#the button on Clark's suit are doing so much hard work...

[lesiasmadness]

Trinton werewolf AU real!!

[spiceforyou]

Manhandle Me.

NSFW!!

Disclaimer--- This is the first smut I have ever written. I did not proof read this. Sorry... If you like it let me know and I will consider posting more! If you have prompts I would love to hear them! Much love! -L

Summary: You finally agree to go to homecoming with Wally Clark and your afraid the night is going to end a little to soft for you.

Wally had spent the last five years flirting with you constantly. He had never even kissed you but he just knew you were his. It didn't matter how many times you had rolled your eyes at his cheesy pickup lines or teased him endlessly about how 'old' he was. He had asked you to his homecoming dance for the 4th year in a row. You had wanted more than anything to go with him the first time he had asked but if you were gonna be stuck here with him for eternity you were gonna make him work for it.

You met him in front of the school wearing a dress that had his head swimming. He made you a corsage bearing his football number on it. You chuckled as his shaky hands slid it on to your wrist. He grabbed your hand walking and joking with you as he steered you towards the dance. You had found the other ghosts at the dance conjuring together. Rhonda was smirking at you eyes on your wrist. "Just say whatever you are thinking now before Wally gets back with our drinks." you shout over the music so she can hear you. Rhonda gave you a knowing look as she said " Are you finally giving into Wally's charms?".

You looked at her contemplating what to say. "I don't know if he can handle me." You say with a sigh. Rhonda smirks at you "You mean you don't know if he could manhandle you?" A chuckle escaped your lips. "Yea. Did they even know anything other than missionary back then?" Rhonda's eyes widen glancing over your shoulder. You slowly turn and catch eyes with a furious Wally. He hands your drinks off to Rhonda and grabs your hand pulling you with him as he walks quickly through the school. "Slow down! I am in heels." You pant as you run to keep up with him. He turns quickly and throws you over his shoulder as if your are weightless. You squeal and bang your fist against his back.

He only stops once you are in the silence of the room under the stage. He closes the hatch roughly as he allows you to slide off of his shoulder. His hands gripped tightly to your hips and his blown pupils focused on your face. " I was just joking Wally!" you rush out looking up at him trying to ignore the warmth that is rushing through you at the closeness. "You don't think I can handle you, Princess?" He says with a look you've never seen cross his face. You go to explain yourself and he shushes you holding your face in his hand. "I think I've heard enough from this pretty mouth tonight. So you are going to be a good girl and get on your knees for me."

You try to protest and his hand slides from your jaw to your throat squeezing just enough for you to stop talking. "Do as your told and maybe I'll prove how well I can handle a brat like you." He rasps out. You squeeze your thighs together feeling your panties getting wet and drop to your knees in front of him as he sits on the couch. His hand scooping your long curls into a ponytail. You look up at him through your lashes and wet your lips nervously. Your hands slowly glide up his suit covered thighs to the button popping it open and unzipping them. He lifts his hips sliding them and his boxers down to his ankles.

Your mouth waters at the sight of his hard cock. As you lean down to take him in your mouth he pulls your hair so you look up at him and he kisses you roughly before forcing himself to lean back panting. You grab his cock in your hand and it takes all of his willpower not to rip your dress off of you right then. You lean down letting spit drip from your mouth on to the tip while you keep your eyes locked on his. You place a wet kiss and wrap your mouth around the pretty pink tip. He sucks in air through his teeth hips jerking slightly. His hands tighten in your hair as you take more of him into your hot mouth. He groans "Just like that Princess." as he pushes your head to take more of him. He tries to let you take him at your pace but he can't stop himself from thrusting into your throat. And fuck when he sees the tears in your eyes he can't stop himself as he fucks your throat. You whimper on his cock reaching between your legs to play with your needy clit.

