#to be 'her daughter' not even her son. she is incapable of being tolerant towards other people and she is cruel to everyone i love

[featherymainffins]

I always get weirdly excited about left-handed characters because my mother is left-handed but the government forced her to use her right hand when she was a child and as we all know that fucks with your development badly and she has never been able to use either of her hands to their full extent form then on, so even though she does a lot of things with her left hand these days, she has to eat the way right-handed people do, for example.

And idk it always just felt nice to show my mother a left-handed character like "Hey mom this cool character is left-handed just like you : )!!!" idk I guess I've always felt like she still feels bad about being left-handed.

And anyway it's kinda weird not being able to do that anymore. I'm so used to going "Look mom this character is left-handed : D!" that I was like "Slay can't wait to tell my mother that Gortash is left-handed!" until I remembered. Like oh can't do that anymore. Forgor.

[i-am-a-bad-influence-writes]

Hayloft - Part 7

Series Masterlist - Bucky Masterlist - Full Masterlist

Summary: A young girl finds a soldier hiding in the hayloft on her father’s farm. Intrigued, she visits him more and more until her father finds out and puts him to work. As they grow closer, something else grows too.

Pairing: James Buchanan “Bucky” Barnes x OC Jenny Richelle “Ricky” Hill

Warning: Strong language, inaccurate war description

Author’s note: Based on the song Hayloft by Mother Mother and the lovestory of my grandparents. I am Dutch and the war was a bit different here, so I will be basing this on the stories I’ve heard about my grandparents.

Word count: 1313

‘What happened miss Hill?‘ ‘A miscalculation.‘ She gets a smack in the face. ‘We do not tolerate miscalculations. Your mission failed.‘ ‘Yes sir, it will not happen again.‘ A miscalculation. No, she saw something in his face. Something familiar. Something that made her think of her past. Of the smell of hay and old books. There’s something missing from her memories, that much she knows.

‘Okay, spill,‘ Tony demands when Bucky is stitched up. The whole group gathered in the lab where the blood Bucky lost on the floor hasn’t even dried yet. Bucky feels hesitant to tell them the memories that still feel so fresh. Especially since he lost them for a while. Steve puts his hand on Bucky’s shoulder and gives him a small smile to show his confidence in Bucky. ‘That girl is called Jenny Richelle Hill,‘ he explains, ‘she’s the daughter of a farmer and used to work in a post office. Her family hid three stowaways from the army. Johnny who was a childhood friend of hers, Timothy who had just turned eighteen and was terrified, and me.‘ ‘You were a stowaway,‘ Bruce asks in disbelief. ‘I was indeed. I’m not proud of it, but I had my reasons.‘ Peter seems utterly confused at the whole conversation. ‘I’m sorry, weren’t stowaways usually shot,‘ he asks. ‘They weren’t at this point,‘ Steve quickly explains, ‘but Bucky already had military experience before he ran.‘ Tony hums, seemingly agreeing with the short explanation. ‘And this all turned into some hookup in the hayloft,‘ he asks Bucky a bit sarcastically. It seems to be a shot in Bucky’s heart. He looks hurt and his eyes seem to water. ‘As typical as it sounds, yes,‘ he answers Tony with a shaky voice, trying to keep himself big, ‘I fell in love with her and as I told you before, I was planning to marry her after the war.‘ ‘I take it you were taken away, so they found out about you at one point,‘ Bruce states, leaning on his desk as he tries to take it all in. ‘Sorry, I can’t believe you are this upset if it was just a lover,‘ Tony sighs and turns around to get back to work. Peter can see Bucky getting closer to anger with his words. ‘What do you want me to tell you?‘ ‘The truth!‘ ‘I told you the truth,‘ he screams in Tony’s face, ‘that woman meant the world to me.‘ After a few seconds of silence and Tony’s surprised face, Bucky realizes how angry he had gotten. He looks around the room in a panic and storms off. Steve sighs and rubs his forehead. ‘What’s up with him,‘ Tony angrily asks. ‘You really don’t understand it, do you,‘ Steve mocks him, ‘the man only ever loved one woman and now she’s being used to get him back to Hydra because they know she’s his weakness. That’s probably why she’s still alive today.‘ ‘At least we know her motives.‘

Ricky fiddles with the necklaces around her neck. Her room is a mess. She tried to go through every book she had, trying to see if one of them would trigger her memories but her search was unsuccessful. Through her mind runs a memory, but the context is completely gone. ‘I’m so sorry, I wish I could stay.‘ ‘I know‘ ‘Promise you’ll still be there to give that back to me?‘ ‘I promise.‘ She reads the necklaces once again. The longer one reads She loves him passionately and the shorter one reads His soul seemed always attentive to her. It looks like there were supposed to be names on the back, but they’re filed off. She knows she’s read those quotes before. They’re somewhere in the back of her mind with the smell of hay and old books. It’s like those memories are locked behind metal doors. Metal. Why had she been surprised at the sight of the metal arm of the winter soldier? She knew he had a metal arm and yet, somewhere deep within, it hurt to see it. Why did it hurt to see it?

‘Either we find her first or she finds us first, for the sake of Bucky’s health, I say we storm Hydra,‘ Steve announces. Tony shakes his head in disbelief and annoyance. ‘Do you even know where they are?‘ ‘Right here,‘ Steve points at a map. ‘That’s a ghost town.‘ ‘And it’s also the location of the farm,‘ he tells them, ‘the farm was burned down weeks after it was announced that Bucky was lost. Reports say that a woman by the name Jenny was picked up with an ambulance from collapsing at work that day, but the woman and the ambulance were never seen again.‘ ‘Agent Betty,‘ Tony says, eyes now full of life and interest. ‘Mister Stark, I found some pictures,‘ Peter mumbles as he walks into the conference room. ‘Not now Peter.‘ ‘They’re pictures of Agent Betty,‘ he explains, ‘Bruce and I were looking for pictures of her on the internet and we found a few interesting ones.‘ Peter lays them down. The first picture is a picture of Ricky at her job, smiling at the camera. The news article reads: Men from home? No worries. Steve sighs at the sexism. He wished things were different at that time. The second picture is one of Ricky sitting by a tree with three men, one of them being Bucky, and having a smoke. She seems to be wearing the same uniform seen in the past picture. The third picture looks to be of Ricky as well, but you can only see her back. She’s on her knees, seemingly praying, in front of ashes. Probably the farm that was burned down, but there is something in the background. ‘You see that,‘ Peter points at the thing in the background, ‘it looks like a compound.‘ ‘Well, that does it. Gather everyone, we need a plan.‘

An old, leather-bound book catches Ricky’s eye. Did she not check that one? She grabs it and reads the title. Of Sons and Lovers. ‘Heard of it, haven’t had the chance to read it. Will you read it to me?‘ Who wanted her to read to them? Was it her family? A friend? She feels like it wasn’t anyone she had known for a long time. Suddenly, red lights start flashing, the alarm sounds, people start screaming. The door to her room slams open and sergeant Winter storms in. ‘Get ready Agent Betty,‘ he announces, ‘the winter soldier is coming.‘ As if a switch was flipped, she jumps up and gets geared up. While she’s walking down the hallway she takes her knives out of their holsters. As she keeps walking, she hears more and more ruckus. Loud gunshots and screaming is heard. And then he’s there in front of her. The man with the metal arm. The winter soldier. ‘Ricky,‘ he sighs. He almost looks relieved at the sight of her. She frowns and runs towards him, starting to go at him like she did last time. ‘Ricky, please stop,‘ he begs her while not doing anything to hurt her. She starts to get frustrated and for some reason, tears start filling up her eyes. ‘Fight back you coward,‘ she screams at him. He just grabs her wrists and squeezes until she has to drop the knives. ‘No.‘ He watches her eyes grow sad and angry. He lets go of her hands, but she doesn’t do anything. ‘I’m supposed to bring you back here,‘ she yells at him, ‘why can’t I do it?‘ The hurt in her eyes and the conflict is something he remembers very well. He’s still struggling with it. ‘It’s okay.‘ ‘No it’s not,‘ she screams and kicks him in the knee, making him fall to the ground, ‘you’re coming with me.‘ She tries to kick him in the face like last time, but is lifted up. Bucky looks up to see Steve holding her. ‘Ready to leave?‘ Bucky nods and the two start making their way down the hallway. While Steve carries Ricky, Bucky incapacitates the soldiers coming their way. She feels terrible. She has failed. She is incapable to do the one thing she was told to do. And she feels worthless.

[the-jade-cross]

Burning Water - Chapter X

Chapter 10

Maya hated the times when she was unprepared. She had purposely tried to talk Lillia out of choosing what she would wear for Tyrion’s trial on the charges of his nephew's murder but then she realized that no one would be looking at her and agreed to wear the outfit of Lillia's choosing. The dress she wore was a deep dark Violet that came to the floor with a long flowing skirt with a thin Lacey belt around her middle which was entirely bare thanks to the top of the dress that only covered her bosom and part of her shoulders. On her wrists she wore a black leather cuffs which gave her an air of confidence. Of course, now as she stood listening to the ridiculous testimonies against Tyrion that Cersei had obviously bribed to exaggerate, she realized what a big mistake that had been. One of the judges was Oberyn Martell himself, the pain in the ass and the other... her recently arrived father. Not only that but Jaime had asked Maya to step up and testify on behalf of Tyrion since Lillia was too shy to do so and Nanteza didn't know the man at all. Of course she agreed when she saw the desperation in the man's eyes . She would have to get in front of everyone in the court in the accursed dress! She recalled hearing Oberyn question Cersei’s ridiculous accusations against her brother when suddenly Jaime's voice snapped her out of it.

“ may I call Mayaka Tyrell to the stand please to testify in favor of Tyrion Lannister?”

  Murmurs filled the Hall for the majority of those present had no idea that the girl was even alive, her death having been presumed when she disappeared years ago. Maya walked confidently up to the podium and climbed the two steps before she stood before the whole court and the judges. Her eyes first looked upon her father who grinned proudly but she knew that the proudness in his eyes was only because of the power that she possessed and he could tell people that it was genetic which of course was not the truth. Lastly she looked to Oberyn who shifted in his seat before his dark eyes scanned her up and down. Maya tried to not shiver beneath his penetrating gaze.

“ lady Tyrell,” Tywin Lannister spoke, “would you care to tell us why Tyrion may not be guilty in your perspective?”

Maya tilted her head to the side and caught sight of a smug Cersei in the corner. Oh she was going to love this.

“ I am afraid not my Lord since telling everyone here if Tyrion is innocent would be just repeating what everyone is thinking at this very moment. That the only decent man in this room over the age of 16 is in fact the very man who is being tried by his own sister and father for the murder of the boy who is probably the cause of his own demise and knocked by the actions of his uncle.”

The court was immediately silent and Maya basked in the horrified stare that Cersei and Tywin gave her and the way Lillia and Nanteza were grinning uncontrollably in the corner of the Hall where they stood with Margo. new line open quote are you accusing my son of poisoning himself?” Cersei shrieked, leaping to her feet.

Maya calmly turned her eyes to the woman, “ if I recall you are out of order. But in answer to your question, I merely meant that your son stoked the flames of the fire that scorched him. If you asked everyone in this Hall about their feelings towards your son without bribing them I would wager more than half of them hate the previous King with a passion. Who is to say that one of those present poisoned dear son? For all we know it could have been his bodyguard... or even his mother.” Maya stated, turning a cold eye on the Lannister woman who was prepared to intervene again, “ for it is no secret but Joffrey was the least of your favorites among your children .”

