#my duke of gloom :(

[lelio]

So Louis takes up photography and he gives a plethora of reasons as to why he's chosen it as a hobby. But then he's on a date with Armand and he's seeing Lestat there. And so he takes the camera and looks through the lens, just to make sure that Lestat isn't there. Because his mind can betray him but the photos do not, and the photos confirm that there's no one. And that Lestat is just in his head.

So when Louis says 'I walk the night capturing disappointment and regret', he's also in a way talking about himself. Because every time he takes a photo and Lestat isn't there, he's filled with disappointment and regret. He's grieving Lestat and he misses him. He sees him everywhere and it's not real. It's never real even if he wants him to be. And back in the present day he's still grieving Lestat. That's decades worth of grief.

Lestat says that he has a capacity for enduring. But I think that applies to Louis too. All that pain and loss and grief and trauma, and Louis still carries it all. And I think this makes Louis one of the strongest vampire out there because anybody weak would've crumbled from the weight of it all.

[ew-selfish-art]

My brain is unwilling to let go of Twin AU prompts. Sorry for the long post lmao.

Jazz and Jason are getting pretty serious in their relationship, and honestly, they’ve both been hesitant to introduce their family members to one another despite constantly talking about them. They’ve been dating since she started her doctoral studies at Gotham U and she’s about to defend her dissertation, so it really is about time. He saved her in her first week as the Red Hood and he immediately felt at home with her (something, something liminal), she runs into him the next day at a coffee shop and thanks him for taking the time to help her. 

Identities are obviously blown. Jason knows that her brother works in ‘politics’ and her younger sister is a travel blogger, and that the three of them don’t talk to her mad scientist parents anymore. Jazz knows that he came back from the dead, his adoptive family had a slew of issues in addition to their hero-complexes and that he would be prepared to kill for any one of his siblings. Their communication skills are top notch. 

But then came the issue of actually meeting the family. Like Jazz knows all of the drama between the siblings but could not pick them out of a line up, or more importantly, know who to talk to if an emergency situation came up. Jason agrees, that yeah, it would probably be for the best if he could at least identify her little brother and sister if they had to like, meet at hospital or something. 

So that was the plan. Invite just siblings over to their shared apartment, no parents and no fuss. (She even called Danny ahead of time to tell him not to portal straight into the apartment, he needed to walk in the door like a normal person. They could share Ghost King secrets later.) 

Tim arrives first, he’d been working a case nearby and Jazz & Jason live pretty close to a nice coffeeshop, so he stopped along the way. He’d done some creeping to figure out that she drinks Chai so he brought one for her. Creepy and yet, endearing. 

Ellie comes in second from the window, launching into a story about how annoying it was to find the place with all the gloom, didn’t this city have any respect for the dead? Tim doesn’t get it but Jason is laughing along so Tim files it away for later. 

Dick comes in with a shit ton of Pizza he panic ordered, a fruit bouquet and two bottles of wine from Bruce’s cellar. Duke came along with him, a large tupperware of Alfred’s cookies. 

Then Steph, Babs and Cass show up, immediately treating Jazz like family while also being hella suspicious about the whole thing. She notices them looking at her hands and Jazz explains that no, they weren’t doing this because Jason proposed. Steph and Cass are annoyed at Jason but tell Jazz she could do better if she wanted. Babs is happy they aren’t rushing into anything (she’s the only one besides Tim that knows how long they’ve been dating- this is just to throw out a red herring for the others)

Everyone is getting along and having a great time, Ellie being a natural entertainer along side Dick, everyone trying to tell embarrassing stories about Jason. Loud noises are coming from the hallway when they realize that neither Damian nor Danny had arrived. 

Rushing out the door, the boys are alternating putting each other into choke holds and arguing about not being clones. Danny keeps phasing out of Damian’s grip and Damian keeps pulling out more knives. The hallway looks like it had been blown up and the two are continuing to yell at one another about going to a family dinner. Jason and Jazz just stare at them from the doorway, and wouldn’t you know it, they look like fucking twins. 

Jazz grabs Danny, Jason grabs Damian, and everyone is fucking confused. Both sides of the family can confirm growing up with the twins, that neither are a clone. Ellie helpfully supplies that she’s the clone and that opens a whole other bag of chaos. 

Eventually they get everyone to sit down for dinner and the night gets weirder from there. 

[a34trgv2]

Why It Worked: Pacific Rim

Introduction: Pacific Rim is a 2013 science fiction monster action film directed by acclaimed director Guillermo del Toro. The film stars Charlie Hunnam, Idris Elba, Rinko Kikuchi, Charlie Day, Ron Perrlman, Robert Kazinsky, and Max Martini as Raleigh Becket, Marshall Stacker Pentecost, Mako Mori, Dr. Newton "Newt" Geiszler, Hannibal Chau, Chuck Hansen, and Hercules "Herc" Hansen respectfully. Distributed by Warner Bros. And produced by Legendary Pictures and Double Dare You Productions, the film premired on July 1, 2013, in Mexico City before being released worldwide on July 12 that same year. The film received positive reviews, with 72% of 294 reviews aggregated by Rotten Tomatoes being positive with an average rating of 6.6/10. The film was a modest box office success, grossing $411 million on a budget of $180-200 million. That said, it gained a cult following in the years since it's released and it even spawned a sequel, Pacific Rim: Uprising, in 2018 and an animated series, Pacific Rim: The Black, in 2021. I only recently got around to finally watching this film, and I wholeheartedly agree that this was a brilliantly made action film. For this post, we'll be looking into what made this film such a cult hit that continues to resonate with people to this day.

The Plot: Set in a world where kaiju attacks become as common as natural disasters, the world nations came together to build giant robots (called Jaegers) maned by 2 pilots to comebat these behemoths in epic battles. During one of these battles, Raleigh lost his brother, and the grief and trauma caused him to quit. But when Marshall Pentecost recruits him for one last mission to end the kaiju apocalypse, he must overcome his trauma to help save the world, while along the way help his co-pilot, Mako, overcome her own trauma. The story does a really good job getting us invested in this world with the cold opening of a kaiju attack on the Golden Gate Bridge and the subsequent attacks and fallout. The Jaegers become so successful at beating these monsters that the pilots become celebrities. The world building is handled very well with natural dialogue, genuine responses from the humans, and newsreels of the kaiju battles that unfold. This film also does a good job handling the themes of grief and PTSD and how they never really leave you, but there's always a light of hope. There's also a good amount of comedy thrown in to not make it all doom and gloom such as Newt's frantic nature and Chuck getting his but whooped by Raleigh for insulting Mako. Of course, the true highlight and main selling point of the film are the monster battles, and they more than delivered. The cinematography excellently captures the scale and intensity of these giants duking it out, the visual effects are very well crafted, and the score by Ramin Djawadi amplifies these scenes to a whole new level. The film could've just been robots versus monsters for 2 hours, but I'm happy to say there is, indeed, substance to the style.

Cast and Characters: This was a very well put together and well directed cast of characters. Everyone gives such honesty and urgency in their performance and sell every line of dialogue. Charlie Hunnam did a great job portraying Raleigh as a socially distant pilot who's still brave, smart, and clever. His co-pilot, Mako, is a very smart, cautious, and headstrong woman who has natural chemistry with Raleigh and is played brilliantly by Rinko Kikuchi. Idris Elba's Marshall Pentecost has got to be my favorite performance in the film. He has such a commanding presence and is the one who cares the most about saving the world. The more he appears, the more we sympathize with him as a character, and Idris Elba really captures that humanity really well. Charlie Day provides a good amount of funny comedy with his frantic nature as Newt with Burn Gorman's Herman Gottlieb being such a snarky foil to him. Ron Perrlman was such a delight to see Hannibal Chau, making him so charismatic and fearless. Robert Kazinsky makes for an enjoyable jerk character with Chuck that gets his comeuppance in a very funny way. Max Martini did a really good job portraying the seasoned and resourceful Herc. The cast did such a good job bringing these characters to life and kept me engaged, even in between the giant robot on monster battles.

Where It Falters: As good as the opening was, I thought it was a bit rushed. By that, I'm mean Raleigh's brother, Yancy, was killed almost as soon as he was introduced, which felt a bit too quick, in my opinion. I think showing more scenes with Raleigh and Yancy together would've helped add to the former's character development. If not a few more minutes in the beginning, then maybe in a flashback or 2. I just would like to know what Yancy was like before he inevitably bit the dust.

Conclusion: Pacific Rim certainly lives up to the hype surrounding it. With a very well told story, a great cast of memorable characters, excellent cinematography, incredible visuals, and a superb score, this film more than delivers on what it promised. My only regret was not seeing it sooner. If you haven't seen it yet, I highly recommend giving it a watch. This is especially true for die-hard kaiju and anime fans as this is basically the closest y'all will get to a live action Gundam movie. Thank you so much for reading, and I'll see you soon ;)

[yall-batman-fanfic]

Day Off & Double Dates | Batman/Bruce Wayne x Magician!OC ft. Super-family and Batfamily

Synopsis: Lois Lane gets a day off and decides to spend it with someone who can relate to her predicament of being the wife of a superhero. Wanting to escape Gotham's gloom and the hovering of her family, Vivian takes the invite, and their day off turns out to be an interesting one especially when Clark and Bruce join in later.

Note: Reference to the Spotify series Batman: Unburied and The Riddler: Secrets in the Dark. I absolutely love Hasan Minhaj’s portrayal of the Riddler in that series.

There was chaos in the kitchen. While Vivian normally enjoyed such normalcy in their home and seeing the children act their age and not be soldiers in the never-ending war in Gotham, today was just not that day. 

A week booked from morning till evening, nights that had organized crime doing their work, then there was the incident where Lazlo Valentin or Professor Pyg kidnapped her to transform her to one of his Dollotrons, and then after that incident Damian and Jason won’t stop hovering – she can’t even go to the public restroom without them insisting to check if the stalker was there – she had to bind them outside with her magic just so she could piss. She just wanted some peace and quiet.

Luckily, her savior called all the way from Metropolis.

"Hi, Lois," Vivian sighed.

"Busy day?" Lois asked.

"No, quite the opposite. It's the first time in a while where they get to be their age. Damian's going to school, Cass too, so is Duke, Tim's got something, and Jason and Dick are... who knows." She glanced at the busy kitchen where everyone was running around eating breakfast, looking for their things for school and work, Damian fixing his tie while telling off Tim on something, Bruce sipping his coffee, and Alfred preparing their lunches. And for her a glass of scotch. Bruce saw him give Vivian the glass and raised a brow at her. She only raised the glass at him and took a sip.

"You and Bruce?"

"He's got work. Me... I really don't want to go to campus today. A lot just happened with a serial killer kidnapping me for his experiments-"

"Let me stop you right there because I got just the thing for you. That is if you're willing to drive to Metropolis so we can have a day off."

"You got a day off? That's surprising,” Vivian snuck the laptop from her bag. She made sure to keep the cover facing the family while she scrolled through the browser.

"Speak for yourself,” Lois scoffed. “Ten kids under your roof, and then you’re teaching like a hundred kids a day. You never get a day off.”

“Correction, we only got six kids under our roof. Two of which are full grown adults who should be in their respective apartments but are here – again, I love all of them.” Vivian chuckled. "What do you have planned?"

"How about some yoga at the park, we go shopping using your black credit card - kidding, of course - dinner. A nice girl's day out. What do you say?"

"I'm already checking the next ferry ride there and booking a space for the car. Meet you there in an hour or two."

"Great! Make sure to sneak out so they don't follow you.”

"Too late, they saw me booking the ticket," Vivian sighed loudly as Damian and Jason were on her shoulder asking a million questions. "I'll make this quick."

"This is good, Viv! It helps with their separation anxiety. " Lois joked as she heard Jason and Damian go: "You're going to Metropolis? WHY?!" And "Ma, are you serious right now? You were just kidnapped this week and you're going on a trip?"

Facing the two, she said to them, "Yes, Jason, I am. Why? Because I was kidnapped, strapped to a surgical bed with a man wearing a pig-mask about to carve my face open with an unsanitized butcher’s knife. I need a break," When Bruce came to her side and removed Damian from her back, Vivian said to him, "Lois invited me to spend the day with her."

"Will Clark be there?" Bruce asked.

"She said it's a girls day out. So I doubt it."

"BUT!" Lois called out, prompting Vivian to put her on speaker mode. "Maybe by dinner we could have a couples date. Just for fun."

"I'll head over by then," said Bruce. "Dick can hold the fort."

"Trust, finally! I'm touched," Dick teased him. "Don't worry, Viv, we got it covered."

"Can I come?" Damian asked.

"Sorry, this is an adults only dinner. Even Jon's staying with Conner tonight," said Lois.

"Ha, too bad," Jason had a triumphant look.

"Jason, that includes you," Vivian told him.

He huffed.

"See ya, Lois!" Vivian ended the call and turned to her family, who were now quiet as she addressed them. "I love you, all of you, but please no calls to the principal or the head master's office today. Damian, promise?"

"Why is it only me?" Damian pouted. "But fine."

Glad with his answer, Vivian patted his head but she turned to the next child: "Tim?" 

"What did I do now?!" Tim said. When Vivian only looked at him he sighed and promised.

Vivian turned to Cassandra and Duke.

"Promise, Mom." Cassandra crossed her heart. “Dance practice later.”

Vivian turned to Dick and Jason, expecting one of them to pick up Cass from her practice. It was Jason who took the responsibility and promised to be there on time.

When it was Duke’s turn, he said, "You got it Professor." 

She then turned to Dick and Jason again.

"I'm not even in school!" Said Dick, grinning. "But yeah, I’ll make sure to stay away from hospitals."

Vivian turned to Jason and messed with his hair, "I'll be fine. Nothing to worry about."

Jason sighed and nodded.

"Good."

"But I'll keep watch just in case."

"No."

"Fine..." 

"Mama's boy," Tim whispered to Cass and Luke.

"Yeah, and so what? At least I'm the favorite!" Jason exclaimed. 

"Says who?!" Damian questioned him. "Is that true, Mom? He is your favorite?"

"I don't have any favorites!" Vivian sighed and turned to Bruce. "I'm going out."

"I'll hold them off," Bruce snuck a kiss before she could leave. "Have fun."

"I will!"

Just as Damian was about to run after her, Bruce caught him and said to him, "you know that she doesn't have favorites. She loves all of you equally."

"Then how come Todd's getting all the attention?"

"Because he hoggs her," said Dick. "He tends to do that."

