#totally didn’t take these shots and edit the panels a month ago….

[inlovewithregencyera]

Transcript under cut : )

Thornfield House

July 8th, 1818

Isabella: Lord have mercy…

Maximilian: *quietly* Happy birthday Mama..

sniffling* You'd be 50 today had you not....

*deeply exhales*

Left us…

I'm not mad at you for leaving...not anymore at least-

In fact, I'm somewhat happy that you're no longer in any pain and Eleanor isn't …. alone.

*eyes well up* She never liked being alone.

*wipes eyes* Pull yourself together Maximilian!

Papa is laughing at me right now, I’m sure.

I doubt I'll make any of you proud in this life....

*softly sobbing*

I’ll never marry. How could I?

I'd make my poor wife miserable with the way I am. Then if I loved her, and God took her before me, I know I'd be worse than Papa...

*sniffling* I hope you'll both underst-

*rose falls*

Maximilian: ….

Eleanor..?

Thornfield House

May 16th, 1811

*loud hysterical sobs*

Maximilian: *taking hat off* Mama...?

Sophia: Maxie.? *wiping eyes aggressively* When did you-

Maximilian: Just now.

Sophia: Your father didn't want you to come.. he wanted you to focus on Univ-

Maximilian: And not see my sister? No, that was never an option. How is she..?

Sophia: They've given her up Maxie, they've given her up. I cried all last night, we just broke the news to poor Bell this mor-

*Isabella starts wailing louder*

Sophia: Morning..

Maximilian: Bell?

Sophia: No use, the poor child can't be consoled. Ellie had a convulsion a little while ago so your Papa went to go get Dr. North. We-...we don't know what to do.

Maximilian: Who’s in there with her right now?

Sophia: No one, because I just took Bell out before Ellie saw her like this..

Maximilian: M-may I be excused to sit with her.?

Sophia: Maxie...you've not seen your dear sister since February. She looks nothing like how she did then. *sighs* She is the image of emaciation.

Maximilian: *voice cracking* Is it truly that bad..?

Sophia: I'm afraid so. She is much paler and it's even hard for me to recognize my own child. Spare yourself my dear, and just come back for the funer-

Maximilian: I'm going to see her and I'll not leave her side. She will be happy to see me. You even wrote to me that she had been asking for m-

Sophia: *stroking Isabella's hair* Maxie, please listen to me. The disease has robbed her of almost everything, dear. She is too weak to walk anymore and can barely speak. You don't want your final image of her to be-

Maximilian: I'll not abandon her. Forgive me, but I must see her. Excuse me.

Isabella: *wails* He never listens!

Sophia: I know dear, I know. I’m not sure what we are to do.

Isabella: I’m surprised how you pulled yourself together when he came in...

Sophia: Yes, well, he can't see us both upset. Your uncle isn't here right now, so someone must be strong. You'll learn in time my dear how to quickly conceal emotions...

Isabella: What if I don’t?

Sophia: When you become a woman dear Bell, you'll have no choice.

[natsubeatsrock]

You Can Like Nalu. I Don’t.

I should just end this post here. I mean, this is obvious enough when an idiot like me says it like this. We're all allowed to like different things. 

But, I've had the idea for this post in the back of my head for a while now after seeing a post addressed to the anti-Nalu crowd, which I guess I’m a part of. I actively avoided responding to that post for the longest time. I did it for so long it ended up not showing up. 

But considering the recent re-ignition of the fight between the fandom that has people who thought borderline sexual harassment advanced their ship and the guy who thinks anyone who likes Nalu at all is automatically sub-human vermin, I feel like now is as good a time as ever to post this.

Nalu is the most popular ship in the Fairy Tail fandom, by far. Nothing even comes close. You can't go anywhere where Fairy Tail fans congregate and not see someone say something about Nalu and how it's a good ship and obviously going to be canon, how dare you not think otherwise. I remember seeing a prominent YouTuber imply the only reason some people stuck with Fairy Tail, even as the manga was ending and writing quality was dropping, was to see Natsu and Lucy get together. I'm worried by the fact that he has no idea how dead-on he was then and even is now with the sequel. 

The idea that anyone or anything is going to change that would normally be seen as a pipe dream. Giant shipping fandoms have been shot down by canon and still haunt waters as ghost ships. Their fans are often the ones leading the charges against the writers and/or directors of shows, proud to dance over the corpse of a failed show and equally ready to lament the success of a show despite what they see as the flawed writing behind popular series they're talking about. Much of the time, listening to these types of fans reveals that they have a lack of understanding of what the series was or did that is disturbingly low for someone who willingly calls oneself a... stan. (Another rant for another day.) 

With Nalu, it's near infinitely worse.

This is a ship whose fans took a panel of Natsu climbing out of a hole behind Lucy as a ship moment. 

This is a ship whose fans I've seen argue that it's somehow a good thing that Natsu groping Lucy without her permission has become such a tired act because she's seemingly used to it. 

This is a ship whose fans went from arguing that Natsu and Lucy explicitly confirming a romantic relationship is uncharacteristic of them after the last chapter of the original series to arguing they're in a kinky sexual relationship after two Twitter sketches in a matter of months.  

A few years ago, I joked that Natsu could stab Lucy and fans would consider it romantic. If the END situation was proof enough of that, Natsu ended up burning Lucy in a chapter in the sequel earlier last year and people were sad it didn’t advance Nalu further. Excuse me for not liking this fandom.

I'm convinced there's nothing that Mashima could do to make Nalu lose favor with the majority of the fanbase. If that's the case with the writer of the actual series, there's nothing I or anyone else is going to be able to do to convince the vast majority of fans that their ship is bad. I'd even go so far as to say that nothing I've done or said has convinced a Nalu fan that their ship is bad and they should like another ship.  

But here's the thing: I don't think it's wrong to be a Nalu shipper. 

I don't think that you are an inherently worse person for simply liking the idea of Natsu and Lucy becoming a romantic couple. You're not going to hell for writing Nalu fanfiction or drawing Nalu art. I don't even think it's inherently bad that "Nalu shipper" is a term that can be used to describe the vast swath of people who follow Fairy Tail to any degree. While I think the stuff I've talked about in the past, even in this post, shows the worst of the Nalu fandom and that part is greater than many would like to admit, that doesn't mean I think all people in the Nalu fandom are bad.  

At the same time, I am clearly not a Nalu shipper. I have never been a Nalu shipper. I will likely never be a Nalu shipper, especially if Mashima stays his current course with the ship. To be blunt, it's one of the few things I can say I hate in anime and I've talked at length multiple times about my reasons why. I highly doubt that anyone, short of Mashima himself, can do anything to make me like the ship to any meaningful degree. Especially considering much of what I've done in the past is directly attack the arguments for liking Nalu.  

The reason I've talked about Nalu in the past is that I want my position to be seen as intellectually valid. I hate that people will question why some feel the need to defend themselves over ships and then question how you don't like theirs. I came into the fandom seeing people literally say that they don’t understand how people go through Fairy Tail and not ship Nalu.

I want to show that I, and others like me, are not insane for not liking the fandom's big ship, among the myriad other things I talk about at length. I thought I was opening myself up to widespread criticism when I made my first post about why I don't like Nalu and have been beyond shocked to see the exact opposite happen over more than four years of blogging. 

But after four years of blogging, I've grown numb to the discourse. This isn't because I magically like the ship now. (Apparently, I can't reblog 5 pictures of Natsu and Lucy together before I'm accused of liking Nalu.) Frankly, I don't really have anything else to add to the conversation. I've made any and all the points against Nalu I may ever need to make. I barely have it in me to comment about the stuff I see currently happening in the sequel and that's not really pushing me towards liking Nalu more or less. It just feels like we're back to business as usual. 

To prove my point, I've directly about how the "friends to lovers" trope isn't the issue I have with Nalu. (The main thrust of the post I was going to reply to.) I've talked about I've already talked about some of the crazy things some Nalu fans have done. I tackled both and more complaints I had with Nalu were in a post I made well over three years ago.

Over.

Three. 

Years. 

Ago. 

The next post in that series would be me mentioning the possibility of Donald Trump as president, about a month before his election. I remember because I made the edit the day after he was elected in case people thought I was making up. Funny enough, that one was also about letting people who don't like things to exist (provided they're not a total jerk). If that sounds familiar, that’s because I’ve ended up making a post dealing with that topic almost every year since starting this blog. 

INCLUDING THIS POST!

Look, if you like Nalu and leave people alone about it, that's cool. If you happen to like most of the other stuff I do, and even think I make a few good points about Nalu every now and then, more power to you. That's better than I can say regarding my own views on the ship. If you happened to stumble on this post and disagree with me over Nalu, you have plenty of people who agree with you and are making content for the ship you love.

At the same time, I don't think I'm ever going to be convinced to ship Nalu. I have no such desire anymore. I just want to make my posts, write my stories and not be told I'm somehow reading or interpreting the series wrong for not liking them. I’m not taking anything away from the Nalu fandom by existing.

And to the people who also don’t ship Nalu but harass people who do, knock it off. I don't care how annoying [insert action(s) by [insert Nalu fan(s) here] here] is. Chances are that I agree with you that [copy/paste answers from above here] is/are annoying. I’m willing to bet I’ve complained about something similar in the past. Even still, you're near automatically more annoying than whoever or whatever you have an issue with by channeling that into harrassing others. 

If you disagree with me, you can meet me in the pits. At the very least, because you're making it harder for me to do what I do by association.

In Conclusion:

A personal message to the extremists in both the Nalu fandom and the Nalu hatedom.

[fordarkisthesuede]

At the Brink of Midnight - Chapter 9

*Arrives two days late with Starbucks* ‘Sup, guys! σ( ▼∀▼)σ These past 96 hours have somehow filled me with a weird chaotic energy, and I pumped out the longest roller-coaster of a chapter I’ve ever done in such a short amount of time!!! Thank you, whoever sent all the writing vibes my way!!!! ★>d(,,･ε´-,,)⌒☆ I’m sending out strong vibes to everybody in return! *May you get hit by the writing bug and have the opportunity and energy to completely translate your ideas to printed words!*

Buuut a big note before we get to the good stuff:  I realized too late that the original events of S2 take place in Spring. Like…April. I was writing all of this with the thought that S2 took place in fall; I mean, the characters can wear a leather jacket or a couple of layers comfortably, so I thought “yeah that sounds like early autumn”. Nope! So that means that for this story’s timeline, everything gets shifted into where it should be. On the downside, that means I had to go through and edit all the bits where it said “it was totally spring, you guys”. On the upside… IT’S NOW OCTOBER!!!!! THE SPOOKY SEASON THAT COMPLETELY FITS WITH WHAT’S GOING ON!!! And coincidentally, it’s my favorite time of the year, so I love writing about it even more! I get to add in a thing here and there about the spookiest time of the year, so I’ll have a nice list of what those little changes are uploaded here soon if you don’t feel like re-reading the whole thing. A re-read isn't necessary though, just keep in mind that the humid air of rainy spring in the city is replaced with chilling fronts and even more cloud cover than usual. Why am I bothering with this? Because I’m a stickler for keeping with canon as much as possible and I feel like an absolute fool for not remembering what goddamn time of year it was to begin with. (I mean, I went so far as to download all of TeamFourStar’s play-through because I watched it so often, you think I'd remember to go back and watch the very beginning once in a while…)

Anywho, thank you all again for your continuously loving support!!! 

♡~(ɔ ˘3˘)˘⌣˘ c)

Important Spoiler Tags: drugs (mentioned), swearing, canon-typical violence, electric shocks (mentioned), torture of flowers, flirting, almost an excessive use of emoji, crying, romantic dirty thoughts

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Read on Ao3 or continue below:

Chapter 9:  Grapevines

Bruce Wayne couldn’t remember the last time he’d conducted a meeting from his home office. It wasn’t as if he didn’t use it – the desk surface had hardly any dust settled on it and two empty coffee mugs he’d forgotten about on two different occasions just happened to be stacked behind the monitor – but it felt strange, like a lot of things did lately.

He knew part of the reason for that was watching houses down in the Batcave right now. Knowing he wasn’t alone in the house was comforting, but knowing there were two cops outside the Manor’s front door just waiting for a chance to grab his best friend-cum-houseguest was not, and knowing that they were both close to being thrown in hot water was even less so.