“ you cannot presume to know what people are thinking,” Tywin observed, noticing the way his daughter was turning red with rage and was ready to start a whole new war period

Maya shook her head, “that maybe so or we could call Lillia Arryn up to the stand and have her read your heartbeat but that is a waste of time since even without my testimony everyone present knows that Tyrion Lannister is incapable of murdering anyone even if they are as well as Joffrey was.”

Alivia shrieked but Mace Tyrell spoke first, “ so you are calling Tyrion Lannister a coward?”

Maya chuckled period of course her father would be the one to try and twist her words, “ far from it. I am saying that Tyrion has enough heart to not be a murderer. Which is more than I can say about every other man that I know. He is the only one brave enough to do the one thing that everyone else is too selfish to do.”

“and what is that?” tie when asked, getting irritated with the girls confidence.

Maya smiled, “ he asked me to marry him ... For reasons other than getting me in bed or using my powers for evil.”

The silence that had encompassed those present only disappeared and everyone was talking at once. Jaime and Cersei looked at their little brother in shock, Tywin and Mace looked like they had swallowed their tongues and Oberyn was furious, gripping the arms of his chair until his knuckles went white.

“he... he asked you to marry him despite his marriage to Sansa Stark?” Tywin asked.

Maya smiled calmly, “ he asked it of me two years ago. I had been living anonymously in Kings landing and he was one of the few who knew my real identity. He proposed marriage as a companionship contract.”

“and by your single status I take it that you refused?” Tywin questioned.

Mya nodded, “indeed, for someone like Tyrion Lannister only deserves the best which is far from what I am. Though we have remained close friends since.”

Oberyn's theory seemed to dissolve and he found himself smiling gently at the girl. The way her shoulders were naturally straight, back firm and the calm look on her face only seemed to add her natural beauty. In her rather seductive dress she wore and the way her red hair billowed to her hips, she looked like a Queen up on that podium ... his Queen.

“lady Maya.” Tywin tested, “don't you find it clear that you happen to be friends with the man who murdered the boy that was married to your sister? What if you hired Tyrion to murder your brother-in-law.”

Minus smiled. “curious observation period but there are a few things wrong with that. First off, I couldn't hire a man who is more wealthy than I could ever be. Secondly if I did want to kill Joffrey, which I have wanted to since he beat Sansa stark like a slave, but I would have used something other than poison and I would have done it myself. And Thirdly, don't you find it rather clear that you are determined to condemn Tyrion who is the first suspect? If Tyrion did poison Joffrey why did he make it so obvious that he was a suspect? Tyrion is too clever for that. He would have made sure that he was absent during the murder, not being the one holding the goblet of poison. Only an idiot would place the target upon his back.”

Cersei leapt to her feet and stormed over to Maya , “I think it is time for you to shut that mouth of yours, bitch.”

Just as the woman approached Maya, the Tyrell girl raised her hand and Cersei stumbled back as if someone had punched her in the gut and it was like water evaporated from the Lannister and formed two figures that were undeniably Cersei and... Joffrey... The watery voice of Cersei was telling Joffrey to leave the front line of the battle of Blackwater and suddenly... Joffrey readily agreed just as Cersei shrieked and slapped the two watery figures, making them disappear.

All eyes glued upon Maya who looked on as if nothing had happened, having a staring contest with Oberyn who was practically undressing her with his eyes. finally Tywin Lannister left to his feet and called for recess.

******

Maya submerged her hands into the water of the fountain and sighed in satisfaction as her previously dehydrated state washed away. She hummed as she crouched on her knees so that she could submerge her arms up to her elbows. She was contemplating stepping into the fountain as a whole when she heard voices to her left and realized that the hedges were the only thing separating her from the owners of the voices... the owners being Cersei Lannister and Oberyn Martell ! The girl bit down on her lip in order to not be given away thanks to her inability to be silent.

She couldn't make out exactly what they were talking about but knowing Cersei Lannister, it had to do with the trial by combat that would be held on the Morrow. Being the total idiot that he was, Prince Oberyn jumped at the chance to champion Tyrion against Cersei’s selected champion, the Mountain. She knew that Oberyn had not stuck his neck into the guillotine because he held some care for Tyrion. Although Tyrion was the one Lannister that he tolerated, the reason behind his chivalrous act was because of the rape and murder of his sister Elia Martell. Maya recalled listening to Evelyn tell the story of Elia Martell being jilted and practically tossed aside by her husband, Rhaegar Targaryen. This was mostly because of his obsession with Lyanna stark. Evelyn had not said it so plainly and in so many words but there was something about the way she told the story that made it sound like Evelyn hated her own aunt whom she had never met.

It was like there was more to the story that Evelyn was not letting on to.

“ I knew you were a curious person lady Tyrell but I did not think that you eavesdropped on other people’s conversations.” the all too familiar voice of Oberyn Martell commented from behind.

Maya turned sharply, having not heard his approach and she dried her arms off on the sky-blue Lacy dress that she wore, probably the most modest thing that she had worn since she moved to Kings Landing .

I was not dropping any eaves. I came here to hydrate myself and I heard voices across the hedge. I was unable to discover exactly what you were talking about with Cersei Lannister if that is what you were worried about.” she snapped back defiantly.

Oberyn looked very smart in his yellow robes, his chest partially on display and his hands clasped behind his back as he grinned at the girl, “but you know I was speaking with Cersei Lannister.”

Maya shrugged, “ it is rather hard to not notice her grinding voice. Besides, the past few days she has been making my life a living hell so it is only natural that she was the woman that you were talking to.”

Over and raised an eyebrow in amusement, “a living hell ? Pray tell my lady, were you jealous of my excursion with her?”

Maya scoffed but the Prince did not fail to notice the way her cheeks pinked in a blush , “hardly. She is due to wear the man that my friend is in love with who also happens to be my idiot of a brother.”

Oberyn's eyes widened when he grasped the hidden message behind maya's words. “Ah, now I think I understand. You are perturbed with Cersei because she is making your friend's life miserable and you will be stuck with the Lannister as a sister-in-law.”

Maya smirked as she sat down on the side of the fountain, “ exactly. You are learning to catch on a little quicker.”

Open shrugged as he took a seat at the small table near the fountain, “and I do not suppose any ounce of this loathing is due to jealousy?”

The girl shot the Prince a scowl and over and raised his hands in surrender. As the man pulled out pen and paper, Maya realized that she had stumbled upon the Prince’s quiet area and she moved to leave when the man's voice stopped her.  

“do not go. Your presence is soothing and I could use some company while trying to write this poem.” he mumbled.

The girl furrowed her brow for a moment before she sat down opposite Oberyn and folded her hands in her lap.

“may I ask you a question?” she asked.

The Prince did not glance up from his writing but he nodded all the same.

“ I understand your desire to make the Mountain pay for what he did to your sister, but why choose combat? You know you cannot kill him in a trial by combat. It is a fight until someone yields.” the girl observed .

The Prince’s pen stalled and he finally spoke, “I don't care. I intend to make him suffer even if I cannot kill him. It is the least I can do for my sister.”

Maya sighed heavily , “ then do both yourself and me a favor... come to the fight in the morning sober and with a clear head.”

The girl rose to her feet and brushed off her skirt and began to leave when Oberyn's broken hearted voice cut through her like a dagger.

“what do you care if I am sober or not? At least the Mountain will suffer. Is that not enough for you or should I hand you his head on a silver platter?”

The girl turned on him and her face radiated pure fury in such a way that made Oberyn's face go pale , “I am not the one struggling to write a poem to my daughter whom I named after my dead sister because I am too frightened to move on from the past! I care if you are sober or not because it will dictate how the fight will go on the Morrow and if you lose then you defending your sisters honor will go to hell! Why are you even waging war on the Mountain when you should be waging war on the snobbish, self-centered family of Rhaegar Targaryen for if he actually cared for his wife instead of betting the next prettiest thing then Elia may still be alive! The Mountain did Elia favor after he raped her! I know that error in pain Elia experienced after she was held down by that monster but at least he killed her rather than letting her live with the anguish and misery he gave her! I didn't get that mercy! I had to keep on living damn it all!”

Oberyn's face went red with fury when he realized what the girl had meant... she had been raped... he leapt to his feet, about ready to apologize and demand the name of the man who had committed such a crime but Maya spun on her heel and was long gone with a flurry of skirts before he could even untangle himself from his chair , her scent lingering behind her.

Oberyn sunk down to his seat and rubbed his forehead when suddenly he realized something . She had guessed who the poem was for... Correctly guessed...

[thenafics]

Evil Author Day -- 2020

I saw this going around and I both wanted to feel included and have several WIPs that are probably not going to see the light of day for a long time. Most of these have titles already because I am incapable of writing a fic without having a title first~~~

1. Trouble in the Henhouse- AKA Red Hood joins the Suicide Squad

       Amanda Waller thinks she might have made a mistake with the newest member to her team. She’s let the fox into the hen house, except her hens are insane criminals and her fox is a bat who also happens to be an insane criminal. The metaphor starts to deteriorate quickly, but the point remains, this choice might have been the worst one she’s made in a good long while. He is an accident waiting to happen and one of the most deadly assets she has ever managed to get her hands on. He doesn’t kill for money, like Deadshot, or hunger, like Croc, or even some deranged showmanship, like Harley does or Joker’s Daughter did. He kills when he thinks it’s right, because he thinks the target deserves it and that is the most terrifying thing to find in a highly trained killer she’s putting onto a team with a lot of the same type of people he has a habit of offing. Whoops.

2. Ghosts of our Better Natures 

       Tim can tell the instant that Scarecrow’s formula really starts to kick in. He sees the way Jason’s body language shifts, his muscles pulling his limbs in tighter, in spite of the restraints holding him down. Judging from the smirk just visible on Scarecrow’s sack-cloth face, he notices too. “Is my new formula finally kicking in?” His high, grating voice overlays over the sounds of Jason’s harsh breathing. “Looks like the big, bad drug lord has a bit of a tolerance. I doubt I’ll even need to use half as much on your little friend over there.” Scarecrow gestures broadly at Tim where he’s tied up against the wall and then claps his hands with fake glee. “I know what we’ll do! We’ll use all of the extra I’m saving on him for you!”        Jason wrenches at his restraints, eyes wild behind his domino mask, but he remains uncharacteristically silent. He looks over at Tim and another wave of panic seems to crash over him. His struggles increase in strength to the point where Tim can hear the groaning of the rusty bolts holding Jason down.

3. Rafters for Roustabouts- JayRoy based on a piece of fanart I saw and can no longer find

       Roy remembers when Jason was just a skinny little twig of a thing trailing after  Nightwing with his spindly limbs and closed off smiles. The first time they’d met, Jason had looked up at him and blushed so hard that Roy was a little worried he might pass out from all the blood rushing to his head. Jason was in the Tower pretty infrequently, but any time he was there, Roy could be sure to find him either abandoning Dick for Donna (who he had immediately latched onto, like a baby bird imprinting on what it thinks is its mother) or acting as Roy’s shadow. Roy could often tell when Jason was visiting well before Dick told him because of the glimpses of inky black hair he would catch out of the corner of his eye. Eventually Roy got tired of waiting for Jason to stop being so shy. “Hey, Jason, I know you’ve got that whole stealth thing going for you, but it’s much easier to make friends if you just talk to people.”        There was a muted thump and a little yelp as Jason fell down from the rafter he’d been perched on. Roy made his way over to him and crouched down to look more closely at Jason. The younger boy was blushing furiously and had his hands pressed firmly over his eyes, almost as if he thought if he couldn’t see Roy, Roy might not see him. Roy let out a little huff of laughter. “You’re just a little shy, aren’t you Jaybird?”        Jason just burrowed further into his hands and seemed ready to just wait until Roy left so that he could tend to his bruised pride and tailbone.

