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cherienymphe · 1 month ago

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Birds of Prey

Carmine Falcone x Reader

Warnings: DUB-CON, age gap (reader is around Sofia and Alberto's age), power imbalance, implied stalking, mentions of organized crime

➥ banner by @vase-of-lilies | ➥ divider by @whimsicalrogers

summary: Carmine Falcone doesn't believe there's anything in Gotham he can't have—and you like to pretend that doesn't include you.

⭑

“The boss wants to see you.”

A familiar deep voice reached your ears, coming face to face with one of the many bouncers at the club when you looked over your shoulder. Your jaw took a break as you stopped chewing, your minty breath reaching your nose as you exhaled and frowned. It wasn’t too long ago that you’d just talked to Oz, and similar words left your mouth, confusion filling you on what he could possibly need to talk about.

“Not Oz,” was all Kenzie said, and you pressed your lips together.

Oh.

“...oh.”

You hadn’t even realized that the dark haired man—your actual boss—was here tonight, and you swallowed, inadvertently swallowing your gum. You ignored the way your heart stuttered, and you folded the tips you’d previously been counting before sliding them into your boot. The way Kenzie lingered told you that he was meant to be escorting you, and with a small sigh, you forced yourself to your feet.

You clearly wouldn’t have the time you wanted to yourself to mentally prepare to talk to Carmine Falcone tonight.

It wasn’t that you disliked the man—no more than you disliked any of the other corrupted men in this city. In fact, you’d say that he was pretty okay in your eyes, but he was just so intimidating. You supposed it was natural, after all. He was rich and powerful and practically owned the city, and being in close proximity to someone like that—without the flashing lights and loud unintelligible music—made you all too aware of not only just your shortcomings but also the huge imbalance that filled the room whenever it was just the two of you.

Kenzie made no move to step out of the elevator with you when it opened, and the heels of your shoes clicked against the floor when you stepped into the loft. The elevator doors closing sounded so loud to your ears for some reason, and aside from the low hum of music playing in the space, the only sound that could be heard was your heels.

At least until you heard the snap of billiard balls hitting each other.

Your heart jumped at the confirmation that he was in here, and despite your reservations, you picked up the pace, determined to get this over with. You’d been in his loft a handful of times, most especially when you first started working at the 44 Below and he wanted to know how well you were adjusting. It was always coincidentally when you’d just finished a shift, boots full of the money you’d gotten from eager customers with their hands out for Drops. You suspected that Mr. Falcone hadn’t quite trusted you just yet then, recalling the way he sometimes counted your loot thrice.

Now, however, only a few years later, things were different…

��How were things tonight?”

It wasn’t an unusual way to be greeted, Mr. Falcone concerned with the money and business before all else. He hadn’t even looked up from his game as he spoke to you, those dark shades of his no doubt hiding a very intense gaze.

“Things were good,” you told him, bending down to reach into your left boot. “I only really had trouble from maybe two guys, but-.”

“Who?”

The sudden question threw you off, and you looked up from your knelt position to see that he was standing straight now, game forgotten as he held the pool stick in hand. Your eyes were briefly distracted by the glint of the gold ring on his pinky, and you forced yourself to remember that he wanted a response.

“I didn’t… They weren’t regulars,” you said, standing. “I think they came with someone else, and we just had a brief back and forth about the price.”

You were quick in handing the money to him, and you watched him count it. He didn’t really make a habit of asking you about your shifts anymore, so you didn’t think this was all he wanted. In fact, you were sure of that, and that made you nervous. Carmine Falcone wasn’t the kind of guy to concern himself with the likes of you just because. If it wasn’t about business then it was about pleasure, and you had never talked to the man about anything that wasn’t business.

The silence between you stretched and despite the fact that there were so many things you needed to do tonight before it got too late, you didn’t dare rush him. Not only was the man the reason you even had a job, but he just wasn’t the kind of man you rushed. You waited on him, and you watched him nod as he took his time in counting the last few bills from what you’d been able to sell.

“Not bad,” he praised in that low voice of his, and you sent him a small tight lipped smile.

You wondered if he could see how nervous you were and decided to put you out of your misery.

“I talked to Oz earlier,” he began, getting straight into it, pocketing the money. “He said that he gave you some extra money for rent.”

Of all the things that this could be about, that was at the very bottom of the list for you and truthfully…it shouldn’t have been. You shakily exhaled, feeling his eyes on you through those shades, and you briefly looked away. You didn’t even know how you became a topic of conversation between them, and some part of you wanted to curse Oz for putting you into this position.

You knew exactly why Mr. Falcone was bringing this up with you.

“It’s not what you think,” you hurried to say, shrugging and waving your hand. “I asked him about any extra shifts and because there aren’t any, he offered me cash instead.”

The tall man slowly started to make his way around the pool table, and you were quick to get your next words out.

“It’s just a loan. I’m paying him back…”

“With what money?”

You snapped your lips together, crossing your arms over your chest.

“I didn’t say I was paying him back tomorrow,” you eventually mumbled.

“I think Oz would prefer it if you paid him back never.”

Your eyes found the floor at that, hating the truth in his words and especially hating the predicament you found yourself in. You wondered if the other man knew what he was doing when he told Mr. Falcone about what he’d done, and while you liked to think that Oz was just some blundering idiot, sometimes he seemed a lot more calculated than people gave him credit for.

“Oz knows that it’s not like that, and…besides, if he did then I would just give the money back.”

The dark-haired man before you didn’t respond to that at first. Instead, all that met you was a small change in expression, and you watched the way the corner of his mouth lifted. It was the closest thing to a smile you’d ever see on his face when he wasn’t talking to his daughter. He turned away from you, and you kept your eyes on him as he made his way to his bar.

“...and then how would you pay your rent?” he wondered. “This is still the same landlord, I presume.”

He presumed correctly, and you were reminded of a similar conversation months ago. The only sound that could be heard was alcohol flowing from one glass container to another. When he approached you with a clear glass of brown liquor, you hesitantly took it, feeling pressured to do so even if only to be polite. You could feel him eyeing you, and you slowly took a small sip.

“Seems to me like Oz made you an offer you couldn’t refuse…”

“Mr. Falcone-.”

“...but you refused me just fine.”

“It’s…different,” was your only reply, and you looked up at him as he took a sip of his own drink.

“How so?” he asked in that way that reminded you a lot like a dad would ask their child.

“You’re my boss,” you said—a little loudly—and you couldn’t stop your incredulous chuckle.

“So is Oz.”

You rolled your eyes at that, briefly forgetting who you were talking to.

“Sure, yeah, but you’re my actual boss,” you elaborated. “Nothing against Oz, at all, but everyone knows he doesn’t really run anything. Nothing other than what you let him think he’s in charge of.”

He only took another sip, his gaze never leaving you, and you got the feeling that he wanted to see how far you’d go to explain why you’d take money from Oz and not from him.

“Oz can’t do anything without your okay, and that includes anything pertaining to my job. He’s not actually in charge of me,” you quietly finished. “You are, and…I can’t take money from you.”

You got the feeling that you were offending him—the same feeling you got months ago when your landlord decided to hike up the rent for no reason for the umpteenth time—and you didn’t know how to feel about that. Surely he could understand why taking money from Oz was wholly different from taking money from him. Needing something to distract yourself with, you took another sip, appreciating the slight burn in your throat.

“Different or not, I don’t want you taking any more money from Oz.”

Despite the fact that you had no plans of doing that, the finality in his tone made you bristle. You didn’t appreciate how he was choosing to prove you right, knowing that if you didn’t do as he said and he found out, your job could come into question. You could only nod, hating that this place was the safest place in Gotham to make the kind of money you were making with your credentials.

The older man moved closer to you, his free hand lifting to touch your chin, and you swallowed when he tilted your head up ever so slightly. His fingers on your skin made you shudder, and you wished that you were the naive girl you used to be. You wished that you didn’t know why being so close to him gave you goosebumps. You wished that you didn’t know why he was offended you wouldn't take his help. You wished that you didn’t know what this whole thing with Oz was really about.

“Is that understood?”

He wanted a verbal answer, and you softly exhaled.

“Yes, Mr. Falcone.”

“Look, doll,” Oz’s accent was thick as he followed you around the room. “I know you still got that good for nothing landlord, and you ain’t making any more now than you were a month ago.”

The club had long shut down for the night, but when you were one of the girls who had to stick around and clean up, it could take ages. You grabbed a half empty glass full of something that you were too scared to try and identify as the man beside you limped along with your even strides. There were no flashing lights and no loud music, so you had no choice but to engage in conversation with the man who’d done you a huge favor.

“I already told you, it was a loan,” you said to him, setting a tray of dirty glasses aside. “How am I supposed to ever pay you back if you keep bailing me out of trouble?”

You faced him now as you wondered this, and by the brief look that passed over Oz’s features, you knew that Mr. Falcone was correct in his assessment of the heavyset man. You’d known it then, and you swallowed down a sigh, feeling like you were stuck between a rock and a hard place. You were going to pay Oz back, that was the truth. Not just because you hated owing anyone anything and you wanted to, but also because you needed to.

Just like your boss, Oz wanted something from you too, and he definitely felt more owed to it if he could hold a few measly hundred dollars over your head.

The gold in his mouth winked at you as he sent you what was meant to be a comforting grin. It only struck you as lecherous, and Oz shrugged.

“That’s not something we gotta worry about, right now. You can’t exactly show up for work if you’re out on the street, now can ya?”

You fixed Oz with an even stare, and the way his features dropped told you that he realized he wasn’t getting through to you. Even if you wanted to give into your desperation and take any more of his money, you couldn’t. Mr. Falcone had left no room for confusion, and you were more afraid of him than you ever would be of Oz. Oz just wasn’t a serious guy at all—which made you feel even shittier about accepting his money—and everything about your boss was very serious.

The way he moved, the way he talked, and the way he simply looked at people. He navigated his relationships with people with an asuredness that he couldn’t be touched, and he was so confident in it because it was true. The man was practically untouchable, and it was why he was a man you never wanted to get on the bad side of.

Even over something as simple as borrowing money from Oswald Cobb.

“I’m sorry, Oz,” you shrugged. “It’s really sweet of you—so sweet—but I just can’t.”

You brushed past him before he had a chance to respond, noticing the way his expression had already begun to sour. Oz walked around like he had something to prove, and it being so obvious only made it worse. You didn’t want to hear what he could’ve possibly come up with about why you wouldn’t take his money. You didn’t even know what you would say if he continued to press you about it. After all, it’s not like you could tell him the truth.

You didn’t see the conversation going over well if you told him that Mr. Falcone didn’t want you accepting any more money from him because your boss felt slighted that you wouldn’t allow him to metaphorically pee on you. It was such a crass and vulgar way to put it, but it was the truth. Oz you could take money from and turn down any further advances without the fear of losing your job.

Mr. Falcone…not so much.

Taking his money would cross a line you couldn’t uncross. There would be no paying him back and certainly no giving it back. Taking your boss’ money would come with strings you just wouldn’t be able to cut, and it was already bad enough that you were on his radar, the powerful man no doubt keenly aware of you and everyone you cared about.

It was late when you finally walked out of The Iceberg Lounge, your thin coat tight around you as you stepped into the biting air. There was hardly a soul on the street, let alone a taxi, and as the seconds ticked on, it was starting to hit you that you were going to have to walk. The dangers of Gotham at night weren’t even your biggest concern—it was the cold.

Just when you convinced yourself that the walk would warm you up, a nice sleek car pulled up beside you. It was black and nothing like you’d ever ridden in before. It wasn’t a limo, that much you could tell, and as it slowed to a stop in front of you, your mind distractedly settled on a Lincoln. You were just thinking that it seemed like the kind of car someone would be driven around in when the back window was rolled down.

A light drizzle started as you came face to face with Mr. Falcone.

Your lips parted in surprise before you pressed them together again, jaw clenching as you realized the predicament you found yourself in. If turning down Mr. Falcone’s money offended him, then you had no doubt that turning down a ride would be an even worse offense. You knew the path this conversation was going to take before he even opened his mouth, and you resigned yourself to it.

“Y/N.”

His deep voice greeted you over the light rain, and you responded with a soft smile.

“Mr. Falcone. I didn’t even know you were up there tonight,” you said, keeping your voice light. “I was just about to head home.”

Even in the privacy of his car, he still had those shades on, and for some reason the sight of them on his face struck you as more eerie now than normal. Maybe it was because with hardly any light around, you couldn’t even see the faint shadow of his eyes. You were just staring into darkness, and the sight almost made you miss his next words.

“Why don’t you get in. I’ll drop you off,” his words came out like a suggestion, but you knew they were anything but.

With only a second of hesitation, you gave him a soft ‘okay’ before rounding the car.