He figured the other reason he felt strange was because he was slipping back into his old habit as if it had never been shelved in the first place. He had time to kill before the video meeting started, so he’d been scouring for information on “Pam”, Jonathan Crane’s ‘old friend’.

There were a few Pamela’s in Gotham, but only one fit within Crane’s age-range and attended Gotham University at about the same time:  Pamela Isley, a forty-four-year-old former botanist with a record that ran the length of his arm. Theft, assault, threats, and attempted poisonings all done in the name of extreme environmentalism and social activism were sprinkled in her history before and after her days as a researcher, and according to GCPD records, she was now suspected of running her own drug-ring under the moniker of ‘Poison Ivy’. (Bruce found several recorded instances of people claiming to be Poison Ivy, most of whom were already arrested.)

Bruce would’ve wondered why on Earth she hadn’t been thrown in prison when she made a bomb-threat at a wealthy businessman several states away nearly a decade ago if he hadn’t seen her mug-shot from back then. At thirty-five, she looked every bit as beautiful as a top-billed Hollywood star, with natural orange-red curls cascading over her pale shoulders and ample bust in chemically-tamed waves, flashing the camera a come-hither stare that made it look like she was trying for a part in a high-budget porn flick rather than standing in front of a height chart for her criminal record. Pamela’s charges were mysteriously swept under the rug.

The latest photo he found of her reminded him a bit of those ‘cougar’ dating ads he’d seen – the older Pamela was blowing a kiss to the camera with a mocking look in her dark green eyes. Bruce glared at it. There was little doubt she was using people to cover for her constantly, and when she was in trouble, she managed to wriggle out of it with her looks.

Not this time. She was friends with Dr. Jonathan Crane, and that meant she wasn’t going to get out of this unharmed. The second his virtual meeting was over, Bruce was heading towards Toxic Acres, and hopefully the wounded Crane would still be there to see Batman’s fist hit his –

Bruce snapped out of his thoughts at the buzz of his phone. A message from the BatComputer…?

I’m bored :/

Bruce blinked down at the screen. John had found the emergency messaging system. Of course he had. He was just grateful that the encryption software on his phone was still up to date. Just what else did John poke his nose into down there…? (There was the chance that John would see files he shouldn’t, but Bruce kept those under a thumbprint encryption. He shouldn’t even entertain the thought.)

Stake-outs are usually pretty boring.

It wouldn’t be so bad if you were down here tho! :)

Bruce hovered his thumb over the keyboard, unsure of what to say. The feeling was kind of mutual, if he was being honest; having another person around on a stakeout would at least keep his mind wandering into the worsts of what-ifs and double-checking every last security issue…

No movement on either houses btw. Been reading Crane’s docs in the meantime but it’s DREADFUL!!! I feel like I’m reading a sleeping pill… =_=

You finish your WE stuff yet?

Meeting’s not for another 20 minutes. Been looking up stuff on Crane’s “friend”.

Oh??? :o Do tell!!!!

Bruce couldn’t help but smile at the enthusiasm.

Pamela Isley, former botanist w/ criminal rec., mostly extreme protest kind of stuff. Good chance she’s the head of a drug-ring that moved here a couple months ago; their leader goes by “Poison Ivy”.

They went to college together, but Pamela moved back here recently.

hMmMmm…. That means no burning the place down if we’re stuck! Bad fumes everywhere xP

Bruce focused on the word “we’re”. He hadn’t been planning on bringing John along. He wanted him safe, at home, where no one had a chance of seeing him and he wasn’t put in harm’s way…

Oh!!! You’ve got a bunch of sticky electro-shockers around - do you mind if I tinker with them? :3c pleeeeaaasssee?

What are you thinking of doing with them?

Making one BIIIIIG shock-bomb, of course! ;D I can wire them together so the shock spreads evenly in the space while it’s discharging.

Bruce reconsidered bringing John. He was still learning to curb his impulses, so being outside in a fighting environment would be a serious gamble, but... Maybe that could be their advantage, too. Bruce made a mental note to go dig out the spare bullet-proof vest from his closet’s secret panel.

You can do that?

I played around with making something like it before, but……well, you know.

Time + supplies for that project were low att. I figured I could always go back to it later anyway.

Bruce felt like his heart had deflated and swelled in such a short time that it hurt.

I mean I’m fine with throwing knives around too but I figured that would be less discrete ¯\_(ツ )_/¯

He’d been thinking of different methods of entering the “house”. Most of them featured a silent slip-in and as little combat as possible, but he knew that there would likely be some muscle around to stop any would-be intruders, and getting a quieter jump on them would certainly be helpful. He would certainly be lying if he said he wasn’t impressed that John had thought that far ahead even back then.

If you think you can get it done within 1.5 hours, then yes.

Ha ha ha with these supplies I can get it done in like 40 mins! >:3 just you watch!!!

Btw have you seen the news?

Not yet. Why?

I was on the morning edition! At least they used a good pic ;D

But also saw a guy getting fished out of the harbor. Your handy-dandy invasion software said he’s a registered Ryde driver.

I told you not to fiddle with that.

Sorry, but I only used it the once! Promise!!!

Bruce sighed through his nostrils.

Besides I thought you’d want to know. Think Crane stole his ride and dumped him by the docks? :v

Probably. I can get the plate from up here to verify. DO NOT TOUCH THAT PROGRAM AGAIN.

Yes sir ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

Bruce wasn’t sure if that message was supposed to be flirtatious or mocking.

The incoming call from Iman Avesta stopped him from responding. He figured it had to do with John’s escape and the extra security added at Wayne Tower this morning, but why was she calling him now, rather than several hours ago?

“Iman?”

“Hey, Bruce. Hold on a sec – there we go, now we can both -”

“Bruce, what the fuck?” Tiffany asked over the line. “Are you at home right now?”

Bruce almost sighed at the attitude. “Yes, Tiffany, I’m at home, in my office.”

“Uh-huh. I keep getting alerts that your basement’s messaging system is being used. Care to explain that?”

Oh. Of course. He’d forgotten Tiffany had linked her phone to that, too. It’d just…been too long, he supposed. (She couldn’t read them, though, could she? He was fairly sure it didn’t give out mass-texts unless prompted.) “…where are you right now?”

Iman responded instead. “We’re in your second office.”

“…the line’s secure?”

“Of course.” Iman paused, and Bruce knew his new CSO was choosing her words carefully. “I’m guessing you have John Doe in the Batcave?”

“Yes.”

“Bruce, did you fucking break him out?” Tiffany asked with no shortness of impatience.

“I rescued him,” Bruce said firmly. “I know what you’re thinking, and I have a pretty good idea of what you’re going to say, but listen:  I had no choice but to take him with me. One of the doctors working at Arkham has gone rogue – he’d been doing experiments on patients, and I have a feeling he’s going to continue them on civilians. I need to find him before then, and John has been helping me.”

“Helping…? You’re not bringing him in the field with you?” Tiffany said disbelievingly. “After that psychopath almost killed us?”

Bruce could still see Joker running at Tiffany, knife in hand, his psychotic breakdown in full force. He could still see him being smacked against the railing, sheer madness played over his long, bloody face as he desperately fought to stab what was his hero.

But John and Joker were as much the same as Bruce and Batman were, and they were constantly changing.

The Joker in the Batcave wasn’t the same one from Ace Chemicals.  

“I know what John did,” he answered, trying to breathe even as something wanted to hitch in his throat, “and I know how far he’s come since then. I know you both regret-”

“No, I’m not listening to this right now,” Tiffany scowled, her voice fading in the middle her sentence like she was leaving the room. “Talk some sense into him.”

Bruce heard Iman’s voice call after her, and then nothing for a beat.

Iman sighed. “I’ll talk to her. But Bruce,” she started seriously, “Tiffany isn’t the only one worrying about you. Six months can’t possibly cure everything wrong with a man whose spent his life in an asylum.” He could practically hear her chew over her phrasing. “I need to know… If John goes too far – if he shows signs of regressing…or just becoming more volatile – I need to know you’re going to put your foot down.”

“I’m more than capable of handling him, Iman.”

“Please, Bruce, I’d rather not have to pull you off another broken pipe lodged in your kidney.” She paused, and Bruce let her continue, feeling the scar in his side twinge at the painful memory. “I know you care a lot about him,” she resumed in a softer tone, “and I know you trust him. But if you doubt him at any time, you need you to step back and re-evaluate your choices. I don’t want him to regress back into the Joker.”

That was a different Joker, Bruce wanted to say. He knew that wouldn’t sound the way it should. “I promise I won’t let that happen.”

“Good to know,” Iman replied, sounding somewhat relieved. “This doctor you’re hunting – is there anything we can do to help?”

Bruce shot a look at the clock in the corner of his monitor. He didn’t have as much time left as he would’ve liked before his virtual meeting started. “Tiffany can fill you in a bit, I had her help searching Arkham’s records before. Can you run a plate for me? I think Dr. Crane is running with a stolen car; I’ll send you the details in a bit.”

“Sure. We can check traffic cams for it, too, if you’d like.”

“If you would. And the second I have anything concrete on Dr. Crane, I’m sending Tiffany the details – I need her pull as Oracle to get the word out to the GCPD before anything happens. They’ll listen to their number-one informant more than a vigilante coming out of retirement.”

“…you’re…?”

He could almost see the shock in her face. They’d had a short discussion about his alter-ego when he decided to quit the first time; she’d been incredibly understanding about the whole thing. It was almost as if she’d seen it coming.

“Are you sure?”

He was as sure. She didn’t know about the instincts broiling underneath his surface every day. She didn’t know he never really stopped being half of himself. She wouldn’t know or really understand that he just shoved it all down and aside like he did so much else just to get through things. “I don’t have any other options at this point.”

“…you know you can count on us if you need the help.”

“Of course I do.”

“Right. Well, in the meantime we’ll keep the fort over here running as smoothly as possible.”

“Thank you. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Good luck.”

The line went silent, and Bruce pulled his phone away, catching a glimpse of three unread messages.

Sorry, buddy, I was just kidding around, you know? Ha ha

Bruce???

Hello???????

Sorry, had a phone call and couldn’t reply. It’s fine.

Seconds ticked by, and Bruce began changing out of his black t-shirt and into his button-down. It wouldn’t do to appear as a CEO in anything less than a proper suit. He could leave the jeans on, at least.

“Oh! Uh…sorry, Bruce…”

He felt his heart stop for a second. That was definitely John’s voice, even though it crackled slightly from the speakers. The monitor didn’t show anything out of the ordinary. John must have been using the spy-camera feature on the Batcomputer; it was linked to most the devices in the house, and Bruce’s webcam was no exception. He’d almost forgotten it had a loudspeaker function, too.

“I didn’t realize you were…um, changing.”

Bruce glared at the webcam’s lens. “John, what did I tell you about fiddling with the Batcomputer?”

“…sorry. I was worried when you didn’t answer me.”

He sounded genuine, at least. Bruce could easily picture him running upstairs to find him, if there wasn’t a chance he would’ve been seen. “I answered you a minute ago. I was on a call with Iman,” he stated plainly, fixing the buttons on his sleeves.

“…oh, ha ha, there it is! Uh, I guess I’ll just…go, then…”

Bruce almost questioned why John was sounding nervous and distracted, but it wasn’t until he saw the webcam light wink off again that he realized his shirt was wide open, the scars littering his torso half on display from the waist up.

Thankfully, no one was around to see Bruce bury his face in the palm of his hand for a moment, feeling like his face was on fire from first and second-hand embarrassment.

It didn’t last long. Bruce took a few deep breaths as he fixed himself up, and dialed into the meeting with a fixed expression of calm, firmly ignoring the heat that had settled in his stomach that threatened to go lower at the thought that John was bound not to forget any of that.

Driving the Batmobile in full gear again was certainly something else. Bruce felt the weight of the Kevlar body armor press against his limbs as he sped down Gotham’s twisting alley streets, no one any the wiser that the Wayne’s red sports car was hiding Batman behind it. The city’s CCTV signal was scrambled with the flick of a switch as he came into driving distance of the alley’s camera, making him almost untraceable.

