#used to be an old mill and there’s a waterfall out back

[redstoneofaja]

I WAS GOING CRAZY IN HERE

[discountsoysauce]

Okay so the Denholm brothers have been on my brain a lot recently, and with the direction this smp is probably going + what I know from outsiders, it's pretty unlikely that both of them will survive to the end. So here are my ideas of what would happen if one of them sacrificed themselves for the other (both written slightly differently because I just went wherever the thoughts took me)

Acho

- Scott would take in Dipper and reminisce with him about the good times he and Acho had when they were kids. Dipper becomes a permanent addition to the Heron faction and can often be seen milling about the tavern or sleeping next to the waterfall. Scott tells him that he was a good boy and he did his best to look after Acho while they were here.

- He would regret not searching harder, thinking maybe if he had found Acho and talked everything out, things wouldn't have ended up this way, or at least he would have had some more time.

- He would look back through his diary and rip out all the pages where he promised to protect Acho. He gathers them all and puts them back where they go almost immediately after.

- Maybe he'd look up and talk to the stars just like Acho used to do. It feels a bit awkward at first, but eventually, it becomes natural, and he finds himself talking to the stars like they're an old friend.

- He would possibly start to grow resentful of his parents depending on their reactions to Acho's death, and angry at them for pushing Acho away from the family.

- He would feel guilty for driving Acho away. If he had realized how they felt, had done more to show he cared, had tried to understand Acho better, maybe star would have never left. Maybe they could have done it together.

Scott

- Acho would be angry at first. He had told Scott so many times that they didn't need protecting, that they could hold their own. So why? Why was Scott gone and Acho still standing here? He told him he didn't need protecting, and yet there he went, throwing himself into the fray like an idiot. Did he not think they could protect themselves? Did he still think they were weak? What had Acho even done to deserve that kind of devotion? He left. He left Scott alone for a year with no message, no warning, and yet he still did it. Acho just doesn't understand.

- Then comes the guilt and regret. The times he told Scott he didn't need protecting, the times he ignored him, ran the opposite direction, blamed him for their parents' mistakes and left him to shoulder the brunt of their expectations alone. He can't say he regrets leaving, that would be disingenuous, but he often spends nights tossing and turning in his bed, wondering what could have happened if they had just left some kind of message. Maybe it wouldn't have saved him, but at least they would have had a little more time.

- Star would deny being upset about it to anyone they weren't close to. Scott made his choice, Acho never asked him to give up his life. He wouldn't have done the same. Graecie, of course, sees right through this and eventually manages to get through to him enough that he admits everything, and it becomes a nightingale secret.

- Acho has another person to talk to in the stars. He thinks about if the two of them would get along, decides they probably wouldn't. He hopes they stick around for him all the same.

[diabolocracy]

The eggs! In order, from left to right,

Void Siren / Null Siren is the one I've written the most. tl;dr after experiencing a laboratory accident that killed a lab tech and left him scarred physically and mentally he gradually gave in to depression. With coaxing from his CORE, which at some point had gained sentience and wanted to take his body for its own, he jumped. A chunk of his data was absorbed by the CORE, but not all of it. Upon the first Reset what wasn't absorbed by the CORE was contained within a Room that now appears in other AUs at complete random.

Sci Cult is a branch of the above who instead gradually lost his marbles and created a device that would destroy his AU. He was stopped with the combined efforts of Alphys, Sans, and several others who opposed him and his Followers. The device was used against the Cult, glitching them out of existence. They're now naught but cryptid-level 'ghosts' in their AU that no one knows the origins of. Many don't even think they're real.

Crash is a branch of the above who turned an experimental version of the device upon himself in a moment of clarity. He glitched himself out of existence and managed to turn himself into an abomination. He crashes any non-No Mercy AU he comes upon and he recruited Reboot to assist him.

Reboot is another branch of the above who was intercepted by Crash before the accident, avoiding it and its traumatic results entirely. Crash talked him into assisting him by helping Reboot build a device that could make portals and reboot worlds that Crash, well, crashed. Reboot thinks he's assisting in more-or-less harmless fun--after all, he restores the worlds Crash crashes back to normal, right? He isn't aware that Crash is trying for 'No Mercy' in every AU; if he knew he would try to stop his 'friend.' The reboot/portal device is in his cane, which he uses otherwise normally because he's old and has a bad back.

Bunny's a bad, bad egg tormenting his boyfriend over the run of many, many timelines. He pushes Fuse's buttons relentlessly until Fuse murders him and then he Resets and does it all over again. Granted, Science sometimes kills him, too. If you can Reset, then there's no loss in performing dangerous experiments just to see what'll happen.

[✁︎✁︎✁︎] is your run-of-the-mill troll. Can program, reprogram, and otherwise alter and modify AUs. He erased himself from his AU's databank / script because 'it was going to happen anyway lol' and he has since become a meddlesome pest, not unlike Code. He often bothers Fear and drags him places for shits and giggles.

Fear is a skittish hermit that ended up trapping himself in a Waterfall-themed pocket universe, which is all well and good because his Origin AU has since been destabilized and probably destroyed--not that he's aware of it. He is not fond of the field trips [✁︎✁︎✁︎] drags him on.

[casually-crooked]

Credit to @cosmoglass for making the post that first pointed this out, but I want to show in more detail why Lupin the 3rd: Castle of Cagliostro and ICO for the PS2 are aesthetically connected, with the latter likely being inspired by the former. This post won't contain direct spoilers for either source material. But a lot of images will be used, so if you prioritize coming into both of these masterworks blind, and with fresh eyes, wait until you've seen them for yourself.

[ID: Image 1: A full shot of the Count's Castle from Lupin the 3rd: Castle of Cagliostro. /end ID] [ID: Images 2 & 3: The Queen's Castle from ICO, both close and wide shots. /end ID]

Here we can see the castles side by side. You won't notice many architectural similarities beyond perhaps the arch bridges. But both rest upon a body of water, closed off from the mainland. Both castles were made to be isolated and difficult to reach. Speaking of difficulties, you'll notice in ICO that the bridge to the mainland appears to be missing. A more accurate statement is that it is retracted. Later in the game, a stone bridge will extend itself out of a slot to reach the mainland, much like another part of the Count's Castle, which connects to an isolated tower.

[ID: Image 4: The Count's Castle, focus on the isolated tower and a section of castle extending out to connect with it. /end ID]

There's also an elevator on the outside of both castles' walls, and while they vary drastically in style, this specific wall-ascending outdoor elevator is pretty unique in concept.

[ID: Image 5: The Count's Castle, a ridge in the outside of the tower allows a boxed elevator to ride up and down. The elevator itself is octagonal in shape and fancifully decorated. /end ID] [ID: Image 6: The Queen's Castle, a ridge in the outside of the tower allows a platform elevator to ride up and down. The player must manually turn a large crank to ascend and descend. There is no roof, and only a fence protects the riders from falling off. /end ID]

Both castles also feature a windmill that overlooks a small area of greenery.

[ID: Images 7 & 8: The Count's Castle, a small four winged windmill of old construction overlooks a small walkway with lush bushes dotting the view. It faces out towards the water. Images taken from both front and back of the windmill. /end ID] {Note: The following images are not of ICO, but rather an accurate recreation of the Windmill area created in Unity by funkyboy. They had the best angles to demonstrate my point.}

[ID: Images 9 & 10: The Queen's Castle, an eight winged windmill overlooks a small pond surrounded by vibrant green grass. It faces out towards the water. Images taken from the left and right sides of the windmill. /end ID]

One can find a few more similarities inside the castle walls. Particularly in the aqueduct leading towards the Count's castle. The underground waterworks are filled with huge gears and intense streams of water. A similar locale is seen in the final stretch of ICO, where the gears and mills are used as a platforming challenge.

[ID: Image 11: Lupin, in diving gear, fights against the current of a waterfall that spills out over a underground passageway of brick construction. Large interconnected gears encompass the background. /end ID] [ID: Image 12: A promotional poster featuring Ico, small in the frame, looking up towards streams of water raging down over a cliff face, the streams land into mills and gears that turn.]

Both pieces of media also feature a stone bench. Though ICO's benches are more prominent and used as Save Points throughout The Queen's Castle.

[ID: Image 13: A sun sets on an old marble pavilion with a stone bench, slightly coated in crumpled autumn leaves. The seat is split into three sections of the stone. Very detailed art style. /end ID] [ID Image 14: Ico and Yorda rest on a stone bench, split into two sections of stone. It glows with runes when Yorda is near it. /end ID]

But it's not just the castle that has aesthetic similarities, the characters themselves have some commonalities. Clarisse, from Cagliostro, has a resemblance to Yorda. And while Lupin, as her rescuer, doesn't resemble the 12 year old Ico, he does end up with a head injury that requires bandages around his head, later in the film. Ico is always seen with bandages across his head throughout his game.

[ID: Image 15: Lupin holding Clarisse's hand as he guides her back through the aqueduct area, filled with turning gears. Clarisse wears an all-white dress and has a colorful shade of brown hair. Lupin wears a green jacket over a black shirt and yellow necktie. He has white bandages wrapped tightly around his black hair. /end ID] [ID: Image 16: Ico helping Yorda up by the hand after she has fallen. Yorda wears a white dress with brown and grey patterns around the neck and shoulders. Her hair is mostly gray with very faded traces of brown. Ico wears an orange tunic and a poncho with an elusive ancient pattern on it. Around his black hair are white bandages, from which horns sprout. /end ID]

There are also two moments in the Lupin film where Lupin helps Clarisse across a small gap, but I only have a clear screenshot of this instance.

[ID: Image 17: Lupin helps Clarisse cross a short, watery gap between two platforms that they stand on. He extends his hand to grab hers on the other side, intending to pull her towards him as she jumps. /end ID]

Helping Yorda across gaps is such a staple of ICO's gameplay, it's hard to think of the game without thinking of this image.

[ID: Image 18: Ico reaches out his hand to Yorda on the other side of a fairly long distance gap between their two platforms. She is at the edge of hers, preparing to jump towards him, the intent being that she will grab onto his outstretched hand. /end ID]

And if the main characters aren't visually similar enough, how about the common enemies? In The Castle of Cagliostro, there are a group of assassins shrouded in black cloth, and equipped with metallic claws that make them appear monstrous. Their eyes glow an unnatural yellow and they often walk with hunched postures.

[ID: Images 19 & 20: First, a depiction of the aforementioned assassins, piled together in a doorway, glaring towards their targets in the dead of night with yellow glints for eyes. The second image is a close up of one of their hands, which resembles a gauntlet from a set of armor, but with sharp, long pointed ends on each digit and sharpened knuckles. /end ID]

Compare with the common enemies from ICO, which are actual manifestations of shadow. They appear bestial and often hunched over as they approach, claws and wings are common in their design elements, and they bare glowing blue eyes.

[ID: Images 21 & 22: Close-ups of two Shadow Creatures. The first has grabbed Yorda, and lifted her onto one shoulder with slender appendages that end in long points. It's face glows with a bright blue light that emanates from its eyes. The second Shadow Creature stares at Yorda with the same blue eyes, it's back covered in ethereal feathers, it's long arms cascading down to the ground, also ending in points.]

The pictures don't capture the movement of these characters but I assure you they both walk with an unnerving energy that feel very similar to each other.

The Castle of Cagliostro came out in 1979 when Fumito Ueda was 9 years old. In all likelihood, he and the people that made up Team Ico at that time, had watched the movie several times as they grew up. Considering also, the fact that ICO lacked most of these resemblances in earlier stages of development, I think it's possible that Ueda and/or the team rewatched the film mid-development and decided to wear the inspiration on their sleeve. Regardless of how this Lupin the 3rd movie sneaked some of its aesthetics into a classic PS2 title like ICO, I think they are undoubtedly connected by a link of artistic inspiration. Hayao Miyazaki's directorial debut inspired Fumito Ueda as he created his first game.

[strawberrystreamfields]

Carolina's Journal Log 17:

I woke up curled up beneath my blanket, leaning against Rosedawn, who was still sleeping. Checking my watch, I determined it was about 10 in the morning. Rosedawn finally stirred about 15 minutes later while I'd been reading one of the books I carried with me. We headed down to one of the little cafés nearby. Rosedawn was over by the troughs filled with horse feed and water while I ordered some tea and a cinnamon roll for breakfast. That cinnamon roll was delicious.

After I finished tacking up Rosedawn and paid for breakfast, we headed up the slope to the sleigh. We have to get back to the main part of Jorvik somehow, though. The sleigh ride itself still feels so surreal.

The sleigh dropped us off in Fort Pinta, and we bid our goodbyes to the Capran steering before continuing on our way. A beam of light was rising from what looked to be the Hollow Woods, so Rosedawn and I began heading in that direction. While passing Silverglade Village, we spotted something that seemed to resemble a yeti or some kind of humanoid. Interesting. Might have to tell Scott about that next time I see him.

Rosedawn and I made it to the Hollow Woods not long after that and found the beam of light to be indicating a magic goat who'd lost track of their baby goats. Reuniting the adult with the babies didn't take long, so we continued on our way, passing the abandoned summer house. It looks almost... peaceful in the snow.

We soon arrived in Valedale, and stopped to speak with a couple locals as we went along. The waterfall was still tumbling down the cliffside, as it always did. I struck up a brief conversation with Farah, who expressed how the blizzard has made it a bit more difficult to find certain herbs and plants needed for her workshop, so I assured her I'd keep an eye out for any. Bidding her goodbye, we crossed the bridge when my phone buzzed. Lisa and her father were inviting us and the other Soul Riders over to Starshine Ranch for a few nights.

Of course, we accepted the invitation and began heading for Starshine Ranch. We passed the old mill perched on the bank of the Silversong River, and the small group of penguins playing on the ice nearby. Despite most of the blizzard itself having passed over, Firgrove remained coated in knee-deep snow as the two of us entered the final leg of the trip to Starshine Ranch.

Once we arrived at the ranch, we stopped to chat with Josh briefly, who commented that it was supposed to get down to around 12 degrees Celcius tonight, meaning that to head outside could be quite a foolish decision if not properly prepared. Thanking Josh for the heads-up, I headed over to the Peterson's cabin after arranging lodging for Rosedawn for the night. Meteor, Blondie, Starshine, and Concorde were all already there, meaning that only Alex hadn't arrived yet. This ought to be fun.

[tuscanwalker]

Sept 27, 2022: Campagnano di Roma to La Storta - 25.4 km; CUS - 1,800 ft

403.2 km to date

Memories of India

The British tour group tracked in about an hour and a half after us, but still game after a very long, wet day. On our way out to explore and whine/wine about 5 pm we encountered the guides and the last two ladies to come in, including one who had been sidelined with really bad blisters but came back today and made the whole distance. My admiration for them continues. I have been fortunate not to have any blisters this trip, a first on these long treks with Kim (he never seems to get them). Less fortunately, I stepped in a puddle on the street today that turned out to be a couple of missing cobble stones. I badly reinjured my calf and right hip and i am walking with a pronounced limp while trying to avoid walking at all. I was still able to finish today and tomorrow should be a cakewalk to St Peters.

Dinner last night was fabulous. Kim and I both had the bruschetta fantasia (1 artichoke, 1 pomodoro and one capicollo plus a pot of hot beans and crostini. Then Kim had the gnocchi with an arugula pesto and cherry tomatoes while I had the bucatini amatriciana. Both were perfect, as was the house red. Filled with locals, eccentrically decorated and run by three generations of family, I just thought it was something my brother would have loved. Throughout we were entertained by the owners 16ish month old grandson running around the tables chasing and being chased by grandpa. Made me homesick for the grandkids. Normally the food is included in our half board but we pay for wine and mineral water. Nonetheless, the owner refused payment of any kind. So saying, I gave him 10€ and told him in broken Italian to buy something for the little guy. In response, I was gifted with a huge smile and a grazie mille.

Today basically a long, tough, boring trudge. The hi-lite of the day was running into a number of cows on the loose and a older woman in her little Fiat Panda desperately looking for them. We found two at a roadside and one immediately started meandering toward me with a determined look on its face (do cows have looks or just vacant stares?) It reminded me of walking down a road in India (where cows are as ubiquitous as boulevard trees) and encountering several cows, one of which seemed determined to make Luanne her friend and followed her for a considerable distance.

Other than that, the most interesting thing today was a sign explaining that we had just walked over a subterranean aqueduct about 100 sq feet in cross section. It was apparently 78 km long with a consistent 1.2-2% slope. It was built by the Etruscans to bring water from mountains to the city of Veio. Needless to say I have no pictures to share. Instead, I offer pictures of an old mill (below are the millstones) and 60-80 foot waterfall we passed. I regret to say that after about 20 km walking there was no way I was scrambling down a cliff and back up to get a better picture from the bottom.

We arrived about 3:30, had a glass of wine and showered and are still awaiting the arrival of our British friends.

Random Thoughts

Umbrella Pines

As we were walking yesterday, I got to thinking about how, for many people, rows of cypress trees lining a road through a hillside vineyard is symbolic of the Tuscan countryside. Kim, on the other hand, is absolutely enamoured with the Plane Trees, many of which are centuries old. My favourite is the umbrella pines, tall with the characteristic crown and all the dead lower limbs removed, this is Tuscany to me.