He stops pulling your mouth off loving that your lipstick is now a ring around his cock and smeared down your chin. "Get up. Now." he says roughly. " I would have loved to take care of this sweet little pussy nice and slow but someone had to be a fucking brat." he says inches from your lips as his hand brushes over your soaked panties circling your clit but not touching it. He turns you around quickly pushing you face down on the couch. He rips your panties off your legs putting them in his letterman jacket for later. "Such a pretty pussy." He mumbles as he spreads the wetness around with the head of his cock. His tip nudges against your entrance and then he is slamming into you with so much force it knocks the air from your lungs. A noise between a squeak and a moan leaves your lips. He pounds into you hands gripping your hips so tightly that you know you'll have bruises. "Come on Princess let's here how well you scream my name." he grunts pulling you against his chest by your hair. He wraps his massive hand around your throat the other still holding your hip as he bites onto your bare shoulder. You let out a whine which only encourages him to continue his abuse of your pale skin.

His hips continue their brutal pace as he marks from your shoulder to your ear with hickies. Whimpers and moans spilling from your lips too cock drunk to even complain. "Gonna make sure everyone knows you are mine. Gonna show you just how many positions I know. Gonna fill this pussy up till you crave my cock and mine alone." He whispers against your ear. His filthy mouth pushing you closer to the edge. He continues whispering praises in your ear as his hand reaches around to toy with your clit. He quickly rubs circles on it as he thrust up into you. You scream "Wally! I'm gonna cum. Gonna..fuck!" You dive over the edge spasming around him. He continues fucking into you, hips stuttering continuing to rub your overstimulated clit. You cry out trying to push his hand away from your center as he cums fucking it into you until your legs are twitching and he is holding you up against him.

His hand slides back around your throat squeezing lightly. "Are you gonna keep being a fucking brat?" He rasps in your ear cock still inside you. You smile lazily up at him. "Probably." you giggle. He lets out a chuckle slowly removing himself from you as you whine at the empty feeling. He helps you lay flat and cleans you up, the giant smile on his face never leaving. "I have eternity to fuck the brat out of you Princess and I will fuck it out of you." He threatens laying down on the couch with you pulling you into his side and planting a kiss on your forehead.

[am-i-obsessed---maybe]

A Sense Of Normalcy Pt. 2 (Clark Kent x Wayne Male!Reader)

Part 2! Make sure you read Part 1 first cause otherwise you will have no clue what's going on.

Word count: Like 6-7k (ish) it's about the same length as part 1

Summery: Clark Kent was many things, a superhero, a reporter and also your very loving boyfriend. Not that your relationship hasn't caused strife with your brother (and Clark's friend) Bruce.

Warning: Like a tiny mention of homophobia, mention of weed and a lot of family drama and fluff.

It was around the six month mark of your relationship with Clark that you asked him to accompany you to a gala. You’ve kept your relationship mostly private until then and seeing as the media was more interested in Bruce’s dating life than yours it was fairly simple. But you thought six months was the time. Besides, you'd decided to do it in the most understated way possible. The two of you would go to the gala together and if asked (and you knew they’d ask), you would introduce Clark as your boyfriend.

So now with nervousness bubbling in Clark’s stomach he let you tie his bow tie.

“Are you sure about this? Because I’m fine with being introduced as your friend. I’ll hold back on the PDA” Clark said and you raised a brow.

“It’s time Clark. Besides, if we keep it understated we won’t have to answer too many questions with the press” You tried to tell him but he looked down at you and said, “Honey, I work at a newspaper. They are the press and they are going to ask questions” He said and you sighed. You wrapped your arms around Clark’s muscular stature.

“If you don’t want to do it that much, we don’t have to” You finally relented and Clark wrapped his hands around your waist.

“Y/N, I don’t- I’m just nervous. I’m not used to all this, dressing up and talking with a lot of people about nothing” He confessed and you looked into his ocean blue eyes. You adored this man so much sometimes. “I’ll be with you every second of this gala and if we need an escape there’s a button on my watch that triggers my phone to ring” You said, placing a light kiss to Clark’s lips. It was a short chaste kiss but it meant everything to him. You were on his side. You were willing to do anything to help him feel at ease.

“Besides, if you really don’t want to talk you can always be my arm candy” You teased and Clark scoffed.

“I am an exemplary journalist and superhero, I would never be caught dead being some business man’s silent dumb hunk, no matter how handsome said business man is” Clark retorted and leaned down to give you a passionate and loving kiss, only parting when he heard a loud “Yuck!” come from the doorway. You both turned your heads, still holding each other close. Dick stood in the doorway in an adorable little suit and blue converse that matched his blue bow tie. He was an adorable little kid except for the face of pure disgust he made when he saw the two of you kissing.