4.   Chapter 2 of Release of Liability- My very self indulgent Dresden Files fusion au that nobody asked for or wanted. *Knowledge of the Dresden Files universe up to like, book one/two is v. helpful*

Wayne manor is steeped in the type of magic that can make a place a living thing. This is the home of one of the most powerful wizards in America and has been the home of an incredibly powerful magical family for centuries. There’s history in these walls beyond what the outside world will ever know. All of the wall fixtures are old fashioned gas lamps retrofitted with lightbulbs. It’s a darker paint job and some cobwebs away from being the house from the Addam’s family.

Bruce Wayne himself leads me further into the house and to what I assume must be his office. An older man appears almost the exact moment we sit down and offers tea in a clipped British accent. He disappears as silently as he appeared and rematerializes just moments later carrying a tray laden with tea and those fancy little sandwiches they always show on the BBC. Wayne thanks him and dismisses him with a soft “Thank you,” before the man is gone again.

“So, Mr.Dresden, I hear you’re good at finding lost things.”

“I tend to be. Though I have to wonder what use a practitioner of your caliber could have for my services. With all of Gotham at your disposal.”

“The situation requires a somewhat delicate approach.” I can’t help but snort in response. Delicate and I go together like oil and water. I am not who anyone should call for delicate, subtle, or any synonyms of that ilk. Wayne gives a wry smile and little laugh of his own.

“I misspoke. Not delicate, detached. I am well known to Gotham. You are not. I’ve heard wildcard is somewhat your area of expertise.”

“I’m not going to take offense at that because it’s true. What’s missing?”

Bruce Wayne fixes me with a paralyzing gaze and speaks two words that let me know this is going to be one of those cases that sticks with me.

“My son.”

Bruce Wayne is famous for several things in the magical community. His childhood trauma of witnessing his parents’ murder would make a YA author weep and left him the sole heir to one of America’s most notable magical lineages. That alone made him a Name, capital letter intended, in the world of the mystical. He also worked hard to actually become one of the most influential wizards in America and run Gotham with an iron fist. The most notable thing about Bruce Wayne however, is not either of those. It is his incredible and almost suspicious number of extremely powerful adopted children. A disturbing number of which share his jet black hair and blue eyes. I hope it’s just a weird narcissistic rich person thing.

He is well known to be very protective of his bevy of apprentices. To the point where he’d actually knocked out another wizard with a vicious right hook for making an untoward comment about his eldest son. It was a glorious day and I am thankful to have been within enough distance of the scene to see it go down. I am also thankful to have been far enough away that his fury didn’t turn to me. If something has happened to one of his beloved children, I have no doubts that Mr. Wayne will do whatever is necessary to save them. After the death of his second apprentice he’d practically torn apart the world at its seams in his grief.

5.  Windows for Bricks-  

“I’m here to pick up Damian. I guess I’m one of his emergency contacts and the lady on the phone said to sign in here before I could take him home.” Jason says to the nurse by the front of the sterile smelling room.

“Oh, are you,” she looks down at her computer screen “Jason Head?”

“Yeah, that’s me.” Jason shifts uncomfortably.

“And you are his … “

“Brother. Same mom.”

“I see. We get Damian in here a lot so I see the resemblance. You have the same eyes”

6. Dialogue Snippet- Dick and Steph on the topic of ass envy

“He’s just jealous of my ass.”

“Yeah, no.”

“What do you mean no?” Dick sounds affronted.

“Have you seen his ass?,” Steph gestures expansively in the shape of an ass. A woman at the next table over glares. “Jay has no reason to be jealous Dick.”

“What.”

“And those thighs… unf.” The lady the next table over glares harder at the noise Steph makes.

“Ohmygod,” Dick buries his head in his hands. “Please stop.”

“What? I'm just saying, he's got no reason to be jealous when the dude is bammin slammin bootylicious”

“I'm pretending I don't know you. Can Tim take you back already?”

“Fine. But take a peek next time you and your ass feel so high and mighty”

7. Innocence for Sinners- JayDick prawn. I wrote this at the request of a friend. Very much not what I usually write, kind of nervous about posting it

*warning for Mature rating*

When he thinks about it, of course it makes sense to Dick that Jason is a virgin. He died before he’d even turned eighteen and spent a few years after that being either brain dead or criminally insane. It was really only in the past three or so years that Jason could be counted among the semi-rational members of the population and he had been so busy during that time span that there was no earthly way he had done anything. Still, Dick couldn’t help but be a little surprised when Jason pushes away from their kiss, while Dick’s hand rubs gentle circles over his crotch, and gasps out “No one’s ever touched me like that before.” 

Dick pauses and pulls back fully, his weight between Jason’s spread legs still pinning the younger man to the bed.

“What do you mean Jason?,” he asks, seeking verbal confirmation for his suspicions. Jason blushes prettily and turns his head to one side, as if to escape the weight of Dick’s eyes. Dick reaches out and turns Jason’s face back towards him. His eyes trace the delicate flush that brings out the freckles across the bridge of Jason’s nose and blown out pupils in sea green eyes.

 “Jason, are you a virgin?Am I going to be your first?” Jason blushes even further at the questions and nods mutely. Dick feels a rush of possessiveness pass through him at the idea of brash, rebellious, Jason being his. It only makes sense, after all, Jason had spent years wearing Dick’s colors and a month or so trying on the Nightwing suit for size. Of course Jason should be his in some other way. Dick leans back forward and kisses up Jason’s neck, ending up right by his ear.

“I’m going to ruin you for anybody else, little wing.” Jason shudders and lets out a soft moan as Dick scrapes his teeth against his neck in punctuation.

 “Please,” Jason breathes out. Dick growls quietly and surges up to kiss Jason. He weaves his fingers through the curls of Jason’s hair and pulls slightly. Immediately, Jason gasps into Dick’s mouth and arches his back up off the bed. Dick chuckles and pulls harder. He is rewarded with a moan and a shudder from Jason.

“You like that Jaybird? When I pull your hair?” Dick laughs against Jason’s mouth when Jason nods with downcast eyes. “Let’s find out what else you like.”

Dick leaves one hand in Jason’s hair and worms the other up under Jason’s shirt, brushing over the hard lines of muscle and scar tissue. He thumbs over one of Jason’s nipples gently and feels a slight shudder run through Jason’s body. Taking that as a positive sign, he rolls it between his index finger and thumb. Jason gasps and tosses his head back, breaking the kiss. 

“Dick,” he gasps out, “That feels so, ah, good.” Dick smirks and rolls the nipple again “Aaaaaaah.” Dick pulls his other hand from Jason’s hair and starts using it to push Jason’s shirt up while he brings his mouth down to Jason’s stomach, kissing over the places where his hands had traced over.

“Wait, Dick!,” Jason calls out, panting for breath. Dick looks up at Jason’s flushed face. “I… I have a lot of scars there. Some of them might not be ones that you want to see…” Jason trails off towards the end of his sentence and avoids eye contact with Dick until Dick uses his free hand to gently pull Jason to face him. Dick can see in this flustered and blushing Jason the same boy who had been so shyly admiring of him all those years ago. This shy virginal Jason is far more little red riding hood than the big bad wolf that the Red Hood pretends to be.

“I want all of you Jason. All of you.” Dick says softly. He gently pulls the shirt all the way off of Jason, manipulating the younger man’s arms so that he can remove it. Once the shirt is off, he kisses up Jason’s chest to the top of the Y-shaped scar that stretches from collarbone to collarbone and bisects his body from mid-chest to belly button. Dick mouths gently across the raised tissue and grinds his hips down against Jason’s. Jason can only gasp wordlessly in response as Dick uses his right hand to trace down and past the long tail of the scar to the top of Jason’s jeans. He pops the button and undoes the fly with one hand. When he starts to shimmy Jason’s jeans and boxers down, Jason lifts his hips and practically whines. Dick slides down Jason’s body and sits up in order to pull the pants off all the way before settling himself back between his legs. 

“Your thighs are gorgeous.” Dick doesn’t even try to hold back a moan at all the exposed skin before him, some spots criss-crossed with thin lines left from slashes and stab wounds or spotted with starbursts from gunshots. He takes a moment to appreciate the way Jason’s waist cuts in and then flares out to almost feminine hips and thick, muscular thighs. Dick slides his hands under the small of Jason’s back and inches them down to the top of Jason’s ass.

“Really? You like them?” Jason asks, blushing.

“Babe, I love them. It should be against the law for you to wear pants. It’s practically a crime to keep all this hidden under your jeans.” Dick kneads at the soft flesh of Jason’s ass.

“Says the one who’s all covered up,” Jason gasps out. There’s Dick’s Jason, blushing and innocent, but still talking back. 

“Let’s fix that then,” Dick chuckles and slowly removes his hands, giving one last squeeze on his way. Dick peels off his t-shirt, deliberately twisting his body and putting on a show for Jason who watches with rapt attention. Dick smiles softly at the awestruck look on Jason’s face before making quick work of the clasps on his pants and shimmying out of them completely. Dick bends down and starts to kiss up Jason’s left leg, starting at his calves and working up to his thighs. Once he gets to the sensitive skin on Jason’s inner thighs, he takes his time pressing open mouthed kisses to the skin there. Dick scrapes his teeth against the skin as he pulls away from a kiss about halfway up Jason’s thigh and feels the strong muscles underneath tremble. Smirking, he repeats the action and looks up to watch Jason. The younger vigilante is struggling to hold his composure, but Dick wants to watch him fall apart completely. So he lowers his mouth back down to Jason’s thighs and bites down. At that, Jason arches off the bed hard and lets out the loudest moan Dick has heard from him so far.

8. Runneth Over and all that Jazz- incomplete work for day 7 of Omega Jason Todd Week -Lactation kink au heavily inspired by  @whumpbby and @daemoninwhiteround2 and all their stuff. A little R rated

If it weren’t for his chest, Jason would be nearly impossible to recognise as an omega. He’s taller and more muscular than most omegas so with his deep voice, no one would ever guess. If it weren’t for his body’s absolute betrayal. Jason, like pretty much all adult omegas, produces milk. It’s meant to help reinforce pack bonds and keep pups adopted into a pack fed. That’s not the problem, that part of it is manageable with absorbent pads in shirts and semi-regular use of a breast pump. It sucks, but it’s not the problem. The problem is that Jason’s pack bonds are weak, so his body will let down and start producing milk on a hair trigger. He’s peak fertile age and tangentially part of a mostly alpha pack, but not bonded well enough to balance his hormones, so his body has decided to try and tempt his pack into bonds with milk.

It’s a nuisance. He hears Bruce’s voice on the radio and a little dribble of milk escapes. Dick and Tim get into an argument and he can feel his breasts swelling with more milk. Cass gets injured and he ends up having to sneak off to change his shirt when she cuddles up to him for comfort. He saw Damian cry once and that was enough to get him leaking like a fountain and avoiding the bats for a few days. He knows at least one of them can probably smell the milk on him, but they have the good graces not to mention it so long as he doesn’t. 

So Jason distances himself from the pack. He figures if he doesn’t see them, his body won’t decide to go into hormone overdrive. Except it just ends up compounding the problem. More time away from the pack means even weaker pack bonds, which ends up kicking his hormones into even higher gear than they would have been. Soon, Jason’s having to empty his milk every day, then twice a day, then eventually he has to break in the middle of patrol to empty his breasts so they aren’t incredibly sore as he’s flipping around rooftops. He switches from plain absorbent undershirts to nursing undershirts in all black so that if he leaks it won’t show. It’s gotten way out of hand but the only way to fix it is to either break his pack bonds entirely, which might make it worse, or go to the pack and suffer through some potentially very embarrassing bonding.

