#richard wasn't in the mood

[naomullen]

🐤🐤

'Let's not kiss and make them confused'

Belgrade 25.5.2024

🎥 By Viktor

[skittles-secrets]

how do the batboys comfort reader when overstimulated?

wasn't sure which ones you wanted so i did like the main 5 (sorry i can't write duke yet i'll learn + the other ones) damian and tim are aged up btw if it wasn't implied anywhere else (but aged regularly in bruce's for plot convenience)

bruce wayne

would notice right away. he wouldn't waste a single second, figuring out the source of the issue and putting a stop to it.

"that a little better now?" he'll ask, turning off the light, the fan, and walking into tim and damian's rooms to get them to shut up. whatever made his baby happy.

richard grayson

would think it's his fault. he would do whatever you asked him to do. turn the tv off? you didn't even have to ask. the light's too bright? who even let that light be installed in the first place.

"sorry i talked your ear off earlier..." he would mumble solumnly, and he would only get done sulking after you told him it wasn't his fault.

jason todd

completely understands that, and is likely already feeling the same way as you. he already knew what to do, seeing as he'd been wanting to do it himself for an hour prior.

the only reason he hadn't done it earlier was because he wasn't sure if you wanted him to and he didn't know what would be okay. he always worried about what was okay with you, after all.

tim drake

didn't completely understand the first time it happened. he was cooperative, though. if you didn't want to be touched, he would be a little sad at first, but he wouldn't be upset with you.

"screen's too bright? so sorry, y/n, i'll put it away." he's always incredibly eager to please you, so he begs you to tell him the second he does something wrong to air on the side of caution.

damian wayne

wouldn't care if you were anyone else. having shared a house with a few people like you for the duration of his teenage years (post 10 years old, really..), he was already doing everything he could to get the dog to stop yapping at you.

"titus, cut the bull, y/n isn't in the mood for this right now." he says, gently kicking the large dog's back leg out the back door. he didn't talk much after the dog was out, and made sure not to touch you unless you told him it was okay.

[clockwayswrites]

There was that post going around (that I'm too lazy to find) about the mother who gave her son a shovel to go dig and his whole mood improved.

In a no capes AU that would 100% be Bruce with Dick.

Bruce, intellectually, knew that children were high energy. He understood that adopting Dick meant a great number of life changes and responsibilities. He didn't expect the tornado of energy that was Dick.

See, Dick, being a circus kid, was used to always moving, doing having a task. If he wasn't performing he was practicing. If he wasn't practicing he was helping around the circus. Even on the road there were uniforms and nets to mend and animals to tend to and-- well, Wayne manner is all very calm, isn't it? And poor Dick is hurting and angry and needs to do something.

The gym Bruce installs help, but that isn't enough-- that isn't a task.

One day, in a fit of exhaustion and much needed rest, Bruce goes out to the shed attached to the garage, grabs a shovel, and hands it to Dick.

"Alfred is planing to plant a vegetable garden, why don't you help him dig the plots."

And Dick is off like lightning.

Alfred raise one far too judgemental eyebrow at Bruce. "Am I now, Master Bruce?"

"Hn."

They quickly learn that they have to tell Dick very clearly where to dig and how deep or they'll have to get a ladder and pull him out of a hole halfway to the cave system under Wayne manner.

(Bruce has nightmares that night about Dick being lost to the caves.)

And so the manor gains a garden, Dick learns how, a bit, to be a child outside of the circus, and Bruce actually gets to do some work. It's several months later when Alfred comes to Bruce.

"While I understand that the garden has been useful.... enrichment for Master Richard, I do think that perhaps you should inform him to stop digging."

"Wonderful timing, Alfred. I'm about to be in China for a month. I'm sure that I could extend the trip to two, maybe three months if I tack on some service work in South East Asia and visits to old friends."

"...perhaps an orchard wouldn't be remiss."

[gabrielsbubblegumbitch]

A follow up to this post

When I think about Vox's former husband I like to imagine that he wasn't a bad husband. He was a very okay guy, some rich Richard, not so terrible for the 50s standards. Vox wanted to hate him so desperately. Yet Richard wasn't easy to hate; he wasn't abusive or particularly oppressive. He was just... condescending. He didn't take Vox being cold or mean or aggressive seriously enough to mind it. To him Vox was just his silly, little wife going though some mood swings, while Vox dreamt about them becoming mortal enemies because that would mean that he is finally someone equal to the other man. That's why it pisses him so much when Alastor pretends he doesn't care. Even when Richard caught Vox once trying on his clothes, contrary to Vox's fears he didn't got mad, called him a freak or even realize that something is "wrong". He was like Aw baby, you liked that Dietrich's look so much? You should have told me, you know I'm an open-minded man. Oh, stop crying, we will get you a nice pair of pants tomorrow, how about that?

Vox was crying because he was scared as hell of being punished but also because something that was his private, happy ritual when he felt truly at peace was taken away from him and turned into a feminen fad.

[cateyam]

Inspired by this:

"Hey Dick?"

His brother didn't look up from where he’s lounging on the couch, scrolling through whatever app he was on. “What?”

Well someone's in a mood. Only one person was capable of doing that to Dick Grayson.

Tim leaned against the doorway, his arms folded loosely over his chest, though his body tense. Dick being in one of his moods was not good. Tim’s scared of him when Dick was being moody and here he was, being the sacrificial lamb for his other brothers. “So… are we still heading out?”

Dick grunted from his spot on the couch. For someone who didn't like being compared to Bruce, he sure sounds like him. “Where's the other two?”

Tim’s gaze flickered to the side where Jason and Damian were standing stiffly, hiding from Dick’s sight. Pussies. “They’re here.”

With a heavy sigh, Dick stood from the couch, pocketing his phone and grabbing the keys from the coffee table. He walked past Tim, and didn't blink towards Jason and Damian— who’s trying to hide behind one another from Dick’s mood.

A grimace sat on Tim’s face as the three of them followed Dick down to the garage. Jason nudged Damian to the passenger seat— they were always fighting over it; as he slid into the backseat with Tim.

Damian glared at Jason but nonetheless got into the car. Tim caught Dick’s glare through the mirror— or maybe it wasn't a glare? Tim doesn't know. Dick has a resting bitch face that has Tim’s brain short circuiting because he's always used to a smile on his brother’s face. Maybe he’s not that fluent in Dick Grayson yet.

And neither does Jason and Damian, it seemed.

Tim’s eyes flickered away, not wanting to have a stare off with an angry Dick. The car ride to BatBurger was silent and tense. Tim wondered what happened between Dick and Bruce that had Dick all riled up.

That was until Jason decided to break the silence with a nervous, “You okay, Dick?”

Their oldest brother was silent. Tim shook his head subtly at Jason who winced silently, taking the hint that Dick was not in the mood.

Just then, Dick spoke up. Or well, hissed out a quiet, “I did everything for him.”

Tim caught Damian glancing to Dick. “Richard…?”

And hell broke loose.

Hell, as in, Dick started speeding up, causing Jason and himself to yelp in surprise while Damian was holding onto his seat for dear life.

“Dick! Whoa— stop! Slow— fuck! Down!” Jason yelled, gripping onto Dick’s seat and holding onto Tim as he prayed to every God there was up there, even if he didn't believe in any.

If anything, Dick did not slow down. Instead, he managed to speed up even more, casually maneuvering around the cars like he’s done this a million times. That’s not safe…

“Richard! Slow down at once!” Damian yelled and Tim has never heard him so terrified. It would've been funny if Tim’s life wasn't in danger as well.

What felt like forever did Dick finally slow down to a stop. It was then Tim realised they'd reached their destination.

Dick casually gets out of the car while the three of them were panting for a breath, their body trembling in fear. “Let’s never ask Dick when he's in a mood.”

“Agreed,” Jason muttered while Damian nodded in agreement, his hands finally unsticking from his seat.

[bekolxeram]

What's really going on with 911twt, i usually keep up through tumblr, but haven't seen what actually happened, only comments from bts, but understandable if you don't really want to get into it, thanks anyway :)

I'm the last person you should ask. I don't do twitter, and by the time I woke up this morning the drama was well on the way.

But you know those journalists who get screeners in advance for review writing purposes? They have a habit of vague posting about the upcoming episode after watching the screener, but this time they seem eerily silent.

@houseofevanbuckley posted this screenshot of one of the usual suspects liking a tweet guessing the episode is probably awful. And that's it, I haven't seen her posting anything about the show since then, other than a vague tweet beefing with cheese blog.

Another journo posted this, then later clarified that it wasn't about the show, but about someone. It's just a hunch but I feel like this tweet is also about cheese blog. (Also could be about the Richard Siken incident, but I don't know if she's involved) Again, nothing more about the upcoming fall finale other than joking about ABC giving us nothing but stills from the very first scene of the episode.

The weirdest one is from him. He simply announced that he wouldn't be covering this episode at all, and instead opted to follow JLH's new movie. He usually has a lot of thoughts about the upcoming episode and would post his reactions generously, but this time, nothing at all.

This is weird, I've never seen any of them act like that. There's been rumor of screener receivers allegedly leaking major info to some group chats. I don't know if it's true, and I certainly don't know if that side of the fandom know something we don't about this midseason finale, but the general mood there is the most pessimistic I've ever seen. It ranges from "it's that bad huh?" to "we're so over".

The extremely limited amount of stills seems to indicate major plot twist(s) in the episode itself. Adding it to the fact that the usually chatty journalists have decided to beef with cheese blog instead of talking about the show, I think they've probably seen something they really didn't like.