"Stop hogging Mom, Todd!"

"Please, you get to see her everyday!" Jason exclaimed.

As the argument continues, Bruce sighs and envies the sound of Alfred saying goodbye to Vivian as she exits the house and takes her car. He just has to wait until later for their date with Lois and Clark. For now, he’s got a house full of children – literal children and adult-children – making chaos once more. Maybe he should consider making another kitchen on the other side of the manor just for him and Vivian?

~*~

Driving across Metropolis is both relaxing and a hassle. There was traffic, which annoys Vivian since she had a mood to step on the gas a little more than usual, but at least it had something exploding on the pavement or someone running because they robbed a store or a truck crushing the cars on the road. Ah, Gotham, you never fail to make anyone paranoid wherever they go.

Arriving at the Kent-Lane house, Vivian first saw Clark as the man was just about to head inside with some doughnuts.

"I thought I heard a customized car engine driving impatiently in Metropolis," Clark greeted with a grin.

"Hello to you too, Clark. And hello, Jon!" Vivian lets the boy hug her but not too tight to crush her. Yeah, his super strength was coming. He was just a couple of years younger than Damian but Jon was taller than her boy. It always delighted her to see Jon and Damian’s friendship, it reminds her of Bruce and Clark’s friendship to some degree, and she finds Jon’s influence to be good for Damian. Though Damian tends to call off Jon by telling him to “Wonder Woman up, Kent!” whenever they come to Jon’s sports events.

"Professor Pryor, it's good to see you again!" Jon said.

"You too bud, how's school?" She turned the boy’s baseball hat backwards so she could see his cute little face.

"Nope! Nuh uh," Lois came and started to push her towards the car. "You are not going to spend the day helping another student with their homework. We are going to have a day off that we deserve! We'll meet you and Bruce for dinner, Honey!"

"What about yoga?" Clark asked.

"I thought it was just us for yoga?" Vivian raised a brow.

"He wanted to have yoga with me. But, yeah, see you there. Viv and I are just gonna drive around first."

"See you there!"

"Love you both!"

In the car, Vivian and Lois buckled up and then sighed before Lois said, "drive" and she drove out of the parking space. 

"So, tell me all about what happened to you this week," Lois said.

"We'd be in yoga and I'll still be talking."

"Okay. What about the psycho kidnapper?"

Vivian let out a loud groan and began, "His name is  Lazlo Valentin or Professor Pyg and he's a twisted surgeon obsessed with the myth of Pygmalion and the idea of physical perfection. He’s one of those really dark criminals in Gotham, like really dark. Even I get goosebumps just thinking about it. He wears a pig mask on his face and goes about making people perfect by transforming them to his Dollotrons. He’s been running around Gotham for a while, hard to find, and I became his target one time. He said that he saw my photo on the streets and he wanted to make me perfect.”

“Yikes.”

"Anyway, Bruce and the boys came before I could use my magic, and beat the shit out of him. Bruce enjoyed that."

"And the boys?"

"Damian and Jason went overboard. Cass was a sweetheart and took me out of there. It was fun. Really. Fun. What about you?”

Lois shrugged. “I just got a day off after years of working and working. Not as interesting as your reason for one.”

“Trust me, Lois, you deserve this day-off.”

“Both of us.”

~*~

After parking her car in Wayne Tower in Metropolis – she asked Bruce if she could use it for the day and he said, “I don’t even know why I’m even getting this call when you know my answer would be ‘yes’, Viv.” – she and Lois proceeded on foot wanting to enjoy Metropolis and not get a bad start by a parking ticket or a finding a parking space anywhere. This was a city after all, and parking would be war itself. 

Their first destination for their day off was yoga which was being held in Centennial Park. Vivian was a little conscious to walk around wearing her yoga clothes that she wore one of Tim’s shirts that he left in the car, and used Jason’s jacket to wrap around her waist to cover her leggings. But as soon as they arrived at the venue and they were met by Lois’ friends, Vivian took off the jacket, getting more comfortable that it wasn’t just them in the attire.

“Lois!” Jimmy Olsen called out. With him was Siobhan Smythe – also known as Silverbanshee. 

“You made it! I was worried this would be too early for you,” said Lois.

“No way, we’re morning people!” Jimmy kissed Siobhan’s cheek. Making the woman blush.

“Is that?” Jimmy’s eyes narrowed a bit to get a clearer look. “You brought… holy shit – Vivian Pryor?”

Right. They didn’t know that Vivian and Lois were good friends considering they never really hung out much.

“Yeah, Vivian and I kept in contact after our interview years ago,” Lois shrugged. “You can say we’re good friends.”

“It’s nice to meet you both,” Vivian held out her hand to them in greeting. “Jimmy Olsen and Siobhan Smythe, right?”

“Yeah, yes! I can’t believe that we are going to have yoga with Vivian Pryor – you’re practically Gotham royalty now.”

Vivian laughed awkwardly. “A little over the top.”

“Please, Bruce Wayne has been bringing the title of Prince of Gotham since he was a baby,” Lois scoffed. “But yeah, Vivian had a long week and I thought why not I invite her over to have a day off?”

“Oh, I heard that you were kidnapped by some serial killer – it was on the news,” said Siobhan.

“More reason why I needed this. I just wanna get out of the city for a while.”

“Trade one city for another,” Lois jokes.

“Trust me, Metropolis is a vacation itself. Actually, getting on that ferry is already a vacation. You don’t get costumed criminals running around you… unless they boarded the ferry and placed a bomb – oh, look at that, Gotham paranoia is following me everywhere. And please, off the record.”

Lois laughed. “Don’t worry, we’re all off for the day now… shall we, ladies?” 

Yoga was nice. It was the first time Vivian got to enjoy yoga in the park and not in a studio or at home. In the studio she never got this calm environment with the outdoor breeze, the smell of grass and soil, and the chirping birds; and at home, Bruce usually interrupts her session by locking the door of the room and distracting her with kisses or touches that would lead to another type of exercise. Not that she was complaining about that.

But this was nice. 

A moment of silence.

Just her and the sound of the wind that resonated with her magic –

“Honey! Am I late?!”

And Clark was there.

Opening her eyes, Vivian stifled a laugh when she saw the huge Clark Kent with his glasses and sweat band, a red Smallville jumper and shorts. Whenever Lois would say Clark was a dork but her dork, she always found it hard to believe – even when he shows his dorkiness – but now, now she believes it. 

“What. Are. You. Wearing?” Lois said to him.

“You said it was for yoga?” Clark shrugged.

God, she was lucky Bruce doesn’t do yoga. But if he does, she mostly imagines him wearing the same thing he does when he works out: most of the time topless and a pair of workout shorts. And she never breaks his concentration whenever he does his gym work – which was pretty unfair in her opinion. 

Okay, she does sometimes, not always.

“Hi Clark!” Vivian waved at him with a small grin. “Nice shirt.”

“Thanks,” Clark smiled, then he turned to Lois. “What?”

“Nothing, let’s just enjoy the day,” Lois sighed and went back to her mat. She turned to Vivian and quickly typed on her phone.

Upon seeing Lois’ speed typing, Vivian got her phone out to read: please tell me Bruce has something the same outfit so I’m not the only one with the dork at yoga.

Vivian bit her lip to hide her laugh and replied: Our yoga sessions are not really yoga. So, we’ll be charged with public indecency if he comes over.

Send.

Lois barked a laugh, which made Jimmy, Siobhan, and Clark look at them in confusion, but both women knew that Superman already knew what they were messaging about.

Lois typed back quickly and sent a reply: Breaking News: Gotham’s Billionaire-Philanthropist Couple Spotted Expanding the Family in Centennial Park!

Vivian burst out laughing which had Lois laughing too. While Jimmy and Siobhan were even more confused, Clark sighed and just watched the two women. 

The rest of the yoga session went well, surprisingly, and by the end of it, Vivian and Lois said goodbye to Jimmy and Siobhan as they had their own plans, and to Clark. But before they went to their destination, which was Wayne Enterprise which had a gym in the building and a shower, Clark said to them, “Don’t think I didn’t see the texts.”

Vivian and Lois shared an amused look at one another.

“Don’t worry, Bruce is coming over later and you can show off your masculinity later, honey,” Lois teased him.

With that they were off. After a quick shower in Wayne Tower’s gym facilities, and a hello to the director running the place, the two women went on with their day. Going to the shopping district, getting lunch, sightseeing for Vivian, and all the while not getting one call or text from their children because they got in trouble. Vivian was surprised when she realized none of her kids were actually messaging her an SOS that day that she wanted to check on them but Lois took her phone from her.

“THEY’RE FINE, VIV!” Lois held her phone hostage. “I swear, it’s you who's got freaking separation anxiety.”

~*~

Meanwhile in Gotham. Things weren’t exactly going so well…

Damian was called to the Headmaster’s office because he said something to his teacher that was both witty and rude. But it was Bruce who was called to the meeting as Dick noted his teachers to call Bruce today if anything wrong happens. 

Tim had trouble on the way to class as a certain villain caught Red Robin’s eye. He was late.

Dick and Jason almost forgot about Cass’ dance lessons and actually forgot who was going to pick her up and ended up at her school at the same time. Cass had to remind them it was Jason.

Duke and Cass were probably the only ones who fulfilled their promise of a peaceful day.

~*~

When dinner came, Vivian and Lois met Clark at the bottom of Wayne Tower where Bruce mentioned he will be dropping off via the plane. Clark mentioned he offered to give him a lift, as usual, but Bruce gave a flat out “no” before he could finish the sentence. Waiting at Wayne Tower’s lobby was relaxing and taxing for Vivian. Relaxing since it has comfortable seats and free coffee, tiring since whenever one of the members of the board or anyone sitting at the very top of the Tower passes her, they would engage in some sort of conversation that felt like they were sucking up. 

Vivian had to keep up the practiced smile and – as Lois calls it – the demure-billionaire’s wife facade the entire time. Not the professor who hates how corporate Gotham University is becoming. 

After Vivian said goodbye to the batch of board members that came to say hi, Vivian got out her phone and called Bruce. Two rings and he immediately answered. “Where are you? My face is killing me from all the smiling,” Vivian said as she smiled and waved at another person who waved in her direction. 

Hell, she didn’t even know that person. The only person she knew there was Mr. Pickles – who was the Manager of this building – and Mr. Porter who was the nice maintenance guy who would always greet her with his wife’s homemade biscuits whenever she came over (today he didn’t have one since her visit was a surprise and he told her, “Professor, you should have told me you were coming!” Mr. Porter said, “Sorry, this was just a surprise trip, but I got you a hot coco since your doctor said no more coffee,” she handed him the warm cup). 

The reason why Mr. Porter would always give her biscuits is because of one incident, when Bruce brought her over to Metropolis to visit Wayne Tower before their date, she heard some women in the restroom whispering how Bruce Wayne was way out of her league. At that time, they had only been dating for a month and the comments got to her. After the two women left, Vivian got out of the cubicle she was in and Mr. Porter – who was about to replace the toilet papers – saw her trying to dry her tears. He invited her to the little room where he had his things and offered her a cookie. Bruce found her – after a while of looking – and was surprised when Vivian was laughing with the older man while sharing cookies and a hot beverage. Since then Mr. Porter would always give her cookies whenever she came, and Vivian would always have him and his family in her gift list.

But back at Wayne Tower’s lobby, Vivian jumped at the sudden hand on her waist and the sound of Bruce’s voice by her ear, “Right here.”

“When did you get here?” Vivian ended the call.

“A couple of minutes ago. I was caught up by Loraine from the Science Department. How’s your day?” He leaned down to kiss her cheek.

“Great, relaxing. Please tell me Gotham is still in one piece and the kids are not in the hospital.”

“The kids are fine, and Gotham is still Gotham. They’ll be taking over tonight’s shift. Tonight, Dick’s calling the shots.”

“Good.”

Coming to join them, Lois and Clark greeted Bruce with a little formality. Afterall, Daily Planet is part of Wayne Enterprises’ companies after the acquisition. But once they were out of earshot, they let out a breath of relief and were able to converse properly. 

Leave it to Bruce to get reservations in one of the fancy restaurants in the area and booked a private table for them. They literally have to ring the bell if they need anything.

“We heard what happened to Viv this week, is everything okay?” Clark asked as they ate their meal.

“Nothing we couldn’t handle,” Bruce answered.

“Why didn’t you just,” Lois used a gesture that was supposed to be Vivian’s magical abilities. “The guy?”

“He drugged me. I couldn’t really do much after that – Cass had to carry me on her shoulder. Imagine, my seventeen-year-old daughter carrying me like a sack of flour,” Vivian answered.

“And the boys?”

“On a murderous rampage. Don’t worry, Damian and Jason didn’t kill him. Dick, Tim, and Duke were somewhere at that time. Handling the other Dollotrons.”

“Ah. And what happened to the guy?”

“He’s in Arkham Asylum,” Bruce answered. 

“You know, I already hated the whole Pygmalion and Galatea myth with its toxic gender role themes – despite others trying to show its romance – Pyg Valentin just made me hate the story even more,” Vivian added. “Like way, way more. I am never going to not think of Pyg Valentin whenever we tackle that in a story in Feminism Lectures.”

“How is he related to Pygmalion and Galatea, exactly?” Clark asked.

“That’s his obsession and inspiration – the idea of perfect beauty.”

“I gotta ask, you basically fight like a hundred criminals a night,” Lois said to Bruce. “You gotta have a favorite one, right?”

As soon as Bruce said, “No,” Vivian answered: “The Riddler.”

“What?” Bruce turned to her.

Vivian winced in guilt. “It’s mostly because he helped us that time to look for you when you disappeared and Ivy was holding you hostage to get some biochemical weapon from Wayne Tower’s vault. It was Oracle’s idea, just so you know, and Tim agreed to it, and so did Dick. Because she really had you hidden really well. And I don’t know. After that incident, the Riddler doesn’t seem so bad? Still a complete asshole –”

“And a criminal.”

“But after that incident – and the times he actually helped you on the field –”

“For his own advantage.”

“He’s not as bad as the others in my personal opinion.”

Bruce sighed. 

“And his Riddles are starting to be really good. I liked the one on the ‘colonizers’ – that was really good,” Vivian chuckled.

(this is a reference to the Spotify series Batman: Unburied and The Riddler: Secrets in the Dark, go check it out. It’s really cool.)

Bruce sighed at that. 

“What about you two? Anything interesting?” Vivian asked Clark and Lois.