He shudders at the thought of his pack finally drinking from him. The vulnerability it would bring stirs up something like panic in his stomach mixed equally with want. Letting them know that he can be manipulated just because of a biological response would put him at a huge disadvantage. If they knew he could be made to let down and go into a pheromone drenched haze with some carefully chosen vocalizations they could use it to their advantage when Jason inevitably pisses one of them off. Still, something has to be done, his chest hurts so much that when he got hit there on patrol, he almost blacked out.

He decides to go to Tim first. The slightly younger man is the easiest for Jason to get along with, and despite his tendency for general sneakery, he has enough respect for what Jason does that he probably won’t use it against him too much. It’s a risk, but the potential for relief from the pain of his swollen nipples and frequent breast pump use are enough to take it. Tim is practical and doesn’t seem like the type to get physically aggressive. Even if he does, his small stature means that Jason should be able to escape. Hopefully he won’t be weird about it. Fingers crossed.

Jason knocks on the door of Tim’s apartment, about an hour before patrol typically starts. Tim answers the door looking sleep deprived as always with a mug of coffee in one hand. Jason gives him a sheepish smile and a half hearted wave, after which Tim gestures him into the apartment, one eyebrow raised in question. He shuts and locks the door behind him.

“Hi Jason. It’s been awhile. What are you doing here?” Just the sound of Tim’s voice is making his chest swell a little.

“Can’t I just come visit?”

“Of course you can, you know I like your company. You just usually … don’t. So… ”

Tim pins Jason in place with his calculating stare as he waits for a response. The silence is incredibly awkward for Jason because every second that passes he can feel the slight swelling inch closer and closer to potential leakage. He finally breaks when he feels a small dribble of milk start to leak from one nipple.

“I need your help.”

“A case?”

“No… “ Jason trails off, still unsure.

“Are you okay Jason?” Tim sets his coffee down and sits next to Jason on the couch. Their arms brush and Jason fucking gushes. If Tim couldn’t smell the milk on him before, he sure as hell can now if the way he sniffs the air is any indication.

“What’s wrong Jay? Why are you, umm, … “

“Leaking?”

Tim nods, nostrils flaring as a blush steals across his face.

“I’m letting down at the drop of a hat right now. I’m overproducing so much that I have to stop in the middle of patrols to pump. It hurts real bad.” Jason couldn't stop the whine from leaking into his tone if he tried. Tim unconsciously responds with a swell of alpha scent. The pheromones set Jason off again and he gasps as he involuntarily lets even more milk escape.

“Jason,” Tim’s voice is practically a whisper. “How can I help?” Jason takes a moment to steady himself under the force of Tim’s gaze, closing his eyes so he doesn’t have to see his reaction to the answer.

“ I need you to drink enough to solidify our pack bond.” 

Tim makes an interested little noise in the back of his throat and places one delicate hand over Jason’s on his lap. He gives a gentle squeeze

“Are you making enough to do it in one go?”

“Were you even paying attention? Yes. I’m producing enough for the whole pack.”

“Why me? If you go off pack hierarchy aren’t you supposed to go to Bruce? Even if you don’t trust Bruce, you could have gone to Dick or Barbara.”

“If you’re not willing, I won’t pressure you.” Jason’s voice is flat as he starts to stand, but he’s stopped by Tim’s suddenly much stronger grip pulling him back to the couch.

“I never said that. I just want to know why you chose me before I potentially upset pack structure.”

“ ‘M more comfortable,” Jason mumbles, avoiding eye contact. “Dick’s too clingy and Babs still thinks I’m crazy most of the time. You’re … nice to me. Helpful.”

“You’re nice to me too Jason. We take care of each other.”

An unfamiliar throaty purr starts up in the back of Jason’s throat as Tim gently presses his shoulders back into the couch. He pushes up Jason’s shirt, making sure to be extra careful right around the chest area. An accidental brush from the back of his hand as he pulls the shirt off causes a whimper to interrupt Jason’s purring. Tim shushes him gently as he sets the shirt to the side in a crumpled ball. Jason glares at him until Tim sighs and folds the shirt semi-neatly. He rearranges himself until he’s draped halfway over Jason’s lap, face centimeters from touching Jason’s chest. Tim stares unashamedly at the plump flesh where he can see the wetness where milk has already escaped. 

[felixfeliciswriterblog]

Snapetober 2020 - Day 30: Self Hatred

Warnings: mentions of death, angst.

Length: 1414 words.

This is a missing scene from my main Severitus Snape x OC fic. Severus is married to Skyrah. They have a son (Corbin) who is about 1.

A MAGNIFICENT SPY

“Lumos,” whispered Severus.

He ascended the stairs slowly, making sure they didn’t creak under his feet and awaken anybody from their slumber. In the crib was his son, unaware of the pure evil and injustice in the world. Whenever Corbin smiled in his sleep, as he was doing now that his father was caressing his chubby cheeks, Severus would smile back. Not that night, though. He kissed Corbin on the forehead, making up for the goodnight kiss he had missed, and walked towards his own bedroom. The dim light coming through the half-open bedroom door told him that Skyrah, unlike her sister, Harry, and Corbin, wasn’t sleeping. He peeped through the door.

She was seated on the bed, with his pillow positioned on her back and head. A History book – the one she read whenever she was anxious – lay on her flexed knees. His first thought was that the light the old lamp from the nightstand emitted made her skin glow.

Beautiful, she was beautiful.

Everything about the Death Eaters meeting had been hideous.

Malfoy Manor had been dark, cold. One look at his wife and he felt warmer. It still wasn’t enough. He wanted her to look at him. Only then might he be able to forget Charity’s eyes before she…

Don’t go there, he told himself.

At the creaking door, Skyrah shot her head up. His name tripped off her tongue, breathy. Her eyes were tender, inviting. She tossed the book onto the nightstand and leaped out of the bed.

Cupping his chin to inspect his face, she asked, “Are you wounded?” 

Yes. Not physically. “No.”

“Are you okay?”

Not at all. “Yes.”

“Liar.”

Despite having promised they wouldn’t lie to each other, she did not sound incriminating but merely concerned. If there was something Severus disliked, that was worrying his wife.

“Did Corbin wake you up? Is that why you are awake?”

She took a step back, withdrawing her hands from his face, hurt.

"Is this what you think of me? That I’m incapable of staying awake for my husband?” Severus was about to reply when she held up her palm. “Corbin’s been sleeping like a log.”

He gulped at her cutting tone. “It is late. You should be resting.”

“I can’t rest when I’m worried.”

“I do not want you to worry so much about me. It is not healthy.”

She snorted. “I couldn’t agree more. Ease my worries. You could start by telling me what happened in the meeting in which my father thought my presence and his heir’s weren’t needed.” He drew in an intake of air and averted her gaze. More softly, she whispered, “Please.”

Severus… Please… Please… Help me!

His face contorted in pain.

When Skyrah took his hand, he locked their gazes. Her eyes were full of love, begging. Merlin. How was he supposed to tell her? Would she hate him as much as he hated himself if she found out? He walked past her and sat on the edge of the bed, lowering his head. His hair might have covered his distressed face like a curtain, but it did nothing to muffle Voldemort’s sibilant voice in his head.

Dinner, Nagini.

Severus gripped the edges of the bed, biting his lip to keep from screaming. Skyrah’s arm slithered around his waist. A kiss landed on the corner of his eye. It was then he noticed he had let a tear fall. She kissed his cheekbone, the corner of his mouth, his jaw, and rested her head on his shoulder. After that, his heart did not ache so much.

“You don’t have to tell me now… Just tell me what I can do for you for the time being. I just… I hate seeing you like this. I want to help you feel better, and I don’t know how if I don’t know what’s going on.”

He let out a shaky breath and leaned into her. Getting the hint, she tightened her grip on him and cuddled him in silence, waiting for him to make the next move.

“She said…” He trailed off. Skyrah raised her head, looking at him. “She said we were friends. She viewed me as her friend. I had to see her die.”

Friends?

His circle of acquaintances was limited to say the least. Skyrah considered the people who could have died in that reunion. Whoever she was, she used to work at Hogwarts. All his friends worked there, except the Malfoys, if they could be considered friends.

“Narcissa?”

“No. No, Narcissa is fine. A bit sick after witnessing the scene, like her son, but Lucius will take care of his family.”

“If the person isn’t a Malfoy then…” He shut his eyes. His silence spoke volumes. With a sinking heart, Skyrah cupped his face, forcing him to make eye contact. “Who?”

He shook his head. “I don’t want you to suffer more because of this damned war.”

“I work at Hogwarts, too. I will find out sooner or later. I want to know it now.”

He swallowed hard. “Professor Burbage… Charity.”

Skyrah gasped, blinking back tears. Although they weren’t close friends, Charity was passionate about her subject, terribly kind and tolerant, the kind of person that gave the desolate faith in humanity. She had appeared genuinely happy to find out about the Snapes’ marriage, and had once babysat Corbin.

“Charity died thinking I was on the Dark Lord’s side, a Death Eater.”

“But you aren’t,” she whispered, squeezing his waist. “You are a good man.”

“I sentenced her to death. Is that your definition of ‘a good man’?”

His sarcasm didn’t scare her. Nor did his self-loathing. She was used to them and knew how to combat them.

“Don’t you dare blame yourself for her death. If you’d saved her, your loyalties would be exposed, and we’d be doomed. You saved hundreds of lives. This war would be lost without you. Most wouldn’t have been able to keep their covers under such pressure. You fooled them all. You did your job as a spy, a magnificent job.”

“Maybe I don’t want to be a spy anymore!” He stood up to get away from her touch, breathing hard. “I don’t! I hate it. I have to see innocent people being tortured, murdered in cold blood, and there is nothing I can do about it.”

She rose to her feet and clutched his trembling hand in hers, waiting until his breathing returned back to normal. He didn’t push her away nor snap at her.

Taking it as a positive sign, she said, “I wish you didn’t have to do this. Your life's on the line all the time. It frightens me, but we are in too deep. We can only make the best of this horrible situation so that, one day, we believe the sacrifices you made as a spy were worth it.” He gulped soundly. Skyrah brought his hand to her mouth and gave it a chaste kiss. “Her death won’t be in vain. Not hers. Not Albus’s. Not our daughter’s. Not Lily’s or Daniel’s… Not a single death caused by my father. We’ll help Harry fight him.”

Skyrah changed Severus’s attire to his sleepwear with a flick of her wand. The lights went out next. She yanked him down to bed and spooned him from behind, nuzzling his hair.

“As your friend, Charity wouldn’t like to know you hate yourself so much for something that was out of your control. You’ll turn your pain into the motivation that keeps moving you. You’re so brave, so admirable and loveable,” she crooned, eliciting a sound from him that resembled a sob. “Shh. I love you. I love you even if you hate yourself.”

She dropped kisses on his nape and shoulder until his breathing became regular and deep. Although his body appeared calm, his mind kept reeling. Charity’s cries drilled his brain, as did Bellatrix’s maniac laugh alongside the sound Nagini’s fangs made when they sank into her skin. He could still smell the blood.

Skyrah drifted off to sleep thinking that, by the time he fell asleep in the comfort of her embrace, he would not feel so guilty. She had said it herself.

You fooled them all.

Even her.

Even himself.

He’d convince himself that Charity had to die for the greater good, and he would believe his own lie like Voldemort believed his fake loyalty. He’d move on. He was, after all, a magnificent spy.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A/N: For some reason, my posts don’t appear in the snapetober search tag even if I tag it correctly. Hopefully, you see this one @snapetober​. There’s another post in my blog for this fest (day 18: falling)

I wouldn’t have been able to post this on time if it had been betaed, so I apologize for any mistakes you may have encountered. I did my best.