[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

CONGRATULATIONS ON 1,000 FOLLOWERS! That's absolutely wonderful! You deserve it.

1.) T. "I see you. I know you're watching me." // 2.) 🕶 Mafia AU // 3.) Writer's choice! Go wherever the muse takes you. // 4.) 📚 Book

Thank you so much! ❤️ Hitman Eddie and mob baby Steve are rapidly taking over my brain, so here's some more of them!

Poisoned honey

Rated: M

Words: 995

Tags: Mafia AU; Hitman Eddie Munson; Mob boss Richard Harrington; Blood and violence; Obsessive behavior; stalking; flirting; sexual tension

Notes: Part 1 | Part 2

The boss is in one of his moods. 

Eddie endures the screaming with a stoic face - or as stoic as one can manage with a split lip and one eye swelling shut - and thinks to himself what a fucking joke it is. If anyone has a right to be mad, it's him. 

The intel he got on the job was all wrong. The target arrived with backup, turning what was supposed to be a quick, clean affair into a bloodbath. Eddie still finished the job, of course. But the goods he was supposed to secure got destroyed in the fight, losing the boss a ton of money. Hence the yelling. And the name-calling. And the throwing things. 

Eddie sidesteps the whisky tumbler that's hurled his way. It hits the wall, but he can feel the shards catch in his hair as it shatters into a million pieces. Jesus Christ. On days like this, he almost regrets getting into this. 

Almost. 

It's not easy, working his way into Richard Harrington’s inner circle. In the beginning, the asshole wasn't even aware Eddie existed. And even now that Eddie has his attention, he's still far from gaining his trust. 

Eddie gets it, though. You don't become a mob boss by blindly trusting anyone. 

And so Eddie has been biding his time, slowly weaseling his way into the group of Harrington's most loyal hitmen. The better part of a year passed before the boss even deemed him worthy of entering his office, but that’s okay. Every job brings him a little closer to his goal, and every time he sets foot into Harrington's villa is another occasion to catch a glimpse of the prize he's got his eyes on.

*

It's getting dark by the time he's dismissed. He should go home to lick his wounds, but the patio doors are open, and the rippling light and the scent of the hydrangea bushes lure him in. The night is warm, and with a bit of luck, his little nymph will be out by the water. 

He's in one of the lounge chairs, hair wet and tousled, body draped into a robe against the breeze. The underwater lights illuminate his features. He has a book in his lap, and his brow is furrowed in concentration. Eddie stays in his hiding spot for a long while, watching graceful fingers leaf through the pages, watching pink lips part around inaudible words, and gets lost in his favorite fantasies. 

Biting and sucking at those lips until they're plump and shiny, drawing the most beautiful pleas and moans from them. Maybe he'd leave those hands free, or maybe he'd tie them up, just to watch his little nymph struggle. Just to feel him squirm while Eddie covers that soft, tan skin in marks, leaving the traces of his ownership for everyone to behold. 

“I see you. I know you're watching me.” 

Eddie is so far gone in his own head, it takes him a moment to process that the words were directed at him. It takes even longer for him to realize who the voice belongs to. 

The boy has marked his page and is looking straight at his hiding spot, lips curled into a smile.

“Why don't you come out and introduce yourself? It would only be polite.” 

Soft hair falls into hazel eyes as the boy cocks his head. He looks so sweet, but Eddie knows that looks can be deceiving. He sees the coy glint in those eyes, sees the sharp edge to that smile. Knows that this is his last chance. He can turn away and save himself, or he can follow his little nymph's call and let himself be pulled into the depths. 

Those eyes sparkle with satisfaction as he steps out of his hiding spot. Not waiting for an invitation, Eddie sinks down into the empty deck chair beside the boy's, lighting a cigarette and taking a pull. 

“Eddie Munson,” he drawls and extends his right hand. “My pleasure.” 

The boy quirks an eyebrow before reaching out - only instead of accepting the handshake, he snatches the cigarette from Eddie’s lips. His fingers brush the cut and it burns like gasoline. 

“Steve. You know my last name, obviously.” Those perfect lips part to exhale a plume of smoke, hazel eyes assessing every inch of  Eddie’s appearance. “What happened to your face?” 

“Work accident,” Eddie shrugs. “Fell down some stairs.” 

Steve huffs a laugh, a curt and cruel thing. “Yeah, right. You think I'm stupid? I know you’re one of my father’s dogs.” 

Eddie feels his temper flare, snide reply already at the tip of his tongue. How he’s not a dog, doesn’t answer to any master. 

Except, that isn’t true, is it? 

He’d happily kill for this boy, would beg and crawl and debase himself. Has been doing exactly that, every day, for almost a year. 

Steve smiles, sweet like poisoned honey, and takes another lazy drag of the stolen cigarette. 

“You guys are all the same, huh? You think you’re so tough, so dangerous, but as soon as my dad tugs on your leash, you slink off with your tail between your legs. Pathetic.” 

Eddie is nothing if not fast. With one quick movement, he has snatched the boy's wrist and pulled the cigarette back to his own mouth. He takes a long drag, pressing his lips against the soft skin of those fingers. When he pulls away, he makes sure to graze his teeth over Steve’s knuckles. Those hazel eyes are huge, pupils deep and fuzzy, as they watch him stand. 

“You like leashes, little nymph? Good. Hold on to that thought.” 

Nothing has ever been harder than turning his back and walking away, but somehow he does it. Eddie prides himself in being good at his job, and much like his job, this is all about playing his cards right. 

He intends to win, in the end. 

He always does. 

Part 4

More celebration ficlets

[abbysimsfun]

Sims In Bloom: Generation 2 Pt. 39 (New Romance!)

Weather was perfect the day of the Romance Festival, but Heather's stomach twisted with nerves. "He's basically Prince Charming," said her sister, Holly, as they arrived. "What are you afraid of?"

"The last time I felt butterflies like this, I couldn't have been more wrong about the man I fell for."

"Stop thinking about Malcolm before Conrad gets here or you'll have to drink two Sakura teas just to get out of your bad mood."

Heather shuddered. "I don't know why anyone would want to feel that flirty!"

"Maybe you'll want to feel that flirty if he's the right guy."

Kris was the first to spot Conrad across the plaza and waved him over. Heather introduced him to her friend, Dylan, and her husband Gavin (yes Richards, sorry no screenshots here. I was laser-focused on Heather and Conrad), who had left their daughter Pearl and newborn son Darrell at home in the Spice District with her mother. Dylan eyed his outfit. "Are you on duty tonight, Detective?"

"Crime doesn't always take a weekend." Conrad blushed. "I got called into work this morning and didn't have time to change before I said I'd be here, but I guess I should take off the badge."

"Don't worry about it," said Kris. "The vendors won't try to overcharge if they see us hanging out with a cop."

"Who wants Sakura tea?" asked Holly, as the group finished bowls of spicy ramen. With Heather's mouth on fire, the flirty pink tea actually sounded appealing. She followed the others to the tea fountain, where Conrad poured two cups and handed one to her. This delighted Holly. "You're a gentleman, Conrad!"

"Thank you," Heather said as she took a sip. Instantly, the flirty brew raced to her head. Her fingertips tingled as they slid over the plastic cup.

"Thanks for inviting me."

"I didn't. I mean, I wanted to, but I don't know if I would've asked if Holly hadn't said anything. I'm not very good at this."

Conrad smiled. "I haven't dated seriously since college. Girl broke my heart, and it's easier to focus on work."

"I know what you mean."

She pulled out the clay from the gallery and fiddled nervously. He smiled. "Did you ever play that video game where you had to dig for clay and jewels and av-"

"-and avoid the demons? Yes! I loved Maniac Miners!"

"When they announced they turned it into a TV show I thought it would be so cool!"

"But it was for babies! My sister Hazel was five then, and she didn't even like it!"

He smiled, taking the clay from her hands. His blue eyes gleamed in the pink light of the festival.

With her hands free of clay she took a breath and emptied her tea cup. The tangy beverage made her lips tingle, but it also made her feel brave. She pulled herself against Conrad and pressed her lips to his.

He didn't even have time to drop the clay.

They pulled apart and shared a quiet look. Both vulnerable, afraid to say out loud how the kiss really felt. But in that look, they knew it meant something. "You can kiss me like that again. Anytime," he said.

Though he spent time getting to know Holly, Kris, Dylan and Gavin, Conrad spent most of the festival at Heather’s side. It might have been the Sakura tea, but that first kiss wasn't their last. Heather had never had a better first date.

At the end of the night, Conrad didn't want to leave her side. "I have to get home to let Gord out, but if you wanted to come by and say hello, I'm sure he'd be thrilled to see you as always."

"She'd love to," said Holly with a grin.

Buoyed by the effects of the Sakura tea, Heather followed Conrad to his apartment building a few blocks away... ->

<- Previous Chapter | Gen 2 Start | Gen 1 Summary | Gen 1 Start

[evans23]

Daughter of mine IV

Pairing : Judge Turpin x Daughter OC

Summary : Richard Turpin, the High Judge of London, indulges is young daughter for a stroll in the snow.

Tag(s)/Warning(s) : A bit of angst. Mention of prostitution and death. Mention of children being beaten. Awkward father. If I forget something, please mention it to me !

A/N: Hello dear 😁 It was lying around among my unpublished writings, so here it is, for you.