The couple turned to each other and shrugged with different answers, such as Jon’s powers expanding, then there’s Superman flying down to greet the people at the stadium, another winning article for Lois, and Clark’s article on some ant research project. 

After their dinner, the two couples decided to go to the pier where a carnival was at the time. 

“Remember the time we rode the ferry’s wheel at the pier?” Lois asked as they came closer to the beach party. “And Clark and I saw your cart moving around despite there being no wind nor were we moving at that time?”

“It was the night Bruce told us that they were both getting married,” said Clark, focusing on the celebration rather than the awkward memory of hearing the creaking card above them at that time.

Entering the fair, they played games – Bruce and Clark winning their wives a Batman and Superman plush from the stand, respectively – and Vivian and Lois winning the archery games.

When Vivian got a bull’s eye, Bruce saw Clark’s surprised look, “Adam taught her all there is to shoot – pistols, rifles, shotguns, and archery.”

“I see,” he said as he saw Vivian make another shot and missed the center by a few inches. Still her form was solid and the way she pulled the string showed someone who has done it before. She wasn’t as good as Green Arrow but it wasn’t what he expected from her at all.

“His words were, he didn’t want his little girl to be easily swayed by a guy brandishing a BB Gun. It paid off.”

“Yeah, what got her is a man juggling knives while wearing a bat costume at night,” Clark teased.

Bruce frowned at him for that, but that frown fell when Vivian gave him the price she won. After winning almost all of the games and getting prizes which Vivian gave to some kids she saw sneaking into the fair and trying to steal some coins, along with extra tickets (but she kept the Batman plush), they decided to go on some rides.

Roller coasters were out of the question since they already have something better than roller coasters with Superman’s flight and Batman’s grappling guns to swing around Gotham, and in Vivian’s case. And Lois and Clark said no to a ferry’s wheel considering the last time they rode one in separate cars, so they opted for the cheesiest ride of all.

The Tunnel of Love.

“I can forgive you for the cheesy prizes and the whole carnival date but not this,” Vivian teased Lois and Clark. “This is just,” she sighed as she entered the ride with Bruce’s help.

“Just enjoy the ride, Vivian!” Lois called out to her as their boat went ahead. 

Sitting on the small boat, Vivian leaned back on Bruce’s arm that was over the backrest and turned to him, “I prefer the gargoyle.”

Bruce chuckled. “It’s their city. This is their version of romance.”

Their boat started to move.

“Man, I miss Gotham. I wonder how things are there… maybe I should check on the kids to see if they’re alright.”

Bruce took her phone and hid it in his pocket. “Just enjoy the ride, Viv. Even when a gargoyle is far better than whatever that is,” he cringed at the sight of the badly painted animatronic that represented Cherub Cupid and –

“That's a little creepy,” Vivian pointed to the animatronic that resembled glass dolls. Dolls, it brought a chill down her spine as she looked at those dolls. “I thought this was a Tunnel of Love?”

“I guess it's supposed to scare couples so they'd cuddle closely… are you okay?” Bruce looked at her as she looked at the dolls in horror. 

The dolls, he realized.

He should have known that the ride would have those kinds of dolls. And Vivian was so close to having become one of Pyg Valentin's Dollotrons just recently. Bruce gently caressed her cheek and led her by the cheek to look at her. “I am so sorry, my love.”

“It's okay. We didn't know.”

“I should have known, though.”

“You can't always know everything, Bruce,” Vivian held the hand that caressed her cheek. “I guess I'll just look at you until the ride ends. It might take a while because I saw how big this is.”

“I don't mind,” Bruce leaned down and kissed her. Then to her surprise, he took her from the seat and placed her on his lap. 

“Bruce,” she whispered in warning. 

“Don't mind the ride, you can ride on something else,” Bruce smirked.

Vivian stifled a laugh and looked around. The boats had a good distance from one another to give couples privacy and feel the moment. Copying his smirk, Vivian tucked back a stray red hair behind her ear and leaned down a kiss but before Bruce could take her lips, she said to him in the most seductive voice that he loved.

“Not too loud, Mr. Wayne.”

“I'll try,” he finally kissed her and pulled her body close to him, and purposely had her grind on his lap. Unbuttoning the first two buttons of her dress, he was able to kiss a part of her breast and hide the groan as Vivian moved her hips on his growing erection. “Fuck, Vivian,” he held her by her ass and squeezed them as he helped her move. “Just look at me, Viv.”

Vivian opened her eyes and looked at him through her lashes. “We need to be fast,” she hastily unfastened his belt.

Bruce chuckled and helped her out and moved her underwear to the side and –

“Fuck,” he groaned at the feeling of her around him. Married for more than ten years, he could say he's memorized what would make her come easily and it would always feel so good whenever he was inside her. “God, just like that, love,” he helped her move her hips, hitting the right spots to get her to finish as fast as they could before the ride ended.

Vivian had to bite her hand as she moved her hips on Bruce and held back the moans. This was the most risky thing they have ever done. More risky than the time they did it in the changing room. Bruce bought all the dresses she tried on that day. Or the time she gave him head while they were driving from a trip, Bruce used his convertible then. Or the many times they had sex on the tower's roof by their favorite gargoyle with the risk of GCPD's helicopters roaming in the skies or any costumed criminal with the means of flight – like Kiteman.

Normally, Bruce wouldn't do something so risky, but with Vivian all logic is thrown out of the window. All that matters was her and for him to see her, feel her, hear her, and taste her. It was hard for him to keep a look out while she rode him there and him trying to stop their moans from getting loud. But Bruce managed to get through the haze of pleasure and love and hear them nearing the exit.

Shit.

He needed to finish this now.

Reaching down between her legs, Bruce pressed on Vivian's clit and hastened her climax. And it worked, he felt her tighten around him and he pulled her to a kiss so she wouldn't moan too loud. Not long after he came. Thankfully it wasn't too much that it made a mess.

Panting, Vivian looked at her husband once again and kissed him to say thank you, before pulling him out of her, making them moan, and then fixed his trousers and belt while Bruce licked his fingers that had some of her release. 

Cleaned and dressed again, Vivian sat back on her seat and snuggled into Bruce's embrace, both acting as if nothing happened. 

“Metropolis has its romantic spots,” Vivian said as they reached the exit.

“You don't say?” Bruce chuckled. “Oh.”

“Why? What's wrong – oh…”

Standing by the exit, Clark and Lois looked at them with narrowed gazes. Right, Clark has super hearing.

Getting off the ride, Vivian and Bruce ran out of the place with Clark and Lois at their tail. At a good distance, Lois said, “Seriously? Again? You don't need super hearing to get a full audio show on that, you know.��

“We tried to stay quiet,” Vivian sheepishly said.

“Not the point.”

As Vivian had Lois to apologize to, Bruce had Clark who couldn't look him in the eye. 

“Can I ask… what even…” Clark began.

“Vivian felt uncomfortable with the dolls. She was almost turned to a Dollotron not long ago,” Bruce explained simply.

“And you couldn't have thought of something else to distract her?”

“What can I say? We like the thrill,” Bruce chuckled as he watched Vivian laughing while Lois told her off for giving them a show that they never wanted to hear in the first place, mentioning that at the first time it was Clark who had to suffer, now she had to go through the whole ride hearing echoes of them having a quickie.

“We should do this again sometime,” Bruce smirked.

Clark turned to him in disbelief, “No!”

[ikoarts]

Book #25 - Story 2: Bulldog

"The tunnel was curved and pitch-dark, Falcon felt stifled, he wanted to get out.

Presently, the light grew, two ribbons of track appeared ahead in the gloom."

-

I'm proud to finally share my entry for the Railway Series Collab 2024, from Duke the Lost Engine! It was so much fun to participate, please remember to check out the video when it premieres later today, as well as everyone else's entries!!

[pierrotwrites-hc]

part III ch3 sneak peak

Doran was a badger. 

At least that’s what Connell’s mother Reenie had said. Doran had protested: surely Connell, who regularly dug up grubs, was more like a badger than he was. (Yes, Connell dug up grubs to draw rather than to eat, but still. The point stood.)

“My Connell is a quail,” said Reenie decidedly. “He blends in when he needs to and he knows how to take care of himself. You, my lad, are a badger. Tough, clever, stubborn as anything. Hardy, too. When the weather changes, you’re the first to adapt.”

Even as a child, Doran had known Reenie wasn’t just talking about the kind of weather that spun the metal rooster on the barn roof. The Duke’s estate had its own climate, a complex system of currents and atmospheric conditions which produced storms no less intense than the ones outside. Doran often found himself caught in the crosswinds. He knew, without anyone having to tell him, that this was because the Duke loved his mother, and Lady Amelia hated her.

(The Duke told Doran’s mother he loved her, anyway. He said the same thing to his horse, and with much the same tone of voice.)

Now, a dozen years later and hundreds of miles from home, Doran had new reason to appreciate his badger-like adaptability. He’d found a nice little place for himself among the soldiers at Redditch, and there was no reason he couldn’t do the same at Guye. 

From what Doran had seen so far, Robert Black’s encampment outside Castle Guye was like and unlike the garrison at Redditch. It was full of soldiers, obviously, and soldiers were more or less the same wherever you went, but these soldiers were unusual (in Doran’s experience, at least) because observed no strict hierarchy between themselves. Once Doran got over the shock, he found this arrangement quite suited him. He had as little patience for hierarchy as a freedman as he had when he was a slave. 

And thank the gods for that. He’d feared the opposite might be true—that he might turn into one of those men hated by everyone, who shun the class they come from even as they’re kicked at by the class they want to join. A man like Hector Balkas.

Doran tried not to think about Balkas. It made his back itch. His back and his fists.

Anyway, there was no need to think about Balkas. Doran had been one to look back over his shoulder; he certainly wasn’t going to start now. Not when there was so much behind him he’d like to forget. 

That smarmy prick Robert Black had ordered him to find an occupation. Well, Doran planned to do exactly that.

The smithy seemed the obvious place to start. Doran had a strong arm and no fear of open flame, which were, as he understood it, the basic requirements for forge-work. He’d always fancied himself as a blacksmith, or maybe even a farrier. He liked horses well enough, and the leather aprons the smiths wore. Besides, he had a vague idea there was money in it. 

Money, now, that was something to be thinking about now he was free. Annie would be waiting for him on the other side of this war, and he wasn’t about to make her a pauper’s bride. She deserved better than that.

Building had started on the smithy on the moor at the same time as the privies were being dug, and while it was nothing to the mighty forge at Redditch, it was still in better nick than the rest of the camp. The crackling fire cast a ring of light and warmth that defied the gloom of the moor. In the glow, Doran saw a familiar figure straighten, hammer in one huge hand.

“Finn?”

“Doran! By the gods, it’s good to see you.”

Finn pulled Doran to his great chest and gave him a bone-cracking squeeze. 

“I see you lost the chain,” said Doran, when Finn released him. “The collar, too.”

“Mislaid it at Redditch,” said Finn cheerfully. He gestured at Doran’s bare neck. “I see you’re short a bit of metal, too.”

“Me and Connell both.” Before Finn could ask about Luca, Doran rushed on, “Tell me what happened at Redditch.”

It was the right question to ask: the garrison’s fall was still blazingly clear in Finn’s mind, and his description was absorbing enough to distract both of them from Luca. Doran hadn’t thought he had any sentimental feelings for Redditch, but hearing about the gates going up in a hail of flame and cinder gave him a funny feeling in his chest. Still, he was cheered to hear that Davies was dead. 

“The forgemaster, too,” said Finn. “Smoke poisoning, of all things.” He shook his head in disgust. “Ah, well, at least he’s gone. Gods forgive me, Doran, but it’s a better world for him being out of it.”

Doran agreed. As far as he was concerned, there were still far too many men like the forgemaster left in the world, and smoke poisoning was far too kind a fate for any of them.

Unfortunately, at this point Finn turned to far less interesting topic, namely the valor, gallantry, and general heroism of Robert Black. 

“He came out of the fire with his sword flashing, like something out of a legend. Rallied the men with a word. They say Roland had Melchior’s blood, but I never believed it til I saw Black in action. He’s a commander, all right. The real thing, not a pretender like Davies and Balkas.”

Doran must’ve winced. Finn gave him a sympathetic look.

“No fond feelings for your old master, eh? I don’t blame you. Balkas was a brute. I’ll never forget that whipping. No wonder Luca was passing the bastard’s secrets on to Black.”

“You knew?” 

“Yeah, he told me,” said Finn, shrugging. “Needed me to make him a contraption to smuggle information out of Breakwater. And here, listen to this—turns out my daughter joined up with the rebels! She’s alive, Doran, can you believe it?”

“That’s fantastic,” said Doran, his mind still on Luca. “Is she here at Guye?”

“Black left her with friends in the Midlands. A gentleman by the name of Fourteys. He’s got an daughter Wilma’s age. Good people, Black says. They won’t treat my girl like a drudge. And Black wrote to tell Fourteys about me, so he can tell my Wilma that papa is coming for her just as soon as he can.” 

Finn had gone wet around the eyes. Doran pretended not to notice, to spare the big man his dignity. 

As Finn pulled himself together, Doran thought back on what he’d just learned. Finn had known Luca was a spy. Toby knowing was bad enough, but at least Toby had figured it out himself. Luca had actually told Finn. Luca never told anyone anything about himself if he could help it. Connell said they shouldn’t pry; Luca would share when he was ready. And he had shared—a little, anyway—and even if most of it was fucking horrifying, Doran was still grateful to hear it. He knew it wasn’t easy for Luca to tell. That made sense, Doran supposed. If he’d been stripped down as often as Luca, maybe he would’ve clung to his secrets, too. Maybe it made him feel a little less naked, knowing there parts of him the men would never see.

So, fine, let Luca keep his secrets. He’d a right to them. But to trust one of the biggest to Finn! Finn was a nice bloke, but he was a fucking stranger compared to Doran. Hell, Luca one of Doran’s closest friends. He’d thought Luca felt the same.

Maybe he’d thought wrong.

“Twinge in my head,” said Doran, seeing Finn’s questioning look. “Anyone else we know come to Guye from Redditch?” 

Finn rattled off a few names, mostly free laborers or freed forgeworkers. “And Mal Fergus, of course. Never one to pass up an opportunity, eh? His brother’s here too. Ned. Joined the rebels at Absalom. Nice as anything, Ned is, and honest as they come. Dunno how Mal came out so crooked and his brother so straight, but that’s family for you.”

Doran thought of Toby and winced again. No mystery as to which of them was the crooked one.