“Get a room!” The young ten year old said and you laughed dryly.

“We did. You came into it” You told your nephew who was quick to change the subject.

“Bruce said he’ll meet us there so I’m going with you two!” He said excitedly and you smiled as he dragged Clark off in the direction of the front door.

When you and Clark left the car with Dick in toe you confidently walked inside the venue. Your hand held onto Clark’s as you confidently walked passed paparazzi and gossip and celebrity reporters.

Once you made it inside the museum in which the event took place your hand moved from Clark’s hand to his waist.

“See, that wasn’t so bad” You said lightly and Clark rolled his eyes.

“Somehow I doubt that was the hard part” He retorted and you chuckled.

“You’ve got this” You told him in a private whisper and passed him a glass of champagne.

“Are you trying to get me drunk?” He teased and you lightly hit him on the shoulder, laughing. You were so focused on Clark that you didn’t notice a man had come up to you.

“Mr. Wayne, I’m so happy you could make it” He said and you shook the hand he extended to you.

“It’s always a pleasure to see you Mr. Linken '' You replied, your other arm still around Clark’s waist.

“Clark, this is Anthony Linken. He leads Wayne Tech’s bioengineering branch” You said and then turned to Anthony. “Mr. Linken, this is my partner Clark Kent” You said and Clark extended his hand for Anthony to shake.

“It’s nice to meet you Mr. Linken” Clark said though he felt the man’s discomfort with the handshake.

“Indeed.” Linken said, trying to cover up the coldness in his voice with a smile.

“Would this mean your brother won’t be joining us tonight?” Linken asked and you smiled. Clark could tell this was your fake corporate smile. You didn’t like Linken and neither did he.

“Bruce is a bit busy and will be late unfortunately. That’s why Richard came with us” You told Linken and began to walk away with Clark in toe.

“Speaking of, we’re going to go make sure he’s not getting into trouble” You told Anthony over your shoulder.

You led Clark to the other side of the museum. “Was that homophobic or…” Clark asked trailing off.

“Maybe, it definitely wouldn’t surprise me. Don’t mind him though. He’s one bad apple in a mostly decent tree” You told Clark. “I’m not sure that’s the saying honey” He replied, you both laughed and you jumped slightly when out of nowhere Bruce appeared next to you.

“Holy shit Bruce, you scared the daylights out of me” You said and for the first time that night your arm left Clark’s waist. You hugged your brother and noticed Dick standing impatiently beside his adopted father.

“Y/N can we go get juice?” The little boy asked and you looked to Clark. There was a silent question in your eyes, “Can I go?”. You weren’t really asking permission but making sure he was okay being left alone. When he nodded and smiled you took Dick’s hand to go find him some juice even if you knew something was up.

When you were out of earshot Bruce turned to Clark.

“If you’re gonna give me the shovel talk then I already know.” Clark said trying to stay lighthearted but it was difficult when Bruce stood beside him brooding.

“I don’t like it. I don’t like the idea of you and my brother, but Y’N’s made it perfectly clear that he doesn’t care” Bruce said and Clark nodded. His own mood shifted to a much more serious one.

“You’re smart Clark. You know that if you hurt him I will end you, I don’t need to tell you.” Bruce continued and Clark nodded.

“But I will anyway. I’ve caused him a lot of pain but I won’t let anyone else do the same. That means that you have to be careful because if he loses you, that will break him.” Bruce said and Clark looked at him, slightly stunned. This was one of the most emotional conversations he’s ever had with Bruce.

“Bruce-” He tried to say but your brother cut him off.

“Promise me that you’ll keep yourself safe.” Bruce insisted and Clark nodded.

“I promise” He said.

“Good.” Was all Bruce replied.

“Bruce. Thank you.” Clark said and Bruce stared at him. Clark couldn’t tell but Bruce was confused. The last thing he expected was for the reporter to thank him.

“You mean the world to Y/N and he’s told me about some of the fights you two have had about this. I worried that I was doing more harm than good by being with Y/N and I’m really thankful that you’re coming around” Clark elaborated and Bruce scoffed.

