#olde mill manor

[lunaeregnum]

[hellonew-yorkgirl]

8. "Kopflose Reiter" am Hudson und verträumte Kleinstädte in Connecticut

[julymusings]

Jason Todd x Single Mom!Reader

I've been plagued for many months now by the idea of jason todd x young single mom!reader. I literally made this blog this morning just to post this

this is so LONG try as i might to shorten it i've been itching to get all this out of me so enjoy this word vomit i might just make a full fic if i'm feeling extra frisky

You got pregnant in college, and now you’re fresh out of grad school moving to a new city with your 3 year old daughter

You got a job at Wayne Enterprises, leading an important new project. You and your colleagues are invited to the latest Wayne Gala, hosted at the billionaire’s own manor. All these years as a young mother and a student, you hadn’t any experience with such extravagance-- how could you say no?

the party lowkey sucks because it's all old rich people so you sneak out to a balcony where you find a young man drinking whiskey and texting on his phone.

he introduces himself as jason, and his hand is rough and calloused when you shake it, but it's warm and sends a tingle up your arm. (😏)

You chat about your work, he complains about the stuffiness of a life at Wayne Enterprises and you laugh when he warns you to get out while you can (he's joking, of course. not because he thinks it's worth staying but because if you leave he'd never be able to hear that adorable laugh again)

when you go off on a tangent about how excited you are for your project, he's not even listening anymore. the sheer passion that lights up your face has his mind going fuzzy and a full orchestra playing in the background

you're pulled back in before he can get your number :( he's so mopey all weekend he doesn't even have it in him to retaliate when damian makes fun of him for having pink pony club as his top song for this month :(

when you get home your email is flooded with warnings from other parents at your daughter's daycare about a lice scare?? okay, you think, she's definitely not going on monday, you can just bring her to work with you, right? what's the worst that could happen?

the following monday he just happens to show up at the office (He can't just stop by to say hi to his brother who he loves?) (tim calls security almost immediately)

you're not at your cubicle (in a meeting, your desk neighbor informs him) so he mills about the floor like a lost puppy just waiting for you to show up so he can "accidentally" run into you

the woman at the front desk has a chair pulled up next to hers where this little girl with pigtails is sitting, trying to console her as tears stream down her face

jason springs into action, kneeling in front of her chair to ask what's wrong

she just sniffles and holds up her stuffed animal, an elephant whose button eye has popped out, the woman watching her trying to get her to hand it over so she can sew it back on but she wont let go

he goes full grey's anatomy, fussing over the toy like it's in mortal peril and complimenting her for being so brave before gently asking if he can try to fix it

she lets him take it and he uses the woman's travel sewing kit to stitch it back on

she's ecstatic, leaping forward into his arms to give him a big hug

but now she won't let him leave because no he has to have a conversation with the elephant first and introduce himself and give it post-surgery care instructions and listen to it talk about how much she it wants a puppy and he feels like such an idiot talking to that thing but anything to make this little girl smile

she pulls a little picture book from the backpack hung on the back of her chair and asks him to read with her and he can't just say no!

so he plops down on the tile floor and starts reading out loud and even though she's standing next to him craning her neck to see the pictures he's a head taller than her

when you finish your meeting and head back to the front desk to thank gretchen for watching your kid the sight you see makes your heart absolutely melt

jason and your daughter are sitting criss-cross applesauce on the floor of Wayne Enterprises as he reads to her, and he's pulling out all the stops, he's doing voices, sound effects, and she's giggling so hard she can't sit up straight

but then they both finally notice you

"mommy!" she yells, running to you and wrapping herself around your leg

you're surprised to see him, but definitely not disappointed, and if what you just walked in on indicated anything, it was that you wanted, nay, needed this man

so now you're flushed and hopeful, mind running with possibilities of why he's here; could it be? he couldn't stop thinking about you either? he came all the way to ask you out?

but jason is also surprised, astounded even, by the miniature carbon copy clinging to your leg saying something about scooby snacks

he's freaking out on the inside

through a tight-lipped greeting he excuses himself with what he hopes is a neutral demeanor (spoiler alert: it's not) and goes home to think

and you obviously know exactly what that was about, one doesn't go through pregnancy at 19 without becoming well-acquainted with the whole catalogue of surprised/judgy reactions

of course you're a mess because the early/mid 20s dating scene is hard enough as it is but with a toddler? forget it, might as well just give up now

you go home to call your best friend and get drunk over face time while she assures you that men aint shit and offers to put a curse on him (you consider it, but how are you supposed to get a lock of his hair?)

he's up all night hating himself for being such an asshole and trying to come up with a scenario in which this works, in which he can have you in his life and also a child and be the red hood because he can't stop thinking about you

so then he just says fuck it and the next morning he shows up at your office with flowers and a puppy stuffed animal and finally asks you out

[queers-gambit]

You Might Think It's Foolish

prompt: meeting your boyfriend's family for the first time creates anxiety, so, you stick to his side. at dinner, his mother calls out your clinginess - and Aemond doesn't defend you. or when someone else calls you clingy and he doesn't defend you / agrees with them.

pairing: modern!Aemond Targaryen x female!reader

fandom masterlist: House of the Dragon

collection masterlist: Clingy Baby

word count: 3.1k+

warnings: short and to the point, angst, hurt and no comfort, drama, relationship angst, stand alone, cursing, toxic family, toxic relationship...? barely edited, author's tired of her drafts.

Fall. Autumn. A time of shedding the old and preparing for the new. Perhaps that was why this happened - the universe was trying to shed what was unwelcome in your life. Yet you wouldn't see it this way for several long months.

The trees grew over the winding backroads in a curved canopy; creating a golden tunnel for visitors to pass through on their way to remote destinations. You were no exception, cruising at a leisure speed while taking slow, deep breaths to attempt to soak in the beauty autumn in the Northern Hemisphere brought. It was impossible not to feel enraptured by the serenity of the country roads, music set so you could hear it but still have a conversation if you wanted.

Your passenger princess told you it was the next right.

"I can't believe we're late," you whispered, sighing in strained stress. "This is a horrible first impression, Aemond."

"We won't even be the latest," he smirked.

"Doesn't matter, it's still rude to show up when the party's already started."

"We were busy."

"You were getting a new tattoo," you deadpanned.

"Exactly as I said - busy. And you got your third ear piercing, so, I don't want t'hear it."

You swallowed, making the right turn. "That's the house?" You gawked.

"Mhm," he gazed out his window, "welcome to the Targaryen Manor, princess."

"I forget you're from old money," you muttered, finding a suitable parking space and pulling in. You gathered your belongings, including the flowers from the backseat you insisted on bringing for his mother, and vacate the car.

"You're gonna be fine," Aemond smirked, tossing his arm around your neck as you moved up the walkway. "Just be yourself, laugh at their jokes - you'll fit right in."

"I feel like I can't even afford to be here," you whispered, approaching the front door. He chuckled and took your hand, letting you squeeze it tight as he opened the door and lead you inward. "Jesus, Mary Mother, and Joseph," you gaped, eyes bugging wide as the interior.

The term "fancy" didn't even begin to cover it.

And Aemond just smirked at you, amused by your response; knowing your family grew up without money and the nicest thing you owned for years was a Wii that had been purchased from a family-friend for a third of the price. So to see you here, amongst luxury and money, was an absolute treasure to him.

However, that was short lived, because the next thing you noticed was the amount of people milling around. There was at least 13 different people in sight, and for some reason, you knew there was likely many, many more. Aemond lead you into the kitchen, and from there, you could barely keep up.

First, you met his mother, Alicent. She was a kind woman, but stoic and calculating; observant with a quick wit. She intimidated you, made you feel small, burned you under her stare; and since you were dating her favorite child, you knew she was scrutinizing you. You felt desperate for her approval, and when you offered her the large bouquet of flowers, she actually let her lips twitch in a small smile. She thanked your generosity and consideration, making you feel like you had some kind of breakthrough with her.

When Alicent went to put the flowers in water, Aemond assured he thought his mother "adored" you before introducing you to his father - the birthday boy. He was sweet; soft spoken and bright-eyed; all too happy to have a conversation with you. He asked how you and Aemond met, then what you were studying in university, if you liked it, what you wanted to do with your degree. He asked what food was your favorite, if you played sports, about your family, and if you had any hobbies. Viserys Targaryen had a kind soul, making you wonder how he and Alicent remained married.

Though they say opposites attract.

Aemond showed you around the house, stopping to introduce family members; then heading to the backyard where you were drug around to meet the hundred other family members. You were close to tears the whole time, knowing it was his father's birthday, but not knowing how bloody big his fucking family was - and that they'd all show up today. You felt blindsided, it felt like a deliberate withholding of information to convince you to come. You were under the impression it was a family dinner, but now, you understood, it was an actual celebration.

There was people everywhere you looked, everywhere you turned. Voices spoke over one another, children ran around playing tag or jumping on a trampoline; babies cried and screamed, the grill was loud with sizzling meats, and a radio played through intermittent static. Multiple dogs ran around, trailing mud everywhere, even going as far as to shake their coats out to shower bystanders. The smell of charcoal, smoke, and chlorine mingled with that tangy-good scent of BBQ; but it made your eyes sting.

It was a sensory overload.

It was a miracle you hadn't burst into tears yet, but you remained anchored to reality by maintaining a close proximity to Aemond.

You held his hand in a vice grip. You held his bicep with a curled-grip that left fingernail indentations in his skin through the fabric. You held his waist, belt loops, anything you could grab onto in a possessive grip. You constantly touched him to reassure yourself he was still with you; being your anchor to reality, tangible and real since your anxiety drowned you in a sea.

You didn't think it was an issue. Didn't think anyone would notice, so you obviously didn't think anyone would care if they DID notice. You liked touching Aemond, it kept you grounded; if someone had an issue with that, it was 100% just a personal problem. However, plenty of people did notice, and when you sat down for dinner, you were unprepared for the ambush.

Conversation was flowing; food passed around and utensils scraped plates. Drinks sweat into the table cloth, citronella candles twinkled, and laughter was in an abundance as each person found merriment in their family. You were feeling more relaxed, but the truth was, there was so many people here that you felt nauseous enough to only take a few small bites from your plate.

Aemond noticed and met your eyes, subtly opening his hand to you in an offer for comfort. You all but snatched his hand into yours, smiling in thanks as he only smirked broadly and continued eating. You tried to sample what you could, but it was impossible to stomach much of anything. You reached for your water, took a sip, and heard Alicent question your name.

When she had your attention, Alicent asked, "Have you had many boyfriends, dear?"

"Oh, no," you answered honestly, "no, I've gone on dates but Aemond's," you laid your free hand to his bicep, sliding down to take his hand with yours, "my first boyfriend."

She hummed and stabbed her fork into the salad set in front of her, muttering in a lower tone, "Then I guess I can overlook it all."

You cocked your head, setting your glass down, wondering, "Overlook what?"

"The clinginess," she shrugged, reaching for her wine glass. "You've been stuck to his side all day - never even parting to go to the restroom, it seems. So, because he's your first, I can overlook all this... For now."

Your head began to spin like in a bad cartoon. You felt your heart cement and drop to your stomach; throat swelling to suppress either sobs, vomit, or both. The entire table was quiet. "I-I'm sorry, Mrs. Targaryen," you offered in confusion. "I'm sorry if I've offended you, but it's not with malicious intent."

"No?" She mocked.

"No," your head shook vehemently. "I did not realize my actions could be interpreted negatively, and I assume you, it was not my intention to create tension."

"Oh, spare me. You haven't let go of Aemond once all night, and even now, as we all sit for family dinner, you hold his hand hostage; preventing you both from eating. Don't you think he'd like to spend time with his family without needing to make you feel included in every single thing he does or says today?"

You gulped, "I did not mean to offend you nor your family."

"It's not offensive," Helaena Targaryen, Aemond's only sister, tried to intervene. "If you feel uncomfortable in any situation, why not seek out that in which you already know helps comfort you?"

How had it come to this?

"I am not offended," Viserys croaked, "I find young love refreshing."

But this made Alicent rage, "It is offensive when you prevent Aemond from actually visiting with his family. It's his father's birthday for God's sake! We don't have an infinite number of them left! If you want to hang all over him when you're at university, fine, but when you're here? In public? Around family or elders? It's not acceptable behavior, especially when you prevent my son from participating as a member of this family."

Your mouth went dry as you remembered your parents did not raise you to ever tolerate disrespect. If someone offered insult, sure, walk away, but they also taught you to stand up for yourself in particular fights. This felt like one of those fights.

There were also vivid memories long since repressed that flashed you back to your own parents telling you, you were clingy. They didn't want you hanging off them, distracting anyone, being an overall nuisance; so they started fighting your fire with their own. They became verbally aggressive, constantly ridiculing and belittling you; attempting to keep you humble by insulting your character - saying nobody (be it man or woman) would want someone like you. Your baggage was too heavy and you knew it, your parents telling you it was why you felt the need to cling in the first place.

If you held on tight enough, the weight of your trauma would eventually anchor your person in place. It'd be too late to swim away once that anchor sunk.

You looked at Aemond, thinking he'd tell his mother to quiet down, but he never did. He just stared at the table, so, you tossed his hand into his lap - feeling disgusting by his physical touch right now.

It was evident he wasn't going to defend you, so, you defended yourself, "I know you might think it foolish, but the reason I was 'all over' your son was because I was caught off-guard by the number of family members who attended today. I was lead to believe this would be a small, intimate affair so I could properly meet his nuclear family, and when I realized that was not the case, yes, I held onto Aemond because I felt incredibly anxious. I cannot control what makes me uncomfortable, but I was expecting under ten people - not close to a hundred. So, truly, if me seeking solace with my boyfriend upsets you, I am sorry, but I will not apologize for feeling blindsided and misdirected - I will not apologize for feeling anxious and nervous amongst such a large family that I've never met before, and - "

Aemond snapped your name, silencing you instantly out of sheer shock; your eyes widening a fraction. He growled, "That's enough, do not speak to my mother like that."

"So, she's allowed to call me clingy, but I can't - "

"I told you to watch your mouth," he seethed, "and not speak to her like you just were. She made an observation - an accurate one - not out of spite, like you want to do in retaliation."

You scoffed, while glancing between mother and son, nodding slowly. You mutely used your cloth napkin to blot around your lips, swipe your tongue over your teeth as you pushed your chair back and slowly stood. "You know what? I don't need this shit. I refuse to sit here and let you speak to me as if you're holier than thou," you told Alicent, then looking to Aemond, "nor will some mama's boy gaslight me."

Helaena giggled behind her hand as you swiped your purse and phone, turned on your heel, and walked away. Aemond sighed and called your name, standing from his own chair, still trying to slow you down by calling out to you. "Aemond," Alicent snapped when he meant to move after you.

"You've done enough," he told her, jogging after your retreating form while calling your name.

"Nice one, Mum," Aegon scoffed. "That's one way to make sure he doesn't knock her up - just break them up."

"Aegon," Daeron groaned.