He’d given the Honda Accord a head-start; it couldn’t go nearly as fast as the Batmobile, and Bruce had to find a spot to safely change before going to go pick John up from his drop-off point, and the post-working-hours traffic had already gotten its usual early start. It was a slower drive than he’d like it to be, even with Bruce’s shortcuts.

The setting sun was completely obscured by a dark overcast. It made the orange streetlamps glowing over the decorations sitting here and there in windows and doors even more energetic, like every corner of Gotham was slowly growing with the energy of Halloween.

Bruce clicked the communicator in his cowl. “John, are you there yet?”

Silence for a few seconds, and then a rustling noise. “Sorry, I had to take this off for a bit. What?”

“Are you there yet?”

John giggled slightly. “Oh, yeah, I’m here. Just waiting on you, pal.”

He was already at the meeting point? How did he get there so fast? “You put everything back where it was supposed to be?”

“No, I stripped the seats and threw everything into the garbage,” John grumbled with dripping sarcasm. “Of course I did, it’d be rude not to put Jerry’s stuff back. What do you take me for?”

“…I’m just making sure you didn’t forget anything.”

“I didn’t.” There was a loud slurping noise, like the last of a liquid being sucked from a straw.

“John, where are you right now?”

“In the alley, waiting for you.”

“Did you make a stop?”

John giggled, a little louder, but not at all nervous. He was enjoying himself. “What can I say? Going out on the town with you like this makes me thirsty,” he said with a strange purr. “Besides, no one bats an eye at me when I look like this anyway.” He paused. “Well, no, I’ve gotten some eyes on me, but, uh, I think they’re more the appreciative type. I guess ZZ Top was kinda right about the sharp-dresser thing.”

Bruce felt his brows knit together. “You’ve always looked sharp,” he said truthfully, turning down a narrow alley.

“Yeah, but not thousand-dollar-suit sharp. There’s a difference! Plus I think this bullet-proof vest makes me look a little bulkier than I actually am.”

Bruce spotted him leaning against the graffiti-covered wall, a Burger Lord cup in one hand and a plastic orange bag in another. Just how much time did Bruce lose while he was changing?

John tossed the drink in the dumpster and practically jumped into the car, shoving the orange bag behind the driver seat and slamming the door shut as Bruce switched off the communicator. He took one look at Bruce’s questioning glower and gave a nervous sort of grin. “Hey, don’t look at me like that, there’s something in there for you, too.”

Bruce almost asked what, but decided that a lecture on keeping a low profile and not taking money from his house’s various hiding spots would have to wait. (Though he supposed whatever John got wasn’t expensive. He was quite frugal, and it wasn’t as if Bruce couldn’t afford to buy John whatever he wanted anyway.) He concentrated instead on heading down the twisting path towards Toxic Acres. At least the traffic over there was a hell of a lot lighter.

“Hey, when you drove me to the Batcave, did you go in fourth gear, or third?”

He wasn’t sure why he asked, but he honestly couldn’t remember. He just recalled putting his foot to the floor and keeping his eyes on the road, occasionally reaching over to check John’s pulse. “I wasn’t really paying attention to that; I concentrating more on driving as fast as possible.”

“Oh – so you didn’t know you could punch the shift down into third whenever you wanted? It was so fun! I can say I literally punched it out of the Batcave!” He laughed. “I’m guessing you can’t do that in this car?”

“…I’ve got paddle shifters.” They were starting to travel into the more deserted road leading into Toxic Acres. Bruce took a sharp turn onto the hill with the broken Do Not Enter sign, and checking that no one was behind him, flipped the switch to shift the car into armored plates and pressed the wheel-paddle for a lower gear.

They flew down the road with a whirring whine of the engine, John’s notorious excited laugh mixing with it, and Bruce allowed himself to smile a little at it, knowing his own little joyful thrill wouldn’t last very long.

John was soon tapping his fingers together in some kind of rhythm as they passed by more empty houses, Bruce moving a little slower to keep his eyes out for trouble. Sitting close to the river on the outskirts of the city, they were originally meant to be a long neighborhood for the middle and upper class to build their lives, but as the unemployment and crime rates rose, the place became abandoned. It didn’t help that the piping structure to carry water there had been faulty, making either lead poisoning or unfiltered dirty water a prominent problem and giving the section of Gotham its nickname.

“How do we know which place is the botanist’s?” John asked, his green eyes scouring the houses in front of them.

“I sent out another drone earlier for some aerial shots. There’s a place with camouflaged green-houses in the back on Aster Place.”

“Wow, you did that before I left? That was fast…”

“It was a quick job. I’m not picking up the other drone until later.”

They turned the corner onto Aster Place; the road would dead-end in a while, but Bruce knew the house wouldn’t be situated at the end.

“Oh, there’s the spot Jackie got shot at!” John pointed ahead. “I wonder if there’s a bloodstain left…!”

Bruce tightened his grip on the wheel. “We’re close.”

It was oddly quiet out there. There was no other sign of life in what was a hot-spot of criminal hide-outs. Bruce turned on the thermal vision in his cowl; a lot of the houses were actually empty for once.

Except for one. 1801 Aster Place. There were a group of people scattered around on the bottom floor and what appeared to be a lot of heat-lamps running on the top floor. If one of the people in the group wasn’t Pamela Isley, then she might have been holding up in the basement…

They left the Batmobile out of sight down the road, and Bruce and John moved swiftly behind the backs of the houses in the chilly night air, the taser bomb safely in John’s coat pocket; John was surprisingly quiet, only humming a familiar tune here and there. (Wasn’t it the theme from that old spy-thriller…?) Bruce managed to quiet him with a look, and John mimed locking his mouth shut and throwing the key away.

Two unknown people were standing in what used to be a kitchen; three more people were up in the front room of the house. There were no security cameras to be seen.  

“Stick close to me,” Bruce whispered, the modifier in his cowl deepening his voice. “We go in through the back window, take out the two in the kitchen quietly and throw the bomb up front so we can cuff the lot. If none of them are Ms. Isley, we find the basement.”

John gave him a thumbs up, pulling out the riot baton he had hidden away. (Bruce had still not remembered when he or Alfred bought that, but vaguely remembered stashing it in the towel cupboard with some other emergency gear. He wasn’t surprised John found it.)

The bathroom window’s locks weren’t difficult to break. They looked like they had been broken several times already. Bruce slid the insect screen up and slipped in through the thin opening feet-first, twisting his limbs just right to softly land on the floor. He had to help pull John through the rest of the way after he smacked his head on the bottom of the window; thankfully he hadn’t made any noise, but he did give Bruce a strange look as brushed himself off where Bruce had gripped his sides.

Bruce didn’t have time to think about it.

The two people in the kitchen stood in semi-darkness, watching through the patio windows with rifles leaning against the wall. There wasn’t so much a bare bulb to give off light. Bruce figured their eyes might have adjusted to the dark, and signaled John to follow as he crept up behind the two goons.

“I dunno, with all the hype surrounding episode four, you just know those guys are going to mess up somewhere. Remember when they decided to let Celestyne drop to his death back in season one?” The one with dreadlocks asked.

“Oh, come on, that was just to test the game’s limits. Besides, Celestyne couldn’t die; I don’t think Jane can, either,” the second person responded in a higher voice with a casual shrug.

“Dude, you know the game’s gonna make her a villain in the end, though, right? She might die…”

Bruce was ready. John was gripping the baton with a widening grin…

“Are you kidding me? They have her affection meter up so high I’m surprised the game doesn’t have a dating opt-”

Bruce slammed dreadlocked goon’s head into the wall just as the baton crashed down on the other goon’s skull, little smears of blood marking the plaster and paint with a satisfying crack.

John clutched the collar of the goon he’d struck, gripping the slightly bloody baton a little harder in his other hand. He seemed to be thinking.

Bruce took a zip-tie out and cuffed the goon’s hands behind their back, and wondered just what John was staring at until he’d turned the person around and caught a glimpse of them in the light of the window.

They were both women with little tattoos of vines creeping along the back of their necks.

If Bruce guessed right, those were ivy leaves on the vine. Poison Ivy had a loyal gang.

John zip-tied the wrists of the woman he’d struck and patted the part of her head that wasn’t wounded. “Sorry,” he whispered as if she would hear it. “Lauren’s ex,” John mumbled, gesturing to the woman on the floor as if he knew Bruce had raised his eyebrow at him.

Bruce simply swept onward, spying the door for the basement. There was a light on in the front room, and three women who looked like they could be professional boxers of different weight categories were sitting in different areas. One was sharpening a knife at the table, and another was cleaning a semi-automatic rifle as the third kept watch over a monitor showing security camera footage; three looked to be by the greenhouses (Bruce recognized the Foxglove variety growing in one under an opening in the glass, sitting next to something that looked primeval), and two were watching over the plants upstairs (marijuana, by the looks of it) and in the basement.

There was a figure in the last screen, working over a row of potted plants with low lamps. A zoom-in with Bruce’s lenses showed long red hair.

Bruce felt a hand on his shoulder, and John crept ahead him, the taser-bomb in hand: it looked like a mass of the sticky-bombs grouped together, colorful wiring connecting them all like some kind of net, and before Bruce could do or say anything, John threw it into the living room, where it tumbled into the middle of the floor.

The group began to shoot out of their seats in a second, and in the next the ball seemed to expand like a geometric toy, the wired tasers being thrown in the air with a flash before smacking people and surfaces alike as they discharged. All three people fell to the floor in trembling heaps, and John dashed out and started to cuff them, Bruce close behind.

The electric bombs were safe to touch now that they had fully discharged, so Bruce had no qualm about stomping on the lightly-burning sections of carpet underneath some of them to prevent any spread of fire as he pushed them aside. The bulkiest goon wasn’t quite down for the count; she was still conscious.

She yanked John off her fallen comrade by his shoulder and threw him into the table’s edge. Bruce threw a Batarang at her arm just as she was about to punch, and John gave a swift knee to her stomach as she flinched.

She fell to the floor with a louder crash and a grunt, pulling the Batarang out from her arm and letting it drop to the floor. “You fucker…” She said, glaring up at John before looking over at Bruce, her eyes widening as he approached with more Batarangs at the ready. “B-Batman…?”

“Yup! He’s real,” John said playfully before smacking the side of her head with the baton. “And so am I,” he added with a growl. He decided to tie her wrists behind the nearest table leg. “I hate not being able to call myself Joker like this… Really sells it better.”

Bruce felt his heart twitch at the name. “You can call yourself that, if it helps,” Bruce said gently, tying the monitoring-station woman’s wrists together, “Just not to people’s faces.”

“Kinda defeats the point,” John grumbled.

Bruce shot a look at the security monitor – Pamela Isley didn’t seem to have heard anything. Still, precaution should be used. “Let’s go,” he said plainly, sweeping out of the room with a swish of his cape.

John tucked a hand into his pocket and followed.

The basement stairs were carpeted and quiet, but Bruce was careful to walk on the outsides rather than the middle. Spiders had clearly made themselves right at home in the damp corners of the walls, and he had to duck to avoid getting the tips of his cowl’s ears stuck in one of their webs. A soft sort of click was heard behind his back, and Bruce figured John had gotten out his grappling gun.

Pamela Isley was bent over a row of exotic-looking orchids posed under heat lamps, dabbing something into the center of a blue orchid’s petals. Bruce saw several troughs full of hallucinogenic mushrooms sitting on the other side of the wall.

“There you go, my darling,” she cooed in a honeyed voice, acting like she was carefully painting the center of the flower, “You’ll soon be the belle of the ball…”

Bruce eyed the electrical box on the other side of the room. It wouldn’t do to drown the place in darkness; he’d be able to see, but John wouldn’t. The best bet was to tackle and restrain her.

Or…

Bruce took out his own grappling gun, and aimed it at Isley’s collar. One click, and it snagged her shirt with practiced ease.

“What the-?!”

Pamela Isley was suddenly dragged yelping through the air at an angle, smacking hard into one of the tables and spilling several unusual potted flowers to the floor.

Bruce grabbed her and threw her to the concrete floor, standing over her with several Batarangs in his hand as John cackled beside him.

“Jonathan Crane,” Bruce growled out, “Where is he?”