Italian Clocks

Time seems unimportant when you are walking through the Italian countryside. This is reinforced by the fact that every little town has a clock tower, sometimes on the city gate, sometime on a church bell tower and sometimes on city hall. Why does this support the idea that time is unimportant? It is because none of them tell the correct time. We even found one where the wrong time is different on different sides of the clock tower, all different, but all wrong.

[yashvitours]

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Wake up to the sweet sound of birds singing and take in the fresh, crisp mountain air that will invigorate your senses. Northeast India's lush green forests, serene mirror-like lakes, and majestic waterfalls will leave you awestruck by nature's magnificence. 

Go hiking through Nagaland's dense rainforests teeming with exotic wildlife you've only seen in books. Cruise the unique floating islands on the tranquil Loktak Lake in Manipur - an experience straight out of a storybook. In Meghalaya, be amazed by the powerful waterfalls cascading down around Shillong city, making you feel tiny amidst nature's giants. For the adventurers, challenging treks in Arunachal Pradesh await, even leading you to the mighty base of Mount Everest itself!

2. A Tapestry of Vibrant Cultures

The people and traditions of Northeast India are truly special and unique. Experience the lively and colorful Hornbill Festival in Nagaland, a carnival of joy celebrating the region's tribal heritage through folk dances, traditional crafts and mouth watering local cuisine. 

Learn about the fascinating matrilineal society of Meghalaya where women take the lead. Be mesmerized as you witness the graceful and elegant classical dance forms like Manipuri and Lai Haraoba in Manipur state. In Assam, step back in time as you explore ancient temples like the revered Kamakhya, and tantalize your taste buds with the state's delectable cuisine influenced by Ahom and Tai cultures.

3. Off-the-Beaten-Path Gems

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Pay your respects at the somber yet significant Kohima War Cemetery in Nagaland, honoring the brave souls who fought during World War II. For wildlife lovers, a thrilling jeep safari in the legendary Kaziranga National Park, Assam awaits - can you spot the mighty one-horned rhino?

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5. Craft Your Dream Northeast Escape

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Uncover Northeast India's Marvels

Don't settle for an ordinary, run-of-the-mill vacation. Let the trusted team at Yashvi Tours & Travels curate an unforgettable journey through Northeast India's incredible landscapes, fascinating cultures, warm hospitality and make priceless memories you'll cherish forever. Ditch the crowds and escape the mundane - contact Yashvi Tours & Travels today to start planning your magical Northeast adventure!

So, what are you waiting for? Checkout the best travel agency in gandhinagar that offers a custom tour package gandhinagar for domestic package booking in gandhinagar.

Discover the Magic of Northeast India with Yashvi Tours & Travels

Are you tired of the same old vacation spots? Looking for an incredible adventure that will create memories to last a lifetime? Then let Yashvi Tours & Travels take you to the amazing Northeast region of India. We got the best North East tour packages from Gandhinagar for you. Hidden away in the mighty Himalayas, this area is full of stunning natural beauty and rich cultures just waiting to be uncovered and explored.

1. Nature's Wonderland

Wake up to the sweet sound of birds singing and take in the fresh, crisp mountain air that will invigorate your senses. Northeast India's lush green forests, serene mirror-like lakes, and majestic waterfalls will leave you awestruck by nature's magnificence. 

Go hiking through Nagaland's dense rainforests teeming with exotic wildlife you've only seen in books. Cruise the unique floating islands on the tranquil Loktak Lake in Manipur - an experience straight out of a storybook. In Meghalaya, be amazed by the powerful waterfalls cascading down around Shillong city, making you feel tiny amidst nature's giants. For the adventurers, challenging treks in Arunachal Pradesh await, even leading you to the mighty base of Mount Everest itself!

2. A Tapestry of Vibrant Cultures

The people and traditions of Northeast India are truly special and unique. Experience the lively and colorful Hornbill Festival in Nagaland, a carnival of joy celebrating the region's tribal heritage through folk dances, traditional crafts and mouth watering local cuisine. 

Learn about the fascinating matrilineal society of Meghalaya where women take the lead. Be mesmerized as you witness the graceful and elegant classical dance forms like Manipuri and Lai Haraoba in Manipur state. In Assam, step back in time as you explore ancient temples like the revered Kamakhya, and tantalize your taste buds with the state's delectable cuisine influenced by Ahom and Tai cultures.

3. Off-the-Beaten-Path Gems

Yashvi Tours & Travels will lead you away from the touristy crowds to extraordinary places that most travelers miss out on. Marvel at the sustainability and cleanliness of Asia's cleanest village, Mawlynnong in Meghalaya, as you interact with its warm residents. Soak in the calmness surrounding the old Buddhist monasteries tucked away in the mountains of Arunachal Pradesh. 

Pay your respects at the somber yet significant Kohima War Cemetery in Nagaland, honoring the brave souls who fought during World War II. For wildlife lovers, a thrilling jeep safari in the legendary Kaziranga National Park, Assam awaits - can you spot the mighty one-horned rhino?

4. Living Heritage and Handicrafts

Northeast India is also renowned for its diverse handicrafts and handloom traditions that have been passed down through generations. In Nagaland, witness expert artisans weave vibrant shawls, jackets and accessories using the iconic bamboo and cane motifs. Assam's exquisite silk weaves like the gorgeous Mekhela Chadors are a sight to behold. Don't miss the opportunity to see the making of bamboo utility products, wood carvings and ornaments showcasing Arunachal Pradesh's indigenous craftsmanship.

5. Craft Your Dream Northeast Escape

With so much to see and experience, planning a Northeast India trip can seem overwhelming. But not to worry - Yashvi's passionate and knowledgeable travel experts ensure a hassle-free experience. 

They'll work closely with you to understand your needs, interests and budget, and thoughtfully design a fully customized itinerary that lets you soak in the region's best offerings at your own pace. Whether you crave adrenaline-pumping outdoor adventures, peaceful nature retreats, in-depth cultural immersion or a blend of it all, they'll make your dream Northeast vacation a reality.

Uncover Northeast India's Marvels

Don't settle for an ordinary, run-of-the-mill vacation. Let the trusted team at Yashvi Tours & Travels curate an unforgettable journey through Northeast India's incredible landscapes, fascinating cultures, warm hospitality and make priceless memories you'll cherish forever. Ditch the crowds and escape the mundane - contact Yashvi Tours & Travels today to start planning your magical Northeast adventure!

So, what are you waiting for? Checkout the best travel agency in gandhinagar that offers a custom tour package gandhinagar for domestic package booking in gandhinagar.

Article Source : https://www.yashvitours.com/discover-the-magic-of-northeast-india-with-yashvi-tours-travels/

[talesgreys]

Log flume ride goldrush juncton

View from Washington State Highway 14 Boat ramp at Drano Lake. īroughton Flume on Chemawa Hill, Washington. Lewis & Clark's Columbia River - "200 Years Later" Template:Country data Argentina Argentinaįile:Flag of the United Kingdom.svg United Kingdomįile:Flag of the United Arab Emirates.svg United Arab Emiratesįile:Flag of the Netherlands.The Columbia River - Broughton Flume, Washington The second lifthill lifts up higher with audio playing in the back and then an exciting drop occurs and the riders return.įile:Flag of the United States.svg United States Luna Park's Wild River contains a few turns then a lifthill which holds the riders (usually 4 or 5) upwards for 15 seconds then the log turns left and drops down. Log Chute at Mall of America's indoor park Nickelodeon Universe contains sections within a large rocky structure and some out in the open.ĭisney's Splash Mountain consists of a single trough running in a continuous circuit through the middle of a show building with Audio-Animatronic scenes playing on the left and right of the main flume, with only the largest drops and a few turns positioned placed outside the show building. Upon his retirement, Hurlbut sold the ride to Knott's Berry Farm where it is still in operation. Bud Hurlbut and his right-hand man Harry Suker were responsible for the theme of the ride. Originally built as a concession run by Hurlbut Amusement Company, most of the ride is inside a man-made mountain. One of the first elaborately-themed flumes was Timber Mountain Log Ride at Knott's Berry Farm. Additionally, the exit path from the ride may cross over or go near to the flume, such that departing riders are drenched by the boat currently en route. Water cannons (typically coin-operated, like The Flume at Alton Towers, by passersby) aimed along the path are sometimes installed alongside the flume. To increase the chance of being soaked, the flume can be designed to be turbulent, or to run underneath waterfalls. The amount of splash can be controlled by using rubber belting of differing widths and differing heights. A second lifthill then culminates with an exciting drop and a splashdown finale. In a typical course, the boatful of riders floats through a small section of channel upon leaving the station, then engages a lift hill that takes them on a winding course in the water-filled trough. The flume is usually made of fiberglass, concrete or galvanized steel. Log flumes are generally out in the open, though some may contain enclosed or tunneled sections. Other manufacturers eventually followed with Intamin building its first log flume in 1986 and Mack Rides in 1987. In 1976, the French company Reverchon Industries started building flumes and in 1979 Hopkins Rides entered the flume building business. In the 1960s and early 1970s Arrow had a monopoly on the log flume business, producing over 50 flumes by 1979. When Six Flags Over Mid America opened in 1971, it featured twin flumes. Cedar Point added Shoot the Rapids in 1967, and Six Flags Over Texas and Six Flags Over Georgia both added second flumes in 1968. The ride was so popular that some parks started adding second flume rides to help reduce the long lines. Log flumes proved to be extremely popular and quickly became staples at amusement and theme parks throughout the world. The Mill Race, Arrow Log Flume number two, opened just a few weeks later at Cedar Point. The first modern day log flume amusement ride constructed by Arrow was El Aserradero at Six Flags Over Texas in Arlington, Texas, which opened in 1963 and is still in operation. It was not until Karl Bacon of Arrow Development got involved and studied hydrodynamics that the use of water flow in an amusement ride was fully exploited. Both of these types of rides took rather simple approaches to handling water flow. Shoot the Chute rides continue to be built today. Log flumes are a variant of the chute rides and old mill rides that were popular in the United States in the early 20th century. Walter Knott and Bud Hurlbut ride the Timber Mountain Log Ride at Knott's Berry Farm in 1969 File:Flumeride.jpgįlumeride, at Liseberg, Sweden in June 2006. History File:WalterKnottBudHurlbutLogRideKBF1969.jpg

[lueurjun]

𝖱𝖮𝖠𝖣 𝖳𝖮 𝖥𝖠𝖬𝖤. 𝗌𝗂𝗆 𝗃𝖺𝖾𝗒𝗎𝗇

“=⌕ sim jaeyun x gn!reader. 

⌗ SUMMARY — becoming a tiktoker was never apart of the plan, but here you are, 4 million followers and a love for pranking your boyfriend. 

. . ⇢ LUEURJUN’S NOTES — this is supposed to be gender neutral but if i slipped up at any point then i do sincerely apologise. this probably won’t be written the best, i was kinda sick and had a moment of inspiration. this is super fluffy and cheesy, so brace yourself. 

₊❏❜ WARNING ⋮ uh tears of joy?? i guess.

2021 @lueurjun.

i. 

THE 30TH APRIL 2020 was the day that your life changed in ways that you used to believe only happened in movies. 

Honestly, setting up your phone and telling your devilishly handsome, yet so pure, so innocent boyfriend that you wanted to have a child—whether that be adoption plans or getting pregnant—it was a small prank you decided to pull and film for your group chat. You never had any intentions of uploading it onto the internet, until Jay, one of your closest friends, suggested that you posted it to Tiktok. 

Jake was cool with it, having not expected it to blow up as much as it did. Nobody had expected for you to get over 2 million views and over 600k likes on your first video. Nor did you expect the heaps of requests in your comment section of different pranks to pull on your boyfriend. And that’s where it began. 

That one video was a rabbit hole into what quickly became your career. 

Now, with over 4 million followers, you have created your own little fan base, who have grown to love you, your boyfriend and even your friends that occasionally end up in your videos.

ii. 

The light in the kitchen flickered once as you set up your phone against a bunch of cookbooks that your parents had yet to read. Mentally, you made a note to ask one of your family members to change the bulb when they returned home. Focusing on your phone, which was now recording, you put your thumbs up and turned towards the door.

“JAEYUN!” Your voice echoed through the quiet home, bouncing off every wall until it met your boyfriend’s ears. Brief shuffling could be heard followed by the padding of feet across the floor boards. He was only in the next room, so it didn’t take long for him to appear right before your eyes. 

The first thing your eyes set on was the crinkles in his shirt, suggesting that he had been laying down. His dark hair was hidden beneath a black hat, which he had placed on his head backwards. He was dressed so simple, but you still managed to fall in love once again at the sight of him. You often wondered how you had managed to bag someone like Jake, he was the epitome of perfection and you couldn’t really see why he would want to be with you. Jake never let these thoughts ponder in your mind for too long, since he was always quick to prove to you that you’re everything to him. 

Secretly eyeing the camera, you put on a pout and fiddle with the hem of his shirt. Immediately, the alarm bells go off in Jake’s mind. You’re never normally this quiet and it’s rare to see you pout. He frowns a little, eyebrows knitting together as concern washes over his face. Using his index finger and his thumb, he lifts your chin and gently rubs the skin just below your lip.

“What’s the matter?” 

“I just- don’t get mad,” you begin, forcing yourself to sound sad. “But I just think you could’ve been a little bit nicer to me today.”

He had been nothing but an angel to you all day, and you felt horrendous for making him think otherwise, but alas, Tiktok had spoken and they wanted you to do this prank. So, as bad as you felt, it wouldn’t cause much harm. 

“Did I do something to upset you?” He looks genuinely hurt by his own actions and guilt immediately tugs at your heart strings.

You shrug and avert your gaze downwards, focusing on the tiled floor beneath your feet. This was partly to stop yourself from giving in too quickly, you’d always been a sucker for Jake’s puppy dog eyes and you knew if you looked into them any longer, you would stop the prank.  

Jake cocks his head to the side and steps closer to you, nuzzling his nose against the side of your head. You feel his breath fan over your ear and you swear your heart stops beating for a second. His fingers trail over your waist and he plants the softest kiss to the side of your head. 

“I just feel like you’ve been a little mean to me today,” you continue. And he nods his head in understanding, though you know he doesn’t understand at all. Jake doesn’t know what he’s done wrong, but if you think he hasn’t been nice to you then he’s not going to argue. 

“I’m sorry, can you tell me what I did to make you feel this way?” 

You lean your head against his chest and bite your lip, it’s hard to contain your smile. With his sweet response mixed with the scent of his cologne fogging up your brain, you have a hard time holding onto your act and he quickly notices. 

“Is this a prank?” He asks, pulling away from you. 

You let the giggles slip from your mouth and nod towards the phone, that you had done your best to hide. Jake turns, his hand still on your waist, and he looks for the camera. Once his eyes land on his figure, he throws his head back and a breathy laugh falls from his lips.

“I should’ve known.” 

Yes, yes he should’ve but you still made up for it with plenty of kisses. 

iii. 

Picking Jake up from football practice had become a ritual. 

You didn’t need to be asked anymore, you’re just always there waiting for him and he loves that. The excited smile on his face whenever he sees you patiently sitting behind the wheel never gets old. Picking him up, as sad as it sounds, has become your drive to get through Tuesdays. They’re not your favourite day of the week, but knowing you get to see a smiley, yet sweaty, Sim Jaeyun at the end of the day gives you more than enough motivation. 

Just like any other Tuesday, you’re waiting. You like to get there early and so, you have about fifteen more minutes until you see your favourite boy walking through the gate. Music plays softly in the background as you lean back and scroll through your comment sections—people are so sweet, though you do get a bitter taste in your mouth when you see people fawning over your boyfriend like he’s a piece of cake. 

You ignore the thirst comments and look through the requests. Not many catch your eye, until you come across a particular one and a smirk appears on your face.  

Fifteen minutes turns into twenty and finally you see your worn out boyfriend heading towards your car. As tired as he never fails to smile and pick up his pace. He pulls open the door and slips inside. You reach over and greet him with a chaste kiss before pulling away.

“How was practice?” 

“Exhausting. Can we take a nap together when we get to your place?” He asks whilst adjusting his seatbelt. 

A nap sounds amazing, and you waste no time in nodding your head. “Before we go, I went shopping today. I picked you up a few things, let me show you.” 

He melts then and there. Reaching back, you grab one of the bags and aggressively tug it towards you, making sure you hit Jake on the side of the head. He hisses and turns to look at you. 

You don’t even apologize. 

“No this isn’t it,” you mumble to yourself. 

You grip the bag and throw it back where you got it from, once again making sure to slap your boyfriend with it. He stares at you, annoyed with your aggressiveness, though you don’t look back at him and instead, you hit him a third time with a new bag but you instantly regret it. You ended up attacking him with the new pair of shoes you treated yourself to and you can tell this one pained him.

Quickly giving up on the prank, you drop the bag and reach over to rub the back of his head. “I’m sorry! I really didn’t mean to hit you that hard.” 

He whips his head towards you, looking at you as though you had just murdered an entire family in front of him. “What? So you meant to hit me?” 

You drop your hand and retreat back to your seat, attempting to look innocent. Jake then finds your phone, which is pointing right at him and he sees that it’s recording. You feel guilty, having not meant to hurt him so hard, you can’t meet his eye. You are about to start driving again, when you feel an impact on your arm and a yelp parts from your mouth. 

Jake sits beside you, a smile on his face and a bag clutched in his hand. You scowl and he only grins wider. 

“Now we’re even.” 

Oh, he is evil. 

iv. 

On the 10th May 2021, you hit 5 million followers. 