"What? Isn't that what she was afraid of? Aemond getting too serious with her?" Aegon snapped. "He's finally happy, and you what? Had to implode that?"

Aegon's words sunk into his mother's heart as Aemond rushed after you, nobody untouched by the things he said.

Outside, you rushed for your car while fumbling with your purse and keys. Aemond followed, still. He finally caught up when you made it to the car, his hand whipping you around to face him.

"I didn't fucking mean it," he rushed, holding you securely in his grasp. "Hear me? I didn't fucking mean it, I-I just wanted the arguing to stop, I know how Mum can get and I didn't want it to escalate. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, my love, I didn't mean it at you - I just - I panicked - I don't know why. Perhaps we're both still very green to this whole relationship thing."

"Oh! Fuck you," you snapped, pushing him off you.

"Listen to me - "

"No, you're done talking," you raged with your manicured pointer finger jabbing the air between you in a dramatic fashion. "Your mother fully insulted me in front of everyone - your entire family, whom I wasn't even aware I was meeting, nor was I even ready to meet!"

"What?"

"I was willing to meet your parents and siblings. Not your entire extended family! You meet the nuclear family first and when ready to level-up, you bring your significant other around your aunties, uncles, cousins - whatever. You ambushed me," you snapped. "You totally caught me off guard - but instead of apologizing and acknowledging my discomfort, you just carried on on your high horse. You let me hold onto you - yet there was no word about being clingy - and you even reached for my hand a few times! Yet I was the one being slandered and labeled as 'clingy'!? But you know what? That's cool, really fucking cool, that's fine. Like I said before, fuck off. I don't need to be with someone who crumples like a wet piece of paper when Mummy Dearest starts to huff and puff. I need someone who's going to tell their mother to cut it out when they're trying to wrongfully insult me - your girlfriend. Better yet? I need to be with someone whose mother doesn't start on that bullshit! That has respect! Decency! Now get the fuck away from me!"

You shoved him back a few steps to give room for you to open your car door and get in - immediately hitting the automatic locks. You started the engine, put your seatbelt on, took one last look at your first love as he tried to plea with you through the rolled up window, then shifted into gear and pulled away.

You felt your anger boil to a new height when you replayed the entire day. How dare Aemond? How dare he try to manipulate this situation? He had no right to ask you to shut the fuck up while his mother was free to run her mouth! Well, first and foremost, how fucking dare Alicent insult and challenge you in such a public setting? How in the Seven Hells had Helaena been the only one to defend you? What the hell did you even need defending against? Why did you showing affection and needing reliable support upset Alicent that much?

Your phone began to ring, and when you glanced at it, you saw Aemond's contact photo displayed on the screen. You ignored it and put your phone on airplane mode, leaving it on for now. However, after a few long moments of stressful thinking, you turned the setting off and called your sister - knowing no matter what, she'd be your rock. When she answered, you told her a simplified version of events, and at the end, your tears had been triggered and she was encouraging you to come over to her house.

You agreed, shut your phone off this time, and drove to your sister's place. When you arrived, you were shocked to find her waiting in the driveway, opening her arms with a pout when you got out of the car. "C'mere," she cooed, enveloping you in her arms when you stepped into her embrace.

"Why do boys suck?" You whimpered.

"Because that's just how they were programed," she sighed.

"Sh-She called me clingy," you managed through your tears, "his mom called me clingy, a-and Aemond d-didn't defend me. So, when I had to defend myself, he just told me to be quiet 'cause his mother wasn't wrong - or what-the-fuck-ever."

"I know, honey," she sympathized, giving you a squeeze. "What're you thinking?"

"That I can't trust someone like that," you admitted. "And if I can't trust them, why be in a relationship?"

She nodded, "I think you know what you need to do next."

"I don't want to."

"Nobody really wants to, but it's necessary," she held your phone out for you after pulling it from your back pocket. "Don't let him or his mother disrespect you - especially in front of his other family members. I mean, shit, how're you supposed to face any of them again after that?"

"Exactly, his mom didn't exactly do it in private..."

"See?" She stared at you while you sighed, shaking your head. Your sister encouraged, "Make the call. This isn't a sustainable relationship, and Aemond shouldn't have to choose his mother and his girl - so, let's just make it easy on him, and you choose. Wanna be with someone who lets his mother say shit like that to you? Who tells you to be quiet, instead of shutting down his mother's insults?"

You frowned, whispering, "I don't think this is enough to break us up. It shouldn't be, right? This shouldn't be the end-all, be-all, should it?"

"No, honey, but the disrespect cannot stand, either," she shot back. "If he felt so comfortable to say that in front of his family like that, you don't wanna know what he's gonna get comfortable doing in more private settings." Tears filled your eyes as she reminded gently, but firmly, "Make the call."

requesting rules and masterlist

HOTD masterlist

Clingy Baby masterlist

[irisintheafterglow]

No Prey, No Pay (opla!zoro x you)

summary: after steering him to a successful bounty, zoro can't stop thinking about you. he decides to do something about it. (Part 2 to Parley)

wc: 1.67k

cw/tags: domestic zoro crumbs, idiots in love but they don't know how to express it, canon-typical violence, zoro is so himbo i love him

note: thank you for all the love on my first two zoro posts!!!! i'm so so so happy y'all liked them; this is one of the first times in a while i've actually been super giddy writing a character. i really hope he's not too ooc, i tried to keep his himbo-ness intact. hope you enjoy!!!

likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated <3

“Here to try killing me again?”

“Oh,” is all he can sputter out, frozen on the doorstep of the Lady’s manor. The stout, shriveled old woman before him was not who he was looking for. To make matters worse, the flower he’d picked from the hillside on his way up the driveway suddenly seemed like a gargantuan beanstock in his fingers. His face was warming but, for the life of him, he could not figure out why. “You’re not–”

“Nope. They’re in the Farmers’ Market,” she deadpans without hesitation, eyeing him with all the amusement of a PhD candidate reading a children’s book. “The Farmers’ Market I created, by the way.” 

“Right,” he replies shortly, turning abruptly on his heel and letting his eyes widen in pure horror when she can’t see his face. He tosses the flower into a nearby planter, well aware that she can still see his every move. After several misguided attempts to navigate back to your isolated piece of land in the East Blue, he approached the ornately decorated door with a little more excitement than he expected. Having the Lady whom he’d tried to kill a few weeks prior be the one to open the door was another funny twist of irony that caused him an odd feeling of embarrassment, like he’d dropped you off after a date ten minutes past your curfew. “Thank you for your time.” 

“Tell me, pirate hunter,” she called to his back patronizingly. “Why grace us again with your oh-so-menacing presence?” 

“I’m wondering the exact same thing,” he mutters, irritated at his failed attempt to find you on the first try. 

“When you find them, tell them to pick up more sweet potatoes. I thought we had enough for dinner, but we could use a few more now that you’re here,” the Lady instructs him and her words take a few seconds to register in his mind. But, by the time he’s turned around to ask her what she meant, the door is already shut and he’s too proud to knock again. 

As if the mortification on your porch wasn’t enough, it’s nearly impossible to find you in the milling swarms of people in town. The people part naturally for him as he passes, sneaking anxious glances at the three swords on his hip. Whispers of his occupation and intentions float around his ears but he pays them no mind, determined to spot you. Again, he wasn’t sure what he was doing there in the first place; but, no matter what anyone else said, he did know one thing. By some unexpected turn of Fate, he missed you. 

“Shopping for produce while you hunt? I didn’t know you could multitask.” The teasing lilt of your voice appears behind him and he can’t help smirking. You’d found him before he found you, even though it was his job to find people. “Word to the wise: the vendors will upcharge you because they know you’re not from the island.” 

“What if you’re there with me?” When he finally turns to face you, his eyes flick to the canvas bag slung over your shoulder. It’s stuffed with fruits and vegetables, along with a jar of honey from the beekeeper just up the road from your house. 

“They’ll upcharge you more and insist you pay for my stuff,” you reply nonchalantly. “Now that I think of it, maybe we should walk around together.” You brush past him and re-enter the bustling square like he was the last thing on your mind, when really he was the only thing for the past week. You’re certain he’d follow behind you and your theory is confirmed when his voice comes from over your right shoulder. “It’s good to see you.”

“You’re wearing the bracelet,” he observes, easily slipping into place next to you as if it was natural to be by your side. With the sword-clad bounty hunter next to you, it was much easier to navigate the market without bumping every resident of the island. 

“Mhmm, I told you I liked it,” you say absentmindedly, stopping at a stand and picking up a vibrantly colored fruit from the stack. Observing it for bruises and finding none, you signal the seller that you’d like to buy the piece in your hand. His farm-worn hand stretches out to you and you fish around in your bag briefly for coins. But, before you can place the money in his hand, Zoro’s fingers are already dropping an unnecessarily large quantity into the shocked farmer’s palm. You gape at him and his unchangingly blank expression, shaking your head in disbelief when he glances at you, eyes shining arrogantly. “Where’d you get all that money and why did you do that?” 

“Bounties,” he answers plainly, “and ‘cause I wanted to. Next stand?” You’re still slightly frozen from pure surprise, but he shrugs carefreely and tilts his head toward the rest of the vendors.

“Feel like enlightening me on why you’re here again?” It’s the fourth or fifth stand he’s accompanied you to and, at this point, you were just window-shopping. Since he joined you on your errand, you hadn’t spent any more money; before you could pay any of the sellers, they were already thanking you profusely for your generosity with a pile of shining coins in their hands. Zoro proved to be a very patient companion, respectfully giving his opinions on which piece of produce looked bigger or more appetizing. With most of the required items on your shopping list successfully in your bag, you find yourself drifting over to the stalls of mundane things like pretty flowers and colorful crystals. 

“There’s a Marine defector turned intelligence smuggler hiding somewhere in the area. Thought I’d knock out two birds with one stone.” You turn over a piece of aventurine in your fingers, admiring it from different angles in the sunlight. Your breath hitches slightly when Zoro’s face dips down next to yours, watching the crystal from the same angle. 

“What’s the other bird?” You glance at him from the corner of your eye. 

“Visiting you,” he replies without hesitation, plucking the crystal from your fingers and tossing more coins at the vendor. You don’t stop the laugh that escapes your mouth and you swear his smirk gets more self-assured as he drops the rock into your bag. At a point when you aren’t looking, he swings your bag onto a broad shoulder as easily as if it was a piece of paper. “Also, we need sweet potatoes.” Your eyebrows raise in amusement at his slip. 

“We?” You have to fight down another giggle when his face becomes slightly pinker, imperceptible if you weren’t already staring at him. “Since when were we anything?”

“Your boss said she needed more sweet potatoes. Don’t shoot the messenger.” 

“I wasn’t aware that you went to go see her.”

“I wasn’t either, and then she opened the door instead of you,” he admits and you chuckle at his expression of distaste. “If it were up to me, I wouldn’t have–get behind me.” Before he can finish his thought, his arm shoots out in front of you, effectively halting you a split second before a knife darts across your vision, embedding itself into the wooden post next to you. The surrounding market-goers break into chaotic panic and you have no choice but to press your back against Zoro’s to prevent getting swept away. Emerging from the crowd, a lethal-looking group of fighters encircle you two and your hand finds the hilt of your saber. 

“Pirates?”

“No. Bounty hunters.”

“Friends of yours?” You eye the group warily as the marketplace empties, people running into the nearest building they could find to spectate the upcoming battle. 

“I’d call them ‘occupational competition’ on a good day.”

“Ah, great,” you huff sarcastically. “What’d you do to piss them off?”

“Exist,” he deadpans and you hum in assent. 

“Yeah, that’ll do it,” you mutter and you start to pull your blade from its sheath, anticipating the fight ahead of you.

“Don’t.” The single word halts your movements and your stomach drops in fear of what he’s sensing.

“What?”

“Let me handle this,” he says in a low tone that makes your skin break into goosebumps. “Can you hold the bag while I deal with them?”

“You sure?”

“Yep. This won’t take long,” he says irritatedly, scowling at the rival hunters that interrupted his day.

“Alright. I’m gonna go get sweet potatoes, then.”

“Third one down on the left. I’ll meet you over there,” he promises before moving faster than you can comprehend, whirling and downing the two attackers in front of you without even drawing his swords. They howl in pain when you stab your blade into their feet for good measure before leisurely making your way further down the street. As you walk, Zoro clears the path for you, mercilessly incapacitating every enemy with ease. By the time you find the sweet potato stall, there’s only one persistent fighter still giving the swordsman problems. You don’t feel any ounce of fear, however, as you pick through the salvageable gourds while the clashing of swords rings out behind you. Eventually, the street quiets and Zoro returns to your side as if nothing happened at all. “Good?”

“I’m fine,” you say truthfully, running your thumb over the bruise of an otherwise good potato. “You think this one’s still okay?” After peering at it and deeming it safe, he nods.  

“Yeah, it should be fine. If anything, you can just cut off the ugly spot.” There’s a splattering of red just under his eye when you meet his gaze. Your fingers unconsciously come up to wipe the speck of blood from his cheek and his skin feels just as electric as the first time you touched him. 

“Cool. I’m done shopping then, so we can go back home.”

“We?”

“You’re staying for dinner. It isn’t a request,” you command lightheartedly and smile when his steps fall into line next to yours. 

“Mmm, I can’t wait.”

if you enjoy my writing and would like to support me, you can buy me a coffee on my ko-fi! you can also check out my full masterlist here :)

[sassenach77yle]

||COUNTDOWN ||SEASON 1 EPISODE 12 || LALLYBROCH ||

#83daysofoutlander☆

Broch Tuarach means “the north-facing tower.”

From the side of the mountain above, the broch that gave the small estate its name was no more than another mound of rocks, much like those that lay at the foot of the hills we had been traveling through. We came down through a narrow, rocky gap between two crags, leading the horse between boulders. Then the going was easier, the land sloping more gently down through the fields and scattered cottages, until at last we struck a small winding road that led to the house. It was larger than I had expected; a handsome three-story manor of harled white stone, windows outlined in the natural grey stone, a high slate roof with multiple chimneys, and several smaller whitewashed buildings clustered about it, like chicks about a hen. The old stone broch, situated on a small rise to the rear of the house, rose sixty feet above the ground, cone-topped like a witch’s hat, girdled with three rows of tiny arrow-slits. As we drew near, there was a sudden terrible racket from the direction of the outbuildings, and Donas shied and reared. No horseman, I promptly fell off, landing ignominiously in the dusty road. With an eye for the relative importance of things, Jamie leapt for the plunging horse’s bridle, leaving me to fend for myself. The dogs were almost upon me, baying and growling, by the time I found my feet. To my panicked eyes, there seemed to be at least a dozen of them, all with teeth bared and wicked. There was a shout from Jamie. “Bran! Luke! Sheas!” The dogs skidded to a halt within a few feet of me, confused. They milled, growling uncertainly, until he spoke again. “Sheas, mo maise! Stand, ye wee heathen!” They did, and the largest dog’s tail began gradually to wag, once, and then twice, questioningly. “Claire. Come take the horse. He’ll not let them close, and it’s me they want. Walk slowly; they’ll no harm ye.” He spoke casually, not to alarm either horse or dogs further. I was not so sanguine, but edged carefully toward him. Donas jerked his head and rolled his eyes as I took the bridle, but I was in no mood to put up with tantrums, and I yanked the rein firmly down and grabbed the headstall.