Part I - Part II - Part III - Part V

Also read on AO3

It was the first snow in London. They had arrived sooner than usual, in the first week of December, yet it was there for Richard's desperation. He hated winter, carols, Christmas, but more than anything else the coldness which accompanied the worst month of the year. The snow was the last straw to put him in the worst mood. 

He hated the snow for several reasons, the first being that he had to go to work with the sleigh rather than on foot. In fact, he could have walked, but he abhorred walking on the snow. and feel his legs sink into this white powder.

The second things he hated about the snow was that after one hours or more after the world had waken up, it wasn't white and pure anymore but rather a disgusting slush, dirtying his beloved Courthouse and his mansion.

Last but not least, he had some bad memories related to that kind of weather. The memory of a father lashing out his anger on him and his brother after both of them had played the whole day in the backyard, happy to throw to each other snowballs and building up snowmen. After that day, where his father had beaten them with his belt for no good reason at all, he had started to hate that white carpet that all children loved.

And, how unfortunate he was, when he came down to eat his breakfast with his daughter, to see that joyful glint in her eyes at the view of the snow. She was looking through the window, Arthur in her arms, with delight. 

"Dad, please, can I be dispense with my lessons today ?" she asked, her eyes full of hopes. 

"Well, if only you were able to line up a correct sentence, like a true lady should, then maybe I could oblige you," he said seriously.

He had said that to tease her, more than anything as he had granted her that right the moment she had asked for it. She had started to call him dad some months ago. He didn't know where the word came from as in his world, children addressed their parents with the proper title of mother and father. Yet, he hadn't had the heart to correct her and since then, she had understood that this simple word could help her to obtain anything from the man. Yes, she had inherited the beauty and kindness of her mother, but she definitely had a lot of her father in her too. 

"Please, dad," she begged him with her most convincing puppy eyes, "I've never had the chance to play in the snow."

"Is that so ?" 

"I couldn't go out when mom wasn't home. And when she was home, she was too tired or too sick to come out and play with me."

Richard felt a pang of sadness at this statement. Catherine never talked too much about her life with her mom. He knew that she had a loving mother, who had famished herself to provide food to her daughter and also that, even though she had sold her body to provide to their needs, she had always protected her daughter from that sinful world. Catherine , who had had her birthday the month before, was innocent in every sense of the word and Turpin was decided to keep it like that. Never should she knows the true about her beloved mother. 

"Well, as I don't work today, I thought a little girl could be desirous to spend the day with her father, but maybe have I been wrong," teased Richard, preventing a small smile to grace his lips.

She turned sharply towards him, her eyes widened with pleasure.

"For real ? We can spend the whole day together ?"

"Indeed. What if we took Hector for a walk ?" he proposed.

Hector was the puppy he had gifted her for her birthday. At the time, during the weekend, he read The Iliad from Homer in the parlour for several hour after their supper. Often until she fell asleep. As he didn't have many occasions during the week to participate in her bed time routine, he wanted her to be bath and in her bed clothes before his lecture to be able to put her in bed once she was fast asleep. He carried her to her bed as if she weighed nothing, which was the case, where he tucked her in and surrounded her with her many stuffed animals. He couldn't fathom why she was so passionate about Hector, who died quite stupidly between the hands of Achille, yet, she had insisted to name the dog after the mythological Prince. 

"Oh yes, thank you father !"

She prompted towards the door, but Richard held her back with one hand on her shoulder.

"Breakfast first ! You need to eat to become strong and to stay in good health."

She obeyed him and joined him in the table to share the deliciousness the cook had prepared for them. Richard was still concerned about her weigh. She had gained some since she was living with him, yet she was still to thin for his taste. Elena, her mother, had some pretty curve, even though she wasn't fat, yet she was still well in flesh and himself wasn't the sveltest one, therefore, Catherine shouldn't have such a frail constitution. 

His personal doctor had examined the girl several time, and he hadn't noticed anything wrong about her. He had reminded Richard that she had grown up under bad conditions, and more than often, kids who were living below the breadline had the tendency to be smaller and thiner than their peer. He had advised Richard not to worry too much and in a few years, she would probably be in better shape with all the good care she was provided with in the mansion. 

He had frowned upon the physician's word when he had told him that he was worrying too much for the child. How a father could worry too much for his offspring ? 

Yet, Catherine was an easy child. She didn't disobey too much, exception done for some childish mischief that he had never felt necessary to punish, at least not in the way his own father would have done. In fact, he had strangely felt relief when she started to act like a child of her age. It meant she felt at ease with her surrounding and at home in the manor. Also, for Richard's greatest pride, her nightmares had begun to diminish and she no longer asked to have her room lit at night. Nevertheless, a candle was always lit in the corner of the room, just in case.

When she had finished to eat, he rang for her maid, ordering her to help Catherine to cloth warmly, then, he charged the butler to notify Catherine's tutors their services wasn't needed for the day. And for the next day. After all, she had deserved some day off as she was a very assertive students, always willing to do her best and progressing faster than expected. 

"Dad ! I'm ready," shot Catherine, Hector on her heels. Him too was ready to cool his paws in the snow. 

They walked along the Thames, Hector bouncing happily beside them, while Catherine held Richard's hand into her tiny one. Richard wasn't a man to display his affection publicly, yet, he didn't have the heart to hurt the child by wringing his hand free. Anyway, everybody in the High Society knew he had a daughter, even though they didn't know anything about her background. Yet, no one dared asking question. He was Richard Turpin, The High Judge of The London Court of Justice, The Death's Judge. No one had to question him. Was she adopted, was she a bastard, was she a ward ? No one would dare mingling in his business on that matter or any other one. She was Catherine Elena Turpin and that was it. And if anyone dared dig into his daughter's past or his, The Beadles was there to take care of the inappropriate and stupid person. No colony for them. No mercy. A hanging under a crime The Beadles found appropriate. 

"Dad, can we go to the park ?"

Richard frowned. He knew far too well why she wanted to go to the park. To socialise. A trait she had inherited from her mother, definitely. Not that he was against the idea the girl made some friends, but certainly not with the lower class of London, whose children were closer to little demons than real human beings. 

He had already scolded her governess to bring her in those parks after he heard Catherine talk some slang she had picked up from them. Dad was his only tolerance because... well because he feigned ignoring where she had learnt the world and because it always warmth is cold heart, imprisoned into a block of indestructible ice when she said that soft word in her trembling voice. 

If Richard was more honest, he would admit that the girl had fought her way into his icy prison of a heart and made herself comfortable in there. But never would he admit it, for that would be a sign of weakness and Richard was anything but weak. 

"What if we had some tea, instead ?"

He subtly asked to change her mind about the park. She beamed at him and his shoulders slumped in relief. What would the common people but worst, what the upper class would say if he, the High Judge of London, was seen in a park full of paupers, letting his child play with the scruffy and ill-bred children of the local oafs ?!

Fortunately, Catherine was easy to convince. Indeed, he had taken her a few months earlier to one of the finest tea room in town where he was to meet a judge with who he worked regularly to settle some secret business. The little girl had promised to behave and remain silent until the end of the encounter between her father and the other man. As a reward for her good manners, they had spent the rest of the afternoon together, having tea and eating mini cakes. 

Richard had seen it as a good opportunity to make her practise the delicate exercise of going out in public and drinking and eating in style, where Catherine had only seen it as a pleasurable experience at spending some time alone with her father. That evening, she had been rambling on and on and on to her maid about how pleased she was with her day, and Anne, the head maid, had subtly hinted to Turpin that it was something he should do more often in order to strengthen the bond he had started to form with the girl. Richard had grumbled that a man of his importance had better things to do than entertain a child in a tea room, yet that was just for good measure, as he had been back there several times with his daughter, including for Catherine's birthday.

The afternoon went well as Catherine, her cheeks flushed with cold, was talking happily with her father who was earnestly listening to her, as he did with everything in his life. Hector, the little puppy, had been allowed to accompanied them under the condition that he remained in his mistress' arms where he was snoring softly. 

They returned home shortly after, the girl still holding her father's hand as a lifeline while they were walking a little bit to briskly for her little legs, also with a look of little disappointment for her that the afternoon was cut short so suddenly. However, the threatening clouds had not escaped to Turpin who feared that another snowstorm would prevent them from returning safely to the manor. 

Once back, the magic of the moment faded away as Turpin went directly to his office on the purpose to catch up on the work he had fallen behind for the day. It was convoluted to understand for Catherine who was still struggling to adapt herself with the quick change of mood of the man who had now found his place as a father in her little heart, still fragile by the many trials she had gone through at such a young age. 

Fortunately, she could always count on her governess to cheer her up and together, they played until bath time with her porcelain doll and her many stuffed animals.

"You won't have class tomorrow either," Richard announced to her at supper time.

Catherine's eyes lit up with joy. 

"Thank you, father !" she exclaimed.

"To my great despair," his cold voice growled, "a young girl from a good family should never neglect her lessons, but I considered it as more prudent not to have your teachers come tomorrow as the snow will probably fall more heavily than last night."

A lie, of course, but he didn't want to appear weak in anyone's eyes. He was the cold, unyielding Judge Turpin, not a soft heart who catered to his child's every whim. 

Catherine's crestfallen face hurt his heart more than he would admit, yet he said nothing more. The two ate in silence, as usual. After supper, to make up for his rudeness from earlier, Richard allowed her to spend some time with him in the parlour, something he never did on weekdays, but after having seen her suppressing a yawn for the fifth time, he sent her to bed unceremoniously.

"Will you come and kiss me, father ?" she asked hopefully.