The inside smelled like him—manly and clean with a hint of wood. You apologized for wetting his seats as you strapped yourself in, but he held his hand up before you could finish, signaling to you that it was nothing. You felt awkward sitting in his backseat with him, the heater warming you up more than your coat ever could. As if he could read your mind, the head of the Falcone family spoke.

“Were you going to walk home in that?”

It almost took you too long to realize that he was talking about your coat, and you fingered the thin material, a sheepish smile on your face.

“It wouldn’t have been that far of a walk,” you shrugged.

It was a lie, and you both knew it.

Even when you eventually looked away, you could still feel his eyes on you, and you didn’t expect his next words.

“Why are you so afraid of me?”

A beat of silence.

“I’m not.”

Another lie.

“I don’t like liars, you know that,” he called you out.

Swallowing, you looked out of the window, but that didn’t last long, hating the sight of his reflection behind you. The silence between you stretched, and the longer it went on, the more obvious it became that he wanted an actual honest answer to his question. Your shoulders heaved with a deep breath, and your gaze fell to your lap.

You swiped your tongue between your lips.

“I feel like you want something from me that I’m not exactly willing to give,” you slowly told him.

You were all too aware that there was a third person privy to this conversation, but you wondered how much the driver was paid by the Falcones to basically see and hear nothing because Mr. Falcone acted like he wasn’t even there, so you forced yourself to do the same. All that met your words was silence, and when you glanced at him, the other man wasn’t looking at you but instead staring straight ahead.

You started to think you’d said the wrong thing by acknowledging the elephant in the room whenever you were with him.

“...and what exactly is it that you think Oz wants from you?”

You leaned back in your seat at that, pressing your lips together and resisting the urge to fire back at him that you weren’t an idiot. Oz wasn’t exactly subtle, but you could handle Oz. You didn’t want to give Mr. Falcone the satisfaction of knowing that his power and connections and place in Gotham scared you more than any measly feelings.

So he wanted to fuck you. Big deal.

That wasn’t exactly new or daunting or shocking. Working at the 44 Below, you encountered plenty of men who did, but none as powerful as him. That was the part that scared you, being wanted by a man like Carmine Falcone. Oz was nothing, just another man on the street with a gun and some money who thought he was bigger than what he was. Mr. Falcone on the other hand…

You’d heard things—whispers of women around him disappearing and dying. He was the head of an organized crime family, so you couldn’t say you’d be surprised if he was even worse than you imagined. It was why you couldn’t blur this line between you, no matter how much he was trying to. He was your boss, you worked at his club, and that was all it could be. You were suddenly extremely aware of the fact that you were sitting in his car as he gave you a ride home out of the rain, and you looked out of the window.

You would have to find a better job and soon.

When his driver slowed to a stop outside of your apartment—the source of your current dilemma—you were quick to reach for the door handle…and Mr. Falcone was quick to reach for you. He’d only ever touched you a handful of times, and like always, his hand was gentle on your arm, but it felt so heavy to you through the thin material of your coat. You nervously watched him reach inside of it with his other hand, and your heart dropped at the wad of cash he pulled out.

You were shaking your head before he even spoke.

“Give this to Oz,” he told you, no room for argument in his tone. “I know everything that goes on in my club.”

You could feel his eyes on your face as he said that, and your earlier conversation with

Oz came to mind.

“...and I don’t want you owing him anything.”

You thought to yourself that you shared the same sentiment, but owing Oz was better than owing a man like Carmine Falcone You didn’t say that though, accepting that you were going to be offending him for a third time tonight, and you didn’t want to make it worse. Ignoring his words and the money, you opened the door and was immediately greeted by drops of rain.

“I can handle Oz.”

That was all you said to him before closing the door behind you, hurrying around the car and into your apartment building, only relaxing when you were bathed in darkness.

You resisted the urge to fiddle with your fingers as you met his even stare with one of your own. You knew this conversation wasn’t going to be the lightest once you finally told him, but no amount of mental preparation was enough, it seemed. Mr. Falcone always had a stern look on his face, even when he wasn’t seemingly upset, but it was clear in this moment that he wasn’t happy with the turn of events.

At all.

“This clearly isn’t a ‘two weeks notice’ kind of establishment, but…it seemed like the proper thing to do,” you finally added. “The restaurant doesn’t pay what I make here, that’s for sure, but it’s decent money.”

There was a lot left unsaid, and you certainly weren’t going to voice it, but that apparently didn’t matter.

“Of course, it doesn’t hurt that you won’t have to deal with me anymore.”

He had no problems saying what you wouldn’t, and you actually winced at his words, looking away as he took a sip of his drink. His loft was quiet, and you finally sighed—softly—as you briefly closed your eyes.

“I never meant to offend you. I swear,” you said, looking at him again. “I’m just…not that kind of girl, and you seem very…determined to make a liar out of me.”

His mustache twitched, a crooked smile on his lips, and you were right to be nervous as you watched him stand. You started to stand too when he held a hand out, and despite your confusion, you remained seated. Your positions weren’t lost on you as he moved closer to you, towering over you and looking down his nose at you where you sat. He still had his drink in hand, and when he lifted his free hand, you expected the feel of his fingers on your chin.

He only pointed at you instead.

“You will need my help.”

He said it with so much conviction that part of you couldn’t help but to believe his words, and you blinked.

“You will,” he reiterated, and you oddly felt like a child being scolded by a parent in this moment. “You will need money and assistance because this city doesn’t reward the good and doesn’t believe in being fair.”

You struggled to swallow at that, knowing without a doubt that if nothing else he said was true, that definitely was.

“...and what will you do? Run to Oz with your tail between your legs?”

You shuddered at the thought, and you knew he noticed by his slight chuckle.

“Sacrifice your dignity to become the kind of woman you claim you’re not but for strangers instead? Hmm?”

Your throat felt tight as every word from him felt like a slap.

“Would it really be worth it just to pat yourself on the back for not taking my help?”

You didn’t have anything to say to that, blinking back tears as he shook his finger at you before dropping his arm entirely. He took another swig of his drink, and you watched him turn away from you with a shake of his head.

“You remind me a lot of my son, you know that?”

You had only crossed paths with the young man in question a handful of times, and you weren't impressed, so this comparison only made you feel worse.

“Just like Alberto,” Mr. Falcone dragged out. “So hard headed and stubborn and always needs to do things the hard way just to prove a point.”

You finally stood on shaky legs, adjusting your purse on your shoulder. You hated to admit that his words were already getting to you, a lot of truth in them that you refused to face.

“Thank you, Mr. Falcone for the opportunity you gave me here,” was all you said. “I know it may not seem like it, but I really am grateful.”

When he didn’t respond, you made your way to the elevator, your heels echoing off the walls. You had just stepped inside when he spoke again, face to face with him just as you pushed the button to go back down to the ground floor.

“The devil you know is always better.”

That simple statement made your heart drop, and you didn’t respond, refusing to give him the satisfaction. When the doors shut though, your face crumbled, and the longer they stewed in your mind, the less his words felt like speculation and more like a curse. He wasn’t wrong, and you hated it.

This city swallowed people like you up. Gotham cackled and spat in the face of anyone who tried to do things the ‘right’ way here, and you wondered if you were really about to be next on its long list of victims all because you didn’t want to get tangled up with the likes of Carmine Falcone. Maybe he was right. Maybe you would end up right in his grasp where he wanted you…

…but you owed it to yourself to try.

It took a second restaurant gig just to keep your head above the water. The corruption in Gotham didn’t just extend to the cops and drug lords, but even all the way down to the lowly landlords too. You knew the day was coming when your rent would be hiked up again with no explanation nor rhyme or reason as to why, but with your two jobs, it wasn't anything you couldn’t handle. Sure, you didn’t ever have any money left over for things like food and other necessities most times, but you had a place to lay your head at night.

…and most of all, you didn’t have to stare into the eyes of Carmine Falcone and pretend like you didn’t know he was just waiting for you to offer him something so many other women probably had.

You had no doubt that he’d played this game before. After all, the man wasn’t just rich and powerful, but handsome too, and the kind of women who worked at the 44 Below—hell even just the Iceberg Lounge—tended to have no qualms about entering an arrangement with a powerful good looking man to keep a nice sum of money in their pockets. You wondered if that was part of the hang up with you—that you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction.

You supposed he was right when he called you stubborn, although you could’ve gone without the comparisons to Alberto. Everything he prophesied came true, and it was only some months later when you found yourself standing outside on a corner with some girls you were familiar with.

“The first one is always a little nerve wracking,” she told you, a comforting smile on her glossy lips.

“Speak for yourself,” another one interjected. “They all make my skin crawl.”

They chuckled together, and you nervously joined in.

You were no virgin—far from it—but you’d never offered the pleasure of your company for money before. You figured it couldn’t be all that different from any other one night stand. It was sex, and that pretty much worked the same no matter who it was with, only tonight you'd be getting paid for it. You weren’t in danger of being put out on the street—yet—but you were at a point where you were working just to pay bills…and it had started to get to you.

You needed some extra money in your pocket.

A low feminine whistle pulled you from your thoughts, and you followed your friend’s gaze.

“This is your lucky first pick, I can tell. Look at that car,” she praised pointing at the dark vehicle.

You didn’t join in on their excitement when you finally studied said car—a familiar car. Your heart sank to your stomach as a congratulatory pat was given to your arm, and despite how much you told yourself it was only a coincidence—he wasn’t the only rich man to be driven around in a car like that—something deep in your gut told you otherwise. You blinked as it slowed down, and your friends’ voices had faded some as they backed away to give you privacy.

You weren’t surprised when the back window rolled down.

Just sick to your stomach.

“Mr. Falcone,” you eventually greeted, never one to be rude to him despite everything.

He didn’t respond, just staring at you through those dark sunglasses, face as taut as ever.

“I can get one of the other-.”

“Get in.”

You bristled at the interruption, halfway turning to gesture to one of the other few women on the corner.

“I’m serious. Any of them would be happy to-.”

“I don’t like repeating myself, you know that.”

You swallowed the rest of what you were going to say, and your arm fell. You stared at him, and he stared at you, and the longer the seconds dragged on, the more you wanted to just…cry. Did he stake out notorious corners regularly? Had he just been waiting for the night you showed up on one of them? If you dared to walk away right now, you wondered what he would do. Follow you? Drag you into the car?

You’d never seen Mr. Falcone so much as raise his voice, but to be a successful head of an organized crime family, you knew it required a level of brutality you’d just never been privy to. You thought about those rumors and whispers you heard of the women around him, and you didn’t know which option was worse, right now—getting in that car or walking away from it.

As you distractedly watched one of your friends walk off with some John, you realized that your former boss’ presence was going to affect any attempts to service any man—any other man—tonight, and you angrily huffed.

No more words were exchanged as you stomped around the vehicle, the silence loud from the moment you slid into the backseat. The wheels were turning before you even clicked your seatbelt in place, and you refused to look at the dark-haired man next to you. Your gaze remained on the window, even when it became apparent you weren’t heading towards the Shoreline Lofts.

It didn’t take you long after that to realize just where you were heading, and despite how much your nerves spiked, you bit your tongue.

The Falcone family mansion was just as stunning and impressive as you’d heard it to be. You’d never had the pleasure of laying eyes on it, and for a brief moment, you’d forgotten the corner your former boss had backed you into. Your lips were parted at the sight of it, slow to get out and almost stumbling over your feet as you never took your eyes off of it. You think you would’ve been content to stand outside and stare at it all night.

Your companion for the night, on the other hand, had other ideas…

You did end up stumbling when he took your arm, and your heart was fast beneath your chest as he walked you to the imposing building. An added layer of fear and apprehension surrounded you, tonight unlike all the other times you were alone with the older man. You knew that some way or another he was going to get what he’d been after, and you didn’t quite know how consensual your part in all of this was going to be.

After all, you didn’t want to sleep with him, not even for money.

…but it was clear more than ever that Carmine Falcone wouldn't rest until he was taking care of you, and you were taking care of him.

Just like he wanted.

“Tell me something…”

His deep voice broke the silence the moment he let you go, and you felt wholly uncomfortable in the bedroom that was the size of your entire apartment. You hadn’t even thought to admire the impressive artwork on the walls and grand staircase as you made your way up it, only concerned with how the rest of your life was about to start.

“Is sleeping with some strange man off the streets really more appealing than sleeping with me?”

It seemed like you’d offended Mr. Falcone enough to last a lifetime, and so you decided to be honest as he poured you both drinks.

“You terrify me to my core…so yes.”

You didn’t miss the way he paused at that before continuing on.