It was a shock, you rarely kept track of your follower count because you weren’t really in it for that ( though you are grateful for every single person that supports you ) so, you really hadn’t been expecting to hit such a huge milestone. In fact, you were so unexpectant, that you were sleeping at the time. 

“BABY!” Your eyes flew open as the bed shook. Jake had jumped on the bed, plastering kisses all over your face. “You hit 5 mill!” 

Disoriented, you blink. “Pardon?” 

Jake chuckles at your sleepy state, even with messy hair and puffy eyes, he thinks you look so attractive. His dark eyes trail over your features as he uses his thumb to rub underneath your eye, almost like he was trying to wipe away your sleepiness. 

“You hit 5 million followers, you did it.” His voice is softer this time, quieter but still filled with enthusiasm. You gape at him, and he laughs. 

“I did?” You ask, pointing to yourself. 

He nods. “You did.” 

The realisation crashes down at you at once and suddenly, you feel your nose sting as tears form in your eyes. Your fingers curl around the fabric of your boyfriend’s shirt whilst the other hand comes up to cover your mouth. Stray tears drop down onto your skin. You can’t believe it. 5 million people followed you. They like your content.

Jake coos at the tears that leak from your eyes like a waterfall. He’s quick to wipe them away, before he presses a kiss to your wet cheek. He’s proud and he’s filled with pride, his baby got 5 million followers and he couldn’t wait to brag to everyone about how talented and cool you are. That’s his favourite thing to do. Jake loves to brag about you. 

You sniffle and press your hands against his cheeks. Gently, you rub your nose against his own. “We did it. It’s your account just as much as it is mine, I wouldn’t have got this far without you. After all, you’re my main prank victim. So, we did it. We hit 5 million together.” 

You weren’t taking all of the credit, Jake was just as involved as you and he deserves the praise. You had done this together. 

“You do know Jay is never going to let you forget that he was the one who suggested uploading it to TikTok...right?” 

You laugh, nodding your head. “Yep. I know he’s gloating in the group chat, right now.” 

And he was. Jay was so proud of you and Jake, but most of all, he was proud of himself because without him, you would have never uploaded that first video. So, you let him have his moment. 

“To millions more!” Jake cheers as he lifts the pizza in his hand, the two of you had decided to celebrate with a victorious take away and a movie marathon. 

“To millions more,” you repeat softly. 

Whether you had 0 followers or 5 million, as long as Sim Jaeyun was by your side, you didn’t mind.

[featherchan]

"Shun Onii-chan!" The young Sainitia rushed to the Legendary Bronze Knight. "I'm sorry to bother you but I need to talk to you..." The flustered child grabbed his hand as she pulled him aside. "Something happened to Onee-chan!" She finally told him. "I don't know what happened exactly. But Onee-chan met her brother and they had a huge argument..." Enough to attract a small crowd around them. "When I asked if she was okay, she says she was fine. But she sounded so cold like she was completely a different person..." Biting her lips. The child did her best not to burst into tears. "Noburu is usually the one to fix this. But she's not here right now and she's on the mission..." As her shaking hands grab Shun's hands. "I'm scared that she will disappear. And I don't know what to do. Please help Onee-chan!"  

Somewhere outside of Sanctuary, there are many hidden gems, a spot, within its grounds. One was a waterfall not so far off from Sanctuary. It's a place the Lioness loves to go to, to think and be alone with her thoughts. There is something about the beautiful scenery that was calming, and the loud crashing sound of the water, that was so loud, it could drown everything, even the Lioness's cries.  Stepping with her barefoot into the cold water stream. She soaks her handkerchief before pressing it against her eyes and letting out a heavy sigh. Laying down on her back against the rocks. She looked up at the sky and thought. What a day.

In the past, Kanako used to have control over her emotions where her family, their words and actions, would easily phrase right through her and she feels nothing from it. But seeing her brother again after so long, learning and allowing herself to feel again. All the sadness, anger, and frustration began to pour out of her mouth. That she couldn't stop herself from snapping and yelling at him when her family had the gull. Wanting to reconcile with her after how they had poorly treated her and scarred her emotionally in the past. No doubt. The rumor mill back at Sanctuary is probably hard at work. With the headlines, the Lioness, the black cat, viciously attacked her own brother. How wicked and cruel she is!? It's ironic and hilarious how the culprit (her family) is playing the victim card here.

There are times she wished she could go back to the old days when she was emotionless about everything. It was easy to deal with things and function normally, without being shackled by her emotions. But she understood that it had its flaws. That she wasn't able to reciprocate her genuine feelings to others, without it sounding bland or disingenuous.

Yet. "₩ⱧɎ ĐØ₦'₮ ɎØɄ?" A sinister voice whispers into her ears. "JɄ₴₮ ₳ ₥Ø₥Ɇ₦₮..." "Maybe I should...." She spoke to herself as her eyes turned glassy.  "₵ⱠØ₴Ɇ ɎØɄⱤ ɆɎɆ₴ ₳₦Đ ⱧɆ₳Ɽ₮. ₮ɄⱤ₦ ɎØɄⱤ ⱧɆ₳Ɽ₮ ₳₴ ₵ØⱠĐ ₳₴ ł₵Ɇ. ⱤɆ₥Ɇ₥฿ɆⱤ ₩Ⱨ₳₮ ł₮'₴ Ⱡł₭Ɇ ₮Ø ₣ɆɆⱠ ₦Ø₮Ⱨł₦₲..." As a cold breath escapes the Lioness's lungs and just as she was about to let her heart freeze, allowing the darkness to swallow her whole. A bright familiar cosmos pulled and snapped her out of the darkness. 

Opening her eyes. Her glassy eyes met a pair of emerald-colored eyes staring back at her. "SHUN!" She gasped as she sat up quickly. And felt a stink in her heart that she winced slightly. Regaining her composure quickly. "How long have you been standing there?" She forced a smile on her face. But her eyes, there were red and they couldn't hide the sadness she was holding in. Concern about how much he has seen. Her lips form into a thin line as she sighs. "Chidori told you, huh?" 'Damn it, Chidori!' Mentally scolding her. "I'm alright. Chidori is just overreacting." She lied as she pushed him away. "Shun, I'm sorry. I'm not in the best of mood today, and I wish to be alone by myself..." Feeling Shun's presence inching closer to her. "Please I beg of you. Do not come any closer..." As she bit her lips and stopped herself from meeting his eyes. "Because if you do...." Her voice breaks. Sounding so small and fragile. "I wouldn't be able to hold myself together any longer..." And droplets of tears began to fall from her eyes as she broke into tears. 

[ submission | @louveteauperdu​ ]

[guqin-and-flute]

In Your Hands--Ch. 3 [Peony to Lotus!Verse]

[Chapter 1][Chapter 2]

[This whole fic is the second chronological installment of the Peony to Lotus!Verse]

[First Installment] [Ao3 Series]

“...A-Jie?”

“Mm?” Yanli opens her eyes, going from the deep red-orange of the sun on her eyelids to the fresh blue of the world. She cranes her neck around to look over at A-Cheng. 

And finds that he’s no longer basking beside her and is instead sitting up, elbows on his knees, hands fiddling with something on the ground in front of him. 

It had taken some convincing to get him to actually lay down in the grass with her as A-Xian and A-Yao man the kites for target practice below them in the waterfall grotto--he is so concerned with being proper and respectable that he hardly lets himself relax anymore. He isn’t even relaxing now. While his gaze is on the disciples playing and training below their bluff-top vantage point, his lips are tight, his face troubled. Sitting up, she scoots closer to him and nudges her shoulder up against him, playfully. “What is it, A-di?”

The wind dances over the dewy spots the sun-warmed grass had left on her robes, lifting up the fresh and living scent of plants and water as she waits for his jaw to work over the words before they come out. For all that he blurts out whatever he wants about (or at) Xianxian, he is always careful when it comes to something regarding her. So she waits, gentling her energy and leaning closer to rest her temple against his hunched shoulder, rubbing her thumb along the tough leather of his bracer. 

“Are you...happy?”

She smiles, even though he can’t see it. “Of course I am, A-Cheng. It’s a beautiful day and we’re spending time together. Why?”

“I mean, are you happy...in general? With….” As he pauses, she follows his still stuck gaze and finds it on A-Yao in the shade holding a kite string, listening to something a shimei is saying with a patient smile. “I didn’t...we didn’t force you, did we? You really seemed to like that peac--well, you know. Wei Wuxian and I were wondering…” He looks back to his hands, twisting grass between them fitfully, but she sees his gaze dart to her sideways from underneath his eyebrows. “Are you happy?”

Sweet, romantic boys; the ones who had planned her wedding in full when they were only 8. Both still haunted by the wounds left by her parents’ relationship in their own way. Who had both been more than unimpressed with Jin Guangshan’s attempt at what he clearly saw was a hand-me-down marriage--a marriage they were apparently forgetting that, had she not insisted on for the good of the Clan, wouldn’t have even happened. “With you all taking such good care of me, how could I be anything but?” she teases, but his anxiety stays on his face, so she pets down his hair.

As for Jin Zixuan…. Yanli hadn’t flinched when A-Cheng had said his name, but that familiar drain had opened up in her chest, pulling her down and in until she’s a little smaller, a little sadder, a little...less. Yes. She had wanted to become worthy of that match, for her Clan, for her mother, who had promised her to it since she was just a girl. She had tried.

She just hadn’t been enough. 

“Is he good to you?”

Yanli shakes herself from her thoughts and sits up. She laces her fingers together and cushions her chin on the back of them with a faux thoughtful air. “Hmmm, is he good to me? Well, let’s see. I think I’ve received about 4 more gifts from him this week alone and he practically waits on me hand and foot.” She grins despite herself, that familiar giddy curling in her belly. “I would certainly say so.”

At this easy reply, he slants a curious, self conscious look that fits the round faced child she can still remember better than a would-be-stern Clan Leader and hesitantly asks, “Are you...in love?” while waggling his finger back and forth, as if indicating the space between her and her husband.

She covers an unlady-like snort of laughter that threatens to escape before she bites her lip against its persistent aftershocks and lowers the hand. “Why do you ask that like you’re going to get in trouble?” Something about the way he asks it just seems so young.

Flushing, he squirms and looks back down the bluff, but she sees the smile trying to fight its way onto his compressed lips. “I’m just curious!” When she continues to grin, he shoots her a look of reproach and complains, “A-jie, don’t laugh at me!”

“I’m not, I would never!” She laughs and rubs his shoulder to lessen the sting of the tease. “You’re so funny. But...I think...I don’t honestly know. I love talking with him and learning about him; I love...making him happy and seeing him smile. I get excited to spend time with him. I was always under the impression that being in love is something huge and earth shaking--from all the legends and epics--and when you know you know, but…” Yanli takes a deep breath of the clean, full air and looks back down, catching her eyes on the lovely, now-familiar shape of A-Yao in profile. Now, he’s looking up at the kites while shading his eyes, a small smile still on his lips. “But I’m just...happy. It’s lovely, with him, and honestly, I would be completely content if this is all it is.” It would be enough.

She searches this thought, a little, pushing at its edges. For a family? For children? To want? The answer within herself doesn’t feel nearly as urgent as it used to when it comes back with ‘Maybe. There’s no rush.’ She marvels a little at how much she actually believes it.

Watching her watch A-Yao, A-Cheng smiles tentatively in the side of her vision. “That sounds really nice, A-jie.”

“It really is. He’s very...doting.”

At this, A-Cheng snorts. “Unsurprising, considering how he was with Nie-xiong.”

“Oh? Were they close, A-Yao and Nie-er-gongzi?” 

“He definitely was devastated when Jin-xiong was kicked out of the Unclean Realm. I always got the feeling that he was something in between a shixiong and a babysitter, but they always got along well, from what I saw. Actually,” he furrows his eyebrows thoughtfully, tilting his head as he watches the disciples milling about, joyful fragments of shouts drifting up with the breeze. “Come to think of it, I don’t know that he’s seen him since….They weren’t in contact during the Sunshot Campaign, we know that much. Maybe they got to talk at the banquet?” His face darkens at the memory--where Jin Zixuan had officially called off the engagement, but he doesn’t speak on it. “I wonder what Nie-xiong thinks of him being here.” His scowl lightens to mere irritation and he scoffs, voice testy, now, as he adds, “Hasn’t bothered to visit.”

Hmm. She plucks this blossoming idea like a little flower to keep for later. Perhaps this is something else she could give her husband. 

And oh, that distant past, when she had first seen A-Yao in the classroom of the Cloud Recesses, standing humbly beside Nie Huaisang with his head down. A whole lifetime ago, when her family and Clan still lived and her biggest worry was Jin Zixuan’s aversion; it felt like an entire version of her had lived and died since. If she set herself to it, she could even remember the specifics, like how she had been impressed by his eloquence and the competence of his bearing--even when his parentage had been publicly mocked. In truth, she had been more focused on Wei Wuxian behaving at the time--to her shame. She had known it was wrong even while it happened, could have said something, anything at all. 

At least she would, now.

Turning to smooth her hand down his cheek to soothe his ruffled feathers over Nie Huaisang’s neglect and difficult memories, she catches sight of A-Xian charging up the hill with fiendish purpose under the rolling shadow of a cloud. He canons into A-Cheng like a vaguely sweaty firework without slowing.

A-Cheng squawks in disgust as it bowls them both over into the grass and the two of them begin to scuffle about it. A-Xian pants, “Shijie, I don’t think your husband has ever shot a bow before! Ow! You shit!”

A-Cheng sits, grinning and triumphant, on the back of Xianxian’s shoulders, digging his brother’s face into the grass and dirt. But just for a second or two, before he is flipped off and pinned, until he is shoved over and on and on, growling insults and play threats at each other like wrestling puppies. Eventually, laughing, Yanli stands and tugs A-Xian’s arm from the writhing pile, more of a hint than actually physically intervening. But he obediently heaves himself up, sweating, panting, and grinning, all harder than before. A-Cheng gives him a faux-surly punch in the side in retaliation and it very nearly starts the whole thing over again until Yanli firmly puts herself between them with a grin, brushing grass clumps from their hair and clothes. “Honestly, you two! I don’t envy the laundry women, just look what you’ve done to your robes. I should make you two clean them!” A-Cheng at least pretends to look halfway chastised while smiling, but A-Xian just looks proud. That is, until she continues, “And I hope you didn’t embarrass A-Yao about it. You know he wasn’t raised with the same training we were.”

At this, he cocks her an half pout, tucking his chin down and sticking his lip out. “Shijieee, all I said was that he must be worried he couldn’t beat our youngest shidi because he wouldn’t even try. Then he started ignoring me!”

A-Cheng rolls his eyes and tuts, loudly, before saying, “You asshole,” just as Yanli sighs.

Shaking her head, she tilts it in gentle scolding. “Maybe because you compared him to an 8 year old? Xianxian. You have to be careful; you know what people say about him. He needs to be safe, here. Where did you leave him?”

“Oh, he’s still down there, organizing clean up. He wasn’t offended--unlike some people,” here, he shoves at A-Cheng’s shoulder, who elbows him back. “Just the usual smiley Lianfang-zun. You know how he is, shijie, he doesn’t get upset over stuff like that.”

He’s always smiling, that doesn’t mean anything, Xianxian. You of all people would understand that. Yanli raises an eyebrow, gentle but not smiling. His childish act mellows behind his dirt smudged face and he looks away, pouting for real and rubbing his nose. “Sorry, shijie,” he mutters. 

“Mm, it’s not me you have to apologize to, A-Xian. It’s about time for you to organize cleanup now, don’t you think?”

He heaves a dramatic sigh, but grudgingly nods before perching on the edge of the bluff, shouting down through cupped hands. “Jin-gege-e-e, your wife wants you!” When he turns around, he points at A-Cheng nonchalantly. “You’re helping.”

“Oh, am I?” A-Cheng smirks, folding his arms and puffing up, very clearly preparing to pull rank.

“Uh, yeah, if you want this back!” Suddenly, A-Xian spins and sprints down the hill, holding his fist up over his shoulder.

“Wei Wuxian! What’d you take?! Hey! Stop!” 

As he pelts down the hill after him, Yanli has to laugh because, in the second before he had run, A-Xian had had nothing in his hands at all. For a moment, in this new peace, she closes her eyes and folds her hands over her belly, savoring the sun shining warm--almost hot--on the top of her head and the playful shouts of her brothers and the disciples below. Then, she hears footsteps. When she opens her eyes, she sees A-Yao making his steady way up the hill, his face pleasantly blank. The closer he gets, however, his eyes warm and the edges of him soften until he is here, reaching out and taking her hands. “A-Li? What do you need?” He smells like grass and water and sun.

“Was A-Xian being terrible again?”

He chuckles and shakes his head. “Oh no, he’s just being Wei Wuxian. You look flushed--shall I walk you back?” 

But day by day she is learning each of his little lies and she recognizes this as one of them. Strangely, as the weeks go by, the masks he wears have been bothering her less and less; partially because she is beginning to understand that they are protection for him. Like armor or clothing--he would feel naked without them. If she can still tell what he wants, if she can still peek under them, she is more than happy not to pry them from him when he still needs their safety. (Of course she wishes he didn’t feel like he needs them in their home, with the people who would be his family, if he let them. But, like growing seeds or proving dough, these things take time and that, they certainly have.) He is becoming less of an impenetrable fortress and more of a foreign land that she can more easily navigate as she learns the language. It allows her to leave these smiles hung up like beautiful paintings she can name. Underneath this, he is tense and displeased; his smile-curved eyes opaque, his jaw holding tension. This one is Humiliation.

