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blumenflowergelb · 6 months ago

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Love and Soulmates (1/2)

• Well, this day is as good as any other to be a ten name days old, Yn thought. He was sitting on his bed, staring and wondering what he had done to get this. If he was honest with himself, it was theoretically a good thing. However reality was often disappointing. He was in his ten years old body but with his seventeen years old mind. Of course, his actual age does not seem a lot but he was through a lot of shit; from escaping to Bravos to fighting while the Second Long Night to seeing the First Dawn. A journey which he did not wish to relive again. But as always the gods did not care about what a mere human thought. And Yn was sure that the Gods were behind it; even if he didn’t know which one.

• He didn’t know how long he spent lamenting about his life but a knocking on his door brought him out of his slump. It was his sweet sister, Margeary Tyrell. She came inside and begann to talk and talk, her voice cutting through Yn thoughts. She endlessly chatted mostly with herself, however she was not bothered. It was expected from the simpleton. Yes, Yn was a quit strange. He was always different from his siblings, he truly did not like anybody touching him, loud voices and things that were not in order. His fascination with reptiles outright creeped people out; even his oldest brother Willas. But after he fell down a tree and hit his head, he became worse. Loud voices, spinning around or tunes that were monotone left him feel weird. This feeling became so bad that he saw spots and often passed out. Obviously this was something which left him cut out of the better part of society. He did not have friends and even his brothers did not engage with him. Although it was probably because he despised fighting and horses. Fighting made his head spin and horses stank and their fur made him itchy. Nevertheless Margaery adored him. When they were younger Yn allowed her to changed him into women clothes and play tea party. As they got older they did not do this anymore but Margaery still spent a lot of time with Yn.

• The never ending chat of Margaery was a thing that Yn inwardly enjoyed. This was something that he had missed. After years the hurt of losing his family became manageable but it never truly disappeared. And seeing her alive and well was something that left Yn a bitter taste on his tounge. He was happy but he wasn’t. It was hard to explain; Yn was overjoyed to have a chance to change everything but on the other side he had lost people he cared about. Sansa with her fiery hair and face made out of ice, Arya and Rickon, the true wolf out of the Starks, and obviously Jon. Yn loved him. His red eyes and white hair did not make him afraid; only intimated. Yn loved the days where they sat next to each other, listening to the people around them talk and sing and boast. The Free Folk has never lost their hearts even after losing so many. They were the strongest, no matter what the others thought. Even the Long Night did not make the people of Westeros nice to them. Most still sneered and spat on them. But in Yn minds they were wrong. The Free Folk was the first place where the people didn’t care if he talked until he did his share of hunting and doing his chores. And he always did. Especially because of Jon. After Yn came back hunting he always smiled at Yn like he brought him the stars. The memory which always made him slightly blush and smile, now made him frown and his heart ache. Jon didn’t know him. Nobody did.

• This did not escape Margaerys‘ sight. However she interpreted the long face of Yn as a fear of what was going to happen. She was excited, especially because her brother was seen as an outsider. This was his chance to find the one who would love and take care of him for ever. She hoped that the woman was going to be very beautiful and very very good-hearted. She crawled closer to Yn and slowly caressed his cheeks. Whenever she looked at him she felt an overwhelming love. She truly loved her brother.

• Before Yn could blink he was spirited to his grandmother. Usually she was sitting outside with his mother and ten other girls. They all talked and Olenna crooked out her offensive opinions. Well usually. Today however was not usual. She sat still, facing the beautiful garden of Highgarden but only her son was there. As Yn arrived he only heard snippets of ‘money’, ‘cost’ and weirdly ‘fated’. Once he was standing before them, his grandmother shut his father up with a quick wave and smiled at Yn. He was not stupid, he knew that there was something wrong. His grandmother never smiled at him; she tried to conserve with him as little as she could. He was held in a higher regard than his cousins but it was clear that he was her least favourite. Nonetheless now she was smiling at him. Not only she was looking kind but she even ordered his favourite food, lemon cakes. At this Sansa flashed in Yn‘s mind. They shared a love for lemon cakes and every time they fought over the last piece. But his grandmother’s speech left his memory quickly fade away and fear replaced it. She talked about his ten and one nameday next day and a fated mark, the Will of the Seven, soulmates, the cost of his wedding and which people are going to be invited. Mace tried to talk but whenever he opened his mouth Olenna hushed him. Once she was done she stood up, kissed Yn‘s cheek and ordered her twin guards to her. But before she left Yn and Mace alone she turned around and sent a glare towards her son, telling him that it was time. This left Yn dreading whatever was coming.

• The awkward silence was not broken until Mace sighed, took a lemon cake and begann to eat. After some humming he was done and leaned back on his chair, hand folded over his stomach. He begann to humm some more and sighed again. Once Yn heard the famous sentence ‘ You know son, there are things which a man must tell their son.’ he knew he was done. But before he could stand up his father took an other lemon cake, quickly ate that and looked deeply in Yn‘s eyes. The conservation which followed was one of the most mortifying thing Yn has ever experienced. Not even seeing hundreds of dead people could make him as sick as this. His father talked and talked about girls and boys and their differences down there. Than he went over talking about babies, which then led him to gush about how damm cute all his children were. This was followed by him talking about weddings and ceremonien and the most important: bedding. At this point Yn has given up. He was less than a day in this world and he was given The Talk. And he couldn’t even tell his father that he knew! Well not much about women but more about men. And well not men but about Jon. He was the first and last person Yn has ever been intimate with. This confirmed Yn that he was a indeed a pillow bitter but he could hardly tell his father about that.

• One thing that was new to Yn were the soulmates. He was sure that they didn’t have that. After thinking long about what it meant, Yn decided that he was not in the same world in which he spent majority of his life. And that soulmates were cool. Almost everybody had them, from the lowest to the highest person on earth. Only men and women without a mark could become a maester, septon/ septa or priest. The marks were seen as godly and everybody had to obey to them. Breaking apart a bond like that was seen as a grave mistake and death was the punishment for who tried to break it apart. The good thing about the soulmark was the way it appeared. There were marks that displayed a picture of all kinds, some were words; some sentences. They were marks that only appeared when the soulmates touched or looked at each other. Some lost the colour of their sights and could only seen any kind of colour once they looked in each other’s eyes. Some had compasses that showed where their other was located, some had quotes that matched, others had half their hair the colour of their soulmate’s. This manifested once they had their ten and one nameday. And Yn had his the next day.

• He didn’t care about his birthday. It passed in a frenzy and once he was sent to his chambers to wait and sleep, he was in ecstasy. He wanted to stay up the whole night but the maester told him that he had to sleep so that the Will of the Gods would fulfill in secret. No human was allowed to see the manifestation. Still Yn could barely sleep. He was trembling with fear and excitement. He wanted a soulmate but was affraid to get one. The idea of not having one left him feeling devastated so he didn’t think about it. He wanted Jon but was affraid of who he was now. He wanted and wanted but was affraid of so many things until he fell asleep. Dawn was barely coming when Yn felt a horrible burning on his left wrist. It left him gasping and crying but the manifestation was done. He got a compass pointing towards the North. It was golden but elegant and had a quote around the compass saying, ‘Different roads sometimes lead to the same castle’. And if you looked closely there were six direwolf, each different, running around and playfighting. It was perfect, Yn whispered to himself with tears escaping his eyes.

• The second he left his room he was jumped on by Margaery. She led him to the dinning room to break their fast while talking and talking. One minute she wanted to see the mark, the next minute she didn’t until they were with the whole family. They quickly arrived and his family was immediately on Yn. Once they saw the compass and closely inspected it, they all fell silent until Margaery laughed. Better said she cried while laughing and gave a big hug to Yn. While they hugged, Mace begann to plan a letter for Ned Stark. Even for him was clear that his son was meant for one of wolf blood.

• Olenna slowly fanned herself. It was hot for her age; she was not as young and agile as she once was. Undertaking such a big journey to Winterfell from Highgarden had affected her health negatively. Regardless, she was sure that she would crawl to Winterfell if it must be. She would never pass such an opportunity. And she was needed to talk to his grandsons future father-in-law. She was throughly thinking about all the possibilities that their journey could mean and what she had to do for the better of her house. Such an union between great houses was not seen since decades, especially between a fourth son and a bastard. Olenna was sure that it was the bastard that was the soulmate of her simpleton but kind hearted grandson. If not then why did Lady Catelyn not boast about one of her children being the soulmate of a Tyrell? She was after all a Tully, a very proud house, Olenna thought. The marriage could mean a lot for the Tyrells. A lot of good and bad. Olenna could only hope that if the bastard was the one then her little spies were not wrong about his father’s affection. Nobody needed an alliance with a bastard that held no power. She even entertained the idea of overthrowing the bastard brother‘s but quickly desposed of it. The Starks were too loyal. And the compass showed enough. Six direwolfs playing. This could only mean one thing. Her inner discussion was stoped once a loud knock was heard. She opened the side pannel and looked at one of her twin guards. She burrowed her eyebrows after she heard her foolish grandson riding out to meet his future beloved.

• Winterfell was as big as ever, Yn decided. It certainly looked better than the last time he saw it. It was huge and dark. But it was warm; and that is what mattered. He knew that the walls were warm with spring water and that the halls were always kept warm. He couldn’t wait to bath and bask in the memory of Winterfell and their occupants. And to see Jon again. As excited he was, he was as fearful. He was sure that Jon and him were meant to be together, but still. It was weird and new and they were so young. Jon was not older than ten and three, an age which Yn has never seen him. The worst thing was the people he traveled with. Lord Stark has invited hundred of people of the North and South and thousands came. The North wanted to see House Stark marry as a rich House as the Tyrells and the South wished to see House Stark and the North. This journey and wedding meant a lot of new alliances and weddings for the Realm. Even the King has journeyed to the North, but Yn was sure that he wasn’t there for the wedding. Not truly. It was Ned he was there for. Saddly Jon Arryn was not able to attend since he did not want to leave the rest of the Realm behind. What surprised Yn was that the Martells sent Oberyn Martell and his paramour as guests. It meant that they were planning something. Or they were simply affraid that the Reach allied with the North that can give them enough timber for a new war.

• Yn felt butterflies fighting in his stomach. He was so nervous that even Garlan commented on his suddenly disappearing horse riding abilities. To this Renly begann to joke around about riding what else and instead of shutting him down Garlan laughed with him. If Yn wasn’t as nervous he would have told them already off. Shortly before they arrived Willas slowed them down and talked about whom Yn had to greet firstly and what to do. Even the common courtesies flew over Yn’s head. He hoped that he would not make a fool of himself because if he did he would die. Maybe the rumour of him being a simpleton would minder the embarrassment but Yn did not want to make a fool out of Jon. While Yn was deep in his thoughts they arrived at the gates. Everybody sat straighter and rode inside the castle.

• Yn was sure that he was going to die. His compass was going crazy, the pointer spinning around, meaning that his soulmate was very close. And he was. The first thing he saw was Jon and the first thing he did was blushing. He felt his face light on fire and he was sure that everybody saw that. He was so embarrassed that he didn’t even look at the Starks. The worst was when he almost feel down his horse and if not for Loras he would have facepalmed the earth. He saw Loras trying to hide his chuckle but as always he couldn’t. This made Yn face more redder, his ears were so hot that he wanted to just jump in the next snow pile. And than he had to walk to the Starks and greet each of them. Ned Stark was an imposing man, and even bigger when you were only ten and two namedays old. His eyes hid a certain amusement and he kindly greeted Yn. Lady Catelyn was even kinder and hoped that their visit went well. The next person was Robb. He was cute but Yn understood why he was made King so early on. He looked like his ladymother but his eyes shone like his fathers. However the next person took Yn‘s breath away. He went redder than he thought to be possible and shyly held out his right hand. There was hope in Jon‘s beautiful dark grey eyes, but it was replaced with uncertainty once they touched each other hands. It was clear that he expected something more from the contact but was greatly disappointed. Yn moved on, after he saw this, and greated the girls and Bran with enthusiasm. Rickon was not there, but Yn knew that it must be because he was still a babe. After they were done with the greetings and talking, Lady Catelyn sent servant go show each if them a room, while excusing the lack of grand food. She told them that they expected them to arrive the next day and could only offer them a humble feast. Yn obviously had to make himself more foolish and told the lady that they came early because he was excited. At this even Willas had a hard time not laughing and while they walked away Yn had to hit him with his elbow to shut up. Once they were out of hearing range, his brothers recreated everything and Renly instead of helping, laughed with them. Yn was mortified enough to not even say goodbye to them and he just shut his door. His chamber was very big and beautifully filled with furs and other animal skins but Yn couldn’t appreciate it. Without a second he jumped on his bed and hid his face in a soft pillow. He was so flustered, especially seeing Jon‘s face fall, that he decided to never move again. Well until a servant brought him warm water. After he cleaned himself and spent an embarrassingly long time to decide what to wear, he went out to look for his brothers and Renly. Then they went to the feast. After Yn saw what was set in the table he thought that if this was not seen by Lady Catelyn as grand than what was grandiose? For being in the North, where every grain mattered, it was rich. He knew that for Renly and even Loras, as vain and proud they were, this would not seem to be anything big;but for Yn it was. He saw firsthandedly what people ate in the Winter.

