to soothe him from the night. Nothing about the kiss is hurried or fervent; rather, it’s calm and steady, slow and passionate, much like how everything he feels for you is similar to a calm, rainy day where he’ll stay in with a hot cup of chocolate.

You’re home – warmth and comfort – and you know you’re his just as he knows he’s yours, but it doesn’t stop him from kissing you like he wants you to never forget that.

You shiver when Gojo’s fingers tickle your ribcage, that spot always having been sensitive. Your husband swipes his tongue over your lips that still tastes like strawberries from your lipbalm, and he groans, falling forward when you allow him access into your sweet, sweet mouth. Meanwhile, you travel down from his hair into those broad, strong shoulders that always seemed like a fortress to you.

Gojo was so big and strong compared to you. There’s no denying he could easily break you if he wanted to, but he’s nothing but gentle – perhaps a little eager – when he holds you like this.

There’s no memory of how you end up on top of his lap that night with the covers barely strewn across your bodies, Gojo’s back pressing into the bed frame that’s witnessed endless nights of passion. His hands then run over your hips, squeezing it a little too hard until you rut against his hips.

“Hmm,” you moan into his mouth at the friction, while Gojo only smirks at your reaction. Even after years, you’re still so sweet, sensitive, and responsive – he just can’t get enough of it. “Satoru,” the way you say his name is so breathy, almost as if it’s a secret only the two of you should know, so he listens intently at your next words. “You’re a little needy tonight. Did something happen?”

“No,” he lies, smiling to himself once he sees your lips are red and bruised. He’s sure he looks the same, but your eyes are glossed over with love that he can’t resist you pulling you to him as if the space offends him. He trails his lips down to your neck to leave red patches of marks that claims you as his – not that the gold wedding band on your fingers wasn’t doing the job already.

Like the good girl you are, you tilt your head and allow him to do as he pleases. He sucks, licks, kisses and nips at the skin, all the while careful to not hurt you or push you over to the edge since both of you are too tired for the day to ever do anything.

Your head drops to the crook of his neck then, arms wrapped around his shoulders loosely as if you trusted him to catch you whenever you fall – and you know he will. He always will.

Later on, you grow sleepy at the way he starts to pepper kisses into your skin that addictingly smells like cinnamon and vanilla all at the same time. Gojo chuckles to himself at how peaceful you look in that moment, draped over him like a tiny puppy who lives in a world too big for themselves, but that’s not true.

You’re bigger than the universe itself, larger than the vast galaxies he held beneath those eyes, and Gojo finally stops being jealous.

There’s no need to be, after all, not when he’s the one you trust wholeheartedly to tuck you in bed while your soft breathing lulls him into slumber as well. Gojo flicks the lamp off with his finger, not wasting another second before he scoots closer, closer, closer until there’s no more recollection of where you begin and where he ends.

He stands corrected in his statement.

He’ll never get tired of this, of you, for you’re bigger than the universe itself and there’s still a lot of space between the two of you that he can’t wait to cross until your worlds crash and burn.

“Next time,” he promises before kissing your eyelids, “I’ll come home earlier.”

[oddaodd]

· I Don't Go In For Sweets ·

Request: by a lovely anon "set after the events of season 3. Tommy can't handle the company, he's still grieving and he has to be there for Charlie so Polly tells him she knows a girl from a good family to get married He ends up agreeing (aunt Pol can be very persuasive) but even though he's married, this new girl isn't considered as a wife. He doesn't really make any effort but his "wife" understands, he's a widowed father who lost his first wife only a year ago. However since they are...in this, she wants to make her time as enjoyable as possible for the both of them and for Charlie too. But no matter what Tommy makes it a point of honor to not let her in, to not let her replace Grace so he ignores her, he works more, tries to spend as little as possible in the house. Reader stays patient, it will be alright and Charlie is making her quite busy anyway. One night, Tommy comes home completely drunk and maybe a bit high too, he can't even make it to his office. Thankfully Reader is still awake, she takes care of him and Tommy just...melts at how gentle Reader is, he may be able to keep his distant while sober but it's much harder in his state. He admits to her how he's been feeling and all. Ever since that night, something changed, Tommy feels some comfort, some solace being around her, she accepts him wholly, even his flaws, the bad side of his business and she tries to provide some sort of safe place for when it gets too hard." (I edited the request because it was very long, but I kept all essential parts in there)

Author’s note: I loved loved loved writing this and it ended up being SUPER long, but I’m very happy with how it turned out. As always, I hope you like it and have the loveliest of days!