Twining her arms around his trim waist, she thrills in that wanted way she does every time he lets her hold him before she tucks her cheek to his to murmur, “I told him not to tease like that. I know it hurts you.” While she may have become more inclined to leave him his shields when he puts them up against her, she can’t help but talk around it, just a little. She cares less about the hiding and more about the fact that he suffers.

“...It’s fine.” He says nothing more, but his hands move to hold her back, one smoothing up between her shoulder blades as his face tips down against her neck, nose and eyelashes pressing. Not a talking problem, then. So she rocks, a bit, from her ankles to her hips, swaying them both slowly together in the rustling breeze with something like playfulness and something like comfort. “What are you doing, this afternoon?” She asks the air behind him, eyes cast to the wisping clouds passing slowly across the sky.

“Mm, I had planned to organize a list of new merchants in the area for Jiang Wanyin. Is there something you need me to do instead?"

"Is it urgent?"

"Not that I saw. Why, A-Li?"

"I was going to make dumplings tonight and I would love it if you joined me. If you want," she adds, diffidently. “I made the dough this morning.”

He startles, a little, and draws back, looking genuinely surprised. He opens his mouth, then closes it. Then smiles warmly. “I’d be delighted.” 

The sincerity of that smile makes her grin and she bounces a little on her toes--and he laughs. Clearly, he's pleased she wants to spend time with him. And she's pleased that he's pleased. And he seems to be pleased that she's pleased that he's pleased and around and around they go--it might have been embarrassing if it weren’t so fun.

It turns out that he’s as quick a study at being a kitchen hand as he is at anything else he does; he absorbs her instructions thoughtfully and works diligently, his noon-sky blue sleeves patterned with little whirls of teal tied back with a simple strip of cloth as he chops up the chives and garlic and ginger. His knife strokes are as rhythmic and sure as the kitchen is hot, with little wisps of breeze edging around the wet billows of spices and green and cooking pork. “You are so much easier to work with than Xianxian,” she tells him from down the smooth, sunbathed counter where she’s perched on a stool, rolling out the rounds of dough. “I love him dearly, but he tries to put absolutely everything in his mouth, even now.”

A tiny smile picks at the corner of his concentration tight lips. Then, with a flick of an eye to see if she’s watching, he wordlessly pops a little shred of ginger into his mouth from the neat pile he has made. “You!” Yanli gasps in delighted outrage at his audacity and leans over to ineffectually tap at the counter near his elbow--she can’t quite reach him, sitting down.

At this, he laughs outright and offers his wrist out, knife blade carefully angled away . She gives the back of his wrist a playful little swipe with her fingertips, leaving streaks of flour. “I thought I would make it a little more familiar for you,” he says, by way of excuse. “More what you’re used to.”

“Absolutely incorrigible,” she replies, fondly, righting herself again.

Here in the kitchen, where she has history and proficiency--where she is master--it’s as easy as anything to tease and tend with absolutely no worry at all. She isn’t agonizing if she is providing enough or saying the right things, because she knows exactly what must be done when, and he is masterful at following directions the very first time she gives them. Conversation is light and inconsequential around her instructions, and she is able to conserve her energy staying seated on the stool, maneuvering him about the kitchen as her arms with little guilt at all.

 In what feels like no time, they sit beside each other at the floured, bowl littered counter; bowls of filling, of water, of flour. Their shoulders brush. “So you wet the edge like this, because the dough isn’t completely fresh anymore--”

“Mn.”

“And you spoon in about this much--not much more or it will burst in the pan.”

“This much?”

“A little more, I think. Perfect! Then, like this. Then you fold the sides.”

“Too much?”

“Mmn, next time it can be a little tighter, but that’s good for your first one! Pinch it and--beautiful!” She pauses a moment to savor the look of her husband with flour speckling his quick, capable hands and lean forearms, seriously contemplating the dumpling. “You’re a natural.”

The withdrawing he had done behind his shields that morning is nowhere in sight when he looks over at her with unmistakable pride in his bright eyes. “Well, I have a wonderful teacher.”

She bites her grin back and waves the compliments away, laying out the next wrapper in front of her. “Oh, you.”

“Where did you learn the art of food?”

“Liu-popo, one of our cooks! I think I first got interested because I was sick for a lot of my childhood and she always made me the most wonderful meals. And when we found out about my heart and my health...well….” Mother stopped pushing once she realized Yanli would never be able to keep up with the training of the other disciples because there was no way for her to improve. No way for her to contribute to the Clan in a meaningful way. “I had a lot more free time. My room was by the kitchens, and I have always loved the smells and the bustle of it all. The more I was there, the more Liu-popo would let me mix things, tell me how they worked and what flavors went together. At dinner, seeing people eat what I made...knowing I did that, knowing I made them happy and full…it felt good.” She gives a little smile and glances at him. “And there's so many things you can do once you understand the basics, too. You can experiment and make new dishes!”

He wets the edge of his next dough wrapper and says, conversationally, “Like Wei Wuxian and his talisman inventions.”

This startles a laugh out of her and sparks from her dangling earrings in the sun dance off the warm gold glow reflected from their bodies onto the wall around the window. “Oh, no, it’s nothing special.”

“Really? I think it’s very similar. You’re perfecting something and helping people. Bringing them together and taking care of them, feeding their bodies and keeping them strong? That’s just as important.”

She hesitates and looks out the window. She never thought of it that way. The lotuses are pearly and bobbing in the bright breeze, their heady scent sneaking in light and fragrant under the punch of the spices. Their brilliance under the sun leaves dazzling green after images when she blinks. “Do you think so?” Assigning that much importance to it seems borderline ridiculous--what she does and what her brothers do is hardly comparable at all. She struggles to make herself useful while they blaze their way through the world, changing it with their will and sword edges. They are proper cultivators, proper warriors.

There is a pause, then a gentle hand lays over her wrist, slightly gritty from the flour coating his palm. “If you had asked me what I would have preferred when I was in the Scorching Sun Palace--a talisman or a warm meal from someone who--” it feels like he swallows a word back here, smoothly substituting, “cares, I know which I would have chosen. Without question.”

Even this feels like a kind exaggeration designed to make her feel better--soup instead of life saving magic? But this little rare little bauble of personal experience he was handing her was something more important than soothing her pride, so she smiles over at him. “You’re very sweet. But what about you? You’re a natural! Did your niang teach you how to cook?”

At this, his face slides from serious earnest to pleasant veneer and, with a spike of cold anxiety, she fears she has put her hand on a door that she thought she was being invited into, only to find it forbidden. But he merely turns back to spooning in the pork filling and says, lightly. “I’m sure she knew how--she was well educated in most things. But we didn’t tend to frequent the kitchens.” There is a silence she fears is the end of this particularly enticing thread. But then, eyes still on the pre-dumpling, he says, “She taught me other things, though. How to read and write. Proper etiquette. The basics of a guqin….”

There is a pause, and this feels almost uncertain, him tilting on his toes on the precipice of a step she desperately wants him to take, so she hazards, “Like Lan-zongzhu.”

A smile, small and fond, before he forces it brighter at his hands, efficiently twisting the little peaks. “Just like. He’s had more formal training, of course, but she was able to play quite well.”

Yanli knows some of this, of course. His mother had been famous for how educated she was despite her occupation--the refined courtesan of Yunping. But that’s not who she had been to A-Yao. She had been his mother. “She was a very talented woman.”

“Yes.”

“You loved her very much.”

Softer, smile greying; “Yes.”

A silence stretches, a bird outside trilling to accentuate it, so she says, quietly. “I’m sorry, we don’t have to talk about her, A-Yao. I didn’t mean to pry.”

That smile hikes wider and he looks over at her, where she can see in full the raw tension that hides just barely underneath and she wants to shower him with praise and thanks for the gift that it is. “You’re my wife, A-Li. There’s no prying; you can ask me anything you want to know.”

Mmhm, she thinks, I can ask, but you won't necessarily answer. What clever wording; sneaky. No need to push. Just like with A-Xian, she will let him take the time he needs to tell her what's wrong. As long as he knows she is always there to listen. “Well, I love hearing about her….” Then shyly, she adds. “Would she have liked me?

When his face softens completely, there is something in the corners of his mouth that makes her think of tears, though there’s no trace of it anywhere else. His voice is low when he says, “She would have adored you.”

She reaches out and touches his cheek with her flour coated hand, crumbling a swath of white up to his cheekbone. The way he’s looking at her is almost like yearning in his eyes, searching and wanting, even though she is right here, right with him, staying. A warmth rushes in her chest. “I would have loved to have met her, A-Yao. She must have been amazing--and you honor her so well.” It's truth. Nothing but.

Little lines pierce where his dimples should lie and he swallows, blinks. “...I try,” he says in a voice she has never heard from him before; it’s small. Clotted and uncertain. His eyes widen and he stiffens, and she feels him tightening, receding--so she pretends she doesn’t see it, pretends that she doesn’t know that that had been a slip of vulnerability that scares him.

She takes away all pressure--her hand from his cheek, her gaze from his face--and turns away to fuss over another circle of dough. Sprinkling more flour on the counter, arranging everything just so in front of her as she smiles. “Well, you’ve proven to be a wonderful kitchen hand, so you should help me make dumplings for all the holidays, since you’re so good at it. New Years and Dongzhi and--oh, I should teach you the dances we do for the Dragon Boat Festival! I perform one every year for Lotus Pier, when I can. Or,” she straightens with realization. “Oh!” When she turns to him, he’s considering the dumpling he’s pinching with far more concentration than is warranted. “Oh, you grew up in Yunping! Do you know any?”

He clears his throat without looking up, smile uncomfortable. “I know a few. Quite a few. My mother taught me to dance because she didn’t know any martial arts to prepare me for cultivation outside some of the books she managed to find. But she knew starting me in a physical discipline young would help. I’m...adequate.”

Even more corners of her life she could tuck him into! More things she could share with him! A way to draw him from the shell he’s desperately trying to retreat back into! Excitedly, she twists on her stool, swiping her hands on her apron. “Oh, show me, please, I want to see!”

The tips of his ears redden adorably, and he winces. “I don’t...A-Li--”

There are not many things she will push him on, except on matters where he paints himself as unworthy, but this! This she absolutely has to see, here, just them, sharing the things that make them who they are under the kitchen counter in private. “Please, oh, please! I’ll even dance with you, if you don’t want to do it alone! We’ll go together!” She stands and shrugs her shoulders to free her arms some mobility from where her apron captures the joining of her sleeves, letting her hands rest on the air in delicate anticipation.

He’s startled into looking up at her, eyebrows pinching. His face is colored in embarrassed alarm. “I only ever performed alone, my partner dances aren’t--”

Performed! She could crow. And she will get that story in time, oh yes she will. “Then you choose! Whatever you want, I’ll follow you! Whatever you want, whatever!”

At this insistence, reluctantly, slowly, he stands, dusting off his hands before untying the cloth that keeps his sleeves back. Then, after a moment’s hesitation, to her utter rising delight he shrugs out of his heavier blue outer robe entirely to drape over the edge of the rack of unpeeled vegetables. It leaves him in 2 lighter, tighter layers of shades of plum and navy. The lack of patterns on the fabric simplifies his lines, rendering him limber and neat as he places his feet just so.

Immediately it is clear that he is not merely adequate, as he claimed. When he lifts his hands, the intent behind them shows someone who has had control of their body’s movements from a very young age and knows where every square inch of it is at all times--no less talented or powerful than those lifelong cultivators that she knows. He is watching her. She glows with the trust of it all and follows his first step. 

There is no music, and so she sees his quick tempo and meets it with a wordless, half remembered song, all ‘da da’s and breathless notes as they move. And they dance, wheeling tight in the modest space of the kitchen floor. The dance he chooses is, as he said, not usually a couple dance, but she knows it and mirrors him, light and lilting, stepping quick and smooth. Some of the sweeps of his arms and legs are the masculinized version of what she knows, so she reflects in compliment when she can--when the counters and bulbs of hanging garlic and strings of peppers don’t block her path. It’s amazing, it’s easy, it’s fun.

She watches his face flash pass during a turn--once, concentration; twice, surprise; thrice, realization. When he faces front, he looks tentatively pleased. 

She arches her back and kicks up her foot in a sharp arc in improvisation, grinning cheekily and that real, crooked grin of his is back, with something different, something--is that teasing? Arms spread like wings for balance, he responds in kind, but the arc of it is wider, higher, until, for a single moment, the billow of his robes is a flower blossom on the impossibly straight line of his legs, up and down. She whoops in undignified awe in the middle of a measure, abandoning the tune.

In the end, she bumps the corner table with her hip and teeters a moment, arms wheeling for balance even as she laughs. When he catches her wrist and pulls her back, Yanli collapses onto him, arms around his neck as she giggles, helplessly elated. Struggling back upright, she grabs his face in her palms and plants a quick, hard kiss on his lips. 

His fast breath tastes like ginger. 

They are both flushed and panting in the heat of the kitchen, wisps of humidity frazzled hair escaping their respective guan and pin. And they are both grinning. “You must perform with me,” she wheezes.

Breathlessly, he lets out a short laugh, smile going wryer but not disappearing. “Ah, I doubt anyone wants to see me.”

“I do!”

Again, he chuckles. “Then I’ll dance for you.”

He’ll dance for her! That golden bubbling is back in her chest, permeating the whole of her until she feels like sunlight. “Think about it at least?”

With an air of extreme indulgence that tells her that he has thought and has already decided, he nods, one dimple pressed in deep. She lets it go. Oh well, next year. 

He helps her sit because her lungs are tight and her legs going to jelly, but she is so helplessly pleased by him and the gifts he keeps giving her. So she kisses him again, because she likes to and she can, and feels his palms press her closer by her shoulder blades and feels so very very wanted.

[ettawritesnstudies]

The Avian City

[Image ID: An aesthetic photo of a walkway on the second floor of an open-air ampetheter of some sort. The building is made of stone, on the left is the interior wall, lined with windows, on the right is a low wall/rail with pillars that connect in a vaulted ceiling. The path curves around the building and sunlight streams through. Photo from unsplash. End ID.]

This is just a shameless scenery infodump from Chapter 7 I couldn’t fit into the main recap post. In-story this is broken up by a scene where the kids visit Acheran’s home, but I wanted to feature all of my cool worldbuilding in one post, and the other scene contains spoilers anyhow, so I’m just sharing the cuts here!

The ground smoothly fell out from underneath their feet as they swept higher into the sky at a diagonal, the cords carrying them over the docks, the river, and the cavern dropping under the floor of the gently rocking gondola. Grace practically hung over the edge to watch, but Acheran gently pulled her back to kneel on the benches and dangle her arms over the side. Luca gawked at the scale of it all.

In minutes, they were carried a dozen stories high. The boats became like bath toys, and their cart glided around a pillar and started up, higher again. Columns held up vaulted rooves and pediments, then other buildings rested on top of their neighbors, all carved from the walls of the canyon itself. Natural strata lines of silt deposits, hardened over time, made up the structure of the city and the colorful bands were reflected in the architecture. Browns and reds, oranges and reds, blacks and greys and whites, the sparkle of magic where the residual minerals had been left unmined when the light caught it just right, reflected against the pale blue of the sky and the indigo blue of the river below...

They rose higher, to the top of the cable cars. Even that didn’t reach the very top of the city, where ongoing construction raked the lowest of the clouds and threatened to tear a seam in the Cloak of Daza itself.

The city was made of art as much as it was made of stone. Intricate latticework took the place of whole walls, strategically placed to let in light and cool air. Where there wasn’t enough space for another building to be carved, relief sculptures cut into the stone and made the creatures look alive as the light and shadow danced over the striped and swirled pattern. Equally colorful fabrics fluttered in the breeze as they served as drapes and doors, a pinwheel of richly dyed colors. Flags and banners marked with the city’s official turquoise blue snapped to attention in the wind.

Vaulted ceilings in open forums were painted in fresco, chronicling the history of the people who debated there years before. Acheran pointed out his favorites as they passed. Even after years of living among and touring these spaces with his sister, they still amazed him every time. Luca listened, enraptured as he told the stories, both of the epic myths that were pictured, and the hilarity of the school trips gone wrong.

The engineering was an art of itself. As they rose above the natural cavern walls, the buildings continued higher, built out of the mountain’s material that had been mined to carve out the city below. Block by block, they towered higher than gravity should allow as magical devices reduced the earth’s pull enough for them to stand erect. Tangent to the cable system they rode was another system fitted with buckets and used to haul water from the river to irrigation channels at the top of the city. The buckets dumped out, and water flowed down through a series of waterfalls, filters, troughs, and pipes. They passed around a spigot as the breeze picked up, and the refreshing cool mist clung to Luca’s hair.

They reached the end of the rails and started to climb, hand over foot on the remnants of scaffolding. Once, Acheran even picked Luca up and flew him across a gap. Intense vertigo hit as the flight propelled them even higher. Finally, they reached a platform, and panting, Luca pulled himself up and laid down flat on his back to catch his breath. Acheran unfairly alighted with nary a feather out of place, and Luca gave him an exhausted eye roll before sitting up.