• The food was good, the conservation was firstly awkward but the Garlan and Renly begann to talk and it was good again. Yn didn’t speak but nobody seemed to mind. Robb openly stared at him, even when Jon discreetly poked him, and Arya and Bran were so captured by Garlan telling them stories of his training that they barely ate. Sansa spent her time looking at Loras and Renly. Willas was entertaining Lady Catelyn and Lord Stark listened to everything and only said something if it was necessary. Jon sometimes looked up from his food only go meet Yn‘s eyes, who then averted his gaze and once even let his fork fall. Everybody was kind enough to not say anything but Yn only became more flustered. After they were done Yn felt Jon‘s gaze follow him and he thanked the Gods for not making him trip. They did not converse on the way to their rooms and Yn again thanked the Gods for not making his brothers make fun of him. After that he quickly readied himself for bed and after Willas came in to say good night he walked around his new room. They were bear and elk furs and Yn was sure that the skin belonged to a boar. The tapestries were beautifully done and Yn could not marvel enough. While he tried to remember from whom he the story of the tapestry knew, Jon came in his room. Yn turned around and greeted him only for Jon to not move. Yn did not move either, so they looked at each other, assessing everything about the other. Yn felt his knees getting weaker the longer he spent looking at Jon. He was truly beautiful and breathtaking. After some more silence Jon moved towards Yn and held his right hand out. Yn held his hand out too and once they touched Jon frowned, but did not ask. He left his hand fall in disappointment but before he could speak Yn touched his arm with his left. The burn was strong but once it ebbed away both felt an overwhelming sensation of love and adoration. Yn cradled their hand together and pulled Jon to himself. Jon slowly caressed Yn‘s face, as if he was something valuable and then leaned to his face. The small kiss they shared made Yn‘s heart fly higher than a bird and left him feeling like he could burst to flames. It was perfect and even after Jon left, Yn couldn’t help but replay their kiss again and again.

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froot-batty · 1 year ago

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Thundering into your ask box once again,

So we know the relationship status as it currently stands, and we know who gets along, but is there anyone who absolutely hates one another? Like "If I have to be in your presence, your bones are getting pulverized,"? Perhaps not that intense, but still,

WAVES HELLO

Sure! Excluding the guys who hate everyone (Ivy, Harvey) and the guys who are universally hated (Strange, Bruce (kinda)), there's definitely some people who can't stand one another (happens when you put a bunch of wannabe theatre kids together tbh)

Jon and Ozzie are one I've mentioned before. they probably wouldn't properly fight in most situations (Jon isn't bad at fighting, but he'D get pulverized, and Oz doesn't want to be fear toxin'd again), but they do NOT like one another. Oz's feelings about it are stronger though - Jon kind of finds the rivalry funny

(And I haven't talked about my girls very much, but the people they hate are kind of plot-important, so I'm mentioning them ANYWAY)

Red despises the Joker, but not for the reasons that Jason Todd Red Hood does. Her feelings are more complicated. Similarly, Spoiler has mixed negative feelings about our boy Eddie.

There's also some completely one-sided ones. Joker isn't the biggest fan of Creeps (too close with his bestie Harley....and also does the sillygoofy thing better than her....), and usually takes it out on Jack, since Creeps has the cartoon ability to escape from danger Roadrunner style.

Music Meister is also annoyed that Jervis stole the whole "hypnosis" thing before they did, and that Selina, Harley, and Ivy got the "Gotham City Sirens" title. They're the one who's whole thing is hypnosis and music, shouldn't they be the Gotham City Siren? Better than Music Meister....(continued angry melodic muttering)

#i need to figure out how im gonna reveal some stuff </3 #frootverse

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asoiafdrabbles · 2 years ago

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Is it so far from madness to wisdom? Chapter 6

Summary: In which Jon chooses duty over freedom.

AO3 Link

Chapters on Tumblr

Notes: This starts after the first part of last chapter and, well, you'll see where it ends lol

"Common" -High Valyrian- Old Tongue

XxXxX

While Leanor was the best at distracting Daemon, Aunt Theia was the best at making him uncomfortable. Daemon and she had barely ever interacted (once at the wedding, once more at Maegon’s birth) and so Daemon did not have a clear understanding of her (or perhaps had forgotten anything he did know, seeing her as unimportant).

None of Daemon’s charms could work on her and she had the heart of a Royce, the blood of the Bronze Kings, she was not one Daemon could intimidate. She’d probably rather be eaten by Caraxes than be forced to pay more than the bare minimum of respect due to him as a Prince.

To further Daemon’s seething hatred of her, the Cannibal actually allowed her as a passenger. He did it entirely to upset Daemon, of course, and still considered Aunt Theia in the “crunchy, gooey snack” category as opposed to someone worthwhile, but it greatly amused Jon that when he asked to practice riding with a passenger and Daemon had assumed he’d show up with Laenor, he’d instead been able to bring Aunt Theia.

And despite the entirely inappropriate maneuvers Daemon took them through for a “new” dragonrider taking a passenger on a flight for the “first” time, Aunt Theia didn’t lose her cool. She laughed as they spun, whooping with joy when they surged towards the ground and pulled up at the last moment, and jumped from the Cannibal’s back with a bounce in her step once they landed, already talking about the rides they could take to visit friends and relatives across the Vale.

Jon only stopped her because he saw Daemon’s hand moving towards the hilt of Dark Sister.

For as much as Daemon despised Aunt Theia, Laenor and she got along like lifelong friends within hours of meeting. They shared much in common, of course, and Jon had overheard them reminiscing over past lovers exactly once before his reminders to “show at least something like decorum in the public areas of the keep” had set them to spending private time together as Aunt Theia showed him around the ports House Royce controlled and they spoke of possible trade agreements between their Houses.

That not a single person in Runestone found it inappropriate for this particular man and woman to spend so much time together without an escort (except Daemon, who made a few nasty comments that fell flat with his audience) eased even more of Jon’s worries.

***

Near a fortnight after arriving, Jon had yet to make a decision on Prince Daemon Targaryen, father of Maegon, now his own. He was arrogant, shallow, and hostile towards the rest of Jon’s family (and seemingly seeing anyone not either of pure Valyrian descent or a dragonrider as inherently less than he was, the way the Cannibal looked at the other dragons and found them lacking). He made no efforts to find a place for himself within Runestone, which meant that he had made no effort to find a place for himself within Maegon’s life.

Yet, he tried. Or something like trying. Jon yearned for the simplicity of their private dragonriding sessions whenever they were on the ground and had allowed for a few late evenings where they sat in his solar as Daemon regaled him with stories of Old Valyria. He had never understood just how foreign a culture his father’s (both his fathers’) people had been until Daemon. He wished that somehow, like the Free Folk beyond the Wall, they’d managed to hold onto more of it in the future.

These times were proving not enough for Daemon, however, who bristled at any moments Jon had to leave his side or could not spare for him. He seemed to be doing his best to drive off the rest of House Royce as though Jon would want to be alone in the keep with just Daemon as family.

-If I am not to be your regent, then let me be your father in truth,- Daemon insisted in some version of the same argument he had been giving for days. -Runestone does not need you at the moment, don’t let yourself be tied to such a place at so young an age. You have a dragon! There is much I can show you of the world, much I can yet teach you.-

Jon would be lying if he said he wasn’t tempted. He’d spent his whole life in the North as Jon Snow, discounting the earliest moons which he could not remember. Going beyond the Wall was more than most would ever do, but not ever passing below the Neck had been one of his many regrets as he flew to certain death.

Maegon had only been to the Vale and the Crownlands, so far. With the dragon, a generous allowance from both of his Houses (Uncle Viserys was too soft-hearted not to provide for his only nephew, even if it was unnecessary), and matters that would hopefully not become pressing for at least a decade, Jon had imagined traveling over Westeros. Perhaps even convincing Rhaenyra to take a real royal procession across the kingdoms, to show she would fulfill her duties as heir and so she could gain loyalty from the more neutral lords.

Traveling Essos with the Rogue Prince sounded like something out of a children’s tale.

It was also just as foolish.

-I cannot. Not for a few years, at least, father.- He used the title to hopefully soften the blow, but it did nothing against Daemon’s scowling. -I still have much of my education to finish and more yet to learn about ruling. And…don’t you wish to be near our family? Rhaenyra and Laenor will surely have more children.-

He’d thought Daemon’s look already displeased, but it only grew worse at his words. At some point, he must have started trusting Maegon, or maybe it had never occurred to him not to trust his son, because otherwise he couldn’t imagine such a dark expression when speaking of his niece’s children.

The children that only pushed him further from the throne.

-It is not another’s child I wish to spend my time with, but mine own. There is no one stopping us now, we must grasp this chance.-

Jon tried to work out what his motivations were, but could not. If he’d given up on Runestone, then what was it he wanted?

-I’m sorry, father, Ser Gerold said- -

Daemon hissed like an angry dragon, slamming his hand against the table beside him. -Ser Gerold! Of course it was! You are not their pet, they do not get to dictate what you do! I am your father!-

It was a rage originating from helplessness, Jon thought, because such a feeling was horribly familiar to him. Daemon raged because his son was a lord and could not be commanded by him, just as before his wife was a ruling lady and none but Lady Jeyne or the King could overrule her decisions for her heir.

He wondered if Daemon had tried to take him before, if some of the fights Maegon hadn’t understood between his parents had been over such a thing. He knew Daemon hated the Vale, felt unwelcome (for good reason) in Runestone. If he’d wanted to spend enjoyable time with his son, maybe he thought he had to do it away from there. It almost made Jon sympathize. Almost.

-I’m sorry, father.-

The scowl collapsed and for a moment Daemon looked only helpless, hopeless, and Jon feared what he would do, what he would give, if he actually saw such a man as Daemon cry.

He had no chance to find out, Daemon regained control as he always did, but now his glare was for Jon as much as for the situation. -If that is the way it should be, I see no reason to continue my stay. I thank you for Runestone’s hospitality.- Each word was dripping with derision. -And wish you well, Lord Royce.-

***

“I’m sorry, Maegon.” Laenor pulled him close as they watched Daemon fly away, the Cannibal and Seasmoke both screeching their displeasure at Caraxes from opposite sides of the keep.

Jon took a deep breath before he shook his head, leaning against Laenor but refusing to cry as he wanted to, as his frustratingly young body wanted to. This was Jon’s own surprise, his grief, Maegon had expected even worse and was numb to the abandonment, too used to it by now.

He should have listened to that part of himself and not gotten his hopes up, he knew what sort of man Daemon Targaryen was.

“You don’t have any reason to apologize. Having you here has…it has helped so much, cousin.”

Leanor curled around him, pressing his lips to the crown of Jon’s head. “That gladdens my heart to hear.”

“And you? Are you alright? I know that earning Daemon’s ire is not a favorable position.” He felt the chuckle as much as heard it, with his head resting against Laenor’s chest.

“I am not worried, at least not for this. He has a very long list of enemies and if I have made it, I will be near last. But this has…led to many revelations for me. I had known Daemon was not the best father, but when Rhaenyra speaks of him during her youth…I cannot reconcile the two.”

Jon sighed, closing his eyes and letting Laenor take most of his weight. “The answer is simple, though Rhaenyra will be the last to accept it: Daemon saw her as a chance for a Targaryen wife and a way to ensure he would be Viserys’ heir.”

“...I fear you may be right. Both as to his motivations and her reaction. Even though he would shame her a hundred times over, she would never accept that her beloved uncle saw her only as another tool to be used.”

They stood in silence, dark thoughts echoing through Jon’s mind. “You must guard your children when he is near,” he finally said, Laenor twitching at the sudden sound, then tensing at his words. “They stand between him and the throne he thinks should be his. I am safe from him in that my claim is through him, but none of Viserys’ children or grandchildren will be safe if he grows any more ruthless. Viserys himself is the only one Daemon has ever loved. If he dies first….”

Perhaps it was not Daemon who started the Dance, but he had certainly been the one to escalate it. Lucerys’ death had been first blood, but while young he’d been a dragonrider sent on a mission for his Queen. The child that died in retaliation was just that, a young child, heinously murdered.

The blacks had lost all of their moral high ground in that moment.

Aemond and Daemon, they were the ones that Jon would most have to worry about, but Aemond was a child and could change whereas Daemon was already set in his ways.

“Harrowing thoughts, cousin.” Laenor kissed his hair again before separating enough to start leading Jon back inside. “I can only hope you prove wrong.”

Jon knew how that felt.

XxXxX

Notes: I don’t think I’ve actually said this in the notes before, but since I don’t have much else to put I thought I’d do it now: I imagine the Velaryons look like they do in HOTD (except Rhaenys). The Targaryens…I didn’t like most of the casting for them so I don’t have such exact images of them in my head (listen, if they’re not going to give them purple eyes to make them look less human, the least they could do was make them all objectively hot like they did with the Velaryons). Rhaenys, of course, has dark hair because she’s the daughter of a Baratheon ffs. (There’s also one other appearance, or suggestion made by it, that I’ll be going with from the show, but I'll leave that until it's relevant lol).