The thick velvet lips writhed back from his teeth, but I jerked harder. I put my face close to the big glaring golden eye and glared back. “Don’t try it!” I warned, “or you’ll end up as dogsmeat, and I won’t lift a hand to save you!” Jamie meanwhile was slowly walking toward the dogs, one hand held out fistlike toward them. What had seemed a large pack was only four dogs: a small brownish rat-terrier, two ruffed and spotted shepherds, and a huge black and tan monster that could have stood in for the Hound of the Baskervilles with no questions asked. This slavering creature stretched out a neck thicker than my waist and sniffed gently at the proffered knuckles. A tail like a ship’s cable beat back and forth with increasing fervor. Then it flung back its enormous head, baying with joy, and leaped on its master, knocking him flat in the road.

“‘In which Odysseus returns from the Trojan War and is recognized by his faithful hound,’ ”

I remarked to Donas, who snorted briefly, giving his opinion either of Homer, or of the undignified display of emotion going on in the roadway. Jamie, laughing, was ruffling the fur and pulling the ears of the dogs, who were all trying to lick his face at once. Finally he beat them back sufficiently to rise, keeping his feet with difficulty against their ecstatic demonstrations. “Well, someone’s glad to see me, at any rate,” he said, grinning, as he patted the beast’s head. “That’s Luke—” he pointed to the terrier, “and Elphin and Mars. Brothers, they are, and bonny sheep-dogs. And this,” he laid an affectionate hand on the enormous black head, which slobbered in appreciation, “is Bran.” “I’ll take your word for it,” I said, cautiously extending a knuckle to be sniffed. “What is he?” “A staghound.” He scratched the pricked ears, quoting“Thus Fingal chose his hounds:Eye like sloe, ear like leaf,Chest like horse, hough like sickleAnd the tail joint far from the head.” “If those are the qualifications, then you’re right,” I said, inspecting Bran. “If his tail joint were any further from his head, you could ride him.” “I used to, when I was small—not Bran, I don’t mean, but his grandfather, Nairn.” He gave the hound a final pat and straightened, gazing toward the house. He took the restive Donas’s bridle and turned him downhill. “In which Odysseus returns to his home, disguised as a beggar,…” he quoted in Greek, having picked up my earlier remark. “And now,” he said, straightening his collar with some grimness, “I suppose it’s time to go and deal with Penelope and her suitors.” When we reached the double doors, the dogs panting at our heels, Jamie hesitated.

“Should we knock?” I asked, a bit nervous. He looked at me in astonishment. “It’s my home,” he said, and pushed the door open.

26THE LAIRD’S RETURN ~ OUTLANDER

[dccomicsimagines]

Bruce’s Birthday - Batfamily Imagine

Requested by Anon - Can I get a birthday with Bruce and the batsibling!reader? Batkids mayhem please

***

Cass peered down at Bruce from her place in the rafters. Below was the Gotham Children’s Charity gala. People in fancy, flashy clothes, milling around. She heard the annoying murmurs of gossip and fake personas. 

Bruce’s shoulders held an unfamiliar tension. She tilted her head. His lips pressed together as he made small talk with a few businessmen. She swore she saw a sadness that felt unknown to her. 

“Cass, you promised you wouldn’t hide up here,” Tim said. He juggled a plate of food in one hand as he shuffled on the rafter to her side. Cass took the plate and helped herself to some baked brie.  

“Watching.” She looked back at Bruce who was now moving through the crowd toward Selina, who had just entered in a sparkly red dress. Cass smiled, noting Bruce seemed happier, but the sadness was still there. Hidden, but barely.

“Yeah, it’s quite a bore this year.” Tim swung his legs as he settled down beside her. He took a grape from the plate. “I wondered if we should have set up Two Face to rob the place or something?”

Cass looked at Tim, narrowing her eyes. “Bad joke.” She turned back to Bruce to find him whispering in Selina’s ear. “Bruce is sad.”

Tim followed her gaze. He raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

“He’s sad. He hides it, but it’s stays.” Cass gave Tim the plate and wrapped her arms around herself. The simple black dress was comfortable, but she missed her pajamas. After discovering how comfortable they were, she would only change out of them after being bribed with the promise of more cozy pjs. She was on her twelfth set now.

“Well, his birthday is coming up. He always gets sad around this time. It’s probably because of (Y/N).” Tim took a bite of the baked brie, groaning at the taste. 

"(Y/N)?" Cass blinked. She remembered Alfred and Dick mentioning you in stories about Dick’s early Robin days. You were Bruce's oldest child. Apparently, you haven't been home in almost seven years.

"Yeah, they used to make a big deal out of it." Tim chuckled. "Dick told me about it. I wanted to try to do what they did, but...I think it will just make him sad that they won't come home."

"Why?" Cass studied Tim, noting how he wouldn't look her in the eye.

Tim pursed his lips. "I don't know why actually. Dick won't talk about it, neither will Alfred. Must have been a big deal though."

Cass looked back at Bruce. He was staring at the far wall, not really seeing anything. She tapped her chin as an idea slowly began to form in her head.

***

Dick was just settling down on his couch with a bowl of popcorn in hand and Barbara next to him when Cass suddenly climbed out from under the coffee table. He almost spilled the popcorn, but Barbara caught it.

"I knew she was there," Barbara laughed, reaching up to close Dick's jaw. She offered popcorn to Cass.

Cass' eyes brightened as she helped herself and sat cross-legged on the coffee table. "Thank you."

Dick's heart calmed. He chuckled to himself. "What brings you here, Cassie? You don't normally come to Bludhaven unannounced?"

Cass tilted her head, studying Dick with a carefulness that made his hair stand on end. "Bruce’s birthday."

"Yes, it’s next Sunday." Barbara sighed, muting the TV when a loud commercial started to play. "Do you need help finding something for Bruce?"

Cass nodded. She suddenly stood up and walked over to the wall. Dick leaned over, frowning slightly when she picked up the picture of you, him, and Bruce. It had been taken a year after Dick arrived in the manor. The three of you were in Alfred's garden, helping him tend it as punishment for breaking yet another vase.

"That's an old picture," Dick said after Cass held it out to him. "I think Bruce probably has that one."

Cass shook her head and pointed to you. You were so young, so bright eyed. Dick missed you so much that his heart shattered into pieces.

"That's (Y/N). You know about them, Cass," Barbara said after Dick couldn't get himself to speak.

"Bruce is sad. Misses (Y/N)." Cass pointed at you again. "We find (Y/N)."

"No, we can't do that. (Y/N) doesn't want to talk to Bruce." Dick swallowed past the lump in his throat.

Barbara eyed Dick curiously. "So you know where they are?"

Dick's eyes widened. He suddenly realized he might as well be in a viper's den. Cass leaned closer, narrowing her eyes.

"Fine, I do. (Y/N) didn't cut me out of their life. Jay probably knows too. I made sure to reintroduce him once he...got better." The blood ran out of Dick’s face as he found his phone was suddenly in Cass's hands.

"Cass, no." Barbara held her hand out for the phone. "I love you want to help Bruce, but what happened between (Y/N) and Bruce is between them."

Cass shook her head. "How long will they hurt each other?" She looked at Dick's phone before carefully handing it to Barbara.

Dick frowned. He wondered if maybe he should intervene? Seven years had been long enough. Eventually it would be too late for you and Bruce.

He tucked his phone back in his pocket. Now wasn’t the time to revisit the past. He wrapped his arm around Barbara’s shoulders.

“Cass, you aren’t staying?” Barbara asked. Dick blinked, finding Cass by the window.

“No, enjoy your night.” She opened it swiftly and leaped out into the night. Dick hummed, turning to share a look with Barbara.

“I should be worried, shouldn’t I?” Dick bit his lip when Barbara shrugged. 

“Everything will be fine. Now Hunk-Wonder, start the movie.” She leaned forward, kissing him. All thoughts of you and Cass left his mind.

***

You paced your office at the D.E.O. “I don’t care what you have to do. Kill the project. We don’t mess with Gotham,” you snapped into your phone. The agent on the other end stammered. “No, cut it off now or I’ll be down there and you don’t want me down there.”

The agent sighed. “Yes, chief.” You hung up the phone, slamming it on your desk. Taking a deep breath, you tried to calm down. 

“Fuck me.” You collapsed in your office chair and spun around to look out your window. It was the Gotham skyline. You snorted. It was missing the smog. Mister Bones thought it was funny to give you a Gotham projection on your fake window. You might have to slip him another exploding cigar again.

Your heart panged, but you pushed it away and turned back to your desk. There were files to look through, memos to send, mission to approve. You rubbed your eyes, wishing you could go home to your apartment. Maybe call the number that person in the bar gave you last weekend? 

However, you shook your head and opened the first file. In the corner of your eye, you noticed the date. A lump formed in your throat, but you swallowed past it and focused on the task at hand.

***

The manor library was quiet. Cass’ eyes were on the door as it swung open and Tim walked in. He was consumed by his tablet.

“Tim,” Cass said as she dropped down from the top shelf of the bookshelf and landed silently behind him. 

Tim flinched, almost dropping his tablet. “Geez, Cass.” He let out a shaky breath, pressing a hand against his chest. 

“Bruce’s birthday is in three days.” She held up three fingers. “We need to get (Y/N) here.”

“You’re still on that, huh?” Tim ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t know. It’s not a matter we should meddle with. Have you talked to Dick?”

Cass nodded. “He will not help, but I got their number.” She tapped her temple. “We find (Y/N) and bring them here. For Bruce.”

Tim pursed his lips. “Like kidnap them? (Y/N) was pretty much a badass. Even if we get them here, then what?” He reached out and put a hand on Cass’ shoulder. “We can’t make them get along. Do you even know why they fought?”

“No, but it doesn’t matter.” Cass brushed Tim away. “Time is short, life is short. We make this happen because we are family.”

A big sigh escaped Tim. Cass smiled, knowing she won. “Okay, okay. I’ll help, but this was your idea. If this blows up, it’s all your fault,” Tim said, handing Cass his tablet. “Type in their number, let’s see what we can find.”

Cass wanted to dance. She knew this would a birthday Bruce would never forget.

***

You knew something was wrong from the moment you stepped into your apartment. Carefully setting down your keys and bag of takeout on the side table, you pulled out your collapsed baton and flipped it to it’s full length. 

A breeze blew through the window. You raised an eyebrow. “Dick? Jason?” You called, turning the corner to your kitchen quickly only to find no one there. Goosebumps rose on your skin as you heard a creak down in your bedroom. 

You moved silently down the hall. A sharp breath gasped behind you. You spun, aiming the baton to hit the person in the face. “Ouch, my nose,” a boy in a Robin suit said, stumbling back and holding his face.

“Why the fuck are you in my house?” You kicked his feet out from under him and held him down with a foot on his throat. He was young, dark hair. Standard Robin. Racking your brain, you tried to remember what his name was. Dick mentioned him once or twice. “Tim, right?”

“Yeah, nice to meet you.” He gripped your ankle. “Can you get off?”

“You didn’t answer my question.” A soft almost silent thump came from behind you. You raised your hand and caught a fist that shot out of the darkness next to you. “Batgirl?”

“Yes.” She stepped out into the light. You took in her in. She was little, but strong. Her face hidden by her mask completely. “We’re here because of Bruce.”

Your heart skipped a beat. You removed your foot from Tim’s neck and stepped back to eye the new Batgirl. What was her name? Jason mentioned she was the daughter of David Cain. Trained to be the ultimate living weapon, but she chose her own path. Cass? That was what he called her?

She helped Tim up. You threw him a box of tissues for his nose. “What does D...Bruce want?” Your gut twisted at the slip. You made yourself stop calling him Dad years ago. It made it less painful.

“Bruce is sick,” Cass said, tilting her head. The look that Tim gave her left you doubting it. 

“And that has to do with me because?” You turned your back on them and went to grab your food by the door. The two followed you to the kitchen as you got out a plate. After a moment, you grabbed two more. 

“He misses you,” Tim said. His nose made him sound stuffed up. You took out an ice pack from your freezer and handed it to him. He gave you a bloody smile, pressing it to his face. 

“Right.” You opened containers, splitting food among the three plates. Luckily, you always bought more than you could eat. Leftovers were must with the D.E.O demanding schedule.

“He does.” Cass took a seat, pulling off her mask. You paused, noting she looked very much like Lady Shiva. Now it all made sense. “You need to come to him.”

You set plates in front of them. “How did you even find out where I live? Or anything about me for that matter?”

Tim and Cass shared a look. 

“I’m going to kill Dick,” you muttered under your breath. “What do you want to drink?” You dug into your fridge. 

“Thanks,” Tim said as he happily took a can of soda. Cass stayed with water. You joined them with your own drink.

“Thank you for feeding us.” Cass’ voice was so soft. You smiled at her. 

“Well, you are family, I guess.” You watched as Tim happily dug into his plate. “Bruce is always picking up new kids.”

Cass frowned, ignoring the food. “You’re angry.”

You took a bite of your food. “At Bruce, I was. Now I’m just...over it.” You shrugged. “He’s going to be him. Nothing I can do about it.”

“He is stubborn. Runs in the family.” Tim took a sip of his soda, smirking when you glared at him. “Alfred said it, not me.”

Alfred’s name made your heart ache. You needed to call him more often. “Yeah, I see you’ve taken to the role of annoying kid siblings very nicely. Dick must be feeling the karma now.” You laughed. “He’s the worst. Always messing with me.”

“Dick didn’t tell us where you were, we found you on our own.” Cass poked at the food on the plate, wrinkling her nose slightly. “Bruce’s birthday is tomorrow.”

You sighed, pushing your plate away as your stomach soured. “I know.”

“Come.” Cass reached out to touch your hand. 

“It’s not that simple.” You flinched away from her. Tim glanced between the two of you, eyes wide. “Some things you can’t come back from.”

“Why?” Cass tilted her head.

You stood up suddenly, taking your plate to the counter. “He wished I’d never been born. Said I was a mistake. I told him he should have died in the alley with his parents.” You winced at the sharp intakes of breath behind you. “But it’s fine.”

“You’re tired.” Her chair scraped and suddenly she was beside you. “You hurt. Bruce hurts too. It’s time to forgive.”

Your temper flared, but you let out a slow breath to cool it. “Why does it matter so much to you?” 

Cass swallowed hard. “Bruce needs you. He isn’t...whole.” She pressed a hand against her chest. “I know people who have regrets because they let things fester. I don’t want that for our family. Jason has made amends, now you should.”

“Well, Jay always needed Bruce. Even when he was younger.” You pursed your lips. Jason craved Bruce’s attention more than anything. Still did. You remembered being jealous, but it gave you time to pursue your own interests without Bruce noticing. “I don’t care.”