If you liked it, you can read the main fic here: AO3, FFN.

[diyunho]

The Joker x Reader - “Secrets” Part 3

The Joker did something so unforgivable and despicable you don’t ever want to see him  again. After months of avoiding The King of Gotham, you really can’t understand why he appointed you as the only person to take care of his son in case of emergency. There’s no way you’ll accept to help the little boy in his father’s absence, yet the three years old has no fault in what happened between you and your ex.

Frost just called with a security report for The Joker: most of the henchmen in the building are dead; five missing for the moment and his best guess is that they are the ones who sold his boss out and allowed Ezra to get inside the Penthouse. Maybe even helped the New York gang kill the others; no way to know for sure until watching the footage from all the cameras scattered around the premises.

You and J barely convinced Alexis to go back to sleep after he was given a bath: the three years old was very agitated and scared, which is understandable after what happened just a couple of hours ago. The fact that he’s sick didn’t help either: his fever increased and you had to put in extra effort in order to convince him to swallow his medicine.

“Can y-you take him to Los Angeles for a few days until I clean up the m-mess here?” The Joker asks, struggling to wrap new bandages around the surgical marks on his right leg. The soft fabric of the sweat pants keep on sliding down his foot and J lifts it up again, frustrated he can’t manage to keep it in place.

“Yes, no problem,” you agree and check your cell, waiting for your father to call.

Jase didn’t answer his phone and Y/N left a short message urging him to get a hold of her as soon as possible. You really don’t know how you’ll explain what you did: invoking the code in order to offer protection to another clan is a serious matter and The Godfather won’t be happy to hear that J has LA’s alliance now.

Not after everything The Clown Prince of Crime did.

“For God’s sake,” you sigh and decide to be the bigger person, kneeling in front of an irritated Joker that just can’t get the gauze around his scars. “Hold this,” you frown and he grabs one end of the roll while you cover his skin with the dressing. “It seems healed,” you point out, continuing to patch him up.

“The doctor told m-me to do it for one more month. Nothing that can be d-done about the way I talk; I hope it goes a-away,” J shares extra information you don’t care to hear. “A-are you sure you don’t mind t-taking my son?” the question makes you yank at the bandages and the change in mood is evident.

“I don’t mind,” you respond through your clenched teeth. “What I do mind though is being lied to. What I do mind is you being secretly married to another woman. What I do mind is you pretending you liked me,” you pause for a second to breathe in much needed air. “What I do mind is you convincing me that we should have a baby when I didn’t want one. What I do mind is you saying that if it’s a boy we should name him Alexis when you already had a son named Alexis with your wife!!!” you raise your voice, incapable of stopping the tirade.

“So?” The Joker bitterly replies, in a very foul disposition himself.

You slap J and he instinctively closes his eyes before the second strike lands on his already numb cheek.

“A-are you done?” he growls, barely restraining the urge to escalate the fight that just started.

You glare at him without blinking, enraged by the indifference of his hurtful actions. So many thoughts rushing through your head and you don’t have a chance to tell The Joker everything you want because your phone suddenly rings. You take it out of the pocket, correctly guessing your father is calling back.  

“Do this yourself!” you hiss and undo the bandages wrapped around J’s scars, getting up in a hurry.

“W-what the fuck, Y/N?!”

You don’t even pay attention to his tantrum since reporting to the Godfather is more important than listening to your former boyfriend’s complaint.

“When Alexis wakes up, I’m gone! I don’t want to spend one extra single minute in your presence!” you shout and rush towards the terrace, pressing the screen of your cell. “Hi daddy,” you soften your tone and step outside, slamming the glass door behind you.

J forcefully exhales, staring at the gauze loosely hanging down his foot.

“Goddammit,” he grumbles and bites his lower lip, not excited on how the conversation ended.

Maybe he shouldn’t have been a jerk for once?...

Definitely.

Not after what you did for him and his son.  

The woman J used in such a despicable manner didn’t think twice about saving a child that’s not hers; LA’s future queen didn’t even hesitate to save the man that made a fool out of her and didn’t deserve any kind of help no matter the circumstances.

The Joker shouldn’t have been a jerk…

Not today.

*************

Three days afterwards

“Sir, The Godfather is here,” Frost announces on intercom to a less than pleased King of Gotham. 

“…Great…” J talks in a low voice, dreading the imminent meeting he was expecting anyway. “Let him pass,” the consent is given even if Jase doesn’t need it: the mobster is already in the elevator, going up to a Penthouse he hates infinitely more since The Joker’s secret was discovered.

Your father stomps out the elevator, immediately noticing the green haired Clown Prince of Crime sitting down on the couch closest to the center of the living room. The Joker wants to get up but Jase cuts him off:

“Sit down and don’t insult me with more fake respect!”

J smirks and The Godfather is already fed up with person he always despised and barely tolerated because of his daughter’s request.

“I heard we have a situation,” Jase grumbles and halts in front of The Joker, his menacing demeanor warning of a disastrous outcome in case things go wrong.

“You c-can say that,” the vague answer makes your parent lose his temper:

“YOU WILL DO NOTHING! You won’t seek revenge, you won’t move a finger until our year of forced partnership is done!! Gotham is under LA’s protection for 12 months and there’s nothing that can be done!”

“A-apparently,” The Joker’s insolent remark prompts so much outrage it’s nearly impossible to suppress the damage:

“You insolent prick! You were learning how to crawl when I was already building my empire! Do you think I’m intimidated by the likes of you?! I AM THE GODFATHER!!!” Jase shouts while J puckers his lips, aware he shouldn’t push it yet he can’t shut up:

“And I’m The Joker! I w-won’t let anyone…” 

“You’re The Joker?!” your father interrupts. “Do you know you would be dead right now if it wasn’t for Y/N?! Why do you think I didn’t come for you when I found out what you did, hm? Do you think I just turned a blind eye to your affront? ME??!! NEVER!! I wanted to do exactly what Ezra did and my daughter begged me not to!!! You’re still here breathing because of Y/N! Do you understand?!!”

The two men hatefully stare at each other, none of them willing to lose any ground despite the sticky crisis they landed in. J is fuming and your parent is far past enraged: he’s furious to the point of sharing something personal to prove his affirmations.

“I never understood what my daughter saw in you, Joker!” Jase snarls. “I had such a bad feeling about your relationship and I’m never wrong about that stuff!”

“Then y-you should have t-told her!” The Clown bites back since this is the perfect opportunity to retaliate.

“I DID!” your father screams. “But Y/N insisted she loves you and I had to stomach your company because if she was happy, then I guess I had to accept it! And for what?! For you to break her heart again after it took her forever to recover from what happened with Sean?!”

The Joker surely wishes to lash out but the last sentence catches him by surprise: why would The Godfather mention Sean? The insane events that occurred a few years ago are sort of common knowledge in the underworld: Sean was your boyfriend until it was discovered he was actually an undercover CIA agent.

“I failed my daughter,” your father’s firm tone diminishes while confessing to the ugly truth. “Sean passed all the background checks; there was nothing suspicious about him. Believe me when I tell you I was very thorough: I wouldn’t just let anyone come so close to her. And when I found out by accident…” Jase deeply inhales, flustered, “…it was goddamned late, 10 days after he proposed.”

J’s eyes get big at the revelation: he had no idea about this part of the story and for once he keeps quiet and listens, intrigued.

“I went over to their house with my crew and dragged him out of bed in the middle of the night. Y/N was very agitated, not comprehending what was going on until I told her and showed the evidence. I’ll never forget the look on her face: she seemed so lost staring at those papers and pictures certifying that Sean was Matt Simmons, CIA agent infiltrating our lives in order to bring me down. He didn’t care about her; she was just an assignment…”

The Joker wants to finally reply, yet The Godfather won’t allow interference:

“He knew what was in store for him and he kept on begging, promising he was truly in love with her and stating he didn’t report to his superiors in a while and had no intention in doing so. Who knows?... Maybe he did love her after all…,” Jase straightens his shoulders. “I doubt Y/N heard any of his vows; she was too shocked to process the gravity of the news. I should have been more vigilant, but I didn’t see it coming: she yanked the gun out of my hand and shot him in the head. I think she regretted her choice the moment she pulled the trigger, but it was already too late…” your father mutters.

The Joker weights in all this information thrown at him since he had no clue you were the one that killed your ex: everyone assumed it must have been your father.

“Do you know how hard it is to watch your only child die a little bit more each day? I‘m not talking about death in the real sense of the word, but about the worst kind of demise: when you lose someone you loved so much that nothing else matters. And then you came along,” Jase shrieks getting to the conclusion he was aiming for since the beginning of the dialogue: “And you were infinitely more appalling than Sean: at least he was doing his job, while you were nothing but a greedy, manipulative asshole!”

The King of Gotham is so aggravated by The Godfather’s comments his heart is pounding out of his chest.

“Y-you can’t t-talk to me like this!!” he stands up to confront Jase but your parent is immune to the Clown’s threat.

“I can and I will!!” he yells. “That’s why you will do nothing! Got it?! Stay put! In the meantime, be grateful Y/N is such a saint offering safe haven to a little boy that’s not hers! If you think tending to Alexis is a piece of cake, THINK AGAIN!!!!!!” Jase lectures a stunned Joker to the point of starting a physical altercation, but he manages to contain himself and walks away towards the elevator, mumbling: “Son of a bitch!”

The Joker is left in the middle of the living room, completely stupefied at your father’s rant: it’s tough for him to grasp the notion of not being invincible or untouchable. And he is aware why Ezra came after him: because The King of Gotham did to his daughter the same thing that was done to you. J used her also in order to acquire what he wanted since his wife didn’t mind the little indiscretions as long as they were able to get richer, more powerful and influential. And now Nessa was lying 6 feet under after he barely escaped the ambush that almost claimed his life too.

Once his secret was out, everything came crashing down so fast he didn’t have time to process what it all meant: when you claw your way up without any remorse, you might end up bleeding worse than the ones you tear apart.

************

2 weeks later

Nixon is guiding The Joker around the patio, the final destination only a few feet away: he’s here to pick up his son and the bodyguard thought you’re still outdoors, yet there’s no sign of you or Alexis. Only Harvey Dent relaxing on the cozy sofa under the umbrella shadowing the guest from the late afternoon sunlight.

“Hm,” Nixon halts. “She was here a few minutes ago; I’ll go search for her. Please take a seat Mister Joker,” the man offers and J nonchalantly limps towards the ottoman opposite Two Face, sneering.

“Dent…”

Harvey taps his fingers on the mixed drink he’s holding, already annoyed by the green haired visitor.

“Joker…” he acknowledges the unwanted presence.

They watch in silence as the goon disappears inside the house before Dent inquires:

“Are you here to get your kid?”

“U-hum,” J admits. “You?”

“Visiting.”

The Joker tugs at his longer than usual locks gathered in a ponytail while bending over to grab a bottle of water from the table. A gust of wind blows a few shorter strands right on his face and he brushes them off, huffing.

“Y/N went to put your little boy to sleep; I guess he needed a nap,” Harvey communicates in such a sour manner it instantly irks J. “Some people wouldn’t recognize a good thing happening to their miserable existence even if they had it written black on white.”

The Clown grinds his teeth, vexed:

“You have s-something to say to me, D-Dent?!”

“Oh,” and the scarred ex-politician pauses before gulping down his cocktail,”I have plenty to say to you!”