Pamela Isley sat up, shock written all over her face as she processed exactly what happened – it quickly morphed to a steely stare. “Batman,” she said slowly in a sweet voice, “I thought you were an urban legend,” she continued, wiping the corner of her mouth where a dribble of blood leaked out. “Do you always treat a lady this way?”

Bruce dragged her up by her collar and threw her against the wall, keeping her at arm’s length. “I know he bought plants from you today. Tell me where he is.”

“Or what?” She taunted, smirking widely at him. “You think I haven’t been knocked around by men before? I’ve been in whole worlds of hurt, honey.”

There was the distinct sound of the grappling wire rushing through the air, and then an enormous crash – John had taken out one of the mushroom tables, the fungi now breaking and bouncing against the floor it the scattered in the dirt.

“Whoopsie,” John hummed, a wide unnerving grin on his face, “butter-fingers.”

Isley looked rather taken aback, but the expression quickly warped into a mocking glare. “You think destroying my inventory is going to intimidate me?”

John shrugged, leaning back against a table and knocking over a several small tropical plants with a slide of his hand, shattering the clay pots and sending the plants scattering to the hard floor.

That definitely got her attention; her face paled slightly and there was tremble in her. “Stop that!”

Bruce glared at her, mentally thanking John for his quick thinking. “Tell me where Crane is and I’ll consider stopping him from tearing this place apart.”

Her dark green eyes glared at him with a slow-boiling dislike. “Let me go first.”

Bruce did a very quick once-over; she didn’t seem to have a gun holster on her, and she was definitely a lighter build than the rest of her gang. Knives were still a possibility. He decided to let go, keeping a Batarang between his fingers just in case as he stepped just out of her reach.

Pamela dusted off her green turtleneck. “I don’t know where he is, and I don’t care. He bought a few of my flowers and left,” she said, crossing her arms.

John laughed, fingering the leaves of the blue orchid she’d been attending. “With a hole in his shoulder? You didn’t even offer a band-aid for that?”

Pamela was closely eyeing the plant in John’s hand. “What if I did?”

“I know he’s a friend of yours, Isley,” Bruce growled. “You’re the only one who could know what he’s planning.”

“I told you, I don’t know,” she stated, “and I don’t care. I’m not his mother.”

“I can see why you were paying such close attention to this one,” John hummed, fingering the petals with a gloved hand. “It’s so pretty. You put a lot of effort into keeping all these, huh?” He grinned at her, almost looking like his usual self. “It’s not just some financial scheme for you, is it?”

“Of course it is,” Pamela stared at him, trying to keep her voice level; Bruce noticed her eyes kept flicking slightly downward, like she was watching the plant. “I breed and sell rare plants to collectors on the side.”

“Oh good! So this won’t bother you!”

In a swift move, John cut the blossom off the stem with the bowie knife one of the group upstairs had been sharpening.

The blossom fell to the table, and Pamela Isley looked as if she’d seen a ghost.

John picked up the blossom. “Let’s see – she’s honest,” he said playfully, plucking a petal from the stem, “she’s not!” He pulled another.

“STOP IT!” Pamela shrieked, making to rush at him – Bruce pulled her back and pointed the tip of the Batarang at her face. She glanced at it fearfully, but then looked back at the flower being torn apart in John’s hand, and it looked like she was watching a child die before her eyes.

“Stop that,” Bruce instructed; John hummed and held it still. “Talk, or my partner and I crush every plant in this place.”

Isley stared at the flower in John’s hand. “I… I don’t know what he’s planning,” she said quietly, her voice cracking slightly. John only touched the tip of a petal before she spoke again – “But-! But I know… He’s building something. He didn’t say what, but he asked for some muscle - I hooked him up with some of Maroni’s old boys.” She shut her eyes and took a breath before glaring at John like he was a complete monster. “I hope the lot of them tears you limb from limb.”

Bruce forced Isley’s hands behind her back and zip-tied them. “Down on the ground,” he growled, pushing down on the top of her head. John pointed the grappling gun in her face with a smirk; a good insurance if she decided to try and elbow Bruce in the face.

Pamela shot them both a hateful glare as she knelt down, and it didn’t waver as her ankles were tied, too. “I won’t forget this,” she spat.

Bruce sent off a message to Tiffany regarding the coordinates of “Poison Ivy”’s headquarters from his gauntlet. He knew she’d get the word out before he could even get back in the car. “Tell it to the judge,” he taunted, leading the way out of the basement, not missing the sparkle in John’s eyes as he followed, the severed, torn orchid blossom having been carelessly thrown at Pamela Isley’s feet.

John gathered up the sticky bomb device before they hustled back to the Batmobile, and it wasn’t until the doors closed that he spoke, and when he did it was in a tone Bruce would almost call revered.

“So, what do we do now, partner?” He asked, a definite glow on his face.

“We go look at some of the Maroni gang’s old haunts and see if we can find anyone recently hired,” Bruce said, the voice modifier in his cowl now disabled. He glanced at his recent text messages:  one from Tiffany giving the ok on Poison Ivy, and another from Iman with the last known location of the stolen Ryde car. “After we look into the motels in the red-light district. Crane might’ve stayed there.”

John laughed to himself, but for once he didn’t share the joke; instead, he pulled out a packet of jerky from the plastic bag he’d brought along. “I knew this would be a long night,” he said cheerfully, as if he was really looking forward to the whole thing.

It was well past one in the morning when Bruce arrived back home through the front gate, the Batsuit stowed away and the plates flipped back to red. The two patrol officers were only somewhat surprised to see him arrive back. Naturally, they reported nothing new, since John had been dropped off in the Batcave first.

Sore muscles were nothing new to Bruce. The old strained climb back up to his bed was just as annoying as ever. He honestly didn’t feel like he wanted to sleep, but after following several empty leads over the city and bruising a few heads alongside John, he did admit that he was physically exhausted. He knew lying down was better than nothing, and he still had to go to work in several hours like he didn’t have a double life. At least he wasn't starving, thanks to John thinking ahead and buying him protein-and-carb-filled snacks.

He forced himself to go through his usual nightly routine, despite the temptation to just flop into bed and lay there. He looked at the bruises on his back and ribs from where John had struggled against him under the influence of Crane’s drug, and decided not to bother putting the bruise-away cream on them, nor on the new ones forming on his shoulder from where one of the former mobsters had hit him.

When he did finally collapse onto the master bed in nothing but his boxer-briefs, his brain still decided to chat away at him.

There were no leads as to who exactly Isley had hired for Crane. Bruce cursed himself for not trying to work the specifics out of her. At least he knew she was arrested for drug possession and manufacturing, as well as smuggling illegal fauna.

There was no word on the whereabouts of Jackie Lant. Her car was missing, and she’d called into work sick. Her apartment hadn’t been visited in the entire time Bruce had his drone’s eye on it, and neither Tiffany nor Iman had seen anything when they looked into Jackie’s friends’ places, either. All Bruce knew was that she hadn’t called an ambulance to fetch her from Toxic Acres, that she hadn’t been admitted to a hospital, and that there was no sign of her body either in the Acres or in the Gotham River.

She was alive, somewhere, and Bruce didn’t know what she was going to do next. He hoped she was just going to lie low until he caught Crane.

Jonathan Crane was nowhere to be found. His house was still empty. He didn’t seem to be staying at any of the motels – or hotels – around the red-light district or its surrounding streets, and nothing had come of a quick credit-card check. The Ryde driver the GCPD fished out of the River that morning had been shot in the head, and his car was so common that if Crane could’ve switched the license plate with anything and been completely invisible. They’d done a quick search of the warehouse district and found no sign of him there, either.

Bruce had the nagging feeling that he wasn’t going to find Crane until the doctor reared his head.

The billionaire rolled onto his stomach, shoving the anxious thought away as he pressed his cheek further into the plush black jersey pillowcase. There were a couple more places he could check tomorrow…

The bedroom door creaked, and Bruce’s eyes shot open, a second away from grabbing the billy-club under his pillow – he could see John’s messy hair in his dark silhouette.

“Bruce? You awake?”

“Yeah,” he mumbled.

“…can I come in?”

“Sure.”

Bruce noticed he closed the door behind him. Like he was planning to stay there.

That definitely put a new light onto the situation. A tense thrill was building in his shoulders as John deigned to sit on the edge of the mattress, his back to Bruce.

John was only wearing his Arkham-regulated pants, and the pale white of his bare skin almost shone in the light streaming in from the window. Bruce saw several bruises forming, one of which was from where he’d gotten grabbed by the shoulder by a Poison Ivy goon, and several more where he’d gotten knocked into.

“…I don’t think I can sleep in that guest room,” John sighed. “I mean, I tried my usual methods of sleep induction, but… It’s too big…and empty. I’m really not used to that.” His voice came out quieter and more contemplative. “I know it’s weird, but do you mind if I sleep in here?” He asked, turning halfway to look right at Bruce.

He felt trapped. If he said no, at the worst John would sulk, and at the best John wouldn’t get any sleep, and that was definitely worse for his mental health. John had mentioned before about how regular sleep cycles were supposed to help with that.

If he said yes, though, he’d know he was sleeping next to John, and there was the tiny worry in the back of his head that John might…try something. Or at least roll over too much.

“I promise I’ll stay over on my side,” John muttered, not tearing his eyes away.

“Alright.”

A sweet smile stretched on his face. “Thanks, Bruce. You won’t regret this.”

“If you keep talking, I might.”

John giggled as he slid beneath the covers on the far side of the bed, flopping one of the extra pillows down between them. “There – a no-roll barrier,” he said as if he had to explain the concept to Bruce.

It did not escape Bruce’s attention that John had decided to lie facing him and rest his arm on top of the pillow. John had pulled the covers up to just underneath his armpits; Bruce could see John's sharp collarbone and the lean wiry muscle of his chest. (Bruce made sure not to look for more than a moment's curiosity would allow.)

God, John’s face was actually his for the first time that whole night. Bruce had gotten used to seeing it in the natural makeup, but it was almost a relief to see it in its normal borderline-luminescent white. He looked like the man Bruce knew.

Acid-green eyes stared at him, flicking slightly and growing soft. “I…did want to talk to you about something, though. If it’s okay.”

“I suppose I’m still awake,” Bruce said in an attempt to lighten the tension in his arms. “Sure.”

“Do you ever…look back on something, and think about the worst thing that could’ve happened in that situation?”

He didn’t like to admit it, but he had. Usually in his worst moods, he’d think about how everything could’ve gone wrong. He’d usually think about everything he could’ve done better, too. “I try not to, but…sometimes, yeah.”

“I’ve been thinking about our fight a lot, lately,” John confessed, “At Ace. I used to think about it a lot when I got recommitted, but… You started visiting me,” he said softly, a light smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “You remember when I told you I thought I’d messed things up for us?”

“Yeah.” It was Bruce’s first visit to John. He never forgot the sheer hopeful joy on John’s face upon seeing him. It was practically engraved in his memory.

“Ever since I started sessions with Crane, I kept going back to that night. He always tried to weasel my worst secrets out of me,” he said with a low scowl, “but when he started using that…toxin on me… I kept…thinking about what could have happened back there. I… I know I almost killed you.”

The sheer pain reading in John’s eyes was enough to make Bruce want to wrap his arms around him. It was beautiful and raw and honest, and Bruce found himself holding stock still, almost captivated by the expression.

“I kept seeing it. Over and over – it was like I could see myself throwing you over the railing or-or stabbing you, or...” Bruce saw tears welling up as John clenched the pillow between them. “I don’t want to come close to that again, Bruce,” he managed to say, his voice starting to hitch. “I don’t… I don’t want to kill you.”

Bruce threw his pride away and grabbed John’s hand in his. “You won’t.”

“You…you don’t know that,” John said with a light sob. “If…if I…go back to how I was… If I mess up...”

Bruce squeezed his hand, feeling the soft skin twitch under his fingertips. “I won’t pretend you’re perfect,” he said, honesty seeping through every word, “but I know you, John. I know you’re not going after Crane out of revenge, like you did with Waller. You reached out to me for help – but you were already trying to find a way to stop him without resorting to just stabbing him with the nearest shiv.”

John sniffed, a tiny twitch at the corner of his mouth like he was almost smiling. “Yeah…”

“So you’re not the same person you were then, are you?” He soothed with a supportive smile. “Even if you feel you are going backward, I know it won’t be to that same point.”