#character: jon snow #character: daemon targaryen #verse: maegon targaryen #ship: laenor & jon #character: laenor velaryon #series: is it so far from madness to wisdom

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labaguettegameuse · 9 months ago

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So, i got a few mods to work with baldur's gate III and i wanted to mess around with the CC. None of these characters are saved. I just have fun with mods to test a few things. I tried to recreate some of my ocs from different fandoms. Most of them are from Game of Thrones. I didn't read the books, i've watched the shows. I just let my imagination rage on.

Here's the first one : Fiyonna Stark, the oldest sister of Ned Stark. Giant lady but not as tall as Brienne. Considers her nephews and nieces like her own children and will try anything to protect them. Was in love with Roberts during their yongers years as they often fought together. She often thinks she'll never make it to the next winter because of all the wounds and scars she has. She doesn't know if she'll stay besides Bran when he becomes king or if she'll return to Winterfell to support and help Sansa.

Here's Jeyne Lannister ; The middle child. Younger sis of Cersei and Jaime, older sis of Tyrion. She's as good and gentle as Myrcella. Doesn't like Joffrey much. Was hoping for Tommen to survive longer. Cersei was an example and almost a mother figure to her, at a certain point. Jaime was an overprotective brother with her. Even when she was promise to Robb, he would rarely leave her alone with boys. Her relationship with her father is complicated… She never treated Tyrion like a monster. She doesn't want her family to die but can't support the peculiar tendencies of her sister when she was queen.

Here's Rachel Tyrell, sister of Margeary and Loras. Childhood friend of Jaime. She loves her family very much and is very dedicated to them. But also with her friendship with Jaime. Sadly, she's a bit oblivious, if not very, when someone would flirt with her openly. She loves to travel to Dorne and even had a child with a noble man of Dorne. But she never told who truly was the father. Her and Jaime reunited when he came back to kings landing. He confesses how jealous he was of her having a relationship before him and they never left each other's side ever since. They eventually marry in secret without telling a soul. But everything came to end when Rachel caught Jaime and Cersei together after Joffrey died. She left to go back to Highgarden with her son. When Jaime killed Olenna, Rachel was arrested for a time. Before he helped her escaped, even if she clearly despises him now. She tried to serve Daenerys for a time until she got killed by Jon Snow. She goes back to Highgarden after Bran becomes king.

Here's Rhaenyra Targaryen II, Sister of Rhaegar, Older sis of Daenerys. She always tried to please everyone when she was yonger. She tried to help and protect her mother Rhaella, like Jaime, but it often didn't work and would often end in Aerys beating up his own daughter. She couldn't get too friendly with men/boys cause it would end up in the same reasults. She wasn't killed after the rebellion for some reasons. She was kept as a prisoner for years. Until she managed to escape after killing up guards and changing her looks a bit. Since then, she tried to find any survivor of the Targaryen dynasty. She got a niece in Dorne, and a yonger sister who's with the Dothraki. Once she found Daenerys, She explained who she was and tried to help her out as much as possible. As well as protecting her. She'll try to help her keep her sanity and the throne. But she was so anger and destroyed after her death that Rhaenyra disappeared. Probably trying to find drogon. Or death.

Here's Baela Targaryen II, eldest daughter of Rhaegar and Elia Martell. Sibling of Rhaenys and Aegon, half sis of Jon Snow. She never wanted to rule over anything, but she wouldn't mind learning and taking necessary classes anyway. She loved reading and discovering new things. She was very close with her parents and siblings, despite knowing that love wasn't trully and fully present between her mom and dad. She was very close with her uncle Oberyn. But during the rebellion, her and her family was kept in the red dungeons by King Aerys to guarantee Dorne's Loyalty. Baela had to watch her siblings getting butchered and her mother getting raped and killed. Until it was her turn a few days later. She escaped by killing and hurting everyone in her way and lay low for… for what seemed to be an eternity. Until one day, she managed to reached Dorne. Half dead, hair shaved poorly. As poorly as her health. She was taken care by Oberyn and Ellaria. Baela has to hide in Dorne and changed her name for her security. She became an expert in poison, in stealth and assassinations. She became friend with Myrcella and was in charged of her protection and Trystane's. She always hated the Lannister with a burning passion. Besides Myrcella. After Ellaria killed Doran and after Baela realized how Trystane and Myrcella truly died, she left Dorne. Feeling like she was no longer safe, she tried to reach Dragonstone. She was welcomed by her aunt Rhaenyra II and was introduced to Daenerys. After reassuring her that the throne doesn't interest her, she gladly offers her help to take the Lannister and Kings Landing down. Baela almost died during the battle of Winterfell and coudn't participate in the fall of Kings Landing. After the death of Daenerys, she tried to look for her aunt Rhaenyra without much success. She returned to Dorne.

And we're done for the GOT ocs. Please don't come at me, i was just having fun. Sorry in advance for the mistakes. You can just ignore the texts if it bothers you and enjoys the pictures instead !

I also have two more ocs from another fandom but i won't put them in the same post.

#baldur's gate 3 #game of thrones #game of thrones oc #house stark #house lannister #house tyrell #house targaryen #house martell

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xtruss · 1 year ago

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Image: KAL

The Case For A Third-Party Campaign In 2024 Is Actuarial, Not Ideological

No Labels wants to be political insurance for the democracy, yet may doom it

— July 20th, 2023

Nothing in American politics is more quixotic than a third-party presidential campaign. Thus, to political insiders, nothing is also more pathetic or else more cynical: in the best case, the campaign is detached from reality, and in the worst (and, to insiders, the more probable case, since this is politics for God’s sake) it is serving some hidden motive, some interest in the shadows.

Yet, because nothing is more quixotic than a third-party campaign, might it not actually be the most idealistic expression of American politics? Americans may have elected only one candidate to the presidency from a third party, but he was Abraham Lincoln. And good third-party politicians always seem so pure. They know the odds are stacked against them, but they also know Americans yearn for something different, for big ideas and hard truths. It sounds good to anyone who is in fact yearning for something different, which is pretty much everyone who is not an insider.

Enter Senator Joe Manchin, Democrat of West Virginia, one of the more cynical American politicians or possibly one of the more principled, weighing a third-party bid in the latest twist of a presidential melodrama no strike-breaking screenwriter could pitch with a straight face. Whatever further criminal indictments, mislaid cocaine, unacknowledged grandchildren, unvaccinated Kennedys, old-age pratfalls or attempted Russian coups may yet await, Mr Manchin’s eventual choice could prove decisive.

Craggy and folksy, Mr Manchin has won in a state Donald Trump carried twice by about 40 points, but by casting votes that made progressives despise him. What Mr Manchin has seen as wise positions for an old-school blue-collar Democrat from coal country, they have seen as evidence of racism, truckling to special interests and egomania. As the spotlight of presidential speculation shines upon him, Mr Manchin is doing nothing to dispel that last suspicion. A fellow Senate Democrat, Dick Durbin of Illinois, recently called him “America’s biggest political tease”.

If Mr Manchin runs for president, he would do so as the candidate of No Labels, a centre-left organisation that argues Americans are dissatisfied with their emerging choice, between President Joe Biden and Mr Trump. The group intends to raise tens of millions of dollars and petition its way onto the ballot in every state. On July 17th, in the early primary state of New Hampshire, Mr Manchin appeared at a town-hall meeting organised by No Labels alongside a Republican, Jon Huntsman, a former governor of Utah, ex-ambassador to Moscow and Beijing, and past presidential candidate.

“I truly believe that all 435 people elected to Washington want to do good,” Mr Manchin said when asked about a radical House member. But the “business model” of both parties leads politicians to motivate supporters by creating or exaggerating division rather than compromising. Through No Labels, he said, “We can talk about the real problems. We don’t have to villainise the other side just because they might think different than I do.”

All of this is driving some Democrats crazy. The more sensible a No Labels candidate sounds, they fear, the more he will undercut Mr Biden’s advantage among sensible people. They argue that polling shows more Republicans identify with their party’s extreme than Democrats do with theirs, meaning a centrist candidate will take fewer votes from Mr Trump.

No Labels insists its polling shows it would hurt Mr Trump at least as much. It says it will field a candidate only if, after the Super Tuesday primaries next spring, the choice does come down to Mr Trump and Mr Biden, and only if the No Labels candidate has a clear shot at winning. “Those are deeply subjective judgments,” warns Matt Bennett of Third Way, a centrist Democratic group organising against No Labels, “and so far at least we have no faith they are making those judgments correctly.” The day Mr Manchin turned up in New Hampshire, some political luminaries opposed to Mr Trump launched Citizens to Save Our Republic, a super pac dedicated to fighting No Labels. The Arizona Democratic Party is suing to keep No Labels off the ballot there.

Unfortunately for those opposed to No Labels, such machinations are classic grist for the third-party idealism mill. In New Hampshire Mr Huntsman remarked that he had previously heard only Russian and Chinese officials discourage more political participation. Mr Manchin argued that fear of No Labels would force the Democratic Party to embrace more centrist positions. “Why are they scared that they may be threatened to do the right thing?” he asked. “Why are they scared to say, ‘Hey, you’re too far to the left and it doesn’t make any sense’?”

Better Angles

Yet No Labels is also playing games. As a non-profit organisation, it is not obliged to disclose its donors and it does not. Struggling to defend that practice, Mr Manchin fell back on saying that Republicans and Democrats also benefited from “dark money” and that he would vote, if given the chance, to do away with it.

There is no reason to doubt the sincerity of Mr Manchin or No Labels in seeking more public debate about the national debt, the need for national service or the decline of patriotism. But after the attack on the Capitol, only cynical political calculation could pinpoint the sensible centre of American life as equidistant from both parties. A party in thrall to Donald Trump is dangerous in ways a party resigned to Joe Biden is not.

In fact, some of his Democratic colleagues acknowledge, Mr Manchin deserves credit for blocking Mr Biden from moving farther left in the heady years when Democrats had majorities in both chambers, and for helping achieve landmark bipartisan legislation. Partly thanks to Mr Manchin, Mr Biden can justly claim to be the centrist’s alternative to Mr Trump. Only should Mr Biden’s health fail might Americans be lucky to have No Labels on the ballot (though Mr Manchin is 75). That is the only real argument for this third party, and it is the most cold-blooded one imaginable. ■

—This article appeared in the United States section of the print edition under the headline "Manchin in the Muddle"

#United States 🇺🇸#Lexington #The Economist #Third Party #American Politics

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y-rhywbeth2 · 1 month ago

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The rest of that section sticks with me, like:

"Race had nothing to do—" "It had everything to do with your actions!" the Shark interrupted. "What you forgot is that this creature is not an elf any longer and therefore did not deserve your misplaced protection. He's a vampire. They are things of purest evil. They know no race, and the only thing they 'deserve' is a stake through the heart..."

From a mechanical perspective this is either right or probably right depending on edition (3.5e vampire was a template, so you're kinda both although 'humanoid' does get overwritten with 'undead'). Mostly she's correct: an elven vampire is functionally a vampire with maybe some elven traits leftover from what/who they used to be. She's also not wrong that vampirism will, almost all of the time, override the old identity (probably a side effect of the level drain where a vampire drains your life experience and soul along with your life force and blood - possibly why Astarion's memory of pre-vampirism is fucked up (trauma is another one, but I'm not sure reverie is actually impacted by trauma nor that there's an opt out from reviewing bad memories.))

Also 99% of elves absolutely will not consider a vampire Tel'Quessir. (Although as Rhynn, the moon elf being questioned shows, some of them still do.)

Although going off of Jander (the elf vampire being discussed in the quoted story) and the Baldur's Gate series what with Cazador and Bodhi there's definitely some innate elfiness in there. Screaming.

'[Bodhi] revels in her carnal nature even as the elf within despises the creature she has become.' - Journal of Jon Irenicus

As ever I love tragic walking identity crisis monsters.

...my original point was less the nature of vampire vs elf, and more like I frequently wonder how vampirism affects Astarion as an elf. He leans very hard on defying elven values to the point he almost seems to be protesting a bit too hard sometimes (and did that start pre-vampirism or post? Did vampirism exarcebate it?). He never brings it up, besides a passing allusion to Evereska. Also he'd probably deflect if asked and snap if pushed for an answer.

Maybe something like Irenicus' experiences:

'My condition grows worse, and what I remember of my "home" is fleeting. I see images of family whose names I cannot recall and dream of emotions I no longer feel as vividly. On occasion, I sense nature as if she were my mother, as though never removed from her bosom, but such moments are few. I bear the hallmarks of senility with the rage and power of a young elf to lament it.'

(Hey Astarion, can you still sense trees?)

Whatever one's feelings on elvendom, being effectively torn out of it even just on the cultural level should probably hurt like a bitch? And then there's the other level of no longer being apart of nor accepted by your People and your gods and potentially the Weave and the Balance which made up a fundamental part of what you intrinsically are/were - that has got to fuck you up. Especially knowing that the whole 'they're just evil monster parodies of the people they were' thing is exactly how most of the world sees you on top of that. And that it's not exactly false, few people 'survive' becoming vampires (personality/soul-wise).

But it is the nature of vampirism to bury your doubts in power and denial in the downward spiral to monstrosity. It's been so long you maybe don't even remember what filled the void! Everything's fiiiine.