“Those men on the streets of Gotham?” you shrugged. “They’re just men. Men who aren’t nearly as big and bad as they think they are, men who I can handle just fine…”

You only stared at the drink being offered to you when he stopped to stand before you.

“...but you run this city, and everyone in it, and I want nothing to do with a man like that.”

When you didn’t take the drink, he only set it off to the side on a nearby side table like your refusal meant nothing to him. He took his time in sipping his own drink, and you couldn’t stop your eyes from drifting towards the bed. Hours ago, you had no idea how this night could possibly end, but in this moment, you were never more sure of anything in your life.

Your eyes followed his movements as he set down his empty glass, the sound of it hitting the wood making you flinch. Like everything he did, he took his time in moving closer to you, always moving like he had all the time in the world. Your chest was heaving ever so slightly, and you lifted your gaze to look at his face just in time to watch him reach up and remove those dark shades. You didn’t recall ever having stared directly into his eyes before, and oddly enough, you found the sunglasses that always covered his eyes to be less intimidating.

You weren’t surprised to feel his fingers on your chin, and you blinked at the familiar feel.

“How much were you going to charge?”

You answered him, knowing what he was referring to.

“$300 for an hour.”

You didn’t miss the haughty smirk that graced his lips, and you continued before he could speak.

“I needed extra money and they aren’t all Carmine Falcone,” you told him, a bit of an edge in your voice.

It didn’t get by him, and you felt his fingers tighten on your chin.

“...and that was really preferable to accepting my help.”

It came out like a statement, and so you didn’t respond because no response was needed. When his thumb touched your bottom lip, your heart skipped a beat. The older man’s intense gaze was on you, and a huge part of you wanted him to put you out of your misery. The two of you had been playing this cat and mouse game for months—really years—and you comforted yourself in thinking that the first step was the hardest part.

“Let me take care of you.”

From anyone else’s lips, that would’ve sounded like begging, but when Carmine said it, it sounded like an order. It sounded like he was telling you to let him do what he wanted because he was going to do it anyway. You voiced your thoughts.

“Do I have a choice?” you wondered into the quiet room.

The only response to your question was the scent of his cologne filling your nose and his lips on yours. You felt overwhelmed by his mere presence, realizing that this was the point of no return. Carmine Falcone had you exactly where he wanted you, and you were the last place you ever wanted to be. You felt almost silly for attempting to put this off for so long, reluctant to admit that you were always going to end up here from the moment he’d decided it.

The only shot you had was leaving Gotham entirely.

The dress you wore tonight was meant to come off and on easily, and it did just that with a few movements of his hand, the fabric falling at your feet. For the first time in years, you were nervous because as many men as you’d slept with, none of them were like him. Your movements were shaky, and you were both relieved and intimidated once you quickly realized that he liked to be in charge.

The sheets on the bed were softer than any you’d ever had the pleasure of laying on, and they only served to remind you what kind of life you were about to be drawn into. Whether or not it was worth it wasn’t even something you’d been able to consider, having little agency in this arrangement. Carmine Falcone took what he wanted and did what he wanted, and you didn’t want to believe that you were naive for thinking you could be the exception.

Your fingers trembled as you undressed him, and he didn't take his eyes off of you the entire time. You were sure some other type of power play was at work here, and you clenched your jaw as you undid his belt. You could feel his hand touching your hair, fingers finding their way to your neck and grazing the skin there.

It seemed that he was content to save the feigned romance of it all for later, wanting to put himself out of his misery for an entirely different reason than you wanted to put yourself out of yours.

You couldn’t stop the surprised gasp that left you when he pushed himself into you, hips connecting with yours before you had a chance to process what happened. Your nails pressed into his skin, and the way he shuddered beneath your touch told you that he liked that. It felt difficult to wrap your head around your predicament—pinned beneath your former boss and lying in his bed.

Forcing yourself to let go of your apprehension and fear, you found that you could enjoy yourself if you just turned your brain off for a moment. As it was, you couldn’t stop thinking about what this meant and what your life would be like tomorrow and what this would mean for your relationship with Carmine. However, his hand on your neck forced you to think of nothing but him inside of you and his hands on you.

Everywhere he touched flared with heat, and you didn’t even know when you’d wrapped your legs around him. The thin layer of sweat that started to appear on your skin did little to cool you, but your mind strayed further and further from that with every thrust of his hips. Your lashes fluttered as you felt yourself stretch around his cock, your other hand reaching down to twist around the sheets.

The feel of his facial hair brushing along your skin made you shudder beneath him, and your gaze landed on the ceiling, eyes absentmindedly roaming along the walls and wallpaper and every detail that made your little apartment look like something out of a horror movie. You told yourself that there was a silver lining in this, but what did the silver lining mean to you when you never wanted this in the first place?

As his lips met yours again, you could see yourself getting used to this despite your initial refusal. However, it didn’t seem smart to get comfortable around the likes of Carmine, but as he curved his hips into yours again, you wondered if that line of thought was easier said than done. Beneath him, it was easy to forget just what he did and the kind of business he ran and the power he held in this city.

However…

When he pulled away, gaze meeting yours, a stab of fear tore through you.

Carmine Falcone always scared you and probably always would, no amount of money and fancy apartments and cars would change that. You unintentionally arched your chest up into his, back curving as his fingers danced along your spine. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say that he liked that he scared you, that your fear made this more fun for him.

His hand trailed over your skin and slid up between your chest before he took your chin in his hand. He kissed you again—a trembling breath leaving your lips—before that same hand slid around your throat. You lost track of how long he plunged his cock into you, and you were already embarrassed to think about someone else cleaning up the mess that was his bed tomorrow.

With a house like this and a family like his, there were no doubts in your mind that someone did their cleaning for them.

Some time throughout the night, you recalled words leaving his lips and yours that sounded a lot like a verbal push and pull. He wanted you to proclaim something you didn’t want to, and your refusal would be met with little nips from his teeth into your skin here and there. He’d call you stubborn, and you would turn your head away. You vaguely recalled asking about the rest of the family, nervously wondering how your presence would be received in the house.

You didn’t think Carmine had any qualms about being honest about what and who you were. He was the type to do whatever he wanted unapologetically, and you didn’t doubt that it extended to whatever woman he wanted to parade around with whose time and company he was paying for.

“They know you’re mine,” was all he said. “They’ll do as I say.”

That didn’t bring you any comfort.

#carmine falcone #carmine falcone x reader #mark strong #the penguin #the batman #dc fanfic #dc comics #Oswald Cobb #oz cobb

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zombie-bait · 2 months ago

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Went into The Penguin after seeing the trailer expecting Sofia Falcone to be some crazy minor antagonist who exists to just get in the way (*cue Gotham flashbacks*) and instead got a very powerful (and honestly quite justified) rendition of feminine rage motivated by betrayal, societal misogyny, gaslighting and isolation. It's very overt messaging, too. Her family, her coworkers, her friends, her city, even her therapist have all used her for their own means. You get to a point where you see that genuinely everyone in her life has fucked her over and she's not going to play by their rules anymore. And fuck, man, of course she doesn't take the high road but the one she goes down is not only satisfying but borderline righteous for the character and the audience.

On top of that, I truly cannot exaggerate how delighted I am that the show gave reasons to root for AND against both her and Oz. Neither of them are particularly good people but you completely understand where they're coming from and you find yourself wanting for them to succeed, even though one's success very much might mean the downfall of the other!! They have kind qualities alongside their cruel ones which work very well to humanize them.

With Oz, you understand what kind of person he is after only a few scenes. He will lie and schmooze his way to the top however he has to. He plays every side which puts him on the edge of danger and power constantly. Every time he's called out for not having a plan he doubles down on his confidence and acts scandalized even though he's absolutely talking out of his ass. He also takes care of his ailing mother and has spent his entire life being talked down to by anyone and everyone.

Sofia on the other hand, takes a while to unravel. And I love it. The point of her is that she's a mystery. A wild card. Slowly, you learn that she has ambitions, that she has suffered at the hands of others, that she has caused suffering with her own hands and that her family will never see her as anything but a problem. Visually, she is contrasted with Oz as smaller, frailer, younger. The narrative, like her own family, almost leads you to underestimate her. But with episode 4, the painting finally comes together. You see an ambitious young woman sharpened down into a jagged weapon and know that there is only one path left for her. You come away from the episode not feeling like she's an antagonist or a villain, but more like she's a secondary protagonist in a show that already has a fairly strong one.

tl;dr this show kinda fucks. The quality has surprised me in all the best ways possible and I'm genuinely excited to see more.

#the penguin #sofia falcone #the penguin hbo #oz cobb #gotham #dc universe #hbo #its been a while since I got into a show #so this is a win for 2024

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randomshyperson · 9 months ago

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Baby, I'm Yours - Wanda Maximoff Oneshosts

Summary: The Avengers gain a new member, and Wanda Maximoff mistakenly assumes she has gained a rival instead of a friend. Or the one where Wanda has a crush that she doesn't know how to deal with. [Requested]

Warnings: really fluff, enemies to lovers, some kissing and a lot of teasing, avengers being a family, emo!Wanda and her first gay crush. | Words: 4.564k

A/N-> This was requested a while ago and I used it as practice for a winter soldier!reader idea that I had. Idk if I would ever make a series out of this idea, but it was fun to write this reader.

General Masterlist | AO3 | Wattpad

-&-

Seven months after she joined the Avengers, someone else did too.

Unlike her, Sam was extremely excited by the news, he woke up early and somehow managed to convince Vision to join him in the welcome.

Wanda would have skipped the interaction - She only went to get breakfast and intended to spend the rest of the training-free day filled with interactions between the team, hiding in her room and watching old TV shows. But as soon as she noticed the little witch sneaking around the kitchen trying to go unnoticed by Sam's excited theories about who the new avenger would be, Natasha whistled and called out to her.

"Good morning, Maximoff. Do you intend to welcome our new colleague in pajamas?" The widow asked, hiding a teasing smile behind a cup of coffee.

The question already implied what Wanda had feared, and made her sigh. "I didn't know I was expected to take part in the welcome."

Nat grimaced softly - she seemed to be finding the whole thing very amusing.

"What an idea, Maximoff, of course you are! We were all there waiting for you when it was your turn."

She forced a smile, resisting the urge to snap back something bratty like "Thor wasn't". Deciding she had no reason to argue with Natasha, she busied herself with preparing some toast and pouring herself some tea.

When Sam suddenly tapped on the counter, everyone looked at him.

"I got it!" he declared excitedly. "I bet the new guy is Spider-kid!"

Nat frowned. "Who?" and then chuckled to the Falcon's obvious disappointment.

"Come on, the colorful vigilante who keeps throwing webs around? How come you've never heard of him?"

Assuming a thoughtful expression for a moment, Nat flipped through the newspapers on the counter before clicking her tongue on the roof of her mouth.

"Ah, I think Tony's got his eye on that one." She says. "But, no, Wilson. The new recruit isn't the spider. And there's no point in giving me that look, as I won't spoil the surprise."

It looked like the subject was ending - at least that Sam was going to give up. It wasn't long before the rest of the team showed up for coffee, and Wanda mumbled a few good mornings back quickly before making her way to her own room, to change into something more presentable than fluffy pajamas.

But on the way to the bedroom, from one of the glass entrance doors, Steve Rogers appeared and he was accompanied.

"[...] Come on, we're early, they must still be having breakfast." Commented the older Avenger, busy taking off his coat, it took him a moment to notice that Wanda was in the hallway. She was staring, probably. "Oh, good morning, Wanda. I want you to meet someone."

But Wanda already knew you, straight from the television. And from the Shield's files of potential Avenger-level threats.

So maybe that's why when Steve said your name, patted you on the shoulder and you held out your hand for Wanda to shake, she just stared.

"Okay, not a handshaker." You mumbled awkwardly, lowering your arm. "You're Wanda Maximoff, mind reader and former enemy, right? I didn't expect the shock, given the circumstances."

"Hey, easy." Steve grumbled at your aggressiveness, giving your shoulder a gentle squeeze. Wanda narrowed her eyes at you, but you didn't look too intimidated, your posture relaxed and your hands in the pockets of your leather jacket. "That's in the past. We're all friends now. Aren't we, Wanda?"

With some resistance, she eventually forced a smile and tried to relax her posture. She sighed and nodded. "Of course, Steve. It's nice to meet you apart from the news, Miss Barnes. Should we wait for your brother to join us or does he still have Interpol on his back?"

You chuckle dryly. "Listen here, you-"

"Okay, enough." Steve interrupts, pulling you by the shoulders and giving Wanda a disapproving look. He also whispers that he'll have a talk with her later, but the witch turns away, dragging her feet back into the bedroom while you and Rogers head in the opposite direction.

On the way to the kitchen, you mutter: "And here I thought superheroes were polite."