“Maybe…” he said with another sniff, looking more serious. “But Bruce, you know there are things I can’t ever really stop, right? The auditory psychosis is pretty much going to stay with me the rest of my life,” he started, clutching Bruce’s hand back, “and I’m not going to lie here and pretend my pulse wasn’t pounding a mile a minute when we were fighting those mobsters out there.” He sported a small knowing grin at him. “You know what that’s like, though, don’t you…”

(Yes, he did.)

“…you know what’s funny? I used to think one bad day could turn a person completely upside down.” John managed to stroke his thumb against Bruce’s knuckle, sending a little shiver over the skin, and Bruce wondered if John knew how incredibly intimate that gesture felt as he stared softly at him from the pillow. “Especially after Waller came to town… But…I never really thought things could go back up after it. I guess it just…takes a while.”

Bruce knew there was something right in John’s line of thinking. It only took one day to turn his life on its head, and he felt he knew, despite John having no memory of his life before Arkham, that something similar had happened to him. “Well…they say time heals all wounds.”

“How much passed before yours started to heal?”

He almost didn’t want to answer. The truth was that he wasn’t sure at all if he was ever going to fully heal, despite knowing what his parent’s really were. Maybe it was because he knew the terrible truth about them that they wouldn’t ever heal right. Maybe he’d always have that miserable note in the background of his life.

“…I’m still healing.”

“I didn’t say you stopped, buddy,” John chuckled with a knowing look. “Still…got good days and bad days, huh?”

“Feels like it, yeah.” Today…was definitely more of a mixed day. Looking at John across from him, though, all honest and open, and thinking back to how it felt to fight alongside him again, and investigate with him, with that warmth and instant familiar comfort between that never faded away, he almost felt like he wanted to call it a good day. “Today might have tilted things right-side up.”

John laughed, a genuine, humored one that was almost infectious. “Now I know I’m rubbing off on you; that sounds like something I’d say!”

John slipped his hand away and turned to lie on his back, still chuckling to himself. The warmth still burned in Bruce’s palm, and he found himself reluctant to pull his hand away at all.

John turned to him once more, an all-too-familiar affection shimmering brightly in the green depths. It pulled Bruce in and made him feel like he should inch close enough to feel the warmth and security it promised. “’Night, Bruce.”

“Goodnight, John.”

John turned over, leaving Bruce to stare at the bruises forming on his shoulders. There was the terrible temptation in his hands to shove the pillow between them aside and wrap his arm around the man’s middle so he could lean into that pale, battered back and bury his face in a head of soft, green hair.

There was a worse urge, one so vivid it almost made Bruce’s head spin – he could just reach out and touch the bruises, feather-light, and trail his fingertips down the curve of spine until it arched with a pleased shudder, and Bruce could follow that trail with his mouth as far as John would let him.

Bruce turned his head away, the memory of John’s lips on his coming to the front of his mind, and he shut out the mental image of repeating that kiss right then and there, telling himself that he really shouldn’t feel that way towards someone who desperately needed support, nor to his best friend who he’d left scarred in more ways than one, and certainly not someone who was both.

It had been a long time since Bruce shared a bed with someone, and far, far longer when he shared one with someone he didn’t have sex with.

He hoped that was all it was. Just the bed’s memory getting to him, and nothing else…

Notes:  Super-sexy-plant-person-in-her-late-twenties Ivy is OUT. Cougar-aged-mobster-botanist Ivy is IN! >:) 

I really wanted a different Ivy. I’m tired of the young, uber-sexy walking plant-human-hybrid that’s immune to all toxins and diseases; plants get diseases, too, and she’s so plant-like she should have some kind of physical humanizing weakness! It’s much more interesting to have a human who’s just built up an immunity and uses her babies for weapons and business; I kept her serious environmentalist trait, though, because while I dislike the anti-hero thing she’s got going on lately and would love to see her as a straight-up villain again, we do have to relate to her somehow, and her love of nature is always going to be a good part of her. Since Harley’s older, too, I figured it would be alright if they had a ten-year gap between them, so when Pam eventually goes to Black Gate one day, they’ll be pals. ;)

And Bruce you complete fool!!!! You should’ve kissed him!!!  Why do you do this to yourseellllfff? D:

I'm sorry it took so long, but as you can tell, I had a lot to work on, and I’m doing my best to write the next chapter as quickly as I can while this nutty energy in my brain is still fresh. I’m trying to keep with my weekly schedule, but I hope you guys are okay with having a gap day, as appears to be the habit now. ( ._. ) I mean, no one yells at me or anything for being late, but I aim to please with my work, and part of that is being consistent. 

I shall continue to try my hardest! (*｀へ´*) 彡3 See you next weekend!!!

[bluerene]

river, part three [starx]

Hellooooooo

Finally wrapped up part three! Phew, got a little lost in writing it, especially because I want the characters to feel real and I don’t want to get wrapped up in too much plot.  I wanted to get this out of the way before I put up Chapter 5 of Liability, so that I can continue editing and writing with a clear conscience <3 Parts one and two are linked here and at the bottom in case a refresher is needed. 

take note of the following: stubborn laptop + late writing = formatting issues. bear with me, edits shall be made. Story is post-tokyo, sans kiss, slightly aged up Titans...lots and lots and LOTS of love for @fireflyxrebel who never fails to gush and fangirl and make me cry with her insanely kind words. Show her some love, she’s written some pretty incredible fic. <3 <3 <3

I invite and appreciate critiques, requests, reblogs, and reviews! even the tiny ones :) <3

without further ado, part three, my friends. 

A couple of days passed and I was still a little lost on how to plan the date. I was out of practice as it was, it had been a while since I’d had to put in the effort to impress a girl. And I don’t mean that like, “I’m a fucking champ at getting laid without even trying”. I honestly have no idea where to begin.

It couldn’t be outside; we would meet too early in the day and I wasn’t about to greet her maskless. That ruled out a picnic or a restaurant or the movies. I couldn’t take her to the botanical gardens or go stargazing on the beach.

I didn’t think it would be a good idea to bring her back to my place. She’d probably kill me anyway, thinking that I was presuming.

Eventually, I settled on an old planetarium that was partially in the process of being remodeled. Construction had been halted for about a month already, due to some issues between the co-owners. Didn’t matter to me, I had a spot and I had an idea.

Starfire and I hadn’t talked much since our conversation a few nights ago. She wanted to keep our communications lowkey and preferred that we text at night when the other Titans weren’t around to peek over her shoulder or express interest in who she was speaking with. It made things easier for us both, especially because I worked long hours during the day. Not that she knew that piece of information. If she did, she’d never quit on the little redemption story she’s trying to write me into.

I could picture her, gorgeous eyes wide, our hands clasped together, asking me why I did what I did. If I ever let it get there, I wouldn’t be able to resist telling her. And that was something I wasn’t willing to risk.

I thought about not going on the date. Never giving her a time or place, or worse, blowing her off completely. Prove to her I’m as terrible as I want to be. Kill the hope she has for me.

But it’s Starfire. I could never do that to her.

I kept thinking about all of our interactions over the years, brief and non. The first time I had her pinned to the wall, her expression shifting from confused to furious before I could finish my suggestion. The night we found ourselves trapped in a LexCorp vault, her fingers gripping my arms as we were squished into a corner, surrounded by various menacing devices. Her look of wonder when I caught her from a nasty fall a few months back, the surprise in her eyes when she realized I wasn’t Boy Blunder.

Jesus Christ, I was totally gone, wasn’t I?

Fuck.

I had a job I needed to do that night. I’d trip an alarm and get her attention, pull her aside and tell her the whole thing was off. It was stupid of me to suggest in the first place. And it was stupider of her to accept.

I preferred to not compromise the assignment, but she’d already made it clear that it was difficult to sneak out at night. Once the Titans finished patrol, they returned to the Tower and went into total lockdown. If a window or door was opened or broken, Cyborg would get the alert. That had been news to me, and I realized that their security had probably been heightened since the theft of the suit and everything else that followed.

That evening, I broke into a private laboratory. Wasn’t too heavily guarded, I counted five, maybe six security officers stationed around the perimeter of the building, and three patrolling the halls inside. Lots of cameras, but I could mess with the feed by transmitting an older tape on a loop to the surveillance room. I was careful not to use my belt while I made my way to the main lab. There were energy sensors set up all over, designed to bring attention to any odd bursts of power that might be expelled across the premises. I fucking hate scientists sometimes.

No confrontations occurred. A+ for me. I made it into the central lab with ease, keying in the numbers my client had instructed me to use. It was a circular room with several stations, each one cluttered with tools and paperwork. Red lasers crisscrossed the area, but there were little pockets of space around the tables. Towards the back of the lab, there were wide glass windows mounted on the paneled wall, but it was too dark to see what was behind them.

“Here we go,” I muttered, cracking my knuckles and shaking out my hands. One run, not too challenging.

I leaped forward, careful to avoid the scarlet lines that cut through the air. Every action was precise, my hands and feet never lingering on the ground for more than a few seconds. I used the momentum of each handspring to push myself forward, each jump allowing me to twist through the air, clear of any obstacles.

I stumbled a little when I landed, bracing myself against the wall, relief washing over me when I realized I hadn’t tripped any alarms.

I ran my fingers along the grooves in the wall, pulling gently to see if any would budge. There was supposed to be a door to the main office somewhere…

I heard a faint click, and the panel I was gripping hissed open. Sweet.

I was in and out pretty quickly. My day job taught me some pretty cool tricks, including how to hack an “impenetrable” firewall. I accessed the desktop and downloaded several encrypted files onto a pair of flash-drives I’d brought with me. One for the client, and one for me, so I could see what I’d gotten myself into. Shut down the computer, slipped out of the office, closed the door - easy. Getting the Titans here, isolating Starfire, and keeping what I came for - that would be hard.

I darted through the lasers, flinching when the klaxon alarm screeched. I shoved the door open and hit the center of my belt quickly, teleporting to the roof. And then, I waited.

----

I had been lying on the sofa with my legs hooked over the side, deeply engrossed in a romance novel when the Titan alert rang. I glanced up, unsurprised to find Robin glaring at the console.

“Red X,” he said scathingly, turning to address the rest of us. I did not listen to what he said, my eyes immediately finding Raven’s.

I did not wish for X to come to any harm. Perhaps I was being foolish, but I would feel I had failed him if I did not follow through with our arrangement.

My anger flared for a moment - it was unfair that he had not even considered my offer, or at least avoided thievery prior to the date.

“Clorbag,” I grumbled, crossing my arms.

“ - all of us, so Starfire and I can go instead.”

I snapped to attention, “What?”

Robin shrugged, “Nothing was reported stolen, so I don’t think all of are required for this one. You and I can bring him in. It’ll make up for Monday night.” He gave me a half-smile when he said that, quiet butterflies awakening in my stomach. I rarely felt that way around him anymore.

“I do not think-”

“Awwww, ain’t that cute,” Cyborg grinned, nudging Beast Boy, “takin’ down criminals together.”

“I would like to go alone if that is okay,” I said meekly.

Robin tilted his head, confusion evident on his face, “What? Why? Starfire, you can’t go without backup.”

“I will be brief, I promise, I would simply like to have the ‘words’ with him.” It was not a lie, I planned on speaking with him, although it may not have been what Robin thought.

“Red X does go pretty easy on her,” Raven added helpfully, “if you want, I can go with. Keep an eye on her.”

I disliked that phrasing, but I was grateful for her assistance.

Robin pursed his lips, “I don’t want-”

“We do not have the luxury of time,” I interjected.

He sighed and hung his head, “just go.”

I nodded and flew to Raven’s side. Moments later, her powers engulfed us, carrying us to the location Robin had instructed us to investigate.

“Alright,” she said upon arrival, placing her hands on her hips, “what do you want me to do here?”

“Accept my humble gratitude with a hug and keep the security officers busy while I find X.”

She rolled her eyes, “The second one I can do. Save your hugs for later. Keep him out of trouble.”

I did not smile - it seemed that he could not help but get himself into trouble time and time again.

Raven spoke with the guards, which allowed me the opportunity to fly around the building. I could not find any broken windows or weaknesses in structure, which made me wonder if he had left the building at all.

