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neeeooon · 2 days ago

Note

Hey can you do bllk boys reacting to an extremely introverted and shy reader confessing to them?

ofc!! thank you for the request, i hope you enjoy! 🤍

confessing to them ;

blue lock x extremely shy gn!reader

isagi yoichi

-> after school, instead of going home to study like you’re supposed to, you often find yourself sitting alone to watch the soccer players (isagi). he catches you watching sometimes and even tried talking to you once, but you ran off before he had the chance

-> finally, one winter, you’re walking home when you notice isagi kicking a ball around the frost-covered court. since it was the day before break, you pulled every ounce of courage you had to the surface and approached him

-> “oh? hi, y/n.” and you lost your train of though because he knew your name? “hi. what, uh, why are you out here in the cold?”

-> you spend the next hour kicking the ball around and talking together. it’s so surreal for you to feel comfortable around another person, and by the time your little game comes to an end, you find yourself saying, “you don’t have to say anything, but i have a crush on you…”

-> isagi isn’t exactly surprised, considering he’s seen you silently cheering him on at almost every practice, but he still blushes. “i can give you my number?” “yes! i mean, yes, please.”

michael kaiser

-> kaiser doesn’t usually have patience for people who waste his time, but he doesn’t see your anxious fidgeting and stammering as bothersome. he’ll gladly wait for you to put your thoughts together, his cheek in his hand

-> one day was different, because when you approached him with your fingers nervously knotted together, you weren’t smiling. “i need to talk to you… if that’s okay?”

-> he lets you pull him to a more secluded area, where you rub your hands together in an attempt to calm yourself down. kaiser can’t stop himself from grabbing your hands after a moment and holding them between his to catch your gaze. “take a breath. what is it you want to tell me?”

-> “i like you,” you blurted as your face immediately turned red. “i’m sorry! that wasn’t supposed to be so aggressive—“ “i like you too, y/n.” “…… me y/n?”

bachira meguru

-> bachira was the closest person to a friend you ever had

-> you really struggled to talk to people, so when a boy with a loud laugh and pretty smile asked you to partner up with him for a project, you were enamored

-> it was white day, and after years of following bachira around, you finally worked up the nerve to confess to him. you were too shy to say the words, so you spent the entire night before writing your feelings down in a letter and stuffing it in a package of presents

-> before class, you snuck the present into bachira’s desk. it wasn’t until the final bell rang that you realized you forgot to sign your name

-> panicked, you rushed to retrieve the gift, only to run into a grinning bachira. “y/n! i got your gift. so you really like me, huh?” you weren’t expecting to face him and immediately wanted to crawl into your jumper and die

-> “i, um…” “i got this for you!” and he hands you his own white day gift, which is a drawing of the two of you holding hands. “you’re cute when you blush. we should go on a date!”

itoshi sae

-> you were part of an exchange program for school and got to visit spain for an entire month. since your school was next to the prestigious soccer academy (which was also full of foreigners), your class got to watch them practice

-> sae always seemed so bored and disinterested to the point where you never even saw him smile. still, there something about him that made you want to talk to him, and that scared you since you weren’t sure how

-> desperate, you turned to the internet. how to tell a guy who doesn’t know you exist that you like him? surprisingly, there were quite a bit of responses from people in similar situations. you decided to go with the top-rated comment: make him food

-> that’s how you ended up in the practice arena at 4 am. you weren’t expecting anyone to be there that early. you were wrong to assume sae practiced like a normal person

-> “what are you doing in here?” “oh! sae! i, um… here.” and you practically throw the cookies you baked at him before he can react. you wrote a note, and he’s able to read it and catch up to you before you’re able to run away.

-> “no one’s ever…” he pauses, and your surprised to see that he’s blushing. that he’s just as shy as you. “have you eaten breakfast yet? i know a place nearby if you’re hungry..?” “that’d be nice..!” “cool.” “cool :)”

mikage reo

-> you got a summer internship at mikage corp, where you occasionally ran into the future heir, reo

-> you didn’t mean to develop a crush on him, but he was the only one who ever acknowledged you. maybe it’s because you were one of the only other young people, but he’d always smile and wave when he passed you

-> little do you know that reo finds you utterly adorable. the way you awkwardly return his smile or wave, or how you stammer over your words when he greets you by name. he had a whole plan to ask you out, but to his surprise, you beat him to it

-> you were wringing your hands out anxiously as you waited for reo by one of the meeting rooms. when you saw him you paled, but it was too late to turn back. “y/n, hey! are you free late—“ “ireallylikeyouandthinkweshouldgetcoffeesometimeifyourefree—wait, what?”

barou shouei

-> you didn’t understand why more students weren’t fascinated by barou, the self-proclaimed “king”

-> you were always too shy to say anything when you passed each other, but you couldn’t stop yourself from going to his games to watch him play. you didn’t think he noticed

-> you missed two days of school and one of barou’s games when you got sick, and when you returned, he was waiting for you before practice. “i didn’t see you at the game.”

-> “whaaa, me?” you manage, and he nods. “yes, you. the one who always comes to my games. where were you?” “sick.” “sick?” “yeah.. you know who i am?” “well, not your name, but i’m not an idiot. why do you come, anyway?”

-> you think, screw it! since you don’t know when you’ll get the chance again. shuffling on your feet and unable to meet his eyes, you say, “i like you… i mean, watching you! play soccer! not in a creepy way, just that you’re really good, and—“ “i’m barou.” “i know. i mean i’m y/n!”

#requested!#the wheel loves bachira and sae #bllk #blue lock #bllk x reader #blue lock headcanons #isagi yoichi #bachira meguru #michael kaiser #itoshi sae #mikage reo #barou shouei #bllk reo #bllk bachira #bllk isagi #bllk sae #bllk kaiser #bllk barou #bllk x you

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maeintree · 2 days ago

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for the children | l. laufeyson

Summary: In a cold, distant marriage of duty, you long for connection, but Loki remains emotionally absent. When you ask why he stays, his answer—"For the children"—shatters the last of your hope. Pairing: husband!Loki Laufeyson x wife!fem!Reader Word Count: -800 Author's Note: yippie! my first loki fic, sorry this is really short; plus this is my first time writing for him! hope you enjoy. might make a series out of this.

The halls of the palace were quiet at this hour, bathed in the golden glow of lanterns. You stood by the window, staring out at the vast city below, your fingers lightly tracing the cool glass. The bed behind you remained untouched. Sleep rarely found you these nights.

Loki was out—again. You had stopped asking where he went long ago.

The door creaked open behind you, and your heart leapt in foolish hope before your mind reminded you not to be so naive.

"You should be asleep," Loki's voice was smooth, unreadable as always.

You turned, taking in the sight of him. His black and gold attire was slightly disheveled, as though he had just returned from a long night. He looked at you, eyes flickering with something unreadable before he sighed and stepped further into the room.

"I could say the same to you," you replied, trying to keep your voice light.

He didn’t answer, only pulling off his leather gloves before setting them aside.

There was a time when you would have asked him where he had been. A time when you still believed you could close the distance between you. But those days had passed.

Instead, you turned back to the window. "The children asked for you tonight."

Loki paused mid-motion, just for a second. Then he resumed unfastening his cloak. "I saw them before they went to bed."

"That was hours ago. They miss you, you know."

"They are children. They will always long for their parents." His tone was even, as if discussing a simple fact.

You swallowed the lump in your throat, forcing a smile. "Yes, I suppose they do."

A silence stretched between you, thick with words unsaid. Loki moved past you, reaching for a book on the desk.

"Why do you stay?" The question escaped before you could stop it.

He didn't look at you, fingers tightening slightly around the book’s spine. "For the children."

The words cut deeper than any blade.

You had known the answer, of course. But hearing it aloud—cold, final—made it so much worse.

You turned away fully this time, as if he could not see the pain written across your face if you simply refused to face him. "Right. Of course."

You told yourself you would not cry. Not again.

Behind you, Loki let out a slow breath. "You knew what this was."

"Did I?" you whispered.

Another silence. Then, softer, "Go to sleep."

He would not touch you. He never did.

You nodded absently and walked toward the bed. Not to sleep, but to pretend, just as you always had.

And Loki? He simply stayed in his chair, reading his book, never once looking your way.

Days passed in the same rhythm—nights spent in silence, mornings spent plastering on a smile for your children. They were your solace, the only true warmth in your life.

Loki was present in their lives, but only just. He played the role of father well enough, appearing when necessary, offering them fleeting moments of affection. But between you and him? There was nothing.