“(Y/N), I know it’s not my place and I just met you today, but you’re basically like my sibling with how much Alfred and Dick talk about you,” Tim said. You turned to look at him. He played with his fork, not meeting your eye. “I lost my mom and dad. I wish every day that I could tell them I love them one last time. Bruce isn’t getting younger and things are getting more dangerous...well, I think you don’t want to regret not reaching out or at least trying, right?” 

You sighed. Cass nudged your arm. You glanced between the two of them. “Fine.” 

Cass smiled, eyes lightening up. “Really?” Tim dropped his fork in surprise.

“I’ll go, but don’t get your hopes up. Bruce is still a stubborn pig.” You rolled your eyes as Cass suddenly hugged you. You blinked at the touch before gently patting her back. Tim hesitated, but you opened your other arm and let him join too. “For what it’s worth, it was nice to meet you two at last either way.”

“Ditto.” Tim grinned. Cass just buried her face deeper into your shoulder.

***

Bruce rolled his eyes at the sound of clattering in the kitchen. “Alfred wouldn’t be happy to find you in here,” he said as he opened the door to find Dick, Tim, Barbara, and Stephanie in the middle of attempting to make breakfast.

Dick and Tim were covered in flour. Barbara was by the stove, frying what looked to be turkey bacon. Steph happily chopped fruit. 

Bruce noticed the swelling around Tim’s nose. He made a note to ask him about it later.

“Alfred asked us to help,” Dick said, pushing Tim away from him. Tim laughed, grabbing a towel to try to clean up. 

“He did?” Bruce raised an eyebrow. 

“Alfred is having tea with a guest out in the garden. He wanted you to join him once you woke up,” Barbara said, rolling her eyes at Dick and Tim. 

“Don’t worry. It’s not Selina.” Steph smirked as she ate a piece of banana. Bruce narrowed his eyes at her, but she just laughed. 

Bruce hummed. “Alright. Barbara, don’t let the boys near the stove.” He walked out with the sound of Dick and Tim’s protests behind him. A rare smile tugged at his lips. 

For the one hundredth time today, he missed you. He imagined you would have been in the kitchen, keeping Dick and Tim out of trouble while baking your special birthday breakfast that only you could make. His heart ached. Why did he push you away when he should have been pulling you close?

Cass was waiting by the doors to the garden. She skipped up to him and kissed his cheek. “Happy birthday.”

“Thank you.” He smiled, frowning at the glee hidden in her eyes. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing. Alfred’s waiting.” She gave him a quick hug and ran off. 

Bruce stepped out into the garden. He walked the path toward the place Alfred always had tea. Laughter reached his ears as he approached. He stopped just before the final corner, listening.

“That cannot be true. You must be pulling my leg,” Alfred said, chuckling in a way Bruce hadn’t heard in a long time. “They can’t have created a Superman musical.”

“Yep, it’s all the hype in NYC right now. Apparently, it got nominated for a few Tonys.” Bruce’s heart stopped. That voice. Could it be? Bruce peeked around the corner. “I think one of the songs goes like ‘Superman, he flies as much as he sings. Superman, he does all the things.’ Honestly, it’s stuck in my head,” you laughed hard. You were older, more mature.  A lump formed in his throat. His little baby grew up.

Alfred shook his head. “Unbelievable what the theater has become.” 

“I’ll get you tickets next time you’re in town,” you said, picking up your tea cup. 

Alfred clicked his tongue, standing up. “I’m happy you are finally home, Mx. (Y/N).” He poured another cup of tea in the third cup on the table. “Now I believe it’s time for me to go in and check on the others.”

“I’ll come with...” You stood up, stopping when you turned to meet Bruce’s eye. Bruce almost ducked back around the corner, but stopped himself. 

Alfred patted your shoulder. “You both have much to discuss.” He walked toward Bruce, leaning over to whisper. “Don’t you dare blow this, Master Bruce. I doubt you’ll get another chance.”

Bruce pursed his lips, watching as Alfred left. He hummed, turning back to you when you took a breath. 

“So...” You shoved your hands in your pockets, rocking on your feet like you used to do when you were a child. Bruce felt a smile tug at his lips. “Happy birthday.”

“Thank you.” He approached you slowly. To your credit, you didn’t move away. “(Y/N)...you’ve grown.”

You snorted. “Yeah, that happens after seven years.” 

“I heard you are pretending to work for Broadway,” Bruce said, raising an eyebrow. The Batman in him wanted to interrogate you. The father in him cursed the Batman in this moment. “But you are actually working for the D.E.O.” 

You chuckled, rolling your eyes as you looked over his head at the manor. “Sure, I am. I should have known that would be the first thing you would say.” Bruce could feel you distancing yourself. 

“I...” Bruce sighed. He pressed a hand over his mouth. “I always mess up with you, don’t I?”

Your eyes widened in slight surprise. “Yeah, you do. I suppose you do it to all of us except maybe the new kids. Tim and Cass seem very nice. Maybe a little too intrusive?”

Bruce blinked. He remembered Cass and Tim went off comms last night. Tim’s bruised nose made more sense. You always aimed for noses. A habit he tried to break you of. “They brought you here, didn’t they?”

“Mostly Cass, but Tim was there too.” You shrugged. “They convinced me to come. Cass wanted me here for your birthday because she said you missed me.” 

He blinked. Of course Cass would have noticed that. “That’s true.” Bruce took a step toward you. “So much. I miss your laugh, your smile, the way you make fun of me at every turn.” His chest was heavy with rare emotion. “You’re my child. I loved you since you were first put in my arms.” A lump formed in his throat. “I was angry and I didn’t mean what I said to you all those years ago. I’ve regretted every day since.”

A cloud covered the sun. Your face disappeared in the shadow. A low hum came from you. Bruce wondered if this was how everyone else felt when he responded with only an indecipherable hum. 

The cloud passed. Bruce saw tears in your eyes as the light revealed your face. “I’m sorry too. What I said in return...unforgiveable.”

Bruce opened his arms. “(Y/N), I’m happy you are home.”

You stared at him for a moment and suddenly you were flying into his arms. Breath left Bruce’s lungs. You were bigger and stronger now. “I love you, Dad.” You whispered softly, hiding your face into his shoulder.

“I love you too, my little cookie monster.” Bruce smirked when you scoffed, pulling away to look him in the eye.

“Don’t ever call me that again, old man.” You narrowed your eyes as Bruce laughed, clapping a hand on your shoulder. 

“Sure.” Bruce led you over to the tea table. “Now I want to hear everything.” You tensed, but Bruce held up his hands. “Nothing you don’t want to tell me and I actually prefer if you don’t tell me about the D.E.O.” 

You snorted. “Wow, you have gotten softer. I thought Dick and Jay were lying.” You took a seat and added sugar to Bruce’s tea. Bruce smiled, realizing you remembered how he took his tea.

“We’ll spar later and then you can see how soft I’ve become.” Bruce studied you. When you were younger, Alfred always claimed you looked a lot like Bruce. Bruce never could see it. He always saw your mother, but now, you were definitely his child and he couldn’t be prouder.

***

Cass tittered, watching you and Bruce from a window on the second floor. The two of you were laughing. Her lips pulled up in a big grin.

“How are they doing?” Tim asked suddenly. Cass jumped a little, narrowing her eyes as he laughed. He stepped up beside her to look out the window too. “I’m getting better at sneaking.”

“Better, but not great.” Cass snorted as Tim gasped. She ignored his protests. Bruce’s shoulders relaxed. His jaw loose, smile lines appeared on his face. She sighed.

“What?” Tim asked once he realized Cass wasn’t listening to him. 

Cass looked at Tim, reaching up to touch his bruised nose. Tim winced. “Bruce is happy now.”

Tim looked out the window. He smirked. “Yeah, I think he is.” Cass wrapped her arm around him and rested her head on his shoulder. Both of them kept their eyes on Bruce and you. The family was finally reunited.

[writers-potion]

Do you have any tips on how to name a story/book? Bc I’m really struggling to come up with something good

Book Title Ideas!!

Fantasy Book Titles

"The Chronicles of Eldoria"

"Realm of the Shadow King"

"Echoes of the Lost Kingdom"

"The Crystal Throne"

"Legends of the Eternal Dragon"

"The Hitman's Apprentice"

"Sorcery of the Silver Moon"

"Beyond the Enchanted Forest"

"Tales of the Arcane Isles"

"The Last Guardian of Light"

"Crown of the Winter Realm"

"The Fireborn Chronicles"

"Winds of the Wandering Mage"

"Secrets of the Starlit Citadel"

"The Frost Queen's Curse"

"Whispers from the Ancient Tome"

"Sword of the Celestial Knight"

"The Phoenix's Prophecy"

"Echoes of Eternity"

"The Shadow's Embrace"

Romance Book Titles

"Swiping Right"

"Romantic Vibes Only"

"Coffee Shop Confessions"

"The Social Media Sweetheart"

"Chasing Sunsets"

"Love Notes and Lattes"

"Lost in Translation"

"The Dating App Dilemma"

"Love in the Fast Lane"

"City Lights and Romance"

"Instant Chemistry"

"The Modern Love Story"

"Love in the Clouds"

"Swipe Left for Heartache"

"Heartstrings and Harmony"

Mystery Novel Titles

"The Enigma of Midnight Manor"

"Murder on the Moors"

"Whispers in the Shadows"

"The Secret of Willow Creek"

"Death at Darkwater Bay"

"The Puzzle of the Poisoned Pen"

"Ghosts of Greyhill Mansion"

"Vanishing at Verona Villa"

"The Mystery of Moonstone Manor"

"Murder in the Misty Woods"

"The Case of the Crimson Cipher"

"The Secret of Sapphire Springs"

"The Silent Suspect"

"Echoes of the Old Mill"

"A Lethal Legacy"

"The Mystery of Midnight Hollow"

"Murder Among the Magnolias"

"The Cryptic Conundrum"

"The Haunting of Hawthorn House"

"Deadly Deception in Dahlia Valley"

YA Novel Titles

"The Echoes Between Us"

"Invisible Constellations"

"Catching Shadows"

"Threads of Serendipity"

"Bloom and Blossom"

"Growing Pains and Paper Planes"

"Dandelions in the Wind"

"Whispers in the Quiet Hours"

"Crossroads of Everlasting Echoes"

"Forgotten Names"

"The Color of Tomorrow"

"Redefining Normal"

"Footprints in the Sand"

"The Art of Glowing Up"

Paranormal Book Titles

"Mystic Bonds"

"Wolfblood Chronicles"

"Twilight's Enchantment"

"Soulbound Serenade"

"Nightfall Destiny"

"Nightshade Kisses"

"The Crimson Courtship"

"Bloodbound: A Tale of Moonlit Passion"

"Witchcraft and Whispers"

"Enchantress' Embrace"

"Heartbeat Hex"

"Welcome to the Coven of Desire"

"A Moonlit Affair"

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[inklore]

forbidden cravings

premise: stay in your room; that's all you had to do. a simple demand that you planned on following until something goes bump in the night and you're trapped between two monsters.

pairing: vampire!din djarin x reader x vampire!bo-katan kryze

word count: 5k

contents: blood and biting obviously, oral, threats, murder mention, reader is a little clueless, power imbalance, bo is kinda evil but we love her for it, brief mention of piv.

note: this took me way too long to write and by the end of it i was very tired so hopefully someone out there enjoys this lmao. i could possibly see myself writing more within this little world, maybe.

haunted hoedown day five.

You had never noticed how creaky the house was until tonight. Until you were stuck in a dark, dampened room. Your only light coming from the candle at your bedside, the moon, and the flashes of lightening through the windows. The deep red drapes that match the ones that hang around the four poster bed in the middle of the room, that look ancient and eerie, set your already on edge nerves into a frenzy of fight of flight.

You had dusted this room many times. Have been past the threshold and seen it painted in the daylight. 

But never at night. 

You were prohibited from being here past nightfall. 

The master of the house—your boss—had made it clear upon your first interview a year ago that you’d only be needed in the daytime. That staying after nightfall was not something he needed you around for, and it would be of best interest to the house if you departed once the sun set. 

It’s a rule you questioned little. A rule you were fine and happy to obey. 

It wasn’t your job to question it. It wasn’t your place. 

You were the housekeeper, nothing else. Nothing less. Nothing more. 

And you’d never think of going against the lord of the manor, Din Djarin. 

The infamous inventor. 

The mysterious scholar.

The man with whom you’ve slowly bloomed a friendship with while you’ve worked here. The two of you have spent hours in his library with your fingertips, running along old books, relics he’s come across in his travels, and blue prints for inventions he one day wishes to create. 

The pair of you bonding over the love of old words and worlds you wish you could have been a part of. 

Working for him and being in his home—the dark gray spiraling staircases, the arched doorways, the black and red wallpaper that look hundreds of years old and yet look like they’d just been done yesterday—was a joy. 

A better job than working at the mill or getting by on your looks alone to put food on the table. 

You lucked out. Was honored to get the position and even more honored to befriend the destinguishinly handsome Lord Djarin. 

His staff soon became like a second family to you. A home away from home—a much more beautiful and sprawling home than your own, but a home in all senses of the word. 

Not even the curfew could dampen your love or the job. 

The only thorn in your side, the only downfall—negativity—to working for the Lord was his companion, his wife, Lady Kryze. 

While most days, the two of you would rarely cross paths. Her off on travel, or in the west wing of the house that you seldom find yourself in. 

But when appearance’s were known, brief or not, she always had a look of haughtiness about her. Her red hair laying perfectly on her shoulders, and her dresses always form fitting and beautifully cascading to the floor. The neck line plunged lower than what’s usually considered proper—that always made your cheeks heat when you found yourself rudely staring, a smirk on her lips that quickly got washed away with a scornful arch of her brows. 

She had never been rude to you. Had never demanded of you or treated you unkindly the way one would think when you looked at her intimidatingly beautiful face. The power you know she held with just a look, a twitch of a smile, or the flick of her fingers. 

She was the opposite of Lord Djarin. 

The two seeming an odd match for two people destined to be together. 

Your schoolgirl crush on the Lord of the Manor definitely having little to do with your opinion on the fact. 

It had been Lady Kryze who had suggested you stay. Almost demanding it, with the weather outside being too dangerous to travel. The winds whistling through the old bones of the house. The rain coming down like heavy hail. The thunder that you could feel deep in your bones each time it rumbled. 

Lord Djarin had protested on the matter. Said you could wait out the storm but insisted you leave after. 

“Don’t be rude, honey.” Lady Kryze had said. The sentiment, honey, came off more as an insult than as something sweet and tender. The look on the Lord’s face one of strain and frustration. A warning flashed in his eyes before he gave you a tight lipped smile and nodded in agreement. 

And now here you are. Dressed in a nightgown that Lady Kryze had supplied you with. The white fabric feeling almost like satin against your chilled skin, the lack of heat coming from the radiator on the other side of the room making you frown as your breasts made it more than clear how your body was reacting to the draft in the room—to the cold storm outside. 

The loud thump that startles you from outside of your door tears your gaze from the window and elevates your unease when you put your ear to the dark wood and hear nothing but the old house talking in the way one does in storms or settling.