As I floated higher, I noticed a movement out of the corner of my eye.

Of course he was waiting on the roof.

I landed softly, allowing energy to flood my eyes with fury. This was truly disappointing to find.

He had been peering over the edge cautiously, but once he was aware of my presence, he shot up and faced me, a hand hovering in front of his belt. He relaxed when he realized I was the only one.

“Starfire.”

X’hal, I cannot explain how much I enjoyed hearing him say my name. It was strange, there was a gentle lilt to his tone, a soothing quality that calmed me. My eyes dimmed slightly, but I did not relinquish the blaze completely.

“Red X.”

“You sound unhappy, beautiful. Am I not what you wanted?”

I was taken aback by the bitterness in his voice. I had only heard it once before, on an occasion I doubt he even remembers.

We were battling the Hive Five. I had been knocked out of the air, and in my panic, forgot to fly. I still relied on Robin, back then, and often put myself in his way in hopes that he might catch me.

I squeezed my eyes shut as I neared the ground, bracing for the impact that never came.

Arms had caught me. I had touched his chest and quietly murmured, “Robin”. I felt him chuckle, and in a low voice, whisper, “not quite, Cutie.”

My eyes opened to find my savior was someone else entirely.

“Red X!” I squeaked.

He set me down gently, and in the same tired, bitter inflection, replied, “Sorry to disappoint,” before shimmering into the midst of the fight.

It hurt to hear him speak that way.

“I am disappointed that you thought you could continue to commit crimes, despite our-”

“Agreement? Starfire, you made this happen. You pushed me into it. I didn’t want a date,” he said sourly.

I raised my eyebrow, “this was not your goal? Then please, X, explain the flirting. Explain the constant requests. Explain the kindness you show me, the compassion you show only me.”

“I’m teasing, cutie. It’s what I do. I mess around. I steal, I cheat, I lie. Get over it.”

His words sounded rehearsed and detached. I had been on the receiving end of such words before.

“I do not accept that.”

He shrugged, “your problem, not mine. See you around, cutie.”

I growled and launched myself at him, throwing my arms around him as his fist hit the center of his belt.

He yelped in protest, but it was too late.

We landed in a tangled mess on soft carpet, my hands still gripping him tightly as he fumbled around in the dark.

I loosened my hold and rolled away from him, feeling my surroundings until I found a wall. I leaned against it and rose.

“Where are we?”

He cursed, but did not move to turn on the lights, “my apartment.”

That interested me.

“Oh, wonderful. Perhaps now you will be willing to sit and talk.”

“Nothing to discuss. You’re leaving.”

“You think so?” I asked, stretching my hand out hesitantly. I found his arm and curled my fingers around his hand.

“I’ll make you leave,” he said tonelessly, removing his hand from mine. He moved closer and settled his palms on my biceps, wary of holding me too tight.

“I would like to see you try,” I retorted.

He made a little noise of frustration and dropped his hands, “Jesus, Starfire, why are you being so difficult? It was stupid of you to ask, it was stupid of me to accept. Let it go. I can’t be what you want.”

“Cannot or will not?”

“Does it matter?” He asked incredulously, “Bottom line, nothing’s different. This...whatever, never happened.”

“But you wanted it to.”

“Of course I did,” he exploded, backing away from me, “how could I not? But I’m not an idiot. You can’t be around someone like me. You can’t make me change, you can’t ‘fix’ me or make me think you’re interested in me so that you get what you want. Heroes and thieves don’t play nice.”

“You have,” I pointed out, trying to ignore the pain his familiar words brought me.

He let out a bark of laughter, though it was clear he found no humor in this, “you got me there, cutie, that changes everything.”

My eyes had adjusted to the darkness, the faint shapes of the furniture surrounding us becoming more evident to me.

X was leaning against a...couch? An armchair, it seemed, once I squinted. I kept my distance, drawing circles on the wall behind me absentmindedly.

“I am more than just a hero,” I said finally, “I have heard your words before. All this talk of being one thing...humans are so much more complex than that.”

“You’re more than just a hero,” he agreed, “but beautiful, I am what I am.”

“Not without purpose.”

“What is it with you? Give it up already,” he snarled, “why do you trust me so much?”

“You have had too many opportunities to hurt me and my friends. Instead, you have protected us. Protected me,” I paused, “I will not push you to be ‘fixed’. Trust means I must have faith that you are doing what you must.”

“Thanks,” he muttered.

“I still want the date.”

He tilted his head, “what?”

I gave him a tiny smile, “I have often heard the phrase ‘do not mix business with pleasure’. I should not have coupled my heroic agenda with my personal agenda. Our date shall commence as planned, with no talk of you joining the Titans.”

He shifted uncomfortably, tugging at the collar of his suit, “Ah, cutie -”

“You have already admitted you would like to date me. Is it so farfetched to think I could feel the same?” The words spilled from my mouth before I could stop myself. I flushed, thankful for the darkness.

He stiffened and fell silent. I could almost see him working through my words, deciding if he should believe me or not.

“No,” he said finally. I was relieved to hear amusement trickling into his tone, “I guess not.”

“Wonderful. Please take me back to the laboratory, now,” I stretched out my hand expectantly.

He took it and tugged me into him, settling his arm around my waist, “anything for you, beautiful.”

We landed on the roof of the building far more gracefully. He released me from his grasp quickly, laughing quietly when I stumbled into his chest.

“I am not used to chemical transportation,” I said apologetically, blushing yet again.

“You should get going,” he said, jerking his head in the direction Raven and I had come from, “your teammates are probably wondering where you are.”

“That is likely. I thank you for your honesty tonight. I shall see you Saturday,” I lifted into the air and glanced around for Raven. I was certain she sensed my disappearance and return, and would no doubt be very cranky and concerned.

“Starfire,” he said quietly, pulling on my ankle gently.

I frowned and dropped beside him, “yes?”

“Don’t kill me for this,” he breathed. He flipped up the bottom of his mask quickly, revealing a smooth, square jaw and a mouth that was quickly pressed to mine.

[end of part three] part two  part one

[arazialotis]

Drunken Confessions

Pairing: Jensen x Reader

Word Count: Around 1400

Summary: The reader is an SPN actress attending a convention and reveals secret feelings at her panel.

Thank you @misguidedconqueress for editing and reviewing! I couldn’t do it without you!

Obviously I intend no hate or ill wishes to him or his family. This is purely just for writing and wasting my time.

This is purely for a hobby and my enjoyment. Maybe some of you will enjoy it too. I am by no means a writer so I apologize in advance for any mistakes or grammatical/spelling errors. I appreciate any feedback or suggestions!

----

“Goooooood Morning Cleveland!” You shouted, running out on stage.

The crowd started cheering and certain members started yelling back at you.

“Wait, what? Minneapolis?” You giggled into the mic. “And it’s not morning.” You looked at your watch. “Where have I been the past 24 hours?”  You asked rhetorically. “Alright, so we're going to do this thing, thankfully a few of you showed up....” You looked to your left. “Hey, darling.” “Umm.. oh my god, I just want to say…” The fan started.

“Oh, I remember you... how’d our picture turn out, love?”

She giggled nervously. “Pretty good.” “Only pretty good?” You scoffed. “Come on, let’s take another one..” You waved her up and did a quick selfie before giving her a hug. “I’m sorry, I didn’t answer your question. Did you ask a question?” You asked after she returned to her seat. “Oh well, next?”

“Hey, you’re amazing, and I love how you portray your character…”

“Thank you.” You chirped sipping on your water bottle.

“I was wondering where you see her going?”

You squinted your eyes trying to focus your fuzzy brain on what you could actually share. “Well... she’s not going to die… that I know of… yet..” The crowd giggled. “So with that in mind, you know she’s not going to hook up with Sam anytime soon.”

“What about Dean?!” Someone yelled from the audience.

You stuck your tongue out and blushed. “No romance plots in the near future… unfortunately. But you know, I think she’s stuck out as a strong, independent lead, so I think she is going to have to learn soon how to depend on others.”

The next girl came up. “Hi… I love your water bottle.”

“Thank you.” You showed your Wayward AF water bottle off. “It’s not water… yes, it is! I’m going to get in so much trouble today.” You bantered back and forth with yourself before taking another sip, squinting one eye. “What’s your question sweetheart?”

“So, I have this theory that your character is hiding something…” She started.

“Oh, we’re all hiding something love, but go on, what’s your theory.” You placed your fists under your chin eager to hear her thoughts.

“I think she might not be human…” The girl stated hoping you would expand.

“That would be fun, wouldn’t it.” You wiggled your eyebrows but thankfully managed to keep other information contained.

“So if you could be a supernatural creature on the show, what would you be?” She asked.

“Hmmm… is there something the Winchester’s don’t kill…  What about a mermaid? I don’t think there’s been a mermaid yet?! I’ll go with that. What about you?” “Umm.. probably a werewolf.”

“Ah yes, I too become a monster once a month…” You rubbed your hand on your forehead and gritted your teeth in a smile trying to hold yourself together.

Questions continued left and right, the hour seemed to fly by. You were nearing the end and had successfully managed to keep a partial filter on most answers.

“So, all information says you’re currently single, but I was wondering if you are seeing anyone or have a current crush?” “Jensen, I’m totally crushing on Jensen right now.” You blurted out without being able to hold anything back. The crowd completely erupted. “Oh shit!” Your cheeks turned bright red. “I.. um...  I guess you caught me at honesty hour… but I mean who doesn’t have a crush on him, he’s fucking smokin’.” The crowd roared in agreeance. “But guys… there’s so much more to him… he’s honest, he’s kind, he’s sweet, he’s brilliantly smart, he’s passionate about the things that matter…” The audience awed. “But you can’t tell him, okay?” They stayed silent. “Okay?” You asked sternly and a few passively agreed. “I’m so screwed.” You whispered to yourself. “We should just get on with this.” You looked at the next guest.

“Well, I was going to ask what your favorite makeup products were, but now I need to know what your hangover cure is.” The fan confidently stated.

“It’s that obvious…” You laughed. “Well, I’m going to need it tomorrow morning. So, I usually deep fry some hash browns, with some sunny side up eggs, avocado and sriracha. That doesn’t usually make me feel better. It’s just delicious. So that and then Gatorade nonstop… It’s not a great cure, you got any tippers?”

“Bloody Marys.” The fan responded.

“Keep the party going, I like that.” You agreed.

At that Rob and Richard walked back out on stage. “How was the apple juice, Y/N?” The crowd laughed at Richard’s question.

You sipped on the empty bottle. “It was water…” You defended.

Richard took the bottle from you and sniffed it. “Wooo, that is some strong water.” “Shut up.” You playfully grabbed it back.

“Can you give Y/N a big thanks for being here tonight?” Rob interjected to the crowd who cheered.

“Wait, hold up… you do a song for everyone else.” You argued.

The rest of the band walked out. “Only if you promise not to do any singing.” Richard teased you as Rob consulted with the group.

You made a face at Richard as Rob and the band started. “Pour me something tall and strong, make it a hurricane before I go insane. It’s only half past twelve but I don’t care....” “It’s five o’clock somewhere!” You sang with them. “Thank you New York!” You yelled taking a bow. “Minneapolis!” And ran off the stage as they continued playing.

You were walking down a private hall, back to your room to mentally prepare for a round of autographs, your last event of the con. Jensen was walking down the opposite side of the hall with Clif.

“Hey Y/N!” He greeted you full of excitement crossing the hall getting closer to you. “How’d your panel go?” You averted your gaze but quickly made a full recovery. “Peachy keen, jelly bean.” You chirped.

Jensen chuckled. “You’re drunk, aren’t you?”

“Very.” You unashamedly confessed.

“Y/N you can’t be drunk at a con.” He playfully scolded.

“Oh okay… Rome.” You stuck your tongue between your teeth.

He bit his lower lip. “Rome doesn’t count.”

“Shit, If I had know that a few months ago…” You giggled.

“Jensen!” Jared interrupted from down the hall, not seeing you behind Jensen’s tall frame. “Dude! Did you see anything from Y/N’s panel?! She likes you man!” Jared laughed.

Your eyes widened and you turned around completely embarrassed as Jensen shot you a quick look before redirecting his attention back to Jared.