"We'll see," simply stated Richard without looking up from his book.

The maid helped Catherine to go to bed, tucking her in warm blankets, and whether Richard came to kiss her or not, she would never know as she had fallen asleep immediately when her head had reached the cushions.

The next day, the little girl woke up later than usual. Richard, who could not afford to stay away from the Court for another day, had already left long ago. Remembering she had another day off, Catherine jumped up from her bed, running to the window to make sure the snow was till there. It was. In fact, there was even more. Richard was right, the snow had fallen heavily the whole night to cover London with more white. 

After getting dressed, not without difficulty for her poor maid as she was fidgeting with impatience, and having her breakfast under Anne's supervision, Catherine had asked and been granted permission to go out and play in the manor gardens. Her governess, who had made sure she was dressed warmly, was with her and together, they made snowmen and snow angels. The day had passed in the blink of an eye, so that neither of them had noticed they had missed lunch. It was a voice, low and cold like the rumble of thunder, that brought them back to reality.

"Why is my daughter rolling around in the snow like an animal ?" Richard asked.

Catherine stood up straight, a little ashamed, while Richard looked at her half-amused, half-irritated. 

"We were making snow angels," she said in a small voice. 

"Is that so ?" said Richard, arching an eyebrow.

She nodded, a small, shy smile playing on her lips as the governess, who was dusting her damp coat, didn't dare look up at Richard.

"I am sorry my lord, we..."

"Silence," Richard ordered, "you are here to teach my daughter manners and ensure that she behaves like a true lady, worthy of her rank, of my name. I realise today that you, yourself, have nothing of that."

The governess lowered her head, cheeks red with shame.

"It's my fault, father," Catherine interjected, "I was the one who wanted to play in the snow. I just wanted to be like the other children," she finished in a whisper.

Turpin's harsh features softened slightly. Another trait inherited from her late mother. Catherine always felt the need to defend others, especially if she had an ounce of affection for said person. 

"Another duty of the governess is not to give in to every whim of a child."

It was Catherine's turn to blush. The poor girl knew nothing of the amusement that Turpin felt to know that for once, a unique moment of time, his child had had the opportunity to act like a real child of his age. 

"Disappear," he hissed at the governess, "and do not let this happen again... and if it does, do not let me know about it," he added, subtly making her understand that he wasn't really angry with either her or Catherine.

The governess strode to the house without asking for more, relieved to know that she had done nothing wrong after all. However, Catherine was not yet versed in the subtle art of conversation, and convinced that she had disappointed her father, her eyes filled with tears.

"Hush, hush ! You're not going to cry now," Turpin said in a harsh tone, irritated by Catherine's bad habit of bursting into tears at the slightest of his frowns. 

"I'm sorry, father," she murmured.

"Come on, forget what I said. I was just teasing that old goat of a governess you have," he said playfully.

"Really ? You are not mad at me ?" Catherine asked, looking up at him.

"If I was mad, would I have asked the cook to make us mince pies for tonight ?"

Catherine's face lit up at his words. She didn't get sweets very often as Richard didn't want her to end up with rotten teeth.

"Oh ! Thank you, father !" she said, rushing into his arms.

Turpin wasn't used to her outbursts of affection yet. He probably never would. But he still made the effort to gently stroke her hair. 

"Come on, that's not very ladylike," he stated, "Let's go inside. I'll have your maid prepare a bath to warm you up, you're freezing. Then, it'll be time for diner."

They walked back inside the towering mansion together and Catherine thanked him again for the impending deliciousness of the night. Richard waved her off, waiting until she was out of sight to allow the smallest of a smile to tug across his lips. He shook his head in disbelieve, incredulous at how grateful the child could be for such small things that were insignificant to him. 

"Anything for you, daughter of mine," he muttered just to himself. 

[yourladyem]

Christmas hadn't been easy for Lydia for years. Her parent's divorce, her own divorce, losing Richard, losing her family, and now Astrid wasn't going to be home for Christmas this year. She wasn't exactly in the festive mood this year even with her husband trying everything he could to cheer her up. She just wasn't into it. It wasn't his fault. He was the best thing that happened to her since Astrid, even if she didn't admit at times (decades actually). But he was. He was most excited because they finally got to spend Christmas together. She was excited too in some ways.

But as hard as she tried, she just couldn't get into it. She stopped in her tracks and looked around at her unfamiliar surroundings. She'd somehow wandered into the middle of the forest and came to its edge. The trees were beautiful. Perfectly powered with snow on each limb. She thought about heading back, but her gut told her to push on a little farther.

She passed the final set of trees aligning her path, coming across a clearing blanketed in snow and stood the most striking Christmas tree she'd ever seen.

White and silver silk ribbons intertwined between the snowy limbs that were decorated with black, white, and red ornaments. Each displaying its own unique design and not one was like the other.

One in particular caught her eye. She reached out to touch its delicate features. A black orb painted with red and white swirls, and pearl-like droplets.

"It's beautiful." She whispered. Her ghostly breath danced against the black glass.

"That's exactly what I said about you, Honey."

Her husband, now human, popped out from behind the tree with a flawless charming grin.

"What the -?" She looked back at the tree.

"You did this?"

"Of course." He shrugged. "Who else, Babe?"

"Why?"

He cocked his head with a playful smirk, "Really? After all of this time?"

He handed her a small red floor. The same flower he gave her over twenty Christmases ago when she sat on that bench on their tenth "anniversary" year.

A bride should always have a bouquet. He said.

She always knew he'd be there no matter how alone she felt as the years passed.

"I know it hasn't been easy but I'm still here. I love you, Lydia."

She burst into tears, throwing her arms around him.

"Oh, it's ok, Honey. I'm right here." He rubbed her back, tucking her head under his chin. "Like I said, I've always been right here." He kissed her forehead. "I know."

He happily held her for a moment, enjoying their solitude in the wintery air. He shook her a little.

"Hey, I got something for you."

She smiled and snuggled into him a little more. She didn't want to let him go.

"I'm not going anywhere."

"You promise?"

"When have I ever broken that promise?"

She pursed her lips, "... Never."

He unlocked her arms around his waist. He placed one of her hands on top of his shoulder and held the other in his.

We started dancing. He twirled her a time or two as light snow began to fall. Its pure white essence sparkled against her dark hair like white gems of royalty. But that's what she was to him—his Gothic Royal. He pulled her back into his arms and kissed her.

"Merry Christmas, Honey."

"Thank you, Sweetheart. You know, this is the best Christmas I've had in a long time."

"I know."

She lightly rolled her eyes, "Of course, you know."

"But you know what the best part about this is?" His lips barely kissed hers again.

"What?"

A small chime filled the air. He kissed her again as her world disappeared. The sound of birds chirping caught her attention. Her eyes fluttered a couple of times, and she found her husband sound asleep next to her. She felt his warm hand resting on her side. Yeah, it was the best part. She slid closer to him, softly caressing his chest with her nails.

"Merry Christmas, Sweetheart. Thank you." She placed a gentle kiss against his lips and tucked herself under his chin.

A proud smile formed when he momentarily opened his eyes, watching her drift back to a peaceful slumber.

He looked just past her to see the small red flower standing tall in its black crystal vase with red and white swirls and pearl-like droplets.

"You're welcome. Merry Christmas, Lydia. I love you."

And happily went back to sleep.

[xxx-theartofsuicide-xxx]

In Beetlejuice Beetlejuice, Lydia loses everyone important to her one by one in some irreparable way.

The Maitlands moved on. Richard is killed before the film even begins. Her father's death is the inciting incident, then Astrid and Delia are lost to her almost simultaneously. Rory, who wasn't all that valuable to begin with, is completely invalidated and then essentially killed. Delia and Charles are implied to be fated for the great beyond. The final shocking twist nightmare takes Astrid from her (metaphorically) again, and lastly even Betelgeuse pops away into the indefinite unknown, leaving her utterly alone.

Dark, I know, but I'm just narrating what we were shown. Tim was in a mood.

[thedevilrisen]

Hospital - 4

Nova Crosby -

12:10pm

Sid's eyes watered as he read the message, and not just from the contents but also the blinding tone of the screen. Fluorescent pixels highlighted every word of the message and while he sat on the carpeted floor of the hospital lobby, Luke slouched down beside him cradled into his chest he thought back to a moment in Nova's favourite tv show. Gilmore girls, or more specifically the moment where Richard Gilmore was in hospital and he stated, 'I'd rather be in Philadelphia than here.' 'What's in Philadelphia?' Rory had asked, 'Nothing, but it would be better than being here.'

Right now, as much as the city despised him, Sidney wished he and Nova were in Philadelphia. Not in the hospital, and certainly that she wasn't in the ICU. Taking a breath and rubbing his hand up and down Luke's arm again, the fabric of his hoodie bunching with the motion.

"I'm about to tell you something that is going to hurt, like fuck." Sid mumbled, he winced at Luke's reaction, the harsh breath in which he sucked in, the grip on Sid's suit jacket scrunching just that little tighter. "Luke, Nova has had two of her three surgeries, they weren't able to get to the third one because some... complications arose."

Luke squished his eyes shut tightly to refrain from shedding anymore tears, as he waited silently for Sid to go on, waiting for the damn wall he so tenderly hand crafted to come flooding down at a mere handful of words.

"Because of this, Novs was moved to the ICU." Sid held his breath as he waited for the fiery explosion of the dropped bomb to submerge him. Sid himself wanted to do the least adult like thing and stand and scream, it's not fair, she doesn't deserve it. Yet, holding it together for Luke, he sat silently, waiting.