He’d been wondering how to ask Finn about apprenticing at the forge—as a slave he’d always just been assigned work; he had no idea how to go about asking for it—but luckily Finn gave him the perfect opening. They’d set up Redditch as a sort of arms factory for the Midlands, and most of the smiths had been left behind to run it; they were badly undermanned here at Guye. Oh, no doubt the Dogs of Guye had their own smiths, but Finn wasn’t keen on the chances of peaceful collaboration, not after all the trouble over Luca when they arrived.

Here Finn broke off, and Doran could tell he was about to ask if Doran had heard anything about Luca. To cut him off, Doran blurted out his plan (stupid, now he heard himself stammering it aloud) to train as a blacksmith, or maybe a farrier—something along those lines, anyway, and might there be a place for him at the forge?

To Doran’s relief, Finn responded so enthusiastically it was clear that help was badly needed indeed. 

“You won’t be at an anvil right away, mind,” Finn warned him. “It’ll be fetch and carry work, cleaning tools and the like, but you’ll learn as you go, and the lads’ll be glad of the help.”

Fetch and carry work sounded unpleasantly like what Doran had done as Balkas’s drudge, but he supposed even free men had to start somewhere. 

Mal Fergus wasn’t hard to find. He’d found a plum spot to pitch his tent and was dealing out a hand from his “lucky” (for which read “rigged”) deck of cards to a group of soldiers. They were a mixed lot, three Solasans and an Enkaaran, plus a Guyish-looking fellow chewing a birch twig. All watched Fergus deal with the keen avidity of seasoned gamblers.

Fergus, of course, looked like butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth. That was his real gift, Doran thought, even more than quick hands and a devious mind: the ability to appear totally plausible even as he was swindling a group of heavily-armed men. 

As Doran approached the table, a boy stepped out from behind the table to block his path. He looked barely old enough to have left home.

“We’ve got a full table,” he said, crossing his arms.

At this, Fergus looked up to see Doran and broke into a broad grin.

“Doran, as I live and breathe! Fellows, excuse me a moment. My lieutenant here will take over.”

“You set up your new operation fast,” said Doran once he and Fergus were out of earshot. (He bit back the sir just in time.) “Got a new flunky and everything. Did you ditch Carnaby and Graeme at Redditch?”

“I buried them at Redditch.”

Fergus said this so casually that Doran gave him a sharp look. But he wasn’t joking. He wore his usual mild, mocking expression, but his jaw was tight, his eyes remote.

“They died when Black’s men took the garrison?” Doran asked.

“They were Black’s men by then. I recruited them. Maybe if I hadn’t, they wouldn’t’ve been killed by their own barracks-mates.” He tried to smile. “Well, here we are. Out of the ashes and all that. Are you happy to see me?”

“Delighted.”

Now it was Fergus’s turn to give Doran a sharp look.

“Still haven’t forgiven me for cutting you off, eh?”

“I know that was Mouse’s doing.”

“Yeah, but your Mouse is hard to hold a grudge against. Especially now.”

Doran forced himself to shrug. A tense, effortful gesture. Like shouldering a stone.

“Anyway,” he said, “I figure you owe me a drink, s—Fergus. Now I’m a free man and all.”

Fergus laughed.

“That’s right! I promised to take you out on the town, didn’t I?” 

“And rent us a pretty girl.”

“Too bad there’s none of those around. Nancy and the rest stayed back in the Midlands.”

“Good,” said Doran, with a vehemence that took both of them aback. He cleared his throat. “You’ve set up quite the a nice little operation here, s—Fergus. Not worried about Black bringing the hammer down?”

“Ah, well. The thing about Black is, he wants everyone to get along. And cards, they’re the great unifier. A common language, see? Solasans, Enkaarans, Northmen—we all speak aces and spades.”

Doran was about to retort when his gaze was caught by a passerby. Words fled.

It was the young man from Black’s tent, of course, the one with the honey-colored eyes and scar on his cheek. He moved lightly, in long strides, like a stalking cat. His clothes hung well on him; Doran could imagine the tapered waist and lean, muscled thighs beneath the fabric.

He was brought back to earth by Fergus jabbing a sharp finger into his ribs.

“Better watch that roving eye of yours, Doran. That lad’s not on the market.”

“He’s got a lover?”

“A protector, anyway.” 

“How protective of a protector?”

“Put it this way: I’d rather steal a boy from the King’s seray than try to chat up Robert Black’s adoptive brother.”

Oh, fields of hell. Doran was beginning to think that Robert Black had been sent by the gods to thwart him. 

“They’re that close, eh?” said Doran weakly.

“I hear Tam Tregeryth himself wanted to court the lad, but when he went to Black for permission, Black threatened to cut off his head and post it on a pike. He’d do it, too. Gods know he’s ruthless enough. And you must’ve seen that barbarian bodyguard of his. Inseparable, the two of them. Anyway, after that, Black put the word out: Asher Lacey is strictly off-limits.”

“You’re well-informed,” said Doran, trying not to sound bitter. “Been collecting gossip like a fishwife, have you?” 

“I keep my ears open, that’s all.”

“You hear anything about Lord Tobias?”

“Balkas’s shitty little squire?” said Fergus, surprised. “Yeah, he’s up at the Castle. Best-treated prisoner in the kingdom, from what I hear.” He eyed the healing bruises on Doran’s cheek and temple. “A fair sight better than the Dogs treated you, I don’t doubt.”

“They had their reasons,” said Doran. He couldn’t explain without telling Fergus what had happened with Luca, and he’d rather have Robert Black’s bodyguard cut off his head and post it on a pike. 

“Well, if you’re keen on revenge, we’ve had more than a few Northmen sneak out to the moor for a bit of action,” said Fergus. “Would be nice to have a strapping fellow like yourself around to keep an eye on things, like you did at Redditch.”

By keep an eye on things Doran knew Fergus meant stand between me and the pissed-off fellow waving a knife. Doran hadn’t minded when the fellow in question was Solasan: their soldiers were generally willing to let themselves be talked down from a fight, especially if there was a bribe in the offing. But the weeks Doran and Connell had spent as the low men in the Dogs’ hierarchy hadn’t exactly left him impressed with their restraint. And the Enkaarans were a totally unknown quantity.

Seeing his hesitation, Fergus said, “At Redditch, you wanted a free man’s cut. You’re worth more than that to me now, especially with Graeme and Carnaby gone. What d’you say to ten percent of the winnings?”

“Call it twenty, if I’m worth that much to you.”

“Cut the difference at fifteen and I’ll shake your hand, freedman.”

Doran hesitated. Could he get more if he pushed? 

But he was tired of pushing. Whatever fight was left in him after that nightmare journey through the Wychwood had been leached away in the cold void of the pit. Besides, knowing what Fergus took in from the punters at Redditch, fifteen percent was nothing to sneeze at.

As they shook hands, Doran thought of Robert Black ordering him to find an occupation. Well, hark at him now: two occupations before noon, and hardly any work at all to get.

How’s that for earning my supper? he thought triumphantly.

[a-leg-without-fear]

Sharing an Umbrella🪻

leo my love...

Ship: Duke Leopold Mountbatten x f!Reader

Rating: 13+

Wordcount: 499

Warnings: cursing

Series: Leg's Tuna Tober

The New York City streets were bathed in swathes of neon lights, refracted by rain pelting the asphalt. Deep puddles lined the sidewalks like coursing streams. Small waterfalls leaked off rooves and gutters onto the pedestrians going about their business on this dreary day.

You and Leo were walking, hand in hand, from your shared apartment to your favorite bakery a few blocks down. A royal purple umbrella was held in Leo's hand to shield the two of you from the downpour. At one point your head had landed on his shoulder, the two of you huddled under your shelter.

Easy banter flowed between you. Talk of which coffee is the best, the correct way to cook an egg, and other menial discussions passed in clouded breaths. A dull chill had settled amongst the raindrops. It clung to your jackets in gusts of humid air. The cold burrowed through the wool material of your coat and started to seep into your bones.

Luckily, the bakery was in sight, the comforting glow from the windows shining on the pavement just on the other side of the road. You and Leo waited at the corner while the crosswalk sign flashed red. A small crowd of disgruntled New Yorkers gathered around the two of you.

"Lovely day, isn't it?" Leo asked a shivering woman to his right. She threw him a squinted glare, crow's feet deepening as she narrowed her eyes. Her disdain was met with Leo's signature, bright smile.

Green illuminated the gloom as you dragged your partner away. You sighed, shaking your head at his antics. He knew exactly what he was doing. Leo just relished in messing with people in inconsequential ways.

"I think she liked me," he mused, rainboots splashing in the curb's puddles. White stripes lined the crosswalk between you and your destination.

"Uh huh, yes dear," you returned with an air of sarcasm.

Leo answered your remark by dumping the rain that'd collected on the top of the umbrella over your head. You squealed, darting away and across the street, now thoroughly drenched. His boisterous laugh followed you as you hopped up onto the curb. Rainwater dripped from the hem of your coat onto the slick pavement.

"Asshole!" you called over the crowd. A few sideways glances were directed your way at the shout. It was only a few moments before the much drier Leo joined you on the sidewalk.

"Apologies, my dear. The handle must've slipped," he said through a knowing smirk.

"You're buying me coffee for that," you grumbled, not truly mad at him. How could you be? Even just being in his proximity made your brief annoyance leak from you into the puddles. And he knew it, too. That mischievous glint never left his hazel eyes whenever he was near.

"I'll even throw in a pastry," he added lightly. His warm hand brushed a trail of rain from the side of your face. You leaned into the touch, every trace of tension sapped from your body.

this is short and sweet :)

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[cloudninetonine]

Hey so as you guys know I've been playing Tears

So I finally decided to write something for it!

WARNING TO EVERYONE, MAJOR TEARS OF THE KINGDOMS SPOILERS DO NOT READ IF YOU DON'T WANT TO BE SPOILED!!!

“I need to reach my friend!”

The world that was once Wild’s Hyrule had changed- drastically. Not anymore did the guardians lay dormant, nor did the Sheikah towers stand tall- the Divine Beasts had been laid to rest and while the lands stayed the same, the skies seemed to become home to more than the native Islander hawk.

Changed for better or for worse, you didn’t quite know. The growling patches of gloom circling chasms to a world beneath the surface wasn’t really all that fun to you- nor were the claws of concentrated evil that crept up from nowhere to try and snatch you without a second thought. But to see how Hyrule seemed to prosper with more life. The settlement by the castle was bigger now, a fort that stood proud to the floating pinnacle that was Hyrule castle and with more warriors seasoned to fight for the place that was their home.

Purah was amazed to see you again and you didn’t know how to feel about being smaller than her now.

Felt wrong in the more comedic sense.

All across the land you had come to find new people, make new friends! Tulin had grown so much! As had Riju! Sidon’s finacée, Yona her name, was a beautiful and cute manta ray! (Never in your life had you been jealous about both partners of a relationship that badly) Paya was now chief! Yunobo had a beard! And you had met the most amazing Rito reporter named Penn! A man who had named your new best friend in these trying times.

And trying times they were- you had no idea how you were keeping up with Wild. A little older now, an inch or two taller with a stronger build and more of an mature edge to him- well, that’s what you thought when you first woke up here in Lookout Landing, a teary eyed Wild looking down at you before he near crushed you underneath his weight, Flora just as teared and happily embracing you once you were finally stood.

You had no idea what happened, not how you got here nor where the rest of the Chain were- but you were glad you at least had the Champion by your side.

Sometimes.

This time was one of those times you were ready to toss him.

“If you connect that fucking rocket to that baby’s backpack I will shove a bomb flower down your throat.” Rauru’s hand was glowing with power, frozen along with the Zonai rocket it was lifting as you stood just a few paces away. “I mean it, Link, if you send them flying we’re duking it out.”

You looked so intimidating with the Glide suit, you just knew it. (Oh internal dialogue, how sarcastic you could be)

The korok shook, little sniffles catching your ears as they gazed at the device just inches away from being glued to the material of their rucksack before sighing in relief as the rocket was dropped with a heavy thud just beside them, Wild turning with an ‘oh-so-innocent’ smile. 

“They need to reach their friend-” He pointed a thumb behind him, “A few hills over- I was just helping.”

You frowned “I don’t know what happened while you were away but you’ve become more sadistic.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You never do.” Both sharing a look, you shook your head. “Hand them over to me, I’ll get them to their buddy.”

Wild’s hand fell to his hip, watching you waddle over excitedly as he side stepped, your hands out in a grabby motion as the small forest child threw their little stubby hands up with an excited “Guide!” that made your heart soar as you hauled them into the air with a similar excited “Forest baby!”

“You know we still need to get to Rito village- it’ll get dark by the time we arrive if we do this.”

“Don’t care, forest babies come first.”

He smirked, “Koroks are older than you.”

“Your mum.”

“Very mature.”

“Who are you, Twilight?” A pang went through your heart. “Ah, no, sorry that was rude-”

Wild’s face had curled in a more comedic way when you turned to look at him, sour and betrayed in the way the skin folded. “Am I really turning into him?”

Pausing, you looked him up and down- “I mean…you kinda do remind me of him right now.”

Wild raised a brow; you grinned. “You remember when Wolfie fell into that bush?”

When you burst into laughter he rolled his eyes, letting out a “hardy-har” while the korok still wiggled happily in the confines of your arms, it’s bag now over your shoulder to relieve some of the weight. (You focused on the spirit and missed the way the Champion desperately pawed at the sticks in his flowing hair)

“I’m not going with you this time- we’ve already lost a lot of hours.” Crossing his arms, the blonde continued. “If you go I’ll head towards the village.”

You shurgged. “Alright, I’ll see you there.”

The Champion narrowed his eyes. “I’m serious, (Name).”

“I’m sure you are.”

“...I don’t like your tone.”

Clearing your throat, you raised it an octave. “I’m sure you are!”

Wild did not laugh when you did.

If there was one thing you knew about the Champion it was that he was attached to your side. Stuck stronger than the fuse of the Zonai magic, the blonde followed you around like a Hylian retriever followed those that held food towards them. If you strayed too far, he would get you, if you paused mid journey, he paused, there was so many occasion that something had caught your eye mid ride on one of the many vehicles he had created and the man would slow down to let you go study it- lest you hop off, something you had almost done once when he refused to stop.

You really did appreciate all he did, you knew he had a lot on his mind, but with all that was happening didn’t you both deserve to have some moments not caught up the drama of the end of the fucking world???