The clash is inevitable but actually terminated before it blows out of proportions since you are coming out of the mansion.

J stands up and greets a displeased Y/N that was expecting him tomorrow morning, not that it really makes a difference: her world is turned upside down every time she sees him anyway.

“Alexis just fell asleep and I don’t want to wake him up,” you ignore his false politeness and march towards the two individuals postponing their brawl. “He often has nightmares after what happened with Ezra and it’s best to let him rest.”

“C-can I sleep here t-tonight then and we’ll take off in the m-morning?”

You are not a huge fan of the idea, yet you consent for the sake of the three year old that you took under your wing when you didn’t have to.

“OK. You can sleep in his room, there’s an extra bed in there. You can order food, one of my curriers can go pick it up for you. Or you can eat whatever you want from the fridge,” you extend your hospitality and bite in the same time: “I’m sure you remember where stuff is; nothing has changed except…everything.”

The Joker doesn’t reply and Harvey can’t help but realize how much you struggle to keep it together; he wonders if J realized also or if he even gives a damn. Probably not.

“Y/N,” Harvey intervenes. “When you have a moment, could we please work on my transaction?” he elegantly gets you out of the unpleasant meeting using the main reason he’s there for.

You momentarily snap out of it, grateful to oblige.

“Of course. Yes,” you add and escort him through the glass panels leading towards the stairs that will take Dent to the second floor where your bedroom is.

J is left alone, not that he doesn’t enjoy the solitude. He’s indeed debating on what he should have for dinner, maybe dishes he can share with his son after he wakes up from his nap. The Joker wishes to talk to you and he speculates you won’t want to listen to anything he has to say. Why bother?

He lost that privilege a long time ago.

*************

“How much would you like to invest?” you get on your laptop while Harvey is stretching on the leather sectional in front of the TV.

“Same as always, please.”

“Alright, it will take me a few seconds for the wire transfers between accounts,” you type in a frenzy and almost ignore his honest concern:

“Are you ok?”

“Huh?” you lift your head higher while glued to the screen: you crave the welcomed distraction so badly nothing else counts.

“Are you ok?” he repeats and the evasive response heightens his uneasiness regarding the apparent calm Y/N.

“I’m perfect, no worries,” you crack a smile and glance his way.

Dent scratches his scar, disputing on his next sentences.

“I’m asking because…e-hem…because you used to have this sparkle in your eyes and now it’s gone,” he blurs out before he loses confidence in his speech. “I know it’s not my place to comment, but I thought you should know someone noticed…”

Your hands stop on the keyboard and fighting the tears back is somehow so much harder than wearing the mask you parade with in front of everybody, including your father.

“You want to know how I noticed?” he pushes it more, hoping you will understand he’s well intended. “After Rachel died, I see the same emptiness daily when I look in the mirror. It might not be the same situation…”

“Harvey!!” you cut him off and he suddenly registers he’s out of line.

You sniffle and wipe the tears rolling down your cheeks, the bottled up emotions too strong to control.

“I’m very sorry,” he scoots over, upset he made you cry.

You start sobbing and Dent feels so bad he instantaneously curses his stupid decision.

“Y/N, I’m sorry. I should have kept my mouth shut,” and he’s relieved when you grab his hand and squeeze it.

“Thank you,” you faintly articulate and Harvey offers the box of tissue from the coffee table with his free hand, still uneasy about your present condition. “You’re a good man,” you whisper and he shakes his head, regretfully informing:

“Used to be, honey. Used to be…”

You let go of his fingers and he softly caresses your shoulders since he doesn’t know what else to do.

“Yyyy/Nnnnn,” Alexis pushes the cracked door opened. “Ynnn/Nnnn,” he whines and you jump from your spot eager to lift him up in your arms.

“What is it sweetheart? Another bad dream?” you inquire and the little one rubs his eyes, pouting.

“Whe’s mommy?” he buries his face in your neck, comforted by the woman’s embrace.

“Your mommy’s very far away,” you signal Harvey to sit down since he’s preparing to flee. “I’ll return soon,” you wink and exit your bedroom in order to take the three year old back to his chamber.

“Whe’s daddy?” Alexis yawns and you gather the strength to be cheerful for an innocent child’s sake.

“Daddy will be here when you wake up,” you kiss his temple. “After your nap you can play in the backyard, then we’ll have dinner and you can watch cartoons, ok?”

“U-hum,” he agrees and you lay him in bed, covering him up with the soft blanket.

“Do you want your giraffe?” you push the toy on his pillow and he snatches it, sulking.

“I’ll stay here until you fall asleep,” Y/N soothes The Joker’s son the best way she can, reckoning if it wasn’t for her, he wouldn’t be alive right now.  And that makes her sadder.

The young boy got under her skin and even if he reminds her of his father’s deceit, she wouldn’t have it any other way; keeping Alexis close is a way to make sure she always stays alert:

When you give your heart away and it’s returned to you in pieces, a few will go missing each time it happens until there’s nothing left.

************

Two hours afterwards

J is walking towards your master bedroom, angered he left his cane on the patio: his leg is hurting and the limp only makes it worse. Ten minutes ago he received a text with new information that you and The Godfather will be interested in also: it might not change the situation as a whole, but the plot twist could ensure he takes full advantage of the forced alliance between LA and Gotham. That’s what The Joker does anyway: he exploits every tiny thing to his advantage and the fresh data is certainly no petty scrap.

The door to your room is still opened simply because when you have Alexis over you want him to have easy access to your quarters, most likely to snuggle under the covers with the nice lady that’s taking care of him.

J pries the door open and wants to call out your name when the sight compiles the opposite: you dozed off cuddled up to Harvey, both covered with his suits’ jacket. After you invited him to stay and watch a movie you passed out first and he didn’t dare wiggle; he just used his coat to ensure you’re not going to get cold with the AC blasting from the ceiling. Having Y/N near him felt genuinely peaceful and Dent snoozed without a care in the universe for the first time in years.

And even someone like The King of Gotham can’t help but discern the vague smile on Harvey’s lips: the smile of a man that’s been through hell and he’s finally granted a small piece of heaven.

Part 1: diyunho(.)tumblr(.)com/post/177920419051/the-joker-x-reader-secrets-part-1

Part 2: diyunho(.)tumblr(.)com/post/178630090876/the-joker-x-reader-secrets-part-2

Also read: Masterlist

diyunho(.)tumblr(.)com/post/153664676321/joker-x-reader-masterlist

You can also follow me on Wattpad and AO3 under the same blog name: DiYunho.

[strigops]

i’ve been writing a terrible short story about dinosaurs and im still not 100% done with the plot (or even like, 60% done) but here’s my awful, awful first draft of the very beginning

It is two days after your son dies that you meet your daughter. The rain is heavy and she struggles beneath a log pushed from the hillside. She screams and scratches at you as you lift the small (to you) tree from her back. She is smaller than your son and certainly too old for you, with a too-skinny head and a tail that whips you across the snout. Her feathers are not downy like his, the pin-feathers are long gone. The grief makes her bigger, heavier than she is. You name her Eth.

She is afraid of you at first, until you make no attempts to chase after her. Curiosity has her trotting back along the beach from where she had sprinted away on too-fast feet, strutting a loose circle around you. When she clicks in your direction you can’t help the high-pitched (for you) contact call that rises from your throat. It is then that she becomes your daughter, when she answers in a low warble that, to you, sounds the same. When she turns to leave, this time she doesn’t run when you rise to follow her.

She sticks close to you, perhaps out of thanks, and it takes two days and several offerings of killed mammals for her to start following you more closely. You wonder if perhaps you’re only manipulating the poor thing into associating your company with food, until you see her hunt. She’s impossibly quick, but inaccurate. She only catches a small runner, the ones that look like smaller Eth’s, and only half by chance. You realize then that she’s not as old as she acts; she’s still a child, barely older than your son. You wonder, how long do her people keep their children? How long could they love their parents, and how much time do you have left?

Did her people love her as you would?

You resign yourself to teaching her to hunt and survive, at least until she exiles herself from you. But it’s difficult, she is Eth, not you. She is small and made of lightning, incapable of your own lumbering brutality. Hitting her head against an herbivore wouldn’t knock them over, just earn her a vicious kick. Her kind has no trouble taking down those larger than themselves, but they do it as a team. For now, you are her team. Lucky Eth, you think, plunging your great teeth into the side of a small horned-beak. Your daughter deserves to eat like your people do.

Through the days her other quirks reveal themselves to you. You don’t understand her fast language, the high-pitched squeaks and rasping hisses that you hear more often above you from those other feathered flying things. You muddle through it in your own breathy barks and rumbles. You learn what most of her chirps and whistles mean to her, and she seems to do the same for you. You learn the way she plays, racing up from behind you and weaving around your feet, or darting out of the brush and onto your head, bunching up her feathers and screaming comically. You barely push her with your massive head and she falls over dramatically, feet kicking pitifully in mock-death. You learn she likes to sleep by your small front limbs. Eth nudges her head into your feathers and dreams about kicking that killing claw, dreams of one day using it to slice into the hide of an animal much larger than herself. You wonder if you’re giving her a complex, helping her take down things four times her size. For now, her feet flop mostly harmlessly against your own. You drone in a low rumble that once lulled your son to sleep, unaware the sound is beyond her range of hearing.

She has been with you for many, many days when your people start to gather. Her plumage is filled out and full, a brilliant white, feathers like many teeth draped from her forelimbs. She follows you, perhaps somewhat unwillingly, to where the short-claws come to meet. Your kind has convened all around this forest, as they do every year. You think at first to hide your daughter. She has grown strong, but is still so, so small. Your plans are dashed when another short-claw approaches you. You roughly tuck Eth behind you as she squawks indignantly.

“Oleander,” says the short-claw. You think you recognize her.

“Halin,” you reply “It is good to see you.”

“And you,” she cocks her head to look behind you “And your little child.”

The last word drips with dangerous interest, and you huff and puff up a bit. Eth trills a question behind you.

“How do you know of her?” you question.

“Everyone knows of the curve-claw you took from the south. Our people don’t meet often, but we still talk, don’t we?”

She says it like you stole Eth, and you try not to be angry. You exchange as many pleasantries as you’re comfortable with for Halin, and then make your way to the edges of the forest, away from everyone’s leering eyes. Eth follows, clearly confused. You wish for the thousandth time that she understood your language, but knowing would only make her afraid of conversations like this. You are not sure how to tell her the reason for the gathering. You do not know how to tell her that your people are meeting to journey south, to the place you found her. You do know that she will follow, no matter where you lead.

“Strange-Name!” another short-claw calls from behind you. You had just settled down, Eth nestled under your wing, and you turn to give them a pointed look.

A short-claw lumbers determinedly towards you. He is large and brightly colored, and he has led your people to the south for many years.

“Glad to see you here,” Arval says “I was afraid something might hold you back.”

He looks right at Eth, and you feel your feathers raise, a noise you don’t use often bubble up in your throat.

“Easy,” he laughs “I was hoping you’d bring your…child. I’d like a word with her.”

He tells you of the plan, of his idea to go the usual route except farther, deeper into curve-claw land. That is where all the best prey is, he says, there’s hardly anything good enough for the whole clan to consume any farther north. But any further south is dangerous, it belongs to the curve-claws and everyone knows it. Solitary short-claws are tolerated, but a whole band is breaking the truce.

He wants passage to the lowlands, explicit permission from one of its denizens to trespass. He doesn’t say it, not yet, but you know it. Your whole clan has approached you now, and Arval makes his speech.

“I have seen what your kind does to mine.”