When he looked again, the view stole the air out of his lungs. The whole city stretched out beneath them, like a living sculpture, and the human city beyond that, sprawling into the river valley. He could see the arena, the temples, the Atilan place. He traced along the streets but lost the route to his old home in the grand scale of it all. The sun dipped dangerously close to the horizon, lighting the sky on fire and reflecting off the sparkling surface of the ocean. He could see the activity, the milling people and flocking avians going about their business-like ants, but the madness didn’t reach them up here. The sounds were muffled by the whistle of the wind and distance.

The glorious distance.

So, this is what it felt like to be free. Untouched by the stress, unscarred by the past, unseen from his hunters. Above it all, the weights dropped from his shoulders, and he could breathe for the first time he could remember. The air here was actually cold, this high and with the coming night. It pierced at his nose and sent a shock down his spine, shivers sent the hair on his neck and arms stand on end. His magic did not surge or crash or fight to escape, it just pulsed through his veins, warming him again, an unfamiliar but welcome content settling in his stomach.

If only he could stay like this forever.

[windowsandfeelings]

The Pre-Frosh Poltergeist

ooh, I scrapped this when Nancy decided to grow where she's planted (cause that was p much the thesis statement), but it's about Nancy going to a Columbia prospective students weekend. A lot of it is text messages with the Drew Crew, but especially Ace. (Colors are texts, blue for Nancy, green for Ace):

The dorm is haunted.

The dorm is haunted and that’s really unfair, if you think about it, because the dorm is in Manhattan.

The ghosts weren’t supposed to follow her here from Horseshoe Bay.

What kind of haunting are we talking about?

Too early to say. Run of the mill light-flickering and thumps so far.

It takes a minute for Ace to respond. She lies on her back in a stranger’s twin extra-long, staring up into the glow of her phone screen, waiting, watching the ellipses while he types. He types so long she thinks she’s going to get an out-of-character paragraph of text, but all that comes back is one word:

Prank?

There’s another loud thump, directly over her head this time, and Nancy jumps. Her heartbeat quickens.

When she was little, her mother used to tell her that it was okay to be scared, so long as she didn’t let it hold her back, but sometimes she still has to remind herself that’s true. Nancy’s the girl who runs toward danger, she’s not supposed to let things get to her. She’s been dealing with ghosts, spirits, and other supernatural spookies for months, she thinks she should be used to it by now.

Old pipes?

Faulty wiring??

Re-decorating night owl

Extremely localized earthquake?

……..Rats????

A waterfall of Ace’s non-supernatural theories cascades down her phone screen, her heart rate slowing down a tick as each new idea appears.

I hope that’s it. Rats.

It had been a long few days, starting at the house on Friday morning when Ryan and Carson got into a disagreement over which of them should drive her down to New York for the weekend. They had ignored her insistence that she could drive herself, and she’d ended up spending the 8 hour car ride tucked into the back seat of Ryan’s Porsche, willing time to pass faster, while her fathers bickered in the front seat.

(She had to admit, Ryan had made better time than she ever could have expected from Carson.)

By the time they arrived in Morningside Heights Nancy was itching for an escape. She bolted out of the car at the first opportunity, pulling her overnight bag along with her. She leaned in the open window to tell Carson and Ryan, still unbuckling their seatbelts, that she was good, no need to come inside with her, she’d meet them here on Sunday morning, and then she’d taken off, striding toward the Columbia campus with significantly more confidence and certainty than she felt.

The truth was, she was riddled with anxiety over this weekend.

The invitation had arrived with her acceptance letter, a prospective students weekend to experience Columbia alongside a current student. She still wasn’t sure about any of it, especially leaving Horseshoe Bay—and her friends—behind after the last few months, but Carson had pushed, had even enlisted Ryan to push, and she’d agreed to attend, even if it was just to shut them up. “I’m not committing to anything,” she told them, and Carson had nodded and Ryan had frowned, but they’d mostly left the subject alone since then.

At least until this past week, when they’d both jumped back into using phrases like “when Nancy’s at Columbia,” and “next year, when you’re gone.”

(Having two parents again was not living up to what she’s dreamed about in the months after Kate’s death. But maybe, sometimes, when they weren’t hassling her about the future, it wasn’t so bad.)

[fordarkisthesuede]

The Tolls of Justice - Chapter 12

Happy pride month!!!!

For all of those who thought "that was good, but I would like some emotional reconciliation and character growth, please" after last chapter... Take this with all my love!!! (⌯˘̤ ॢᵌ ू˘̤)യෆ̈

Important Spoiler Tags:  mentions of past acts of canon-typical violence, mention of past deaths, lots of feels, i love my boy sm

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Read on Ao3 or continue below...

[Chapter 12: Ten Cheers to the World]

John could hear the wheels on the short-back office chair rolling over the raised bumps in the metal floor as he pushed it back and forth with a clunk-clack, clunk-clack, half-spinning in the seat with every move. It was better to sit there with his head on his arms thrown over the back of the chair and look over the whole cave – keeping his eyes peeled for movement by the entrance to the bathroom around the corner of the workbenches – than to sit still while his mind churned and chewed on everything.

“Watching the door won’t make him come out any quicker, you know,” Alfred said from behind.

John ignored him. And the tight feeling in his stomach that pulled at the corner of his mouth.

“He once stayed in the shower there for forty-three minutes. Then he had the audacity to tell me he’d just been meditating.”

John tried to ignore that, but his traitor of a brain was pushing the image of Bruce sitting cross-legged on the tile floor under the spray like it was a waterfall in an old movie, with a serious hurm of an expression. It was a little funny…

“I know he was just dwelling. He used to do it at the computer, on seats – and in front of his homework, back when he was younger. He won’t do it in front of people anymore, of course. Raises too many questions he doesn’t want to answer.”

Alfred had changed into pajamas and a fancy-looking robe, yet he still stood as straight and proper as all the other times John had seen him. He didn’t hold anything or seem to be milling around the cave for any real reason. At least one John could see.

John didn’t know why he was being talked to so…normally. It didn’t change anything. It didn’t sweep everything Alfred had said under the rug. It just dug the knife a little deeper into his stomach. He couldn’t stand looking at him for more than the glance. It was why he wasn’t spinning anymore and just inching the chair back and forth.

“Not that I blame him, really. I’ve always been more proficient in handling physical wounds than mental. It’s easier to mend a hole in the chest versus a broken heart, as they say…” A beat of silence; John could hear the clunk-clack of his chair a little too loudly. “Miss Avesta filled me in on the goings-on at Arkham and the Church of Mercy this evening – are you quite sure you’re alright?” Alfred asked him, “You might have skipped out on the inspection, but I can see some of those bruises a mile away.”

John felt a laugh bubble in his throat, thinking of Bruce’s hand around his throat, gripping his wrist, punching his shoulder… But looking at both arms buried under his face, he could see others had formed sometime in-between. Oh-h-h. Those. The question instantly became less ha-ha funny and more ironically funny. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” he said with a bitter chuckle, “I mean, it’s not like I’ve changed or anything - I’m too crazy to give straight answers, remember?”

Alfred was silent for a moment. John dared to peek – he seemed…regretful, maybe, as he stared at some fixed point down in the cave. Alfred breathed out slowly, and audibly, the way Bruce did sometimes when something had become too much of whatever it was. “I deserve that,” he said finally, allowing a beat of silence to follow. “I was surprised with you this evening,” he continued, “After everything that’s happened this week, The Joker carry a former Agent inside to get her proper medical treatment after escaping a kidnapping and thwarting a bomb-threat at Arkham Asylum was the last thing I expected to see during my visit. You rushing out to help Batman afterwards was one thing, but you working alongside Robin, even after the things we said...”

It seemed too awkward to finish that sentence. He seemed to be searching for the right words. “You saved both of them from a seat on my operating table tonight,” he continued instead, with real gratitude lacing his voice.

John wasn’t entirely sure where this was going. Or really, why he was laying all this out at all. The dry dancing-around-the-point thing was doing nothing for him. If anything, it was wiggling the proverbial knife in him.

“I suppose what I’ve been trying to drive at is that I misjudged you,” he added, meeting John’s probing gaze with softer eyes. “You proved that tonight. I let old memories and foolish prejudice cloud my judgement. I know I can’t undo the damage I’ve done, but… I hope you can accept my apology.”

John stared, almost wondering if he’d fallen asleep in the chair sometime after deciding to wait for Bruce. His fingers tapped on the edge of the chair – real, real, real, like everything else before then.

The tight anger in his stomach had loosened its knots into a confusing not-really-calm feeling. He wasn’t sure if he could accept the apology, let alone if he should. He might not be mad now, but he knew his brain well enough to know that the creeping thoughts of ‘he actually hates you’ and ‘he thinks you’re crazy’ were bound to come up again and reignite his rage and feelings of alienation with the memory of standing outside the Wayne Manor living room. He might never be able to go near there without thinking about it, either.

And despite how sincere Alfred seemed, who was to say it wasn’t all one big lie in an effort to get back on good footing with Bruce? Or was that just the paranoia talking already?

John breathed out slowly, hearing his lips sputter together as he let his head rest back in his arms to stare down at the dark back of the chair. He knew he shouldn’t listen to that part of him. The shreds of anger at being rejected were still there in his stomach, but what good would mending them back together at this point do? Break two people’s hearts in one go? Leave Bruce to choose between his practically-adoptive-Dad and him?

As nice as it would be to get a bit of justice for himself and reject in kind, John knew what he wanted… The same as the old John and probably the future John. And he knew what he wanted wasn’t always good for him, as the doctors would say. But the siren call of inclusion always ensnared him. It was hard to find people he actively liked, and a hundred times harder to find people he could truly relate to. And both he and Alfred loved Bruce, the one person John liked and related to the most…

John sat back up. “Fine,” he said, “But just because I accept it doesn’t mean I forgive you yet.”

Alfred’s shoulders seemed to droop, finally. “That’s understandable,” he replied, seeming like that was actually enough. “I don’t mind having to work for that.”

John rolled backward in the chair. “I might forgive you quicker if you teach me some tricks of the trade,” he added slyly, rolling the chair forward again, “I mean, skin can’t be too different from fabric, but I’d hate to be the only person who can stitch up Bruce one night without a little practice.”

Alfred blinked, genuinely surprised. “You want to learn sutures?”

“Yeah! I already know aaall about injections. And most painkillers. But Bruce told me he had to stitch himself up before while you were away, and I know Tiffany’s learned it. So I want in,” he finished, rolling the chair back and forth again.

He seemed to think it over. John couldn’t tell what was going on inside of his old head, but it looked promising. “I believe I can find some pig-skin for us to work with while I’m staying,” he said, the emotion in his voice indecipherable. “Have you eaten anything yet?”

John wasn’t going to say anything about the snacks he’d pilfered from the kitchen on his way up to get changed. “Uh, not really.”

“I’ll bring down another plate of leftovers, then; the ladies seem to have finished the one already.” He was about to move away, and suddenly got a harder look on his face like he remembered something somewhat unpleasant. “And John – do make sure Master Bruce eats some of it,” he said with all the sternness of a parent John never had, “He has a terrible habit of starving himself when he overthinks. I don’t want him passing out halfway up the stairs.”

John felt something stop his chair from moving – Iman had quietly hobbled her way over and used his shoulder to lean on with one hand. “No worries – I gotcha,” John replied with a click of his fingers and a wink, “And you,” he added to Iman craning his neck back to look at her, “You could’ve just said something, y’know. I would’ve wheeled over.”

Iman had a funny look on her face. “I’ve been sitting for too long anyway,” she waved away all friendly-like, still leaning against his chair like she was hovering over it for a reason. It wasn’t until Alfred had passed her that he realized she even looked over at the other man – her brown eyes stared at the retreating back like she was examining it under a scope.

The look didn’t last long. She shifted to prop herself up against the railing instead, opposite of where Alfred had been, holding a cane borrowed from who-knew-where. She had changed into a Gotham Knights t-shirt and very soft and loose fuzzy black pants, and unlike him, she had no problem walking around barefoot on the cold floor. “I wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

“You mean physically, psychologically, or…?” It hit him why Iman had been hovering by him out of nowhere. He looked over at Alfred at the end of the cave, making his way to the elevator. Ahh-ha. “Ohh! You meant with Al’,” he added in a hush. “That’s why you came over, huh?”

“I would’ve been over here sooner if I hadn’t had to hobble,” she explained with a note of annoyance, “I figured the reason you rushed to get away when you all came back was so you wouldn’t be caught up in an awkward conversation.”

“Hah, you aren’t the psych’ expert for nothing,” John smiled, pushing the chair back and forth slowly again, “But I’m okay. Al’ and I cleared things up a bit. How are you? Catching Roman put a spring back in your step?”

Iman’s razor-thin show of white teeth seemed to gleam with the same amusement in her eyes. “At least in one of them,” she joked back.

“Good – it certainly did for me. I just wish I could’ve seen that punch up close! And I only caught a bit of the pounding he gave Hooty McShooty, too...”

Iman snorted into a short laugh. “W-who?”

“That was probably his last word, too,” John joked with a grin. “You know, the white-faced owl with the big gun! I don’t know his ‘real’ name. I don’t care, either – anyone who tries to kill me and my friends doesn’t deserve a birth certificate.”

“Hm, well,” she said, “I don’t have the barn owl’s real name, either. But you know, we did catch some footage from the drones. So Bruce’s fight might be on there.”

John screeched his chair to a halt and stood, swiveling the seat towards her. “Well what are we waiting for?! Let’s go look!”

“I think the batteries are still-”

“Less talk, more looking,” he emphasized, patting the chair back to get her to sit. She gave in with a wary sort of look, and as soon as she was down, he whirled her around and wheeled her towards the oversized computer, feeling giddy about the very idea that he would get to see Batman beat up the owls as many times as he wanted. Maybe he’d even see his and Bruce’s team-up! Eehee hee hee hee!

The display still had a myriad of things thrown up. The little map of Gotham with all the Court of Owls’ old hiding places, the FriendBook page of The Church of Written Mercy, background information on the Reverend Sebastian Overfield, the cloud storage Jackie had given him with all of Matt Chaney’s incriminating pictures, some screenshots of the crowd of Owls showing a few of them without their masks...

And the disappointing notification that large file transfers from one of the drones was still in progress, with its uploading screen still at sixty-something percent.

“Shouldn’t there be a streaming option or something?” he asked, the words barely out of his mouth as Iman dutifully pulled up the other two drones’ interfaces.

“Doesn’t look like it. The Batcomputer might be fast, but those drone’s video feeds turn out huge files. It’s never that fast.”

“Boooo,” John groaned, “Now I’m all hyped up for nothing,” he pouted, perching his bruised elbow on the back of the chair as he took in the collage of information. He knew all of it – or at least the pieces that mattered – but in Bruce’s absence it would at least pass time to poke through. But his eye caught something:  facial recognition software was pulled up, half-hidden by other windows. “Ooh, what’s that?”

“It’s nothing,” Iman answered casually. “It just checked some of the live feed against social media databases we had access to.”

“Ooh, fancy! Let’s look,” he said, reaching for the mouse.

Iman’s hand got in the way. “It’s not really interesting.”

Dismissing it and yet clearly obstructing it. John knew that was code for ‘I don’t want you to see this’. Which meant it was important and secret, and therefore very interesting. He wasn’t so much upset as he was intrigued, and it was easier to get information like that out with sweet-talk. “I-maaan,” he sang quietly, “what are you hiding?” He rested his chin in his hand, propped up against the back of the chair. “You can tell me. I’m good at keeping secrets.”

“It’s…not something you need to see right now.”

“That means it’s the perfect time. I’m not doing anything else but waiting around.”

“No, I…” She sighed, and turned in the chair, forcing him to stand up straight again as she looked him in the eye. “I meant you might not want to see it now. I was waiting until I had something more concrete to show you, and after everything today… I just don’t want to upset you.”

“Upset me?” he said heatedly, “After everything I’ve been through in the past few days, you think I can’t handle a little breaking news?”

“John,” she started seriously, “what I found could trigger your memory. It’s no guarantee, but if it does, it might be overwhelming. You’ve been through a lot, and you’ve handled it reasonably well,” Iman added encouragingly, “but we both know how exhausting it all was. I’m almost ready to collapse, and I know you’re more tired than you want to be right now. At the very least you should get some sleep before riding an emotional rollercoaster.”

The warmth that had flared on the sides of his head was shifting. He shuffled, trying not to appear as embarrassed as he felt at being called out. “So… What is it, exactly?”

“Potentially, a picture of you,” Iman explained, “It’s not directly of you – ‘you’ are more in the background, but it’s what facial recognition turned up when I tried to match your face with any photos from social media databases we have. I couldn’t find a direct match in any other system I tried, with the exception of the criminal database. And Arkham,” she finished with a nod.

An odd thing to suddenly look for. He couldn’t help but ask himself why. It made sense to say it aloud, but it was smarter to ask a direct question rather than something too broadly answered. “Why would you try to do that?”

“Aren’t you curious about yourself?” she dodged, staring him down with a slight tilt of her head, “You told me before that Arkham hadn’t pulled up anything on you, but I know some of their paper records were destroyed in an accident three years after your admittance. And there’s the events around the time of your admittance nine years ago,” she said, sounding far more curious about it than he had in ages, “An accident at Ace Chemicals, an unrecoverable data loss at the Agency, the string of deaths in the Valestra mafia over the tri-city area – and there was an unusually high number of crimes in both Gotham and Bludhaven the week you were brought to Arkham from the harbor. The G.C.P.D. might not have found anything linking a missing person to any of those events at the time, but it can’t be a complete coincidence.”