The soldier chuckles briefly. "You tried to blow up the White House, you can understand the hesitation. Now come on, we've got the rest of the team to shock."

It had taken her hours to see you again, not that anyone had asked her opinion, but Steve had put you in the room next to hers on the justification that it would be good for the two of you to have someone close in age to pass the time.

Wanda grimaced and reminded him that you were about 150 years old. Steve chuckled.

"Technically, yes. But she spent almost all that time on ice, so she was only really around for less than 20 years. Can you please try to be friendly? You have more in common than you might think."

Wanda begrudgingly agreed to be the one to give you a tour of the tower. And so she could also discover that she was apparently the only Avenger who was hesitant about your presence on the team.

She knew your list of skills off the top of her head, but still wondered if you could read what she was thinking when you added; "Your hesitation is totally fine, Maximoff. It must be hard to share the podium as the team's coolest person, but you get used to it."

She chuckled awkwardly at the compliment mixed with teasing at the end of the tour. You offered her a farewell wink, thanking her for the favor before muttering that you needed a shower after several hours of driving. You disappeared to your own room before Wanda could come to a coherent conclusion as to why her heart was racing inside her chest.

Perhaps she was having a panic attack?

Wanda turned on her heels and made her way to Bruce's lab. A quick check-up would clarify things.

While assuring her that she didn't have a chronic arrhythmia, Bruce also - under the influence of Natasha and Tony - diagnosed her with something very common to teenage patients: a crush.

"Did you consider Miss Maximoff, that perhaps, you may have just liked her?"

She did not take this very well.

"What? That's ridiculous! I'm not even gay!" Bruce looked up from the normal results of the cardiology test she had demanded and offered her a small smile.

"All right, Miss Maximoff, maybe I made a mistake. You're probably just anxious about your return to action next week." The doctor suggested and Wanda stood up from the lab chair with an impatient huff.

"That's definitely it." She assured him, not wasting any more time on Bruce and his absurd theories after thanking him for the tests.

After such an unfortunate situation, Wanda began to avoid you. It was the most viable solution when someone caused her to have irregular heartbeats, sweat or tremors. Perhaps she was allergic to you.

Obviously, she should keep her distance.

But it seems that the team had other ideas.

"Barnes and Maximoff, you're together. No gloves, come on." Natasha arrived at the gym announcing, an iPad with the training schedule in hand. Wanda, who had spent a good few weeks with the successful plan of interactions limited to greetings, nearly had a stroke. At least her partner, Sam, was keen enough to hold off his punch before it got to her. Wanda hadn't even heard his comment about her getting distracted in a fight and her feet were moving towards the mat, her eyes quick to notice your breathless figure removing the fighting gloves you had been using on a practice dummy for the last few minutes.

"Let's see if training with Wilson has taught you anything, Maximoff." You commented with a smile that made her stomach jump. Something about your sweaty, panting appearance was making her dizzy.

The rest of the team spread out on the edges of the mat, interested to see the exercise, and it was only Natasha who came up to you to lead the whole thing.

"Start with the basics, I want to see Wanda's reaction time." The widow explained, squeezing the two of you on the shoulder. Before turning away completely, she raised a finger in warning to the younger brunette. "And no magic tricks, Maximoff. Even if you're losing."

Wanda smiled, rolling her eyes. Only once had she done that to Natasha and it seemed the widow would never let that story die.

Before the whistle blew, you looked her in the eye. "I'll take it easy on you, little witch." You whispered teasingly, and Wanda felt something burn in her lower belly. She also decided that she had to win because she had to get that smirk off her face.

It was an easier task than it looked - and it was all down to the fact that if there was one thing Hydra had taught her well, it was to exploit weaknesses.

And yours was to care about her. Every hesitation in your movements, your awareness of the super-soldier strength that could hurt her, made it very easy for Wanda to exploit it, slip away, and dodge all your blows. And there was something else too; a soft choke in your breathing every time she got too close, tangled up between one move and the next. The way your ears turned three shades redder when she managed to knock you over and landed on your chest.

"Wow, Maximoff really is kicking your ass." taunted Sam from the corner of the room, grinning at Barton and Nat.

You didn't seem to mind, licking your lips as you took a second look at the position Wanda now found herself in; sitting on your hips.

She did, however, give you an annoyed look. "Don't hold back, I can take it."

"I'm sure you can, little witch." You retorted ironically, leaning yourself fully back onto the mat.

Wanda grunted angrily, then grabbed the collar of your blouse. "Fight for real! I don't need you to take it easy, I can handle it."

The disarming was so quick that she barely had time to blink - one second she was on your hips, the next her back was pressed to the mat with her hands pinned to the side of her head.

Your body on top of hers, pressing her to the floor, made her choke.

For a moment, as your dilated eyes descend to her mouth, you also seem to forget what you were doing, and the audience around you.

But suddenly, you let go; a dry, humorless laugh escaping you as you stand up. And you turn to Nat as if you hadn't just dropped Wanda on the mat.

After ignoring you for weeks, she thinks she deserves it.

"Her fight is decent, so I think we had enough."

Nat raises an eyebrow, a smile playing on her lips. "Oh, are you the one deciding on the training now, Barnes?"

You smile briefly before retorting; "Come on, everyone knows she's not punching her way out of fights when she can use the energy tricks. It's a waste of time making the girl train like a soldier."

Natasha doesn't seem to agree. She follows you towards the locker room, arguing how important it is to eliminate the team's vulnerabilities, while the rest scatter around the gym, some giving up practicing to get something to eat and others going back to wrestling.

Wanda regrets sitting on the mat because in that position she can watch you at the locker room door, tugging at your training shirt, exposing a strong muscular back and a lot of skin because of the sports top that doesn't do much good to hide it.

Natasha continues to talk to you without taking any notice of the gesture, so Wanda is sure she's the problem. Her stupid brain and heart are clearly forgetting that she can't handle a crush right now.

She doesn't even have Pietro anymore, who, as soon as he'd finished tormenting her about it, would give her advice. Because he's always had a natural talent for this kind of thing, while the last time Wanda tried to flirt with a boy, it sounded like a threat.

She can't do this on her own. And with that conclusion, she tries to get over it. Maybe Google has some tips, or maybe, the walking computer that hangs around the tower can help.

"Vis?"

The synthesized man took his eyes off the book in his lap when Wanda called out to him, a few days after the training session where, since being pressed into a mat by you, Wanda found herself unable to think of anything else.

"Hello, Wanda." He greeted her gently, closing the pages and waiting for her to approach.

"I need your help with something."

"Oh, what would that be?"

Wanda pressed her lips together, her hands restless in front of her body. "Would you be able to tell me the most efficient way to... get over someone?" Vision frowned in surprise, and Wanda sighed. "Someone we shouldn't like. Definitely inappropriate."

Vis opens her mouth, still in shock at the whole thing, but it's someone else who speaks;

"What's definitely inappropriate?" Tony asks, and Wanda thanks the gods he didn't hear the first part.

"N-nothing!" Rebuts the witch quickly, the color of her cheeks probably giving her away. Stark looks at her suspiciously, then at Vis.

"Okay, what are you two love birds talking about?" The Vision would have blushed if he could. He gets visibly embarrassed, smiling shyly.

That's great as if Wanda needed one more extra thing to stress her out.

She can barely contain her grimace at the nickname, but Tony doesn't bother; Vision is at least quick to change the subject, and surprises Wanda with his ability to lie very well.

"We were just commenting on how inappropriate General Ross's accusations were at the last meeting." And that's enough to distract Stark.

Wanda practically flees the scene after that. For a long moment, she had even forgotten about the tension that had been swirling around the Avengers over the last few days, precisely because your absence from the compound made her - not that she would admit it - miss you terribly. And all she could think about was inevitably you, busy on missions with Steve in search of your brother James.

With your presence increasingly rare in the Compound, Wanda hoped that the crush would go away, but every time she happened to bump into you between missions, the feelings came back with an overwhelming force, like two lovers the war kept apart. It was frustrating, to say the least. Especially since Wanda was nothing more than a teammate. Hardly a friend.

When Lagos happened, and it was the worst thing that could possibly occur, at least Wanda had something else to think about. And this time, Ross's visit to the Compound was more than inappropriate - it was final.

Accords and fights between the team led to an unbearable situation. With half of her colleagues out for meetings with the United Nations, Wanda was still grounded at the Compound, waiting for news.

She didn't expect you to be sneaking around.

"You shouldn’t be here." That's the first thing she says as she fully opens the bedroom door you left ajar. Wanda could lie about being your fault that she found you, when in fact she had become an expert at sensing your aura over the last few weeks, the ability to just know when you were around, perfecting itself every time you two met.

You chuckle, without diverting your attention from the task of filling your backpack with as many things as you can squeeze inside. Wanda had the impression that many of the items you came to collect in your room were old presents; everything the others had gotten you over the last few holidays. Things that were precious.

"I'm aware. I won't be long." You retort, folding some socks together to put them away in the closet.

Wanda should call Vis - he's working as a sort of watchman for the tower or something. And he was supposed to notify Tony of your presence. But instead, she closes the door.

Twisting her fingers in anxiety, she asks:

"Where are you going to run off to?"

Offering her a quick glance as you returned to your suitcase to put away some underwear that made Wanda look away, you replied; "I can't tell you that, little witch."

Wanda almost smiled at the nickname. Instead, she took a desperate step forward.

"Would you take me with you?"

Standing back, you chuckle. "Funny."

"I wasn't joking."

You leave the St. Petersburg snow globe you got as a present from Natasha on the dresser and turn with a frown to the witch behind you. "Maximoff, come on-"

"I'm serious." She insists. "Stark grounded me. Like a fucking child. “ She then chuckles sadly. “Or worse, a problem he didn't want to deal with. And I know I fucked up in Lagos-"

"Don't say that, Lagos wasn't your fault." You interrupt her with a certain determination. "You need to remember that, alright?"

Wanda smiles softly at your reassurance, looking away because her face is suddenly very warm. You sigh then grab just one more change of clothes before zipping up your suitcase.

"It's not because of the company, Wanda." You mutter suddenly, with the backpack on your shoulders. She looks at you with confusion, but you don't meet her gaze. "I just don't think it's right, everything that's happening. And I don't think we should all be fighting with each other. But that's what's going to happen from now on. If you come with me, Steve probably expects you to be choosing sides. And I wouldn't want anyone to get hurt."

Her heart skips a beat, but Wanda takes a chance;

"Anyone... or me?"

You're taken aback, but you don't lose your poise. You sighed deeply before approaching her without haste, without any hint of what you were going to do either. Wanda opens her mouth again, to apologize for being so difficult, but you muffle the statement with a kiss.

It's the first time she's kissed another girl if that isn't obvious. She melts, panting and so very shy; it's a good thing that you hold her waist, while your other hand keeps your face close by grabbing her chin gently. Wanda's lungs scream for air after a moment, but she refuses to pull away from a sensation as good as kissing you.

Something like a whimper of need escapes her when you break the act, or maybe it's the way you give her lower lip a gentle tug with your teeth that leaves her trembling, ready to beg for more.

"Sorry if that was sudden." It's the first thing you say, your voice is hoarse, and as affected as your breathing. You smile, your thumb wiping away some of the mess left by Wanda's gloss. "But I think it took us long enough."

She babbles like a fish, unable to form a coherent thought for a whole moment. You wait patiently, your hands touching her shoulders, sliding down her arms as a way of calming her. Wanda has dreamed so much of feeling you that the touch meant to ease her nerves has quite the opposite effect; every inch of skin you touch tingles.

"H-how... did you know?" she asks, and you give a short laugh.

"I didn't." You retort gently. "Not for sure, at least. Not until two seconds ago when you asked to come with me. I had this... feeling. And this tension. Every time we walked into the same room, every time we were alone. I just felt…” You can put it into words exactly, so you just take a deep breath and smile at her. “I thought my mind was playing tricks on me, that the way I felt was making me imagine things but then you came in here. Sneak out into my room and ask if you could leave this fancy tower to run away with me to fight. I just had to be sure."

Wanda bites back a shy smile, feeling the heat spreading from her chest to her face and eras, and knowing for a fact that it's only going to get worse because of the way you're looking at her.

She tries to get some ground again.

"And are you..." A sigh, as one of your hands settles on her waist. "Sure?"

You hum thoughtfully before breaking the distance, kissing her in a different way than before. It's more intense and hungrier. Your tongue invades her mouth, exploring everywhere and your hands prevent her from pulling away when the oxygen is off. Every needy sound that escapes her is muffled against into lips.

Wanda tentatively follows the rhythm, one of her hands wrapping in your hair. Your backpack falls to the ground and you hold her tighter now, pulling her into you. It's a significant difference between a super-soldier's body and her own, and just the quick memory of you pressing her against the mat makes her moan into your tongue.