He turns and Eth’s attention is on his face, on the many scars carved into his snout, gouging through his lips and eye like little canyons. You know how he got them; blundering into a particularly large family of curve-claws with the intention of raiding their kill, but Eth is ignorant. You’re not sure if you see fear or defiance on her face.

“We will feast like we deserve in the lowlands. So tell me, child,” Arval lowers his head to Eth, “Where were your people born?”

You see her freeze in indecision. She does not understand your language. She does not understand what is being asked of her, and you don’t know how to tell her.

Arval sees the misunderstanding on her face clearly, and turns to you. He knows that you wandered just close enough to curve-claw land to come upon her. He says nothing, but you know what is expected of you. Lead your people into Eth’s home, and let them ravage it. You tell yourself that you will rebel, become solitary again like all those years ago. And if you go at all, it will only be to return Eth home.

Your clan rises at dawn, and so do you and Eth. She is nervous of being so close to so many big things, and stays near, walking beneath you. You want to tell her. You want to lead her away, so she doesn’t have to see her people at war. She is old enough, you assume, to remember her own clan. You don’t want her to see it torn apart. You have a few days, though, to come up with a plan. To either leave or sabotage your own people’s survival. It would be easy to walk away, to rise late at night with your daughter and disappear into the forest. But what had the curve-claws ever done?

You walk for days, always behind all the others, not letting any openings for anyone to snatch Eth right out from under you. She is still confused, still anxious, but still trusts you. You’re not sure she should, you think, because Arval trusts you too.

[comebeforegod]

The Story of a Babysitter and Two Naughty Children

By Xiaohui, Italy

The little boy said to me, “Auntie, you look so angry. Isn’t your head feeling as if it’s ready to burst? Haha!” This was one of the awkward situations that I encountered when I had just started work as a babysitter.

The little girl called me, saying: “Auntie…. My elder brother and I both miss you. When will you come here? We’ll be good kids, so would you come as soon as you can?” This was what things were like after I acted according to God’s words.

I am a babysitter. One year ago, I went to a businessman’s house to apply for a job as a babysitter. The businessman told me that he had an eight-year-old son and a six-year-old daughter, that my job was to do household chores and prepare supper for the children, and that I would have to work 5.5 hours a day. I thought the hours of work required and the pay offered were reasonable. So, I said to him, “I would like to go. But I’m a Christian, so on Sundays, I need to have leave of absence to go to worship in the church.” Unexpectedly, he readily consented, saying, “Christians are pretty good, very loving and patient. My two kids are quite naughty, and a patient person is just the one we need to help take care of them. You can have Sundays off, with full pay.” Hearing his words, I was very glad and said to him, “You can trust me to take good care of your children.” I thought to myself, “Cooking is a snap for me. Cooking for kids is even simpler, and it won’t take me too long to prepare a meal for them. As for the two kids’ naughtiness, it’s no great problem, for children always like mischief. As long as I coax them, they will be obedient.”

However, when I started to work, I found it was not so easy as I imagined. It was really an effort to make the two kids have their dinner. They would sing or dance as they ate, and sometimes they would draw or play with toys. The boy needed to be coaxed into eating; the girl needed to be fed, otherwise she would not eat. When the dinner got cold, I had to warm it up. After they finished their dinner, there was rice all over the dining table and the ground. And it would take around an hour and a half for them to finish a meal. For these reasons, I had to work late. I could barely bear their naughtiness in the first few days. But as time went on, I felt very agitated and exhausted.

One time, my patience finally snapped. So I said to them solemnly, “Take your seats! Don’t play or talk during meals, or else I will lock you in the house and leave, and I won’t come here tomorrow.” Unexpectedly, the boy said to me, “Auntie, you look so angry. Isn’t your head feeling as if it’s ready to burst? Haha!” Seeing me angry, not only did he not become afraid, but he actually made fun of me. Besides, what he said was exactly what I was thinking then. Facing this awkward situation, I really did not know whether to laugh or cry. Oh, my goodness! What should I do?

Another time, I called the children to dinner in the kitchen after having it ready. But quite a while later, they were still playing in the room. So I went there to call them. At the sight of my entering into the room, they dived under the bed and crept into the corner, and said, “Auntie, why don’t you come and catch us? If you can get us, we’ll eat, or else we won’t. Haha!” With that, they made the crying sound of cats. Having no way to catch them, I was very angry. At that time, I could not bear the sight of them and felt it was really an effort to communicate with them. I was so exhausted that I was unable to eat. When it was about time for me to leave off work, they still had not eaten. So, I called their mother and complained to her about their naughtiness. Then she said to them over the telephone, “When I’m out, you are looked after by the auntie, so you have to listen to her. After she cooks dinner for you, you ought to eat it like good kids. …” Having been taught a lesson by their mother, the two children seemed a little more obedient. But only several minutes later, they relapsed into their old ways. Furthermore, since I called their mother and caused them to be scolded, when I once again called them to dinner, they rolled their eyes upward at me and became more disobedient toward me.

I had used all available methods to get them under control, but all in vain. I really could think of no way of dealing with them.

After returning home, I knelt on the ground and prayed to God, “Oh God! This work really troubles me. I can do nothing with the two children and have no idea what to do. May You enlighten and guide me, so I can understand Your intentions and have a way to practice.”

After my prayer, I opened up the book of God’s word, and saw the following words of God, “In every step of work that God does within people, externally it appears to be interactions between people, as if born of human arrangements, or from human interference. But behind the scenes, every step of work, and everything that happens, is a wager made by Satan before God, and requires people to stand firm in their testimony to God. … Nothing major has happened to you at the moment, and you do not bear great testimony, but every detail of your daily life relates to the testimony to God. If you can win the admiration of your brothers and sisters, your family members, and everyone around you; if, one day, the unbelievers come, and admire all that you do, and see that all that God does is wonderful, then you will have borne testimony. … If you are incapable of this, then you do not bear testimony among your family members, among your brothers and sisters, or before the people of the world. If you can’t bear testimony before Satan, Satan will laugh at you, it will treat you as a joke, as a plaything, it will often make a fool of you, and drive you insane.”

I was grateful for God’s enlightenment. These words of God made me see that behind everything that happens is a battle between God and Satan, and we are required to stand witness for God. But because I was numb in spirit, I merely considered babysitting as a very simple matter as opposed to an opportunity to gain the truth. So, when the two children played up and disobeyed me, I grew annoyed, unaware that this was Satan’s scheme and it was tempting me to lose my temper. I did not treat the children with true love and patience but just got angry instead and let Satan’s arrogant disposition of “putting oneself above all else” make me ask them to obey everything I said. As a result, my relationship with them became strained: They went against me on purpose to annoy me, and in response I complained to their mother about their naughtiness for the purpose of having them taught a lesson. After knowing these things, I made up my mind: I will no longer rely on Satan’s arrogant disposition in my actions; instead, I will be a person who is amiable and loving, has patience and tolerance for the children, and can get along well with them so that I will not be laughed at or fooled by Satan anymore.

One evening, I set the food on the table and told the children to dig in. After glancing at the dishes, the boy frowned. I could see that he disliked them, but I thought: You are always being particular about food. This time, I must make you eat these dishes somehow. So, I said sternly, “Don’t be picky. Your mommy and daddy have said that there is nourishment in every dish and the children who are fussy with their food will suffer from malnutrition and their physical growth will be affected. So, you must eat them. Otherwise, I’ll call your mother.” The boy pleaded, “Auntie, I have a slight headache. Can I eat less?” “No, you must eat up the food I have served to you. I know you like playing petty tricks. If there are dishes you dislike, you will refuse to eat them on the pretext that you have a headache. Don’t try to trick me.” I said. Although reluctant to eat, he still finished the food. Seeing this, I was secretly happy, thinking that he was now a little more obedient than before. However, not long after the dinner, he vomited in the bathroom. Only then did I realize that he was really ill and that I was wrong. So, I hastened to apologize to him, “I’m really sorry. I was wrong about you. I shouldn’t have forced you to eat.” He said, “Auntie, I feel better after vomiting. I’m all right now. Not to worry.” His not complaining to me made me feel more reproached: I’m always revealing Satan’s disposition of arrogance and self-righteousness, and it now has brought harm to the boy. How can my disposition change so that I can get along with them?

After going back home, I opened up the words of God, and read what God said, “So, what is ‘letting go’? What principle do you apply in doing things that is ‘letting go’? What point of view, what attitude do you apply that is really ‘letting go’? … That is, you can’t control, you can’t restrain your children, and always try to keep in command and have complete control over them. Let them make mistakes, let them say the wrong things, let them do childish and immature things, do stupid things. No matter what happens, sit down and calmly talk with them, communicate and seek. Don’t you think this attitude is good? Isn’t it right?”

Reflecting on these God’s words, I discovered the source of my own problem. I understood the reason why it was so hard for me to get along well with the two children was that I always interacted with them from a position higher than them. Because their mother left them in my charge, plus I was dominated by my arrogant disposition, I considered that the two children should obey me and do what I said. I always tried to control and restrain them according to my own thoughts, yet had never opened my heart to them or taken into consideration their feelings. Consequently, they kept their distance from me, got sick of me, and even acted against me. Nevertheless, I had never looked for the reason within myself but always thought the children were too naughty and did not understand things.

Thanks to God’s enlightenment and illumination, I also found the way to get on with the two children: I should not see myself as their elder to control them, but instead should let go of the position of their elder, stand on an equal footing with them, treat them as my friends, and open my heart and talk from the heart with them. They are just kids, it is normal for them to not understand things, to be willful and naughty, and to make mistakes. When they make mistakes, what I should do is to communicate with them calmly and help them with love, so that they can feel that I am considerate toward them and that I am doing so for their own good. Only this way will our relationship be harmonious.

Afterward, I began to try to talk from the heart with them. I would show my concern for them and ask whether they were bullied by their classmates in their school, whether they needed me to assist them with their homework. I would also ask what they liked to eat and what they liked to play. After I knew something of their likes, I began to cook the food they liked. Sometimes, I would play hide and seek with them as I did the housework. They had great fun and I was also very happy. Besides, during dinner, I would talk with them and listen to their opinions about the dishes and would not compel them to eat the food they disliked.

Growing children need to have a balanced diet. However, the little girl disliked meat and only ate vegetables. She said, “Eating meat will easily make me put on weight. If my figure becomes bad, I won’t be beautiful.” I said to her with patience, “You are still a child. You need to have a balanced diet and then you’ll grow taller. If you are short after you grow up, you won’t be beautiful, right? Believe me, as long as you eat a balanced diet, you won’t get fat.” Like this, I was coaxing and reasoning with her, and she was finally willing to eat meat. The little boy was the opposite of his sister; he did not like eating vegetables and only ate meat. Then I said to him, “In fact, vegetables are rich in vitamins. If one’s body is low in these vitamins, he will be malnourished and thus will not grow up big and strong. So, it’s not good to merely eat meat.” After understanding this general knowledge of life, he was willing to eat vegetables. In addition, when they said that they were really full, I would no longer force them to eat more. During dinner, I also made them have a contest to see who was the first to finish his or her meal, and the winner would be given a little award. In this way, they gradually get rid of the bad habit of behaving badly at table. Previously, it would take an hour and a half for them to finish their dinner, but now it only took half an hour.

What delighted me more was that they were much more sensible than they used to be. When I made dumplings, they would stand at my side watching and learning, and they soon learnt how to knead and roll out the dough. After that, each time I made dumplings, they would give me a hand voluntarily. And the boy would even pour a drink for me and ask me with concern, “Auntie, would you prefer cold or warm water?” In addition, the two kids would actively help me wash the dishes, sweep the floor, wipe the table, and pick up their toys, so I could leave off work on time. Later on, when seeing that the two kids were no longer naughty or picky about food, and that there were some changes in their living habits, their parents were very glad and increased my pay.