“I’ll see you in a little bit!” Daylight was falling and it would be harder to find the campfire smoke in the night. “Keep the bed in the inn warm for me, pretty boy!”

And thus began your hike. Your little companion happily chattering your ear off as you walked away from the hero, hearing his heavy sigh and impatient foot tapping loose volume the further and further you got.

You had made it past the first hill, Wild’s form out of your sight as you glanced back when the sound out wheels caught your attention. The korok let out a noise of confusion at the strange noise but you merely spared a giggle, standing aside as the beam cycle (minus the beam) slowed to a stop beside you- your hero refusing to look your way as he waited.

“Get on.”

“Aren’t you gonna ask me on a date first?”

He grunted and you gave him the grace to leave him be, being careful balancing the korok in your grasp as you hopped onto the odd bike and wrapped an arm around the man’s waist, another still holding the forest spirit tight. 

“You ready?”

“Aye, aye, captain.”

You missed the small smile that grew on his face, the Zonai devices lighting up with its phantom green glow as the hero started the machine back up and headed towards the direction of the smoke. Without a second thought, you gently kissed his nape, unable to reach his cheek and nuzzled into his back with a relaxed hum.

Wild straightened proudly.

“You still have sticks in your hair.”

“Don’t ruin this for me.”

[sky-kiss]

Okay hear me out. This isn't exactly a request unless...👀

But the Raphael x Tav dynamic where he is the only one who can poke fun or give them a hard time is eating my brain.

Like "I can call them a vapid little fool, but if anyone else does the exact same thing it's hellfire and brimstone for them. For a hundred years."

He'd call it affection if it was in his vocabulary.

A/n: This is short, but I’ve been doing a lot of Carrot!Raph and not a lot of Stick!Raph. Some gore and torture ahead. XD Also I don't think this is what you wanted RIP.

__________

“All this caterwauling! You should really feel blessed, little lamb! I rarely sully my hands these days.” Raphael folded his hands at the small of his back. Isolated from the scene around him, the devil would have appeared perfectly genteel: his doublet remained pressed, hair immaculate. Only the eyes were different, violently bright in the prison’s omnipresent gloom. 

Souls and prisoners howled around them, some in agony, some in a desperate attempt to catch the Master’s attention. He didn’t hear; only his guest mattered. 

The cambion stopped, lingering just outside their field of vision. They’d finally stopped screaming, lapsing into hiccuping sobs, slumped in on themselves. Not his finest work, he’d be the first to admit, but the rage had come upon him too abruptly for a more cerebral punishment. He reached out, fisting his hand in the sweaty mass of their hair, and tugged their head back. Terror flooded their eyes; their mouth tried to curl back in horror but failed to manage it. His claws left the cheek a ruin of tissue. He tapped a nail against the wound. They knew better than to twitch away. 

“Remind me why I’m entertaining you, little one.” 

It took three attempts before they could finally choke the word out: “Duchess.” 

“Ah, yes. How forgetful! You will have to forgive the indiscretion.” Raphael stepped closer. He’d made quite a mess, honestly. Bones jutted from strange, haphazard angles; he’d removed a few in a fit of pique. He didn’t believe they were essential, but it was always so difficult to tell with mortals. He yanked, and the little thing screamed their anguish. “And what was it you said? Be specific; your life depends on it.” 

“W…whore. Whore queen. Raph…” they winced. The mouth couldn't form the words, an ever-increasing disconnect between the body and brain as blood loss took its toll. “Your cunt.” 

“An inelegant summation.” He wiped his hand on the thing’s shoulders, glancing across the chamber. “Care to vouch for them, duchess?” 

His pet chuckled. What a sight! His finest treasure, her gown set with gems, gold chains hanging about her horns. He had created art with her. “It is they say, my duke.” 

“And that bodes well for you, little one.” Raphael knelt beside them, stroking hair back from their face. They turned their face into the motion, an awful pantomime of intimacy. “Though…perhaps not as well as you might have hoped. I guard my treasures so zealously, and she is first among them. You understand, don’t you?” 

They nodded, miserable. 

“But I am not without mercy. Should you apologize to her…we could start fresh. Would you like that, little one?” He pitched his voice lower, speaking as if in conspiracy. Two friends, ready to make peace. They released a shuddering breath and nodded. Raphael held out his arm to his duchess. She came to him with vibrant eyes and a smile, a pretty reflection of all he’d accomplished. His conquest, his might, his pretty love. “Begin, wretch.” 

“Beg…beg forgiveness, dutchess. Please…gods, please, forgive us…” 

His duchess hummed. “You are forgiven, wretch.” And to Raphael, “My love, must you play with your food? Are you nearly finished?” 

“Very nearly, little mouse. First,” he withdrew a vial from his doublet, a draught of restorative waters. He held it to his guest's lips. Like magic, flesh mended itself! Wounds shrunk and disappeared! In a matter of moments, they were whole once more.

“Merciful King, kind lord,” they sobbed, crawling towards him. The wretch painted the toe of his boot with kisses. “Never again. Not a word against you or the lady will pass my lips.” 

“No. I imagine not.” He nudged their ribs with his boots. “Alas, our fresh start will have to wait. My duchess requires me.” The imps crawled forward, hungry and eager. “I leave you in my staff’s ever-capable hands.” 

[dearchloe]

1 december

"I'll send you a copy of that application when I file it, anyway."

"Thanks, Jess." Ivy hung her jacket up behind the door of her office and took down her coat from the peg. The quiet and select surroundings of the chambers in Duke Street could never be called bustling, but today, late on the afternoon of a dreary Sunday when no one wanted to do anything other than curl up in front of the TV, they were the only people left in the building, and she was in as much of a hurry to get home as anyone else.

"No worries. If you wait to get it back from the court, you won't see it until January."

"It would be funny if it wasn't true." She fastened her scarf around her neck and shook hands with the other woman. "Are you heading my way?"

"The Tube station."

"Oh, I'll walk with you."

"Great." Jess finished buttoning her coat, threw one bag over her shoulder, and picked up another. If there was one thing that you couldn't do as a barrister, Ivy reflected, it was travelling light. "Ready?"

"When you are."

The two of them set out, winding their way through the dim corridors of the courthouse and making small talk which had nothing to do with their case until at last they found themselves in the fresh, crisp air of the street outside.

"Do you go over the bridge?" Ivy asked. Jess shook her head.

"I normally go through the High Street. The lights are lovely at the moment, too."

"Sounds like a plan." With a shared nod, the two lawyers turned to the left and followed the road, around the grand sweep of the corner and into the pedestrianised stretch which made up the town centre. Ivy had to admit that Jess was right. The lights, though nothing out of the ordinary, were effective in the gathering gloom of the early winter evenings, and they reflected in beautiful fractals from the rain-soaked paving below. Between the lights above and the lights below, individuals and families, wrapped in their winterwear, hurried one way or another, bound home for the evening or out for a meal, and above the quietly murmuring voices came the unmistakeable sound of Christmas music, piping from one or another of the shops lining the sides of the street.

Ivy only realised she had stopped when Jess paused ahead to look back at her with a questioning expression, and the brunette smiled sheepishly, hurrying to catch up. "Sorry. Just, it looks exactly like a Christmas card."

"It really does." The two linked arms, and continued on their way, steps falling unconsciously into time with the rhythm of I Saw Three Ships Come Sailing In. "I tried taking a photo on my way home yesterday, but it doesn't show up very well. Maybe I should try with a proper camera instead of just my phone."

"It couldn't hurt."

They slowed as the road grew busier, and Jess craned her neck over the heads of the crowd to see what was causing it. "Oh, that's cute. It's Santa's Grotto, look."

"Rather him than me," Ivy remarked, gathering her coat more closely around herself. "It's too bloody cold to sit around out here all night."

"Scrooge."

"And proud of it."

Jess rolled her eyes. "Where's your Christmas spirit? Come on, this way."

Ivy, taken by surprise and already in Jess' grip, had no choice but to go with her colleague as they made a beeline across the road towards the grotto. "What are we doing?"

"We're going to get in the Christmas spirit."

The brunette eyed up the scene in front of her and did not like the obvious result. "Oh, come on. This is the kind of thing you have to be drunk to do if you're older than about seven. And I'm not drunk, Jess."

"Well, it'll make a nice change for him." The blonde winked at her, steering her to the end of the line, where Ivy made a rapid survey of her fellow queuers and decided that, excluding the parents, they were the oldest by about two decades. "Come on, live a little."

"I'm here, aren't I?"

At last, they reached the front of the queue, and Jess pushed Ivy forwards, a look of almost sadistic glee on her face. "After you."

Glaring back at the other woman, unaware of quite how stroppy this made her look, Ivy stood somewhat awkwardly beside the red-suited man who sat at the centre of the Grotto, surrounded by his retinue of elves and mumbled "Um, hi." All her erudition, so present in court, seemed to have deserted her, and she had a sudden overwhelming feeling of embarrassment. She was, in fact, tongue-tied.

The man smiled up at her from behind his white beard. Ivy had to admit that he was at least a step above the normal charity-bucket Santa. The beard might even be his own, and he had properly twinkling eyes, and red cheeks — although come to think of it, her own were probably pretty rosy in this biting cold. "Not at all, my dear." Even his voice seemed right. "Come and see Santa."

If her cheeks hadn't been red before, they were now, as she walked slowly across to the old man and perched, slightly awkwardly, on the invitingly extended knee.

"Well now, little girl, have you been good this year?"

A very peculiar feeling passed over her. Ivy felt at once very large and very small, and the old man's face seemed suddenly to be a long way above her. There was an enormous lump in her throat, and when she tried to speak, all that she could do was gulp. The barrister made a couple of attempts to offer the snarky response she'd concocted, and then, giving up, just nodded.

"Excellent!" He beamed down at her, and she squirmed on his knee, feeling suddenly immensely uncomfortable for some reason that she couldn't quite put her finger on. "Then I'm sure you'll get everything you ask for from Father Christmas. As long as you're telling me the truth, that is."

Again, all that Ivy could do was nod, and Jess grinned at her as she got to her feet, suddenly recovering the use of her legs.

"See, that wasn't so bad."

Ivy, still unnerved by the experience, scowled in a way that made her colleague take a step back.

"Shut up."

[the-golden-comet]

😈 Villain Crimes Tag 😈

Thank you for tagging me for this game, @mysticstarlightduck ! ✨

Rules: List all the real-world crimes your villains are guilty of committing!

A loooooot of my villains in my books are VERY spoiler-y, but I will give a taste of one from Peter Hart:

Baron Alastair of Port Mayor 🇬🇧

But wait Goldie, I hear you asking: isn’t he a part of parliament? What crimes is he committing so closely in the Royal Courts? Oh boy, let me tell you:

1. Treason to the crown. He goes behind Duke Matthias’s back to work with all sorts of pirates and criminals.

2. Forgery of an official in higher status. Lots of documents that never made it to his boss’s desk. Hmmm 🤔

3. Murder. Lots of murder. Oh my gods so much murder. Pirates and naval officers are not safe from his crack shot rifle aim.

4. Theft. Steals and rotates documents around like passing a blunt at a party.

5. Impersonation of higher officials in parliament.

6. Illegal trade. This was VERY common in the courts, and one of the incentives for parliament to work with pirates.

7. Misappropriation of Government Funds for his own personal gain.

In other words, man is a politician 😂✨

Gently tagging (no pressure): @drchenquill , @wyked-ao3 , @gioiaalbanoart , @tragedycoded , @saturnine-saturneight , @marlowethelibrarian , @tildeathiwillwrite , @mauannacreates , @alinacapellabooks , @tragedycoded , @sableglass , @words-after-midnight , @coffeexafterxmidnight , @autism-purgatory , @jev-urisk , @kaylinalexanderbooks , @theink-stainedfolk , @honeybewrites , @oliolioxenfreewrites , @nczaversnick , @somethingclevermahogony , @houseplantblank , @willtheweaver , @aintgonnatakethis , @theaistired , @noxxytocin , @astramachina , @paeliae-occasionally , @yourpenpaldee , @authorcoledipalo , @48lexr , @thecomfywriter , @rivenantiqnerd , @eccaiia , @rhikasa , @worlds-tallest-fairy , @ominous-feychild , @smellyrottentrees , @lavender-gloom , @leahnardo-da-veggie , @illarian-rambling , @corinneglass , @fantasy-things-and-such , @finickyfelix , @deanwax , +open tag ✨

[battyaboutbooksreviews]

🌈 Queer Books Coming Out in March 2024 🌈

🌈 Good afternoon, my bookish bats! Struggling to keep up with all the amazing queer books coming out this month? Here are a FEW of the stunning, diverse queer books you can add to your TBR before the year is over. Remember to #readqueerallyear! Happy reading!