The sound makes you lose your mind - Your hands become more determined, the kiss desperate. Wanda struggles for air, exposing the collarbone that keeps you busy as she tries to catch her breath. You bite down on her skin and she arches against you, her hands becoming bold enough to scratch your back and pull up your blouse.

But you break into a husky chuckle, slowing the kiss and pulling away to remind her; "We have to go." Between one touch and the next, "We don't have time."

She needs a whole moment to force her brain to work, and even after you're no longer touching her, and she's sneaking off to her own room to prepare a suitcase, she's still shaking.

When you meet again, running hand in hand with suitcases back to the garage, Wanda is surprised to realize that she was foolish to be afraid of something as good as this.

That is, of course, until reality hits again.

Wanda has never seen you in action as a Winter Soldier before. She saw it through television, Shield files, and testimonies about deserters captured by the Avengers.

But she was never there.

The Avengers split up and fought each other, and your brother fled with Steve Rogers. She thought you were safe on the plane with them, she made sure you got on - but she didn't see you climb off.

Wanda accepted being captured, she accepted being drugged as a security measure. And throughout the confusion that was the transportation of the Avengers in custody to the Raft, she thought she was hallucinating the whole way there. The masked figure attacking the soldiers and opening the cells was a projection of the sedative in her mind.

She only knew what had really happened, had been able to remember, when you both were already in another country as fugitives from the United Nations.

You were by her side the whole time. You held her on your lap after getting rid of the straitjacket that had trapped her and lay down next to her when there was finally a secure roof over your heads.

Wanda was exhausted. She had lost the only thing she had left; her freedom. There was no longer a home, a team, a brother. She was drugged and trapped like an animal by people she considered family.

She started crying, and you woke up. You didn't say a word or ask her to stop. You just held her and let her sob into your chest until she fell asleep again, this time from exhaustion rather than through the influence of chemicals.

When what was left of the team moved on the following day, to another location to avoid suspicion as Natasha clarify it, Wanda got the impression that maybe it was you who needed her to hold you until you went to sleep now.

Bucky didn't come back, and neither of you knew what had happened to him or Steve.

Wanda let you cry all you wanted.

But then finally, everyone who had fought for Steve was back together. Even Clint and Scott, who would probably make deals for their families, to try to be with them, and would have to leave soon. For a moment, everyone was there and you found out that your brother was going to stay in Wakanda to be free again.

It wasn't perfect, but it was a good moment. Steve got food for everyone, you had something that resembled a Christmas, or at least an end-of-year celebration.

We're alive and safe. We're together. Steve was a man of words.

Even if they were sharing a safe house that was too small for such a group. Even if half the world was after them.

The team fell asleep between sleeping bags and sofas, and you left the trailer to get some air. Wanda went after you without thinking much about it.

"It's cold, witchy." You commented as soon as she was close enough, even though you opened your arms for her to wrap hers around you.

Your back was against Nat's truck, and Wanda pressed a little closer to hide her face in your collarbone.

"Where are you going to run off to?" She questions into your skin.

You sigh, one hand caressing her back. "I don't know." You confess quietly. "I wouldn't get to Wakanda with this, but I wasn't feeling very well in there. Having a Christmas meal without him."

Wanda adjusts her face to look at you. "Bucky needs to heal first."

You nod, giving her a sad smile. "I know, but Steve told me they put him back on ice. Until they found out what they were going to do with him. Just the fact that he's there, freezing again... " You look away, sniffling softly. "It reminds me of the past, our time as Winter Soldiers. And It makes me very sad.” You explain softly before sighing. “I know there's nothing we can do to help him now, but it's all so frustrating. I just needed to get out of there for a moment."

Wanda absorbs your words for a moment until she returns to her previous position and smiles as she feels you relax and put your arms around her.

She murmurs; "It's a shame we can't go out there. Natasha said this place has beautiful spots to visit."

You snort slightly. "Actually, we could drive somewhere further away. Far from the city." You comment. "We can watch the Aurora Borealis."

Wanda bites her lip for a moment, considering your invitation, until she adds; "Just the two of us?"

You chuckle. "Unless you want to wake up the team..."

"No, I wasn't complaining!" She clarifies quickly, and you start laughing again.

She taps you gently on the shoulder to make you stop. "Idiot."

"Your idiot." You hit back with a smirk, and Wanda's heart stops beating for a moment. There's a pause, between exchanging intense glances as you bring your hands to her face, adjusting her hair out of the way. "Don't forget, witchy."

She swallows dryly, her voice hoarse when she speaks: "I won't." She whispers back and you smile before pressing your lips into hers.

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda x reader #elizabeth olsen x reader #wanda maximoff imagines #wanda maximoff #scarlet witch x reader

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whereserpentswalk · 1 month ago

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Reblog to meet your creature, tag your friends to spread their influence, and look under the cut to see what meeting your creature is like!

The dragon: You see him first, like a shadow moving faster than your eye was meant to see, something golden and radiant flying above you. Though it takes hours you slowly track him down, across streets and highways, and into the darkest of the woods. Then you finally see his radiant body, golden scales covering his entire form, with heads like massive snakes, with eyes like sapphires. Massive wings like a falcon's spread as you see him resting alone and he takes notice of you. You know that he could destroy you so very easily if he wanted to, but he doesn't, he just looks at you. And you reach your hands out to touch his head, and he lets you as he bows down. You can feel something change within you, there is fire in your veins, and it doesn't seem to burn at all.

The dark queen: You see them, sitting in the same cafe as you, admiring the city street as they drink from a cop of an unknown liquid. Their human form is tall, yet almost starved looking, beautiful in the way that the night sky if beautiful. They come up to you, and ask why you're hear, ask about the state of humanity, ask if you like the world the way it was, ask what you would change if you only had the power to. They seem so alien, yet they smile. After a few moments they hand you a small cup of their blood for you to drink, and for some reason you know how serious such a thing is, yet how intimate and almost wholesome it now seems. You take a sip, and feel your humanity fade away, feel that there's no going back. You can see for a moment their true form, their mouth filled with fangs and opened wide, and their eyes black and crying blood, yet it doesn't scare you at all.

The Faerie: You wander, past where you should have wandered, past where humans, where mortals, are meant to be. You see the trees around you have creepily human faces upon their trunks. And then you hear xir voice echoing in the night, laughing, knowing that it's too late for you, that you are at xir mercy. Then you see xem, changing form, first a man in regency era dress shining in the moonlight, then a cloaked ghost with endless rows of teeth, then a beast with the combined parts of countless animals. But xe notices something about you, something different, something that lacks the arrogance many other humans have. Xe shows you xir true form, a massive creature similar to a mantis or a dragonfly, with a shining forest green exoskeleton and wings like stain glass. Xe knows that there's no permitting you to be human after coming close to xem, but you are quite interesting, and there are some very interesting things xe can turn you into.

Bodyless entity: You've seen them, on the sidewalk, on the train, standing outside of your apartment. They're almost normal, almost, but they all share the same quirks, all share the same manner of speaking, young or old, of any sex, of any race, they all have the trains of one mind, one person. And they're beginning to notice you back. Eventually they confront you, explaining themselves. You think that they might try to consume you too, but they explain that beings like them have to keep their number of bodies relatively small for their own safety, if they consumed too many humans the rest of humanity would destroy them. And they talk to you and tell you of the place in the shadows their mind came from, the worlds beyond physical space, both of darkness and of enlightenment. And they look at you, as if you remind them of someone long ago. They give you a card if you wish to contact them again and remind you that they can touch your mind in ways beyond mere possession.

Mushroom network: You've been tracking it for days. It's bigger, and then bigger, and then bigger than you ever expected. It covers the ground below you, sleeping yet awake, unknowing yet knowing. It emerges in its living temples, popping up above the ground. Eventually come to its place, a place where the trees are made grey by its consumption, where the animals lay as stoney dead corpses, and red tendrils and white mushrooms cover the earth. You can feel it reaching up to you, weather you want it to or not, and experimenting on you, seeing exactly how your genome tastes. And you can feel its tendrils penetrating your skin, and the uncanny euphoria that comes with it, as you become part of a much larger network.

Alien: You walk into their temple, when the night is dark, and the white pillars around you seem almost otherworldly in the artificial light, the space quiet and empty unlike the city around it. And you see them, silvery, almost angelic, their form entirely inhuman yet unquestionably physical. You bow to them, and they look at you, mournful perhaps. You know what they are, know what they truly are. And you think they know that you know. They talk to you, softly, gently, as if to hide the threat that they pose to you. They tell you how they ended up here, their banishment, how they fell from the stars, from the planet and plane that they originally came from. They wanted to do good in this world, but the wished to rule just as much. They don't seem like they're truly a monster, and they seem to respect that you've been able to get this close to them. And they give you a choice, you can discard your humanity, become like them, let them strip away your flesh and become machine. Or you can die. They have no qualms about removing a threat to their power. You know what choice you'll make.

Angel: First you hear them, in a lonely subway satiation, where only you and them stand. They sing, an old song, in a long-forgotten tongue, a mourning song, quiet and weeping. When you get a good look at them, they look forlorn, their body doll like, delicate and jointed, with the slightest hints at cracks in their skin, their golden eyes the only part of that pretty face that's able to move, their massive wings the only part of their body that looks alive at all. Most people would be scared but you come closer, you put out a hand to them, and pet their hair, and tell them it's ok. They reach out to hug you and you let them, their body is cold, but you help make them warm. As you hold them their song grows kinder yet kinder, and you can feel some power from within them begin to enter your body.

Eldrich horror: You can feel it sometimes. In your dreams. Never in flesh do you see it, but you see it. Someone weeping below the sea, someone yearning. They're waiting for you. They want to be free. Want to be free as every creature wants to be free. They're in pain. But you talk to them. It's all you can do. They take on many different forms, sometimes humanoid, sometimes alien, sometimes metaphorical. They've seen your life too, your pain, your sorrows. They know that you can't free them, but perhaps they can do something to help you, perhaps turn you into something that can have the freedom deprived from you.

Demon: You see her sometimes, walking through the most crowded parts of the city you live in. She wears all black, all over her body, a hood over her head, a gas mask over her face, leather and cloth and rubber covering her. You never see her skin, if she has skin for you to see. She looks like she could kill you. She looks like she doesn't want to. And one day, you wave to her, and shyly she disappears. The next day she appears to you again, but this time standing still. You're surprised to see despite her ghostly nature she's shorter than you. She tells you in a mechanical voice that she's supposed to hurt people, supposed to find people to kill for her masters. She was built as a weapon, built as a victimizer for humanity. She doesn't want to hurt, but she doesn't have a choice. You try to calm her down, to talk to her for a while about other things. When she's ready to leave you mention she can stay with you if she ever needs to. The next night you find her in your bed.

Guardian: It writhes above you, a massive creature, similar to a scorpion combined with a centipede. Its face is strangely human though. It tells you that you can stay in the complex as long as you want, but if you try to steal anything it will have to punish you. You stay, you don't try to steal anything, you just read books. Books upon books in its endless halls, an infinite maze of knowledge. Eventually it comes to you, it tells you you've been there longer than any human has been in a long time. It asks if you're ok. You tell it that you don't really want to go back to the place that you came from right now. It asks you if you'd like to join it, even just for a little while, even if you can still go back to earth if you need to. You nod your head as the creature quietly looks at you, neither of you fully being able to read the others' emotion.

Spirit of lust: You see them standing there, wild eyed and half human, not caring if they're too obviously magical for your world. They're both human and animal, both male and female, both angel and devil. They just are. Everyone else admires them, their beautiful muscular form, perfectly sculpted, with griffon's wings and stag's antlers, and cat's eyes and a dragon's tail. But you step forward, talk to them, let them touch you, let their changing from wrap around you as they raise you high above the dance for. They kiss your head, and slowly that kiss becomes a scar, and that scar a melody. When you touch them back you realize you're not of this world anymore, you're something transcendent, something like what they are.

The emptiness: You've been walking through this place for so long. It's just a white void. You know that you can leave but you don't. White, nothingness, it's all you see for so long. Why do you want to be here? What are you trying to find here? You don't care anymore. You lie down, and the whiteness consumes you, and you become part of it, and you feel what it is to be with the void...

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blackbyrenflowers · 1 year ago

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I have an irrational hatred for the eyrie. It's the stupidest castle in the whole series. To even get up to it, you have to navigate on winding steep narrow paths too small for even horses, hoping you dont break your neck. Then you have to climb up six hundred feet in handholds, or if you prefer, baskets that are 2 seconds away from smashing against the rocks and killing you.