Lord Djarin had ordered you to stay in your room. To lock the door from the inside and try to get some rest. Assuring you that all was alright, the drafts liked to open the doors at night. 

Listening to the plea in his voice that he tried to hide with his endearing smile was enough to convince you not to try it. To listen to his words. To do what had been asked of you without question once again. 

But the thump comes again. This time, sounding closer. Perhaps a glass broke somewhere in the hall. 

Your teeth chew at your bottom lip in worry. 

What if the Lord or Lady needed help? What if they had fallen? The lack of electricity in the house was more than a factor, a reason, for something that could cause a fall. Candlelight only shows so much in these dark halls. 

And while there had been no cry for help. No croak, groan, or indication that someone needs help; you can’t help the way your heart escalates or why you ignore the nerves, making your hand shake as you unlock the door, twist the cold handle, and open it a sliver. 

Your eyes search the vast darkness of the hall within the tiny space you’ve given yourself. The lit candles in the holders on the wall do little to aid in you seeing anything other than small glows of orange light past the railing that lines the hall. 

The words of the Lord push into the back of your mind as you open the door more and poke your head out into the dark space. The strings of lightening outside paint the empty hall in blue light. Streaking against the dark wallpaper hauntingly. 

“Lord Djarin?” Your voice is faint compared to the booming thunder outside. A gulp of air fills your lungs when you get enough bravery to step fully out of your room and speak a little louder, “Lady Kryze?” 

The silence only pushes you forward. 

Has your bare feet cold and weary against the long rug on the hardwood floor. The floorboards creak with each step that you take.

The portraits of unknown people by unknown painters look more intimidating and scary the longer you venture through the hall. The candles shadow their faces in scowls that aren’t normally there in the daylight. 

Your fingers dig into the side of your nightgown, bunching up the fabric as your heart hammers against your ribs. 

Maybe you should go back to your room. Maybe it was nothing. The rooms with open doors were dark and abandoned. The staircases are bare, and the entryway below, when you look over the rail, is completely encased in darkness.

Maybe it had come from the west wing of the house. Maybe it was a branch outside. Your mind isn’t sure. Isn’t thinking about anything other than getting back to your room, engulfing yourself in the bedspread, and trying to ignore every creepy sound that the storm outside aids in the houses off putting nature.

Being here at night was, in fact, something your nerves could not handle, it seemed. 

You sigh. Come to a stop at the last door along the hallway. Your bottom lip sore from your worrying. Whatever the thump was, it’s not something as drastic as your mind had probably come up with, and unless you feel like venturing down the stairs and through the rest of the house, it wasn’t your concern—and the prospect made you shiver knowing some parts of the house didn’t have candles lining the walls. 

But when you turn to head back to your room, your body crashes into another, and the scream you let out rings along with a crack of thunder, filtering the hallway into a horrific sound of chaos and fear. 

“You were told to stay in your room.” 

“Oh my—" your hand flies to your chest. The beat of your heart feels as if it might beat it’s way out of the cavern of your ribs. Your lungs finally fill with the air that had been whooshed out of you when you had collided with the other person once you realized who it was. “Lady Kryze.” 

“I was told you listen to directions well,” her smile is pressed and sure. Humorous in the way her eyes move along your appearance. The relief you felt from it being her soon dying when you remember how see through your nightgown is. Your arms cross over your bare chest. “How misguided.” 

“I-I was just,” you swallow. Try to get your breathing back to normal. Try to stop the pounding in your ears matching up with the rain outside—with the booms of thunder. “I heard a noise.” You manage to get out. The amused raise of her brow makes your body heat up in something akin to embarrassment or a child running to their mother at night because they are scared. 

Lady Kryze hums, “many things go bump in the night around here. It’s an old house.”

“Of course,” you nod. “Yes.” You laugh nervously, breathy, and unsure. Trying to ease the tension that’s growing between the two of you. Worried you might be jobless come morning. “I apologize. I was just worried that you or Lord Djarin may have been hurt.”

“You’re a doctor? Here I thought you were a maid.” Her smile is mocking, unkind. But that’s when you finally take her fully in. With the flashes of lightening through the window at the end of the hall, giving light to the shadows that dance along her face in the candlelight.

She looks…different. 

There's a deep red tint to her lips that’s not usually there. You can’t recall the last time you saw her wear lipstick, let alone that shade. Her hair is darker and more unruly at the bottom than usual. Than the sleek look of perfection it’s always at. Her clothes—her dress—stained a deep red and ripped at the top, standing her paler than normal skin out. 

Your eyes look down to her nails; they’re longer. Stained the same shade as her lips and her dress. 

Somethings not right.

And when your gaze meets hers again, you can see how much darker her eyes look than what you’re used to seeing below that scowl. Bigger. Almost as if her pupils had doubled in size.

Your lack of subtlety seems to give you away when you quickly try to sidestep her and head for your room. 

“Now that I know you’re both fine, I’ll just go back to my room now.” You say softly, give her a forced smile as you try to keep your composure and act as normal as you would if you weren’t scared out of your skin. 

Lady Kryze laughs under her breath. Let’s you step past her and walk one, two, or five steps before there’s a grip at the back of your elbow and your back is being slammed into the wall. The gasp of your lungs deflates from the pressure puffing out against her face with how close she is. 

“Lady Kr-”

“Bo.” She corrects, her eyes wandering down your face, pausing at your lips and the junction where your jaw meets your neck. Swallowing hard before her gaze cascades to your chest, “I always hated the pleasantries Din demanded we go by to fit in with you…humans.” 

“You humans?” You give her a quizicall look, too much going on in your nervous system to comprehend her words. To make sense of them when the fear of the emotion in her eyes reads hunger. 

And when she laughs again, her smile more genuine than any you’ve seen spread across her perfectly proportioned lips before; you see it. See them.

The pointed teeth that have replaced her normal ones. 

The way they gleam off of the orange glow of the candles. The way they make you swallow. Make your chest hurt from the bruising your heart is doing to your ribs from beating so fast. 

What is she?

“I thought you were smart? With the way Din talks about you, I imagined you would have figured it out by now. Especially with how close the two of you have been getting.” The accusation makes your heart stop. A cold fear pricking at your insides that makes your skin feel clammy. 

The raising of her brow makes the feeling worse as you shake your head. Open your mouth to protest on the matter, to not encourage the accusation that there might be something going on with Lord Djarin and you, her husband. 

“Don’t worry,” she smirks. Leans in closer so her lips are ghosting over the shell of your ear as she murmurs, “I like to share.” Your body trembles when her hand leaves your shoulder and her fingers run along the side of your breast. Her pointer skating along your erect nipple, making you gasp softly. “We both do.” 

“Lady Kryze–I,” there’s words meant to come out. Words meant to put an end to whatever this standoff, or showdown, is. You’re lost, you’re captivated, and you’re frightened. But her cheeks and lips brush against yours as she moves herself back so she can look at you; her dark eyes make every syllable on your tongue lay thick and weighted down like sludge. 

There’s a silence that has enough tension to make your body buzz and your brain catch up to put the puzzle pieces together with the information that has always been laid out for you. Things you took as old family traditions you didn’t care to understand. 

The presistant curfew, the eerie darkness that hung over the manor once the sun started to set. The mysterious cases of maids and butlers going missing without a trace. The town just beyond your own’s population dwindling down. Neighbors and friends gone. 

Lady Kryze’s dark eyes, her teeth. 

“You’re the cause of all the disappearances.” It’s not a question because you already know the answer. The slow spread of her lips only solidified the gathered information in your head to fit neatly in a box of truths. “And,” you swallow, hate how your heart aches at the very thought. “Lord Djarin..he–”

“Is much more discrete than I.” She seems to find a silent annoyance in the statement. In the way your body lets out a shaky breath as if you’re relieved. It makes her eye twitch before she’s leaning in again, her lips closer to yours now. Her breath smells of metal. “He doesn’t like to indulge in the bounty we’ve been given. Says it’s not right to eat thy neighbor.” Her tongue runs across her bottom lip, one of her sharp teeth catching on the skin. “I say, why waste such delicious gifts? And delicious they are, especially the ones who beg. The ones who let me play with my food before I eat it.” 

Her laugh makes your body shiver. A reaction she seems to like too much, as her lips skim across yours. The metallic scent of her tongue inhaled by your shaky breaths and swallowed down, leaving your throat dry and your tongue itching to reach out for the source. 

The source of it’s weight, the source of the ache in your jaw with the need to drink. A thirst for what you’re sure is water and not the nourishment that’s so clearly painted Lady Kryze’s lips red and her tongue. Your body willing to use any source of fluid to aid you. 

Not because the metallic linger of her breath sits on your tastebuds like an open invitation. Not because her fingers are still at the side of your breast, your peaked nipple aching to be brushed over by her again. 

“Will you let me play with you?” Her nose brushes yours as her head turns, and her lips just catch the corner of your mouth, a gasp leaving your lips as they move across your cheek and her teeth clip on your jawline. “I know how hard it is for my husband to be near you every day and not sink his teeth into this beautiful neck. You look as good as you’ll taste.” 

A moan racks your ribcage when her hand grips the side of your neck, bending it so the other side is on full display and her lips press to the sensitive flesh. Her tongue coming out to run the tip lightly against you, like she doesn’t dare indulge too much. Like it’s an appetizer to what she really wants. 

A trail of bruising kisses and hungry noises coming from the woman making your chest heave, your fingers daring to come up to her elbow to grip the fabric of her dress as an anchor—or to pull her closer—you're not too sure what your body wants, your senses not matching up with the fear still plaguing your brain. 

“Will you run for me, little rabbit?” You can feel the amusement at her own words with the smirk that’s pressed just below your ear. Your body canting at the derogatory pet name.

Until her next words come out of her mouth in a booming shriek that makes your ears ring and your body recoil from her in defense to protect itself from wrath. 

“Run!”

And you do. 

Not turning back to look to see if she’s chasing you. All the heat once again drained from your body, any pleasure you had been feeling doused out, and brought tears burning at the corners of your eyes. 

The candles on the wall continue to be your guiding light. Even when you step on something that makes you hiss. That tears the skin on the bottom of your foot enough to stutter your sprint. A limp catches in your leg as you try to make haste.

You were foolish for staying here. Foolish for leaving your room. Foolish for not seeing what this house really was or what it’s occupants really were.

Foolish. 

If there had been a spell, you had fallen for it. Like a silly little girl.

The closer you get to your chamber door, the harder your heart beats against your ribs. The harder you try to ignore the sting in your heel. The harder it is for you to breathe. 

The distance only seems to get further and further away from safety the longer you try for it. The longer your eyes strain in the candlelight to not step on something else that could make you completely imobile. Completely at Lady Kryze’s mercy. 

Who you don’t hear behind you. 

Who—upon your better judgment, one would say—you look for as you turn your head towards the path behind you. Your blood running cold when you see that all the candles have completely gone out and you can’t see a thing. 

The flashes of lightening from the windows down below cascading the barest amount of light onto the floor. 

It’s the least of your worries when your body collides with a wall. 

Or what feels like a wall—a strained ache coming to your chest upon the collusion, your body thrown backwards as you groan from the impact your tailbone makes against the hard floor. 

And when your eyes open, you realize it’s not a wall you’ve collided with; it’s Lord Djarin. 

“I told you to stay in your room.” His voice is full of authority and aggravation as he pulls you from the floor. It’s a tone he’s never used on you, a grip on your arm that’s much more cruel than the light touches of fleeting moments spent together. 

“She–Lady Kryze–She.”

“Is insatiable, yes.” There’s a growl that’s completely for his wife’s sake and not your own. But the sound still makes your stomach clench. Your body dragged along the hallway by the hands of the man you’re now realizing is more dangerous than any normal man. 

A monster.

Like his wife.

And yet, you feel safe in his tight grasp. Feel safe with the memories you share with him. Of him. The man you knew before the monster. 

The fear of him never coming. 

The fear only comes back once you’ve reached your room, and he’s pushing you through the door only for your back to collide with something icy that grips your wrist and snakes it’s fingers along the column of your neck to hold you against it.

“Bo.” Lord Djarin’s voice is stern. Angry. 

“Darling.” You can feel the smile that’s wrapped around the word even without seeing Lady Kryze’s face. 

The cold of her body seeping through your night dress and against your skin—a cold that’s not from the fear of what she is rather than what she’s doing. What has stained her lips and tongue and what you wanted so badly to taste just minutes ago. The same deep red clearly stained in the front fabric of your gown that you hadn’t noticed until now.

Until you’re standing in front of Lord Djarin, your night dress more see through and clinging to your body, where it’s damp from blood and straining against your breasts. 

Lady Kryze’s grip tightens on your throat, and it makes a breathless noise fall from your lips. A noise that has Lord Djarin’s eyes honing in on your mouth, moving along to his wife's hand on your throat, before plunging down to your chest. A hard swallow and a deep scowl shot at the woman holding you in her vise. 

“Let her go.”

“We were just having a little fun. Weren’t we?” Her teeth knick your earlobe, and it makes your body contort against her hold. “See,” she smirks. 

“Bo. No.” His tone has finality. Has something that wordlessly lets you know he’s tired of this topic; he’s clearly told her no on before. 

Something inside your stomach lightens up and burns at the thought of Lord Djarin denying his wife the pleasure of making you a meal time and time again. Was it out of respect? Care? Want?

Did she want to sink her teeth into you so badly because of jealousy at the closeness you and her husband had found the longer you worked here? No, she said they like to share. Said she likes to share. 

Was it want then?

The want to do more than end your life by draining you.

“Come on, Din.” The hand at your wrist does a show of crawling with her sharp nails over your midsection and to your hip to start pulling up your night dress. Your thighs quickly come into view as she bunches the fabric further and further up. A shyness takes over you as you wiggle in her grasp as you watch Lord Djarin’s eyes follow the movement with a hungry look. “We all know you want her.” 

Her lips press against your jaw as she murmurs to you, “he never allows himself to indulge in the things he wants. He’s so disciplined. Such a good man. He’d never let it slip that after you leave his library, he bends me over his desk and fucks me the way he wishes he could fuck you.”

An involentary noise that get’s choked out of your throat makes her laugh softly, “tell him he can have you. Tell him you like it.” Your eyes lock with his; his eyes just as dark and monstrous as his wife's now that you’re really looking at them. His lips that deep red—the same red you smelled and craved to taste on her lips. 

Your thighs inwardly press together, causing the pressure between them to ease the slightest, but grow worse when your backside pushes back against Lady Kryze and she lets out a noise that sounds just as lovely as she looks. 

“Look, Din.” A heat comes to your cheeks as the rest of the fabric of your gown is pulled above your hips, showcasing your nakedness to both of them. “There’s no denying she wants you,” her fingers move down to grip your inner thigh. The clear and evident proof of your arousal—that you’re not sure was caused earlier or right now—coats your skin and her fingers. 

“No, she is not-”

“What? Food?” Lady Kryze laughs, “we both know you’d never let me drain her. Nor could you bear to have anything but her essence touch your tongue. But she can be a toy. You can fuck her. We both can.” 