One evening, after dinner, the children had retired to bed, leaving you and Loki alone once more. You stood in the doorway of his study, watching him as he poured over a book.

"Do you ever regret this?" The words came before you could stop them.

Loki looked up, brow arching. "Regret what?"

"This. Us. The marriage. Everything."

A long silence stretched between you. Then, he set his book down and sighed. "Regret is a useless emotion."

"That’s not an answer."

He stood, walking toward you, his expression unreadable. "You want me to say I regret marrying you? That if given the choice, I would have walked away?"

Your heart clenched. "Would you have?"

His silence was answer enough.

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to stand tall. "I see."

Loki exhaled sharply, running a hand through his dark hair. "It was never your destiny to love me, nor was it ever expected."

"That’s the thing, Loki," you whispered, voice trembling. "I do. I love you. I have loved you for years. And it’s the cruelest thing in the world."

For once, he had nothing to say.

You turned to leave, but just as you reached the door, his voice—softer, almost pained—reached you. "I wish I could love you."

The door shut behind you before he could see the tears spilling down your cheeks.

And somewhere, deep in the shadows of his study, Loki stood alone, staring at the place where you had been, wondering why it hurt.

comments/likes/reposts are appreciatedd! hope youu enjoyed :)

#loki x reader #loki laufeyson #xreader #marvel #thor odinson #loki odinson #loki laufeyson x reader #loki fanfic #loki ff #loki x you #loki loki loki #loki

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lsunstreakerl · 12 hours ago

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congrats on ur test!!!! would LOVE to hear ur thoughts on a/b/o or the maxussy!!

thank you!! time to study for the next one!

...yeah uh. 1.2k words. semi-explicit, mature content

Being off suppressants is fucking annoying. Max doesn't care that his dose was "an ethical violation" or that he's "lucky it didn't get worse", or any of the other things doctors keep telling him- he was perfectly content with where he was at.

Sure, his nose didn't work great, and he had difficulties picking out the subtle notes in scents, and now the entire world thinks he's an asshole- thank god for being Dutch- and maybe it should have bothered him that he can't make a real nest, but.

All of that was fine. Max was okay with it- didn't want to be an omega, didn't want anything to do with it. The pills had been fine, until he got stuck for a few extra days in Bahrain and ran out.

And then he'd had a heat crisis in the airport, and it hadn't even been about getting fucked, he'd just-

It's pathetic. Max doesn't want to think about it. He's still not sure he can look his team in the eyes, not after forcing them to stay in his terrible makeshift nest, crying out whenever one of them tried to leave, burying his nose against their scent glands and gripping GP's jacket so hard he's pretty sure he put holes in it.

Christian had made him see the team doctor after that.

Apparently, omegas without any kind of solid pack or mating bond are more susceptible to heat crisis. Since Max obviously doesn't have an alpha, his instincts had latched onto the team instead. It's humiliating.

The team doctor had asked if he was involved in the drivers pack at all, and Max had recoiled so hard he'd almost hit his head on the wall.

No, no he's not. Lewis is the pack alpha, and Seb is the pack omega, and neither of them like Max very much, so it's a bit of a no brainer. The suppressants made everyone think he was just a particularly aggressive beta anyways, so-

Max has not ever been a part of the drivers pack. He's not even been in the pack room.

So, no drivers pack. No garage pack either, bad Max, that's not how garage dynamics are supposed to work. No alpha, no pack at all, and Max is on a complete suppressant cleanse, which is all to say-

Everything smells like a lot, and he's got three fingers inside of himself and still can't get off. It's infuriating.

He's got a "cresting-heat" or some shit- he didn't read the pamphlet. It comes and goes in waves, and right now he's definitely on a wave, panting into his sheets as he fruitlessly tries to find the right angle.

He's doing it more to meet a need than because he wants to, which has been driving him nuts. Being off the suppressants has made him hornier than he's ever been in his life, but he can't think of any good fantasies, and he'll die before he orders a fucking toy for it.

Max groans and rolls onto his side, tries to find a different angle, but nothings working. He keeps burying his face in different spots on the bed, where he's put together a genuinely awful nest, but there's not a strong enough scent to satisfy the instinct in his head. It's all snagged caps and stolen mechanics gloves, team jackets left unattended on chairs for slightly too long.

It's none of what Max really wants- hoodies and shirts. He has-

Wait.

Max rolls onto his back, and braces himself as he slides his fingers out, but it doesn't prevent the mournful noise he makes at the sensation.

This sucks.

He wipes his hand off before sliding out of the nest, letting his nose lead him more than anything, which is still weird.

There's a sweatshirt tossed over the back of his couch from a few months ago, when Daniel was last over.

Daniel had come straight from the pack room.

Hopefully, if Max is lucky-

He brings it to his nose, and they're stale, but they're there.

This will have to work.

He brings it back to the nest, tossing it down and immediately burying his face in it.

It smells like Daniel, and also like some of the other pack members, scents that Max doesn't quite recognize.

He shifts his head slightly, because there's something-

The scent he catches hits a switch in his brain.

Max isn't entirely sure what happened, other than he smells it and suddenly he gets it. He's gone liquid soft in the bed, muscles relaxed, there's a frankly humiliating amount of wetness between his thighs that was't there a moment ago, and he's really rethinking that decision not to buy a toy.

Fuck that smells nice.

Someone's moaning like a fucking whore, and Max buries his face further, he can never go into the pack room now- if he finds out which alpha this scent belongs to he's going to jump them.

God, but maybe they'd let him, maybe that alpha would be so sweet, would let Max climb them like a tree and ride them to tears, and maybe they'd even let Max snuggle up to them afterwards, maybe they'd be just the right amount of mean, tell Max if he wants it so bad he'll have to work for it, and maybe-

Max curls his fingers and drops his head back, and oh, it's him- he's the one moaning, fingers working inside him just right, and he takes another deep inhale, trying to imagine the different alphas in the pack-

It's not Daniel, even though his deep wood scent permeates through, adding a level of comfort, like he's watching over Max even now, heat soaked and desperate.

Fuck, maybe it's Carlos, and he'd be so nice, large hands wrapping around Max, and he'd be just right, put Max on his knees, maybe he'd tell him he's being good-

His head drops back with a keen, and everything is so much.

Maybe it's Lewis, and the thought of an alpha, the pack alpha, finally approving of Max, taking care of him like the others- he'd be responsible about it, coax Max open on his fingers, let Max hide his face while he fucked him-

Fuck, Max has never felt like this before, like he's climbing higher and higher, no end in sight.

Maybe- he works his fingers again, a pathetic noise falling from his mouth, and he knows it's bad, knows he shouldn't, knows he's going to regret it later-

Maybe it's Charles.

Max comes with a cry, legs shaking as his hips twist up from the bed, because he wants- he wants more than anything, like some terrible movie omega, knot-dumb and stupid, panting after an alpha who doesn't want him, but the thought of it-

He collapses back, chest heaving. For a moment, things are hazy and easy, nose buried in Daniel's sweatshirt, hips weakly grinding into the mattress through the aftershocks.

He takes a steadying breath, easing his fingers out with a wince. The wave is gone, and now he just feels sticky and disgusting and alone.

Max sighs. He needs to shower, change out his sheets, send Daniel's sweatshirt to the dry cleaners, and then he's going to order takeout and wallow in shame about using his coworkers to get off.

Being off suppressants sucks.

#omegaverse #yikes yeah here you guys go #the concepts of an alpha here #ficlet

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starcharmed · 11 hours ago

Text

— CALLING CARDS

summary : receive and accept things that come to you as if they are nothing.

cw : mentioned stalking, fem reader, open ending? just brain and word rot | wc : 1.4k+ | extra : thank you @akutasoda for reading first & your sweet words <3

The man with the briefcase appeared outside of your shop more times than you would be happy with calling it off as simple timing.

His “visit” schedule was odd.

He would peek within your shop’s windows, browsing mindlessly before disappearing.. The process repeated until he left completely for the night. Always between six and nine post meridian. It wasn’t exactly something odd to do, a lot of people are prone to windowshop. However, stopping numerous times within a day repetitively was worrying.

Your curiosity seemed to peek during the next week of his visits. Rarely stopping by, you assumed he was either a businessman traveling to and fro or an office worker whom stopping by for ideas of his own pertaining to flowers. At least those were the ones you concluded to, as they made the most logical sense.