And unlike Storm's End or Casterly Rock which have to be surrounded by land and sea to be sieged, the Eyrie has only one entrance to make it really convenient for would-be invaders to cut their food supplies. How do they haul up food? They use oxen! They haul up several hundred pound mammals (how??) to bring up other food and other supplies. Then they kill the cattle and leave them for the falcons once winter rolls around, because they can't take them down with them and you can't survive in the Eyrie once winter hits. Because for some reason, Roland I Arryn decided that a castle he wouldn't be able to inhabit for years at a time would be a great idea.

Sure the view's pretty, but that's all they have going for them. The garden's too thin for a weirwood tree (maybe because you're trying to plant trees several thousand feet in the air) so it kind of sucks anyways. Want a change of scenery? Hope you don't snap your neck coming down from your mountain.

And let me be clear, this has nothing to do with the Arryns. Fine house, I like Jon Arryn, I like sweetrobin, etc. They just have the worst castle in Westeros. I would rather live in Harrenhal. Sure I might die, but at least at least it'd be of an unavoidable curse and not the abomination of logistics that is the eyrie.

#i am an eyrie-anti #asoiaf #house arryn #the eyrie #valyrianscrolls

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ravensvalley · 7 months ago

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#HuntedUntilExtermination

Northern Raven...

I am extremely pissed off today of our "changing and depending on which region of Canada we are living in", because laws are flexible and can change at any time.

Example: Nearly all native birds in Canada are protected, even if they don't migrate. But this law concerns only the category of small birds. Which is terribly weird for me because these small birds are here in abundance, like thousands and more of them. But for most native species as birds of prey, they are excluded from being protected, like; Hawks, Owls, Eagles, Falcons, Kingfishers, Ravens, Crows, Jays, as for three other species in the blackbird family, like; Rusty Blackbirds, Common Grackles, and Brown‐Headed Cowbirds. Unbelievable if we think about the White Headed Eagles who can have only one clutch of 1-3 eggs per year, (and the first born, the strongest one, can kill the other two to have more food for him, which mother Eagle will also let him do) and can be hunted? As for the rarely seen, Royal Eagle, who is always moving further to North for fear of human. Weird right!

Regarding to the BC Wildlife Act, "Ravens are Schedule C Wildlife, meaning they can be hunted any time, but you do need a hunting licence, unless !!! "you are hunting them on your property or they are damaging your property." Ravens are protected under the, Wildlife Act, except !!! in those regions of the province that have a hunting season for them. Ravens can trigger a wide range of human reactions. It may be disgust for some people to see them feeding on roadkills.Or to see them from your bedroom window can be annoyingly diligent at letting you know that it is 4 o'clock a.m. For Native people, Ravens are still honoured in many First Nations’ cultures while for ranchers can be horrified at them to find the eyes of newborn beef calves pecked out." -bcmag

Ravens, foxes, wolves,… they only try to survive like any other wild animals. It is called, the food chain… hello??? Maybe we should exterminate Roosters too?

So to say, Ravens are protected by the Fish and Wildlife Conservation Act in Canada but, don't have anymore any form of legal protection today.

It is like cannabis; it is against the law to grow marijuana in Québec but if you "live" in Canada, it is legal and you can!

What kind of Canadian bullshit law is this. Ravens have been hunted, trapped, poisoned, etc… for so many years until practically extermination. Ravens even teach their siblings to stay away from human as far as possible for all these reasons, but for some people, it is not enough.

So yes, I am right now fucking pissed off at our country. Ravens can now be hunted "again" because of some people that are disgusted by them.

@BenAdrienProulx May 15th, 2024

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k4marina · 1 month ago

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— Prologue: Who is She? || The Night We Met

synopsis: While investigating some suspicious movement by Flacone and the Penguin, Batman encounters a mysterious female vigilante.

warnings: drugs & implied drug overdoses, brief mention of death, brief mention of rapists, cannon typical violence and themes, gotham (cuz why not ig?)

bruce wayne x fem!vigilante!reader

2.6k word count

Gotham city at night is always a sight to behold. The tall skyscrapers reached up into the cool night sky. The blend of different types of architecture in the city was oddly appealing, an aesthetic that only Gotham could pull off. Despite it being so late, the city was still awake, but not for any good reason.

Criminals freely roamed the streets, terrorizing any poor individual that may be out. Over the decades Gotham had been slowly being eaten away by criminal scum on all levels. The streets where children should be playing and growing up were now littered with drug dealers, murderers, and rapists.

The GCPD, sworn protectors of the city and the law, reeked of dirty cops openly taking bribes from criminals and other corrupt individuals. They swept things under the rug, turned a blind eye, and threatened the other officers to do the same if they knew what was good for them.

Elected officials who were chosen by the people to better their city were no better. Bribes were exchanged, cases were either dismissed or the guilty were given slaps on the wrist for their crimes. The city's politicians were in the pockets of either mobsters or other crimelords and the ones who suffered were the people.

But things were slowly changing.

The Batman: a crime fighting vigilante that had appeared one night two years ago. He dawned a black cowl, obscuring the top half of his face, tactical armor and an assortment of gadgets, and a long black cape.

Despite his sudden appearance he was a force to be reckoned with. He had a clear mission that everyone was able to pick up very quickly; protect Gotham and its people from criminal scum. His first year was the hardest, butting heads with both criminals and the police, especially one James Gordon, but the Bat learned quickly and grew stronger day by day, or rather night by night.

For the past few weeks Batman had been investigating the Falcone crime family and Oswald Cobblepot and their suspicious movements. The two criminal organizations were quite the opposites of each other. While the Falcone were both wealthy and feared in all of Gotham, the Cobblepots were looked down upon for falling from grace as one of Gotham's founding families.

Originally, Gordon was the first to get the tip on their movements. At first it was just a rumor that Falone’s men and Cobblepot’s men were seen meeting together until an undercover officer who’d been stationed at the city docks spotted a group of Falcone and Cobblepot muscle together unloading a mysterious shipment.

After that Gordon informed Batman of his suspicions and the weeks-long investigation began on the two. They did their best at hiding any connection with each other and truth be told if it weren’t for the undercover cop spotting the groups working together no one in the GCPD or even the Bats would know what was going on.

But now he's done it. Batman had finally found someone linked to the two who knew about their operations. All he had to do was interrogate him.

The man, George Kosavo, lived not too far from the infamous Crime Alley. He worked closely with Falcone and Cobblepot acting as some sort of middle man. He worked mostly at the docks and kept records of where the goods came from and where they went. If anyone knew what the two mobsters were up to, it would be him.

Batman watched below, peering down at the entrance of the old apartment building. He silently surveyed the area, planning his line of attack. So far only George was in the apartment, that he knew, which lowered the level or risk of an ambush.

Batman grappled down, landing onto the sixth floor balcony. He reached into one of the many pockets of his utility belt and pulled out a jackknife folding locksmith set. He crouched and unfolds it, revealing the different kinds of picks. Carefully he selects the right pick and slots it into the keyhole of the sliding door and shimmy-ins the tension wand. He works diligently and with the right movements the door unlocks with a soft click.

He shoves everything back into his belt and opens the door, stepping into the grubby apartment. The place was as you’d expect; rundown and poorly maintained. The living room was bland, a small couch on the back left wall, a small table in front of it with an unloaded gun and two magazines on top of it, and a TV perched up on a small rectangular stand. The kitchen was behind the right wall, the top half left open and replaced with a counterspace. It gave the apartment a somewhat open planned space, allowing him to see through the two different areas.

He makes his way left and down the hallway, opening a door to the right that led to the bathroom. There was another door to the right that opened into a small closet space that held the washer and dryer and a small shelf that held the laundry detergent. He turned his attention to the last door, at the end of the hall, slightly ajar. Light poured into the dim hallway from the room and an eerie feeling started to creep up Batman's spine. He readied himself for an attack as he silently crept up to the door.

He swings it open, anticipating an attack, but is only met with a body laying face up on the half made bed. The top of the night stand on the left side of the bed had three lines of cocaine, a rolled up fifty dollar bill, and a half empty dime bag. Batman carefully assessed the area, quickly deducing that the man, George Kosavo, died of an overdose.

He sighed inwards, this was going to be harder.

The room looked as clean as it could get for a mobster lackey who was almost always stung out on drugs. The small table and shelf to the left were mostly bare safe for some porn magazines that were most definitely used. Batman didn’t bother touching them and turned to the closed doors near the right side of the room. He pulls the doors open and finds the clothes rummaged through, exposing a hidden safe that was left open.

Gone, he thought.

“Looking for this?”

Batman’s head snapped back to the doorway, setting his eyes on you. You leaned on the door frame, a manila file in hand. Batman frowned, assessing you fully. You wore a domino mask and a full armored bodysuit with subtle metallic accents and paneling and black gloves with reinforced armor around the knuckles. Everything seemed to be meticulously handmade and thought out.

“Don’t worry, he was like this before I got here.” You motioned towards George's lifeless body.

“Who are you?”

“Anapófefktos¹” You replied. Batman's frown deepened, was that Greek?

“Don’t frown, you’ll get wrinkles.” You joked.

“You work for Falcone.” He accused.

You scoffed. “Ew, no. Do you really think I’d work for him? No no, I’m more like you than him.”

“Why do you need that,” he glanced over to the file in your hand.

“Because I’m working a case, which I’m guessing you are too. But don’t worry, I’ll return it to you once I’m done with it.”

“And you really think I’ll let you walk out with the file?” He crossed his arms over his chest. Even in his tactical armor his muscles were still bulging out. You couldn’t help but run your eyes down his form, admiring his physique

"Well, it's not up to you really." You give a mischievous smile. "You see, our friend there was supposed to make a phone call to his criminal friends, some sort of business talk. But now, because of his untimely death, they're on their way here. And I am going to leave."

Just as you finished you said, the sound of a car engine could be heard outside. The sound of doors opening and closing could be heard as well as a few hushed voices. Batman looks out the window facing the alleyway. There were two cars, black four door sedans. A group of men could be seen walking up to the apartment building.

Batman looks back at you only to find you gone along within the folder.

––

When Bruce finally pulls into the Batcave it was just reaching four in the morning, the sun barely ascending the horizon. Like always, Alfred was there waiting with a cup of tea and his med kit ready for any possible injuries.

The doors to the sleek batmobile open and Bruce steps out, removing his cowl with ease. He sets it down somewhere as he steps deeper into the cave.

“Long night, Master Wayne?” Alfred asks. He hands the cup of tea to Bruce and removes his cape from his shoulders.

“Something like that,” Bruce replied, rolling his shoulders. He took a sip of his tea, a specific blend made for his sore muscles. He lets out a groan and slumps down into his high back chair in front of the huge batcomputer.

After you left Bruce to deal with the armed thugs he’d called Gordon over to deal with the rest. He’d asked about you, hoping to find some answers only to be left with more questions. He pulls up the search feature on the computer and types in "Anapófefktos" and looks for any vigilante activities in the country.

“Inescapable?” Alfred translate, standing behind Bruce. “Is this some sort of clue?”

“Seems that way, but it’s not related to the case.” Bruce takes another sip of his tea, setting the cup aside onto the matching china plate. “There was a vigilante, a woman, there. Said she was investigating Falcone and Cobblepot, but left before I could question her further.”

“If she is another vigilante, as yourself, then surely we’d have known.”

Bruce shakes his head, “I’m not sure, Alfred. It’s like she appeared in Gotham out of nowhere.”

Right on time, the computer chimes, having finished its search. Multiple articles and images popped up. Bruce clicks on one of the articles, his eyes quickly reading over the words.

< Adrasteia takes down the Infamous Odessa Mafia >

→ As of late last night the infamous Odessa Mob has been dismantled all thanks to the vigilante, Adrasteia. After a month-long operation between the New York Police Department and Adrasteia the Odessa Mafia have finally been apprehended. The powerful Ukrainian mafia dealt in human trafficking, weapons dealing, drug smuggling, and a dozen other crimes.

“She sounds impressive.” Alfred comments. Bruce clicks off to another article, this time explaining the origins of your name.

< Adrastiea >

→ In Greek Mythology is a minor goddess whose name means “Inescapable” or “Unavoidable.” Her attributes and roles vary depending on the source, but she is often associated with justice, retribution, and fate.

“Seems this goddess not only nursed the young Zeus as a child, butshe’s also attributed with divine retribution.” Said Alfred. “She seems like an interesting Goddess.”

“That still doesn’t explain why she’s here.” Bruce muttered.

The pair read through a few more articles, creating a small file about you. You were a vigilante from New York, appearing not that long ago and seemed to have gotten to work fast. It started off small, handling petty crime before moving up to taking down rapists and murders until you took down one of New York's biggest mafia. After that, it seems that you vanished and reappeared in Gotham.