[ Release dates may have changed. ]

❤️ Shift: A Memoir of Identity and Other Illusions - Penny Guisinger 🧡 Tempting Olivia - Clare Ashton 💛 Monilinia - Free Mints 💚 Guillaume - Aurora Dimitre 💙 The Marble Queen - Anna Kopp & Gabrielle Kari 💜 The Baker & the Bard - Fern Haught ❤️ Rainbow! - Sunny & Gloom 🧡 The Safe Zone - Amy Marsden 💛 The Weavers of Alamaxa - Hadeer Elsbai 💙 The No-Girlfriend Rule - Christen Randall 💜 A Different Kind of Brave by Lee Wind 🌈 Cirque du Slay - Rob Osler ❤️ Wizard’s Debt - Niranjan 🧡 One Last Breath - Ginny Myers Sain 💛 Nothing Special - Katie Cook 💚 I Feel Awful, Thanks - Lara Pickle 💙 The Tower - Flora Carr 💜 Be the Sea - Clara Ward ❤️ What Grows in the Dark - Jaq Evans 🧡 Heirs of Bone and Sea - Kay Adams 💛 The Haunting of Velkwood - Gwendolyn Kiste 💙 Thunder Song - Sasha taqwšəblu LaPointe 💜 Mona of the Manor - Armistead Maupin 🌈 Like Happiness - Ursula Villarreal-Moura

❤️ Ellipses - Vanessa Lawrence 🧡 Saint, Sorrow, Sinner - Freydís Moon 💛 Blood & Brujas - Mikayla D. Hornedo 💚 Infinity Kings - Adam Silvera 💙 Really Cute People - Markus Harwood-Jones 💜 How You Were Born - Kate Cayley ❤️ These Bodies Between Us - Sarah Van Name 🧡 Icarus - K. Ancrum 💛 The Emperor and the Endless Palace - Justinian Huang 💙 How Not to Date an Angel - Lana Kole 💜 Enemy Colours - R.M. Olson 🌈 Broken Parts Included - Alyson Root

❤️ Who's Afraid of Gender? - Judith Butler 🧡 The Duke’s Cowboy - Andrew Grey 💛 The Secret Something - Emily Wright 💚 Colstead & Andie - Olivia Janae 💙 Play It Again, Ma’am - Sienna Waters 💜 Love Is…? - K.J. Wrights ❤️ Welcome to Forever - Nathan Tavares 🧡 Just Another Epic Love Poem - Parisa Akhbari 💛 The Phoenix Bride - Natasha Siegel 💙 These Letters End in Tears - Musih Tedji Xaviere 💜 Truly Home - J.J. Hale 🌈 Monster Mixer - Robin Jo Margaret

❤️ The House of Hidden Meanings - RuPaul 🧡 Promised to the Queen - Barbara Winkes 💛 A Conclave of Crimson - Nicole Eigener & Beverley Lee 💚 A Hunt of Blood and Iron - Cara Nox 💙 The Fealty of Monsters - Ladz 💜 Ariel Crashes a Train - Olivia A. Cole ❤️ Those Beyond the Wall - Micaiah Johnson 🧡 Dancing Toward Stardust - Julia Underwood 💛 Heir to Dreams & Darkness - Ben Alderson 💙 Comet Cruise - Niska Morrow 💜 Dead Girls Walking - Sami Ellis 🌈 Blackout - Carlos E. Rivera

❤️ Monster Crush - Erin Ellie Franey 🧡 Blessed Water - Margot Douaihy 💛 These Fragile Graces, This Fugitive Heart - Izzy Wasserstein 💚 Kiss of Seduction - Rawnie Sabor 💙 Sunbringer - Hannah Kaner 💜 Evacuation to Love - C.A. Popovich ❤️ Sin - Brooke Matthews 🧡 Falls from Grace - Ruby Landers 💛 Lean in to Love - Catherine Lane 💙 A Small Apocalypse - Laura Chow Reeve 💜 Cascade Failure - L.M. Sagas 🌈 The Mars House - Natasha Pulley

❤️ All This Time - Sage Donnell 🧡 The Romance Lovers Book Club - MA Binfield 💛 View from the Top - Morgan Adams 💚 Number Call - Nagisa Furuya 💙 Crossing Bridges - Chelsey Lynford 💜 The Boyfriend Subscription - Steven Salvatore ❤️ Love the World or Get Killed Trying - Alvina Chamberland 🧡 Synthetic Sea - Franklyn S. Newton 💛 The Prince & His Stolen Groom - J.E. Ridge 💙 Chrysalis and Requiem - Quinton Li 💜 Where Sleeping Girls Lie - Faridah Àbíké-Íyímídé 🌈 A Botanical Daughter - Noah Medlock

❤️ Wednesday Nights - by Donna Jay 🧡 The Woods All Black - Lee Mandelo 💛 Song of the Huntress - Lucy Holland 💚 Rainbow Black - Maggie Thrash 💙 Spirits & Sunflowers - A.D. Armistead & Austin Daniel 💜 Floating Hotel - Grace Curtis ❤️ Far From Camelot - Rylee Hale 🧡 This Way to Change - Jezz Chung 💛 Mexican Bird - Luis Lopez-Maldonado 💙 Android Affection: Unveiling - Beau Van Dalen 💜 Welcome to the Damned - Astraea Long 🌈 She Came for Blood - Darva Green

❤️ Cover Story - Rachel Lacey 🧡 The Poisons We Drink - Bethany Baptiste 💛 The Perfect Guy Doesn't Exist - Sophie Gonzales 💚 In Walked Trouble - Dana Hawkins 💙 Never Leave, Never Lie - Thea Verdone 💜 Guardian: Zhen Hun - Priest ❤️ All the World Beside - Garrard Conley 🧡 Rainbows, Unicorns, and Triangles - Jessica Kingsley Publishers 💛 The Feast Makers - H.A. Clarke 💙 Synthetic Sea - Franklyn S. Newton 💜 All the Painted Stars - Emma Denny 🌈 A Hard Sell - Jennifer Moffatt

[amyriadofleaves]

outside it starts to pour — neuvillette | chapter nine

synopsis: in the limelight of fontaine, the prying eyes of its people never truly tears their gaze off the iudex and you, the présidence du conseil d'état, which makes for baseless rumours to fester and echo throughout the theatrics of opera. you and neuvillette are challenged by the reputations the both of you are expected to uphold, and the weighty decision to navigate these intricacies rests upon the discerning judgement of fontaine's archon.

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ao3 : wattpad  ˚　.˚　　

⌗ pairing : neuvillette x fem!reader ⌗ feat : neuvillette, reader, clorinde ⌗ warnings : n/a ⌗ word count: 4.5k

It would not be an overstatement to remark upon the folly of those who regard you with such narrow-minded scrutiny. Despite your accomplishments, diligence, and endurance through it all, the people have diminished you from a capable and esteemed Head of Civil Affairs to nothing more than the Chief Justice's attendant wife.

However, you find it not in your duty to rebuke those claims, or rather, think not to bother addressing them outright. The attitude you bring to your office and those beneath you isn’t anything out of the ordinary, per se, but one with a discerning eye can notice the unusual edge and snappiness to your character. 

And the one with the said discerning eye happens to be your husband. 

Multiple questions from him arose over the course of a week before his schedule took him up in its clutches again, and obviously you were one to deny such accusatory things. Oh, how glad you were when you found his office vacant most of the time. No one to pester you, and no one to pester the pesterer. 

But obviously such luxuries come with some demon to tip out the work-life balance. The invite to a ball as a plus one has you lurching for air, and another report on the impending prophecy gnaws at you like a teething hyena.

Today just so happens to be another banal day of doom and gloom. Ruthless court hearings meant Fontaine would see rainfall, and for this particular week it meant every consecutive day — which also meant a certain Champion Duelist is slipping through every nook and cranny for a playdate. 

“If it isn’t my favourite new bride,” she muses, leaning against the doorframe. You notice the difference in the way she quips the last few words, and you subconsciously associate the likeness of tone to that of the Duke; weird — you never considered their closeness up until this point.

You sip on your cup of chamomile tea. “So what you’re saying is that there was a point where I was not your favourite bride.”

“Maybe it’s because you weren’t married, idiot,” she starts, closing the door behind her and making herself home to your small, albeit homely office. “One day you’re all over never finding a husband, and the next day I see an invite on my doorstep that you’re getting married to the one man you hate!”

You wish to strain the lie for a little longer, test how much more you can baffle her straight through your teeth. “Well, Clorinde, fate has many a surprise for those who least expect it. Take the newlyweds that run the new bakery down the street — rumour has it that they hated each other before making out in the store room; oh, the poor manager… So, it really is a trap anyone can just about fall in.”

Her lips twitch as if a lightbulb had switched on near her temple, a subtle trip, but telling of the inevitable. You show indifference. “A trap, you say? So who exactly arranged it? Pray tell, was it Monsieur Neuvillette, Lady Furina, or god forbid, you yourself?”

“...What?’

She chuckles, taking a seat across from you.  “If there’s one person you’re not going to fool, it’s me. You forget I was on the other end of your endless ramblings about him — so why have you exactly gotten married to the very man you so detest?”

Ah, Clorinde, you reply with a soft smile, setting down your teacup. Always one for blunt truths and cutting humour.

Clorinde leans stiffly against the back of her chair, expression hardening. I’m serious.

I appreciate your concern, truly, you reply, a hint of amusement in your voice. But marriage hasn't dulled my wit or ambitions, if that's what worries you.

The Champion Duelist crosses her arms and you catch a familiar shade of crimson dotting her sleeve. “I never doubted your wit, only questioned the timing of it all. You're a force to be reckoned with, and now you have a husband? It all doesn’t line up.”

“Consider it the responsibility of my duty — Lady Furina thought me ‘worthy’,” —you say this while quoting it with your fingers— “of this, and so there she went, thrusting me into another job I did not want to do.”

Given the slight furrowing of her brows, you surmise she is more intrigued than she’d like to come off as. “Oh? And what do you mean, ‘worthy’?”

“Worthy of being a pawn in her stupid games,” you groan, finding interest in the shape of your nails, a roll of your eyes prompted by the repulsive thought of the woman that started it all. “I won’t have you guess any further. Your guess is correct, unfortunately.”

Now she’s truly given herself away; despite the stoicness of her poise, the way she grips the table to bring herself closer to hear you better speaks volumes. “Oh really? My guess was a shot in the dark. Never expected myself to be right.”

“If you did in fact miss your guess, you, my dear Clorinde, would be out of a job.” you three of your fingers inward  to mimic the shape of a firearm.

Arms crossed, she flashes a grin. “I’ll just bail my way out through my boss.”

“I don’t think he’s as merciful as you think.”

“To me, probably. But you’re another story.”

You scoff, your head canting to the side. “You think I’m the exception? Yeah, right.”

“Are you blind? Everyone in the workplace has been either praising or critiquing his bias,” She helps herself with the kettle of tea, slightly leaving her chair to reach for the handle. “But that’s the fun of it all. Keeps things interesting.”

You chuckle softly, leaning back in your chair. “Interesting is one way to put it. I prefer ‘degrading’.”

“Semantics,” she shrugs, a smirk playing on her lips. “Either way, what Lady Furina intended for your arrangement is playing out just as she planned.”

Time will tell, you muse, taking another sip of tea. But for now, let's talk about the blood on your sleeve, shall we?”

She reaches for her elbow, pulling the cloth toward her to take a closer look. “Oh — this? The usual, really. Criminals.”

“I see you’ve made short work of them.”

“As I usually do, miss ma'am.”

You try for another sip of your tea only to find that your lips come away empty; though with inexplicable reason you feel it as though you have, indeed, taken a generous gulp of it. With your eyes trained on Clorinde, you reach for another tea packet from the pouch.

“Speaking of which, that old man should be making his way over to the Palais in a moment. Saw him leave the Epiclese when I did.”

“Let’s not talk about him.”

Her eyes dart to every part of the room almost erratically, losing track of its target. “Great then, we shall move on to the next topic of conversation.”

In all your impatient habits you cannot wait for her to finish her sentence. “Why are you talking like that?”

“Archons, woman. You’re always so full of questions, you bursting buffoon,” Clorinde quips with a playful eye roll, noting the embarrassed look on your face. “But I was just going to mention what gift I got you.”

“Ooh, do tell.”

You did expect a gift sometime along this week: a lipstick, a gift she had frequented much in giving you, was nowhere to be found on the table, now replaced with a meticulously crafted blade with a sheen so polished it burned shadows into your irises. In one swift motion, a dagger slides onto the table, her hands prodding them forward. Her eyes study the subtle raise of your brow. “Not what you expected, I'm guessing?”

“Certainly so. But it is very in character for someone like you, Clorinde.” You trace the blunt end of the dagger with your finger, allowing your touch to graze the hilt. Foreign was the feeling of it in your hands,  the weight of it a limbo between light and heavy. It had been an undeniably long time since you were in possession of a tangible weapon, your reliability on both martial prowess and vision a dwindling skill since your role of being the Head of Civil affairs. “Thank you — but why?”

“I’m assuming you’re asking me what far fetched reasoning I have for it — but I’ll simply state this: you are now the focal point of public attention. And you know what that can stir?

“Envy?”

“Precisely. Or you could just take it as a token of our spar from a few weeks ago. Or to when we used to spar as children,” She delivers it with a sag into her seat, but beneath that facade, you know she really is just concerned.

You open your mouth to speak, but she interrupts you with an abrupt shift from her posture. “And before I forget — I got you more.” She holds a drawstring pouch teasingly in the air, and judging from the familiar clinking of glass, it’s exactly what you think it is.

You reach up for it, forcefully pulling it towards you. Peeking through the bag, you look up at Clorinde through your lashes. “How’d you know I ran out?”

“I'm your supply. Do you think I miscalculate, let alone forget? Come on, chenapan.”

You look away playfully, dodging the jab. “Shut up.”

Rain begins to patter erratically on the window, and both of you tear your focus to it. You swipe the curtain away to look out into the clouds, but you spot a familiar figure standing, hands poised on a railing. His hair is darkened, soaked by the water that drips down to his feet. 

A deep laugh stirs you from your staring. “I take it as my cue to leave. Have fun with your husband.”

You turn around as swiftly as one possibly can, and find her sitting up from her seat. “What? Already?”

“I have places to be. And you seem to have one in mind,” She gestures with her eyes to the man outside, and you roll your own.

“Are you serious right now?”

She flashes you a brief grin with a scrunch to her nose. “What do you think?” Before you can object, she rids herself from your clutches and slips through the door — and when you make your way to peek out from your office, you see nothing but the closing of the entrance.

Shame compels you to shut the door as you lean back, letting your head find solace against the smooth, polished wood. Your gaze, once fixed on the deathly white expanse of the ceiling, drifts instead to a forgotten frame resting on your shelf, its surface gathering a gentle layer of dust.

With no one to distract you from the paperwork on your desk, you find yourself moving of your own volition. If there’s no one to bother…then…

Tea it is.

Picking at the drawstring, you reach blindly for a packet of tea, letting whatever god decide which flavour would be bestowed upon you. You hope it’s chamomile.

It ends up being mint. You make a disinterested scrunch to your nose before lazily studying the print of the brand of tea out of sheer subconscious curiosity. Whatever you’ve just read draws you out of your stupor and suddenly you’re sitting up straight.

This brand is so undeniably familiar. 

And yet, before you can make the connection yourself, the way your heart picks up in pace tells just as much. The main cause of your mother’s murder. A harmless tea packet, seamlessly packaged with powdered death. It had long since been discontinued, but you make a whirl in your seat and hold up the tea packet beside the silhouette of the man standing far from your window and you begin to wonder. 

A pair of bloodied hands drag you by the throat to your home. Your mind forcibly tears itself open by the seams, flooded by the quiet, harmless serenity of dawn — shattered by gasps of your mother with her hands clutched, clawing at her neck. Your father’s calm, almost rehearsed demeanour as he offered her the cup, his eyes glinting with sinister intention; one of you which you were too blind to recognise.

As you clutch the packet, the print of tea blurs against the well that rim your eyes. Maybe it was what your father always had on his person: a gift, a kind gesture, a murder weapon. 