“Don’t push it Kent” The younger Wayne brother said but there was a lighthearted teasing mood to his comment and Clark laughed, raising his hands in a surrender motion.

“Whatever you say”

-

Eight months into your relationship with Clark you decided to surprise him. On a random Tuesday you walked into the daily planet in Metropolis with a beautiful bouquet of flowers in hand.

The secretary at the front desk told you where Clark’s desk was, you took the elevator and once you got to his floor you immediately saw him. He was tall and you saw him by his desk, talking to a woman and a kid, neither of which you recognized. As you walked out of the elevator and towards him, Clark noticed the flowers and more importantly you. He smiled and excused himself from who you assumed were his coworkers.

“What are you doing here?” He asked you once you were within ear shot.

“Surprise!” You exclaimed, giving him the flowers and a kiss.

“When did you get here?” He asked and you looked at your watch.

“I landed about two hours ago, got the flowers and came here” You said knowing full well Clark was questioning what you were doing in Metropolis.

“So Clark, are you going to introduce us to your mystery man or should I tell Ma Kent you lost your manners?” The woman Clark talked to earlier asked and you reached out your hand.

“I’m Y/N Wayne, it’s a pleasure to meet you Ms. Lane” You said and the woman -whom you recognized as the journalist Louis Lane- shook your hand.

“Does my reputation precede me or has Smallville talked about me?” She asked, shaking your hand and you muffled a laugh.

“I’d say a bit of both” You said and turned your eyes to the red haired teenager beside her.

“Y/N, these are Louis Lane and Jimmy Olsen” He finally introduced and you smiled.

“And this is my boyfriend Y/N Wayne.” Clark said, introducing you. Jimmy’s face brightened a bit. “Wayne as in Bruce Wayne? The billionaire?” He asked and you chuckled.

“That would be my younger brother, yes” You told Jimmy and he said something about cool and photographing the new Wayne tower but you weren’t paying too much attention as Clark led you past his coworkers and to his desk.

“You flew here just to surprise me?” He asked, putting the flowers down on his desk.

“Well, mostly. I have a few meetings here in the next few days for the opening of the new Wayne Tower so I came early, maybe we could spend some time together until then? It’s been a while since we’ve gone out in Metropolis” You mused. Clark smiled. “Of course, where are you staying? I’ll come by after work and we can go to that new sushi place I told you about” He suggested and you smiled sheepishly, leaning on his desk. “I was actually thinking maybe I could stay with you? I have a hotel room but-” Clark didn’t even wait for you to finish your sentence.

“Of course you can!” He said excitedly and you smiled bashfully. “I um, I have to get back to work but send me the name of your hotel. I’ll pick you up, we’ll go to dinner then to my place” He said and you kissed his cheek.

“Sounds like a plan” You said and he told you a bit about his day so far as he escorted you back to the elevator.

Once the metal door closed, he turned around to go back to his desk only to be met with Louis smirking confidently.

“You know when you told me you were going out with Y/N Wayne I had no idea what you’d see in what was probably a stuck up rich business man but I see it now. He’s a catch Smallville” She teased and Clark pushed his glasses up and blushed a bit at those words. “Yeah, he really is”

-

After almost two years of dating Clark you made plans to move in together. (Plans that Bruce hated)

Metropolis and Gotham were a drivable distance apart and any work you could do from Metropolis you’d do in the (not so) new Wayne Tower.

Bruce really didn't like this plan though. It made sense but Dick had moved to San Francisco to lead the Teen Titans and you moving to Metropolis meant he’d be alone in the manor.

Alfred was helping you pack your things before the moving company you hired to take them to yours and Clark’s new apartment arrived. You were finishing packing up your closet when Bruce came in.

“Need some help?” He asked and you shrugged.

“If you want to, you can grab a box and start putting all the books from the shelves in” You told him while taping up the last box of clothes. He did exactly that and when you came with another box to pack up a different shelf that you noticed something was wrong.

Alfred had gone to start packing up your office and you and turned to Bruce.

“What’s wrong copycat?” You asked. You had stopped packing, instead giving your brother your full attention.