Another thing about you, that rubbed him the wrong way, was that you weren't afraid to kill if necessary. You went after everyone, and like your namesake, you were inescapable. You delivered divine punishment on those who you saw fit, which left a bitter taste in Bruce's mouth.

Alfred glances down at his wrist watch, “it looks like it’s time for you to sleep, Master Wayne. I hope you remember we’re hosting a charity gala tonight.”

Knowing that he had no room to argue, Bruce gives in and gets up from the computer and makes his way to his room. He strips himself of the Batman suit and takes a quick hot shower and collapses onto his bed. Exhaustion takes over Bruce’s body and he soon falls asleep.

––

The Grand Hall of the manor was the embodiment of elegance and refinement. The curved vaulted ceiling adorned with cascading strings of warm fairy lights that shimmered like the starry sky. Crystal chandeliers refracting the light into soft rainbows. They hung proudly above a gleaming dark wood floor polished to mirror perfection. Rich velvet drapes framed tall arched windows that looked into the open courtyard of Wayne Manor.

Rectangular tables, draped in white linen table cloth, were adorned with tall floral arrangements of lilies and roses. An assortment of appetizing finger foods were laid out in front of them. Round tables draped in the same white linen were scattered around for a way for people to gather around in small groups and enjoy themselves.

Along one wall, an ornate bar made of dark mahogany held a selection of fine wines and cocktails. A line had already formed with men and women waiting for their drinks. A small string quartet was placed by the staircase, their beautiful sound filling up the room and perfectly setting up the tone for the rest of the night.

They played Felix Mendelssohn's String Quartet in A Minor, Op. 3. The music began softly, the first violin’s bow gliding softly across the strings. The others joined, their sounds harmonizing together into a sweet melodic sound.

There was a back and forth in the music, like a conversation between them. It passed from the Viola then the Violins and then the Cello before the four joined in together as the music quickened in tempo.

The music soon faded into the background as Bruce Wayne entered the hall, dressed in one of his many finely tailored suits. Conversations hushed into whispers as he descended the stairs and was handed a glass of champagne by a server. He takes a sip, readying himself for what tonight had to offer and begins making rounds.

The facade of Bruce Wayne, billionaire, play-boy, philanthropist, who was an occasional airhead, easily slips on with ease. He shakes the hands of investors, businessmen, and local politicians and kisses the back of the hand of a dozen different women, giving them his signature charming smile that would make any woman on earth swoon.

He’s finally pulled away by one of his close confidants, Doctor Leslie Thompkins, one of the very few people who knew about his nighttime activities and Godmother.

“Slow down Leslie, I’m not going anywhere.” Bruce chuckles. The older woman barely pays him any mind as she pulls him to the other side of the room.

“There’s someone I want you to meet.” She explains. “I’m sure you two would get along real nicely.”

Bruce pushes down the urge to say "That's what you said the last time,” but decides against it and lets the older women, who’d been a mother figure to him, ramble on about the person she wanted him to meet.

His eyes land onto a woman wearing a sleek floor-length satin gown in a soft metallic blue color. He could only see the back of her, as she was busy talking to another person. Leslie called out her name, exited, and the women turned back to her and Bruce. She gave the older woman a warm smile and shifted her eyes to Bruce. Bruce, for the first time in a long time, felt as if the air had been knocked out of his lungs. His blue eyes locked on with the woman’s eyes and he could only think of one thing.

Have I met her before?

(1) Anapófefktos - Greek for Inescapable.

real ones know that this is a rewrite

TAGLIST:

@nyxthedeity @wackyaussiegiraffes @llynx7 @multifandomgirl2018 @radiantdanvers

#bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne x fem!reader #bruce wayne x you #bruce wayne x vigilante!reader #batman x reader #batman x fem!reader #batman x vigilante!reader #batman x you #batman x y/n #batman x batmom #dc comics #dc comics x reader #dc fanfic #dc x reader #batman fanfiction #k4marinafics #the night we met

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breeyn · 1 year ago

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An essay rebutting the “bad writing” claims of s2 ofmd. Spoilers herein.

I’ll preface this with saying you’re obviously allowed to like and dislike whatever you want. I am in no way opposing that. And your reasons are your reasons. Have at. (Also - this is a collection of observations from the past few days, I’m not calling anyone out)

I AM going to rebut the idea that season two was poorly written and lost the spirit of what the show is about.

My favourite movie of all time is Empire Strikes Back. It’s been my favourite movie since I was four. I’m pretty sure it’s a fave of David Jenkins, too. He and Taika have made absolutely no attempt to hide their love of all things 80’s - Prince, the Princess Bride, Kate Bush, Star Wars, etc.

I have ancient video tapes (that I can’t play because who has a vcr) where Lucas is interviewed by Leonard Maltin? Malkin? I dunno. Who cares. Maltin asks him about the Star Wars (original trilogy) story arc. Lucas says “in act I, you introduce all the characters. In act II, you put them in a situation they can’t get out of, and in act III, they get out of it.”

That’s how it works. This is how stories and literary structures work.

Of course you’re not satisfied with season two. You’re not supposed to be.

The arguments I have read on why s2 loses the spirit of s1 is because no one heals. No one learns anything. No one moves forward properly. The person who makes the biggest move towards healing dies. The two main characters end the show doing the exact fucking thing they had promised themselves and each other they wouldn’t do. Our romantic lead still doesn’t understand his value or make any headway on addressing his tragic flaw. It makes no goddamn sense.

My gremlins in weird: it’s not supposed to. In Act 2, EVERYONE LOSES. This is how it goes.

I’ve read a lot of people saying “but this felt like a series finale, not a season finale.” We all know that outside politics play a part here, the strikes make everything precarious. I remember the last writers strike. It destroyed tv for fifteen years. Anyone remember Pushing Daisies? Some of y’all have never had your fave show cancelled with zero resolution for the characters and it shows.

Daddy J did us a kindness. He softened the blow of a tough season. After the brutal cliffhanger of s1, he gave us a little softness and hope. All those things you’re mad aren’t resolved? It’s because THE STORY ISN’T OVER.

No one on earth thinks “stuff all your trauma into a box and ignore it” is good advice. A way to actually live. This show did not have enough screen time to throw out dialogue for no reason. There was foreshadowing in s1 for s2, and there is foreshadowing for s3 in s2. This is a well-crafted story by very smart people who care very much for these characters. There is zero chance Frenchie explained the box in his head for no reason. The reason people have not resolved their trauma and growth is because they haven’t done it *yet*.

And friends - it’s not thinly veiled. They straight up fucking tell us what they’re doing.

Luke Skywalker spends the first two movies fucking up and desperately trying to prove himself and just generally being an idiot. Sound familiar? He ignores the lessons he is supposed to be learning to go off and do what he feels like doing, and loses fucking badly. At the end of Empire, Han is gone, Luke and Leia wave goodbye to the Falcon that has Lando and Chewy - the rest of their crew - aboard. Everyone has lost everything they care about. Vader is undefeated. Yoda is pissed. Nothing is resolved.

You see where I’m going?

If you think I’m stretching this too far, welp, when Ed tells Stede he loves him - the climax of the finale - Stede quotes Han fucking Solo. Like - *it’s right there*. The story structure. The reason everything is unresolved.

So yeah. They wave goodbye to their ship because they have wounds to heal (like Luke’s hand). The people aboard the ship have things to find. Ed and Stede have *not* learned their lesson about whims and how not to be like Anne and Mary. It’s not stupid that they’re doing the same thing, and it’s not pointless that we were shown Anne and Mary. It’s all relevant.

The resolution comes in Act 3. None of these people are done. The story is far, far from over. And just in case the studios want to be dicks about it, David Jenkins was lovely enough to not repeat my enduring heartbreak over Pushing Daisies.

Thank you, @davidjenks 🖤

#ofmd #our flag means death #ofmd s2 #ofmd s2 spoilers #ofmd spoilers

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midnight-shadow-cafe · 2 months ago

Text

Shadow and Paws

Chapter 3: Trust and Territory

Pairing: Task Force 141 x reader

AU: Hybrid 141 x reader

Warning: Mild Violence/Tension, Injury and Medical care briefly mentioned, mentions of isolation and survival

Authors Note: The reader’s nickname is Foxy, we get the chance to build more of a relationship between the reader and the boys!

Word Count: 1.1k

Masterlist | Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6

MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+

Dawn was only a gray smudge on the horizon when Foxy woke, feeling the cool weight of the morning fog settled on the forest floor. The team was already stirring, shaking off the stiffness of a night in the woods and preparing for another day’s trek. Foxy made quick work of dousing the remaining embers of their fire, keenly aware of the silent eyes watching their every movement.

They’d stayed longer than planned, both sides testing the unspoken boundaries of trust. There was a growing familiarity between them—a faint, hesitant bond weaving itself into place. Price caught Foxy’s eye with a curt nod. “We’ll keep a steady pace,” he said. “You lead.”

Foxy gave a slight grin, checking their gear. “Think your boys can keep up?”

Soap rolled his eyes but bit back a retort, while Ghost’s silent, appraising gaze betrayed no reaction. Gaz, perched above in falcon form, scanned the trail ahead as they moved out.

They traveled in a silence broken only by the crunch of leaves underfoot and the occasional call of a distant bird. The terrain grew steeper, winding into dense clusters of trees, where every step required precision and awareness. They were heading deeper into rogue territory, and each of them felt the tension thickening, the unspoken need for unity pressing on them all.

After hours of careful travel, Foxy stopped short, raising a hand. “Ravine up ahead. Narrow, but deep. You’ll need to jump across, one by one,” they said, casting a knowing glance at Soap. “Or is that too much finesse for some of you?”

Soap grinned, never one to back down from a challenge. He took a few steps back, then launched himself across the gap, landing with a triumphant nod. Foxy’s expression betrayed a hint of approval as Gaz made a smooth glide over, his falcon wings catching the morning breeze. Ghost was next, his leap almost noiseless, landing without so much as a whisper of sound. Price was last, his jump solid and controlled, meeting Foxy’s gaze as he landed.

Foxy moved ahead, navigating through twisting trails and overgrown paths. The day stretched on, each step taking them deeper into territory that bore Foxy’s subtle mark: worn trails, signs of old camps, and hidden paths only someone deeply familiar with the land would know. Finally, they stopped at a secluded glade, sunlight filtering through the trees in muted streaks of green and gold.

Foxy set down their pack and pulled out a flask, taking a long drink before wiping their mouth with the back of their hand. “Get comfortable,” they said, glancing at the team. “We’re safe here, for now.”

Soap sidled up next to Foxy, ever curious. “So, Foxy, if you’ve been out here this long, you must have a story. What’s kept you here?”

Foxy’s gaze flicked to Soap, a flash of hesitation crossing their features. “Not much to tell,” they replied curtly. “Surviving is all there is to it.”

“Come on,” Soap pressed, flashing his easy smile. “We’re all out here for a reason. None of us would’ve lasted if we didn’t have one.”

Foxy’s gaze grew distant, their stance subtly guarded. “Another time, maybe,” they murmured, gently but firmly deflecting. Soap respected the boundary with a nod, though the curiosity in his eyes remained.

They settled into a comfortable silence, each member of the team adjusting to the newfound companionship. Price watched Foxy carefully, noting the way they held themselves—a confidence tempered by caution, the mark of someone who’d long walked alone.

After a while, Ghost’s voice broke the silence, low and steady. “What exactly are we up against here?”

Foxy’s gaze shifted, and for the first time, Price caught a flicker of something unguarded—a mixture of worry and resolve. “The rogues don’t play games,” they said. “They want control of this territory, and they’re ruthless. It doesn’t matter if you’re a hybrid or human; they’ll use you or kill you if it benefits them.”

Price’s jaw tightened, his protective instincts flaring. “And you’ve been handling them alone?”

Foxy shrugged, brushing off the concern. “Someone has to. They don’t care about anything but power, and they don’t belong here. That’s reason enough for me.”

There was a silence, heavy with respect, as each member of the team absorbed the reality of Foxy’s situation. Price gave a nod. “We’ll handle them together,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Foxy looked at him, a spark of defiance in their eyes, as if challenging him to mean it. But seeing his steady gaze, their shoulders relaxed just a fraction, and the faintest smile tugged at the corner of their lips. “Guess you might be good for something after all.”

As they trekked on, Foxy’s demeanor softened just enough for them to offer guidance, pointing out landmarks and hidden dangers with the ease of someone who had mapped these woods in their soul. Soap, ever eager, matched his pace with Foxy’s, peppering them with questions about everything from forest survival to the best way to navigate a rogue ambush.