It was easy to see how invested she’d gotten. “You put a loooot of thought into this, huh?”

“Don’t you want to know who you were?”

He took the captain’s chair and tapped his feet on the floor, thinking about what to say as he leaned his head back into his hand. Maybe it was his meds, or maybe it was Bruce’s essence seeping into his skin from the chair, but he found he wasn’t really mad at her for looking where he’d never asked. He didn’t care about whether or not it was really for his sake or just her own curiosity, but she’d given herself away enough to emphasize that there was a line that needed drawing. “I used to,” he emphasized, “What name I went by, what I did, any family I had; stuff like that use d to keep me up at night, get me through the long days… But who I am now is a better question! And that’s never a solid answer, either,” he ribbed, smiling over at her with a chuckle. “I’m surprised at you, Iman - didn’t you ask yourself why it took three years for someone to get match-happy near my file?”

She stared back, shifting slightly between his eyes. She didn’t lose the curious look on her tan face. “So that was you…”

“Not that it matters,” he countered, pleased that she’d understood, “You’re a sneaky snooper – I’d wondered why you asked me about the day I woke up during your last visit! Here I just thought you were making friendly, topical conversation. Were those marshmallow Peeps a subliminal bribe, too?”

Ah. There was the guilt seeping in. “A little.”

“Et tu, Peeps?!” he feigned clutching his chest in betrayal, unable to stop from giggling afterward.

“I’m sorry, John,” Iman said, looking very much like she meant it, “I’d thought you’d want to know as much as I did,” she said slowly, not quite looking at him. “But I did want you to have visitors apart from Bruce,” Iman added, meeting his gaze again, “I would’ve gone anyway.”

He knew there was no way that wasn’t true. “I know,” he said, smiling wider, “You’re nice like that.”

She flashed a smile, but the gears were clearly still turning in her head. “John, if you don’t mind me asking… Why did you stop being curious?”

John was slightly surprised. He was sure she was going to ask about what was in his old file that was missing from the new one. He tapped his heel, remembering the isolation of Arkham. The three years of hoping for anyone to really explain anything, to see him, to know him. The bitter understanding of the truth. The hilarity of the reality.

“Because things like ‘who I was’ and ‘who knew me’ doesn’t really matter,” he answered after a beat, “No one cares about whoever-I-was. If they did, they’ve forgotten. And that’s really for the better,” he shrugged, “Not knowing is fun – it’s multiple-choice! Maybe I was someone in the wrong place at the wrong time; or someone at the right place at the wrong time. Maybe I was some experiment gone wrong. Maybe I was even an Agent, like you,” he teased with a wider grin and a chuckle that wouldn’t stay down, “Wouldn’t that be a laugh and a half!”

She seemed to get it. Her eyes drifted down to her hands, guilt still softening her face. Anyway, she didn’t look confused or disturbed, or anything that rang the alarm bell in John’s head saying he said the wrong thing. “Do you want me to delete everything?” she asked, looking back at him sincerely, “It’s not much, but if you don’t want the information anyway…”

He leaned back in the chair, feeling more at ease now that the line had been scribbled down. He’d let her do what she liked, as long as she kept him out of it. And Bruce, but he was sure Bruce had already pulled out all the stops and come up with nothing, anyway. “Hey, just because I don’t care to know doesn’t mean I’ll stop you from solving a dead-end mystery,” he teased, “Though I do want to know what your fancy software pulled up…”

“You still want to see that?”

“I said I wasn’t curious about who I was, I never said I didn’t want to see the picture you found. Besides, if nine years of therapy and doctors cramming their memory exercises down my hippocampus hasn’t brought anything back, I doubt a little picture will.”

“Well…if you’re sure.”

The software had dozens of pictures saved in the file, but the one Iman brought up – just big enough to see, not take up the full screen – was of people clearly having what looked like a Great Gatsby themed party on what looked like the deck of a ship of some kind. At first, John focused on the people in front:  a group of young twenty-somethings he didn’t recognize in the slightest, most of them sporting a glass or bottle of alcohol in hand, the quality of the image being the best indicator that the cell phone used for it was at least ten years old. But he spotted what the software, and Iman, must have noticed behind the group, clearly just walking by with a cigarette in hand – another young man in his early twenties sporting a cheap suit, seeming out of place against the others, half his long face in view enough to show one green eye and a few locks of dark brown hair.

“Wow, that’s…nothing,” John blinked, surprised at himself. “I got more feeling looking in the mirror with peach-tone makeup on.”

“Really? I can see why it pulled this one,” Iman said, looking between him and the picture on screen, “I’m pretty sure that guy has your nose.”

“Pfft, barely,” John rolled his eyes. “He certainly doesn’t have my fashion sense,” he gloated, thumbing his purple t-shirt.

Iman smiled, finally, glancing down at the zig-zags of blue and orange of his pajama pants. “You’ve got me there.”

“It’s a pretty bad picture, too,” John continued, “The lighting’s terrible, the angle is off… And those two -” he pointed towards the two flappers with their arms around each other’s shoulders – “are definitely faking it.”

She gave a light hah. “They certainly are. The left one’s too strained and stiff all over, and the other’s smile doesn’t reach their eyes.”

John thought to himself for a moment. He’d missed an opportunity to take a picture during their team-up at the theater, since the car was too dangerous while it was moving, and the jumpsuits didn’t flatter either of them. And she was the only one he didn’t have a picture of on his phone somewhere. “I bet we could do better,” John grinned, pulling out his phone.

Iman smiled, rolling the chair a little closer to him. “You’re on.” Her arm wrapped around his shoulder, and he mimicked the action.

“This good?”

“Maybe a little more to the left… John, it’s not a selfie if you’re not in it.”

“You said left,” he teased, moving it back, “Say... Um, how do you say ‘cheese’ in Farsi?”

“Panir.”

“Say ‘pah-nehr’!” Snap. “Ooh, that’s good! The monitor light really makes us glow.”

A text popped over the image, from Devi:  Hey r u ok???...

Then another, this time a text from Jackie:  Photobooth app…

“You’re popular today,” Iman nudged, “Don’t mind me, I’m going to clean some of this stuff up. Do you mind if I keep the chair? It’s easier to move around in.”

John stood. “Nah, go ahead,” he waved, selecting Devi’s text first, “I’m going to go wait for Bruce to come back out. He can’t stay in there all night.”

Hey r u ok??? Mick said he called u w info earlier and he thinks u told the bat and ofc theres probs @ Arkham. Bat sighting by Chauncey 2.

Hes pretty worried. I mean he wont SAY he is but he IS.

I m 2 after hearing about the Black Mask bust up @ Waynes!!! We didnt know until after group! Stupid phone wifi cant load news for shit :(

“Didn’t really have the time, did I?” he muttered to himself, leaning one hand against the railing to stretch himself out.

But he wasn’t going to leave her on read. Knowing Devi and Mickey cared enough to worry over him made him feel that warm, fuzzy sense of appreciation again.

Yeah I’m ok, sorry for the radio silence!!! A lot happened :o) Still kinda processing some of it, he typed, not wanting to go into too much detail. Upper floor break room always has the news on first thing at 6 if you need to eavesdrop. Dr. W still gets papers, usually tosses them at 11. ;)  Oh and the Bat says thanks to Mickey btw.

Damnnn J something real went down huh???

John laughed to himself at her choice of phrase. It was real. There was no doubt left in his mind.

I’ll tell you more when I see you guys. I have remote therapy but I still have work on Tuesday as far as I know so we can talk then! ;D

Aw :( 2 much 2 text? My phones safe u kno.

Trust me, it’s easier to say in person, he typed back. Ttyl (93-)

K igy. Night J man :)

John swiped over to the other active chat. Jackie had sent him a second copy of the picture she’d taken of the two of them all dressed up in the church’s stairwell – the owl mask she’d worn sitting on the stairs behind him – with her tiny flashlight being held up at an angle with the phone so the camera flash didn’t look too terrible in the dark. She’d added a soft-light filter, little sparkling stamps around, and some bat ‘stickers’ here and there, with the caption ‘#StraightOuttaGotham’ in glittering purple bubble-letters at the bottom, all sitting above her text:

Photobooth app didn’t have enough room for “you can’t fight if you ain’t cute” :/

The cave always made his laugh bounce around no matter how loud or quiet he was, and now it was jarring the bats hiding up above. It was funny on several levels at once, but all the feelings that had built up and grown static in the wind-down of the evening’s car ride home finally had a good outlet, and he let it out until he sank to the metal floor to stop himself from doubling over the railing.

John slipped his legs through the gaps in the rails as he caught his breath. He rested the phone in his lap so he could wipe away the moisture that had built up in his left eye. “Ahh…That’s one for the album,” he said to himself, saving the image for later. He’d have to frame that for sure.

Then came footsteps. Not from the right, where he was expecting Bruce sooner or later, and not a hobbled step with a cane from behind that would mean it was Iman. He pocketed his phone, the good mood already evaporating.

Tiffany had stopped a foot away, hands at her sides like she didn’t know what to do with them, her whole face practically screaming unsure. “Hey,” she said finally, with a slight shrug, “Can…I sit with you?”

He knew things would be going this way eventually. She’d saved him back there, in the ironically-named Church of Mercy, and he wasn’t sure if it was an attempt at apologizing or if she would’ve done it for anyone, but it had broken the ice. He’d went along with being casual – and not just for Bruce’s sake – and even though he’d like nothing more than to shove all the awkwardness and pain from the past two days into a drawer for him to pointedly avoid for the rest of his life, he knew that wouldn’t happen now. It had to be laid out on the table and pointed to like a broken vase.

“Pretty sure that it’s still a free country if we’re underneath it,” he answered lightly, “Unless this place isn’t marked on a map... Then you could do anything anyway.”

Tiffany sat next to him, crossing one leg and letting the other hang over the side through the gap in the metal railing. She was quiet, and even though only a few seconds passed it felt like way too long to him. “So, are you okay? I mean, like, physically,” she rushed, “I know you’re okay…otherwise,” she finished lamely, trying to gesture slightly with her hands towards another category. “But you got shot at, and I know I saw blood on you - and Iman filled me in on Arkham while you were upstairs,” she went on, “Fighting one of those Talon guys on your own couldn’t have been easy.”

John felt a cruel giggle bubbling in this throat. She was clearly trying to avoid saying anything that could be construed as another attack on his mental health, and it was made funnier by her shirt sporting the words ‘Point B.L.A.N.K’ dramatically written above some language he couldn’t read. “Aww, are you worried?” he teased, needling her further. He wanted her to squirm a bit.

“Well… Yeah. I saw a guy punch you in the gut. Who knows what other injuries you have?”

“I didn’t think you cared,” he answered, swinging his legs over the edge and looking out at the cave. Tiffany was easy to poke. The quiet said all he needed to know of her embarrassment. “You saved me earlier, sure, but that could’ve just been payback for all I know.”

He could feel her staring. “John, why do you think I’m talking to you right now?”

Well his first guess was ‘guilt’, but-

“Look, I know I screwed up. But I didn’t save you to make up for it. Or for any of that ‘tit for tat’ garbage,” she said, dark eyes staring at him pointedly, a softness like Bruce’s there. “I saw someone pointing a gun at you, and I acted.”

Ah. Ha ha. Ha ha ha! “A real hero, huh?” He leaned his head against the railing, the laugh dying low in his throat. He slid his arms through the large gap, too, numbing himself as he loosely crossed his arms. “I know you know what it’s like getting stabbed,” he said, holding up his own scarred palm, mirroring hers, “so I know you understand when I say that little conversation you and Alfred had about me was on par with that. I mean, I knew Alfred didn’t really approve of me when I got here. It still twisted the knife in,” he mimed at his own heart, smiling but not feeling the humor of the joke, “but it wasn’t a real surprise. But you? I thought we had something. We were getting along, becoming friends, having fun chasing the crook-of-the-week… And then you pulled the rug out from under me. I just can’t figure out what I did that sent me back to square one.”

She didn’t look away, at first. Her eyes and nose scrunched slightly, her brows furrowed up, and it was all regret. Tiffany cast a look over the cave again, her hands crumpling the material of her pink sweatpants. “It wasn’t really you,” she answered, “Bruce didn’t tell me you two were...together. So when you said you knew he loved you, I thought it was a big red flag,” she said, glancing over at him briefly. “And when you showed up at the Gala… I thought maybe you were obsessing over him or something. The whole ‘Court of Owls’ theory you put forth sounded so – so wrong, that I thought you’d…”

Gone off your meds, John finished for her. She looked like she didn’t want to say that, and was struggling for anything else to replace it.

“I thought Bruce was in danger,” she lamented, “I know I should’ve just talked to him and cut out all the bullshit, but I didn’t think he’d really listen to me.” Tiffany met his eyes again, not breaking away this time. “I’m sorry. I wouldn’t have said any of it if-” she cut herself off, clearly not liking where that sentence was going – “I never meant to hurt you,” she added instead, clasping her hands together in her lap and avoiding his gaze. “That’s really what it boils down to. Can we…start over? Pretend it never happened?”

John stared back at her. She was serious about wanting that. It came through in her voice and her soft brown eyes. Tiffany and Bruce weren’t related, but they sure could be alike sometimes. That ‘I never meant to hurt you’ sounded a lot like him.

He remembered getting that Batarang stuck in his hand. The sharp edges piercing his palm and sent his nerves screaming back into reality... Forgetting the rude things they’d said about him was like trying to erase the Batarang.

It was funny, though: he wasn’t as mad about it. Either the cold metal of the walkway was doing a pretty good job of keeping him numb to the bits of angry hurt still sitting in his gut, or Dr. Song had been right when she’d said looking at things from their perspective could help. They really did all love Bruce, didn’t they? They all kept looking out for him in their own ways…

Still, he couldn’t pretend it never happened. It was impossible, even if he wanted to. It was another thing to mend and heal. She had to understand that.

John sighed, leaning back to stretch out. “Kinda hard to forget about all that, kiddo,” he said, “I know, it’s ironic – an amnesiac who can’t forget something,” he joked, chuckling at himself. “But pretending it didn’t happen won’t make the wound heal any faster.”

He could feel the muscle in his right palm twitch. If he had to face reality head-on, so did Tiffany.

“We both know that,” he continued, “My hand took several weeks to heal after surgery, but I see the scar every day. I can cover it up, but I’ll always know it’s there. It’s the same for you, right?” he asked, pointing at her own scarred hand.

Tiffany looked down at her right hand, where the faded scar made a slash over the back, in-between the knuckles and wrist. He could tell she was thinking of the knife he’d run through her hand; but there was no pain written in her face. Only understanding. “Yeah.”

“See? That’s why we can’t pretend. The scars aren’t visible, but I know they’re there.” John kicked his legs over the edge. “They’ll just take a little longer to heal.”

“I guess starting over isn’t really an option, huh…”

“And what, forget about how you literally flew down to kick that Owl in the head? Our car chase on your bike? Our little crime scene investigation on the roof? Not on your life!” he grinned over at her. “We don’t need to start over, Tiff’. You just have to learn to take my feelings a little more seriously. And stop making assumptions.”

Tiffany looked at him like she was searching for anything insincere. She seemed hopeful. Or maybe it was relieved. John settled on a mix of both. “I think I can do that,” she answered with a slight smile.

“Oh, good; fighting beside you is more fun when we get to banter.” Truthfully, he felt better knowing they were picking things up where they’d left off rather than having to start afresh again. He’d had more than enough of that. “Sooo…does this mean I can call you ‘Tiffy’ now?”

“I’ll think about it.” Tiffany shuffled her legs to put both over the platform’s edge, leaning her arms over the rail. “Are you waiting for Bruce?”

“Yup.”

“He really pushes himself too hard,” she said, swinging her legs gently. “I know it’s because he’s Batman, but I almost thought he’d collapse when we got home. The guy’s exhausted.”

“That’s why I’m waiting,” John commented, “I didn’t want to leave him to climb up all those stairs alone… You’d think with a cave this size there’d be a bed down here.”

“Yeah, you’d think…” Tiffany’s dark eyes suddenly sparked. “Why don’t we bring one down for him instead?”

Ooh. Now that was an idea... The cave was Bruce’s domain, but how many nights did Bruce come home this tired and crawl up to that giant master bed to sleep the pain and emotional lashes off, all alone? Probably more than he’d ever say…

“How many guest rooms does this place have, again? There’s me, you, Iman…” He tossed a look over at Iman behind them, seeing the chair shift around like she hadn’t been watching them the whole time. He eyed her, thinking about height and width. “What do you think, two mattresses for the four of us? Unless Alfred wants in…”

Tiffany gave a light, short laugh. “It’s been a while since I’ve had a sleepover, but I think two will work,” she answered, gripping the railing to stand. “And I don’t think Alfred would sleep down here, even if it wasn’t the Batcave; he’s got a fancy adjustable bed. Hey, Iman!”

Iman swiveled the chair all the way around. “Yes?”

“We’re moving mattresses to sleep down here tonight. You in?”

“Only if you’re using the seven-hundred-thread-count sheets,” she answered, “And if one of you could get my eye mask from my room, please?”

John pushed himself up off the floor and brushed off his pajama pants. “I gotcha, Agent. Need anything else?”

“A pillow for my ankle wouldn’t hurt.”

Tiffany was already heading towards the elevator. “Just text if you think of something else.”