The coworker you had the…pleasure of working with mentioned him on the side. Claiming that you should report him if you saw him again. He told ‘horror’ stories about how he slapped people at subway stations and smiled like those Kit-Cat Klocks. You digressed, not caring anymore if he was going on to avoid the worry about the mysterious man harming you and instead continue to criticize his person.

Your coworker scoffed, calling for his lunch break (five minutes earlier than usual, mind you) and left you. The bell stationed at the top of the shop’s entrance door screamed in alarm as he left. You’d think the building was on fire. The bell sung a gentle, quieter chime as you lifted your head, waiting to see if it was your coworker coming back in to apologize for the aggressiveness of his departure.

You were mistaken.

There stood the mysterious man with a smile on his face, a briefcase in hand as he stepped forward to the counter, “Good evening, miss.” Even his voice was appealing. You greeted him the same as you watched his eyes dart around, scrutinizing the flowers on exhibit.

Looking closer, your coworker seemed to not be exaggerating when he spoke about his smile.

“Are you looking for anything specific?” His eyes returned back to you, one of his eyebrows raising slightly before settling back in place, “Since it’s spring, we have a more diverse section available. I’d be happy to help.” You’re sure he knew it was, in fact, your job to help; but, it still didn’t hurt ot say it aloud.

His smile seemed to widen, “Do you have a favorite flower that’s present?”

Blinking at the personal question, you didn’t have to look around to answer, “Peony.They’re lovely to watch bloom if you buy a bouquet with younger ones.” You had cared for the peonies present to your fullest, wanting them to be the stars of your shop.

A nod in return. “Then I’ll have two bouquets of those.”

His gaze felt searing as you worked to get two bouquets fixed for him. It was as if he studying every one of your mannerisms, it unnerved you. But you were being stared at by one of the most attractive men you’ve ever laid eyes on, so who were you to complain. Once you finished, he paid with some of the freshest bills you’ve ever touched in life before nodding and leaving. You ran your fingers over them, relishing in the feel of them.

He watched you do so through the window with a saccharine smile forming on his lips.

You didn’t have time to pick up any food, closing up later thanks to a slouchy costumer who took ten minutes giving out an order to pick up the next day. The spring air still seemed to have a chill, and you contemplated using those fresh bills to buy a new coat for next winter. You delicately closed the door to your apartment complex behind you as the receptionist beconned you to come closer, crouching down just a bit so she could grab something.

“A lovely young man left these”, she seemed giddy as she stood up fully, her wrinkles that came with age creasing lovely as she held out the gift in her arms to you, “Addressed to you, fully by name. He even gave a description that made my skin flush.”

The chill that dissipated when you enjoyed the building began to creep up your spine again. Playing tunes against the ridges of it. Those were the flowers, the bouquets, you had fixed Mister Mystery Man.

“They’re…lovely.” “Ah, I know right! You’re a lucky girl.” She seemed to read your shock in positive note, folding her hands once you took the bouquet in your hands, “Take care of them now, miss. This gift seemed one made of affection. Best not let it rot out.” With a curt nod you gave your best smile, turning and shakily reaching into your bag to grasp your keys. What the hell? How did he know your name, nonetheless know where you lived? Surely your coworker didn’t say every piece of information he knew about you to mystery man. Besides, your coworker didn’t seem to be found of Mystery Man, either.

Resiting the urge to chunk the flowers into the bin the second you stepped into your apartment room, the remembrance of how they were, in a sense, your babies seemed to make the situation a bit more morbid. But did you really want to throw out a gift from Mystery Man?

No.

Not because you were scared of the wrath of…whoever he was, but because they were also free flowers. You weren’t one to turn those down, really. Grabbing a vase from one of the cabinets, you went to fill it with water before your phone buzzed in your bag.

Oh great, another annoyance you needed right now.

Huffing you reached within the cavern that was the interior of your bag, pulling out your phone. ‘Unknown Number’. Pursing your lips, you tried to recall anyone you didn’t have saved. Your coworker? Well yeah you didn’t want to be associated with him more than work relations. No one else rung in your mind, but you felt obliged to answer it. Best not make someone else irritated, you could take your own frustration out on your pillow instead of not answering a random’s number.

“Hello?”

“Did you get the gift I dropped off?”

You were going to collapse. It was him. Mysterious Man, the stupid bitch. You could practically hear the smugness floating off of his voice. Your grip on your phone tightened, “What do you want?”

“Do you always talk to people who give you things like this? If so, you have horrible manners.” Says the guy who gathered information on you without consent, “You didn’t answer my question.”

“I think you know I did”, he hummed. It sounded akin to how a satisfied cat purrs, and it made you even more frustrated that you noticed that about him, “Now answer my question.”

Almost expecting to go back-and-forth, he didn’t waste any time responding, “I just wanted to check up on you. A lady such as yourself walking to your apartment alone? Dangerous conditions.” Was there anyway you could reach your hand in your phone and punch him as shown in those 1950’s, 1960’s American cartoons?

“I’m fine, thank you very much.” Gritting your teeth, you cursed the world for putting his presence in your life.

“You’re welcome.”

This guy.

“Goodnight-”

“Please don’t do that.” You paused, thumb hovering over the end call button, he almost sounded desperate, “I promise I just want to talk to you.”

With a heavy sigh you brought the phone back to your ear, “You could’ve just asked, in the shop. I would’ve given you my number. And you wouldn’t have had to do some secret spy agent shit to get it.” He laughed softly the sound ringing in your ears. It sounded hoarse, as if it hadn’t been used in a genuine way for a while.

“You’re entertaining.”

Talking as if you were some circus animal, such a charmer.

“I’ll be stopping by tomorrow, just so you know.”

“At the shop or my apartment?” You glanced out your apartment’s window, squinting your eyes at the figure standing near the corner of the block. Are you serious…

“You’ll see.” With a beep he ended the call as soon as you were directly in front of the window. The figure was clearer. You were right in your suspicion, it was Mystery Man. Waving at you with a smile, you unlocked your window. Opening it and your mouth to speak, you didn’t get a chance before a car passed from one side of the road to another.

And just like that, he was gone again.

#writings.#hashtag stop the salesman noncon for the love of stars #salesman x reader #salesman x you #squid game x reader #squid game x you

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beloveds-embrace · 1 hour ago

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So, someone may have already thought about this, but after reading the comments from other folks in the neglected!aus of the Dukedom, I'm looking for a sliver of hope for poor Duchess.

What if there is a newly-hired maid who actually gives a shit about Duchess's well-being, but also not one to take bs? When she notices the duchess being treated unfair, she's quick to ask the rest of the staff. They're no help, and John just turns a blind eye to it. "If you're so worried, then why don't you take care of her yourself?" says half-heartedly.

Challenge accepted (with the utmost diligence).

Because regardless of how things are, she's not gonna let The Lady of The House wither and waste away. Anything Duchess needs, Sweet Maid will be the one to take care of it, not accepting any help or pity from anyone. Plus, less problems means less rumors.

The manor was cold.

Not in the way that stone and drafty halls made a place cold, but in the way that loneliness settled into the bones of a home, making it hollow. You felt it in every ignored whisper of your name, in the meals left at your door but never shared, in the glances that once lingered but now flickered away, as if your presence was something to be endured rather than cherished.

You had learned to sit in that silence, to let the days pass with only the ticking of the grand clock to keep you company. No one seemed to mind that the Duchess of the house was wilting. Not the servants who barely acknowledged you, not the man who had vowed to be your partner in all things.

So it was a surprise when a sharp knock interrupted the monotony of your existence.

You barely had the energy to respond. “Enter.”

The door swung open, and in stepped a young woman dressed in the crisp uniform of the household staff. But unlike the others, she did not hesitate in the doorway, did not cast you a wary glance before hurrying off to complete some other, more important task- because you were at the bottom of the list of importance to them.

No- this one marched inside with purpose, hands on her hips, bright eyes scanning the room like a general surveying a battlefield.

“Oh, absolutely not!”

You blinked, fully looking at her. “I beg your pardon?”

The maid- Shirin, you would later learn- looked positively appalled, her gaze darting between the untouched vanity, the dust gathering in the corners, the discarded meal trays with barely a dent in them.

“This is unacceptable!” she declared.

You almost laughed. You had never heard one of the staff speak so freely before, but you didn’t mind. At least she was speaking to you.

Instead, you tilted your head, studying her. “And you are?”

Shirin straightened, her expression softening when her eyes met yours. “Shirin, Your Grace. I’ve just been hired, and let me tell you, I do not approve of how they’ve been treating you.”