"What, do we do now?" Luke choked out horsley, Sid watched as every fibre of the young boys being strained to keep him some resemblance of a man, normal. But wasn't an inconsolable, heartbroken, barely hanging on boyfriend the norm in this situation?

"Well, they told me in the message that there is an intensive care waiting room up on floor three, outside ward three A. If we go and wait there, then a nurse will come and take us in to see her." Sid watched the understanding slowly dawn on Luke's face, viewed the moment it clicked in the young boys head. He could see her, but there were conditions, those conditions required a certain amount of cooperation from his brain and limbs.

"So we go to floor three, then." Luke stated with finality, his grasp on Sid's now wrinkled blazer loosened as he fought his way into a standing position, using the wall and somewhere in there, Sidney's head for leverage. Choosing not to comment, Sid also rose from the ground. Smoothing his suit out of habit.

Both men stood and looked at each other momentarily before Luke meandered to the horridly patterned excuse of a chair he was sitting on. He picked up the brown paper bag which housed the once warm banana bread and creased it to peek inside, poking at the now cold, doughy probably exceptionally buttery loaf Luke couldn't bring himself to eat anymore.

"Any good?" Sid asked, taking the bag which sat loosely in Luke's hand and peeking inside.

"No better than yours." Luke managed, a forelong smile gracing his lips. Thinking once again back to the times when Nova and the two of them spent time in the kitchen throwing flour at each other and eating Sid's banana bread when it was still a little too hot fresh out of the oven.

Watching as the shadows of good memories flash through Luke's features he took the opportunity to make the most of this temporary mood lift. Together with some uhm-ing and ah-ing Sidney led himself and Luke down some corridors they didn't need to and others that finally led them to the Intensive Care waiting room. It was small with a mini fridge and a snack bar, three couches and a window which led to shrouded darkness outside.

Sitting down on individual couches, watching the black industry standard phone and waiting for it to ring felt like torture, knowing that Nova was on this floor, alone and probably scared was killing them both. More so Sidney as this was everything he vowed never to happen, he was supposed to be the one to silence all fears and cradle her throughout the storm. The parental guilt, reflection and utter terrible sinking feeling in his gut all continued to pile.

1:02am

Both men, even while concerned were struggling to keep their eyes open, both the emotional toll and physicality of Sid's game was catching up. Yet still the phone sat silent, the fact that nothing had been passed on only meant one thing. Bad.

When the phone broke them out of their mopey, stupor by piercing the wretched silence with its call Sid reached for it, holding the receiver to his ear.

"Sidney Crosby speaking."

"Mr. Crosby, I apologise for the wait, we had some further complications moving your daughter into the intensive care unit, however we have her out of an unplanned surgery now, she is being moved as we speak. I will prioritise having a nurse come and collect you shortly."

All Sidney heard, and Luke heard from leaning over was unplanned surgery.

A corresponding thought ricocheted throughout their minds.

What the fuck went wrong.

[munsonfamilyband]

I'm in the mood to give Steve good parents so fuck it, here we go.

Steve's dad, I always name him Richard, was lower middle class growing up, he wasn't poor but he also wasn't anywhere near his mom, Elizabeth. Betsy was the child of Italian immigrants (I personally love the idea they're Sicilian) and her dad had managed to open a thriving business when he first emigrated. She grew up wealthy, but her parents always made sure that their children knew that they weren't special - experiencing the discrimination her parents went through as immigrants definitely helped with making that message stick.

She was a cheerleader in High School but she also worked on the school newspaper and worked as a camp counselor during the summers. Steve's dad was a mathlete and head of the debate club. They met when Betsy approached him for an interview for a recent debate success.

Betsy was best friends with Sue Anderson (she was a bridesmaid in her wedding to Charles Sinclair) and friendly with both Karen Childress and Joyce Moldano until Karen started ditching them to hang out with her "boyfriend" Ted Wheeler (both Sue and Betsy tried to get her to see that he was much too old but she wouldn't listen). Joyce was a more complicated falling out that happened slowly as Lonnie Byers started showing interest and then started isolating her from all of her friends. Betsy still sent a gift to Karen, both for her and her new baby, when she found out that Karen had given birth. She also went to Joyce personally with lasagna when she heard about Lonnie running out of town.

Rich was best friends with Donnie Henderson, pushing him to pursue Claudia Yount when they were juniors, going on double dates with them when he and Betsy got together (after she got sick of his longing looks that he thought he was hiding and wasn't so she asked him when he was taking her on a date). He and Charles Sinclair were mathletes together and he gave Betsy tips to pass along to Sue when she had spilled that her friend had a crush on him. Rich had always been friendly with Jim Hopper Jr. but he was also friends with the Munson brothers and they didn't seem to like him that much. Wayne seemed nicer so on one occasion Rich tried to approach him and ask if he had done something to offend them, but Wayne had been two years older than him at the time and just scoffed and told him to run home to daddy.

(Years later he found out that Al had told Wayne that Rich had said something rude to him about being trailer trash. He only said that because he had been pissed seeing Rich sit with Lizzie Franklin at lunch, having forgotten that they were on the debate team together, nevermind the fact that almost everyone knew that Rich was gone on Betsy Lombardi.)

Betsy loved to read, and when Steve was little she would read to him all the time. (It's part of why they missed Steve's dyslexia.) As he got slightly older she started reading her favorite fairy tales to him, and then eventually when he asked for something new she broke out the Hobbit and they would cuddle up in his race car bed and she would read until he fell asleep.

Rich loved sci fi, any kind he could get his hands on. He would record episodes of Star Trek and he and Steve would sit on the couch together on Saturdays and spend all afternoon and night watching it together. When the first Star Wars came out he and Steve went together to go see it, then made them both lightsabers out of cardboard when they got home. Betsy would find them in the basement wearing blankets secured with safety pins like robes and dueling with their lightsabers. She managed to get it on tape once.

When Steve got to middle school his parents couldn't avoid the travel they needed to do for work any longer. Betsy went out and got them a very expensive cell phone and made sure to put the number on the fridge so Steve could see it and call anytime he needed them. They also made sure to call at least every other night, but in the early years it was often every night and only got less frequent when Steve got to high school.

They sent him little gifts from wherever they were staying, Steve getting a package at least once per trip. Sometimes it had candies and snacks, sometimes it was figurines and magnets, sometimes they even sent him clothing they thought he would like (Betsy keeps his measurements updated regularly so they can send him things that fit).

As Steve got older he went through the period of feeling embarrassed by how close he was to his parents, so he often didn't tell people about them other than saying that they weren't home often.

When he went through the events of '83, he managed to hold out for 3 days of not wanted to bother his parents before he called and begged for one of them to come home. Steve knew contracts, and he knew that the NDA the government made him sign wasn't legally binding without his parents there, so he could tell them everything. His parents were home a day later and he fell into his mom's arms and told them everything. The following year he was too out of it in the hospital from the concussion Billy gave him to properly give his parents number. When he got home, after Hopper refused to let him out of his sight for 4 days, he was able to call them and his mom rushed home, arriving that same day. A similar thing happened after the mall fire in '85 except his parents had been called by Sue about the fire so Steve never managed to call. When they arrived at the hospital it was only Steve and Robin, who they loved instantly.

When they heard about the earthquake on the news, they both immediately got on a flight home. Only, that was finally when everyone else learned about them because Steve's room was very full. Betsy had tunnel vision and ran to Steve's bedside, petting his hair while he blinked awake, while Rich went to Robin and pulled her into a tight hug that she returned without hesitation. Everyone else in the room was completely confused by these two people's appearance until Robin introduced them, so Steve could sleep again.

A month or so later Steve came to them, clearly nervous, and explained that while he did like girls he also liked boys and he might have a boyfriend, maybe? Betsy and Rich glanced at each other for just one moment of eye contact before they both stood and pulled Steve into a group hug. They reassured him that they loved him and just want him to be safe, then they demanded to meet this boy that has Steve so flustered.

Later that week they were reintroduced to Eddie, who had been unconscious when they had come to the hospital. Instantly they adored him. Rich and he had a long conversation about Star Trek and rock music, Eddie even giving Rich some recommendations for some metal that he might like. Betsy somehow had an even longer conversation about Lord of the Rings and she even grabbed a notepad when he started explaining Dungeons and Dragons to her. Steve was definitely jealous that his parents were taking up all of his time with Eddie but he was also so glad they liked him, and very clearly approved of him.

When Eddie went to the Harringtons years later and mentioned wanting to ask Steve to illegally marry him, Betsy burst into tears and grabbed Eddie in a bone crushing hug. Rich clearly had tears in his eyes and clapped a hand on Eddie's shoulder and told him they whenever they did it, wherever they did it, they would happily be there and would love to be involved in planning however they could.

[sweetiebean00]

Hey Bartender

I love my angsty boys as much as the next guy, but I feel like it's Dick Grayson's time in the moonlight! Hope you enjoy!

Dick didn't tell anyone what he did when he wasn't patrolling, when he wasn't in uniform. When being Richard "Dick" Grayson got to be too much. His family didn't need to know, Bruce and Alfred had dealt with a literal demon. Not that anyone else knew it. He pretended far too well at that, he was used to it. To pretending. To playing up the smiles, and the bad jokes. The care that was real for his family, but none quite understood why Nightwing was feared in Bludhaven, in any of the cities they went to. Not that they noticed, not if Dick could help it.