John followed close behind, glancing around the corner towards the bathroom Bruce was still holed up in. The light was still on under the door. “What are the odds he’ll come out of there as soon as we’re in the elevator?”

“Preeetty good. Which is why we’ll have to go fast.” The elevator slid open, and they both stepped in at the same time. “Otherwise he’ll try and go up anyway.”

                                                         † † † † †

Bruce stepped out from the steamy tiled bathroom onto the cool metal of the Batcave floor. He didn’t quite care that his hair wasn’t completely dry or that he’d stayed a little too long in the shower. He’d become hazy under the spray, letting the hot water soak into his skin and wash away the Bat, bringing him back to his senses. His anger had faded, being worked through his body during the raid on the Court of Owls, and what had settled into a sense of satisfaction had turned into a hunger for something he couldn’t quite place.

He expected to see John as he rounded the corner, but he encountered nothing but empty space. He looked over the cave, not seeing any sign of life where he would expect to… No sign of John or Tiffany at all; he didn’t expect to see them too close together, but he still expected to see them doing something, maybe at the weapons storage or the medical bay. He didn’t hold out hope for Alfred to hang around, and he expected Iman had gone to get some proper sleep.

Bruce was used to being alone in there, and in the rest of the manor. Maybe he’d just gotten used to the hectic days of a full house and almost constant companionship, but somehow, being down there all alone at that moment felt…hollow.

The soft click of a mouse pulled his attention towards the Batcomputer, where he could see Iman’s messy brown bun poking over the top of the captain’s chair. An empty office chair sat next to it, turned oddly like she had been moving between chairs at a whim.

Bruce felt strangely relieved to know someone was still down there. He made his way towards her, checking the screens; she seemed to be working on the left-over notes and references to what they’d all found, complete with pictures.

“Where are those from?”

Iman practically jumped in her seat with a shout. He’d clearly startled her too much. “Bruce, I didn’t even hear you walking,” she stressed.

Oh. He didn’t even realize he was still using his stealth walk. “Sorry, force of habit,” he said with an apologetic shrug, “I was trained by ninjas.”

“At least tap the back of the chair next time. I’ve strained my ears and this thing’s,” she gestured to the snake-shaped hearing aid, “abilities more than enough for one evening. Anyway, you…asked something?”

He decided against telling her to go get some rest. “The pictures you took,” he said while looking back up at the monitor, “Where are they from? I don’t recognize them.”

“Those are the ones John took from the theater. He didn’t label them, so I’m going through and marking which were more relevant.”

There was more than one picture of the various bat-signal-like shapes sprayed on the walls. And one that looked like the clown-smiley-face he drew on the sticky notes still saved in Bruce’s desk drawer. “Ah, yes, graffiti art. Very relevant.”

“I think it’s interesting. I wonder how many different people went through there… You can see the different spray patterns of the bats, and some have more control over the drip of the paint. And they were scattered all over that hallway; a lot of people were brave to go in there and tag it in the first place, but to do a bat? Considering how much anti-Batman graffiti there is in the middle of Gotham, it really says something.”

Truthfully, Bruce didn’t think it was that brave to go tag the inside of an all-but-abandoned building, but he reminded himself that he had refined his breaking-and-entering skills for years, and others had grown up honing them for survival, so he kept that quiet. “I have more secret admirers than I thought.”

“As long as they don’t form a vigilante club,” Iman muttered.

Hm… He had to admit he’d thought about other John Does running around since the Agency had left. It was a small concern, considering John’s old friends – the ones Bruce could find not under arrest, in any case – had kept their noses clean of further clown-themed vigilantism. But there was Sonja, Reverend Overfield, and that unidentified Owl… “Some already did. The Court of Owls seemed to think we were on the same side.”

“You don’t believe that, do you?” she asked, swiveling to look at him. She was surprisingly annoyed, and almost disgusted. “They were prepared to kill you back there. If they had the chance, they would have.” She stared at him hard. “Throwing John and I in Arkham – that was to make us suffer before they destroyed the place. And I know that if you weren’t Batman, they were going to try and induct you, and then kill you – that Talon who found us at the theatre had a file on your public face in their pile of targeted Arkham residents.”

He’d suspected Bruce Wayne was on their hit list. None of that was a surprise, but he had refrained from thinking too much about the situation at Arkham. And now he saw her point: there was no way to know how long either of them would stay unconscious; both of them clearly had time to escape, but if they couldn’t have… Waking up in Arkham only to die in its crumbled ruins would’ve been a wide-awake nightmare.

“You’re not like them, Bruce. They don’t have any regard for human life outside of their puritanical views. I know you well enough to say you’re better than that.”

He knew he was harder than he needed to be on people sometimes. He knew that if he wasn’t exactly who he was now, he might be more like the Owls than he’d want. But hearing someone other than himself say he wasn’t like them lifted the weighted question off his mind. At least for tonight. “I don’t exactly believe we were on the same side, but… I needed to hear that,” he said sincerely. “How’s your ankle?”

Iman cast a look down at the plastic brace strapped over her foot and calf. “It could be better. Alfred assures me that it’s not broken, but I can’t drive for at least two weeks,” she huffed. “I really shouldn’t have walked on it to follow John out of the laundry room, but I wasn’t sure what that Talon would do at the time… It goes to follow, when something stops you from moving around, you suddenly appreciate being able to do so on your own. Though I’m not looking forward to eventually having to go up stairs all by myself.”

Was that why she was still awake? “I’m surprised you’re still down here. I would’ve thought someone would have helped you up,” he commented as the elevator door dinged.

“Oh, I don’t need help tonight,” she smiled up at him, “Our city’s two other heroes are bringing a bed down here.”

“Bringing a bed?” Bruce pondered aloud.

“Two beds, actually,” Alfred interjected, “I barely stopped your partners in crime from surfing down the stairs with the mattresses.”

The old butler might have been dressed in his bathrobe and slippers, but he still seemed like he was on duty; he was even carrying in a plate of miscellaneous finger-food from the gala and holding it like he was going around the ballroom. It was a sight that Bruce didn’t know he’d needed to see until right then.

“They’re under the impression you’re going to fall to pieces trying to get up the stairs tonight. I didn��t have the heart to tell them I’ve seen you manage with two fractured ribs, a wounded leg, and broken arm.”

Bruce barely noticed that Alfred had put the plate down near him. The elevator had silently retreated and was coming back down again.

“At least you don’t have any of those injuries this time,” Alfred commented gently, “This is the most whole I’ve seen you after one of these nights.”

Tiffany came out of the elevator first, backing out with one end of a queen-sized mattress in her hands, and John carrying the other – at least until John spotted him. “Bruce!” The mattress slipped out of his hands as his face lit up like it was visiting hours.

Tiffany struggled to balance the sudden shift in weight. “John! Don’t DROP it!”

“Whoops – sorry.”

Tiffany didn’t seem to mad about it. “At least we can slide it down the stairs…”

Alfred turned towards them. “You will not,” he called out to them firmly, “Both of you will either carry it down, or you will sleep up here.”

John looked over at the stairs. “Uh, we should probably switch sides, then…”

Bruce watched them for a moment. It was strange how both of them were suddenly getting along. He’d looked over it at the church, putting it down to a truce, but now it seemed like they’d made amends.

“I know I have them to thank for that,” Alfred continued, “I never expected you to have both a protégé and a very dedicated partner, much less have them both out in the field with you.”

Partner. The word stuck out like a sore thumb. There was no distaste, no disapproval, just acknowledgement. “Neither did I,” Bruce said, not wanting to call too much attention to it right away, “Two years ago I never expected I could have people I could regularly count on, other than you.”

“Yes, well… I’m glad we were both caught off guard, in that sense. I always said you needed more than my old bones to keep up your crusade.”

Bruce eyed him, looking for any sign of denial or hesitance. “I’d say John is more than a partner at this point.”

Alfred raised an eyebrow, straightening slightly. “I’m well aware of your feelings, Master Bruce; I just never thought you’d really follow through with them.” He looked out over the landing, where John was backing down the last set of stairs very carefully with the mattress end. “I suppose I hoped you wouldn’t, in a sense. Truthfully, I didn’t think he was…good enough for you, before,” he settled on, his features going soft. Bruce sometimes forgot how old Alfred really was, and his age showed more than ever in the fine lines and the softer look staring at him in the dark brown eyes sitting behind thin, wiry glasses. “I only ever want what’s best for you.”

Bruce couldn’t bring himself to tell him he could decide what was best for himself, despite the childish desire to say so. Alfred was only doing his duty as his guardian. Looking out for his ward in the best ways he knew how. “I know that, Al’.”

He turned away from Bruce, picking the plate back up. “Besides, I figured the term ‘vigilante-boyfriend’ sounded a bit too gauche. ‘Partner’ is far more versatile.”

Bruce found himself with the full plate being pushed into his hands. The smell of the cucumber and ham in the tea sandwiches on the tray hit his nose like a punch, causing his stomach to gurgle in response. The little vegetable rolls, spinach puffs, raspberry chocolate tartlets, and bite-size beef wellingtons were quite a sight for someone who hadn’t eaten anything all day.

“That’s for the both of you. I’d better find it empty when I come back down tomorrow morning.” Surprisingly, he passed Bruce, reaching into his robe pockets as he conversed with Iman. “Here you are, my dear – phone fully charged, and painkillers as requested…”

Bruce decided to let them talk alone, and made his way towards the still-open elevator, where Tiffany and John were just maneuvering the second mattress out.

“Hey, buddy! Can you, uh, toss some of those pillows on here?” John nodded his head towards the mattress center, being held flat.

“Might as well throw on the blankets, too,” Tiffany added from the elevator door, holding the mattress up with one leg to wrangle one of the blankets up.

Bruce looked at the corner of the elevator, where they’d dropped the once-neatly-folded bedclothes and pillows. “It’s a good thing Alfred is distracted,” he mumbled, using his free hand to toss the pillows on, “He’d never forgive you two for throwing these on the floor.”

“What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him,” Tiffany shrugged.

Bruce tossed the blanket over the pillows. He knew better than to think that anymore. “How many times did I tell that to myself?”

“Hey, at least it’s just sheets this time.”

Bruce returned her little smile, bundling the sheets under his free arm so he could walk alongside her. Despite everything that had happened earlier that day, she seemed to be doing better than he’d expected. She was right when she said she could handle herself out there. Still, he knew what it was like to lie there and process everything afterwards in an exhausted stupor rather than sleep, and she might have had that youthful spark of energy going into the Court’s lair, but... “How are you feeling?” he asked her.

Tiffany hummed in thought. “If you told me this morning that we were going to be kidnapped by the Court of Owls, escape, and then willingly go back to their lair to fight them and arrest Black Mask, I would’ve asked what planet you thought we were on.” She watched the pillows shift in the center of the mattress and slowly try to slide down with gravity as they descended the stairs. She had the same expression now as when she was working, with eyes fixed on a screen half-filled with code only she truly understood. “That was one hell of a day,” she said, the corner of her mouth lifting into another smile, “but I could do it again. That’s how I’m feeling. How about you? You seem pretty tired. Not that I blame you…”

He’d had longer days than this. He was used to the gnaws of hunger, to not getting enough rest, to the strain of almost-overworked muscle, and the muddled cornucopia of thoughts in his head.

It was strange, though, how he didn’t really feel any of it right now. At least not in the same way as before. It was there, but all like background noise, like the rush of the waterfall in the cave. The feeling of needing something unnameable was all but gone, as if drowned out. Or maybe fulfilled.

The only thing he was sure he could really feel was… “Satisfied,” he answered.

“Really?”

“Really.” He knew she had to be part of the reason for that. The day would’ve been longer and far more arduous without her help. “I was really impressed with you out there. I know Lucius would be proud.”

She smiled wider, the sparkle returning to her eyes with pride. “I think so, too.”

The mattress was dropped a foot above the floor, right next to the other in the middle of the platform. Bruce put the plate down on the floor and worked on finding the bottom sheet for one set. “Now, if you had told me I’d be doing this today, I wouldn’t have believed it.”

John grinned over at him. “Gee, Bruce, you act like making a bed to sleep on with your friends in the middle of your top-secret hideout is weird.”

He tossed him the other end of the fitted sheet. “Don’t tell me you’ve done this before.”

“Me? Hah! Nah. But a good idea is a good idea.”

Tiffany tucked the corner in with a playful huff. “You should’ve had more sleepovers as a kid,” she shot to Bruce, “You’d understand better.” (Bruce didn’t know exactly why that would help in this situation.) “My friends and I once set up a tent in the living room, moved it to the back yard in one piece, and then pretended we were all pioneer girls on the run from the law.” She straightened her side of the top sheet she’d taken from the pile. “I still remember that stew we made in the camping gear…”

“What crimes did you guys commit?” John asked, not paying attention as he was tossed the end of the blanket. He missed grabbing it.

“Uh, murdering our husbands, witchcraft, and stealing a pie.”

Bruce raised a brow while John laughed. “And how does that help make this whole night any less strange?”

Tiffany stepped around him to start on the other mattress. “Because on weird levels, this is nothing.”

He supposed so. If he compared the whole day up until this moment… “I guess getting broken out of a kidnapping via the Batmobile crashing through a wall is a lot less mundane than this.”

John sighed. “I wish I could’ve seen that,” he said wistfully, taking the other end of the second fitted sheet. “That sounds way more fun than crawling through the air vent.”

Bruce felt the year-old wound in his side twinge. He glanced down at John’s long white fingers, seeing a plaster wrapped around one. There were two more on his elbows, along with several bruises. Iman had only mentioned during their drive to the church that John had found her locked up before they got entangled with the Talon.

“Really? How did that happen?” Tiffany asked innocently, unaware of the implications of John’s situation.

He’d woken up alone in a locked cell.

And as expected, John’s demeanor changed, his eyes looking far away, beyond the top sheet he was still staring at and back to Arkham. “Not by choice,” he said darkly. He glanced over at his right forearm. The cuts from the glass at St. Dymphna were partially healed already, but Bruce wondered why he didn’t put a fresh bandage over it. “But it turned out alright,” he finished as if returned to the present. “I mean, I’m here, you’re here – right where we should be.”

Bruce heard chair wheels rolling over metal from up above. Iman had stopped the office chair near the top of the stairs. “Tiffany, can you come up? I need your help for a sec’.”

“Coming!”

Alfred called over the railings at the group, too:  “Good night; I’ll be back down in the morning for you all.”

Bruce heard the three other bids of goodnight, but didn’t pay it any attention – John had taken a seat on the newly-covered makeshift bed, glancing over at him with a soft, needy sort of look, as if Bruce was too far away. Bruce took the bed opposite his, facing the staircase, leaving the plate of finger-food in the small part between them.

“Half of this is yours,” he said, pointing to the plate.

“You should probably eat some of that, then,” John said quietly, a smile picking up the corner of his pale lips. “Alfred told me to make sure you do. I’d hate to force-feed you.”

Bruce doubted that very much, but the laugh in John’s eyes wasn’t quite there. Like him, John was waiting to hear that last footstep on the stairs. Bruce padded out the time by eating two of the spinach puffs in one bite; the buttery crust and soft spinach melted in his mouth, and in one swoop he felt like he could eat the whole plate.

John gave a tiny laugh, and then the coast was clear up above. They were alone. One beat, and then two, and then it was nothing but John sitting across from him, heart bare and needy. “I don’t know how you do it,” he said quietly. “You just…deal with all of this so casually, and I’m… Ha, kinda shaken up, the more I think about it.” He looked down at his hand, where the Batarang had plunged through thirteen months ago. “I almost broke, you know. Nearly took that emergency exit.”

Bruce was unable to move. He didn’t have to ask what it meant. He knew, intrinsically.

“If it wasn’t for you, and the others, I wouldn’t be here right now. I’d be pushing up daisies with the rest of Arkham,” he continued, looking unblinkingly at Bruce despite the humorous tilt to his voice at ‘daisies’. His little smile was brief. “It was scary. I can only imagine what it was like for you, waking up all alone in ‘Owl H.Q.’…” John softened, stooping to lean his elbows on his knees. He stared at the rope burns on Bruce’s wrists. “I wish I could’ve saved you.”

Considering Arkham was still standing thanks to him, Bruce was grateful that he couldn’t. But he was clearly upset, and he needed more comfort than that. “You saved a lot of lives tonight,” Bruce soothed, “Iman, Arkham, Gotham…and mine, at least twice in that courtroom.”

“But it’s not the same,” John grumbled, “I don’t care if you’re Batman or not – you had to break yourself out of your cell, with no help, and you act like it was nothing.”

So that was it. He’d almost had a breakdown in Arkham before he escaped, and he wasn’t so much ashamed or embarrassed about it as he was guilty. And coupled with it was the envy of Bruce’s ability to keep calm, and he’d attributed it to not feeling any repercussions.

But Bruce couldn’t blame him for thinking that way. He’d been straightforward in the car when explaining his and Tiffany’s dramatic kidnap and escape, with Tiffany embellishing the story with her own little details. He’d mainly focused on getting them all home.

“It wasn’t nothing,” he admitted. It wasn’t as bad as John’s experience, but he would understand. “I could hear everything, but I couldn’t see anything. All I could think of was the time I was wasting in that chair. The people who could come back in any second. I thought of everything that could happen – to me, to Tiffany, to Gotham… Every awful scenario.” He was so used to being out on his own, it never occurred to him that John might have the opportunity to save him. He’d thought of everything but rescue… “It just seemed small in comparison to everything else tonight; and I worked out most of my feelings about that on the Owls.”