Given the period of Neuvillette’s station, it would be an educated guess to say that your father had met him several times. You can almost see it: your father charming the Chief Justice with that same smile, his lies wrapped in the veneer of regard. For the first time, you feel a flicker of doubt. Could he be unaware? Could he too have been a pawn in your father’s deadly game?

With the curtain of silence drawn between you and Neuvillette since the rise of never ending contretemps, you think maybe you should ease it a little, but not too much — you are inquiring only of his acquiring of such tea.

You stand from your seat, reaching for the parasol that leans against a wooden leg of your desk. It worries you not at how you drag it across the floor, the rubber end of it leaving nothing but a squeak of friction.

Ensuring the door to your office is firmly shut, you begin to pace through the opulent halls of the Palais with an almost childlike curiosity that stirs within you, urging you to uncover what solace he finds in standing amidst the rain. Each step is measured, the echoes of your footsteps mingling with the soft patter of raindrops, growing more muffled than the last imprint of your stride. Avoiding Sedene is a calculated move on your part, slipping past her by briskly walking on your toes when her eyes are plastered on something you aren’t able to discern past the counter.

You slip quietly past the back end of the Palais and push through the heavy barricade of the backdoor. A light coolness touches your head in irregular successions, prompting you to look up at the now brighter sky, a marked change from the sombre gloom it had worn when you last observed it from the inside. 

The slide upwards from the metal skeleton of your parasol scrapes against the gentle downpour, and you eye his figure from behind a white pillar. Nothing seems to stir him from his fixed gaze, one that overlooks the expanse of Fontaine, a land belonging, by technicality, to his people.

A wave of hesitation washes over you like a deluge, for perhaps such a matter is best discussed over tea (the irony of it does not escape you, but your preoccupation with trivial details overrides the thought).

Whatever. You loop the drawstring of the pouch of tea in your free hand, twirling it in your fingers as a makeshift fidget toy. The pad of your heels provides a necessary friction against the floor, a main giveaway of your whereabouts, and still he does not stir.

You walk until you are a few metres behind him, amusing yourself with the idea that he has come so far as to ignore your very existence—a foolish notion that has only furthered the distance between you both since the marriage.

He remains unmoved, ever so rigid and uniform in his stance.

“Monsieur Neuvillette,” you call, your voice carrying a command that transcends the simple utterance of his name — a subliminal message only he can decipher.

He turns slowly, his expression inscrutable as he realises it is you who has come to seek him out.  For a moment, he simply regards you, his gaze steady and unreadable. “Madame,” he finally responds, his tone courteous. “It is you.”

You take a step closer, the parasol offering minimal protection against the persistent drizzle. “Might I inquire about something? I expect you to not think too much of it.” You feel you know him enough to know of his tendency to over inspect on many a detail that come under his radar, so consider this a courtesy for one less burden. 

Neuvillette’s eyes flicker with a hint of something — surprise, perhaps, or maybe curiosity. “Go ahead,” he replies softly.

A scrunch of the small paper packets in the cloth brush against each other as you bring it up to eye level. You reach into it almost as naturally as if you were one of the magician prodigies that made themselves known amongst their covey at the grand festivals of Fontaine, producing seemingly impossible wonders from the very depths of their pockets.

“Does this brand of tea seem familiar to you?”

His head dips from the point of your parasol to the item of interest. Despite his speculated age, the rounding of his eyes seem to take off a few years, easing the wrinkle between his brows. “I am afraid it appears to be just about any tea brand. Is something the matter?”

You take a step closer, the rim of your umbrella shielding but a fraction of Neuvillette’s exposure to the rain. “Monsieur Neuvillette, this specific brand of tea hasn’t been manufactured to the public in five years.” 

Those words, once uttered, solidify your qualms, drawing you back to the very heart of your deepest fears. Yet, a part of you refuses to accept it. It could’ve been any other aristocrat! your mind suggests, desperately grasping for any semblance of hope. But you know such thoughts cannot obscure the harsh reality — and this you know well:

He is alive. And free. 

The man standing before you gazes at you with mounting concern, his eyes reflecting a growing unease. Shadows cast the contours of your face to form a mask of denial, yet you are acutely aware that he does not buy into your falsehood.

“Goodness, is the tea horrible?” he questions, the tremble of his voice a comical degree of concern you cannot help but laugh at. 

Scoffing, you turn your head to the left to avoid his probing eyes. “Why would I give myself the trouble of coming here if that was the problem?” you retort, trying to mask the heat trailing down your cheeks as tears threaten to escape. You blame it on the rain, but you know that isn’t why you are ablaze.

“Tell me what ails you, Madame. I shall fix it,” he implores, his voice filled with genuine worry and a desire to help.

“It is just as I said. The brand of tea. Do you have it delivered to your doorstep? Does it come in bulk?” you ask, questions tumbling out, each more desperate than the last.

He blinks, momentarily taken aback by your line of questioning. Even to your own ears, the inquiries sound strange and out of place — but, they are vital to uncovering the truth, to piecing together something you thought you left behind.

“Well — I had it gifted to me,” Neuvillette begins, his tone measured. “And in turn, I requested more with the intention of always having a suitable gift on hand.”

Your eyes flit to every outline of his features as you try to match the puzzle to the one you find is fraying in your very mind. His eyes betray nothing in your search for a tell, a slip. Everything brings you back to square one. Perhaps your father has already stopped in his schemes — or perhaps (you think with foolish aspiration) his age has taken him. But your father is too resilient and stubborn to die a cretin’s death. 

“Then that is that. I shall take my leave — sorry to bother you, Monsieur.” You wish to continue this investigation elsewhere, for you find that the sombre droplets of water that stain the parts of you that your parasol cannot protect is too gloomy and dismal.

As you bow and turn, you miss your husband’s act of hesitation: to let you go, or to be selfish. He is a man of duty and stature, and to stray from such virtues would be incredibly unbecoming. The topic of scandal rises for a brief moment (he seems to be as forgetting as you in remembering such a tie).

“Stay,” he murmurs, voice barely carried by the wisp of wind.

He himself seems surprised that he had gone so far as to reach for your wrist: an anchor, something to hold on to.

Brows knitting, your mind searching for anything to study — because who knows? A man’s intent can be just as malicious as any other of their kind. “What?”

“I am requesting that you stay,” he says, a little louder, before his voice drops again: “here, with me.”

You tip the handle of your parasol backward in an attempt for a better look — or, for lack of a better word: to appraise.

Your eyes scan him from head to toe. “And what for?”

His grip on your wrist loosens slightly, though he does not let go. “Company,” he confesses, his eyes searching yours for understanding.

The rain continues to fall around you, a gentle, persistent reminder of the world outside this moment. You study his face, noting the sincerity in his eyes, the vulnerability in his posture.

For a moment, you consider pulling away, retreating back into the safety of distance and formality. But something in his gaze holds you in place, a silent plea that begs for you to yield.

“Alright,” you say softly, lowering your parasol. “I’ll stay.”

His shoulders relax, and a faint smile graces his lips. “Thank you.”

You toe lightly until the tip of your heels meet the stoop of the balcony, which diverts the path of your stride so that you don’t nudge Neuvillette with your parasol (if it does, he makes no comment of it). The two of you stand in silence for what seems like aeons, the only assurance of him still being there being the slight rustle of his robes that have grown to latch onto his skin like lifelines. 

After a while, Neuvillette breaks the silence with a quiet, almost offhand comment. You know, he begins, his voice gentle, I’ve always wondered whether it is because I am rigid.”

“And what of your rigidity?” For this you find no reason to look at him — but you think he senses your sceptical brow nonetheless, the rain dulling almost when you find another, more interesting thing to latch onto: that being his response to your inquiry. 

“It is the very quality,” he replies, his tone reflective, “that compels you to resist, to fight tooth and nail against even the slightest inclination of giving me your attention.”

The shift of your head carries the weight of your astonishment. What a far cry! Oh, this man was certainly in your good graces for being so utterly unheeding. “You think that’s the problem? If you are having trouble, picture this — and I am talking from the perspective of those netizens that so revere you — you, the Chief Justice, stand between the very apple of the Oratrice. Do you not see? You are reduced to a mere byproduct, an instrument of Fontaine's justice. And justice always prevails; partiality, love, does not. Despite your greatest efforts, your own prejudices aren’t accounted for on the scales.”

You hadn’t expected to find yourself on such a tangent, but the words flow irresistibly, and you surrender to them. “Consider it, mon chéri.” The term of endearment carries no warmth; instead, it is a taunt, a beckoning.

“Is that what you think of me? Detached?”

The parasol now rests on your shoulder, supported by the balance of it as both your arms find a more comforting rest on the cemented railing. “Oh, I like that word: detached. You stand out here, overlooking the city just about how you might an audience at the Opera Epiclese and it makes me wonder if you are even able to dream.” 

“I do not come here to daydream.”

A bitter smile pulls at your lips, its sharpness cutting through the soft rain. “Do not play that game with me. Your pastime is quite what you are doing now, and it makes you look like a defeated dog. Has no one inquired of it? Ever? Have you never been questioned about the shadows in your eyes, the perpetual distance in your gaze?”

“The inquiries of others matter little to me. I am simply here to seek solace,” he responds, his voice steady but with an undercurrent of weariness that speaks of long, lonely nights and endless responsibilities.

The cuffs of your sleeves are now soaked from the rain, but you find it a small diversion to focus on while listening to his rebuttal. “Proves my point,” you murmur, brushing away droplets as you speak. “Your solitude is not solace.”

A low laugh sounds from Neuvillette. “You mistake my solitude for avoidance, for I have long carried the weight of my duties alone — and changing this is no easy feat.”

Without a second thought, you grasp the handle of your parasol and extend it to shield him from the rain, sacrificing your own comfort for his. In doing so, you are left drenched, the cool droplets seeping through your garments. It is the first time in many months that you have afforded yourself the opportunity to truly study the smooth contours of his profile. His opalescent eyes, so often inscrutable, now glimmer with a mingling of hope — sending a sudden chill of the rain upon your skin that nearly causes you to shudder, and yet you endure it, thinking perhaps it would not be so terrible to experience what he does.

You offer a small, tentative smile. “No, it isn’t. But it is not impossible, either. You must allow yourself to be human, Neuvillette, with all the imperfections and vulnerabilities that come with it. This arrangement shall fail without your empathy.”

He immediately extends the parasol back toward you, the fleeting warmth an indulgence for only a millisecond before the chill breeze takes you in its clutches again.  “Madame, your clothes —”

“You sought out my company, so this is what you receive. Take it as a token of my gratitude, and nothing more — for I’d like us to be on good terms, given our ranking and status as of late,” you push the item in his hand away, obliging him to latch onto it like a lifeline before it blows into the pattern of the wind.

“And do not forget, we have a ball to attend to,” you add, albeit very plainly.

It is a warp of the way light catches on the fine lines of his face — you tell yourself — when his lips quirk into a fatigued smile. “I do not forget important things.”

a/n: hey... hi... do you guys even remember me ive been in hiding for so long I am so sorry school is horrible finals are horrible ive completed my FINAL official exam today but that doesn't mean I won't have any tests for the rest of the term I have left when I tell u I RUSHED to complete this .

taglist : @sek0ya, @souxiesun, @11111112222222sblog

[rubydubydoo122]

Jason gets de-aged because I've seen fics of Tim or Dick being de-aged, and Bruce losing his memory, but no one has realized the potential for angst if you de-age Jason.

Zatanna had something come up. So of all people she could have sent to replace her, she sent Constantine. Bruce really didn’t know if his luck could get any worse. At least 15 year old Jason liked his accent. 

Constantine was a really capable sorcerer, he was just really hard to work with. Worse than Hal Jordan. Though, if they wanted to get Jason back to normal, they would have to accept Constantine. 

“Hey, Batman! Go back down into the cave, and send Bruce up. I want him instead of Brood and Gloom.”

Bruce was suddenly brought back to the breakfast table. In all of his 41 years of living, he had never seen Alfred smile this big, “That’s my boy.”

Jason beamed at that.

Bruce’s phone pinged. He didn’t even have to look to know it was Dick sending him a ‘Rule #2’ . That’s all his messages with Dick consisted of. Mostly rule #2’s, some rule #3’s, and the occasional rule #1. All in all, Bruce was doing relatively good. He was definitely avoiding Jason more, but if he was around him too much, the only thought that started to fill his brain was his cooling body in his arms. So he toed the line. And he doesn’t think Jason noticed all that much, because whenever Bruce wasn’t with him, one of his children was.

“Constantine’s coming instead of Zatanna.” Bruce finally said, “I think I should be allowed to brood a little bit.”

“ Don’t get your knickers in a twist , old man.” Jason actually had a really good Liverpool British accent, “Mr. Constantine’s not that bad.”

“I just hate magic.” Bruce didn’t grumble. He was too old to grumble like a toddler.

Jason looked himself over and then put a hand to his chest in fake offense.

Bruce’s phone pinged again, “Dick, will you stop that!” 

But it wasn’t Dick, because Dick was holding a fork and knife in his hands and mid-bite.

Bruce dug out his phone.

“ Is the bloke with the sparkly fingas here? ”

That earned a snicker from Duke, Dick and Tim.

Bruce stood up at the same time Tim said, “I’ll give you five dollars if you say that to his face.”

“Oh! Abso–”

“..Lutely not, Jason. To the cave. Let's go.”

Jason slid out of his chair without noise and followed.

Constantine was already in the cave, and smoking a cigarette. 

“Hi, Mr. Constantine!” Jason practically glided down the stairs, as Bruce strode down at a normal pace.

“Hello there, Jason. I reckon you were a bit taller the last time I saw you. Bruce.”

“Constantine. I’m assuming Zatanna filled you in?”

“Yeah yeah yeah. I’m offended you didn’t call me first. I thought we were mates.”

Bruce just raised an eyebrow. Constantine squirmed a bit, and Jason shot Bruce a grin. A grin that was so reminiscent of the way Jason used to look at him after he cuffed a bad guy. Before Fellipe Garzona had fallen off that roof. Before Gloria Stanson had hung herself.

“Alrighty! Let's check out what kinda curse you’ve got going on. Brucie, would you mind taking a couple steps back, love?”

He did, and as soon as Bruce was out of range, Jason was surrounded in a dome of golden runes. Bruce didn’t miss the way Constantine frowned.

“What’s wrong?”

“The little birdie here has a lot of magic knotted all up together.” Constantine started searching through the runes, “Was it you or the Demon child that– Aha, knew it was you. Your soul’s got dimensional ripples.”