Warnings: season 3 SPOILERS sort of, but not really, still read at your own risk. Arranged marriage, mentions of alcohol and drugs, angst.

·

“Thomas, you may not be able to see it, but you’re breaking apart” Polly spoke with a sigh as she lit a cigarette after everyone was dismissed from a family meeting.

Everyone had left Tommy’s office in arrow house rather gaily after receiving their fair compensations for partaking in the whole Russian ordeal, all except Polly, who remained where she sat, wishing for a word with her nephew

Tommy merely scoffed at her concern before lighting his own cigarette and taking a puff “I’ll be alright”

“And Charlie?” Pol pressed knowing Tommy’s mourning was not only affecting him, but Charlie as well. “What about him?”

“He’s fine” He said before turning around to look through the window, ignoring his Aunt’s heavy stare.

“You take too much after your mother” she sighed half angry half sad “she too loved pretending everything was alright and I don’t need to remind you where that lead her”

Tommy sighed deeply, he knew he could fool anyone. Anyone but Polly. “We’ll manage”

“Consider my offer” Polly said standing up and making her way to the door “Y/n is a good girl from a good family” she persuaded before leaving the room.

Tommy sighed at his Aunt’s words, he wasn’t ready to get married again even when he knew the woman he would be marrying was a nice one. He felt like he was spitting on Grace’s grave and he hated himself for even considering the prospect, but he knew a mother figure would be good for Charlie.

He spent the rest of the day pondering about Polly’s suggestion and remembering his own childhood in the shadow of the absent tortured presence that his mother had been. It didn’t take him long to decide he didn’t want that for Charlie, so that same night he phoned Polly.

“I’ll do it” was all he said before hanging up. There was no need for more words, Polly would know exactly what he meant.

Exactly a week later, Tom was standing in the altar of a church that was significantly smaller than the one from his first wedding. The fact that everything about this wedding was so obscenely different from his first did soothe his guilt a bit. And as he stood there he couldn’t keep his mind from traveling to the days leading up to his wedding to Grace. She had made sure everything was perfect and had made an effort to invite every single relative she could think of. She remembered her rambling on an on about fabrics, insisting that everything ought to be perfect when he in all honestly couldn’t care less, he just wanted to marry her.

All his thoughts vanished away with a poof when Y/n came into sight. And what a sight she was. She had insisted on doing her own makeup and on pinning flowers to her hair to compliment her headpiece and her elegant, yet simple white dress flowed almost mystically as her father gave her away. She had never imagined she would be marrying someone she didn’t know, but she wanted to look her best for getting married is not something people do everyday.

When she stood in the altar, she offered her to be husband a smile which he did not return, instead turning his attention to the priest before them. She mirrored his actions, her heart beating violently under her chest as the priest began speaking.

It all felt like a blur, she could swear it had only been a second since her father had given her away and yet, the priest had already uttered the dreaded “you may now kiss the bride”

Tommy barely brushed his lips against hers and soon the sound of everyone clapping invaded her ears. They had a small party afterwards in Y/n’s former house. Her parents had invited pretty much all of their acquaintances while tommy had only invited his close relatives.

When night fell Tommy was more than ready to leave “Are you ready to go?” was one of the few sentences he uttered to his now wife that night.

She again offered him a smile before saying “yeah just let me say goodbye”

The drive to arrow house was tense, although Y/n didn’t know Thomas very well she would tell he was unhappy. She wondered about what to say to him, but couldn’t come up with anything good enough and soon enough they were pulling over in front of Tommy’s stately home.

“Charlie must already be asleep, but I'll introduce you tomorrow” he said opening Y/n’s door for her.

“It’s alright” she said looking at him, not quite knowing what to do next.

“Your parents sent some of your belongings, I've already asked the maids to take them up to your-our room” he said

“Thank you, Thomas” she smiled as she walked into the big house not yet feeling close enough to him to call him Tommy.

His name falling from her lips caused an echo of bittersweet emotions to stir inside him but he masked it perfectly well as she introduced Y/n to the maids that went to the door to take their coats.

“Frances here will show you the way to the room” he said after having made introductions.

“This way, Mrs” Frances politely said.

Y/n began following her but stopped when she didn’t hear Tommy’s footsteps behind her own.

“Are you not coming?” she asked turning to look at him.

“Maybe in a bit” was all he said before he walked away down one of the many spacious hallways of the house.