Your lips parted, but before you could respond, she was already moving- striding toward the heavy curtains and yanking them open, letting sunlight pour into the dim room.

“Goodness, no wonder you look so sick! They’ve been keeping you in the dark like some tragic ghost.”

You winced at the sudden brightness, but you found yourself watching, entranced, as Shirin moved with swift efficiency. She gathered the abandoned trays and muttered under her breath about the nerve of leaving food for a Duchess like she’s a stray cat, shaking her head in obvious disapproval.

You frowned. “Why does it matter to you?”

Shirin turned, her brows furrowing in genuine confusion. “Because you’re you!” she said, as if that should be obvious.

You didn’t know how to respond to that.

With a huff, Shirin clapped her hands together. “Alright! First things first, we’re getting you properly bathed, dressed, and fed. No more arguments.”

You raised a brow. “I haven’t argued.”

“Oh, you will,” she said knowingly, already heading toward the bathing chamber. “But I’m terribly stubborn, and I always win, my lady.”

For the first time in ages, you felt something unfamiliar flutter in your chest. Something warm. And you weren’t quite sure what to do with it.

Within minutes, Shirin had the bath drawn- hot water steaming as she added fragrant oils with a hum. She returned to your bedside, hands on her hips.

“Well?”

You hesitated. You didn’t even know why- and yet tou hesitated.

She softened, stepping closer. “Your Grace,” she said gently. “You deserve to be taken care of.”

Something in you cracked, and without a word, you let her help you to the bath.

She was kind but firm, helping you undress without making you feel small, washing your hair with a gentleness that made your throat tighten. When you were clean and wrapped in the softest robe, she helped you to a chair before the vanity, brushing creams onto your face with careful strokes.

“See?” she murmured. “Not so bad, my lady.”

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. “No,” you admitted. “Not bad at all.”

Shirin, and you found yourself helpless against the warmth of it. She squealed when she noticed your own smile.

By the time you were settled in fresh clothes, Shirin had already changed the linens, aired out the room, and brought in a meal that smelled heavenly. The warmth of the plate alone almost made you tear up.

She cut the food into small bites- not in a condescending way, but in a way that said she simply wanted to make things easier for you.

You took a tentative bite, and Shirin lit up.

“Oh, thank the stars, you’re eating!” she cheered.

You gave her a look, but there was no real heat behind it.

“I always win, my lady. I told you so!” She reminded you with a wink.

And for once, you didn’t mind losing.

Meanwhile, the rest of the staff had noticed Shirin’s warpath.

She was sweet with you- warm, chatty, the very definition of a doting maid. But with them?

“Oh, no no no,” she had scolded Johnny that morning. “You expect the Duchess to eat this?” She had snatched the meal away with a huff, muttering about standards before personally overseeing a proper one.

And when she had cornered John, her expression turning so positively icy, she hadn’t even pretended to be intimidated.

“If you’re so worried, then why don’t you take care of her yourself?” he had muttered, dismissive, too focused on his work to care about a singular maid taking pity on you.

Shirin had only grinned. Fine. She will take the very best care of you!

#noona.asks #noona.writes #chose the name shirin bc it means sweet in my mother language lol

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yall-batman-fanfic · 1 day ago

Text

The Madman’s Dream | Bruce Wayne/Batman x OC!Magician

Synopsis: Inspired by the 1992 Batman the Animated Series episode, Perchance to Dream.

“Why are there dreams and why are there nightmares? And why don’t we always remember what we dreamed about?”

Bruce was caught off guard with the question and turned from his work to Vivian who laid on the couch in his study reading one of the books in his private collection. Getting up from his seat, he approached Vivian, raised her legs so he could sit at that spot and be close to her.

“What are you reading now?” He asked.

“I saw this on the shelf and I was just drawn to it,” she showed the cover. “Well, Batman? Why are there dreams and nightmares? And why can’t I remember the lottery numbers from that one dream I had the other night.”

She laughed and Bruce took the book to read what it was that got her asking. “Whatever we decide while we are awake, whatever we do, the things around us affects our dreams. It helps us cope with reality, with our trauma or be a constant reminder on why we keep going,” he answered. “Not a scholar’s answer but what I can answer the other part. You can't read in a dream because the part of your brain responsible for language processing, and reading, is significantly less active while you sleep, making it difficult to decipher letters and words on a conscious level.”

“So, it’s not the right-brain, left-brain theory then?” Vivian sat up.

“That’s a myth.”

“So, dreams? Where do they come from?”

“What has gotten you so interested in this anyway?” Bruce tossed the book on the table and pulled Vivian closer to him. “Earlier you were reading Carmilla.”

“I always did prefer Carmilla from Dracula… I don’t know, there was a debate in the faculty office about dreams whether it’s a subconscious thing or not, and why are there instances where people have lucid dreaming. It was an interesting topic.”

“And instead of a science book, you went for texts about Morpheus, the god of Dreams.”

“Well, I got you to explain all that shit to me anyway,” Vivian shrugged. “Did you ever have a dream where you were falling and when you woke up you’re actually still in that dream?”

“I do.”

“Good, that’s means you just watched Inception – ha! Bruce, don’t!” Vivian laughed as he tickled her sides, she tried to get away from him but Bruce had a good hold on her. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry—but seriously, there’s this thing about an endless dream where you’re trapped in some kind of limbo. Some would find it a dream because they’re given their ideal world, others it’s a nightmare because of—well, you get what I mean.”

“And how do you get out of it?”

“In magic, to be trapped in a dream means instant death because there are times when they jump or force their magic to wake them they excerpt so much effort that it could lead to complications in the body. Some just give up and live the dream, others die in it, and then a rare few get to escape.”

Bruce reached for her braided red hair and caressed the strands that got out of the knots. “How did you escape?”

“I had an anchor in the real world. He pulled me out.”

“Constantine?”

“Yes. But there are instances where the only way to get out of it is by understanding the root of the dream. Dreams are made from our time here in the Waking World… It helps us cope with trauma.”

“And nightmares?” He kissed her knee and held her hand.

“It’s to reveal a dreamer's fears, and to help them face it. So, I guess the right question I should be asking is: what are you afraid of, Bruce?”

“What?” He laughed, caught completely off guard with her question.

Vivian sat up straight. “You were having a nightmare last night, and when I asked about it you just shrugged it off. What’s wrong?”

Bruce frowned. “It’s nothing.”

“I know the anniversary is coming.” He remained silent and she sighed, “If you're ready, I’ll be here to listen, okay?”

It wasn’t really an answer but when Bruce laid on her, Vivian saw it as him promising her that he will open up but just not right now. And maybe he should have so he wouldn’t have been trapped that night.

~ * ~

They were amateurs, nothing that Batman can’t capture, and he could easily have done so if he wasn’t curious to know who had them put him in a wild goose chase. They went to a factory, ran across the catwalk, it wasn’t the one where the Joker was born but it looked so much like. It caught him off guard that just a moment of hesitation they got him with a the roof falling over him —

~ * ~

Bruce woke up on his bed, tired and confused. It was one of those sleeps where his body was just too heavy and too tired to move but he knew he needed to wake up and feel his fingers and toes. How did he get there? He thought.

“Viv –”

Strange, she wasn’t there and there weren’t any signs of her ever being there too. Did she head out already? Did they have a fight that Vivian decided to sleep in another room? He couldn’t remember. But he was sure that he was chasing two henchmen to a factory and then he was knocked out.

“Up and ready now, Sir?” Alfred greeted him as he entered the room with tea.

“Alfred, what happened last night? How did I get here?” He asked.

“I suppose you did have too much to drink last night, Sir,” Alfred chuckled.

He didn’t seem to hear the butler’s comment as he continued to ask, “Was it Robin to took me back? Viv?”

“Robin and Viv?” Alfred raised a brow. “I do hope those are not names of women, Master Bruce.”

Now he was getting even more confused. “Alfred, what are you — where’s Vivian? Did she go to work now?”

“Vivian?” Alfred was astounded. “Sir, I am very much confused — did something happen last night with Ms. Madison?”

“Madison?” Bruce stopped in his tracks. “Julia?”

“Who else? Your fiance, Sir,” Alfred reminded him with a stern tone. “Unless things have changed last night with this mysterious Vivian you keep mentioning.”

“Alfred, I’m the one confused,” Bruce stormed out of his room. Something was wrong, very wrong. Alfred was acting differently and what is this about not knowing about Vivian and Julia! Julia Madison is a name he did not ever think to remember after all this time. And fiance? Yes, he proposed then to Julia but that was a long time ago, they ended the engagement almost immediately when he decided to leave and pursue his mission to be Batman.