“Nothing’s wrong” He answered and you sighed.

“Something’s wrong. You only look like that when something is wrong” You said and tried to focus on the books he was stacking in the box.

“I don’t look like anything. Everything is fine, I just thought you might want some help packing” He said and you rolled your eyes and continued to put your large reading collection into moving boxes.

“You know I’ll only be a call away, even if I don’t live here anymore. And I’ll still be in Gotham fairly often” You said as you taped up the box and Bruce didn’t look at you.

“I know that. We’ve gone over everything already Y/N” He said and you leaned on the now closed box.

“Then why do you look like there’s still something you wanna say? I grew up with you, remember? I know you better than anyone” You said softly. It was the same voice you used to calm Bruce down from the nightmares he had as a child. “It’s stupid. I’m a grown man” He mumbled and you smiled.

“Bruce, it’s okay to feel lonely now that I’m moving out” You told him. You put your hand on his shoulder as if to remind him that he can open up. He’s allowed to feel emotions.

“You know I hated living here when you left. I had Alfred close off some of the manor so that it wouldn’t feel so big. I hated walking past the portrait of the family in the foyer. I felt alone. Even with Alfred here. And with Dick going to California you’re allowed to feel that too” You told him and you could see Bruce struggling to stay stoic. You embraced him in a hug.

“You can let yourself feel these things Bruce. You’re still only human” You tell him in the soft voice you did when you two were kids and you feel him break. He chokes back a sob and cries into your shoulder and you just hold him. You held him the same way you did as kids when he snuck into your room after a nightmare. No matter how old the two of you get you;d always be his older brother. You’d always protect him.

After you moved out Bruce told you he took in another orphan boy. His name was Jason and you burst out laughing when he told you how Jason tried to steal the batmobiles tires. Jason was older than Dick was when Bruce took him in. He was already a pre teen and he had all the emotional range of one. He had some anger issues but Bruce told you they were working on it. You knew he was training Jason to become the new Robin. This time you said nothing. Even if you didn’t particularly like to hear about Batman you finally accepted it as part of your brother’s life. It took almost a decade but it happened.

Funnily enough you met Jason when Bruce brought him to Metropolis while visiting you. It was your birthday and you and Clark invited your family over to celebrate. Dick came a few days earlier and stayed with you and Clark in a guest room (since he flew across the country) while Bruce drove Jason with him from Gotham.

You sat in the living room catching up with Dick when there was a knock at the door. Before you could get up to get it Clark was already at the door. “Don’t worry, I got it” He called over his shoulder as he welcomed the visitors.

“I swear if it were possible I’d think he’s on a sugar high” You told Dick and the two of you laughed.

You expected Clark to come in with Bruce but instead you saw him with the boy who you recognized from photos was Jason. He was a short boy with a lot of attitude but now he was eagerly looking around your apartment and at your boyfriend. You then noticed Bruce trailing behind the two with a gift bag in hand. You got up to meet him with a hug.

“Thanks for coming” You told him once you released him from your grip and he presented you with the bag and a tiny smile.

“Happy birthday Y/N” He said and you smiled, taking the bag and placing it on a cabinet.

“If everyone’s here we can sit down and eat” You told everyone and Dick took that as his que to move to the dining table.

Not two years later you would get a call from Bruce telling you that the energetic spunky kid who called you uncle Y/N had died. He was only 15 and had been killed by the Joker.

You sobbed into Clark’s shoulder that night, crying yourself to sleep.

It had been the first death in the family since your parents and you were heartbroken. You took a break from work and moved back into the manor for a short time. Bruce practically forced you back home after a week. All he could think of was what you told him when Dick became Robin.

“If this was another grown adult I wouldn’t be here Bruce but he’s eight. I don’t give a rat’s ass about Batman, I care about the vulnerable kid you’re choosing to bring into it and I swear if something happens to him because of your stupidity I will bring your entire operation down and I will personally drag Batman through the mud.”

Even though you told him that Jason’s death wasn’t his fault. He told him not to go alone. He did what he could to keep Jason safe. Bruce knew he was putting the life of anyone who worked with him in danger. You didn’t even need to act on your threat. After Jason’s death Batman became reckless and angry. He was dragging his own image through the mud and made himself miserable in the process.