Still, as he walked through the doors of the same old club that hadn't quite been shut down yet. No evidence of any illicit dealings, he did check before arriving. Especially in case he was recognized by being Bruce Wayne's adopted son, his ward. He's been coming to this place for months, wanting to be lost. To be forgotten. It was easy too, gave them his name, his last name as his first. He hated lying, it was part of the job but he hated it at times. Made it easy when everyone who saw him, who got used to the twenty something year old looking like a child soldier (because that's what he was) coming in and sitting at the counter. 

Avoiding looking in the mirror behind the bar, the club danced and pulsed with light. With energy. Men and women, teenagers and adults, and everything in between was allowed in and they danced. Had fun in a safe space to forget. Those who didn't take no, received a shot in the head. At least that was the first thing Dick encountered. The girl behind the counter, her hair pinned up and eyes narrowed as she put the gun on the bar. The warning was silent to the man who had been reaching for an abandoned drink. Her threat was clear, and when the gun was fired off at someone who had been trying something fishy, a butcher's knife slammed into the counter. Inches from the hand trying to tamper with the drink inside. 

She had looked to Dick, looked at him through the lenses of her glasses that hung on the end of her nose. She nodded once, as if understanding something Dick himself hadn't understood. Only poured him a baby shot, with a half-smile. A silent taunt, a test to see if he could handle the liquor properly and not like the morons about the club. After the next five, she had given him a proper glass, and three more in she looked at him. His hands clasped on the top, his fingers interlocked and told him the rules. Had him sign a contract that was legitimate and he wondered if she drew it up herself. When asked for a name, he gave her his full name and she didn't bat an eye. 

That night he woke up slumped on the counter, and the bartender, who he learned was Angel, was shaking him awake. Asking if he wanted her to call someone because they were closing up. He didn't have the conscious thought to respond, and when he woke again he was on a couch. A blanket thrown over him and a bucket by his head, a glass of water and an unopened bottle of ibuprofen next to him on the floor. What was important was that his clothes were still on, there was nothing arrayed with him, his senses. His phone was plugged in, and a sticky note was taped telling him to turn the sound off next time he wanted to pass out else he'd find it broken by a bullet. 

"Watch yourself tonight Grayson," The bouncer, Brutus, broke him from his thoughts. He blinked, turning to look at him. He was tall, large. Bald and sporting tattoos from the eyebrows down over every inch of his skin but his back. "Angel's in a mood tonight."

Angel's in a mood? Dick swallowed, brows furrowed as he side stepped those entering the club next. It was a little out of the way place, nothing fancy and apparently the only way people find it is by needing an escape, a safety net to catch them in life. Angel called it Haven for a reason, after all. Brutus nodded his head at the sign by the door, easily missed but Dick knew what it was. There was a tally mark for every scumbag that entered and didn't leave the way they came. In a body bag, missing a finger, etc. His eyes widened, it must be a bad night for it to be hitting ten marks. The sound of a gunshot rang, and he watched as Brutus sighed. Adding another mark to the chalkboard.

Dick turned, turned into the crowd and part of him so badly wanted to fix it. To help. But that's not why he came here, and when old habits kicked. When he tried being the hero once, he had been stopped right in his tracks by Angel. She handled the situation, and when he woke up on that shitty couch she was at the bar. Head in her hands, and he had seen just her back. Seen silvery blonde hair that fell about her shoulders messily, had seen that her skin was sunkissed and golden. That she was covered in ink, with an entire sleeve on her right arm that ended at her elbow on the left. She had what looked like wings on the nape of her neck, and she spoke without her voice being hidden by the base drum. She spoke soft, cool, and calm. There wasn't an edge, there wasn't anger, or anything. Just quiet facts in a soft, but raspy voice. Probably from all the yelling she needed to do in the club at night, but it was.. it shocked him. She didn't look at him once that morning, and when he saw himself out he saw her face hidden by a cup of coffee and fogged up glasses.

This time, he took a deep breath. Side stepping the regulars and the new ones, teenagers and adults wanting to forget. He swears he saw Roy Harper in here once, but like Angel had said. This was the club people came to be forgotten, to forget. To get lost. He promised himself to never approach anyone he recognized in the club outside of it, never bring it up. And despite the detective inside being curious, he didn't investigate it. Didn't even put it in the search engine, didn't look up a blonde woman named Angel. Not even when his fingers twitched, and he burned with wonder. 

His shot was waiting for him when he looked down, and he looked up to see a fire in her eyes. She watched the crowd like a hawk, her glasses pushed up her nose and he wondered if they were for show. Babs hated it when her glasses hung too low, got in the way. He didn't ask, instead knocking it back like he had been for months, weeks, days now. A knife left her fingertips in a split second, and he watched it soar through the crowd. Her aim was never off, never wrong, and he wondered how she did that every time. 

"Gray." She greeted with a nod, the music was changing to something slower. More somber, but still a rapid beat. He listened to it for a moment, before knocking back the shot again. Sometimes he wondered if this was magic, if it was magic that kept the glasses refilling. If he was in some fevered dream. If Angel was a meta, or a magic user that Batman hadn't sniffed out.

"Angel." 

"Why do you come here, Gray?" Angel questioned, taking the glass from him and adding another one next to it. He blinked, she grabbed a bottle from the back pouring it without breaking her gaze from the dancing and the drinking. "To forget, to be forgotten? Maybe both? Maybe neither?"

He swallowed, hands twitching. He caught the glass that slid along the bar top, watching her people watch. What was her aim? What was to gain by breaking her own number one rule? Never address the elephants in the room. She sighed, knocking her glass lightly against his. He heard her muttering, heard the voice blend with the music and he noted it was low enough he could make out the solemn tone of her voice. Was it on purpose or was the music just rigged to some playlist and shuffling?

Dick cleared his throat, mind scrambling for an answer besides 'um'. He didn't know if he wanted to share with her the truth, the reason for his hiding. The way his mind was getting too loud, the eternal battle for Gotham's people growing heavy on his shoulders. He swallowed as she filled her glass again, as she tapped it with her finger until he downed his own and then refilled it.

"I- I want to forget, and not be remembered." He finally admitted, quietly. In the same notes she had spoken in, as if they were sharing their dark secrets. His skin itched and it took him everything to not start clawing at his arm to scratch the itch inside his bones. He downed the shot and then swiped hers, downing it too. "I-"

"Grayson, stop." She said, softly, no room for argument but it wasn't firm. She reached her hand out, palm up to him on the table. "I'm not asking for the story, not even sure I know why I was asking. It's just, you've been coming here for months now. Late, like two in the morning late, you stay until you can barely think straight, talk even. I just, I've seen that kind of thing before. I know how it ends."

He didn't know how to respond, a lump forming in his throat and now he understood what Brutus meant. She was in a mood, a mood for the deep gritty pain of others. Not to cause it, not to revel in it. He's seen her approach customers before, seen her offer her hand and a way to help. Watching those that took it seem as if they became... lighter. Lighter than the traumas and stress, watched as she fixed them with another kind of drink. Watched as one of the people, her helpers, put a blanket over their shoulders and led them outside. He didn't see them again, but he'd notice that she would seem more tired. More run down, and out of it. Like the weight of the world was on her shoulders now... Dick swallowed the lump.

"You need help, Gray, and not the kind of help the glass can provide." 

"I-" His voice cracked, and he couldn't bring his gaze from the table. Not as she slowly retracted her hand, offering him another glass. "Thanks, Angel, but-"

"I'm not offering you the help, I've offered others." She said quickly, and he looked up. Ignoring the sting in his eyes as she ran a hand through her hair. "I was just stating, have you considered therapy?"

He laughed. The sound wet, watery, but it was a laugh better than the fake one that has been grating on his nerves. On his ears. He took the shot slower this round, savoring the bitterness that coated his tongue. The burn that followed the drink down his throat. She smiled, it wasn't the same smirk she gave everyone else. It wasn't the same half-smile he's seen her sport when she's snickering at one of his shitty jokes, or Brutus’ begrudging groans. The smile is soft, gentle and almost sad. As if she knows what he's feeling, as if she can feel it, understand it. He didn't know how to feel about that, what to think, or even what to say. Instead, just kept drinking from the glass that kept refilling as the music changed, the dancers returning to their wild carefree behavior as she kept an eye on the crowd and on him. As if worried he would break if she looked away.

He wanted to tell her not to worry, that everything would be fine. That she could do what she did best, make drinks and help her patrons. He wouldn't break if she looked away, if she stopped filling his glass or paying attention. He smiled bitterly; Richard "Dick" Grayson was already broken. She just didn't know it yet. It's okay, his family didn't know either.

He doesn't know how long he spent there, sitting at that countertop. On that old barstool with a cushion jimmy rigged to stay in place. He wonders if it was Angel or Brutus that had the idea to staple it on, and he snickered at the idea of Angel getting pissed and just taking a stapler to the thing. It wouldn't be out of character, not even close to it. He rested his head on the counter, the cold wood soothing to his heated skin. The music, the sounds, all drowning into one as colors merged and swirled into a mosaic. Angel's face, lit by strobe lights, was in his line of vision. A hand gently shaking his shoulder, and he watched her brows furrow. Lips pursed and eyes roll, before the world went dark. 

Dick woke to a mild headache, the world far too bright. He groaned, rolling over into his pillow and pulling the blanket over his head. He loved drinks from Angel, the hangover was always mild. He breathed, only to freeze as his brain caught up with his surroundings. He was in his room, in his apartment. He jerked up, hands grasping at his clothes and... he was still dressed. Still fully dressed, even his shoes were still on his feet. There was no glass of water next to him, no unopened bottle of ibuprofen or Tylenol. His phone was plugged into his charger next to his bed, and there was no sticky note reminding him of certain death if he didn't silence the phone, mute the calls, or stop whoever or whatever was pinging his phone despite the silent mode activated.