Jason frowned, “Heh?”

Bruce blinked, Dimensional ripples? Clark, Lois, and Jonathan had somehow been transported to this dimension before their souls had merged with their counterparts… who had died. Was that what happened with Jason? Maybe he should talk to Barry when all of this is over.

“And you’ve got some leftover Lazaru– Blimey! You have access to the All-Blade?”

Jason shrugged, “I don’t really like beyblades.”

“That’s not what the All-Blade is. It’s–” A set of runes began to glow, and the borderline fangirl look on Constantine’s face immediately dropped. “Jesus...”

“I have access to Jesus?” Jason touched his forehead, then his left shoulder and then his right, “Thank you, father, son, and the holy spirit. Amen.”

Bruce ignored Jason’s prayer, “What’s wrong?”

The dome of runes disappeared, “...I’ve got good news and bad news?”

He gave Constantine a look.

“Um, good news is, the spell looks like it’ll wear off on its own…” Constantine tried for a sheepish smile, but immediately dropped it, “bad news is, it isn’t supposed to? The magic is interacting with the dimensional ripples, and I can’t touch any of it because it’d be like…”

“Disarming a bomb?” Jason supplied. And Bruce had to suppress the urge to flinch at that analogy.

“Yes. Yes exactly, but one wrong move–”

“Boom.” He mimicked an explosion with his hands. ”But you said it’ll wear off on its own, so it’s fine. Right?”

Constantine winced and a ringing was starting to form in Bruce’s ears as he grabbed Constantine by the tie and started dragging him up the stairs.

“Stay here, Jason.”

“Bruce–”

“I said stay !” Jason flinched at his tone, but Bruce and Constantine were already in the study. “Explain.”

Constantine fixed his tie, “Whatever magic he got hit with didn’t just affect him physically, it also affected his soul. I think, if we’re going off of what happened to Clark and Lois, his soul merged together with his soul from an alternate dimension, causing it to be all… rippley. I can’t fully tell what it’s going to do, but in a couple of days, it looks like it’ll in about two or three days? There’s a 50/50 chance– or I guess, a 25/25/50 chance– that he’s going to either go back to normal, stay this way or…”

It was the 25th. two days from today would make it…

The 27th of April.

It suddenly felt like the ground underneath them was turning or tilting, or hell, both.

Bruce had gotten him back. He’d gotten him back, he can’t leave again. He can’t lose him again, he can’t die again.

Jason found it very rude that Bruce and Constantine were obviously leaving him out of the conversation about him. It completely baffles him how Bruce was raised by Alfred, yet had no manners. He wasn’t even subtle about it. 

Constantine said the spell would wear off. So why did he look like he was about to say something was wrong. Like really wrong. Sure, trying to tamper with whatever was going on would be… bad, but they weren’t gonna mess with it. They would just wait for it to wear off.

Would he physically go back to normal, but he would never remember the past five years? Or was he slowly going to become younger and younger until he was just a literal fetus flopping around on a table? 

Why won’t anyone tell him anything? It would be so much easier if they did. 

Jason eyed the Batcomputer and then the stairs. There was no one else here, no one to stop him from learning by himself.

He opened up the batcomputer, and the first thing he noticed was that everything was filed differently. Instead of being alphabetical, the missions were sorted into who had the mission and the date. For some reason, Jason’s folder had the least amount of missions under it, even though the folder itself was older than Duke’s. 

Still, he clicked on it, only to find that the oldest mission was less than a year ago. Not helpful.

Maybe if these were sorted recently, some of the older mission reports that he did with Bruce would be in Bruce’s folder.

Bruce’s most recent mission was called “Fun Sized Jason”. Guess that would be him. Jason clicked on it and… Bruce is a much sadder man than Jason had given him credit for. And Jason was currently upset at Bruce for snapping at him, and Bruce had obviously snapped because he was being broody. This man. Couldn’t even follow his own rules.

Rule #3 Don’t let Jason know something’s up between your relationship with him 

What was ‘up’ between him and Bruce? If anything, Bruce has been a lot more patient with him.

Unless Bruce was acting. And Bruce could act, Jason had seen him at Galas.

No. He couldn’t have been. Bruce had said he’d give him the world. And he said it in the way that made Jason know he was telling nothing but the truth. 

But that first night Bruce wouldn’t even look at him.

No. Bruce had to have been telling the truth.

But the longing and the guilt and regret… Maybe Jason had done something to Bruce, the same way he did something to Tim and Damian. Jason still didn’t know what exactly that was, just that he felt bad about it.

Jason exited out of that mission statement and started scrolling down to April of 2018. And there were a lot of cases. A part of Jason was glad they were re-organised by date because it would’ve taken a lot more work to try to figure out the name of the file, and then find the file.

Ethiopia: Sheila Haywood, the Joker, and Jason Todd – 4/24/2018- 4/27/2018

Bingo. The first date lined up with the last date in his notebook. He double clicked on it, when a locked symbol came up followed by a space for a password.

Great. Just perfect. 

He tried the password Bruce used on most things.

Wrong.

Bruce’s birthday?

Wrong again.

Jason’s Birthday. Since the file seemed to be about him.

Oh yeah! Who has the best guessing skills? Jason does. He did a little victory spin in the chair, but when he went to look back at the computer, there was a Tim shaped wall blocking his view.

He tried to look around him, but Tim shifted to block him again.

“Timmy, Timbooo, my favorite brother-o. You’re blocking my view, Hermano.”

Tim gave him a look that was scarily similar to Bruce’s bat-glare. 

Jason tried to look around him again, but suddenly, he was being tossed over Tim’s shoulder, and they were moving farther and farther from the computer.

“Hey! I was obviously in the middle of something!”

Tim snorted, as he started up the stairs. “I could bring up a spreadsheet of all the times you’ve done this to me. We’d be here for hours.”

Jason licked his finger and twisted so that he could stick it in his ear. Good news was, it made Tim let Jason go. Bad news was, it made Tim let Jason go, and sent Jason tumbling down the cave’s stairs.

“Jason!”

Lucky for Jason, he was a fast recoverer, and made an immediate beeline to the computer. 

After escaping Arkham Asylum, The Joker had made his way to Ethiopia. Jason had come across the information that Sheila Haywood was his birth mother. Haywood had been a doctor who was working at a refugee camp, also located in Ethiopia. Without my knowledge or Alfred’s, Jason traveled to meet up with his mother. 

Jason and I had managed to cross paths in Ethiopia, when we soon learned that Haywood was being held ‘hostage’ by the Joker. I went to go check on some other thing that had come up, and I had told Jason to stay put, but instead he had gone to attempt to save Haywood. Which led to Jason getting hurt by the Joker.

Jason started to scroll down more, the screen went black.

Tim was standing next to the outlet with the power cord in his hand.

Suddenly all the scars on his hand looked interesting, “Is.. Are most of my scars from the Joker?”

Jason heard Tim’s feet shuffle across the flood of the batcave, “I don’t think I’m the person you should be having this conversation with.”

“But it was bad enough to the point where I needed a Lazarus pit to get better. It was bad enough to the point where I had to stop being Robin.” Because why else would Tim start hanging around the manor when he was 13? Why else would Bruce adopt him? “And you were Robin after me?”

A beat, “Yes.”

He thought back to the conversation he had in the bathroom with Tim, “So, I didn’t grow out of being Robin. I was… forced into retirement. By the Joker.”

“That’s… the easy way of putting it.” Tim took one of Jason’s hands, “I want to show you something.”

They both went over to the locker area and Tim opened his locker and pulled out a shoe box from the top. “I guess since you knew I was a little stalker back in the day, there should be no reason for me to feel embarrassed for showing you these.” He moved to the bench and opened the lid. 

Inside the box were a bunch of photos of Batman and Robin. Of Bruce and Jason. Tim handed him a couple. The first one was of Jason when he had just become Robin. He was talking animatedly while walking with a teenage girl. He remembers that night.  Her name was Angela, and she had been followed for a couple of blocks by a bunch of older guys, and Jason couldn’t let her go home alone. Not with how cruel the streets could be. 

The next one was of Jason cradling a baby. The mom had been separated from the baby during an Ivy attack. 

The last one Tim had handed to him was of Batman and Robin in an Alley. They had just taken down a bunch of thugs, and Jason was talking with the two kids, Gavin and Evan, while Batman was farther off, with a fond smile on his face, looking at Jason. 

“Robin is the light to Batman’s darkness. Hope to his fear. Every Robin gave light, but out of all of us, you shined the brightest. You were the people’s Robin, you cared about them so much, like each and every one of them are your brothers and sisters.” Tim pointed at the picture in Jason’s hand, “Your light was so bright, you made Batman smile. And that isn’t the only picture I have like that.” He put his hand on Jason’s elbow, “I could never come close to the Robin you were, but I always tried. You were like the Sun. And I could never take your place. Not really, but I tried my best to do what I thought you would. To make you proud. Even though… you didn’t really like me when you found out.”

“No. I like you. It’s just…” Jason could feel his eyes burn, “If I got hurt, really bad, bad enough to the point where I couldn’t be Robin anymore, why would Bruce let there be another one? When- When it could happen again? Or even worse. ”

Tim closed his eyes, “When the Joker did what he did to you, it sent him down a dark path. He was barely holding back his punches and he was barely dodging them either. Batman needed a Robin and—“

“I wasn’t there.”

“No! Jason, it wasn’t your fault. You were going through some of the worst moments of your life, it wasn’t your job at that time to be Robin, or emotionally babysit Bruce while he fought crime to deal with his trauma.”

“But you were, what? 13 at the time with no legal obligations to him. It shouldn’t have been your job either.”

Tim blinked, “ah, fuck.” He sat criss cross on the bench and turned so he was fully facing Jason, “point is, it was just a bad time. Bruce kicked Dick out of the Manor, The Joker had diplomatic immunity, which still does not make sense to me, but then he was sent back to Arkham. Bane broke Bruce’s back, some psycho took over being Batman and would not let Dick and I in the cave, but then Bruce got better and became Batman again. Superman died, but then he came back. Then Bruce got framed for murder, and then the riddler and clayface teamed up with this whole convoluted plot which involved Clayface showing up as you and trying to kill us and Bruce probably needed therapy, but he was too much of a stubborn ass to ever actually go.” Tim finally took a breath. 

Jason blinked, “That’s a really rough five years.”

Tim groaned and leaned his head on Jason’s shoulder, “That was only two.” 

“Then it was probably a… shittier five years.” Jason patted his head, “Thanks, Tim.”

Tim glanced at Jason, “For what? I literally just trauma dumped on you.”

Jason shrugged, “Yeah, but you also gave me more information about what the hell is going on around here than anyone has in the past two days. Maybe a lot of the things that happened sound horrible, but it’s better than not knowing. Ya know?”

Jason felt Tim nod, “I’m sorry we’ve been keeping it all from you. It’s not something Bruce likes to talk about, and for Dick being the next adult who isn’t emotionally constipated, he evades certain topics like the plague.”

Jason snorted, “Wanna know something I’ve been completely baffled by?”

Tim sat up, “What?”

“Dick isn’t… wallowed up in angst. Him and Bruce haven’t had a single argument, and Dick…he’s a lot different. So is Bruce.” Jason thought about it for a moment, “Am I different too?”

Tim smirked and dug out his phone, “Mentally, Emotionally, or Physically?” Tim angled the phone so Jason could see, and it was a picture of a man, kneeling and talking to a little girl. There was a red helmet on the floor, but the man had a domino that covered his eyes. Tim swiped to the next one, of older Jason helping an old lady across the street. He swiped again to a photo of him holding Damian in a firefighter’s hold. “You might be a lot rougher around the edges, but everyone changes with time, especially with the things you’ve gone through. Yeah, you might be different, but I think you’re still the same in the ways that it counts.”

Jason looked at the photo. Without the domino, or the helmet he could really see how he had grown into his features, “I look a lot like my papi,” He looked back at Tim, and then pointed upwards to where Bruce had gone, “But I think I learned how to help from my dad.”

[rippi-17]

I have a cool saiki k fic idea, where it's a superpower world that has heroes and villains (non employed) that duke it out, but saiki is a phantom thief with pink all over. like phantom thief but fill color tool pink and some green for all his outfit.

Then have teruhashi be a heroine that tries to stop saiki using the power of being god's favourite being (aka plot armor, magical girl transformation, flashbacks give you power, etc).

Also all their identities are kept because they can't think that gloom boy saiki is the villain of japan

Now, take inspiration from I became the villain the hero is obsessed with, add my own writing and voila! peak fiction.

I WOULD write this, but i have 3 other WIPs that i want to write about.

[ao3feed-brucewayne]

Birth of the Bats

by The_duke_is_back Crime was rampant in Gotham. It had always been. For as long as they could remember, the city was a smog covered, crime ridden monstrosity. As though a never-ending cloud of gloom and despair sat heavy over the city, bringing the worst of humanity to it. A permanent cover of darkness and despair. A place for criminals to hide. A web long standing. As mad laughter cackled through the city, screams rising from almost every street, a creature long sentenced to darkness, Op e n e d i t s e y e s Words: 2528, Chapters: 1/10, Language: English Series: Part 1 of Eldritch Batman Fandoms: Batman - All Media Types Rating: Not Rated Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death Categories: Gen Characters: Bruce Wayne, Alfred Pennyworth, Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Tim Drake (DCU), Stephanie Brown, Cassandra Cain, Damian Wayne, Duke Thomas, Jim Gordon (DCU), Joker (DCU) Relationships: Dick Grayson & Bruce Wayne, Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne, Tim Drake & Bruce Wayne, Bruce Wayne & Damian Wayne, Alfred Pennyworth & Bruce Wayne, Stephanie Brown & Bruce Wayne, Cassandra Cain & Bruce Wayne, Batfamily Members & Bruce Wayne, Duke Thomas & Bruce Wayne Additional Tags: Eldritch Bruce Wayne, Cryptid Dick Grayson, Cryptid Jason Todd, Cryptid Tim Drake, Cryptid Stephanie Brown, Cryptid Cassandra Cain, Cryptid Damian Wayne, Cryptid Duke Thomas, Cryptid Batfamily (DCU), One-Sided Joker (DCU)/Bruce Wayne, Canonical Character Death, Resurrection, Resurrected Jason Todd, Jason Todd Kills Joker (DCU), death offscreen, Fairly graphic description of gore, Orphans galore, Can you tell which characters I like/know the best?, My First Work in This Fandom via https://ift.tt/7sORczH