After Y/n made herself comfortable in the room and changed into her nightgown she took the time to peek around the room like one always does when one is a strange place. After familiarizing herself with it she laid down in the big bed. She was nervous, she knew what happened on wedding nights. A small chuckle stopped at her lips when she recalled the stories her close already married girlfriends told her. If she hadn’t married a complete stranger she too would be looking forward to it.

Her thoughts ended up luring her to sleep after a while despite her nerves and the night went by in a ridiculously fast flash. The next morning she woke up alone and after getting ready she made her way downstairs. Tommy and Charlie were already in the dining room when she entered it.

“good morning” she said

Charlie immediately turned his attention to her, his eyes widening while his dad merely glanced at her while he muttered a “Good morning “ of his own.

Y/n sat down next to Tommy while he cleared his throat “charles, this is Y/n. We got married yesterday so she’ll be living with us from now on”

Charlie merely nodded in understanding before playing around with his food.

A tense air flooded breakfast until Tommy stood up, having barely touched his food and spoke turning to look at Y/n “I have to go now, if you need anything feel free to ask Frances”

“Alright” Y/n replied feeling a bit disappointed, she would love to get to know him, but she already knew it was going to be difficult.

“I have to go too” Charlie announced in a timid voice, interrupting Y/n’s thoughts. Despite her disappointment she understood, maybe he was just shy and his dad just reticent. They had lost a wife and a mother after all.

The first few days after that, Charlie avoided her nearly as much as his father did and Y/n remained in lonely patience until one night Charlie’s cries interrupted her focus on the book that she had just bought. She rushed to his room and called out his name as she entered not knowing if the boy would be comfortable with her or not.

“What is it?” she asked worried as she knelt by his bed.

“I miss my mum” the boy confessed looking at her with teary eyes as he clutched his blanket.

Y/n felt her heart give a small ache at his confession and in an attempt to comfort him she spoke “She’s not really gone, you know?”

“She’s dead” the boy sobbed.

“but people who die, don’t leave us. Not really anyhow” she said hesitantly rubbing his arm. “just because we cant see them doesn’t mean they are not here”

“I miss seeing her” he continued.

“Oh but you can still see her”

“how”

“before you go to bed just think about her, then she’ll visit you in your dreams” Y/n spoke as if she was telling a fairy tale.

“really?” the boy’s eyes widened.

“really” Y/n confirmed “But you have to think really really hard”

“I’ll try” Charlie said having calmed down a bit.

“very well” Y/n said as she stood up, but Charlie’s voice stopped her.

“can you stay till I fall asleep?”

After that night, Charlie hardly left Y/n’s side and she felt much better with his company for she was sure if he wasn’t there keeping her on her toes all day she would fall into a depressive chasm induced by her husband’s absence.

On the rare moments he was home she tried to strike up conversation with him over breakfast or late at night when he came home and she was burdened by insomnia. But Tommy only humored her with a few short responses before excusing himself or turning to face the other side of the bed.

It wasn’t only the fact that he avoided her as much as he could, but he also made it a priority to exclude her at all times. She was never invited into family meetings or night’s at The Garrison so she thought it was a miracle when tommy didn’t oppose to her planning Charlie’s birthday party.

She invited only Tommy’s family which instantly warmed up to her, noticing what a good influence she was and Polly wanted to slap Thomas for the way he had been acting throughout his marriage to Y/n. Almost feeling guilty for getting her into this mess.

When the party ended Tommy shut himself in his office like he often did when he was at home and though he had never given Y/n a reason to believe she was welcome in there of all places, she found herself allowing herself in after putting Charlie to bed.

Tommy looked up as she entered and let out a sigh before turning his attention back to some papers he had been reading.

“I noticed you didn’t have any” she commented not letting his sigh deflate her as she laid a plate with a slice of homemade chocolate cake on his desk. “it’s really good if I may say so myself” she mused sitting down in a chair opposite to his as she dug in with a fork in her own slice.

“I don’t go in for sweets” he stated.

“Not even chocolate?” Y/n tried, but tommy didn’t answer, instead he just shook his head.

“I still think you should try it, it’s not overly sweet, and…”

“is there anything you need?” he interrupted bluntly a bit harsher than he would’ve liked.

His tone caught her off guard and when she couldn’t come up with an answer tommy again turned his attention back to his papers.

“I wish you could let me in” She softly confessed after a few tense seconds.

“Well I wish we hadn’t married but I guess things don’t always go the way we want them to go”

Tommy knew he had crossed a line by the silence that again settled into the room. He looked up at Y/n with her parted lips and misty eyes. They exchanged glances for a second but instead of allowing him to see her like that any longer, she stood up setting her plate on his desk and walked away, only allowing a few tears to drop by when she was out of the room and his sight.