You can see the internal battle he’s fighting with himself—against his wife, against what’s right, against his want. 

And there’s a part of you that understands. That knows this is wrong. That has barely come to terms with what they are—monsters, myths, and scary stories you tell little children at night to get them to go to bed. 

But then the proof of your arousal, of your own want is being toyed with between your thighs as Lady Kryze runs a finger through your wetness. Your hips canting against her hand as she pulls it away just as quick as it was there and holds her finger out to her husband. 

“Taste her.”

His head is about to shake; you can sense it. See it before it happens by the way his fists bunch at his sides. Maybe that's why you finally find your voice, “please.”

And it’s as if those are the words he’s been waiting for you to say since the day you’ve met. Since you’ve started working for him. The speed at which he’s against your front and his lips are wrapped around the finger that has gathered the wetness from your pussy makes you feel woozy. 

Makes you sway on your feet and loosen in Lady Kryze’s hold. Her nails dig into your flesh as she holds you tighter, keeping you upright for her husband. 

Whose finger is under your chin, mouth daringly close to yours as he murmurs, “are you certain?”

Do you want this?

Do you want all it entails if you let this continue?

His dark eyes speak; let you know that he’ll stop this. That while you might be weak in comparison to who they truly are, you have a say, and he’ll do whatever you wish. 

A wise woman would heed the warning that’s in the brow he raises. Thats in the descent of his finger down your chin and to your jugular. Your heartbeat thudding against the pad of his finger. His tongue comes out to wet his bottom lip as his eyes cast to your neck and then up to his wife. 

Who's giving him a smile you can’t see but can feel in the way her body shifts, pulling your thighs apart easily. Lord Djarin needs no more confirmation for either of you as he falls to his knees, a rough hand cupping the back of your thigh to lift and bring it up and over his shoulder. 

Your back arching, and a gasp rakes through your body when you feel the bite of teeth against your inner thigh. Feel the sting of punctured skin, the pull of something inside that’s making your eyes flutter, and the pressure in your lower belly thumping at the same speed as your heart. 

When your eyes shift down, when he’s stopped, when you feel like you could either pass out or come from just this, you see blood—your blood—staining his lips and tongue. See his eyes go even darker, black, and void of any human attributes. Making him look entirely like a monster that’s hungry, starved. 

And you’ve completely offered yourself up for the taking. 

There’s a deep moan coming from Lord Djarin as his fingers and tongue clean his mouth. It’s obscene as much as it is beautiful to watch. Your arousal only grows worse at the sight. 

“How does she taste?” 

“Exqusite.” He murmurs against your skin, his tongue running over the marks he’s just left in your thigh, working it’s way up to the apex of your thigh. Your legs shake the closer he gets to your pussy. 

A cry burns your lungs when you feel him dive into you without any warning. His tongue licking through your wetness, his nose pressing against your clit. The tip of it creates a slow grind that only intensifies when you cant your hips up. When you thrust against the air, his tongue slips inside of you, pushing it further inside. Your fingers dig into the sides of your dress as you try not to completely collapse against either of them. 

The pleasure coursing through your body makes that easier said than done. 

Lady Kryze is humming against your cheek, her hand coming down to slow the movement of your hips. “Take your time, little rabbit.” She trails kisses and soft bites over and under your jaw to your earlobe, where she lets the tip of her tongue run against it. “Because once you’ve come, you’re mine to play with.” 

[lunaeregnum]

[ailendolin]

Since the announcement that two or three new versions of Ghosts are in the works, I've been thinking about what sort of ghosts we might get to see / I'd like to see in a German adaptation and put together a list of my ideas. You will see some similarities with our beloved original ghosts as well as completely new characters, and I did my best to find a balance between male and female characters and include a variety of historical eras.

This is obviously just a very basic list with some notes but I do have thoughts about these characters (how they died, what powers they might have, their inner conflict etc.) so if you'd like to know more, please ask (also German producers, I hereby officially volunteer as tribute writer)!

German Ghosts

Female Neanderthal (40,000 BC)

Neanderthals were named after the German Neander valley so I think it's only fair to include a Neanderthal in the show. Since no one needs a Robin 2.0, I'd make the character female and give her a dog because ghost animals are fun and we need more of them.

Roman & German (9 AD)

Two guys - let's call them Marcus and Alber - who fought on opposite sides died in the Battle of the Teutoburg Forest, became ghosts and eventually best friends. They'd rather die again than admit that to anyone, though.

Bog Girl (600 AD)

A little girl who haunts the marshlands around the house but not the property itself. Most of the ghosts avoid her until the Naturalist gets curious and starts to befriend her.

Plague Ghosts (Mid-1600s)

A group of victims of the 30 Years' War whose deaths were caused by famine and disease and not the war directly (though they insist they died 'in the war').

Naturalist (Late 1700s)

A scientist like Alexander von Humboldt and Charles Darwin who embraces becoming a ghost from the get go and does various experiments (on himself and the others) to figure out how ghost rules work and what is and isn't possible.

Composer (Early 1800s)

A young composer who has a (perceived) rivalry with Beethoven because he's lost part of his hearing. Think German equivalent of Thomas Thorne.

Female Soldier (Early 1800s)

Based on stories like that of Friederike Krüger, this woman posed as a man and joined the army during the Napoleonic Wars.

Woman in White (Late 1800s)

The lady of the house at the time. After she died in childbirth, she was forced to watch her husband's mistress raise her daughter. She died wearing her white nightgown (something she is quite embarrassed about) and can be seen in pictures.

WW1 Surgeon (1930s)

Another former owner of the house, this man was a surgeon in WW1 and still carries the trauma of that time with him (think Siegfried from All Creatures Great and Small).

Luftwaffe Pilot (1940s)

Remember the two German pilots from BBC Ghosts? This guy was their friend and has always wondered what happened to them. He crash-landed on the grounds during a training exercise.

Estate Agent (early 2020s)

A woman who took over the house after the last owner passed away. While assessing the property, she had a heart attack and died there, leading to rumours about the house being cursed and haunted increasing.

The House

While the house will probably be a manor house like in the original series, I think it would be fun if this version of the show shook things up a little and had the German Coopers inherit an old mill, or perhaps even an actual (small) castle.

[jinxposting]

Jason Todd x Jinx! reader prologue

Origins

Your parents, not unlike a certain Dark Knight, were killed when you were young

Unsurprising given you were born and raised in Gotham

You were then taken care of by distant relatives

Though "taken care" is a generous term

They offered next to no affection nor attention in general, and with no friends your age you were rather isolated

This gave you time to develop the unique hobby of tinkering

Perhaps it was due to the nature of your parents demise (an explosion caused by a fight between the Bat and Bane) but you'd always had an interest in explosives

A morbid curiosity that only further fueled your guardian's distaste for you

And the direct cause of their other child's (your foster sibling) death

Unlike their parent your sibling was warm towards you, always encouraging your talent

The day you finally succeeded in your endeavors turned out to be the worst day of your life

You hadn't intended to hurt anyone

At the very least not them

Your guardian arrived home after work that day, greeted by a pile of rubble where their house once stood

And a corpse where their child once was

Your cries for forgiveness fell on deaf ears as they beat you, afterwards abandoning you in the remnants of your now decimated home

You'll never forget the look in their eyes

Nothing but pure hatred

You spent a few weeks on the streets after that

You survived on dumpster scraps and slept in alleyways

That was until you made the mistake of breaking into an abandoned warehouse

Piles of metal were strewn about, an old metal working mill you concluded

Your morbid fixation only seemed to worsen with the recent incident

You found yourself once again building your dangerous devices

Even more macabre, part of you hoped to go out in the same manor

Then one night, while you were finishing a grenade, you met them

A large group of muscled men filed into the building

They pointed their weapons at you, some guns, others baseball bats, but all directed at you

You should have been scared

But you were too numb to fear

You pulled the pin and threw the grenade as far into the crowd as you could

Blood

And flying limbs

You pushed past the remaining men only to be pulled back

"Just wait till the boss gets a hold of ya"

After a few moments of regrouping what was left of their forces the men greeted their 'boss'

"You mean to tell me this little runt killed a dozen of my men?" ... "Hahaha!"

That laugh

Everyone knew that laugh

Before you stood none other than the Joker

All smiles, he looked down at you

In one hand he held the remnants of your grenade

You could just barely make out the sharp toothed smile you'd doodled onto it

"This is far too crude to be mass produced. You wouldn't have happened to built this yourself, did you?"

You nodded

"Hahahaha!" He continued to laugh with unrestrained joy

"Harley, get a load of this!"

Out came Harley Quinn, the Joker's right hand

She gawked down at you

"This shrimp caused all this damage? Talk about an explosive personality!"

"Yes, precisely." the Joker kneeled in front of you, offering you the scrapped pieces of grenade "Not every day you see a gift like that."

His smile, albeit menacing, brought you a strange comfort in that moment

You took the offered scrap metal

"Where are your parents?"

"Dead."

"Oh? No siblings?"

"Dead."

"Them too, huh? And how did that happen?"

You looked down at the device

You didn't have to speak for him to understand

Another cackle sounded from the man

"Ha! You're quite the jinx it'd seem."

"Hey that's not a bad name, Puddin'!"

He stroked his chin in thought "It does have a certain ring to it, doesn't it?"

Joker stood back to his full height, looking off in thought

"You know, Harley. The Bat has his little protege, so who says I can't too?"

"Oh, Mistah J! You mean it? I always wanted us to have a little Joker!"

"Not a Joker, Harls." he turned back to you with a wide grin "A Jinx."

[billdecker]

The Mills & Boon book I'm reading, Gentle Savage, continues to be incredible. Here's what's happened so far...

At 17, Kelsey is kissed by her father's friend and business associate Marshall (I know, ew), who is in his mid-20s and constantly calls her honey-bee (yet another ewwww) then fast forward four years and it's the eve of her 21st birthday and Marshall is randomly taking her out for dinner.

Kelsey works at an interior design place in London and is constantly sexually harrassed by the boss's son, Greg, who has ever proposed to her. Anyway, so Kelsey goes to dinner with Marshall where they eat some weird fish and almond on lettuce concoction, and there are many ladies there with their dates who are staring at them because he's dated them ALL. He is the most man is have ever men'd. Before dessert they go for a slow dance and. they're joined on the dancefloor by a woman named Jade and her partner Kent. Jade is all up at Marshall and being spiteful but flirting, and then he reveals that Jade is actually married to Kent and, basically, Kent get your wife the fuck away from here before I punch you (yes, he is that dramatic).

The following day is Kelsey's 21st birthday party and Greg is there, drunk, and he's telling everyone from their company that they've been seeing each other so to save Kelsey from SOCIAL RUIN (this book was written in 1993, not 1953), Marshall suggests a fake engagement because Kelsey's dead dad would want him to save her. Kelsey is a spikey young lady and she's not taking any of Marshall's shit. Greg tries to get all gross with her again but Marshall saves her and they announce the engagement and Greg drives off in his sports car.

To also save Kelsey from COMPLETE AND UTTER SOCIAL RUIN FOR SAYING NO TO GREG, Marshall is giving her a job to renovate a villa in Portugal he has just treated himself to. That means she'll get to live over there for six months so by the time she returns she can call off the engagement by saying he's a total cad and people will feel sorry for her because apparently everyone hates him just as much as she does.

The day after that, Marshall turns up to take Kelsey out for a drive and she spots a wedding and she's like, 'Let's watch!!!! The bride is so pretty!!!!!' So they stop and Marshall is suddenly VERY SAD. Turns out he just loves and leaves the ladies as he does with his big masculine prowess because he OBVIOUSLY HAS A DEAD WIFE. We do not yet know what his wife Laura died of, but the bride looks just like her and he is SAD.

He says he's taking Kesley for afternoon tea and they rock up at this manor house but it's not a country hotel like he told Kelsey but his HOME. And he's not a cold, hard headed brute at all, because HE LOVES AND ADOPTS ORPHANED DOGS, and has an old couple called the Rooks living with him who work for him.

By this point they have shared several kisses and Kelsey has realised she is in love with this man, who is only ever described as dark and sardonic, and she is absolutely desperate to bang the absolute life out of him. This is where I've got up to but when I've finished I'll update, but I'll leave you with this amazing quote describing one of their kisses.

'...he was completely still and then his arms went around her, drawing her to him as his mouth plundered hers. His kiss was violent in its intensity, a fierce hot hunger seeming to take hold of him, ripping the veneer of civilisation away in a second of time.'

[abybweisse]

Ch210, Where is F. O. L. Orphanage?

⚠️ long post ⚠️

I was discussing that question with @juxl25, and I think we came up with a good choice for its location.

The only information we know for sure is that it's in Norfolk, and that it's near a river. We also know Finny and Snake took a train to a nearby town and walked to the orphanage.

We also know there's a wind pump that drains water from the surrounding marshland. There are at least four major rivers in the area used for draining the marshes: Yare, Bure, Wensum, and Ouse.

Juxl25 suggested River Yare and the historic Red Mill (the wind pump) as the area but was looking at Manor House, which is farther away, in the village (proper) of Haddiscoe, Norfolk. After some digging around, I agree with River Yare and Red Mill/Langley Detached mill (originally called Langley detached windpump...

...or Langley Detached drainage pump).

They are in an area northeast of Haddiscoe village, called Haddiscoe Island (these days), thanks to a canal added to connect River Yare and River Waveney farther inland, creating an island of the area and making the marshland there more remote/less accessible.

There's a historic farmhouse just east of River Yare, not far from Red Mill, called Raven Hall. And Raven Hall would be a premium location to have a secluded facility like F. O. L. Orphanage.

There's only one thing I don't like about the buildings shown for Raven Hall -- it's a bit farther from the drainage pump than I want it to be, and it's just a large farmhouse (almost 3000 sqft) and a long barn (almost 900 sqft). But there's a cool space just south of those buildings, which would be ideal for the main orphanage, as well as a spot for the stables/barn leading closer to the drainage pump, farther south. Here are two options for the placement of F. O. L.:

In each case, I've placed the stables to the west of the main house, as a small red rectangle (more or less), while the windpump was already marked by a red dot farther southwest. Looking at the bend of the river on Theo's image of a map of the place, the placement on the right (above) might be the better match. Then again, it could be exactly where Raven Hall is located. And Raven Hall, having been built in the 17th century (or at least 1700), is older than Red Mill (built in 1840).

Too bad I can't see the placement of the windpump on his map, but I think it's somewhere behind the speech bubbles on the left side of the panel.

We see that the windpump at the orphanage has a low roof of some kind, and juxl25 explains that someone was probably living onsite just to maintain it full time. I did find at least one pic showing Red Mill with what could be the old maintenance shed/shelter, but it seemed to be on the wrong side. Who knows? I guess it depends on which way the sails are facing to catch the wind? But the low roof in the panel is probably just the top of some shed.

Oh, and near St Olaves, there's a train station called Haddiscoe Station. They could have got off the train there and made their way north to the orphanage by foot. Or did they hitch a ride part of the way? I'll have to go back and check.