He frowned, swallowing at the lump forming in his throat as he climbed warily out of bed. Everything was how he left it the night before, his suit on the floor that he very quickly shoved under his bed with his foot. Hoping whoever brought him here, didn't see it. He pressed a hand to his chest, trying to ease his racing heart; and failing. Slipping from the room, he froze. 

There passed out on his couch, is Angel. Silvery blonde hair was all over the place, some hanging into her face. The rest pushed back, he saw freckles dusting her cheeks. This is the first time he has seen her properly, in the light no less. He looked away, avoiding the way her noted her lips were pink and pouty. She didn't want others to see her face in the light, in the dark of the club with nothing but neon strobe lights her hair was hidden. Her skin tone, her eyes. There was enough light to see others, to see the faces around him, see the clothing people wore. But the colors were so strong it was hard to tell if someone's hair was black or blonde, freckles, dimples, and moles were gone. Designs on clothes faded, only silver catching light, only the metal of piercings shined clearly. 

Dick moved to his kitchen, rubbing the back of his neck and combing through messy black hair. This is fine, he is fully dressed. Everything is intact, he could question how the hell she knew where he lived later. Question how they got in also, much later. Along with if she managed to carry him herself, or drag him, or did Brutus take care of it. He shook the thought off, he'll find out later. Probably when she woke up. 

In the meantime, breakfast. For two. Maybe some coffee as well. He could do this, he knows how to cook... ish. Okay, so he had received a ban from Alfred's kitchen, but he can cook! He sighed, really wishing he had asked Alfred for lessons now. It's fine. Scooping the grounds into the filter, he started the pot. Letting the warm smell heat his apartment and hoping it wouldn't attract a coffee addicted brother of his today. Not yet anyway. He loved his siblings, his family, and he normally didn't mind (too much) them crashing into his place whenever (especially when Bruce became too much for them). However, Dick had no idea how to go about explaining Angel, about why she was on the couch, not even how he met her. While he could try and play off another hook-up, her being on the couch bespeaks another story alone.

He took a deep breath, this was fine. This is fine. Everything is going to make sense. Dick heard a groan, heard a soft grunt and could see as the head of silver pushed up from behind the back of the couch. Angel shifted, stretching her arms over her head with a whine that had this mouth growing dry. He swallowed thickly, forcing his focus on the coffee pot still brewing. He could hear her getting up, could hear her moving. Her footsteps barely made a sound on the floorboards beneath her, and if he hadn't been trained by the Bat he was sure he wouldn't have even heard her. As it were, he heard her get closer. Felt her eyes as she shuffled her feet and sighed near silently. 

"Good morning," She greeted with a yawn. 

He glanced at her slowly. Waiting for her to either hide her face or something, but she did neither. Instead meeting his gaze head on, with a sleepy smile-grimace on her face. She had freckles dusting her nose and the apples of her cheeks. A scar ran from the center of her chin down and another was on the corner of her lips, she blinked green eyes slowly up at him. Running slender fingers through pale hair and waiting until he was done.

"Morning Angel..." There were so many questions, so many things he wanted to say and so little time. What to say first, how did he get here. How did she? What happened? Why were they here and not in her club with him waking on that shitty faded green couch with patches sewn into it where holes formed. "Coffee?"

She hummed, "Yes please, I'd have made some when I first got here but... that was an intrusion I refuse to make."

His lips twitched at the corner, nothing changed. Angel was still Angel, even if he now knew her eyes were framed with dark lashes. If he knew her eyes sparkled at the sight of caffeine. He poured some into a cup, one he was pretty sure had been left by Tim. But it was clean and it would do, even if it was covered in a skull and crossbones saying 'Death before Decaf'. He slid the sugar her way, watched as she dumped several packets into the black liquid. Watched as she gestured at the fridge and didn't open until receiving a nod, and watching as she grabbed his milk carton out to pour some in. He sipped his, long and slow as she stirred hers quietly. The only sound was the metal spoon clinking against the glass.

"So..."

"I know you have questions, but I need to say this first, Gray." She cut off, hand raised as she slowly brought the cup to her face and inhaled. "You are going to drown yourself in whatever sorrows and thoughts are inside your head? Fine, but if you do not deign to talk to a therapist, a friend, family, anyone even, for every shot you get from me? You have to talk."

He frowned, "Excuse me?"

"Did I stutter?" She raised a brow, meeting his narrow stare with another one back. He noticed her glasses missing, could see dark bags beneath her eyes. "Look, the club is there for a reason, and you are welcomed. But if you want help to forget, to be forgotten, I ask that you share it for every shot. Or you won't be drinking a shot, I'll give you shitty ass tap water."

He mock-gasped, hand clutched to his chest as if he had some fancy pearls on. Internally, his stomach was rolling. Twisting and knotting as ice started to build inside his fingertips, and he ignored the way his hands had started shaking. Downing a gulp like it was a shot of the coffee, feeling a different kind of burn. She didn't roll her eyes, like he expected. Didn't even bat one. He sighed, he didn't want to talk about himself. Not.... not like this, not like that to anyone. They didn't need the worry, the stress... the burden was his to carry.

"Grayson." 

She crossed her arms, brows furrowed now. Yet her tone never became demanding, never scolding. She was giving him choices, options, and yet... he didn't detect the threat. The warning of anger, the promise of demand. He didn't know how to feel about that. 

"I'm not saying you need to go walk out there and do it, to pick up a phone and jump the gun, and I don't know what your life is like outside the club. What I do know is you can't keep drinking yourself into a stupor, I can't help you with that."

He licked his lips, breaking from the intensity of her stare to look at the dark liquid sloshing in his glass cup. It was ceramic, a milk white color with flash symbols dancing all over it. A housewarming gift from Wally, and he knew there was a matching Robin one in there, another to match was Superboy, was Aquaman (they pretended it was Aqualad), and Artemis, and Miss Martian (technically Martian Manhunter). For their morning brunches, they had said when they brought it over. Even if Wally's was the most used. 

"What do you want me to do?" He hated how his voice sounded like a broken sound, just barely louder than a whisper. He saw her frown out of the corner of his eye, but not once did pity cross her features. Not once did she show a sign of being disappointed or anything. 

"All I ask is this, talk to someone. Maybe someone more licensed than some random bartender you met in a club for people who want to get lost." 

For the first time since he's met her, Dick heard the steady, even cool notes of her voice waver. They went higher, a lighter note that sounded... almost nervous, dare he say? He found himself breathing a short chuckle at her joke, her lips twitching at the sound. 

"Either you can talk to one of them, and if you do -I will know if you don't, keep that in mind- I won't bug you again. Otherwise, for every shot you get from my bar, from my club, from me? You need to spill something for me to keep spilling that liquor in your cup."

"Why do you care?" Dick blurted out after she had finished speaking, her brow raised. "It's not like me drowning myself is costing you anything."

"Oh, Mister Grayson, don't you get it?” She laughed, a short and bitter sound more akin to nails going down a chalkboard. “You will cost me everything."

He blinked, once, twice. Unsure how to respond to such a bold declaration. She didn't break, her eyes never wavering. Focus never splitting even as she blindly reaches for the cup of coffee on the island counter and brings it to her lips. He swallowed the lump in his throat, it wouldn't be hard to spin her some tall tales. To lie, to try and get out of this entire arrangement. 

Except, he knows he's never been the best when it comes to expressing himself. To share his inner bits, the vulnerabilities, insecurities, the fears and memories that plague him. He had unfortunately, after a month of being cooped up in his shitty apartment in Bludhaven, had learned to mask it. The face of Dick Grayson becoming a mask as strong as the domino he wore at night, it... it sucked. Feeling too much and too little all at once. There were times he considered calling up Dinah, asking if she was willing... but then the demons in his head would get to him. Too loud, too nasty, and he'd wind up bottling it all up. Caging everything in once again come sunrise. 

"You don't have to give me names, give me details." She said softly, back to that somber tone of voice. To the softness and lowness of an alto with a slight rasp. "Give me anything that can clue me in to who you are when you just want to forget. But, I think you need someone to listen. And if you're going to drown yourself in my establishment, I ask that you let me listen."

"I..." He cleared his throat, tipping back his cup. "I'll think about it."

She smiled, it wasn't like the half-smiles or the smirks, not like that rare grin that lightly curled her lips. It was... It almost looked sad, accepting. As if she knew his answer before it even came to his lips, as if she knew how this would end. As if she could see the train coming off its tracks heading right her way. Or is it his way? He didn't know, and a glance at the microwave showed it’s far too early for that line of thoughts. It's only ten in the morning, way too early for that. Far far earlier for an awkward silence by his standard.

"Do you like cereal?"

She blinked at him, and her smile twitched. In five minutes, they were sporting two bowls of cereal. Her apple jacks floating atop the milk, while lucky charms filled his to the brim. She was seated on a barstool, her eyes crinkling with mirth at the corners as he sat atop the island itself ("You fucking heathen!"). The talk was quiet, the awkward silence having disrupted a debate on what cereal is obviously the best. On whether sitting on the counter is in fact something sophisticated adults did ("I'm not a hoodlum, Grayson!"). 