-

Five months after Jason’s death you felt like things in your life were returning to normal.

You still mourned the boy and you knew Bruce was miserable but you worked as usual and went back to living your regular life. It was on what you thought was a normal date night with Clark that you were proven wrong. The two of you had ordered your favorite take out and sat down to watch a movie and relax. You sat cuddled up on the couch, your head resting on Clark’s shoulder and his arm wrapped around your body, both in your pajamas when your boyfriend of almost three years said.

“It’s a beautiful night” And you hummed in agreement.

“I have a surprise for you. Close your eyes” He told you and you looked at him questioningly before doing as instructed. Before you could process what was going on you felt Clark pick you up and a gust of wind cool your skin. You held in a scream as you felt your feet touch the ground.

You opened your eyes to see the city of Metropolis below you. Lit up like a city that never sleeps. You turned around and saw you were on top of the Daily Planet, it’s beautiful gold globe behind you. When you turned back to Clark to ask what was going on you saw him on one knee holding a gorgeous ring.

Your eyes widened and you let out something between a laugh and a breath as you peered down at your boyfriend.

“Y/N Wayne, we have been together for just about three years. I love you with all my heart. You are kind and loving and have one of the biggest hearts I have ever encountered. I love falling asleep beside you each night and waking up beside you each morning. I love holding you in my arms and being held in yours. I love your sarcastic jokes and your cunning mind. And as I’m saying this I’m losing my words-” Clark said and as he got further along with his speech he became less and less sure of himself.

“But, I love you so much and I want to spend the rest of my life with you” He said and carefully wrapped your hands around his as he spoke. “Will you marry me?” He asked and you crashed into him with a hug, nodding.

“Yes Clark Kent, I will marry you” You whispered in his ear as you embraced and when you broke apart his lips crashed into yours for a passionate, loving kiss.

-

The first person you told about your engagement was Alfred. He was like a second father to you and you knew he would take it well. That is how you and your fiancé found yourselves sitting around the dining table with Bruce, Dick and Alfred. The ever sneaky family butler thought a family dinner was the best way to announce your engagement to your family.

“-That’s when we took the guy in and he was still trying to say that the bag wasn’t weed, it was oregano, we tested it and he was actually right! The sneaky bastard was trying to get a quick buck” Dick said, finishing a story from his new job as a police officer in Bludhaven. You looked at Clark and when he awkwardly nodded you took the lead.

“So, we actually have something to share” You announced and Bruce (who was still mad at Dick for his career choice) finally looked up from his plate.

“We’re getting married!” Clark exclaimed and Dick practically flew out of his seat to hug you.

“Congratulations!” He said and you smiled, finally pulling the ring out of your pocket.

Meanwhile Bruce was staring Clark down at the table. “Master Bruce?” Alfred asked but Bruce didn’t move. Neither did Clark, your fiancé simply matched your brother’s gaze.

“Bruce?” Dick asked, and still nothing.

“Oh for fuck’s sake Bruce, please don’t brood during my engagement dinner!” Your voice was the only thing that broke your brother out of whatever mental battle he was having with Clark. You walked around the table and looked down at Bruce waiting for some kind of response.

“Seriously?" You questioned and got no response. "You’re impossible.” You walked out of the room and to the guest room Alfred kept for you in the manor.

After you left Alfred, Dick and Clark all glared at Bruce before Clark finally stood up.

“I can understand why you might feel- whatever you’re feeling right now towards me but for god’s sake Bruce, be excited for Y/N.” He said and walked out, following you. Bruce just watched as he left and Dick came over to him and smacked him.

“Seriously? He is the only family you have left and you can’t even pretend to be happy for him? Even with all of our crap I thought you were better than this” The young man said and he too walked off, leaving only Bruce and Alfred in the dining room.

“If you’re going to scold me, go ahead.” Bruce finally said and Alfred simply shook his head as he began cleaning up the table.

“And what help would that do master Bruce? I believe Master Dick and Mr. Kent have already said what needed to be said”

“I’m happy for him” Bruce admitted and Alfred shook his head.