If anyone who Alfred should be mentioning the name next to fiance or the word engaged to him it would be Vivian. He already showed Alfred the ring he had made for her and had been talking to him on how he was going to propose. They even practiced a couple of times! Dick almost caught them one time—he couldn’t let Dick know about it, because if Dick knew then he would tell Vivian and the surprise would be ruined.

Reaching the clock, Bruce was about open the thing and enter the Cave to figure out what was happening but when he opened the damn thing it only opened the glass that Alfred would open to clean it.

“Alfred!” Bruce called out.

“Master Bruce, what’s wrong?” Alfred ran to him.

“What happened? Why is the Cave closed off?”

“A cave?”

“The entrance to the Bat-Cave, what else?”

Alfred had a worried look on him. “Sir, I assure you, for as long as I have been working here, I have never encountered a cave — let alone a bat-cave in under the manor.”

“What is happening, that’s not–”

“Son, is everything alright? You sound upset?” A voice that Bruce never thought of hearing ever again made him freeze. It was older now and wasn’t as deep as it was but Bruce knew the voice of his own father.

Standing at the doorway were who Bruce thought for a moment were ghosts but then if these were ghosts, how come his parents have aged? They looked just as they should have if they were alive now. These were not ghosts, Thomas and Martha Wayne were alive and they were standing right before him.

“No, no, it’s impossible,” Bruce stepped back. “It can’t be you, it can’t be!” He ran past his parents hoping they were just phantoms—he would rather face whatever supernatural entity in the Manor than this—but he didn’t. He brushed shoulders with his father.

“Son—”

Bruce ran out of the Manor. Everything was different. Where were Vivian’s things? Where were her books? Her diplomas and certificates that he insisted on putting up on the wall than hidden in the storage? Her photos and Dick’s photos too? And her flowers… Vivian asked Alfred then if she could plant some flowers in the garden and she picked the type she liked. She made sure the flowers were always lush there, along with some herbs that she would dry out in the kitchen. In the shed she would have a basket that she would take whenever she would go on a walk so she could pick up some mushrooms around the estate.

Everything that was Vivian was gone.

With Vivian gone, so was Dick.

This can’t possibly be happening!

Opening the hose, Bruce tried to wake himself by splashing water on his face, as he did he remembered the time he sprayed water at Vivian’s direction and the sound of her squeal and laughter ran in his mind. He still remembers her vividly, then how come she’s not here?

And why were his parents alive?

“You okay, son?” Thomas came to see him. He sounded sincere. If this was some kind of simulation trap then he should find a way to get out without raising suspicion. Just like always.

“I’m okay,” Bruce answered. His father had him turn around and checked on his eyes and had him follow the movement of his finger. “I just… I must have partied too hard last night, that’s all.”

“You will be able to make it to the office will you? There’s this stockholders meeting later.”

“Sure. I’ll be there.”

Maybe he can find answers in Wayne Enterprise.

“Good. Your mother and I have an appointment, too, this morning,” Thomas mimicked he was golfing and winked.

~ * ~

“This would do well for your meeting later, Sir,” Alfred pulled out a suit from his wardrobe.

Bruce observed the large wardrobe and found it odd to find all of his things there and not just in one side. He and Vivian shared the wardrobe since she moved in to Wayne Manor. She was about to take a different wardrobe to not ruin the system that Alfred made and he’s used to for so long, but he helped her with moving some of his things—not Alfred, but just the two of them—and added hers to the side parallel to his clothes, shoes, and other accessories.

As he looked at the side where more of his dress shirts were, he couldn’t help but miss the sight of the lingerie and negligee she purposely put there so whenever he was changing he would see those at the reflection of the mirror. Sometimes she would come in and purposely take her time to pick one while he was changing out of his work clothes.

“What do you think of this?” Vivian would ask him, showing the article of clothing with a teasing glint in her eyes.

But Vivian wasn’t there and nor were her clothes. The wardrobe didn’t even have a mix of her scent that he liked so much.

“Alfred, I know this is strange, but humor me for a moment,” Bruce began.

“Sir?”

“Can you tell me about my life? What is this life that I have? Please.”

“Very well, Master Bruce. Since your father retired you’ve been head of Wayne Enterprises. Well, Lucius Fox really runs the business—not that you aren’t capable, of course!”

“It’s alright, Alfred, go on.”

“And, um, unless plans have changed since last night, you are—as I said—engaged to Ms. Julia Madison. You proposed to her last week.”

“No, it’s wrong, it’s all wrong,” Bruce shook his head.

“There are worse lives to have lived.”

He knows. He’s lived it but in that dark nightmare, he found a ray of hope that maybe the life he had isn’t a total nightmare at all. There’s light in it too. There was happiness. Vivian showed him that she lit the way in that dark hole he’s been stuck in for so long, and helped him climb out of it. They were still in the journey out but she was always there to light the way and give him hope.

~ * ~

Sitting in his office at Wayne Enterprises, Bruce couldn’t help but look at the photo he placed down. It was the photo of Julia Madison, not of Vivian. There was supposed to be a photo of Vivian there, it was the one that Dick took while they were going out on a date which Vivian invited Dick to join along.

The knock on the door pulled Bruce from his reverie, before he could call in the person who knocked a woman walking in. She had red hair

“Vivian!” Bruce got up but then the woman that came didn’t have her face. This one was different. From the structure, her nose, lips, brows, freckles, the blue eyes, and even the fashion of her clothes was different. It wasn’t Vivian.

“Julia?” Bruce said.

“Hello, darling,” Julia greeted him. “Your mother called me, telling me you were acting off, and who better to ease the nerves than the woman you’re marrying next week?”

She was about to kiss him in greeting but Bruce turned away and her lips landed on his cheek instead.

This was wrong.

“Bruce, you really are upset, what’s wrong?” Julia asked.

“It’s nothing.”

“Batman!”

“What?” Bruce turned to the window where she pointed and saw—Batman swinging down the building, chasing a thief and taking them out easily. The sight of the vigilante had Bruce running with Julia chasing after him, calling his name. They arrived just in time when Batman handed the thieves over to the police and grappled away.

“Who is he?” Bruce asked.

“They call him Batman.”

“No, I mean, who is he?”

“No one knows. He just appeared in Gotham a few weeks ago. Bruce, are you okay? You’re beginning to worry me, what’s this all about?”

“I’m losing my mind, that’s what…”

Julia was about to wrap her arm around his but Bruce pulled away and walked ahead of her.

~ * ~

He first went to Leslie Thompkins to ask about what was happening to him. This wasn’t a simulation, he realized that when he saw Batman. What was the point in showing him Batman a all in this simulation? Her answer struck like a knife to the heart, one he wasn’t ever ready to hear:

“You lived a life where everything is handed to you. Even Wayne Enterprises was handed to you. You don’t feel like you have accomplished anything, it’s all laid out for you. So your unconscious created a life that’s more satisfying for you. You identified with someone whose every deed has great value.”

Batman.

“It’s called disassociation. Once you find pride in your own existence, these delusions will vanish.”

But he wasn’t delusional. He knows that his memories are real, not visions. Vivian was real. That’s why he took the risk. If science can’t help then maybe magic has the answer to his question.

After coming home that night to join his parents for dinner—at their insistence— the following day, instead of going to work, Bruce tried to focus on his mission but the sight of his parents there brought him happiness too. If only they were really complete there. Dick sitting at his usual spot, telling stories about his day and Vivian beside him. The following day, Bruce was parking at the visitor’s lot in Gotham University, Bruce tried to make himself inconspicuous, but like in his real life, upon stepping in its grounds many identified him and started crowding around. One of those who crowded around him was someone he knew would know Vivian too.

“Professor Justin Kirk, right?” Bruce said.

“That’s right,” Kirk shook his hand. “Anything I can do for you, Mr. Wayne?”

“Yes, I was just wondering if you know where Professor Vivian Pryor is.”

“Via?” Kirk’s smile fell. Even here Kirk is an admirer of her. “Yeah, uh, she’s in class. Symposium—Elliot’s Hall—4B3.” The very same room he would always find her in. “Mind if we ask what you want with her?”

“It’s best if she finds out first before news spreads.”