(And it's Sehanine, Corellon and Mystra who're hooking you up with the mystical elf network, so not even Ascension can fix that loss.)

This is probably angst I'd explore in fic if I wasn't too lazy to write. Or neurotic about going OOC.

"I don't care what lies you've heard. He deserved to go free." "Ah, you elves do protect your own, don't you?" Shark's lips curled in a sneer. "I've never heard of an elven vampire before. I'm looking forward to this case." - Blood Sport

'Elven vampires are so rare!' And then the section on Toril's vampires has an adventure centred around three elven vampires. D&D's token 'good' vampire is a sun elf. I recall something about a vampire drow somewhere. One of the villains of BG2 is an elven vampire. BG3 has four of the damned things...

I'm going to be honest, I don't think vampire hunters are very good at their job. How have you never heard of an elven vampire when you can't throw a rock without hitting the bloody things??

#Babbling incoherently about nothing instead of sleeping again #I don't have a point here: just brainfogged insomnia #Poking Astarion's identity as an elf with a sharpened spoon #...Astarion does give me Irenicus vibes #Like the evil gremlin child of Bodhi and Irenicus #...I'm still not sure whether those two are blood related or not and it's been like 20 years and I still don't know #I like my vampirism Tragic and in the Gothic genre #...But also Fun.#Trench coats and katanas is still a valid vampire playstyle #If you're damned you may as well have a damned good time #babbling #/astarion #long post #edgelord hours

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invisibleanonymousmonsters · 3 years ago

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Thanksgiving

description: The Waynes and Kents decide to have Thanksgiving together. But that's not even the drama of the day.

a/n: the version of conner kent/kon-el i use for this is from new 52.

Father of Mine – Masterlist

“OK. What’s wrong?” Y/N had enough of her boyfriend’s silence.

Jason’s grip tightened on his steering wheel. But he responded with, “Why would something be wrong?”

“You’re being quiet.”

Which honestly wasn’t fair. Jason might have sass, cleverness, and sarcasm… but he also loved comfortable silence – though, really only Y/N and maybe Alfred knew that about him.

So it wasn’t fair to attack his silence.

But Y/N also knew there was something behind it in this specific moment.

“Nothing’s wrong,” Jason shrugged. “Just…not really looking forward to this.”

“This being spending Thanksgiving with our family?”

Jason didn’t say anything, but it answered her question still.

“J,” Y/N’s voice was serious now. “If you’re that stressed about it, why didn’t you tell me? We could’ve spent the quietest and most boring Thanksgiving with my grandparents?”

As in her mother’s parents – who also happened to despise Bruce Wayne after how he treated their daughter.

Y/N fully believed if they knew Bruce’s secret, they would come to understand the situation fully like she had.

But Batman wasn’t her secret to tell – and somehow Bruce had learned to not care about people hating him for what they didn’t know.

“I’m not stressed,” Jason corrected roughly.

“Well, what exactly are you so worried about?”

He looked away from the road for a split second to give her a look. “You’ve never been to a Wayne/Kent function.”

Y/N squinted in confusion. “So? I’ve known Clark and Lois longer than I’ve known all of you. And Jon is such a sweetie.”

“Yeah,” Jason sighed. “Well, you haven’t met Conner.”

“Clark’s brother?”

He just nodded.

But they both knew that was not the real relation. Conner was a clone of Clark and Lex Luthor, making him half-kryptonian and half-human, with a genius intellect.

“I don’t know much about him,” Y/N admitted.

“With him and Tim, and then Jon and Demon Spawn, it’s gonna be chaotic.” His eyes flickered to hers. “I mean, like shit-show chaotic.”

Y/N smirked. “Sounds fun, honestly.”

“Not really,” Jason mumbled. “He’s probably gonna hit on you.”

“Hit on me?!” Y/N blurted out. “Conner?”

“Yeah.”

She rolled her eyes. “And how can you be so sure?”

“Because he’s hit on me. And you’re completely out of my league. Obviously.”

Y/N’s jaw dropped. That was not at all the answer she was expecting.

“What?” Jason asked when she didn’t respond. “He’s bisexual,” he added with a shrug.

“Yeah, and that’s fine. I just wasn’t expecting that answer.”

Y/N finally reached over and gripped Jason’s thigh. “It’s gonna be fine.”

Then she let out a heavy sigh. “To be honest, it feels weird going to a different Thanksgiving. It was always my mom’s side of the family. But all my cousins are married with kids and doing their own thing.”

“Sorry,” Jason told her softly. “I didn’t even think about how hard the holidays were going to be for you this year.”

“It’s OK,” she mumbled, but was frowning still.

“You miss her, huh?”

Y/N just nodded.

Jason gently took her hand that was on his thigh and placed a kiss to her knuckles. But instead of putting her hand back down, he held it with his right hand for the rest of the drive to Wayne Manor.

And she was grateful for it.

—

Jason was right: Wayne dinners were chaotic, but Wayne/Kent ordeals were even crazier.

It was a full house with Clark, Lois, Jon, and Conner. But Dick also brought Barbara with him. Meaning it was only 12 people, but it felt like three times that much with the loudness and the various boys running around.

Y/N was drinking wine with the adults when Clark looked around as if he were trying to find someone.

“Wonder when Diana’s getting here,” he thought aloud.

Y/N’s brow furrowed. “Diana?”

Somehow Y/N’s confusion made Lois and Clark even more confused. The couple shared a look with one another. As did Barbara and Dick. Y/N swore even Jason suddenly tensed at her question.

“Diana Prince,” Lois took pity on her.

“Sorry. I don’t know her,” Y/N muttered.

But a few minutes later, the extravagant doorbell of the manor rang and Y/N watched as Bruce hurried to the door.

Usually he let Alfred answer. So she was now intrigued.

As she tried to observe the new guest, a new face stepped in front of Y/N, blocking her view of the front door.

“You must be Y/N,” a young man greeted with a cocky smirk.

For being half-kryptonian, Y/N expected Conner Kent to be towering over her. But it was the opposite. With her height and heeled boots, she was looking down at the young man.

“And you must be Conner,” Y/N answered, and offered her hand politely.

But her eyes kept bouncing back to her father as he talked to a woman, whose face she couldn’t fully see yet.

To her surprise, Conner took her hand gently and brought it to his lips, kissing the edge of her knuckles and then giving her a flirtatious smile.

Y/N had no choice but to give the young man her full attention with such a gesture.

“Uhhh,” she managed to laugh out.

“Way to be creepy.”

Jason.

Y/N looked over her shoulder to see that Jason had moved close behind her. He must’ve been waiting for this moment, and stayed close to her since they arrived.

“Jason,” Conner greeted with a half nod. “I was just about to tell Y/N here how beautiful I find her.”

Y/N completely ignored him, too busy staring at her father.

Jason made a grossed out noise. “Aren’t you like 12? And you look like you could be her little brother,” Jason teased as made a point to look down at Conner, making his shorter height part of the joke.

“You’ve been saying Im 12 for years now, Jason. Get a new joke.”

“Well, maybe grow the fuck up and then I’ll stop.”

Conner looked Y/N up and down. “And for the record, I don’t have a problem with women being taller than me… or older.”

But she was not at all mentally present. Otherwise she would give Conner a piece of her mind.

Jason was actually surprised she hadn’t already. Even glancing down at his girlfriend, wondering what had her so quiet.

Then he followed Y/N’s gaze and realized she was too preoccupied with watching Bruce and Diana conversing.

Jason growled, “Leer at my girlfriend like that again, and I’ll put a bullet in each of your eyes.”

Jason wasn’t always around Conner, but when he was, he wasn’t very fond of him. Jason thought Conner was cocky and far to into himself. (Why couldn’t he hate himself like the rest of their generation did?) And if Jason were really being honest, he didn’t always like that people sometimes compared the two of them to each other. On the outside, they both looked like angry men who had mommy or daddy issues.

But Jason wasn’t some clone created in a lab by an evil genius. He was born and life struck him down every chance it got since.

Conner scoffed at the threat, “Did you forget I’m Kryptonian. As if your pathetic bullets could do anything to me.”

“Half-Kryptonian,” Jason corrected, and tilted of his head. “But don’t you worry, they’re Kryptonite bullets wrapped in lead. So you wouldn’t see it coming, would you?”

“Jason!” Bruce interrupted. “We do not threaten the Kents with Kryptonite!”

Clark had walked over as well, once he heard Conner and Jason going at it.

“He doesn’t have Kryptonite bullets,” Bruce tried to tell Clark gently, as if it would remedy the situation.

“Yeah, I do,” Jason countered lazily. When Bruce looked at him, Jason just shrugged. “What? Thought you were the only one who could hunt that shit down?”

“Comforting,” Clark hummed sarcastically.

Bruce cleared his throat and stepped to the side to reveal Diana.

Y/N had been subtly eyeing the two of them this whole time.

“Y/N, I believe you’re the only one who has yet to meet Diana,” Bruce told his daughter. “Y/N, this is Diana Prince. Diana, this is my daughter, Y/N.”

Diana immediately stepped forward with a bright smile that lit up the manor. She was tall, just like Y/N. And she didn’t seem to let it stop her from wearing heels, just like Y/N.

Diana offered her hand with warmth and eagerness. “Bruce has told me so much about you, Y/N. It’s so lovely to finally meet you.”

Y/N was speechless.

Why did this woman know so much about her and Y/N had never so much as heard her name before?

“Nice…to meet you,” Y/N finally managed to sputter out awkwardly.

If Diana noticed the lack of enthusiasm returned, she didn’t show it.

“If I didn’t know better,” Diana continued. “I would believe the rumors: she does look like an Amazon,” she glanced back at Bruce as she said it.

That’s when it clicked – why her face felt so familiar to Y/N.

This wasn’t just Diana Prince.

This was Wonder Woman.

Bruce’s eyes seemed to sparkle as he smirked back at Diana.

Oh.

Y/N looked around at everyone else. But no one seemed fazed by Bruce’s behavior towards this woman. Not even Lois, who often felt out of the loop with all of their loved one’s superhero lives – like Y/N.

“If you’ll excuse me,” Y/N mumbled before quickly walking away toward the bar.

She heard Jason on her heels.

“So, is alcohol going to make this worse or better?” Jason asked as he watched his girlfriend pour herself a double of tequila – no ice, no salt, or even lime juice.

“For me? Better.” She threw the shot back. “Don’t really care about everyone else right now.”

Jason wasn’t one to tell her to slow down. In fact, having his girlfriend wasted during this Thanksgiving dinner would just make it that much more entertaining. And he was not one to tell her what to do. He knew better.

“Are you going to join me or not?” Y/N snapped. “After all, you kind of owe it to me since you conveniently never told me that Bruce was in fucking love.”

Oop. There it was.

Jason was smart enough to look guilty and didn’t bother playing dumb. That never worked with Y/N.

So he took the shot of tequila from her and threw it back.

Alfred stepped into the den where everyone had ben congregating.

“Dinner is served,” he said politely, gesturing to the dining room the Waynes only used for special occasions.

Without waiting for him to finish, Y/N stormed past Jason and walked to the dining room with purpose.

“Fuck,” Jason sighed as he rubbed his face. “This should be interesting.”

He walked into the dining room to see that Damian had already sandwiched himself between Y/N and Jon. But the seat on the other side was open. Jason jumped into action when he saw Conner making his way to it.

With a light shove past him, Jason pulled out the chair to the left of Y/N and sat down. “You’re delusional,” he muttered to the superboy.

Conner just rolled his eyes and moved to the other side of the table.

Jon seemed very excited to be in the presence of Wonder Woman. Despite Superman being his literal dad, the boy seemed utterly unimpressed with his father – much to Clark’s disappointment. But once a dork, always a dork.

Jon asked his 10th rapid-fire question, “If Amazons aren’t born, how were they created?”

Diana took all the boy’s question seriously. “The goddesses decided to create a new race made entirely of female warriors from the souls of women who were killed by the hands of violent men.”

Lois finally interrupted her son before he could continue, “Jonathan, why don’t you let Diana relax and eat her food.” She gave Diana an apologetic look for good measure.

Jon took in a shaky breath and looked disappointed, but listened to his mother.

However, Diana seemed unperturbed by the boy’s excitement and appeared more than happy to humor his curiosity.

“Diana should be used to it,” Dick chimed in with a smirk on his lips. “Especially after having to deal with Jason…”

That caught Y/N’s attention.

Jason growled, “Oh, shut it, Dick.”

But Y/N was amused now. “No, please go on…”

Dick sat up straighter at the request, eyes bright with mischief and excitement. “Jason had the biggest crush on Diana when he was a kiddo.”

Jason gave Dick the biggest death glare Y/N had ever seen.

“Whenever Bruce brought him to League meetings, he’d follow her around like a little puppy. He even asked Bruce to take a picture of them when he first met her.”

“I remember that,” Diana commented with a fond smile.

Jason groaned.

“Clearly, he has a type,” Dick pointed out, looking between Diana and Y/N.

“OK. That’s enough,” Jason finally snapped.

Clark and Lois changed the subject, subtly saving Jason from further humiliation.