Jared was looking at a post on his phone. “And I quote.. He is fucking smokin’ but there is so much more to him… you got to make your move, man!” Jared finally looked up slapping Jensen on the shoulder. “Oh Y/N… I didn’t see you there.”

You halted in the middle of sneaking away, turning back towards them. “Oh, you know how I am, stirring up drama to keep the fandom alive.” You denied any true feelings for Jay but couldn’t help but notice the quick look of disappointment on his face.

“That sucks, cause Jensen totally digs you.” Jared blurted out.

“Dude.” Jensen chided Jared. “Is everyone around here drunk today?” “Whose idea was it to take shots at lunch?” Jared reminded Jensen.

“One… I said one shot.” Jensen argued.

“Jensen, is it true?” You interrupted.

“Yes.” Jared and Jensen answered at the same time.

“Yes, it’s true I only suggested one shot.” Jensen joked.

“You know what she means, man. Yes, he’s been doe eyed over you even back in the day when you only were an extra.” Jared babbled.

“Yeah, okay, he’s right… I kinda... have a thing for you.” Jensen confessed.

“Well, I guess I kinda have a thing for you…” You played coy.

“Then go on you two!” Jared wrapped his arms around the both of you. “Get a room, make babies, all that stuff.”

You peeled Jared’s arm off of you. “Let’s maybe start with dinner?” You suggested.

“Dinner sounds great.” Jensen agreed.

“It’s a date.” You blushed with anticipation. “Umm, but uh, you should get going, I think your panels starts soon.”

“Oh man, this is going to be so fun.” Jared mischievously bounced down the hall.

“See ya around sweetheart.” Jensen ended before following after Jared.

“It’s a date.” You repeated softly to yourself. You took another sip from the empty water bottle before kissing it. “Thank you pinot grig.”

Tags:

Forever Tags: @nanie5 @sea040561 @crushing83 @mogaruke @deanwinchesterforpromqueen @ginamsmith @jotink78 @fallen-castiel @sup3r-pott3r-lock3d @dancingalone21

Jensen x Reader: @girl-with-a-fandom-fettish @jensen-gal @be-amaziing @mizzzpink @akshi8278 @beatlesobsessionlove @tiffanycaruso @mywillfulwinchester

[leireunzueta]

How I edit my landscape photographs taken with Fujifilm cameras

Last week I received an email from a fellow photographer wondering if I could explain how did I finally manage to edit my landscape work with the Fujis. That is why I decided to write about what the process has been like for me. 

My journey with Fujifilm cameras started a couple of years ago when I wanted something smaller and lighter for my trips. Back then, I used to bring a full backpack with a camera, several lenses, filters and a tripod. For cityscapes though, I would bring the 6D and one lens. I remember that it always ended up being a big hustle and so uncomfortable to carry it around from one place to another. So I made up my mind, and chose to get a X Pro1 with a couple of lenses. In the summer of 2015, before going on our month and a half trip to the US and Canada, I really wanted to get familiar with the new system and went to shoot several portraits in the forest with some friends. I was sold immediately and that’s when my love for Fujifilm cameras started. I really enjoyed the sharpness and the quality of the images and I loved the camera itself. It was one of the most beautiful cameras I had ever seen and so much fun to shoot with. 

While in the US, I took the X Pro1 around NYC and other cities in California, Oregon and Washington. I was really happy, it was perfect for what I wanted. Small and great, much easier to carry on a day out exploring the streets than lugging around the 6D. I also shot landscapes with the Fuji around the Capilano Suspension Bridge near Vancouver and in the Olympic Peninsula in WA. The experiment with a new system turned out to be really exciting and I was happy with the results. So last year (May 2016), I got the XT1, and up until August or so my 6D stayed in a shelf. I also stopped taking a bag with filters, the tripod... and guess what? Everything felt lighter and so much comfortable. I loved everything about the cameras and when I used them for portraits or as daily carry I literally thought I would sell my Canon gear.

My favorite thing about these cameras has always been their size, the layout of buttons and dials, the EVF and simply how beautiful they are. Also the dynamic range is incredible, and I’m always amazed by how I can get the perfect balance between the highlights and shadows. This is so much better compared to my 6D where I always have to underexpose to get some details in the clouds in post production. With the Fujis though, it only takes one look through the viewfinder to adjust the settings and you’re done. But there was something major that stopped me from selling my Canon and actually keeping both systems, and that was my editing. I couldn’t match the looks between my Canon and Fuji files. For some reason the landscapes were really difficult to edit to my liking. I could have given up and sell all my Fuji gear, but I didn’t. I just loved it so much for all the other situations!

Now that I think about it and after months of working on it, I guess my problem was with colors and the learning curve of working with a different kind of sensor and processor. I know people love the color these cameras produce, but I don’t really enjoy the blue tones SOOC and I totally dislike the greens and the way the camera renders them in landscape photographs. I have also figured out that the photographs I make on cloudy and misty days are much easier to edit to my liking than the ones taken on sunny days, I just can’t handle to edit those blue, cloudless skies (this also happens to me with the 6D, by the way). I love muted tones and for some reason I couldn’t achieve that with my usual editing. Sometimes the vivid colors of these files just don’t speak to me because I find them really different to my editing. So it was a matter of learning what works for me and what doesn’t when post processing the files and that, unfortunately, took me longer than expected.

As I mentioned earlier, if you take a look around my portfolio, you will see that the majority of my work is done on rainy and cloudy days. I believe it’s the atmosphere of those days that really pulls me to get out and photograph nature and landscapes. Light conditions and the time of the day that you shoot at can make a phograph go from stunning to meh. That is a fact. So I started to go out to photograph on days like those described above, and slowly I started developing some presets that worked for these images. Rich colors mixed with dark shadows, that was it! I developed a moody and dark way of editing that really caught my attention and made me really picky when choosing the time and conditions in which I went out to shoot with the Fujifilm cameras. 

Last summer we went on a 13000km roadtrip in our van to Norway. I knew that I would be photographing some of the most spectacular locations for landscape and travel photographers like me, so I wanted to be prepared. Since we were sleeping in our van, I decided to bring the big camera bag along with the 6D +17-40mm, the XT1+ 18-55mm and the X100T. For some strange reason, I always reached for the Fujis, so I only used the 6D for 15 photos in total and the 2000 + others were from the XT1 with the kit lens and the X100T. This made me even more excited than the previous year. I didn’t hesitate to use the Fuji for landscapes and the conditions were just as I wanted them: misty, moody and super cloudy. People may think I’m a weirdo for loving that kind of weather for my summer holidays, but when travel and landscape photography is your job and a trip like this is the perfect occasion to create some portfolio worth images, that’s all you really wish for. As soon as I came back home from Norway, I pulled out the files into Lightroom and applied my own presets. I was relieved, it had worked. I was improving, and on my way to finally love these cameras and the editing process of their files.

So I guess you are wondering how I post process them, so I will give you a few hints. As I have said on a previous blog post, I achieve these colors by moving the sliders of three different panels of Lightroom. My most used presets are based on VSCO’s Portra 160+++ which I’ve tweaked until I’ve found something that I really like and works for my images. The following are some common adjustments that you can find on the majority of my images: In the tone curves panel, I always lift the shadows and decrease the highlights a bit. If it’s cloudy, I will accentuate those clouds, but if there’s a dull sky, I will usually blow out the highlights in the basic panel. In the HSL panel, my green tones are usually yellowish, and the yellows are a bit more orange. The saturation of the greens is really low but the luminance however, pretty high. I believe split toning is really important too. I usually have a bluish tone for the highlights and a warmer one for the shadows. Those are the three panels where the “magic” happens in my editing.

Many people have asked me to put my presets for sale, but I don’t think I am ready for that because I believe each of us has to develop our taste and work on something that works for our images. I really encourage people to just keep working on it and not copying literally other’s editing processes. I could show you screenshots of my editing panels, but I adjust every slider in each image, so I don’t think that is worth it. However, I do have some before and after screenshots where you actually see what I mean (check previous blog posts). But I am willing to give people tips and talk about how to think on your editing while you are making the actual photographs and how to improve their editing once you are in Lightroom. If people are interested, I may even create some videos to show you how I work in Lightroom and I can make some videos also editing some of your RAWs, if that is something you might enjoy. 

So what is my plan from now on… Ever since I started to enjoy my new way of editing with Fujifilm cameras, I’ve been saving up to build a lens collection that I am comfortable with. I am currently looking for the 16mm and the 23mm 1.4 since those are my favorite focal lengths. I’m also keeping my Canon system because I can’t let go of my Sigma 35Art for portraits. I have to say that even though I have 4 digital cameras in my bag, they all have a purpose for the work that I do. Except for the X Pro1 maybe, that I only take out when I feel some nostalgia... and I know for sure that I don’t want to sell it. This summer, we are planning on going on a trip to Japan and Indonesia where I want to bring a Fuji camera with the 16, 23 and the 35 1.4 (that I already own). I want to be able to travel light, with everything that I need in a ONA bag. In some of the tests that I’ve seen, it seems like the new XT2 and X PRO2 show less mushing in landscape photographs, and I would love to hear from those who own any of them if that is true or if it's just my eyes suffering from G.A.S (which I admit, Fujifilm cameras make me have it). Hopefully, I will be able to try that for myself sometime soon and we’ll see where that leads to. 

Probably this post was longer than expected and doesn’t answer all your questions... or maybe it leaves out some important information that you were expecting to hear from me. If that is the case, please don’t hesitate to write down in the comments or dropping me an email with your questions. I will try to do my best to give you a detailed answer. 

I would like to finish this post with the before and afters of my favorite 25 photos I’ve taken with the Fujis so far. I hope you like them!

[quinducreations]

Hello, loyal readers!

I hope you all had an amazing weekend! I actually took a day off for myself as well. I feel so rejuvenated and am very excited to finish this year strongly. I realize that this is a rather cliché statement for this time of year, but it’s true nonetheless.

It was a beautiful day yesterday when I took my dogs out for our midday run. I just had to take a few shots of the experience as it was truly magical. The way the snow glistened off the branches made me feel like I was right out of a movie scene. It was truly a winter wonderland. I’m so happy I got a few photos! It is very difficult to take pictures while your running with two dogs!

For the past 8 years I’ve loved going for runs. I’ve been doing it on and off ever since I got out of high school but, like many things, it’s easy to fall off the wagon. When I first started up daily running routine again a few months ago, my mileage goal was only 1.5 miles (the fitness requirement for the Air Force). I didn’t realize it at the time, but we actually ended up hitting 4.25 miles yesterday! I was so proud when I checked the distance on my phone! I may not be fast, but to see that I’m capable of running much farther, was absolutely breathtaking! Yes, that pun was totally intended. I’m rather hilarious-I know. Haha.

Now there are only a few weeks until Christmas but I’m more excited to see my husband again! It’s already been two months and we are now at the halfway point. Since there’s not much time before his arrival, I’m kicking it into high gear with my work so that I can fully dedicate that time to him. We’re also hosting on Christmas Day for his side of the family so I’ve got a menu to plan and a house to clean as well!

All the personal life updates aside, things with my art have been going well. I feel like the progress has been slow, but it’s happening regardless. I do admit that I am frustrated with myself and my work at times, but it’s only because I’m holding myself to a higher standard than I’m actually able to produce at the moment. The timeless advice “practice makes perfect” lurks in the back of my mind yet still I find myself having difficulty getting things started. We artists are our own worst critics. It’s a true statement and its hard not to do; it’s equally difficult not to compare our own works with that of others. I’m very guilty of this bad habit but quickly catch myself and recall where I was only a year ago. I know I’ve improved over my past works and I just need to keep the momentum going.

Last week’s YouTube Featured piece: “Mind Fog”

Lately, especially with my YouTube Featured Paintings, I’ve been finding it hard to reach my weekly deadlines. I have been, but not without much stress and worry. New painting videos are supposed to go up every Thursday so I feel rushed in the beginning of the week to film and edit. When I’m feeling this way, I don’t feel like my work is as strong and detailed as it might have been if I didn’t have to finish such a large piece. These paintings are size 16×20 inch canvases and while they may not seem like very large pieces, they do take a lot longer to complete than if I were to paint them in a slightly smaller size.