John gave a light chuckle that seemed much more genuine. “I thought some of those hits looked a little more forceful than usual. That Reverend looked pret-ty messed up – I would’ve loved to see that fight.” He picked up one of the little beef wellingtons, the excitement brewing in his voice making Bruce’s face feel warm. “I did some physical therapy, too. That Owl-man in Arkham didn’t know who he was dealing with.”

The bruises on John’s arms were more prominent next to his wild lounge pants. Some of them, and likely the light one on his cheek, had to be from the Talon. He’d gone through his worst nightmare and rolled with it all the way up until now. As impressive as it was, it squeezed something uncomfortably in Bruce’s chest. If he hadn’t gotten kidnapped himself, if he’d known earlier, if he hadn’t asked John and Iman to go to the theatre in the first place…

“I wish I could’ve saved you, too,” Bruce said softly, feeling every word.

“It’s okay. It was probably better for me that you didn’t.” John chewed on a vegetable roll. “Kinda made me wonder if Dr. Crane had point, y’know? The whole ‘facing your fears is the only way to get over them’ thing.”

“No,” Bruce said bluntly, hearing his voice dip as if by reflex at the mention of the disgraced doctor, “Not like that. Never like that.”

John leant back, giving a little hum in thought as he looked up at the stalactites and popped one of the sandwiches in his mouth.

He was quiet for a bit. Bruce could barely taste what he was eating in the silence. Thoughts were swirling behind those poisonous green eyes, and they weren’t looking at him enough. Bruce’s gaze trailed over the sharp lines of his pale face, over his lips and down to the bruises on John’s neck. It was only from yesterday, but it felt like it had been a week ago, now.

“I guess it was a pretty extreme therapy session,” John muttered, neck still craned up to look at the ceiling, “Waking up and doubting the whole past year. Thinking I was locked away again. I wouldn’t want to do it over. But I’m so much more sure of things now.” He looked back at Bruce, not quite softly, but steady. Bruce felt pinned to the spot. “I’m not doubting anything. Not anymore.”

He said it as if it was a choice he was making. “How can you be sure?”

“I’m not,” he answered with half a shrug and a smile, “but if you’re here, then I know everything happened. It’s how it’s always been.” He leaned forward with something like gratitude in the affection on display. “I would’ve liked you to burst in and save me, but you do that every day.”

Bruce felt his heart jolt. I do?

He couldn’t ask that. It felt like a natural thing for John to say, and he sort of understood the reason why without even asking. He wanted badly to say that John did the same for him, but it felt shallow to just toss the phrase back. For a moment, he wondered if John had even said it at all.

He never wanted to touch him more than now, to make sure he was real. He looked down at the thin white hands. John shifted one forward, not quite reaching out – Bruce took it without thinking. It was warm and solid, like the mattress he was sitting on.

It was like being under the faucet in the shower, letting the hot water pour over his shoulders and down his parched throat. He wanted to lay on John and just feel him there in all his messy beauty.

Before he knew it, Bruce’s forehead found itself resting on John’s shoulder. “I wouldn’t be here without you, John,” Bruce said, tasting raspberries on the roof of his mouth, “I’m Batman because I have to be. And I want to be. I’ll always be Batman.” He could smell sandalwood and cheap laundry soap as John’s right arm wrapped around his back delicately, as if Bruce would melt away. “But you make me feel like it’s a choice I can make, and I keep choosing ‘yes’ because of you.”

John didn’t breathe for a moment. Bruce felt it brush past his ear. “Oh, buddy,” John whispered, “you really know how to take a guy’s breath away. I would’ve settled for ‘you’re the moon to my sun ’ …”

Bruce’s left arm curled around John’s middle in return. His hand was warm and he didn’t want to let go. “I could say that too, if you wanted,” he muttered.

He felt John’s laugh brew before he heard it. “Hee hee hoo hee! Yeah, but wouldn’t sound like you!” John grinned into his hair. “I love you just the way you are, Bruce.”

Bruce held him tighter, not wanting to let go.

He could hear that a hundred times, and still catch himself not quite believing he really meant it.

“Uh, did we miss something?” Tiffany asked from what sounded like the stairs, freezing Bruce’s thoughts. He hadn’t heard their footsteps at all.

“Just mushy stuff,” John answered with a sly smile, letting Bruce slip away from his embrace and distract himself by pushing the plate away. “You know, two lovers against the world, that kinda thing.”

Bruce knew logically he had no reason to be embarrassed. They weren’t hiding their relationship anymore, and Bruce was used to having far more scandalous displays of affection being seen by the public. But he never felt so exposed. “John.”

“Yeah?”

Bruce picked up the tartlet left and pushed it at John’s mouth. “Finish that for me.” He seemed happy to take it with his teeth, so Bruce set on setting the pillows right and distract everyone from what they’d seen. Iman had two pillows of different sizes, Bruce had his own special side-sleeper one… “Did any of you think about how this was going to work?”

Tiffany stepped towards Bruce with Iman’s arm over her shoulder, seeming to carry her weight with ease. “I’m sleeping next to you at the end.”

“And I’m sleeping on this other end,” Iman said. “You’re in the middle with John next to me.”

John rocked to one side. “Really? I thought you two would want to sleep next to each other…”

“I’ll overheat in the middle,” Tiffany waved away, letting Iman set herself down on the makeshift bed.

“Juuust that?” John grinned knowingly over at Iman, “Or should I start charging for my piggyback rides?”

“Piggyback?” Tiffany squinted down at Iman. “You don’t think I could’ve done that?”

“Er, no, I know you’re capable-”

John looked way too smug. “I have a sturdier back.”

“The hell you do. I’ve been training with Bruce for a full year - I could pick you up if I wanted.”

“Ooh, you think so? Bring it!”

Bruce had enough. His was far too tired to let them horse around all night. His hand caught John’s shoulder before he could stand. “Save it.” (John hesitated to sit back down at first, but did so with a pout.) “It’s late, and three of us have work tomorrow.”

Tiffany trod over to Bruce’s side of the bed. The mattresses were pushed together now, to have one large double-queen. “What, am I back in grade school?” she mumbled. “It’s barely past one.”

It is? But that can’t be right… Bruce pulled out his phone to check. Sure enough, it was 1:06 A.M. But that couldn’t have been right – it took them roughly half an hour to get home, and he was sure he was in the shower for over thirty minutes… “Huh. I wouldn’t have thought that we’d get home so fast…”

John started to settle under the sheets next to Iman, who was positioning the pillow for her ankle. “What do you mean?”

“It’s only after one, but I could have sworn we left just after twelve.”

“You didn’t leave after twelve,” Iman chimed in, “you all left just after eleven-forty. I have the time-stamp on when the drone connected to the Batmobile.”

Maybe Bruce’s sense of time was just off. “Was the clock in the tower set correctly?”

Tiffany plopped next to him, hugging an extra pillow. “Yup. I remember checking it against my tablet when we were outside. Why?”

It felt strangely personal to say it aloud. But he didn’t really see any alternative. “The bell in the tower tolled before the rest of you came up.” A beat of silence. “It seemed planned; the reverend called it ‘the justice toll’. I assumed it was supposed to ring after the trial was over, to coincide with the clock – hence the twelve tolls I heard.”

John nodded with an elongated ‘oh’ as Iman checked her phone with a hum.

Tiffany pulled out her phone and swiped around. “Oh, I know what it is – there’s that hole in the roof, remember?” She turned the phone screen to show him the street-camera stream. Sure enough, there was a decent sized hole in the roof of the church’s tower, above the bell, barely visible from their angle. “The rain must have finally fried the wiring on their timer, and made the bell go off early.”

“Can you even do that?” John asked. “I thought those things worked mechanically.”

“Sure. The weights and measures needed to pull the bell works on an electrical trigger rather than traditional cog movement. They might have fixed the clock, but I’d bet they took the cheap way out and replaced the cogs with an electric clock that links with whatever they set up for the bell.”

“But the clock face is right,” John pointed out.

Bruce had noticed that, but he was more focused on the various emergency vehicles that had parked on the street around the place. It looked like the whole area was sectioned off with G.C.P.D. cars, and their flashing lights were distracting, but he could see some people on stretchers. He was honestly just glad Gordon’s people had gotten there.

“The source for that is probably separate.” Tiffany put her phone away. “That, or someone upstairs really likes irony.”

John laughed, falling back onto the pillow. “That, or Bruce!” he grinned, lightly slapping Bruce’s arm.

Iman stretched her phone over John towards Bruce – a log of time-stamps and drone connectivity. “Here, I was right: 11:43:20PM, my drone connected with the Batmobile. So the chimes went off a few minutes before then.” She pulled her phone away and stashed it under her pillow. Bruce knew the vibration on it was set high enough to wake the dead. “I’m going to take my hearing aid out, now. Goodnight, guys.”

Tiffany tucked herself under the sheets, with Bruce following and muttering goodnight at the same time.

“Oh!” John tapped Iman and moved his hand to gesture, not quite touching his mouth and moving the same hand to hover over the other in a cupping motion.

Iman gave him a thumbs-up as she put her aid on the other side of the pillow. She settled down on her back, pulling on a thick eye-mask and folding her hands over her stomach on the covers.

“Sleep does sound pretty good right now,” Tiffany mumbled, settling on her side to face Bruce with the second pillow still in her arms. “Can we do something about the lights, though?”

Bruce was still sitting up. “Computer, dim lights to five percent, disable all non-proximity alerts for the next five hours, keep repellant sonar active in all areas for the next six hours, and turn off main screens.”

As expected, the lights dimmed low as the electronic voice echoed back at him:  “ENTERING SLEEP MODE.”

I can’t believe I forgot I made that setting, Bruce thought disgruntledly to himself. He blamed it on the need for sleep and the very long week.

“Thank you,” John added from the pillow. Naturally, the Batcomputer did not answer back, but he didn’t seem to expect it. “’Night, Tiff’; don’t let the bats bite.”

“’Night, guys – and they shouldn’t, John; that’s what the repellent sonar is for.”

Bruce let the sound of the waterfall in the distance take over his thoughts instead. The rush of water, the cool air, the darkness that surrounded them softly – all of it tended to relax him. It kept his head cool, even when confronted with the worst Gotham could offer. As usual, felt more comfortable there than anywhere else in the house.

In fact, he felt better than usual. Being Batman could be exhausting and dangerous, but the end results were often worth the labor and occasional scars. The satisfaction after the fight was still there, the hunger was gone, but more than that…he felt somehow complete.

Bruce felt a tug on the end of his t-shirt. John patted the mattress. “Lay down already,” he mumbled, a smile in his voice.

Bruce made to lie down on his stomach, folding his arms underneath his pillow with a sigh of goodnight. He couldn’t remember the last time – if there was any time – he’d slept with so many people around.

He felt John rolling onto his side to face him with his left hand placed between their pillows. A wordless invitation to which Bruce responded almost immediately, linking his left pinkie with John’s.

He could see the ‘I love you’ in his handsome, pale face, and wondered if John could see it in his.

The cave’s atmosphere swallowed him gently, as always, but the warmth that came from John’s quiet

‘night’

and the flutter of his lashes into a sweet calm was what finally made Bruce slip into sleep.

                                                       † † † † †

Author Notes:  Did you all have fun re-reading and finding my tarot hints? (*☌ᴗ☌)｡*ﾟ Man, I didn't realize how much stuff I referenced until I went over my own notes over the past few months... Some of them are hard!! I drew up a chapter-by-chapter guide you can read here on tumblr [soon!], if you'd like to read it. I'm sure you saw "The World" clearly in the title here, but this chapter is also referencing the X of Cups! It's a celebration of our fulfilling journey finally coming to a close! We still have the epilogue left, but it's a bit sad to be finishing this story soon. It took a lot longer to finish than the other one...

But you're not thinking about that!!! You're thinking about the fact that I made A BATFAM SLEEPOVER ENDING!!!! The whole Batfam under one roof!!! Found-family bonding, baby!!! Ha ha ha, yes, back in Feb 2020, I was sorting through ideas of what to have as an ending! I knew I wanted John to have the opportunity to make his own decisions regarding relationships, and thus be able to forgive Tiffy and Al', but I wasn't sure on where to show it outside of the post-battle Batcave, and furthermore what to do with everyone after that! And then I thought "what's the most self-indulgent thing I could do?" to which I instantly replied .ﾟ☆found family sleepover☆ﾟ. and here we are!!! John is OFFICIALLY part of the Bat-family! Tiffany is recognized by Batman as a valuable team member! Iman is ALSO officially part of the Bat-family! Even Alfred got character growth! And Bruce recognizes that he needs and loves the people around him and that they are in fact an unspoken family AT LAST!!! I hope it's just as satisfying for you all to read as it was for me to write!

Speaking of, fun facts about The Sleepover Ending™:  You can only get it if you have Tiffany and John on Bruce's team, and they have to be on good terms with each other (i.e. John was not actively mean to her, and agreed to give her another chance) as well as Bruce (Bruce can't be mean to Tiff and tell her not to get involved at the Court;  just don't be mean enough to John, even he has limits). If you're re-romancing Selina she'll be there, but like Tiff she overheats so she'll take Iman's place at the end or else have another bed above Bruce. If you're just friends with Selina, even if she joined you at the Court she'll go home her own way.

For those of you wondering if John ever texted Jackie back after she sent him that purikura-esque picture of them, he did while he was going upstairs with Tiffany. (He texted outright he was framing it, and showed it to Tiffany.) And for those of you are like "Why didn't John and Bruce kiss?? I need my vicarious smooches :(", I know how you feel, but the answer is a little complex. I wanted to show their love to the audience without much physical contact, because it a) fits the mood of "i'm still a little overwhelmed by everything that happened" b) is a fun challenge and c) if this were a real game and the "the player" hasn't romanced John, some of the lines are changed a bit but their gentle embrace still happens, because they're still the most open with each other, love each other, and need each other.

I'd like to give a special shout-out to all of you who recently started reading. Don't think I haven't noticed my hit count jump along with my kudos notifications! I also see the nice things you tag in the public bookmarks! ;D I hope you - and my long-time readers - enjoyed this as much as At the Brink of Midnight. But the story's not truly "over" yet, even after the epilogue, so stay tuned to this Perseverance Project series for more! (｡•̀ᴗ-)✧

Next time, our epilogue will wrap up those pesky loose story ends. Did some of the Court get away? How's all that being handled? Is Jackie Lant truly off the hook? Is John in hot water for being Joker again? Is there going to be a surprisingly smutty ending where everything is just mentioned off-hand??? The only way to know will be to wait and find out - and in the meantime, stay safe out there, and please let me know what you think! (♡ᵉ̷͈ัॢωᵉ̷͈ัॢ )‧₊°♡

[tuscanwalker]

Sept 26, 2022: Sutri to Campagnano di Roma - 25.6 km; CUS - 1,700 ft

A Mountain of Gelato

Last night’s dinner was fine. The lasagna was a bit mushy, but the antipasto plate was good and the fresh garden tomatoes in oil were great. At the tour table, Elizabeth from New York was serenaded with Happy Birthday which was fun. However, we made the mistake of ordering red wine with dinner which was horrendous but we did not want to send it back as the hostess proudly announced that her father and grandfather had made it. Google indicates that the problem was likely the presence of ethyl mercaptans (a sulphur compound) which imparts a sort of earthy, burnt match flavour. This was confirmed by the fact that it was improved in later glasses after exposure to oxygen in the air. The final insult was the 10€ charged at checkout when we had paid 7 or 8€ for quite nice bottles in restaurants elsewhere.

We set off through the hazelnut groves right after another sugary breakfast as it was threatening rain. We expected the tour group followed close behind. We got a bit wet in the first hour but then it cleared for most of the day. Almost all of the walking was on paved or gravel roads, but their were significant mud bogs in a few places as a result of last night’s rain. After about 10 km we reached Monterosso for a second morning cappuccino. We were also able to pick up supplies for a very light lunch.

The rest of the day was largely uneventful other than being overtaken by 6 or 8 other pilgrims (Dutch, Spanish), most of whom we much younger than us. Oh yes, and I had to drag Kim along the trail when we passed between two golf courses including the National Golf School. Not a soul was on either beautifully manicured course and the tee boxes we saw showed little sign of use. After that, we were still looking forward to one stop. You may remember that we were hugely disappointed by the Fountain of Sambuco, which did not live up to its advance billing and only dispensed water. Today we had renewed hopes when we saw that Monte Gelato was about 18 km into the day, after all, what is better than gelato on a sunny afternoon. Alas, it was soul crushing to find that this was nothing more than a place name and all that was there was an old mill and a lovely set of cascading waterfalls.

For the last couple of hours on the road, the clouds moved back in and the sky darkened. About a kilometre from our destination it began to rain, just as we began our last, 350 ft climb, on a 10 foot wide road with at least a 20-25 degree slope. It was a hilarious to see that this was a tow away zone (who would park on such a hill) but apparently only during what We assume was morning rush hour (7-9). About 100 m from the hotel it really started to pour but we considered ourselves fortunate not to still be out on the trail like the tour group we met last night.

We checked into our hotel about 3 pm and after 7 hours on the road we were ready for a shower, a glass of wine and some rest. Turns out our room is 3 stories up with no elevator and luggage to haul, but the shower had great water pressure and tons of hot water so it was well worth it.

[yashvitours]

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