“Guess I have my Halloween costume for next year…” Y/N muttered into Jason’s ear so only he could hear.

But she didn’t take into account all the people with super hearing.

Jason choked on his turkey a bit, but recovered quickly.

Clark suddenly blushed, proving that he both her the couple and the sexual innuendo that Y/N had implied.

“So, Diana, how long have you known Bruce?” Y/N asked sweetly.

But everyone else at the table – beside Diana, Conner, and Jon –caught how much Y/N was playing it up. Some even shifted in their seats awkwardly.

Bruce eyed the full wine glass in Y/N’s hand, silently acknowledging that he’d noticed her heavy drinking that night.

But Y/N gave Bruce a look, daring him to say something about it.

“Well…” Diana looked at Bruce as if she needed help remembering. “We kept running into each other through…”

“Work,” Bruce finally offered.

Diana smiled. “Yes. Something like that.”

The two of them locked eyes just a little bit too long. And Y/N immediately caught it.

Just as her anger was rising, she felt Jason gently grip her thigh under the table, trying to calm her down and comfort her.

Y/N then asked, “Where do you usually spend Thanksgiving, Diana?”

It was more polite than asking, ‘Why are you here instead of with your own family?’

“Well, we do not exactly celebrate Thanksgiving in Themyscira. But it’s become one of my favorite holidays. Bruce didn’t want me to spend it alone, so he was kind enough to invite me to join all of you.”

With the amount of people at the dinner table, Y/N’s frustrations and pointed interest tin Diana were easily overlooked. With the chaos of so many conversations happening, no one seemed to get stuck on Y/N watching Bruce and Diana.

But Bruce felt Y/N’s energy. Maybe it was fatherly intuition.

The rest of dinner continued without much drama, just a bit of bickering from some of the boys. But that was nothing unusual. Y/N managed to control herself and not start a scene or express her emotions any more than she already accidentally had.

After dinner, Y/N had avoided the rest of the adults, not wanting to be forced to continue observing Bruce and Diana’a obvious relationship.

Instead, she sat playing Uno with Jon, Damian, and Conner.

Meanwhile, Jason was nerding out about literature with Lois.

As they continued playing cards, Damian caught his sister eyeing their father in the other room.

“What’s wrong with you?” Damian finally asked her bluntly.

Y/N snapped her gaze away from the couple. “W-What?”

“You’ve been short with father all night and you’re staring.”

“Do you not like Diana?” Jon asked with an upset frown.

“I like Diana,” Y/N quickly shut down, almost sounding exasperated.

Then her gaze moved to her brother. “None of this is new to any of you. They’ve been like this for awhile.”

It was mean to come out as a question, but Y/N already knew the answer: everyone in their family knew about Bruce falling in love.

Well, everyone except her.

Damian shrugged. “They’ve been…involved for awhile.”

“Awesome,” she answered sarcastically.

“It’s not as if father discussed it with any of us,” Damian tried to defend. “It was just rather obvious.”

“So everyone’s known about this…except me,” Y/N muttered quietly.

But Damian caught the anger in her eyes.

“How long?” She asked.

“What?”

“How long has this been going on?”

Damian shrugged. “I don’t know. Six months? But they’ve always flirted with one another. It’s disgusting.”

The next second, Conner won that round of cards.

“Alright, kiddos,” Y/N sighed as she got up. “I’m out.”

“You’re leaving?” Damian blurted out, catching Jason’s attention.

“Yep.”

Damian quickly stood. “But we haven’t even had pie yet!”

Jason moved to his girlfriend’s side, reading that she needed out. “She doesn’t really like pie, Demond Spawn.”

“Who doesn’t love pie!?” Jon cried out in shock.

Y/N and Jason started saying their goodbyes to everyone, giving warm hugs. And they purposely avoided Bruce and Diana until the end.

Jason immediately saw Y/N’s posture shift. He recognized it all too well. He had been on the receiving end of such coldness a few times before – and mostly he was just relieved not to be this time around.

Y/N forced a polite smile at Diana. “It was nice meeting you, Diana.”

But she didn’t step forward to offer a hug like she had with the rest of them.

Diana didn’t seem to mind. She was smart enough to pick up on the strange tension between Bruce and his daughter.

So she simply answered with, “It was nice meeting you, too.”

Y/N then shifted her gaze to her father. But it wasn’t really a gaze anymore, but a cold and harsh glare. “Thanks for having us,” she told Bruce evenly, no warmth to be found.

Y/N walked away before Bruce even had a chance to answer.

Diana gave him a sympathetic look.

Jason was left alone with the couple now and glared at Bruce. “You couldn’t give her a heads up?”

Bruce said nothing, which only made Jason angrier.

“Today was already tough for her. It’s the first thanksgiving she’s spent without her mom. But you probably didn’t even realize that.” He scoffed, “Typical.”

But his eyes softened when they moved to Diana and Jason gave her a quick hug. “Nice seeing you, Diana.”

Then he was gone, too.

Diana crossed her arms and faced her boyfriend. “I take it you never told Y/N about us.”

Bruce shifted his weight and his head bowed a bit. “No. I did not.”

“Bruce,” Diana sighed, shaking her head in disappointment.

——————

2 Weeks Later...

Y/N was driving Damian back to the manor. The two of them had decided to go see a new exhibit at Gotham’s Museum of Art.

“Are you still mad at father?” Damian asked while they listened to his favorite classical music.

Y/N sighed.

Damian had been distracted enough by all the art and getting to spend time alone with his sister that the tension from Thanksgiving hadn’t been brought up. Until now.

Jason had been treading carefully, as well.

“I didn’t know he hadn’t said anything to you. Honestly. It had just – I don’t know – become the norm for the rest of us, that I didn’t even think to bring it up,” he had insisted during the drive home after the strange Thanksgiving dinner.

Y/N had answered back, “I’m not mad at you, Jason. It’s not your job to give me updates on Bruce’s personal life.” And she had been sincere – furthermore, that extended to everyone else that had known about Bruce and Diana’s relationship.

“A little bit, yeah,” Y/N finally admitted to Damian after thinking about her answer for a few seconds.

“I think Dick may have said something to him,” he told her. “Jason’s just been mean.”

Y/N couldn’t help but laugh a little at that. “Yeah, that sounds about right.” When Y/N was upset, Jason was upset. And if he knew the person who hurt her, he would go out of his way to torment them.

They pulled up to the main entrance of the manor.

“Pennyworth told me he has pastries for you and Jason,” Damian explained, clearly have been forced to relay the message.

Y/N sighed, but smiled, putting her car in park and turning off the ignition.

She followed her brother up the steps to the front door, to which he had keys for.

But just as he opened the door, Diana was leaving.

“Oh…hi,” Y/N blurted out while Damian moved around her with a simple, “Hi.”

The two women were left alone in awkward silence.

“I owe you an apology,” Y/N finally said softly. “For being rude to you on Thanksgiving. I was upset but it may have been misdirected.”

Diana gave her a sympathetic look. “No apology needed. After I realized Bruce had not told you about us, I truly believe your reaction was justified.”

Y/N finally relaxed. “Thank you for…understanding.”

Diana stepped a little closer and lowered her voice. “I think he wishes to speak with you.”

She sighed. “I’m sure he does. I have a knack for making him feel bad.”

Diana laughed. “I think you and I have that in common.” She stood up straight again. “It was nice seeing you again, Y/N. I hope we can get to know each other more now.”

Y/N smiled. “I would like that, yeah.”

And with that, she was gone.

Y/N tried to walk quietly to the kitchen. Her plan was to grab Alfred's pastries and get out of there. While she had no beef with Diana, she was still frustrated with Bruce.

The universe clearly had other plans, since Y/N walked into the kitchen to find Bruce eating a late lunch.

“Is there even any pastries?” Y/N asked. "I feel like I’ve been conned.”

Bruce couldn’t help but smirk at his daughter. “Alfred has many talents. I wouldn’t put it past him.” Then he got up and handed her a glass container with her and Jason’s name on it.

“Thanks,” she mumbled.

“I’ve been wanting to talk to you,” Bruce continued.

Y/N sighed. “Yeah, I could tell by all the phone calls and texts.”

“And the reason for not answering those?”

She narrowed her eyes. “I was mad at you and being petty.”

“And are you still mad at me?”

“Yeah, actually.”

Bruce took in a deep breath. “I should have told you about Diana.”

“Yeah, you should’ve,” Y/N spat back.

“I wasn’t thinking.”

That was the wrong thing for him to say.

“See, now that’s bullshit, Bruce.”

He seemed taken aback by her response.

Y/N crossed her arms in defiance. “Because you’re always thinking. You’ve always got a plan. And you don’t do anything without intention. So you were thinking.”

“You’re right,” Bruce confessed.

“I know I’m right,” she shot back. “Do you have any idea how it made me feel to see that everyone knew about you and her, except me?”

Bruce stayed quiet. Because he didn’t know.

“I’m not a vigilante, Bruce! You and Jason have kept me away from that part of all your lives – and I’ve respected that. But Batman is so much of you, despite all of us trying to prevent that.”

Y/N ran a hand through her hair. “I’m not mad that you’re dating Diana, Bruce. I’m mad that it’s one of the few things about your life that you can share with me and you decided you didn’t need to – or want to – honestly, I don’t even know anymore.”

“You’re right, Y/N. And I’m sorry,” Bruce finally said. “If I’m being honest, I probably wouldn’t have said anything to the boys either. Clearly they figured it out since they saw it happening in real time. But that’s not an excuse for blindsiding you like I did.”

Y/N took in a deep breath, trying to figure out if she should ream him further or let it go.

“Jason told me you were already upset before coming to Thanksgiving.” Bruce’s voice was gently. “Missing your mom.”

That took Y/N by surprise. “Umm…Yeah. I always miss her…but the holidays are…rougher than I expected, I guess.”

“Y/N… you know, you can talk to me about her. I might not have seen her in quite some time before she passed. But I still knew and cared for your mother.”

Y/N knew Bruce was right. He was one of the few people in her life who knew her mother. And maybe it would be nice to remember her with someone who also knows just how amazing she was.

Y/N was getting emotional as she thought about it, so she just nodded to his offer. And then she realized that wasn’t enough and pushed forward to give her father a hug.

“Think Jason will ease up on the animosity now?” Bruce asked as he hugged her, causing Y/N to laugh.

She could only imagine the rude comments and sass Jason had been giving Bruce during patrols.

She pulled away with a smile. “I honestly don’t know. He gets a kick out of it. And you know how overprotective he is with me. But I’ll do what I can.”

–––––––––

Please let me write me a book report. I need it.

#father of mine #father of mine universe #father of mine bonus content #jason todd x reader #jason todd x tall!reader #tall reader insert #tall!reader #dad!bruce wayne x reader #dad!bruce wayne #batdad #bruce wayne x daughter!reader #diana prince #wonder woman #batboys #batfam

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torchwood-99 · 3 years ago

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If Rhaenys Lived

So, if Rhaenys lived, what happened to her next could have gone in several directions.

She was kept in King’s Landing as a hostage. Highly probable, an effective way of ensuring Dornish loyalty. Is too dangerous to be in the hands of others. Jon Arryn would probably push for her to be betrothed to Robert’s future son, as a way of stabilising the kingdom. This means that Rhaenys would have grown up with an idea of Joffrey’s character, and would have known how despicable he is. She probably wouldn’t have had the best upbringing with Robert and Cersei as her guardians, but she would be mainly taken care of by the servants, some of whom would hopefully be kind to her, especially if she is likely to be the future queen.

The wildcard here is Robert. He despises the Targaryens and also has a sentimental wish to join House Stark and Baratheon through a Baratheon son and Stark daughter, putting right what he felt went wrong. He might have refused Jon outright, or else after Jon dies he might have decided to break the betrothal/not formalise it and go ahead with the betrothal to Sansa. Or he might keep the betrothal in place out of respect for Jon.

For Rhaenys, her betrothal would probably bring her mixed feelings. On the one hand, being betrothed to the future king would grant her status outside of being the hostage daughter of a disgraced house. On the other, it would mean marrying into the family that destroyed her own, and being married to Joffrey. A prospect that would be increasingly unappealing over time.

Her day to day life would be interesting to look at. She has to be treated with a certain amount of honour and respect, especially if she is Joffrey’s betrothed. But her house’s legacy would hang over her. If she takes after Elia, then that would give Cersei further cause for dislike, as she resents Elia for marrying Rhaegar. Even if Rhaenys is mostly raised by servants, it is not out of character for Cersei to actively go out of her way to make her miserable.

In a way, I would compare Rhaenys’s circumstances to Catherine of Aragon’s after Arthur died and there was dispute over her dowry and uncertainty as to whether or not she would marry Henry. Attitudes towards Rhaenys in court would probably shift depending on how likely her marriage to Joffrey is. They might be fawning one day then discretely snubbing her the next. She would probably be kept isolated, especially as she grows older, to ensure there is no plotting.

This is veering into headcanon, but we know that Rhaenys doted on her cat. I think Rhaenys would become an animal person, finding friendship and companionship in her pets that she doesn’t get from people. I think she would be both cynical and naive. She knows about the danger of court life, but is also going to be sheltered, which would give her a limited idea of life outside court.