She explained that Brutus is the one that helped her get him home, that he had signed the legal document with his address for any tab problems that would arise if he walked out without paying. Apparently, it happened enough times for her to make it a legal thing, and he wants to say he's surprised. Honestly, he's not. This is Gotham for crying out loud. 

As time began to near noon, their bowls, cups, and silverware washed in the sink. He snickered at the way her eye twitched at the way he left them to dry on a towel, her glasses being plucked off the coffee table and shoved up her nose with a finger. She stretched, the black leather tank-top-corset thing riding high on her stomach to show off a glittering purple-blue gemstone on her belly button. He ignored the heat that burned at his cheeks when he saw it, immediately directing his eyes to the ceiling. She wore hip hugging blue jeans, the knees worn enough to show her knees and he noticed she was wearing heels. Raising her to his chin, he had to resist making a short joke as rustled her hands through her hair. 

The silence returned, suffocating and awkward. It made him want to make a joke, say something or another to make her green eyes roll. To make her snort again. Instead, she beat him to the punch, tugging a tie from her jeans and throwing her hair into a messy bun.

"Hey Grayson, have you considered dancing?"

[acowardinmordor]

Contractual Obligation

The plan went perfectly, is the thing. TMZ got the scoop, Tiktok had hundreds of reaction videos in the first few hours. They were trending on Twitter. Which was good. Steve would get his pay day, Eddie would get past the rumors and back to the good press, back to the path towards platinum records. According to the plan, Eddie would even have new ideas and inspiration for his next album.

It was only five months. Long enough for the gossips to pick it up, long enough to be a big deal, not long enough that anyone would expect Eddie to be too broken up about it.

Steve torched all his social media accounts a few hours after TMZ posted the story. He had to. The handful of messages and notifications he saw while deleting it all made his stomach flip. Once it calmed down a bit, he might make anonymous accounts again, if only so he could follow the kids and see the weird pictures of Robin's travels. Not with his own face though. Part of the agreement. Steve Harrington wasn't going to exist online as himself for a minimum of three years. That would keep anyone noticing that he got paid. It would also keep Steve from being torn apart by Eddie's fans.

It wasn't like he had to worry about money for a while. That was why he signed the contract with the PR firm. They needed to erase the memory of his slut era - capped off with photos of Eddie in a decadent orgy - show that Eddie Munson was capable of a committed relationship, and then get him single again. His sales were better when he was single, and being seen on celebrity dates was great for PR. They needed someone to play a part to make the change.

Steve's dad hadn't cut him off or thrown him out for being queer, or for how he got GNC when the mood struck. No, Richard Harrington was a proud liberal supporter, and didn't give a damn about any of that. But Steve flunked out of his degree in business at Richard's alma mater, and that was unforgivable.

So he was working days at an amazon warehouse, and overnight at a 24 hour diner in Chicago, because he needed money to keep his crappy studio. The PR team found him at the diner. Steve accepted the job and the contract without knowing who the hell Eddie Munson was. It was that much money. Steve really should have thought through the final phase of the contract before he signed. But it was almost a quarter million dollars for just under five months of work. "Work". Five months of dating a guy who permanently altered Steve's brain chemistry with his first smile.

Steve knew this was his fault. How he felt was his own fault. He wanted the money so he took the job, and he agreed to the terms. He went in with open eyes. Eddie didn't know Steve wasn't a genuine relationship. A real moment of serendipity that put them in the same place. Didn't know there was an end date inked and signed before they ever met. Steve agreed to this stupid fucking job because his parents cut him off and he wasn't used to having to budget for food and use coupons and hunt for deals to get phone service.

He may have flunked out in his junior year, but he was a business major. Steve read the contract and knew there was no getting around the financial penalty if he broke the terms. Seven fold repayment. How biblical of them.

He wasn't stupid. Eddie had the cash to cover the contract breach. And the inevitable court case over it. But Steve was stupid, and when he signed, he'd thought it wouldn't matter to either of them. Then Steve realized it mattered to him, but thought Eddie would be fine. He was a rockstar. Surrounded by friends. Endlessly laughing and happy. Eddie would get over Steve quick. It was just a couple months with some broke college drop out.

Then he saw Eddie's face three days ago when the rockstar found his boyfriend in bed with two models.

So yeah, Eddie had the cash, and maybe if Steve had told him from the start, he would have spent it, but now? Eddie didn't have a poker face. He walked into the scene set up by the PR team - Steve in bed with two peppy blonde models after standing Eddie up on a date - and Steve knew there was no way Eddie would cover anything. The truth could have helped early. Now that it was done? Telling Eddie the truth would only hurt him more.

All the stories were on Eddie's side. The firm made sure of that. Photos were already being 'found' by the gossip sites. Steve had been 'cheating' for weeks. Really had fucked both women that night to satisfy contractual obligation and to make sure Steve knew there was no fixing it. Steve had his fifteen minutes of fame, and the thing he'd be known for forever, was the guy who cheated on Eddie Munson.

His phone pinged with a message from one of the only two numbers saved to it. The way his chest soared and sank in the moment before his brain caught up was awful. Hope and fear, neither of which made sense.

Steve had deleted all of his socials. The PR firm had taken his old phone and disconnected the number. Now he had a brand new samsung, with one contact for the PR agent, and one for Robin. One was a threat, the other was a lifeline.

Robin's message was a calendar with her locations for the next month, and a link to AirFrance. It was a good idea. She was absolutely furious with him, and had been since he told her about the contract a month ago. She was still his best friend. Eddie was famous, but mostly an American celebrity. Steve could be a no one easier in Europe.

His phone, the one he handed over, had hundreds of contacts and thousands of messages and conversations across apps. Hundreds of photos of him and Eddie. Messages and voicemails and stupid jokes and memes.

This one had the default background, the default apps, and a single conversation in the messages. Robin was going to scream at him when she saw him, but she'd give him a hug first.

That was a better choice than sitting in the dark in his new apartment, which was too big, and too nice for crappy stuff they'd moved from his studio. He tapped the link she sent, and started looking for the first available flight.

[cmrosens]

Worldbuilding Thoughts 3

Ok so one thing I don't see very much in medieval fantasy settings with a royalty system is the issue of the monarch travelling with a retinue. If you're writing one like GoT and you're into the whole idea of the monarch needing to travel (trust me, if it's medieval, they really do need to do a circuit of their kingdom, even if administration and judicial system has been centralised. If you don't, you can't monitor the nobles on the periphery, and you ... really need to do that).

If this is something you've considered, ignore, if not, I was just thinking about the medieval England situation for the earlier kings (William I to John).

Do you know how many the king travels with?? How many guards how many horsemen, lads to take care of the horses, courtesans, scribes, courtiers who need to stay close, accountants, etc? Now have a look at the size of the castles. They're not that big. You have to scale the castle to the landscape (and really seriously consider how long it takes to build a big one). You've got space for a prestigious guest, and then like. 20 extras. At an absolute push, in some cases. Ok, bigger ones, yeah ram 100 in.

The king's got 200 men. He doesn't scale down to stay at a castle or fortified manor that fits 50max and already has 30 occupants. He just rocks up. People do not want him to, but he does anyway.

What used to happen in Medieval England was - there wasn't ever enough space. Literally none. There was also no system, it was King gets the best guest room, everyone who needs to be immediately close to him crashes on the floor, and if you're not fast enough and a bit further down the pecking order, you're marching into someone's house and saying "I'm staying here tonight" and sleeping downstairs with the goats. There are sources of courtiers bitterly complaining they had to sleep in barns and some "camping" (sleeping rough in the rain) in the forest because there was NO SPACE FOR THEM in the castle/fortified manor or in the surrounding villages because they came late due to their admin duties holding them up. And they don't have a tent. They have to literally sleep outside with their cloaks over them. Did they die of exposure? I mean, sometimes. Did they catch chills and die of those? Sure, yeah. Did it really piss them off? Every time.

(Peasant perspective: So many young* angry men with swords with untreated PTSD from all the war/general life trauma, chips on their shoulders and complexes about being younger sons (the spare not the heir) and desperate to prove themselves in a chivalric context of fighting/shagging prowess but they've been give a lot of admin duties to do, drinking a lot of alcohol every single day. Since being on the road they have had to cut down on the alcohol which hasn't improved their mood. And they're all coming to your village. And you can't feed or house them all.)

Then the king decides to leave.

It takes a good few hours to let everyone know because **nobody knows where anyone is**. You have to prep the supply wagons and the horses. And the king stands up after breakfast and says "I want to leave NOW"

Then he changes his mind.

Now you're leaving tomorrow afternoon.

If you're trying to picture this, with a lot of highly strung horses in an enclosed space being yelled at and dragged into position to cut down time, and people running to comb the villages and the woods for stragglers and leave messages for others coming through later, it's chaos. Absolute chaos.

Now imagine being put in charge of it.

So many plot points to play with there.

*For reference, because I've been watching Robin Hood adaptations lately, Richard 1 "the Lionheart" is depicted as an older man in all the films but he was only 42 when he died (b. 1157, d. 1199). The Third Crusade was 1189, when he was 32. He's played by Sean bloody Connery in Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves, when he actually was around the same age Richard Armitage was when he played Guy of Gisborne in the BBC Robin Hood series. (For context). Prince John was 33 in 1199 when he became king and only 23 when Richard went off to war. We're often largely talking about an intensely homosocial group of men in their 20s and 30s. ladsladslads

In the 14thC, one of the Earls of the March led his first campaign in the Hundred Years' War at the age of 17. ladsladsladsla-