The sun was beginning to sink low when they stopped by a small grove, and Foxy knelt by a patch of vibrant green underbrush, plucking a handful of small berries. “These can help if you’re injured,” they explained, crushing a few into a paste. “Stops the bleeding, at least.”

Soap looked at the mixture with interest. “You’ve got some tricks up your sleeve, huh?”

Foxy shrugged, a faint smile playing on their lips. “Only what I’ve needed to learn to survive.” They looked away, glancing at Soap’s hands, which bore old scars of their own, evidence of battles won and lost. “When you’re out here long enough, you pick things up.”

Gaz, quiet as ever, nodded. “We’re still here for a reason.”

Foxy’s smile grew, just a bit more genuine. “Yeah, I guess we are.”

As dusk fell, they set up camp again, each member settling into familiar routines. Foxy found themselves next to Ghost, who had been watching them from the corner of his eye all day.

“You’re still not sure about us, are you?” Ghost asked, his voice soft but direct.

Foxy looked at him, their gaze wary. “Trust isn’t something I give easily.”

“Nor do we,” Ghost replied, his tone unexpectedly gentle. “But it’s worth trying.”

Foxy held his gaze for a moment before giving a slow nod. “Maybe.”

When the fire crackled to life, casting a warm glow around the group, Price lifted his mug in a silent toast. “To the pack,” he said simply, his voice warm with solidarity.

Foxy’s expression softened, and they raised their own mug. “To the pack,” they echoed, the words carrying a weight that felt more honest than anything they’d said before.

The firelight danced between them, each shadow cast by the flames a reminder of the trust and companionship growing between them. And for the first time, Foxy allowed themselves to hope—just a bit—that even the fiercest of lone souls might find a place to belong.

——

End of Chapter 3 | Chapter 4

Hope you enjoyed! Please consider liking and reposting! -Midnight💜

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sketalya · 7 months ago

Text

✨The Narrow Gauge & Mr. Percival full ref's ✨

And of course some of my headcanons about them ;3🌹

(This is a little longer than before but I hope you like it :D)

1) Skarloey | 39 y.o | 165 cm

• One of the oldest on the railway, he was like a big brother to all the young narrow gauges.

• Extremely close to Rheneas, always talking about Rheneas everytime he wasn't around.

• Of course besides always talking about Rheneas, he likes to tell a lot of things and sometimes Rusty joins him for that. He's been on the Skarloey railway longer than anyone so he knows all the secrets and stories.

• Likes inviting his friends to drink tea together, sometimes inviting Mr. Percival for that even though he doesn't come often because of his busy schedule. Skarloey also likes to invite Edward just to chat casually and Edward always likes it when he comes to the Skarloey Railway.

• Afraid of thunder and storms but actually he is afraid of loud noises that startle him. He always hide in his room when that happened. He is also afraid of heights.

• People always thought he was wise but Skarloey himself always thought that Rheneas was wiser than him. Whenever he had a problem he would always ask Rheneas for advice.

• Everytimes the young narrow gauges were causing trouble, Skarloey was too tired to deal with it so he mostly told Rheneas about it and Rheneas is the one who will always handle that.

• He also considered Nancy as his best friend and he always allowed her to help him polish his engines.

2) Rheneas | 38 y.o | 165 cm

• Another big brother figure for the young narrow gauge. Always wants the best for the Skarloey Railway so sometimes he can be a little strict about it.

• And because of that, Sir Handel and Peter Sam liked to joke about him acting like a mother. Sometimes he was deliberately called mom by them whenever Rheneas advised them and it always annoyed him.

• Doesn't like it when his name is misspelled. Especially when Duncan and Sir Handel deliberately misspelled his name as "Rhene-ASS". But sometimes he's called "Remy" by Skarloey and he's okay with that.

• Has a pretty tough past and Skarloey is the person he considers his first friend. Doesn't like to talk about it except with Skarloey.

• Swear police number one. Always trying to cover Luke's ears whenever Duncan starts swearing.

• He can become overworked and even get sick because of it. He will really appreciate nap time.

• He never knew he could see ghosts and he always thought it was just a hunch, Rusty was the one who noticed it. Once accidentally saw Rusty talking to Boulder (FYI Boulder in my AU is a giant rock ghost where he will look like an ordinary large rock to the human eye but Rheneas can see its true form just like Rusty)

3) Sir Handel | 27 y.o | 163 cm

• Is the type of person who is unpredictable. Always think that he is the coolest among the others and will say it out loud.

• Wears shoes with wheels that can be lowered whenever he wants to use them. Rheneas and Skarloey always tried to warn him that it was dangerous to wear rollerskates on the railway but he never listened and he always to show it off.

• Always complaining if there is something doesn't go as he expected, it can make him act a bit rude.

• Sometimes makes trouble for his friends because of that, and he will feel sorry for that. (Still cause problems after that)

• Can be very competitive and vindictive.

• He considers Peter Sam as his brother. Peter Sam and Duke sometimes calls him "Falcon".

• When Luke officially joined them, Sir Handel was the one who was most happy about it. (That's because he's no longer the shortest one among them)

• Secretly loves romantic novels and always hopes that he is the main character. He also has a diary book that he keeps very secret.

• The reason why Mr. Percival always prefers to use his bicycle or ask Thomas to take him whenever he needs to go somewhere. (This is quite funny actually, maybe I'll tell you about this another time)

4) Peter Sam | 27 y.o | 170 cm

• The definition of looking like a cinnamon roll that will actually kill you. Always try to act good in front of Skarloey, Rheneas, and Luke but he can be such a troublemaker when he's with Sir Handel and Duncan. (Still a cinnamon roll)

• Whenever he was bothered by Sir Handel, he would always call him "shortie" to shut his mouth. (It works)

• Sometimes called "Stuart" by Sir Handel and Duke.

• Has a scar on his neck because of the trucks incident.

• Always acts like he doesn't like fairy tales or something but actually he likes them and always listens whenever Skarloey and Rusty start telling stories.

• One of the people who has met Proteus besides Rusty. But he forgot about it because Rusty erased his memory about it through his dreams.

• He really likes to eat and he always brings a large bag of food to work. He cooks it himself and doesn't mind sharing it with others. Sometimes brings snacks for Luke.

• Always confused about making decisions for himself so he's the one who always asked Skarloey, Rheneas, and Duke for advice very often.

5) Rusty | 25 y.o (Fake age) | 169 cm

• One of the most reliable on the railway, he can always fix anything so his friends always ask him for help with it and he doesn't mind helping.

• Just like Skarloey, he always likes to tell lots of things and his favorites are horror stories. He likes to scare Duncan and Peter Sam with it.

• He really likes relaxing classical music and sometimes he will borrow Duncan's headphones to listen to some music.

• He wasn't originally human, he was a ghost before and then being given a second chance to become mortal by Lady and Proteus. Narrow Gauge didn't know about this. And of course he can see ghosts.

• Has a special ability given by Lady and Proteus and that is dream control. He can make dreams and make it seem real when people are asleep, actually given this ability to help Lady and Proteus but sometimes he likes to use it for fun.

• Likes to experiment with it by giving dreams to his friends, although sometimes he accidentally gives them nightmares. The first person to know about his abilities was Skarloey but without them knowing, Sir Handel and Peter Sam overheard about it and of course because of that all the narrow gauges knew about his abilities even Mr. Percival. But they all thought it was cool and promised to keep it between themselves.

• At first he was afraid of Boulder's existence but then he got along quite well with it after that incident.

6) Duncan | 25 y.o | 172 cm

• The tallest among the narrow gauge.

• Worse than Sir Handel, he can be really stubborn and rude. Even Skarloey and Rheneas had quite a hard time dealing with his attitude. But somehow Rusty and Mr. Percival are patient enough to deal with it.

• Always acting tough but actually he can be soft without realizing it.

• Afraid of heights and of course ghosts. He really doesn't like it when Rusty deliberately tells him horror stories. He could have nightmares because of that.

• Has many piercings on his face and ears which are considered cool by Sir Handel and Luke.

• Really loves rock and heavy metal songs, always listening to them through the headphones he always carries. But Mr. Percival wouldn't let him use it while he was working because it will make it difficult for him to stay focus and it could cause problems.

• Very close with the twins Patrick and Pansy. Every time Mr. Percival took them both, he would play with them.

• Very adventurous, he will force Rusty to come with him whenever he finds somewhere interesting to explore.

• He liked to take Sir Handel and Peter Sam to race on the rail track with their engines.

• Also another reason why Mr. Percival always prefers to use his bicycle or ask Thomas to take him whenever he needs to go somewhere. (This relates to how unfocused Duncan can be if he has his headphones on while doing something)

7) Duke | 54 y.o | 167 cm

• He was the mentor of Sir Handel and Peter Sam. Highly respected by both of them and has been considered like a father figure to them.

• Even though he was very old, he refused to retire and decided to continue working on the railway.

• Called "Granpuff" by Sir Handel and Peter Sam. In fact he was still called that by other narrow gauges after moving to the Skarloey Railway.

• Always knows how to deal with the mischievous behavior of his two students. He never falls for any of their pranks and may even be the one who always beats them.

• The Duke actually has connections with the Lady and Proteus. When he was declared missing, he was not asleep for a long time but was actually helping Proteus with something and that because of Lady's request. (There's lore I made for this and it's related to my AU so maybe I'll tell you more about it another time)

• He was the one who gave the diary book to Sir Handel and taught Peter Sam how to cook.

• In his spare time, he really likes to ride around the railway and enjoy the beautiful views. It was really calming for him.

• Never take his glasses away from him. His view completely changed to 144p without it.

8) Luke | 22 y.o | 157 cm

• The youngest and also the shortest among the narrow gauges.

• Literally a cinnamon roll. She's so innocent, a little timid, and too kind. He was always treated like a little brother by the others which was quite cute.

• Having a phobia of the ocean, he actually tried to face his fear but was still unsuccessful due to his trauma.

• Whenever he had free time, he would go to the Steamworks to meet Victor, and because of that he became close friends with Kevin as well. Luke also still often meets Thomas and his best friend Millie.

• Has a deer as a pet and will sometimes take it with him to work.

• It's still quite difficult for him to trust people he just met, but it's different with the narrow gauge, he really trusts them with all his heart.

• Luke was very happy when invited to drink tea by Skarloey, take care of his deer with Rheneas, try roller skating with Sir Handel, eat snacks made by Peter Sam, going on an adventure in a dream made by Rusty when he was asleep, doing Rock n Roll with Duncan, listening to many stories from Duke, and even helping Mr. Percival is out of work.

9) Mr. Percival | 34 y.o | 185 cm

(Ok, this one is actually quite difficult for me because I didn't get much information about him either from ttte eps, wikifandom, and tumblr. So all of this is purely my imagination and how I view him. I hope it doesn't sound so ridiculous :D)

• If Duncan is the tallest among the narrow gauge then this man is much taller than Duncan. And that's why he likes to imagine the narrow gauge as 7 dwarfs. (But of course not to Duke because he respects Duke)

• Not like Sir Topham Hatt. Because his age is not much different from narrow gauge and even younger than Duke, Skarloey, and Rheneas. Mr Percival is also seen as a friend by them outside of work. And he really appreciated that.

• When he heard that Rusty could control dreams, he didn't believe it at first and he even challenged Rusty to give him nightmares. And after Rusty actually does it, he regrets his own request and then believes it. (He even asked Rusty not to tell about his dream to the others)

• Just like Duke, never take his glasses away from him. He would literally go blind without it.

• At first he seemed like a strict person but after being with narrow gauge for quite a while, he was actually quite a chill person. He even casually asked Sir Handel and Peter Sam to be in charge while he is away. (Even though he actually knew they would mess up)

• He doesn't have a hobby that he really likes so when he's not busy and bored, he likes to hang out and have fun with the narrow gauge. He thought that they were very random but that was part of the fun.

• Swear police number 2 after Rheneas, he will glare at Duncan when he starts swearing. He would even keep an eye on him when Duncan played with the twins.

• He always keeps his words professional and polite. But he won't hesitate to be sarcastic when he's annoyed or talking to someone he doesn't like.

• Personally, he doesn't really like driving by car and would prefer to use a bicycle. (And that was made worse after the incident that happened when he asked Sir Handel and Duncan to drive his car. Truly the worst decision he ever made)

• This man has a large collection of bicycles at home and even his children are like that because they follow their father. His wife Polly was doesn't surprised by it and couldn't do anything about it.

• He really doesn't like being seen as that stereotypical nerd just because people assume that he looks like that. Once Sir Handel and Duncan said that he looked like an "emo nerd" just because he wore glasses and always wore black. That really triggered him at that time.

• Has a pet dog which he named Perri, but she (the dog) hates him and only likes Mrs. Polly and the kids.

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