One big change if Joffrey and Rhaenys’s betrothal remained in place, is that it is less likely that Sansa would have forewarned Cersei about Ned’s plans. That would have made the confrontation between the two less one sided. Arya and Sansa at the least might have even been able to get on the boat and be taken back to Winterfell. This also means that Ned; if he hadn’t managed to seize control, would not have confessed to treason, and later on Catelyn would not have released Jaime for Sansa, because the Lannisters won’t have her.

If Robert did still betroth Sansa to Joffrey, then Rhaenys would be in a similar position to Sansa, just earlier on.

As to where her story would go, that is where her Dornish relatives come in. Doran has been plotting vengeance for his sister all this time, and would also want Rhaenys home and safe. How much this would change his intentions with Viserys is up to debate, he might wish to put Rhaenys on the throne, or he might decide that Viserys and Arianne are more probable, considering the precedent of uncles over daughters taking the thrones. However, he would have definitely wanted Rhaenys back with him. Possibly, he and Oberyn’s desire for justice for Elia would have shifted slightly towards protecting her daughter and bringing her home.

How could Rhaenys have got to Dorne? There are a few possibilities.

So, Jon Arryn is known to have gone to Dorne to make amends. If he was feeling very generous, he might have given them Rhaenys. This would have been the best outcome for Rhaenys, and she would have grown up safe and happy with a family that loves her, but it would mean Jon and Robert having to give up an important hostage and allowing Rhaegar’s daughter to return to her kin who might plot treason in her name.

Escape. Oberyn of Doran might have plotted to rescue Rhaenys from KL. A risky move, but not impossible. Doran is cunning, Oberyn is ruthless. Between the two, they might have hatched a plan to remove Rhaenys from the court. Depending on Rhaenys’s age, they might even have made contact with her to prepare her for her escape. The Sand Snakes may have gone undercover at court as servants in order to communicate with her.

Tyrion might have given Rhaenys to Dorne when he was making alliances with them, this would most likely be instead of marrying Myrcella to Trystane.

Another option is the Silent Sisters or to become a Septa. This would remove Rhaenys from the public eye completely. If this was to happen, then Oberyn would travel all over the kingom in order to find her and bring her home. he would do so with Doran’s blessing. Doran would push Oberyn to name her as one of his bastards, but Oberyn would wish to announce her birth to the world.

#ASOIAF #A Song of Ice and Fire #Rhaenys Targaryen #Elia Martell #Robert Baratheon #Jon Arryn #Doran Martell #Oberyn Martell #Cersei Lannister #Joffrey Baratheon

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sukurarose92 · 3 years ago

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TMA 200 spoilers ahoy

if you don’t want spoilers then please don’t read this~

So. anyone else just break down crying when you think about that fact that Martin probably died alone?

He stabbed Jon. now a lot of the fandom seems to love the idea of Jon guiding Martin’s hand to stab in just the right spot to make it quick and painless and good good, proper angst, I'm here for that. But that means that Jon died in Martin’s arms... while the panopticon was crumbling down around around him.

(sad enough if Jon guided Martin to the perfect spot to make it end quicker. sadder if he didn’t and Martin had to watch the light drain from Jon’s eyes as he bled out painfully from a stab wound, promises of being together on the other side dying on his lips as he spends his last breath trying to tell martin how much he loves him. but that’s an issue for another post. *gross sobs)

Martin sat there, on the floor, with the man he loved in his hand, the fears out of reach, so he couldn’t even call to the lonely to rid himself of the fear and sorrow and guilt of what he had done. Completely and utterly ALONE.

He had to sit there, cradling Jon's broken and limp body, his blood on his hands, knowing he’s the one who ended him and wait in that hell for it to be over. Consider how terrible that must’ve been for him.

Martin is a man who has spent his life alone in all the ways that mattered. His father left, his mother despised him, he had no friends because he was always too busy caring for her, no relationships that lasted, if any at all, aside of Jon And there he was, holding the only person who’d ever truly loved him, ever made him feel like he was wanted and who had told him he’d never be alone again, and know he was gone too.

Whether they woke up in another place together or not, it doesn’t change those few terrible minutes where the world, proverbial and literal, were crashing down around Martin.

Despite all the fighting and clawing and begging to stay with Jon until the last possible second, Martin K. Blackwood died the way he’d live. completely alone. That will never stop breaking my heart.

#martin blackwood #jonathan sims #the magnus archives #tma #Meta #pain #i'm so sorry but i needed to share this because it was hurting me

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voiceless-terror · 4 years ago

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Perchance to Dream

@aspecarchivesweek Day Three: Drinks

Characters: Jonathan Sims/Martin Blackwood, Tim Stoker, Sasha James

Jon comes out to Martin. Twice.

(Ft. Kiss-Averse Jonathan Sims and Hamlet References)

__________

“Ugh, no thank you.”

Martin pauses. Sasha and Tim titter behind their hands.

And Jon, well. He’s got a look of vehement disgust written across his features, not unlike when he’s laying into what he claims is a fabricated statement. Martin can feel his face turning red at the words.

Getting Jon to come out for drinks had been the hard part. It’s one month into his tenure as Head Archivist, and everyone’s starting to feel the scope of the task ahead of them. Tim thought a ‘monthiversary’ drink was in order, and the only way to get Jon to come out was to threaten him with some sort of ill begotten information, the likes of which Martin couldn’t hear behind the closed door. Ten minutes later, Jon emerged, looking grumpier than usual (and very dashing) with a scarf around his neck. And now he sat next to him in the cozy pub booth, Martin trying very hard to remain stock-still because Jon’s leaning into his side. Perhaps he’s cold? Either way, Martin isn’t going to discourage it.

But then he’d had a few drinks and they all loosened up; even Jon’s laugh came easier. And Martin- well, Martin’s opening up a bit more than usual, chattering about his time in the library and bolstered by the smiles he receives in turn. Tim changed track to the personal, regaling them with his latest outdoor adventure while Sasha and Jon gave witty, sarcastic commentary. But then Tim directed the conversation towards him, and they seemed relatively interested in his poetry. He even felt comfortable enough to rattle out a few lines from his phone in a desperate hope to impress, and he stupidly chose one that referenced ‘lips like a rosebud’ and Jon reacts like he’s read a particularly saucy bit of a smut novel aloud. How embarrassing.

“Whew,” Tim whistles lowly, folding his arms behind his neck with an exaggerated wince. “Harsh, boss.”

“No, that’s not it,” Jon says, shaking his head and putting a hand on Martin’s arm. Putting a hand on Martin’s arm. Putting a hand- “Martin, your poetry is fine, if a bit derivative.” Jon thinks his poetry is fine and he’s got his small, fine-boned hand on Martin’s arm and god, he’s got a poem about that too, somewhere in his phone-

Tim guffaws, slamming a hand on the table and startling Sasha. “What a compliment!”

“It’s just…kissing. Lips. Ugh.” Jon smashes his fork rather violently into a dumpling, sending bits of food flying across the table, one of which hit Tim directly above his eye. “I eat with my mouth.”

“Wise observation.”

“Very astute of you.”

Martin would join in on the banter but Jon’s hand is still on his arm and his warm weight is pressing into his side. Honestly, what’s Jon playing at? He could rip the poetry to shreds in front of him but as long as that hand remains on his arm he’d just sit there, not saying a word. Hell, he’d probably even agree.

“So the bossman doesn’t like kisses,” Tim says, taking an obnoxiously loud sip of whatever fruity beverage he’d decided on. “Is that why you ripped down all of my mistletoe back in research?”

Jon. Mistletoe. Hand still on arm.

“I don’t like any of it,” Jon says, removing his hand from Martin’s arm to make a decisive gesture across the table which nearly sent his drink flying. He instantly misses the pressure but the warmth is still there, burning through his sleeve. Jon looks incredibly drunk, now that Martin’s got a better angle to view his flushed cheeks and bright eyes and lips- “All that touching. I don’t understand why everyone’s so hung up on it. No thank you, not for me.”

A brief flash of understanding lights Sasha’s eyes but Martin’s not in a place to decipher it. He’s not sure if it’s the drink or the Jon-of-it-all that’s impeding him. He’s never seen him so relaxed, so animated about something that’s not work. He can’t even focus on the words coming out of Jon’s mouth at the moment.

But Sasha leans forward- once she’s got an idea in her head, she won’t let go until she’s seen it through. Martin recognizes that look. “You’re asexual, then?”

“Mm,” Jon mumbles, his head tilting back dangerously as he puts on an affected, exaggerated voice. “Man delights not me, no, nor woman neither.”

And then Martin’s gone, suddenly struck by a vision of teenage Jon, silhouetted on a stage by a dramatic spotlight, reciting Shakespeare like a born thespian- look, Martin despises theater, but even he’s not immune to Hamlet. In a dream world he’d be Ophelia, no, not Ophelia, idiot- maybe he’s a stage hand, or no, he helps Jon with his quick changes, that’s a job, right? So caught up is he in this pseudo-high school fantasy that the words being said don’t actually dawn on him until a full minute later, when Tim’s laughter reaches a crescendo.

“Boss, did you seriously just come out via Shakespeare?”

Jon’s not even denying it, giving a lazy, good-natured smile in response. Fuck. Here he is, having some stupid fantasy over his boss who is very much right next to him and very much not interested. God, is he taking advantage? He jumps to the side, trying desperately to put a few more inches of space between them for Jon’s comfort when that small hand comes back to his arm, the sudden and strong grip stopping him in his tracks.

“No!” Jon’s voice is low, those dark eyes so intense. Martin can feel his face go scarlet from his gaze alone. “This is nice. I like it.”

Tim and Sasha share an evil little smile and Martin’s out of commission, the night’s revelations and Jon’s insistent snuggling having taken their toll. He couldn’t tell you what happened after that, how many drinks were shared or how he got home. All he remembers is the feel of Jon’s hand on his arm, his insistent closeness, and the sound of his laugh whenever Tim teased him.

The next day Jon comes in late, looking about as bad as the rest of them felt. From the way he interacts with them, it’s likely that he doesn’t even remember last night, what he did or what he said. Martin tries not to let it sting, and goes back to work, knowing there’s a side of Jon that he’ll likely never see again.

__________

“Martin, we have to...talk, if that’s alright.”

Martin pauses, a lump building in his throat. “Okay.”

He settles in on Daisy’s lumpy couch, trying not to let his apprehension show. It’s been a week since Jon got him out of the Lonely and they’re still adjusting, but Martin likes to think they’re settling into a nice routine. There’s such a natural ease to their domesticity; they had their differences, sure, but he’s never seen the man so soft and unguarded, puttering around the cottage, making sure everything’s nice and comfortable for the two of them. And of course, there’s the bed situation. Only one, like in all the cliché fanfiction Martin had taken to reading back when he lived in the Archives and his biggest problem was worms. Maybe Jon doesn’t want to share anymore? He’s been strangely distant the past day, keeping space between them and hovering about in a nervous manner. He goes back through their interactions, trying to think of what he could’ve done wrong.

Jon sits down next to him, his face showing his own apprehension. “I know we’ve been getting...close, this past week. But if we’re going to ah, have an, er- well, you know, relationship- there’s some things you need to know.” Relationship. Jon thinks they're in a relationship. Martin didn’t want to put a label to it, too afraid it would shatter the fragile trust they built. But to be in a relationship with Jon, well, that’s something he’s always dreamed of, right?

So he relaxes minutely, tries not to show the utter joy he feels at the words. “Alright. What’s up?”

Jon takes a steadying breath, looking so oddly grave that Martin immediately wants to take him into his arms. “I don’t...well, I’m asexual. So I’m not really interested…” he makes a vague gesture down towards Martin’s crotch and then freezes, clearly embarrassed by the crudeness of the action. “I’m not interested in all of...that. Or kissing, for that matter. It’s just a personal boundary for me, if that’s alright.”

Oh. Martin blinks, taking in Jon’s serious countenance and hopeful eyes and while he wants to match it, he can’t control the laughter that bubbles out of his throat. “Oh-oh Jon-”

Jon immediately blanches, his brow furrowing in confusion and probably hurt. “W-What? What’s so funny?”

“I’m sorry! Fuck-it’s, it’s not that, that’s fine, it’s just-” Martin tries desperately to keep his laughter under control and fails. Christ, he can’t breathe. “Man delights not me, no, nor woman neither!”

“Why are you quoting Shakespeare?” Jon’s looking at him like he’s lost his mind. Perhaps he has.

“Because you did, you daft thing!” Martin’s shoulders shake with the effort of containing himself, and he wipes a tear from his eye. He immediately puts a hand on Jon’s arm, a mirror’s reflection of that night at the bar and yet it’s still his hand that burns. “Jon, it’s fine. I already know. You told us over drinks my first month in the Archives.”

Jon’s face takes on that peculiar look of confusion and concentration that Martin loves, as if he’s searching his mind or maybe even the Eye for information. “I-oh. Oh!” He puts his head in his hands with a groan, ignoring Martin’s comforting pats to the back. “How embarrassing.”

“It was adorable.”

“No it wasn’t,” Jon whines into his hands even as he leans into Martin’s touch.