Bruce walked down the stairs and made the same turns he would whenever he would come to visit her. Entering the classroom, Bruce saw the familiar lecture hall with students writing or typing their notes, the huge white screen showing the projector’s slides, and the woman at the front giving the lecture about the symbolic meaning of Venus and Mars. Aphrodite and Ares.

The lecture ended right as the last slide showed and the lights turned on, students were already packing while Vivian gave her last reminders.

“Your papers before you go, on my desk! And because Mr. Valdez asked so nicely in his last drunk-email about not giving you guys another paper because you’re already busy af with all the shit you’re doing for the others, I’ll move the test next week to give you guys a buffer.”

Many cheered.

“Make sure to thank Mr. Valdez—he was the only one who had the balls to email me for it,” Vivian laughed. “And, Leo,” she told the kid who handed his paper, who Bruce guessed was the one who emailed her about it. “Tell me what were you drinking that night because I want to get to that level on the weekend.”

Valdez laughed and told Vivian the brand.

In return, she handed him a dollar bill. “Your meal’s on me today, for the hangover.”

“Thanks, Professor!” Valdez accepted the gift and ran up to be the first to get to the cafeteria. Just as he was headed to the door he froze as he identified who was there. “You’re Bruce Wayne!”

The mention of his name had Vivian look up in shock.

“What’chu doing here, Mr. Wayne?” one of the students asked.

“Wayne finally stepping down from his high-horse and be with the commoners, huh?”

What was happening?

“Hey! Come on, let the guy breathe,” Vivian shooed them away. “Go, or I’ll take back about the test.”

The students left, running.

Vivian sighed and turned to him. “I’m sorry about that… So, what brings Bruce Wayne down here to the basement of Gotham University’s College of Liberal Arts, Social Science and Philosophy?”

“Do you know who I am?”

Vivian raised a brow. “Are you serious right now?”

“It’s just–”

“Listen, Wayne, I know its been a while but you don’t get to act like you’re a fucking Roman Emperor, okay?”

“What? Viv, what did I do?”

“I have class to go to, so bye. You can see yourself out.”

He watched as Vivian walked away with her things. What did he do to make her hate him so?

~ * ~

Later that night, Julia joined them for dinner, but like before he ignored her. His mind went on, wondering what was happening, why were his parents alive and how were they alive, and why does Vivian hate him? He must have done something for her to hate him like that, right?

“Bruce, how was your day? Lucius mentioned you left the office early today,” Thomas asked him.

“I did.”

“Any reason, son?” It was Martha this time.

“I-I went to Gotham University.”

“Why?”

Maybe they would know what happened.

“I needed to see someone,” Bruce began. “You know Professor Vivian Pryor, right?”

Thomas and Martha shifted in their seats and glanced at Julia’s way. Julia was a shocked to hear the name.

“Why would you want to see her, Bruce?” Julia questioned.

“I needed to ask about… there was just something about the Foundation. We’d hope to have her as a guest speaker in the next event, since she was supported by the Foundation in her studies.”

“Then why not have her meet you and the members of the Foundation instead? Why go to see her?”

“Julia, it was just a meeting, and I think I owe her to tell her in person, considering…”

“Considering you both were close?” Julia scoffed.

So, have they dated before? Is that it?

The topic was dropped and that was all Bruce got.

~ * ~

Bruce took the chance to see her again, this time outside of Gotham University. He waited at the gates at the time he knew she would get out of work. Right on time she was walking out, wearing her coat and was about to put on her earbuds until he called for her.

Vivian rolled her eyes at the sound of his voice calling her. “Mr. Wayne,” she greeted him. “What is this?”

“I just want to talk to you—a consultation. You’re a Symbologist, Iconologist, and a Historian, maybe you can help me with something?” He shrugged. “We can talk at this cafe not far. I promise, that’s all.”

Vivian thought for a second, thinking against it, but then she sighed again and walked ahead of him, the opposite way of the bus stop. “Well, come on, Wayne?”

They went to a cafe where Bruce ordered their usual. Black coffee then two pastries that they would share.

“You remember?” Vivian raised a brow.

“Of course, I would.”

“So, what is it, Wayne?”

“I just need your help.”

“Yeah?”

“Recently, I haven’t felt myself. Something’s wrong.”

“Wayne, listen, I came here because you said you want a consultation about something. I’m not a psychiatrist nor am I your fiance. So, if it’s something about your life, best to talk about it with Julia, right?”

“You’re the only one I can trust about this,” he grabbed her wrist before she could leave. “Please, just hear me out. Vivian…”

She must have seen his desperation because Vivian sat back down. Their coffee and pastries came and Bruce offered she take a sip or a bite first, she didn’t move at all.

“Recently, I’ve been feeling like this isn’t the life I know I have. And I know that this isn’t it too. Maybe there’s an explanation for it?”

“I’m not a psychiatrist, Bruce, how would I know?” Vivian took a sip of her coffee.

So, she hasn’t revealed she has magic.

“What happened to us, Vivian? Humor me—please—I have no recollection of what my life is here.”

He saw the quizzical look she had as she looked at him. “You really don’t remember?”

“No, I don’t.”

“Right after my book launch, you asked me out on a date. We went out and, as everyone expected, we slept together. The morning after you left with a word and I was at the front page of a tabloid branded as another conquest of Bruce Wayne. That became my reputation…”

“I’m so sorry.”

“It was a long time ago.”

“You’re still angry.”

“It took me a while to find the respect with my peers again after that. Some started acting like the real assholes they are and tried to…”

“Viv–”

“Doesn’t matter. What else do you want to talk about?”

“Would you believe me that in this life I mentioned we’re together?”

Vivian got up, scratching the chair on the floor. “Thank you for the coffee, Mr. Wayne. I think you had enough pictures you needed for the tabloids again.”

“Vivian, wait!” Bruce dropped a couple of bills to pay and ran after her. “Vivian! Is it something I said?”

“What do you think? Are you shitting with me right now? You don’t just say something like that!”

“Vivian, listen!” People were starting to watch, curious about the scene. “I know you have magic.”

“What?” She had a look of horror in her eyes. “You’re insane!”

“You have magic. Your mother was a witch, she was murdered by a serial killer who takes his victims’ eyes. You told me these!”

“You’re insane!” Vivian tried to get away but his hold on her was tight.

“Then answer me this one last question. Just one and I’ll leave!” Her struggle stopped. “How do you escape a waking dream? I’m in a dream. I realized it when I couldn’t read any of the words on the menu, on the papers. But I can’t get out, I don’t know how. Just answer me that–how do you escape a waking dream? Then I’ll leave you alone.”

“Dreams are made by our hopes, desires, but it is also a way to warn us and keep us human. Understand what your dream is trying to tell you so you can get out of it.”

“Even if that dream is made by a dreamlord?”

“Yes,” Vivian answered. “The Endless are there to serve mortals. They are the embodiment of what we are.”

He needs to face this himself. He needs to face Batman.

“Thank you,” Bruce released her. He then did something that surprised her and everyone around them. He kissed her then left.

~ * ~

Bruce went back to Wayne Tower that day, he stayed there, locked behind closed doors. Ignoring the calls and knocks about his stunt earlier with Vivian—news spread fast. He could hear his parents, Alfred, Julia banging on the door telling him to open it. To tell them what was going on. Why did he do that? Why was he hurting their family? But reminded himself that this wasn't real. None of this is real. This was just a dream. A endless dream. A nightmare. He needed to wake up. But to do that he needed to understand why this was happening at all. So when night came, he went to the roof, right at the gargoyle he and Vivian liked so much, and waited for him to arrive.

He came just as the winds started to pick up and the night got colder. Batman grappled up to the top of Wayne Tower and Bruce was waiting for him.

“You,” Bruce greeted Batman.

The Batman before him had the same physique as him, the armor, the cape, the cowl. Everything. But who was it behind that cowl?

“I know now what you are,” Bruce continued.

“What am I?” Batman asked.

“The consequence of all that has happened that night. A vow I took. But you’re more than just a vow that a ten-year-old boy made to avenge his parents. You are me and I am you—”

Batman chuckled. “I am---as you said---the consequence of that tragic day. Look at this life, Bruce. This is the life you would have had if I was never there.”

“This is all wrong,” Bruce walked up to him but Batman was fast. Batman grabbed Bruce by his collar and headbutted him down.

“You can't have everything, Bruce. You can only choose---this happy and ideal life you have been looking for or the one that has the cowl? Your parents or Vivian Pryor.”

“It doesn't have to be a choice!” Bruce tackled him down and started punching Batman, but Batman was him, and he was Batman, so every punch, ever kick, every dodge, both anticipated and it was just an exchange of blows.