I'm still considering one other location, not far from there, but I won't post it unless further research looks more promising.

Hey... can you imagine if all this time... F. O. L. was just some place name reference... like "Farmhouse on Langley" (Marshes)?!?

Please let these kids break the windpump and flood the tunnels.... 🙏

[theboywithburninghands]

Here goes nothing. Arranged Marriage Funnybunny. Mostly worldbuilding and setup in this one. It was... something to make, that's for sure. Uh don't expect like... Jane Austen, but I went for a more... uh I guess... feel that was more old school? Just imagine a British narrator. Anyway here take it- T/W: Mentions of miscarriages, sexism, fantasy casual racism Primum Peccatum Chapter 1: You Don't Own Me

Primum Peccatum was an island a half-mile off the southeastern coast of Blackshell Bay, New Hirnantia. Inaccessible by any method other than ferry or private boat, Primum Peccatum was known throughout the county as a haven for the wealthy. Though Blackshell Bay was hardly a shantytown, those living in the coastal city often found themselves gazing wistfully or covetously at the island whenever they were on the southeastern beach in summertime or in the fish market near the harbor. Close enough to see, but far enough to never quite touch. Unless they were lucky enough to strike oil, inherit a good amount of money from a wealthy relative, or marry into one of the families already living on the island.

The Shutnyk family had lived on Primum Peccatum for two generations now. Originally a family of woodsmen, Nikolai Shutnyk broke the previously thought impermeable class barrier through, as said before, dumb luck. Nikolai, while living at a lumber mill in Telychia, would often go for long walks in the thick Telychian woods to try and curb his insomnia. While out there, he stumbled upon an as of then undiscovered natural gas reserve, and, under the nose of the logging company, managed to keep it a secret. Nikolai was talented with numbers and knew how to read and write despite his lower-class background, and drafted up a series of documents that he sent to several different gas companies along with some samples. In the documents, he offered to reveal the location of this reserve if he was given 100,000 crowns up front, and 5% of the profits from the reserves.

Although he was initially ignored, one struggling company by the name of East-West Renewable Energy sent an inspector to Nikolai, and they met in secret in the nearby town of Perrault’s End. Nikolai took the inspector out to the woods, and, when it was found to be very much real, the company gave Nikolai his up front payment, and began drilling. Nikolai quit his job at the end of his shift the next day, and moved to Perrault’s End. East-West’s earnings exploded overnight, and even though he had only asked for 5% of the earnings, it was enough to keep him sustained without the need of a job for a good two decades.

Newly wealthy and with a steady income, Nikolai Shutnyk caught the attention of several  prominent families in Perrault’s End. He was soon married to the daughter of one Cartofolio Marconi, a magistrate for several industrialists in the much larger neighboring city of Angel’s Peak. Nikolai’s skill with numbers made him a valuable asset to his father-in-law’s corporate clients, and he was given a share of the company’s earnings for his hard work. 

Nikolai and his wife, Clara Shutnyk, took the opportunity to purchase some land on Primum Piccatum, and had their manor built there. Nikolai continued his work for his father-in-law, and had a son with Clara, who they named Vladimir. Nikolai continued working until his death from a ruptured spleen when he was 61. Vladimir continued in his father’s stead, looking after his mother at his island manor and eventually finding a wife, the daughter of a surgeon named Amadeo. Her name was Mirella, and together they had a child of their own, a daughter, named Pomni. Her name was unique, taken from the Telychian word for “forget,” after Mirella’s favorite flower, the forget-me-not.

Pomni was the only child of Vladimir and Mirella, not for lack of trying. Mirella had miscarried three times before managing to have an underweight baby girl 4 weeks early. Luckily, her parents had access to high quality care thanks to their standing, and their newly born daughter lived. Pomni grew only somewhat larger in the following 25 years, never reaching any taller than 5 feet. 

Had she lived in more modern times, there would be better and more scientific terms to describe the way her mind worked, but her parents and teachers only referred to her as “a bit odd” or “not quite there.” She was intelligent, that couldn’t be denied: she was writing full sentences at six years of age and read ravenously, but her social skills left much to be desired. She had few school friends, rarely speaking at all unless spoken to, and didn’t smile unless she was actually happy.. However, her taciturn nature was never to be mistaken for weakness, and she had an intensely stubborn streak. 

When she was nine years old, a young lady in her class named Fredericka and her sycophants, seeing Pomni’s diminutive stature and hearing her unusual name, surrounded her desk one Monday before their lessons. Pomni looked up from her collection of Telychian short stories when the girls called her all manner of things, most of them pejoratives they’d overheard from their nationalist relatives. 

Pomni looked back down at her book, her face placid. Fredericka, confused and angry that her usual routine appeared ineffective on the quiet young lady, turned back to her friends. 

“She’s not just ugly, she’s deaf!” she declared.

Her laugh became a shriek as Pomni lunged for Fredericka’s arm, burying her sharp little teeth into the taller girl’s hand. Blood oozed from the punctured skin between her thumb and index finger and onto the polished hardwood floor. 

Despite the headmistress’s best efforts, Pomni couldn’t be made to apologize. Vladimir had to be summoned to her school, but even her father couldn’t persuade Pomni to apologize to her classmate. She said this to Vladimir. 

“She isn’t sorry, Papa. So neither am I.” 

Pomni was forbidden from the manor’s library for a month for her churlish behavior, but privately, Vladimir was impressed. His own father would never have obtained his fortune without steely resolve. Had he followed the herd, the lumber company would have sold that natural gas reserve to line the pockets of the already wealthy board of directors, and Nikolai wouldn’t have seen a single crown. 

Pomni’s classmates wisely decided to leave her alone after this incident, keeping their insults well out of earshot. Pomni graduated near the top of her class with excellent marks, a sure sign she would make a fine schoolteacher or court stenographer. Indeed, she inherited her father’s skill with numbers and attention to detail, and even began assisting her father with the heaps of paperwork from some of his weightier cases. 

Mirella loved her daughter as any mother should, and just like most mothers, she worried about her quite often. Oddness aside, Pomni had almost no interest in finding a husband. A little independence was important for any young lady, it was the sign of a healthy brain, which Pomni certainly possessed. But whenever Mirella asked her daughter if she saw any young gentlemen that caught her eye when she was across the reach running errands for the family, or in the library or the city park, her answers were unsatisfactory. 

“Oh yes, I did see a man with two different colored eyes. One blue, one brown. I believe the term is ‘heterochromia,’ did you know that, mother?”

“I saw a man who had lost an arm. I suppose he must have been a soldier, or perhaps a mill worker. It’s just terrible that someone’s livelihood can cost someone a limb, don’t you, mother?”

Mirella worried. Pomni was a pretty little thing. She had her father’s snowy fair skin and her own raven black hair, cut into a short little bob. When she smiled, which wasn’t often, it was illuminating. But she was 25, and that beauty wouldn’t last. In New Hirnantia, it was agreed that if a woman wasn’t married by age 30, she was destined for spinsterhood. Just five years… If Pomni wanted to carry on her family’s legacy, she needed to find a husband. She was their sole heir. Mirella couldn’t put herself through another miscarriage… and with her own advancing age, a failed pregnancy was all the more likely. 

There were many young men around Blackshell Bay that would have suited Pomni perfectly well had she just given them the time of day. University professors, magistrates, authors and poets… men who held the same appreciation for learning and the arts that Mirella’s daughter did. And they were steadily decreasing in number as other women Pomni’s age, some younger, took them to be their husbands. 

She confided in her husband one Spring evening before bed, collapsing into tears as her worries burst out like water from a crumbling dam. Vladimir held his wife and listened to her woes, stroking her hair and letting the torrent run its course. By the time Mirella’s sobs had waned into hiccups, Vladimir smiled at her. 

“Darling, I’m so terribly sorry you’ve kept all of this inside. The pain must have been monumental. And yes, I too have worried that our daughter may carry the family name to her grave. But, you needn’t worry any longer, lisichka. I believe a solution is within reach. I simply have to write a few letters. Our daughter will be happily wed by her 26th birthday.”

—

Pomni stepped off the ferry onto the dock, sturdy oak wood imported from the monolithic forests of Ediacara out west. 

“Be careful on your way home, Ms. Shutnyk.” the ferryman said. 

“You say this whenever I exit the boat, sir. I assure you, no sheer cliffs or bottomless canyons have suddenly appeared on my commute home.” Pomni replied. 

The sun set from within the treeline, coloring the horizon a bright tangerine. Pomni walked up the path to the Shutnyk estate, a weighty book under her arm. It was a collection of fairy tales, complete with color plates. Pomni typically preferred her fiction with a touch more verisimilitude, but she had already gone through her father’s library and most of the library in town, so she needed to wait for her favorite authors to actually produce new material. This would satiate her for a time. 

Pomni wore a plain white dress and matching white shoes. She also wore her favorite straw sunhat with the black hatband, although it had been rather overcast today. Not that she minded. She did burn rather easily due to her Telychian blood. 

She continued up the hill past the Rooker estate. She would have stopped to say hello to Mr. Kinger on any other day, but it was getting late, and summer was on the horizon. Mosquitos and other biting insects would surely be emboldened by the evening dark and emerge from the trees soon. 

She saw the manor up the dirt path, second on the right, just after the Rooker house. In the dim light, she could see her mother’s immaculately maintained flower gardens in front of the delicate pink walls of the manor. It was just becoming summer, so the gardens were lush with hot pink roses and silky white gardenias. Pomni had thought about taking up gardening as a hobby, but she found the entire affair tedious. At least with books, you wouldn’t have to wait six months to read them. 

She took her key from her pocketbook and unlocked the manor door, skirting inside and closing it behind her to keep the bugs away. 

“Pomni, is that you?” her father called from the dining room. 

“Yes it is, good evening, Father.” she called back, locking the door behind her and hanging her handbag and sunhat on the foyer hooks. 

“Come and join us, supper is ready,” said Vladimir.

“Just a moment, I haven’t gotten out of my shoes…” Pomni sat on the floor and slid off her shoes, placing them neatly on the shoe rack and peeling off her socks, dropping them down the laundry chute. She set her book down at the foot of the stairs and she briskly walked into the dining room. 

“Good evening, darling, so good to see you!” Mirella said from her spot at the table. Pomni returned her salutation, looking at the plate set out for her. Honey-glazed garlic salmon, her favorite. Usually she only had this for her birthday or to celebrate the start of fishing season.

“Oh, goodness. Thank you, what’s the occasion?”

“No occasion, dear, we just had Zooble cook your favorite tonight. Come, sit, enjoy it!” Vladimir said, motioning her to come and sit at the dining room table.

Zooble stood in the corner of the room in their usual tuxedo, nodding wordlessly at Pomni. Zooble was a shape-person, their head a magenta sideways triangle with no visible mouth and mismatched limbs. Shapefolk originated from a harsh desert kingdom known as Dovicia, found across the southern sea. While they had a much different diet and anatomy from humans, no one shape-person was built the same way, humans and shapefolk had been close allies for centuries. Humans offered them much needed resources that couldn’t be found in the beastly Dovician desert, and the shapefolk in turn offered manpower, often moving into more temperate areas to escape the extreme temperatures. Zooble had been the caretaker of the manor for 3 years, ever since the previous caretaker, Lidio, retired to Blackshell Bay at the age of 70. So far, Pomni liked them a lot, even if she never enjoyed change that much. Zooble didn’t allow her mother and father to walk all over them like Lidio did. Sometimes her parents needed someone to tell them “no” that wasn’t her.

Pomni cut into her salmon filet and sampled it, giving a contented hum. “It’s delicious, Zooble. My compliments.” 

Zooble nodded. “Only doing what I’m paid for, Miss.” Their tone struck Pomni as oddly somber, but she ignored it.

“So how are you feeling, darling? Did you have a pleasant day?” Marella asked.

Pomni took a moment to chew and swallow, looking down at her food. “Yes, mother. I went for my usual constitutional in the park, and-”

“Eyes up, Pomni,” her father said. “Talk to your mother, not your dinner.””

Pomni bit her lip. She was a grown woman, and her parents still reprimanding her for her struggles with eye contact always touched a nerve. Maybe in grade school, but… 

She looked up at her mother. Even looking into Marella’s brown eyes made her feel itchy, prickles of heat running up her arms and down to her toes.

“-and I got a book from the library. I finished the last one.” 

As soon as she finished speaking, she put her eyes back onto her food, scratching her left foot with her right. 

“Molto bene, darling. Well, your father has some exciting news.” 

Marella looked over at her husband, who idly swirled the red wine in his glass. Vladimir glanced at his wife before clearing his throat and setting the glass down.

“Er- yes. A former client of mine has fallen into dire straits. You remember the Krolik family?”

Pomni thought for a moment as she chewed her food. She swallowed, had a sip of water and then spoke. 

“Yes. Yes, they had the embezzlement case. Their business partner, their name was… Dombrowski Worldwide, was charging a non-existent handling fee for their grain shipments and then pocketing it. They took around 60,000 crowns, and the Krolik-”

“Yes dear, exactly right! Your memory is astounding as always.” Vladimir said, the pride palpable in his voice. 

“What about them, father?” Pomni asked, working on cutting herself another piece of fish. 

“Well, as you know, we won the case. But unfortunately, the judicial expenses left the Krolik family in something of a financial rut. Even with all the Krolik siblings working on the family business, they haven’t quite been able to scrape themselves out of debt.”

“I see. How is that good news?” Pomni replied.

Zooble let out a louder than normal cough. 

“Well…” Vladimir took in a lengthy breath. “Their fourth son, er, Jax, is 22 and unmarried.” 

“Oh, I see. So he’s marrying into a wealthy family. That is good news!” Pomni replied. 

“Y-Yes, he does intend on marrying into a wealthy family. A-As a matter of fact-“

“Master Shutnyk,” Zooble suddenly spoke up. “Please. The longer you prolong the issue-”

“I don’t believe I requested your input, Zooble.” Vladimir said. The authority in his voice bordered on draconian. He never spoke to their caretaker like that, even during his foulest moods. 

“Apologies, sir.” Zooble said, bowing shortly. 

Pomni looked from Zooble to Vladimir. Her food sat momentarily forgotten in her cheek, before she chewed hastily and swallowed.

“Papa, is something the matter?” Pomni asked. She rarely referred to Vladimir as anything but “father” since she was twelve years old, only using “papa” when she was deeply anxious or in the midst of tears, be they of joy or sadness. 

“No, piccola, nothing is wrong at all.” Marella interjected. “This is all good news. Your father and I think you should marry that Krolik boy!”

Pomni put down her fork. She picked up her glass of water and quaffed the entire thing. 

“We have everything in order, you won’t have to worry about a thing! Your father spoke with the patriarch of the Krolik family- and what a fine man he is, larger than life, truly!- he’d be more than happy to have you wed his son. Oh, and you should meet his son! I’ve never met a more charismatic beastman! And-”

“Mirella!” Vladimir barked.

“I’m sorry but it’s true! He’s a gentleman, a real ambassador for his kind! And he’s only 22! You’ll love him, Pomni!”