“It was,” Martin assures him, drawing him close to his side and letting him lean his head on his shoulder. “I’m sorry I laughed- you were just so serious, I couldn’t help it-”

“Yes, well,” Jon sighed, settling into his arms, the beginnings of a smile on his face. “It’s fine. As long you’re alright with…”

“More than alright.” It’s Jon, of course it’s alright. Being here with him, in their little shabby oasis- well, it’s more than enough. They sit there in silence for some time, Martin enjoying the closeness of the man he’d fought so hard to protect finally in his arms. He’s starting to think they just might be alright. He smiles to himself, perching his chin on top of Jon’s head.

“To be or not to be-”

“Shut up, Martin.”

ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28741983

#my writing #aspecarchives #tma #the magnus archives #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #jonmartin #asexual jonathan sims #cw drinking #gratuitous use of hamlet #the gay agenda

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me4ml · 4 years ago

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Why don't you like Maribat? Why do you think it's a spite or salt ship?

This is presumably because of my Adrigaminette post or the whole Maribat being on the ship list thing.

Quick disclaimer: if you read/ship/write/like Maribat, cool! This is not an attack. This is me answering why I, personally, do not like it. It’s tagged anti, and salt, so it should be filtered. Please don’t harass me over it.

Another note before we start: a lot of what I’m about to write is based on what I’ve read, fic wise or meta, and I blocked off the Maribat tag and fandom a long time ago. It may have changed over there-I doubt it, and I have zero desire to go and look-but this is based on what I’ve seen and read about.

There are, principally, three reasons I can’t stand Maribat, why I think it’s a spite/salt ship.

1). I don’t like Damian Wayne.

2). I don’t like how Damian and the DCU are written in Maribat.

3). Maribat is a mutated salt fic.

If you want to see my reasons why, the rest is under the read more.

1). I don’t like Damian Wayne.

Damian’s not just my least favorite Robin, ranking behind any of the others who have born the name. He’s my least favorite Batfam sidekick overall.

Part of this is his introduction, where he’s a violent, murderous, arrogant, entitled, snotty little brat of a thug. Lest we forget, one of his first acts is to go out, kill a guy, cut off his head, stuff a grenade into the decapitated head’s mouth, and try to blow up Tim. This is his introduction! There are a number of other occasions, including how he treats Jon, his best friend, and the rest of his siblings.

Another part is that he believes that he deserves to be Robin simply because he’s Bruce’s son, and therefore has the blood right to be Robin, to become Batman, and damn anyone else, who are all pretenders. Doesn’t matter that those characters might have a right to become Robin, or the future Batman, he’s the bio son, he deserves it!

Additionally, Damian feels.....not unnecessary, but repetitive, in his actions/characterization. There are other characters who can perform pretty much the same way for whatever storyline is necessary, without including Damian.

Trained by an abusive family to be the best, as an assassin and warrior? Cassandra.

A killer who breaks the main rule of his mentor, which causes tension and strain in the family? Jason.

Incredibly intelligent and talented? Tim.

Damian isn’t unique in what he does, and while that can make him an interesting character, it can also make the focus on him unnecessary.

As well, so much of Damian’s actions and motivations feels like he gets away with stuff, in-universe, because he’s Bruce’s biological son, and so Bruce gives him too much slack, and out-universe, because the writers let him/the fans will defend him. He gets woobified, or leather pantsed. Which leads to:

2). I don’t like how Damian and the DCU are written for Maribat.

For all his (numerous) faults, when written well, Damian can be an interesting character. For example: How does he deal with being deeply insecure? By putting on a mask of arrogance and overconfidence.

Some more examples: How does Damian act like an actual child, when he’s never had a childhood? How can he be a hero, if he’s been trained to be a killer? Can he ever catch up to his siblings, or will he feel like they’re always better than him?

Damian’s sense of being Batman’s son, of being the heir to the Cowl, slams right up against the idea of the Batfam: that there are people who have just as much of a right to call Batman their father/father figure, people who are just as talented and skilled and capable as Damian himself is, if not more. Watching Damian develop, when he’s written right, is actually enjoyable; mainly because when it’s done right, it shows Damian actually progressing and growing, becoming more of a person, with friends and interests. Most times, seeing Damian with his pets can be adorable, same with when he hangs out with Jon.

Is he still a brat? Still sometimes a bit too much of a Demon, an al-Ghul? Yes, but that’s always going to be part of him, and as long as he’s shown to try and grow, or gets called out on that, it’s less of an issue (There’s a completely different rant to be written about how DC likes to chuck character development or backstory into the trash when it suits them for a new run. Damian gets hit with this, as does Tim, or they get handed the idiot/conflict ball, but not the space for it).

Maribat hurls this all out the window. Damian’s bad traits are all “fixed” offscreen-he’s developed, matured, gotten better, whatever you want to call it. It’s basically a writer’s hand wave to make Damian into the character who will be the lead of the story, perfectly suited for his main role of being Marinette’s boyfriend and utterly devoted to her every whim and will. He’s enchanted by her at first glimpse, and defends her against everyone who hates her, because no one can understand her like he can!

Uh, what? This is not Damian Wayne. Even at his best, he’s no broody boy, pulled from his “dark path” by the love of a gentle girl. He’s a Jerk with a Heart of Gold-emphasis on the Jerk. There’s a reason his nickname usually involves “Demon.” Is Damian trying to get better? Yes. But even then, he’s not the type to immediately fall in love. He takes a while to warm up to people, for them to earn his trust, and Marinette would not be like that?

Let’s say that Robin is in Paris for a case, he runs into Ladybug and Chat, and after they explains what’s going on, Robin gives them a stare over his mask, and goes “TT! What a worthless hero, I would have caught him already.” LB and Chat would probably want to deck him, and that’s before he keeps talking.

Same with if Damian transfers to the class, or they meet on a field trip to Gotham. Damian’s not gonna care about some random French teenagers on a tour, or if he was transferred he’s gonna be trying to figure out why his father sent him to Paris, and be focused on the mission, not making friends.

Of all of the Robins, the ones that would be the most likely to capture Marinette’s interest would be Dick or Tim, not Damian. He would remind her too much of Chloe, as Damian, and as Robin, he would be dismissive of Ladybug’s abilities, which would absolutely piss her, and Chat Noir, off.

In characters that aren’t Damian, no one seems to be written properly over in Maribatland. One huge example is that Marinette is so beloved, so pure, that she can make any character fall in love with her, and reform by her pure goodness, including a fic where the Joker-THE JOKER!-becomes her “Uncle J,” and pranks Lila on her behalf.

Uh-huh. Sure. Completely and totally something that one of the biggest, most sadistic twisted, notorious villains in pop culture would do. Maribat winds up worshipping the ground that Marinette walks on, cause she’s “Teh best evar!”

Which then leads to my third and final point:

3). The whole Maribat concept is a mutated salt fic.

Most of the themes you’ll find in Maribat? You will find in nearly every salt fic.

Maybe my biggest issue with the whole Maribat idea is that it doesn’t feel like a proper crossover, which, at their best, explore how characters from one universe and their rules would interact with characters from another universe, and the rules of that one. Putting ML and DC together is a rich opportunity to play with concepts in both worlds!

And yet, it’s mainly used to bash ML characters who the writers despise, predominantly Adrien, Alya, and Lila, with members of the class thrown in depending on feeling, and potentially even Marinette’s parents! The only “good” ML characters are the ones who are on Marinette’s side, usually Luka, Kagami, a Chloe who for some reason has been redeemed and is now Marinette’s best friend, and whatever members of the class the writer decides to throw in there.

You’ll notice it’s not called “MiracuBat”, or LadyBat and Bat Noir-it’s MariBat. It’s meant as a focus on Marinette, making her-the hero of the Miraculous Ladybug franchise, someone in-story in story who is incredibly smart and talented and the leader of her team, future Guardian-even more awesome.....by beating down everyone else around her.

Marinette is simultaneously treated as an beaten-up, beaten-down walked-on carpet, and the best person to ever exist ever, go who only needs a group of new, different, better people to recognize that and save her from the clutches of those greedy and ungrateful assholes! That doesn’t include the fics where she’s the unknown child of a superhero or supervillain, making her even more special.

It’s Chameleon salt, class salt, with pointy ears and a cape on.

Some specific examples.

Adrien: Adrien is a spineless doormat who prioritizes Lila over Marinette, or an entitled bastard sexual harasser, only fixated on Ladybug, or even both. Sometimes it’ll get worse, as Adrien will threaten or abandon Marinette if she steps off of his “high road,” and Chat will be a budding rapist, stalking or capturing Marinette after he’s learned she’s Ladybug, while ignoring her prior to that. He will, of course, have his ring stripped and handed off to Damian, who is the “true” soul of Destruction and so therefore a “perfect match” to Marinette’s Creation soul. Occasionally it will be Jason, or Tim, or Dick, but the key thing is that it’s not Adrien!

While Damian’s issues are magically fixed, Adrien gets no such courtesy. Adrien has been abused, just like Damian, and while Damian’s abuse is more extensive and extreme, abuse is abuse. If anything, if Damian met Adrien, he would probably see another abused kid, and want to be his friend/have his “adopt stray person!” Instincts go off. I can much more imagine Damian dragging a bewildered Adrien into the Batcave and yelling “Father I’ve found another one for you to adopt!” than I can Damian immediately hating Adrien, or Chat, simply for breathing.

We never see Clark taking Adrien under his wing, or Bruce, or any of the other Batfam; nor any of the other Justice Leaguers. We never see Selina try to fight Bruce over the kid, because he’s cat-themed, and Selina can train him, this one’s hers Bat, get off!

Adrien’s never treated as a kid, or given actual development. A major complaint among salters is that Adrien is treated as perfect and never develops, and in fic, rather than developing him, Adrien either remains static, with his flaws narratively exploded, or is developed negatively. He’s there to be beaten up on and punished by the writers, if not actually physically beaten up by characters in the fic.

Alya: the not-so-good friend, the cheap excuse for a journalist, the awful person who abandons Marinette for Lila and her “connections.” Never mind that Alya was Marinette’s friend from the beginning, or that Marinette’s chosen her multiple times for a Miraculous. One instance of questioning Marinette about Lila, and Alya’s a backstabbing bitch.

Maribat treats Alya as neglectful, bossy, domineering and submissive at the same time to Marinette and Lila respectively, and as a journalist, the worst of the worst. She’s played as a two-bit paparazzo, and once again, the DCU is used to punish her. We don’t see Alya get mentored by Lois or Clark-indeed, if they notice her, it’s with disdain or disappointment. Often, they’re crushing her under their heel, calling her not only a bad journalist, but a bad friend/person. This forgetting, of course, that Alya runs her blog as a hobby so far, she’s only a teenager, and that she’s had Marinette’s back against Chloe and Lila.

The Class: the dupes or allies as needed. Class salt levels depend on what the writer needs. If they’re pro-class, they’re all on Marinette’s side, aside from Alya Adrien and Lila. Chloe, for some ungodly reason, is “redeemed” nigh instantaneously, and often will become Marinette’s best friend, if that isn’t Kagami already. Kagami will drop Adrien like a wet tissue, never trying to reconcile him with the clas, or encourage him to stand up for himself, or if she does, Adrien, of course, will not listen.

If the writer is anti-class, whoo boy. Openly mentally, emotionally, physically abusive to Marinette, the worst gang of people you would ever have the displeasure of meeting, they all need to be in Arkham.

We never see any of the class make friends with the Batfam, the Titans, Young Justice-unless they’re on Marinette’s side, of course. There’s no Alix stopping Selina at the Louvre, for instance, or Max hanging out with Babs. It’s all based on how Marinette is treated as to whether or not the class is portrayed as being worse than the worst of the Rogues Gallery.

Wrapping it all up, Maribat has made me dislike the entire concept of a DC/ML crossover.

Even if someone had written an non-salt, in-character crossover, I don’t know if I would read it, simply because the well has been that poisoned.

#anti maribat #anti maridami #anti daminette #maribat salt #daminette salt #maridami salt #anti damian wayne #Damian Wayne salt #ml fandom salt #anonymous #ask answered #long post

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justasimplesinner · 4 years ago

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Ooooooo bro I've been saving this one for the longest time. Ok so we can all agree that mof crane probably didn't go to his senior prom and probably felt like shit because he didn't feel like anyone really cared about him right? What if a friend/admirer of his (i.e. the reader) he had mutual feelings for asked to hang out on prom night but told him to dress nicely and meet them by the cornfield. He's having doubts cause of the whole Sherry thing but he meets them there anyway, he's gonna comment on how pretty/handsome they look but they're literally so excited they just grab his hand and drag him through the cornstalks. He's getting real sus after a good 5 minutes of walking and is about to pull his hand away until they arrive at a clearing where they have a radio set up to play slow music, a picnic blanket, a few soda bottles filled with wisky that they may or may not have obtained from another student during class, and a balloon held down by a stack of books they've been dying to share with him. They dance, they get a little tipsy, they laugh, he gets a well deserved smooch or two, then they read under the stars together till they fall asleep cuddling.