Once, I took two days off because I got a cold and was coughing. The girl asked her mother to call my telephone, and she said to me, “Auntie, is your cold getting any better? My mom says it’s because we are too naughty that you don’t come to cook for us. You will come, right? My elder brother and I both miss you. When will you come here? We’ll be good kids, so would you come as soon as you can?” These words moved me very much. I felt the two children were actually very naive and simple, and that later I should take better care of them and be more considerate toward them.

From then on, the two children no longer kept their distance from me, no longer laughed at me, nor would they roll their eyes upward at me. Now, every time when they return home from school, they will give me a cuddle after putting down their schoolbags, saying, “Auntie, we missed you.” When it’s time for me to get off work, they will see me to the door and say goodbye to me. And several times, they were unwilling to let me leave and pestered me to take them to my place. Their mother said to me, “My children have a deep affection for you. And they have really changed a lot.” I know that it was not I who changed them. It was the guidance of God’s words that enabled me to let go of my wrong views. When I treated them according to God’s requirements rather than based on my corrupt disposition, the children changed. All of this was done by God. All the glory be to God!

[seniorbrief]

The Truth About Queen Elizabeth II and Princess Diana’s Relationship

MARTIN CLEAVER/AP/ShutterstockThis article was originally written in 2001 by Ingrid Seward and appeared in the August 2001 issue of Reader’s Digest.*

THE TRAGIC NEWS that Diana, Princess of Wales, had died in a Paris car crash came to us in August, four years ago. As Americans watched her funeral pageant at Westminster Abbey, it was easy to think of her only as a princess, someone completely unlike the rest of us.

But within the royal family Diana was an all-too human relative. She doted on her sons, William and Harry. She loved and fought with Prince Charles, her estranged husband. And she had a complicated relationship with the Queen, her mother-in-law, alternately viewing her as a substitute mom and a meddling old woman who was out to get her. In The Queen and Di, British author Ingrid Seward, who has covered the royal family for 18 years, draws on knowledge from her own sources to show how Diana and the Queen were close to being each other ‘s salvation. When the Princess held a sick orphan or wore a stunning gown, she warmed the otherwise cold and at times even weird public image of the royal family. The Queen, meanwhile, offered Diana a chance to find the home life she had been missing—Diana’s own mother had left home, and a broken marriage, when Diana was only six. But the Princess’s psychological problems, and the Queen’s rigid sense of protocol and propriety, ultimately undermined their relationship.

In her new book, Seward recounts the morning of August 31, when the Queen and Prince Charles heard about Diana’s accident. The Princess and her lover, Dodi Fayed, were trying to escape a crowd of paparazzi when their driver lost control in an underpass. Almost immediately, the news flashed to Balmoral, the Queen’s country home in Scotland.

THE QUEEN was awakened in the early hours of the morning. Pulling on her old-fashioned dressing gown, she went into the corridor where she met Prince Charles. The news from Paris was that Dodi Fayed was dead, but Diana had survived. Soon the whole castle stirred from its slumber. Charles took incoming calls. The Queen ordered tea, which was brought from the kitchen and then ignored.

James Gray/Daily Mail/ShutterstockPrincess Diana Watches Charles Playing Polo.

Their first concern was to discover how badly injured Diana was. Initially they were told that she had walked away from the accident virtually unscathed. Then another call came through. “Sir, I am very sorry to have to tell you that I’ve just had the Ambassador on the phone. The Princess died a short time ago.”

Charles’s composure collapsed, and the tears the public never saw began to flow. The Queen was equally stunned. While others in the royal family had long since given up on Diana, Elizabeth had retained some affection for her daughter-in-law, and still sympathized with her. She recognized Diana’s potential—and saw her death as a terrible waste. Find out the secrets no one knew about Princess Diana until after her death.

In the outpouring of grief from Diana’s supporters, the royal family found itself caught in a startling rip of public rancor. Crowds surged through the streets of London mourning the Princess, and the Palace was blamed for treating her heartlessly. Perhaps for the first time in her life, Queen Elizabeth had to ask: What do they want me to do?

I once asked Diana whether her marriage had been arranged, and she told me with some irritation: “It was Charles and I who decided on the marriage. Not the Queen. Us. No one else.”

That was true—no one ordered Charles to propose or Diana to accept. Without the Queen’s approval, though, no proposal would have been made.

As their romance acquired mo­mentum, almost everyone urged Charles to press forward. The Queen herself never directly addressed the question of his marriage, but by nod and nuance, she made it clear she ap­proved of Diana. The Prince, how­ever, was confused. ”I’m terrified sometimes of making a promise and then perhaps living to regret it,” he said.

The question; when it came, was a question in itself. “If I were to ask, what do you think you might say?” Charles inquired. Giggling, Diana replied, “Yeah, OK.” Charles then ran out of the room to telephone his mother with the news.

The engagement was announced on February 24, 1981, and Diana soon moved into rooms at Buckingham Palace. Since Diana had been born into privilege, the Queen believed her future daughter-in-law knew what was expected of her. As she wrote to a friend in March 1981, “I trust that Diana will find living here less of a burden than is expected.”

REX/ShutterstockPrincess Diana and Prince Charles walking down the steps of St. Pauls cathedral.

IN FACT Diana had no notion of what to expect—and from the beginning, she found royal life an extraordinary burden. She swam most mornings in the Palace pool, immersed herself in wedding plans, and took dance and exercise classes. The rest of the time she simply sat around, bored and increasingly irritable.

Pent-up and lonely, Diana began making herself ill, the first signs of bulimia. Several times a day she visited the kitchen, filling a bowl with Kellogg’s Frosted Flakes and fruit, adding sugar and drenching it all in cream. Afterward, she would go to the bathroom and make herself sick.

Her moods became ever more unpredictable, and Charles drew much of her fire. Why, she asked, was he not spending more time with her? It was explained that the Prince had a schedule of engagements arranged months before. That did little to pacify her.

The Queen chose to overlook Diana’s behavior in these early months, concluding that she needed time to settle in. Nearly everyone, from the Queen to the staff who looked after Diana, attributed her behavior to a bad case of “nerves.”

Left to struggle through, Diana did so, barely. After one particularly difficult stretch in June 1981, when the Prince was traveling, she bolted. Following a party to celebrate Prince Andrew’s 21st birthday, she got into her car at 5:30 a.m. and drove from London to her family home, over an hour away. She told her father, John Spencer, that she was calling off the engagement. He listened as Diana poured out her heart, then advised her that it was probably just the pressure. Once she was married, said her father, things would get easier.

By Sunday night Diana was back in Buckingham Palace, acting as if nothing had happened. Here are some more things you never knew about Princess Diana.

MOST BRIDES REVEL in the first weeks of marriage. Instead, during her honeymoon cruise in the Mediterranean, Diana became violently ill with bulimia. After 15 exhausting days, which were punctuated by tremendous fights, the newlyweds arrived back at Balmoral. The Prince summoned a doctor, the first of many who would try to help. “All the analysts and psychiatrists you could ever dream of came plodding in to sort me out,” Diana recalled.

In medical terms, some feel that Diana suffered from Borderline Personality Disorder. Symptoms include fear of abandonment, a tendency toward histrionic behavior, a need for adoration, and mood swings. Bulimia can be another manifestation.

The Queen was understanding of Diana’s difficulties, especially after it was made clear just how unwell her daughter-in-law was. For all her reserve, Elizabeth seemed to have a natural empathy with Diana. And for a time Diana saw the Queen’s support as a source of enormous com­fort. “I have the best mother-in-law in the world,” she once told me.

But the Queen’s indulgence could not bridge the gulf between Diana and Charles. Diana was an exuberant city girl barely into her 20s, with zero experience in romance. Charles was a contemplative self-described “countryman,” with several significant love affairs behind him.

The Queen hoped that the birth of Prince William, in 1982, and Harry, two years later, would ease the tensions and give Charles and Diana reasons to grow together. Instead, the pressures on the couple increased. Diana’s emotional difficulties grew worse, and in short order, the marriage began to curdle.

As it did, Diana began calling at Buckingham Palace seeking guidance from her mother-in-law. At first, the Queen took a tolerant view of these unscheduled visits. “Diana was usually in a lot better mood when she left than she was when she arrived,” one of the Queen’s staff recalled.

In time, though, Elizabeth came to dread the meetings. After one session a footman said, “The Princess cried three times in a half an hour while she was waiting to see you.” The Queen replied, “I had her for an hour—and she cried nonstop.”

Diana went in search of comfort wherever she could find it, and by 1986 had formed a close relationship with Capt. James Hewitt of the Queen’s Household Cavalry. Charles also resumed a relationship with Camilla Parker Bowles, a married woman who many believed was the love of his life. Find out the true story of what happened between Prince Charles and Princess Diana.

John Gomez/ShutterstockThe funeral of Diana, Princess of Wales as the coffin placed on a gun carriage, pass through Horse Guards Parade.

Queen Elizabeth was advised of these unhappy developments. She had once likened Diana to a “nervy racehorse” who needed careful handling, not harsh discipline. Despite the evidence, she convinced herself that if Diana were given the independence she claimed she needed, her self-assurance would grow and she would settle down.

Instead, what came next was the June 1992 publication of Andrew Morton’s book Diana, Her True Story. The scandalizing bestseller cast Charles in the worst light and painted a picture of a royal family so cold and self-absorbed that it was incapable of responding to the plight of a young woman who should have been at its very heart.

Although she was not quoted directly, it was clear Diana collaborated on the book. The Queen was stunned. She was well aware how unhappy her daughter-in-law was, but never imagined Diana would air dirty linen in such a way. In most families, this behavior would have meant the immediate end of the marriage. lnstead, the Queen ordered a six-month cooling-off period. Charles agreed. So did Diana. For all her grievances, the Princess realized what life would be like if she were cast out of the royal family altogether.

THROUGH ALL of this, Diana presented a captivating image of beauty and compassion. The gossip magazines might print acres of stories about arguments and illicit affairs, but Diana carried on with her appointments, and the public never stopped adoring her. She also had a genuine sympathy for the ill and troubled. In a royal family desperately in need of a humane face, she was the only one who could kneel to comfort a sick child and look as if she meant it.

As much as anyone, Elizabeth saw the good that Diana could do for the monarchy. Yet as the Princess increasingly went her own way—for instance, when she gave a TV interview and questioned whether Charles had the moral character to be king—she became more and more of a liability. Charles and Diana had separated late in 1992; they were divorced in August 1996. And barely a year later, she was dead.

IN THE END, Diana was the one person the Queen never learned to handle. She reacted badly to criticism—any rebuke by the Queen was taken as an instance of the family ganging up on her. Neither patience nor the silent, steely-eyed displeasure Elizabeth had learned to deploy with such withering effect made any impression on Diana. Yet by doing nothing, and by allowing Diana to disregard the constraints of convention that keep the monarchy in place, the Queen unwittingly allowed the Princess to run out of control.

From the perspective of today, marrying into the House of Windsor is certainly no fairy tale; Charles, Princess Anne, and Prince Andrew have all gone through divorce. Looking back on the litter of her children’s broken marriages, the Queen would come to wonder if she had failed in her duty as a mother. Or, as she once asked of a lady-in-waiting, “Where did we go wrong?”

Next, learn the fascinating facts—and a few scandals!—about Queen Elizabeth.

*Adapted from “The Queen and Di: The Untold Story.” Copyright 2000 by Ingrid Seward. Published at $25.95 by Arcade Publishing, Inc., 141 Fifth Ave., New York, NY 10010

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