“Batman is a result of what happened in Crime Alley!” Batman kneed him in his gut. “It was Batman who brought a new age of criminals in Gotham---”

“--Gotham was already what it is now before Batman came!”

“--From organized crime you brought a new age of them---costumed criminals! Batman is the result of all of the chaos!” Batman punched him down. “And Batman is the reason why she is there. He came to save her that day. Without Batman, Deacon Blackfire wouldn't have been inspired to raise his cult. Without Batman, Vivian Pryor would have been dead in that alleyway, raped and killed by those muggers, or she would have been killed right before your eyes on that fateful day. Without Batman, you would never have met her at all. She is one of the results of Batman. Not of Bruce Wayne.”

“You're wrong,” Bruce shook his head. “Y-You're wrong…” but there was hesitation.

Batman has a point. Everything in his life in Gotham was because of Batman… but he refuse to believe that's the case.

Batman grabbed him by the collar of his shirt. “If your parents have lived, Vivian Pryor wouldn't have come to Gotham. The Martha Wayne Foundation wouldn't exist them, and efforts to help students seeking educational aid would never have come.”

But she did. In this dream, Vivian came to Gotham because she found an opportunity to do so. She and him still met that day, despite the sad ending to their acquaintance. Vivian was and has always been fated to go to Gotham and meet him too.

Bruce grabbed Batman's wrists and said, “Viv believed, if there's a Bruce Wayne and a Vivian Pryor in any universe, they are always bound to meet, no matter what circumstance. And I want to believe that too!” Bruce flipped Batman over his shoulder and then ran to the top of the gargoyle.

The words of their last conversation rang in his mind. He's faced the dream's purpose, he knew why he's trapped, and he knew who did all this too. The answers were just right there, he was just distracted all this time. He'll hand it to him, Jarvis Tetch was smart. Now, he needed to get out. The drop won’t kill him, but it will give his body the jolt it needs to wake up—

~ * ~

Bruce woke on a metal table with wires strapped on him and a device around his head. Just as he woke, he heard the voice of Jarvis Tetch, also known as the Mad Hatter, cursing him for breaking the device and for ruining the trap. Getting out of his restraints, not that there were any but for the things latched on him, Bruce walked up to Tetch and grabbed the Mad Hatter by the coat and slammed him to the wall.

“YOU!” Tetch screeched. “I HAD YOU! I HAD YOU IN THAT DREAM! I WAS GIVING YOU WHAT YOU WANTED! I WAS LETTING YOU LIVE WHAT YOUR MIND HAS BEEN SUBCONSCIOUSLY WANTING!”

“You never removed the cowl,” Batman thought out loud.

“I don't care about that fucking cowl!”

“There was a flaw in your design… my mind is mostly plagued by nightmares. I rarely dream at all, Tetch. And what you gave me was a nightmare, just like the rest!” He punched Tetch across the face and man fell, unconscious, on the ground.

Gordon and the GCPD appeared at the factory that Tetch kept him right after Batman made the call. He made sure to hand over the man to the GCPD himself.

“Long night?” Gordon said in greeting.

“How long has it been since our last meeting?” Batman asked.

Gordon raised a brow in confusion. “Four-five hours? Give or take. Why?”

“It felt longer in there.”

“Well, best you get some rest now. We got it from here, Batman.”

“Thanks, Jim.”

~ * ~

Bruce arrived back to the cave just before sunrise. Alfred was frantic when he hasn't responded to his calls but Bruce reassured him that he was alright and asked the Butler to get the day off to rest. climbing back to the manor, out of his armor, Bruce first went to Dick's room. The boy was asleep then, making use of the mandated night off that Vivian told him to give Dick. He was a teenager afterall and teenagers need a lot of sleep. Once he was sure Dick was there, he went straight to the master bedroom.

Vivian laid in their bed with her hair sprawled around behind her as she slept. Bruce sat right next to her---the dipping of the bed woke her instantly, and she smiled at the sight of him.

“Done with patrol?” She asked.

“Yes.”

“How was it?”

“It was a long night.”

At that, Vivian sat up, fully awake, and asked him, “What happened, Bruce?”

“I'm ready now… to talk about it.” He took her silence as an invitation to continue, so he did. He told her about the dream he had, the one that Tetch put him in to capture Batman, and he also told her what's been plaguing his mind for so long. Whatever he and Batman argued in his dream was what has been plaguing his mind. Was Batman really the cause of all the chaos in Gotham now? Was it better if Batman never existed at all? Without Batman will he still have Vivian? Vivian listened the entire time until he ended his story and waited for his response.

“First, damn Tetch for putting you through all that. I'll put him in a fucking waking dream myself if I ever see him in the streets again,” Vivian held his hand. “Second, I think you're wrong. Yes, Batman is the consequence of the death of your parents, but it's not just because of him that brought Gotham to its current state now. Bruce, do you really think Joker or Penguin just sprung out one night after seeing the Bat? They have been brewing their plans for so long, it just so happens it all came out when Batman came too. There are some truths to it too, but I want to believe that Batman is still a symbol of hope for Gotham too. Fear and hope.

“And third, I do not believe you'd be some jackass who was handed everything to him from the moment he was born and just take it. You told me who your parents are, and Alfred told me who Thomas and Martha were, I don’t think they'd ever raise a self-centered man. You have a good heart, Bruce. Your mother raised a good and kind man; and your father raised a man who takes action and takes pride on what he does. Even if they were alive, you would still be a good man.”

Bruce held her hands, held them tight and kissed her knuckles. “And what about you? Do I really need to choose between you and them?”

“My love, love is a choice, you choose who you want to be with you –”

“But would we have met if Batman wasn't here at all?”

“It would have taken a while, given our status then, but I believe we would have. Gotham isn't as big as we all think it to be, so I'm sure we'd still find our way bump into each other. And I'm sure I'd find my way here too. My mother was a Gothamite, after all, and I'd still be curious to know about this city and about her.”

Bruce brought her to an embrace and held her tight. “I'd choose you---when it comes to it---I'd choose you.”

“Bruce,” Vivian wiped his tears.

“I love my parents, and I would do almost anything to have them here and see all of this, but if it came to it Viv, I'd choose to be with you. They would understand.”

She didn't realize that tears were falling down her cheeks until a tear dropped on her hands, Vivian wiped them away quickly and leaned in to kiss the man she loved. “Yes, they would. I'd choose you too, Bruce.”

As they laid in bed that morning, Bruce held Vivian in his arm and let her sleep while he stared in the darkness thinking of the velvet box he kept with him at all times, waiting for the right moment to finally ask her.

Soon, he thought. He'll ask her soon.

#fanfic #bruce wayne #dc universe #dc batman #batman fanfiction #dc comics #batman #dc fanfic #batfam #batman x oc

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sapphiresonstrings · 3 days ago

Text

It's true, you caught me, I didn't read it. You see, I have powerful psychic abilities that allow me to know everything I need to know about this paper just by glancing at the title.

You may object that psychic powers aren't real, but actually many studies through the years have demonstrated the existence of ESP. Critics object that "P <= 0.05 isn't a magic number" and "if you repeat the same study over and over again then it's not surprising if one or two of them barely squeak over the 0.05 line by pure chance," but you and I both know better. We know that as long as a paper uses big words and is published in a fancy-looking journal that makes it Science, and reading Science is how we demonstrate virtue.

It's true, I didn't demonstrate any virtue here, but not because I'm not virtuous! You see, I already know everything I need to know, because of my aforementioned psychic powers.

For instance, I can tell you which political party the authors support - I can say this without even knowing their names, or how many of them there are. All of them vote Democrat.

I'm sure you don't believe me, so I'll prove it.

Here are the three authors. The first two are an Asian woman and a black woman, which is basically cheating, so I'll use the white man instead.

Conveniently he has an X link in his bio, right here on the Urban Institute's website. I'm tempted to declare victory now that I've seen the pronouns in his bio and the fact that he's a Senior Fellow for the "Race and Equity Division," but let's check out his tweets anyway.

Oh? He deleted his social media. I wonder why.

It's not on the Wayback Machine, but Google did cache some of his Tweets. We can only see them through the browser preview, though, so that's all we have to go on. Maybe someone more technically skilled could get more, but this is all I have. I hope it's enough to prove the existence of my psychic powers.

This is the most recent tweet I can find, from 3 months ago. It seems like something happened about 3 months ago that convinced him to delete his Twitter account. Hmm, I wonder if anything interesting happened around November-December of last year that might make a totally neutral scientist doing neutral research want to hide his social media?