After that she stopped trying to get closer to him. He still loved his late wife and she understood, people in grief never mean what they say after all, but his words stung nonetheless.

She stopped trying to wait for him at night to see if he had gotten home alright and during breakfast she only uttered polite good mornings.

One night however, Y/n was yanked out of a peaceful sleep by a loud crash. She was on her feet in no time and after checking into Charlie’s room to see if he was alright she cautiously ventured downstairs. A few incoherent mumbles filled her ears before her husband came into sight, fumbling with his coat to get it off.

“need help?” she asked earning his attention.

“I’m fine” he said finally taking it off but as he went to take a step to begin walking the floor under him moved and he lost his balance, his knees crashing loudly against the wooden floor.

Y/n offered him a hand and helped him up. He smelled of whiskey and cigarettes, his hands were shaky, consequence of the snow, no doubt. “let’s get you upstairs”

“I can do it on me own” he slurred letting go of her hand.

“stop being so stubborn” she derided, snaking one of her arms around his waist as she helped him upstairs.

Y/n helped him into bed, tookoff his shoes and went to the bathroom to fetch a small towel and some cold water.

She dampened the towel with the cold water before dabing it gently on Tommy’s forehead. His eyes never leaving her face as she did so, making her grow a bit nervous. She continued, trying her best to ignore it until she felt his hand softly caressing her cheek.

“You are beautiful” he rasped.

“Stop it, Thomas” she said feeling her cheeks grow red when she felt a bit sad that he had to be completely drunk to compliment her.

Even in his drunken state he seemed to notice he was making her uncomfortable so he held his tongue until Y/n laid in bed next to him after turning on the lights.

“I’m sorry” he interrupted the silence “For the way I’ve been acting” the whiskey and cocaine making him more vulnerable and open “I guess I was afraid that if I let you in then she would disappear”

He didn’t expect her to answer, but then her voice came in a soft exhausted tone“ I don’t intend to replace her. You don’t need to act all defensive and secretive. Even if it’s not what you wanted, we are married.”

“I Know” was all he said.

Y/n expected him to withdraw more from her after showing himself that vulnerable to her that night but she was wrong. He began arriving home earlier, sometimes even asking if he could come along on the walks she and Charlie so much adored going on. And Y/n finally felt her marriage was going somewhere maybe it wasn’t based on love yet, but it was something.

One day she was at the stables while Charlie was taking a nap. She had always adored horses.

“I didn’t know you liked horses” came Tommy’s smooth voice causing her to jump.

“You never asked” she smiled petting a black horse as he walked closer to her.

“We could go out for a ride, I’m sure Charlie wouldn’t mind letting you borrow his horse” Tommy offered as he too began to pet the horse, his fingers brushing against Y/n’s for a brief second.

“I’d love to, but I am afraid I don’t know how to ride, Tommy” she said, panicking for a second after having called him that. But she rested assured as soon as he spoke again.

“Well that can be fixed” he said opening the door of the stall and guiding the horse outside.

“You mean now?” Y/n asked with a laugh.

“Got something better to do?” he asked walking out of the stable with the horse. Y/n observed tommy as he prepared the horse. She had never seen him so gentle and calm before and she only realized she had been staring when Tommy directed his attention to her to ask her if she was ready.

“I think so” she said going to stand next to the horse wondering how the hell to climb up. But before she had any more time to think she felt Tommy’s hands on her waist giving her a push that allowed her to pull herself up on the animal. It was a good thing she had chosen to wear slacks that day, she thought.

“Goodness this is high” she said nervously looking down at Tommy when he began guiding the horse to move in a slow walk.

“Don’t worry, I won’t let you fall” he promised repressing a mirthful tone at her nervousness.

He guided the horse with her around the property in the crisp evening air and Y/n allowed herself to relax with every step the horse took. Tommy’s presence made her feel safe and protected and she found it increasingly harder to look away from his figure. She wondered if he could feel her eyes on him.

When the sky began turning soft shades of purple and orange the pair returned to the stables. When the time came from Y/n to come down from the horse, tommy helped her again. Y/n began to love the feeling of him touching her and when her feet touched the ground in front of Thomas, he didn’t remove his hands from her waist right away and instead fixed his blue eyes on her, not wanting to stop looking at her.

She too fixed her eyes on Tommy as she felt a silent gasp in the base of her throat. That was the way she would’ve liked him to look at her on their wedding day. Tommy then leaned in, almost as if he were asking for permission before he tenderly pressed his lips to Y/n’s.

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