Pomni prodded her filet with her fork. “I’ll… love him.” she echoed. Her eyes stared ahead, at nothing in particular. 

“I’m sure of it! He’s smart as a whip, just like you! He and all of his siblings. And goodness, he’s tall and handsome…”

Pomni picked up her plate and whipped it at the wall behind her. It soared through the air like a clay pigeon before shattering helplessly against the wall, Mirella yelping and Vladimir rising to his feet instinctively. Her half-eaten salmon adhered to the wall for a moment before peeling off and plopping onto the imported carpet, brown glaze stuck to both the wall and the carpet. 

Pomni turned to her parents, her blue eyes crystals of icelike fury. 

“What have I done wrong..?” she whispered. “What sin could I have committed that would motivate you to sell me off? Am I no better than a mare or a sow? Answer me! What was my transgression?!”

“Pomni, you’ve done nothing wrong…” Mirella began delicately. 

“Then I’ve always been nothing more than a commodity?!” Pomni cried. She looked to her father for aid. “Papa, what about your firm? Wasn’t I supposed to take over for you..? You always said I was so talented…”

“And you are, dear! You’re brilliant! But… clients would turn their nose up at a firm run by a woman. I’m sorry, but it’s the truth of our society. It’s why I want you to marry this man so you can-”

Pomni’s eyes lost the spark of fury in them, darkening with grief and betrayal. “…Papa.”

“So you can run the firm in my stead. You just need a man to serve as a figurehead. And believe me, Jax Krolik is charismatic enough to serve as a figurehead, I met with him only yesterday, and-”

“I haven’t! I don’t even know what this man- no, beastman looks like! How could you possibly think I’d be okay with you making such a rash decision behind my back? Are you really that heartless?!”

Pomni turned away from her parents once again. Zooble shook their head. 

“Fiends… heartless, deceitful fiends…” Pomni whispered. 

“Pomni, this was for your benefit.” Marella said stoically. “You’re 25. Time is running out for you. All the men who might have caught your attention are moving on to other women. Or even other men! We acted in your stead to make sure you had a fair shot at finding love, starting a family, being happy-”

“I am happy! Rather, I was happy until you thrust a knife into my back! Who are you to say what brings me joy and what doesn’t?!”

“I’m your mother, Pomni! And I was in your situation once! I was lucky enough that your father came along when he did-!”

“That’s enough from both of you!” Vladimir boomed. “Mirella, Pomni, sit back down.”

Mirella took her seat, but Pomni remained standing. 

“Pomni. Sit down.” 

“I won’t,” she said.

“We’ve already arranged a meeting with the Krolik family tomorrow afternoon.” Vladimir continued. “I assure you that once you meet Jax, your concerns will be assuaged. This wasn’t a decision made impetuously. Now, sit down, please.” 

Pomni’s lips quavered. She gradually slid back onto her chair.

“Good girl. Zooble, please clean that up before it stains the carpet. And the wall.” Vladimir motioned to the detritus on the carpet.

“Right away, Master Shutnyk.” Zooble said with another short bow. They hurriedly stepped out of the room, glancing at Pomni before going to get the dustpan. 

“We know how you feel, Pomni. It’s daunting to get married, but it’s part of a young woman’s life.” Mirella said. “And think about how much more you’ll have to do with a husband! An entire house all to yourself, new family to get to know… it’s an adventure! Besides, it trounces just going to town and back every day, wouldn’t you say?”

“No, mother. I don’t.” Pomni spat out the word “mother” like a poison. “I quite enjoy my time in town, thank you.”

“Well, now you can live in town! We’ve been to see their manor, and-”

“Well if you enjoy it so much, why don’t you live there in my stead? Clearly you’re infatuated with the man.” Pomni snapped.

“Pomni Shutnyk! You do NOT speak to your mother like that!” barked Vladimir. 

“I did not suffer the loss of three children to be disrespected by my only daughter!” Mirella exclaimed.

“If you’re going to treat me like this, then I wish I had died right along with them-”

Pomni put a hand to her mouth, immediately wishing she could reel the words back into her throat. Her mother’s face blanched, and Pomni felt tears well up in her eyes. 

“Pomni..!” her father gasped.

“I-I’m sorry…” Pomni managed to say. “I’m sorry, mother…” 

“You’ve said quite enough.” Vladimir asserted. “To your room, now. And you aren’t to come down until we tell you.”

Pomni, her pretty pale face damp with tears, rose from her chair and went into the foyer. Sniffling, she ascended the first step. She stopped, and turned, and hurriedly put her shoes on, sans her socks. She grabbed her pocketbook from the foyer hook. 

“Pomni?” her father’s voice came from the dining room. “Pomni, I instructed you to go to your room.”

She found her house key despite her blurred vision and unlocked the front door, easing it open. The sky was a dim orange and the trees mere black silhouettes, evening insects chirring. 

“Pomni!” her father called. There was the sound of a scraping chair. 

Pomni slipped through the door and shut it behind her, locking it behind her and pattering down the steps onto the dirt trail. She ran through the garden of the Shutnyk manor, wiping her eyes and nose and not looking back, even as she heard both of her parents shouting for her return. As far as she was concerned, it was no longer her home. 

Soon, she reached the main road, and turned left, hurrying further up the island and towards the church. 

[salparadiselost]

Do you have any headcanons or blurbs about To Hear, To See, To Smile by chance? I love abomination batboys so much🥺

I have this blurb. It may show up as a beginning of a story one day. Me and @jube514 were actually writing it out for a bit, but we kinda lost the plot. I do think the lore implications are fun though. IDK if it will ever fully develop, but this is the intro scene. -----

Bruce ambles behind his pack of children, slowly bringing up the rear in their little journey to the Gotham Museum of Science & History. It’s the middle of a day on a weekday, timed exactly to when the museum would be the least busy. 

And yet, there’s still some people milling about, floating through exhibits, and subtly avoiding his sons as they tear through centuries of humanity.

“I want to do the Egypt section next,” Dick gripes as his siblings drag him in the exact opposite direction of the Egypt section. They had already done South America, Africa, only part of Asia, and had just finished up with the “The Fight for a Better America: The Wake of the Civil War”. Now they were traveling out of the Americas more towards the European section.

“We will get to Egypt, Dickie,” Jason growled, shoving Dick with a shoulder. “But that’s on the entire other side of the museum. It’s going to be our last stop.”

“Well, it could have been done sooner if someone hadn’t wanted to look at the most depressing photos I’ve ever seen.”

Jason’s head reared back and Bruce rolled his eyes. He hoped his boys would eventually grow out of the phase where their favourite sibling bonding activity was bickering with each other. 

Tim freezes as they enter the next exhibit of the museum, making Dick and Jason abruptly end their argument about ‘The Dead of Antietam’ to avoid almost slamming into him.

“Move it, Timbo,” Jason growls, the sound harsher than was actually meant. His human form flickers for a second (too wide a maw, too many teeth), but Jason brings it under control with practiced ease and only a twitch of his glamored-on nose. If his puppyish ears were out, they would be flat against his skull. 

They knew that they needed to be very solidly human while they were in public places nowadays. Bruce didn’t want any threats made against them, more afraid of his boys getting hurt than saving the sanity of the general public to be honest. The man already had too many close calls with one of his boys flickering and resulting in some instinct-crazed person deciding they would try to be a hero by attacking his sons.

They’re called many names by many cultures– engkanto, fae, yōkai– but the scientific name of what they are in papers is H. admonition solitaria. God’s lonely rebuke.

There are several theories on how the etymology went from ‘admonition’ to ‘abominations’, but that’s what they’re called colloquially nowadays. The wretched. Monsters. Abominations.

No matter what they are called, the reaction they get has always been the same, often triggering the same primal instinct to hurt, maim, kill, on humans. 

These creatures drove regular people to do things they normally wouldn’t do– like maybe pull a knife on a ten-year-old’s throat as he held his father’s hand, or attempt to slam a small teen into the wall while they waited for ice cream. The affected humans never quite remembered why they had attacked the child — only that there was something deeply, inherently, wrong with the boys to receive such an attack.

It was a wrong that followed them from the very start. They could never quite shake it off. It drove them to cry into comfort, to home– to Bruce’s shoulder as he held their same shaking body and tried desperately to calm away the scare.

It made public outings dangerous, but Bruce wouldn’t lock his boys up in the Manor, even if it was the safest option. All three of them had been trapped for too much time in their short lives; Bruce wasn’t willing to be another jailer.

Hence, the visit to Gotham’s Science & History Museum. But only with certain parameters, of Bruce being right by their sides, and only in the middle of the day on a Wednesday when foot traffic would be at its lowest.

Dick sighs and pushes Jason to the side so they could walk around Tim.

“Come on,” Dick tells his younger brothers gently, his eyes crinkling at the corners with his smile. “You don’t want Bruce to leave you behind, do you?”

Bruce nearly scoffs at the implication. 

As if he would ever abandon any one of his children.

Jason stalks his way over to Bruce’s side, ignoring the way the people move away from him out of instinct. There weren’t any indications the fellow museum-goers even register he was there, just that there’s something wrong in the air and they have to scuttle outwards to the edges of the exhibit as soon as they can. 

Most people are like that– like they could sense the (many, so, so many) teeth even if they could not see them. 

Soon, only Bruce, his children, and the silent paintings of the exhibit remained in the room.

Jason makes his way to Bruce’s side, unconsciously bumping their sides together in a greeting that was more creature than human, but also a habit of Jason’s. Bruce found it to be wildly endearing.

Despite how human all of them looked, they always carried some bits of their creature bodies.

Dick is tactile as a bird, and even more so when he has a pair of hands. He’s constantly touching, grooming, or checking that one of his siblings is there next to him. 

He always listens, too. Of course, he always listened– is listening– but that was because of his species, with their (way too many) ears. Dick, as a constantly talking and touching brother, is because of his personality– someone who’s unlearning touch as something that hurts, that touch can be soft and caring, after all these years.

Jason, although he’s a wolf only in the vaguest sense, is prone to leaning up on his ‘pack’ and didn’t hesitate to show his teeth in a smirk or a (wide, too wide set) grin. Bruce knows that despite his comfort, the boy still fought to keep some of his more canine growls out of his throat. 

(Or, especially when he had been younger, to keep himself from biting visiting aristocrats who had patted his head and had complimented him on ‘developing manners despite being born in that horrid Alley’.)

Tim showed his alternative form in very different ways, unlike his brothers. He wasn’t bound to an animal (the way teeths were wolves and ears were birds), as his shadowy form was more fluid than form. He could be anything if he wanted to. Small or large. Solid as stone or as ever-changing as water. 

He showed he was something more by his stares and that, when he looked at you, you were always sure that (many, many more oh my god there’s too many) eyes looked back. 

A smile too wide, eyes too knowing, a face too distorted.

“Tim, what’s wrong?” The concern in Dick’s voice jolts Bruce out of his own head and makes him look toward their youngest. 

Tim is still standing in the entryway, eyes wide and fixed upon the exhibit stand in the middle of the room. 

For the first time, Bruce truly looks at it. 

It’s a crystal ball but with some kind of dark fluid suspended in the middle. The ball was on a moving pedestal that constantly turned it, making the dark fluid swirl almost hypnotically in the sphere. 

He guessed it was a display for ferrofluid, a magnetic fluid that was reacting to whatever charge was in the pedestal. A metallic ink that was constantly fleeing from the magnet underneath it. 

“Tim?” He asks, looking back toward his son. Dick’s face is growing more concerned by the second and even Jason began to shuffle at Bruce’s side anxiously. 

Tim shudders, eyes snapping towards Bruce. For a second, just a second, he looks scared and deeply unsettled in a way that inevitably puts Bruce on edge. Then, he schools his features and forces himself to look calmer. 

Bruce doesn’t doubt that Dick could hear Tim’s quicker heartbeat and that Jason could taste the sour tang of his discomfort.

“I… It’s fine. I’m being stupid,” Tim mutters, edging into the room like he thought the exhibit was going to bite him.

It set off all the alarm bells in Bruce’s head. 

It reminds him of the crying little boy in the Drake Manor who had constantly insisted that he was fine despite being blindfolded and locked alone in a room. Bruce still can’t stop the bile that rises to his throat when he thinks about the iron marks on Tim’s scarred skin.

Tim is scared. Bruce didn’t need to listen or taste to know that. Something is scaring Tim.

But what, and most importantly, why?

His eyes went back to the crystal ball and the churning fluid within it.

Was it…

“Hi!” A bright voice interrupts and all of their attentions snaps toward the chirpy museum volunteer that bounces into the room. “I saw you were interested in the crystal ball. Do you have any questions?”

Bruce is just about to say ‘no, thank you’, but Tim cuts in before he could.

“Yes,” Tim says, walking forward toward the crystal ball. He gives her a handsome gala smile. One that said Martha’s Vineyard summers and expensive polo shirts tucked into even more expensive jeans. Bruce could see it cracking at the edges, shadows flickering at the seams of his mouth. “What is it exactly? What’s in it?”

“Of course!” She replies, merrily walking towards the exhibit. She holds her arms out like she’s presenting a show rather than some display case.

“This is a crystal ball from the 12th century and we estimate its origin to be Romania, however this type of object is known to travel around so it’s impossible to know for sure. Crystal balls, like this one, were used in gypsy fortune telling—“ Bruce catches Dick’s flinch at the slur and the way he edges away from the volunteer and back towards Bruce and Jason “—and it traveled with them in their caravans so they could use them to predict the future for customers. This one, in particular, is a beautiful specimen and on loan from Rome.”

Tim nods along with the explanation, but his pinched look doesn’t waver. “And the inside?”

Her smile gets impossibly wider. “That’s the most interesting part. Nobody knows for sure and we’re hesitant to crack a ball open because they are so rare, but legend says that the black fluid is Seer blood and bone. The fortune tellers taught that it helped them see into the future and into other realms.”

Bruce’s breath catches in his chest and he watches Tim’s face pale. 

“Seer? Like an– like an abomination?” His voice trips up on the last word. The volunteer’s voice only gets more excited.

“Yes, the gypsies were quite adept in hunting down the seeing abominations. They were well known across Europe for their prowess and the little villages would hire them to take care of a seeing Abomination if they had one lurking about. The people were said to train owls to hunt them.”

“Owls?” It was Dick who asks this time.

“Yeah, owls! Although, it’s just a legend because scientists don’t know how they possibly could have trained any birds given their technology. Any modern attempts have failed to replicate any of them and it’s not like they were prioritizing making manuals when they had monsters to hunt.

The hunting owls of the gypsies are common figures in European myths, though. They are said to have been great listeners and able to follow any of their trainers’ commands. They were used primarily to hunt Seeing abominations,  but could also be used to bring down deer and boars. The gypsies treasured them and were said to sleep with them in their caravans, treating them almost like they were their children. Many European kings tried to steal the owls from them, but… well let’s just say it never ended up good for the Kings.”

Her smile turns a little dark, but then suddenly, it brightens.

“Do you have any more questions?”