(If interested in this piece, take a look at the link above. She will be available for purchase in my shop sometime in January.)

Starting up within the new year, I’m going to be completely going away from painting on canvases and will instead be painting on wooden panels that are a little smaller in size. I see all different sorts of benefits to this and the one time I did paint on wood, it turned out so beautifully. The way the brush strokes slid across the piece was so smooth and beautiful. It was effortless. With canvases, it’s like your fighting against yourself with all the roughness and texture. I feel that using smaller, smoother materials will ease the stress I’ve felt lately and will make it much easier to produce some quality work and more of it.

On top of this, I’m also going to be trying a new medium-oil paint. With acrylics, at times I’m so happy that they dry fast, but at other times, I really wish they were still wet so that I can smooth out the brush strokes and blend the colors together. While it’s true that they’d take longer to dry, I would then be able to have several different (and smaller) pieces in progress and always keep that momentum going. When one piece leaves me in a tough spot, I’ll easily be able to transition to another one.

These changes are going to happen gradually, of course. Within the next few months, I’m going to be using up the materials I have and slowly integrating the switch. I wish I could switch everything over now, but getting all the oil paint supplies I need right off the bat is going to be expensive and that’s not including purchasing the panels.

Thanks for tuning in today, friends. I’m happy you stuck with me this long for my artist blurbs. I just wanted you all to be aware of the changes I’m making so I don’t catch you off guard. I know a lot of you really love the canvas pieces, but I’m sure you will love the wood panels just the same, if not better. Trust me on this one.

Till next time, loves. Tune in again for this week’s episode of Festive Friday!

We’ll be baking up a storm!

Join us on our run through the woods! I've got some life updates as well as an art announcement! Hello, loyal readers! I hope you all had an amazing weekend! I actually took a day off for myself as well.

[itsworn]

Pristine 1978 Corvette Pace Car

Some might look back at the late 1970s and think those were the saddest years for American sports cars and muscle cars. From a power perspective that might be true thanks to—in no small part—stringent new emissions and safety standards. In 1978, car manufacturers were right in the middle of this debacle and trying to figure out how to give people the power they wanted without burning a bigger hole in the ozone layer, among other things. There’s no denying these new restrictions were a serious problem, but Chevrolet wasn’t about to let that stop them from producing America’s sports car. If anything, these restrictions made Chevy think outside the box and get a little creative, hence the pace car replica Corvettes.

Chevy originally planned for the 1978 pace car replicas to be a special-edition with a very small production run planned. Chevrolet was capitalizing on the fact that the Corvette was asked to pace that year’s Indy 500 (thanks in no small part to the fact it was the 25th anniversary of the Corvette). Production started out with the idea they would only make 300 pace car replicas in honor of their first run of Corvettes in 1953, of which only 300 were sold. As soon as word started to get out though, Chevy realized that way more than just a few hundred people were interested in purchasing this limited-edition replica. In turn, they ramped up production so that every dealer in the county got one to sell—about 6,000 total—plus a few hundred extra. By the end of it, Chevrolet claims to have built 6,502 total units.

That was 40 years ago. Many of these pace car replicas were probably driven into the ground or left outside to bake in the sun and rust in the snow. Forty years is a long time for decay to grab hold of something. Heck, even 5 or 10 years can do some serious damage. So it really is a wonder that we have any of these cars around without having been completely restored. But, thanks to people like Len Russo and his wife, Catherine, of Fairview, New Jersey, we do have some original time-capsules to still enjoy.

Russo’s example is about as original as it gets with only a handful of wear parts replaced over the years. Like other pace car replicas, Russo’s Corvette touts the beefiest engine option available in 1978, the 220-horsepower L82 small-block 350. The engine’s seemingly meager 220 horses doesn’t sound like much, but it is a sign of progression over the previous year’s 210hp L82. Feeding the 350ci small-block is the original Rochester four-barrel Quadrajet. The engine is so original that it even has the original oil in it! Well, maybe not. But with only 22,000 miles on the clock a large majority of the engine is straight from the factory. What did need replacing, such as some A/C components, were swapped out for OEM parts.

Bolted up behind the small-block is the factory-installed MX1 automatic transmission. Speaking of options and RPO numbers, the pace car replicas came standard with 14 specific options but we’ll get into some of those later.

The most notable and unique aspects of the pace car replicas was the paint scheme—black on silver. This was one of the only options available in ’78 that you could only get on a pace car replica. The two-tone paint is comprised of black on the top half of the car with silver on the bottom, separated by a thin red stripe. Russo’s Corvette retains its original black paint while the silver on the lower half received a respray. Like other pace car replicas, his retains its factory optioned aluminum wheels, RPO number YJ8, with the wider QBS tire option. Standard Corvette tire sizes were 225/70R15 but QBS upped the size to 255/60R15 all around. This increase interfered with the stock fenders so Chevrolet had to actually shave off a small amount from the fender lip for adequate clearance, a task handed to the St. Louis Corvette assembly plant.

Inside the cabin of Russo’s Vette is business as usual as far as ’78 Corvette interiors are concerned. While the pace car replicas didn’t receive any special treatment inside, all Corvettes saw a pretty extensive redesign. Russo’s interior is all original, including the new-to-1978 speedometer, tach, glovebox and redesigned door panels. One might also notice a little badge in the center console that will only be found on ’78 Vettes: a 25th anniversary limited edition placard.

Another fun detail on Russo’s car is the removable glass roof panels. This was RPO number CC1 and, although it was standard equipment on the pace car replicas, only appeared on 972 of all 46,776 Corvettes built in 1978.

Russo and his wife have owned the car for over 10 years now and although it is an outstanding piece of Corvette history, they don’t just lock it away in a garage. In fact, at the time we shot the car, it had just over 21,000 miles on the odometer but as we write this they are pushing 22,000. When we asked how often it’s driven, Russo told us, “At least three times a month.” Most of those miles are spent driving around town on the weekends and taking it to local shows where they have won numerous awards. So thanks to the Russos and their pristine ’78 Corvette pace car replica, we all get to celebrate 25 years of the Corvette 40 years later. Vette

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[virgilthinks]

What It’s Like to Run for Election (And Not Win)

The door opens to reveal the voter… and she’s holding a gun. The yellow interior light dazzles. The chill of the dark bites in. “What,” she asks coldly. My usual spiel falters.

This was in March 2017, early in my campaign as a candidate in the Cambridgeshire local elections. The chief task for a candidate is ‘canvassing’: knocking on doors to speak to, and hopefully persuade, your voters. It’s a fascinating task that’s made even more so by the incidence of surprises. I’ve been greeted by people half-naked in bath-towels; by toddlers in pyjamas; by people holding more cats than limbs, blaring vacuum cleaners, dripping crockery and a tea towel; but I’d never seen a gun.

People are often delighted that a candidate has come to speak to them. Others are apathetic or awkward; and a handful are rude, most often when you’ve unknowingly interrupted their dinner or bedtime routine. Discovering this, I’ve always apologised and excused myself quickly, but sometimes that’s not enough. They’ve already picked up the closest weapon.

The time is 8pm, and the woman has that deeply tired look of a new parent whose last nerve snapped three weeks ago. Where previously there was pavement, I am now standing on a tremulous wafer of ice. When the door opens, I usually explain in my cheeriest tones that I’m their candidate for the upcoming elections. On this occasion, I’m not sure it’ll win my life, let alone a vote.

Even if I run for it, I can’t totally escape: I’m more than likely to bump into her again. I’m only just round the corner from my own house. People want their candidates to live in the same area as them, and I do. I made my locality a central point in my campaign: that I understand the issues because I live and breathe them. I published my address. I put my face on leaflets, and I put those leaflets through every letterbox.

Prior to 2017, I’d never have imagined I’d do all that. I’m an introvert. Being outgoing feels vulnerable; self-promotion feels unnatural. Yet here I was, talking to 100 new people every evening and asking them to vote for me. Even though winning would be a long shot, the 2017 elections were only going to happen once, and I was determined to give it my all. And face up to anything I might meet at the door.

The trouble with canvassing is that, though its motivations are diametrically dissimilar, its method is identical to that most despised of all creatures: the door-to-door salesperson. People are so sick of cold calls, of hard-sell marketing, of pizza delivery leaflets, that their first reaction to a stranger at the door is almost always one of deep distrust. Seeing that look on their face is hard to get used to. But there really is no other way to represent people than meeting and talking to them. Which means you end up saying “Sorry to disturb you” an awful lot.

Canvassing is also fascinating. It’s not every day you get the opportunity to meet all the people who live around you. People you’ve passed on the street; who live just behind the wall in your house. You get to appreciate how truly unique and different every family, household and human being really is, even in such a tiny patch of Earth. You speak to people young and old, rich and poor, meek and boisterous and open and angry. I got a momentary glimpse of thousands of different lives.

Personally, the challenge was one that stretched my soft skills to whole new levels. Every interaction is a test of your emotional intelligence, your ability to communicate adroitly under pressure, your empathy and your confidence. It’s sink or swim – especially when facing a gun barrel. I never thought that in the space of a few minutes I could gently talk a lifelong Conservative over to the Green Party.

By the way, that’s the party I was running for. Which should be proof enough I didn’t do it all for fame and fortune. Being a Green candidate is hard work: no party is beleaguered by more misconceptions. “They’re just about the environment” (false: we’re working for fairness in all aspects of society). “They can never win” (false: we regularly win council seats or come 2nd). “They’re unrealistic” (false: our policies are backed by mountains of evidence).

People are also used to the idea that political parties have plenty of staff and money, with big donors. Sadly this is also false of the Green Party, which is funded almost entirely by individuals, and run almost entirely by volunteers. That’s why it fell upon me to manage my whole campaign myself. I wrote and designed my own leaflets, produced and edited my own campaign video, and coordinated my own volunteers, fundraising and data – all while also acting as the overall Campaigns Officer for the local party.

People have been surprised to hear that I’m not paid anything for this, despite it being onerous enough to be a full-time job – on top of my full-time job. Even if I’d been elected, I’d have received only a 'stipend’ of a few thousand a year – in return for another full-time job.* A job with a 4-year contract after a months-long interview by a panel of everyone in town. How did I have time for all this? Easy: I just dialled myself up to 200%. (Read: coffee.)

(* Being a Councillor can take up as much time as you want it to. A minimally decent job could be done with a day per week.)

I stood with the Greens because I believe in their vision of a fair, sustainable society; and they’re the only party, in my view, taking the very serious threat of climate change seriously. I don’t want to look the next generation in the eye and say, “I knew. And I did nothing.” And I discovered at the doorstep that so many people feel exactly the same. Excluding that woman with the gun, of course.

“Sorry to disturb you,” I say to her. “I live just down the road, and I’m actually your candidate for the local elections.”

Her eyes bore into me, either fuming or utterly vacant, it’s ambiguous. “What time do you call this?” she seethes.

“I’m terribly sorry,” I splutter. “It’s hard to tell when is too late for different people. I could see the light was on, but I shouldn’t have assumed –”

“Look,” she interrupts, her finger quivering on the trigger. “I’ve got a pair of newborn twins upstairs who I’ve only just got to sleep. I’ve not slept myself in days. And the last thing I care about right now is you, and bloody politics!”

“I’m very sorry. I –”

She fires. The door slams.

If it’s not clear by now, the gun is metaphorical. Everyone who opens the door is holding one. You face it every time you knock; and occasionally, you get shot.

If you want to improve your local community, if you take the decision to step up and run for election, you inevitably make a trade-off. You cease to be just another resident. You become a resident who has spoken to, disturbed, knocked at the doors of nearly everyone who lives in the area. You sacrifice the anonymity which protects you, normally, from the harshest and fastest judgments of others. You put yourself in the firing line. But, emerging on the other side, it’s absolutely worth it. Because you also connect with people. You learn from them. You stand up for the things that will improve their lives.

The election was on 4th May 2017, and I returned 14% of the vote. By no means enough for an overall win. And by no means a loss either. That's 1 in 7 people who put their trust in me; whose most precious possession – their vote – I successfully earned. 1 in 7 people who've given more influence to the Green vision I communicated. 1 in 7 people who made their voices heard.

So what is it like to run for election and not win? – I wouldn’t know.