Let's see if his other posts give us any clues.

I rest my case. I'm sure you agree that with psychic powers as potent as mine, I don't really need to read the paper.

But of course we both know that I don't have psychic powers. The real reason I can tell is because the title of the paper uses the phrase "Racially Minoritized," which a left-wing shibboleth of the highest order. It's a step beyond "Racialized," which was what they were saying last I checked.

And I don't need to read the paper any more than I need to read any of the hundreds of papers "proving" ESP is real (p = 0.0499) to know that those papers are all bogus. In a world where so-called scientists churn out hundreds of p-hacked junk papers that don't really prove anything every day, it would be an act of self-mutilation to try to read them all.

Nevertheless, my fantastical psychic powers are telling me with absolute certainty that this activist organization should not be receiving taxpayer dollars.

Now that we've cleared that up, let's see if there's anything else I should address.

Did you...did you link, in your argument about how it is scandalous that the US government shouldn't be funding "DEI nonsense", a paper that isn't funded by the US government?

First of all, you should only use quotation marks when you're quoting someone. I do not believe I actually used the phrase "DEI nonsense."(My use of quotation marks is acceptable because I'm quoting you.)

Secondly, I don't think it matters where the money for this particular paper came from. Money is fungible. Same pants, different pocket. The Urban Institute is promoting the paper, everyone involved in writing the paper works for the Urban Institute, and the Urban Institute apparently gets 1/3rd of their money from the government (or 1/3rd of their budget is impacted, whatever the fuck that means). If the Urban Institute didn't have the money to pay them and these researchers had to get jobs working as window cleaners or accountants or whatever, they wouldn't be able to spend their time writing all these Guides to Equity:

Ergo, they are receiving government money. It's in the form of awards, salaries, promotion (such as this website, for instance), office space, or whatever else they get from being fellows at this institute. Same pants, different pocket.

I would oppose the government doing that to begin with, but the fact they spent money doing it wouldn't be a shocker in the slightest.

Just so, I am staking out my opposition to "the government doing that to begin with." Part of getting the government out of the race business is cutting off the flow of funding to the people who spend all their time talking and writing about race (or, as I like to call them, racists).

Just as, presumably, if the US Government were to be taken over by pacifists, they would shut down all the think tanks that the Defense Department pays to spend all their time talking and writing about war.

Raise your hand if you are hearing about the Heritage Foundation right now for the first time.

I agree, the Heritage Foundation also shouldn't receive any taxpayer money. In fact, I'll just use my incredible psychic powers to reshape the course of fate and history...

Pow! Your wish is my command, and retroactively, too! The Heritage Foundation doesn't get any government money. Cool. Now let's do all the other think tanks that are obviously just activists for one party or the other.

I know, I am really on a "mocking Tyler Cowen" kick, I will move on from this soon. I just think the ways he is failing these days is very symptomatic of the zeitgeist faux-intellectualism and the ways thinkers are struggling to slot into an openly anti-intellectual movement.

He starts with "USAID is probably good", but in a very compliment-sandwich way. You taught me what a Straussian read is my dear Cowen, so when your "it is good" section is two lines of link dumps, and the rest of the piece is criticism, I am getting the message. So let us set that part aside and dig into those criticisms:

To be clear, I consider this kind of thing to be scandalous. And I strongly suspect that some of the other outrage anecdotes are true, though they are hard to confirm, or not

The link is to the think tank The Urban Institute putting out a donation call because 1/3rd of its budget is from the Federal government. Which is scandalous...because...uh, why? It is the Urban Institute. They analyze government policy for hire. Their biggest customer is the government. What the fuck? Their latest research - just chosen randomly, top of the list - is an impact evaluation of a program to help at-risk youths graduate high school. Is that bad now?? Does Tyler Cowen no longer think impact evaluations of policy are good??

Imagine describing consulting firms this way: "Oil Well Advisors has hit significant headwinds now that Exxon Mobile is suspending all outside contractors", is that a scandal? Or just absolutely normal behavior for industries with large institutional clients? What is the alternative here? Does he want - in a post subtly praising the Trump Admin - the government to in-house all impact evaluations? I don't disagree that they should do more but, uh, read the room buddy?

I know I am harping on this point but I really wanna emphasize how much of a bad writing call this is - taking an actually insane position (orgs specializing in government contracts shouldn't exist lmao) and because it is so indefensible you instead just handwave it as obvious so the audience maybe doesn't notice. Very cringe.

Okay, moving on:

It does seem Nina Jankowicz and her work received funding, and that I find hard to justify. It seems to be evidence for something broken in the process.

The money went to her work with the Center for Information Resilience, which does investigative reporting on war crimes like in the Ukraine War. Maybe her project sucked, I don't even know, but come on. This is incredibly normal behavior for USAID.

Or how about funds to the BBC?

You mean the BBC Media Action charity, which trains journalists and helps build out mobile & communication networks in developing countries? Should the US build 100% of its own orgs and never fund effective, international partners from US allies? Is that a coherent foreign policy goal I can just wave my hands about and never explain because it is so obvious?

He then goes into the "reforming USAID" angle:

The Samo piece is excellent. For one thing he notes: “The agency primarily uses a funding model which pays by hours worked, thus incentivizing long-duration projects.” And the very smart Samantha Power, appointed by Biden to run AID, “…is in favor of disrupting the contractor ecosystem.” Samo also discusses all the restrictions that require American contractors to be involved. Here is a study on how to reform AID, I have not yet read it.

Which is totally fine, I agree if I ran USAID I could totally like boost efficiency by 50%. I bet a lot of spending is inefficient. But why are you pretending that the current admin is, in any way, aiming for technocratic reform?

Why bother bringing this thread up? That isn't what they are doing! It isn't relevant.

I love this classic trick:

According to the very smart, non-lunatic Charlie Robertson: "My data suggests US AID flows in 2024 were equivalent to: 93% of Somalia’s government revenues, 61% in Sudan, just over 50% in South Sudan and Yemen" While I do not take cutting off those flows lightly, that seems unsustainable and also wrong to me as a matter of USG policy. Those do not seem like viable enterprises to me.

You can think whatever you want is wrong, your call. But unsustainable? All of USAID is half a percent of the federal government. Payments to Somalia are a rounding error. This is the definition of sustainable! You could run this forever and never even notice.

But okay, maybe you mean like it is creating a culture of dependency or somesuch, not the same thing but I will humor you. Let's look at the latest USAID impact assessment of their work in Somalia:

Oh whoops, looks like our ability to even evaluate programs has been stripped away by the current admin's mass purging of databases like impact assessment reports! Fortunately I have the Wayback Machine, so I can get around this:

"Culture of dependency" this money went to food and clean water for starving people. You can say whatever you want about priorities and all that shit. That it is "unsustainable". But if someone doesn't do this then some of these people die. I notice "let them die" does not appear in your bloodless discussion of "aid dependency". Maybe we should cut aid because they will be forced to get their state together and be better off in the long run. I understand that logic, I really do, you can make that case.

But fucking say it. Say "let them die" to my face. Man the fuck up.

Alright, last one since this is going on too long:

There are various reports of AID spending billions to help overthrow Assad. I cannot easily assess this matter, either whether the outcomes was good or whether AID mattered, but perhaps (assuming it was effective) such actions should be taken by a different agency or institution?

I love this one because it is a peak "attack of opportunity" moment. At the beginning of this very post he says this:

Here is a Samo analysis...The Samo piece is excellent.

The linked piece, by the Samo Burja, is this:

The piece, to clarify, explains that USAID is not an aid agency, but fundamentally an extension of US foreign policy and conducts itself to achieve foreign policy goals. That this is its explicit, stated purpose. And Tyler Cowen says it is a great piece.

And then proceeds to say that pursuing those goals in Syria should maybe be at a different agency because that isn't "aid".

Bro you don't give a rat's ass about that! You just wanted to score points, you don't care about this at all. It was just on the list, you didn't even think about it, you just said something that sounded plausible. It is pathetic, you don't have to comment on every headline if you don't have a hot take. Just post a meme instead like a normal person.

But he does have to comment, because this post exists to ingratiate himself to the vibe shift. It as transparent as it is embarrassing - it is so limp-wristed, saying things like "the 'Elonsphere' on Twitter is very much exaggerating the horror anecdotes" when their most viral claims are just naked fabrications. Come on, man. You used to be better than this.

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