Please 🙏.

i so fucking wanted to turn this into a fic but i'd just turn it into 30k words of jon's emotional turmoil and never finish it, so have this instead and keep it in mind that my heart has genuinely melted while writing this and i squeezed out every last bit of fluff it had

Masters of Fear!Jon's dream prom night hcs:

when you tell him to meet you by the cornfields on prom night, he's... conflicted. for two main reasons. one obviously being his trauma after the humiliation Sherry put him through the one time he got his courage to ask someone for a date, and two - this was the night of his revenge. he hasn't told you about this, but this was the night his plans were supposed to come to fruition. this was supposed to be the night he first donned the scarecrow costume, the night that would turn his whole life around. but you... you were his friend. he didn't remember a time when you weren't. you were always there. you were there for him every time got bullied, beaten or humiliated. you were there for his misplaced infatuation with Sherry and you were there to comfort him after he had a head-on collision with reality. and now, you were there for his prom night, despite him not having the courage to actually ask you to go with him. and maybe, just maybe... revenge could wait. maybe he should repay you for going through the trouble (and it was a trouble) of befriending him and staying by his side. so he accepted

you told him to dress nicely, so he did, to the best of his abilities. he donned a brown suit, the only one he had that was supposed to be for his prom and that was just slightly too small. it was the smartest garment he owned and he almost liked how it looked, how it made him seem more serious, more intelligent, but when he saw you... he truly felt like a servant in the presence of royalty. "nicely" wasn't anywhere near to how you looked. you were breathtaking. absolutely fucking breathtaking, to the point where the air actually got stuck in his lungs when he looked at you. thousands of thoughts were running through his head. you were so beautiful. why didn't he ask you to prom? why did he waste his only chance to do something with what you two had? the suspicions as to why exactly were you so dolled up by a cornfield were muffled by his absolute admiration for you as well as that slight self-hatred that accompanied him wherever he went

and then, you complimented him. it wasn't the first time, you were always so supportive of him, but this time it... hit different. it wasn't anything out of the ordinary, not like you haven't called him handsome before, but suddenly he found himself tongue-tied. the best he could muster back was a stuttering "you too", but before he blinked you were already grabbing his hand and rushing him through the cornfields, claiming that you had a 'surprise'. and after his experiences, Jon wholeheartedly despised surprises

there was a battle going through his head because honestly, where the fuck were you taking him, why were you two tearing through a cornfield? what, because he looks like a scarecrow? was it another joke? you were never once mean to him, but at this point, who fucking knew? but also, you were holding his hand. you laced your fingers and squeezed and pulled and your thumb kept rubbing over his skin in almost a soothing manner and you held his hand-

"(y/n), please-" he didn't even know what he was asking of you, all he knew was that he was scared and your hand was both the reason for it and his only source of comfort, but he shut his mouth the second you pulled him into a small clearing and he was faced with... a dream, really. you took care of... everything. you laid down a huge blanket with some light pillows to make it more comfy, homemade snacks, drinks, alcohol, a god damned radio with both your favourites on, a small stack of books with balloons-

he was speechless. completely, utterly speechless. you were talking like it was nothing, how you took the CDs from your home that he liked, how you baked those muffins he always immensly enjoyed, how you sneakily bought whiskey with the help of your older friends, how you brought the books you were just dying to read with him, how you fucking made your own private prom for you two to enjoy in peace, and said it like it wasn't a big deal. and he... brought you nothing. not even flowers. he should've gotten you flowers, like any man would. you made all this and he was just standing there like a fucking idiot, with his hands empty, and he dared to doubt you after everything you two have been through-

but you didn't let him wallow in his self-doubt, instead pulling him down, deciding to start the fun. you sat there, side by side, with you pouring the drinks, munching on snacks, discussing books, laughing and joking around with some music in the background. Jon has spent some amazing moments with you, from skipping school to go to the lake to going on trips with you and your parents to places he never thought he'd visit, but this felt... special. that night, he felt happier. he felt like it meant more

he didn't expect that slow love song he was fond of to play, nor you offering to dance. well, offering might be an understatement. if you offered, that dumbass would've probably refuse out of sheer embarassment and bashfulness. you pulled him up and decided to lead him to the "dance floor" (i.e. area around the blanket), leaving him no room to refuse. yet again, not the first time you two danced together without a care in the world, but the first time it felt so... intimate. you were so close, closer than ever before. you held him so gently, you smiled so brightly and he was so captivated he stumbled over his own feet more than once, but it was all perfect. your chest pressed up against his and then soon enough, your head leaning on his shoulder felt so... right. like you were meant to fit against him, like his arms were meant to hold onto you like this. at the same time his heart tried to beat out of his chest but his mind was an oasis of peace. he felt both nervous and at ease, his face hesitantly nuzzling into you, arms tightening around your body, pulling you so close not even paper could fit in-between you two

it's like he finally realised that what he always wanted was right under his nose all along. that all that time, the only thing he craved was being with you like this. at last, he could understand why his heart always sped up and why he dreamed of you so often. this was way different than the "thing" he had for Sherry. way stronger, way more sincere. he felt more deserving of Sherry than he did of you, like she was closer in his reach than you because you were always so kind to him, because you always cared and he felt like he had no right to ruin what you two had. with Sherry, he had nothing, it was easier to project onto her because he couldn't have you. and all that time, he was unconsciously complicating his own life instead of just... trying to reach for you

he felt like he got really far with you that night, like it was already a big step forward and that maybe, someday, you'd consider something... more. he didn't expect you to kiss him right then and there. he didn't expect you to slowly lift your head from his shoulder and dive right in with only a quick glance into his eyes. suddenly, the whole world stopped, along with his heart. suddenly, the world didn't exist, there wasn't a single thought of Bo, Sherry or his revenge, there was only you. you and your perfect lips moving against his own and your perfect hands cupping his cheek and tangling in his hair. he didn't expect an embarassing mewl to escape the back of his throat but if anything, you didn't seem to mind, only pulling him closer, letting him feel all of you

the kiss was messy, almost awkward, but Jon has never felt anything as divine as your plush lips moving against his chapped ones, your tongue slowly sliding into his mouth, guiding him, showing him what love really felt like. he really didn't know when his arms embraced you tight enough to feel your every move against his body, but it felt right. it felt right to have you this close and to kiss you like this. it felt like this was where he belonged

he needed air, but he needed you more and he couldn't just stop, if it wasn't for you finally pulling away, he might've suffocated on the spot. when he leaned back, his chest was heaving and his lips tingling, but he didn't let you go. it's like... he couldn't. you looked into his eyes, hell, right into his soul and for the first time in his life, he had no doubt. surprisingly, he felt no fear crawling up his spine that he just fucked up, he felt no anxiety that he ruined what you two had. the only thing he felt was the need to kiss you again. and then again and again until he could no more

the rest of that night was filled with cuddles, kisses, alcohol and laughter. with talking until the early hours of the morning, with you comfortably between his legs and him wrapped around you like a blanket. that night ended with his shaky, whispered "i love you" and long, meaningful kisses from you which were quickly becoming his new addiction as you two finally parted ways, only to meet again the next day, and then the next and so on. and maybe none of you knew that, but you saved him that day. saved him from a fate he was not entirely ready for. from a life of crime and pain and severe trauma

#jonathan crane #scarecrow #the scarecrow #masters of fear #my writing #headcannons #fluff #ridiculous amount of fluff #tw alcohol #panshrekual iii #i am dying #this mightve honestly given me a heart attacl

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gayestnerdsinfiction · 3 years ago

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Scriddler headcanon- Jonathan absolutely hates Ed’s taste in music

see this is interesting bc i think i have controversial opinions about Jon's music taste 👀

“Got everything?” Jonathan asks, looking up as Edward makes his way down the front steps to the car. He’s loading up the car with everything they’re taking on their little trip.

“I think so.” Edward sees Jonathan’s Scarecrow costume and gear, a small medical cooler, and two duffels crammed into the trunk of the rusty old Ford that Jonathan refuses to get rid of. That car is probably older than Edward himself. “I don’t really know what one brings on a road trip to buy drugs.” He places his own black bag into the trunk, carefully nestling it between the duffels for maximum padding. He assumes one of the bags contains Jonathan’s personal effects, but he’s not the kind of person to bring two bags for a three day trip. He resists the urge to unzip the bags and take a peek inside.

Jonathan closes the trunk, giving Edward a look. “For the last time, this is not a road trip and we are not buying drugs. This is a business trip, if anything, and I’m getting chemicals for my toxin.” He walks around to the driver’s side and opens the door, pausing to look back at Edward before he gets in. “And if I happen to familiarize myself with New Jersey’s recreational marijuana industry, then that’s my prerogative as an American.”

“Whatever you say, Willie Nelson.”

“You’d better shut the fuck up before I drive off and leave you here,” he grumbles as he folds himself into the driver’s seat.

Edward smiles to himself but doesn’t push his luck. He gets into the car and they pull out of the driveway and onto the road. Which sounds like a road trip as far as Edward’s concerned, but apparently that’s a point of debate.

“Can I pick the music?” Edward asks.

Jonathan’s jaw tenses visibly. “Sure,” he says, eyes fixed on the road. “I think there are some CDs in the glove compartment.”

“Oh, that’s alright. I came prepared.” Edward produces a small, leather CD case filled with music he knows Jonathan will absolutely despise. “Since your car is from the stone age and doesn’t have Bluetooth or even an mp3 player, I dug around in the box of things I’ve hoarded from my wretched childhood and found all my favorite CDs from high school. There’s some really good stuff in here, too,” he adds, unzipping the case and flipping through it. “We’ve got Hanson, Destiny’s Child, Backstreet Boys—oh, Spice Girls, of course. A classic.” He turns to look expectantly at Jonathan. “What do you think?”

Jonathan is making that face he makes when he’s annoyed with Edward but doesn’t want to give Edward the satisfaction of being annoyed with him. “You said you wanted to pick.”

This is one of the little games Edward likes to play with the other man. When they’re at home, his favorite way to torment Jonathan is by playing the most manufactured, inane, bubblegum pop music he can find. Jaunty showtunes, songs made by seventeen year old social media stars, boy bands who act like teenagers despite being well over 25. He’s never been able to infiltrate Jonathan’s car before, though. Usually when they’re driving together it’s away from the scene of a crime, so not really an appropriate time for tunes. But now they have a two hour drive to sit and listen to whatever Edward wants. The mere thought of it is delicious to him. What makes this game so fun is watching Jonathan’s internal struggle between his hatred of Edward’s taste in music and his enduring need to never express any emotions under any circumstances.

Jonathan likes music. He spends a surprising amount of time with headphones on, listening to God knows what. But he’s not willing to turn off whatever Edward wants to listen to if it means revealing his own secretive taste in music in the process. No, he’d much rather sit and be miserable instead of letting another human being know him.

Edward keeps looking through his CD collection, briefly getting caught up in the nostalgia of his adolescent taste in music. He remembers dancing alone in his room to Madonna, discussing Britpop with his friends over lunch at school, getting into his first car crash with Britney Spears blaring on the radio. To this day he gets a sick sort of feeling when he listens to “Baby One More Time.”

“This TLC album is pretty good,” Edward says after a while, sliding the disc out of its sleeve. “We’ll start with this, maybe move on to a little Spice Girls, top it off with some Cher?”

“Whatever you like,” Jonathan says evenly.

Edward pops the CD into the player, sitting back in his seat as the beat kicks in on the first track. “What are the bags for?” he asks.

“What bags?”

“The duffels. In the back.”

“Cash and clothes.” They pull onto the highway. “Cash for the drop, clothes for… my body.”

“Yes, Jonathan, I know what clothes are for.” The brief intro song fades out and the second track begins. Edward turns up the volume.

They drive in silence for a little while. Edward watches the trees blurring past the window as they get further and further away from Gotham. It will be nice to get out of the city, even for a few days.

Edward hears a soft tapping sound and he looks over to see Jonathan drumming his fingers against the steering wheel in time with the music. Could it be that Edward has achieved a completely unprecedented win and found a song that Jonathan actually likes?

“So, we’re a TLC fan, are we?” Edward says coyly, straightening up.

Jonathan’s hands still and he tightens his grip on the wheel. “I’m not really a fan of anything,” he says.

“Liar. You like music. You like this music.”

“It’s fine.”

“Please, I saw you tip-tapping along. I know you liked it.” He grins at Jonathan whose flushed face is still looking pointedly at the windshield. “You can’t hide from me, Jonathan Crane. I know your tells.”

“I can appreciate a good beat. That’s all.”

“So you admit you like the beat!” Edward says triumphantly. “And the beat is a core element of the song, implying that, at its core, you like the song.”

“Edward—”

“You know I’m right.”

“The only thing I know is that I’m on the verge of running this car off the road and killing us both to save myself the strife of being in this conversation any longer.”

Edward slumps back in his seat, giving Jonathan an exaggerated pout. “You can’t threaten me with physical violence any time I say something that annoys you.”

“Why not?”

#jonathan crane #scarecrow #riddler #edward nygma #dc #batman #my writing #my fic #music #i really firmly believe jon has a very eclectic music taste and likes almost everything except for like the kitschiest stuff #so i think of the artists named in this fic he'd be most into TLC cuz they're more hip hop/rnb and i feel like he can get down with that

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