“I am not the one you have to convince.”

“Alfred-” Bruce tried to argue but the butler simply put the plates he was carrying down and looked down at him. “Y/N has given every piece of himself to this family in your absence. He gave Master Dick an uncle, Wayne Enterprise a CEO, The public a figure to see the Waynes were still in Gotham and you Master Bruce, he has given you an example. While he may not have supported everything you do he’s stayed by your side. But when he found the person with whom he wishes to spend his life you couldn’t stay by his.” Alfred said passively and took the dirty plates to the kitchen. Bruce soon left too, he wandered the halls of his childhood home and thought. He never tried to think of what you'd done for him before. You were always there, helping him, for as long as he could remember but after what Alfred said he took the time to think.

When he disappeared for seven years to train himself, you held down the fort in Gotham, you finished your own education, took over the company and gave reasons as to why Gotham’s favorite prince had fallen off the face of the earth. When he came back you embraced him and only asked that he stay this time. When he became Batman you ignored and even despised the bat but you continued to support Bruce. When he adopted Dick you did your best to support the boy in ways Bruce couldn’t. You kept his secrets and came around to his crusade. So why couldn’t he do the same for your relationship? After all, Clark was a good man. Bruce trusted him with his life but refused to trust him with the love of his older brother? It was at that point that Bruce found the family portrait you insisted stay up in the manor. The large one in the foyer.

Bruce didn’t remember the day, he was only four or five but you were older. Martha sat on a high backed chair with Bruce on her knee and Thomas stood proudly beside her. One hand on his wife’s shoulder and the other on his eldest son’s. You were all smiling, one complete, happy family. He had to make this right.

You and Bruce had developed a code after he came back to gotham. If one of you text each other CB you meet at the closest balcony. CB of course stands for code blue and refers to a conversation the two of you had as kids.

One day you both snuck out the window and sat on the roof while your parents were out at a gala and Bruce asked what color the air was. You were ten and after much deliberation decided that the sky was full of air and the sky was blue so logically so was air. You never told a soul. Not even Alfred knew so when Bruce texted you CB after the fight at dinner you sighed and kissed Clark's cheek. “I’ll be back in a bit” You said and he looked confused.

“Where are you going? I thought you said we’d wait till the morning and head home then?” Your fiancé said and you nodded.

“I’m not leaving the manor, I just have to talk some sense into my baby brother” You said and you smiled before Clark could even say anything.

“It’ll be fine love, I’ll be back soon. If you need anything Alfred’s downstairs” You said and left, quickly walking to the part of the balcony closest to yours and Bruce’s rooms.

The balcony overlooked the forest around Wayne manor and by the time you got there Bruce was already waiting with two cups of tea.

You didn’t say anything, just took one of the cups and leaned on the rail.

“I’m sorry” Bruce said quietly and you smiled.

“That’s pretty open ended” You said, smirking and taking a sip of your tea. You could hear Bruce groaning.

“I’m sorry for being a jerk about your engagement. I’m happy for you. I'm just an emotionally stunted man child. That good enough for you?” He asked sarcastically and you chuckled.

“More regretting not recording that but yes.” You said and you could see Bruce fidget slightly.

“I don’t know why you reacted that way. Honestly I feel like I don’t know much about you anymore, but I want you in my life copycat so contrary to some of my behaviors I take your acceptance of my partner very seriously” You said sincerely and Bruce smiled at the old nickname.

“Clark is a good man.” Bruce said and you smiled, looking down at the band on your finger. The clear stone shining in the moonlight. “I love him, He’s one of the most amazing men I’ve ever met and I want to spend the rest of my life with him” You said and you were sure Bruce was trying not to make a face or sarcastic comment.

“Who's taking what name?” Bruce asked and you smiled.

“We’re actually not gonna do that. Branding and stuff” You joked and you could see Bruce relax once again. A barely visible difference but one you could still recognize. At the end of the day you still knew him well enough.

“That’s progressive” He jokes along and you chuckled.

“Wait till you hear the actual wedding plans” You replied and he looked a tad scared before you broke out laughing. “It’s not actually bad! We want something private so we’re probably gonna do it on his parents' farm. Just family and close friends, press announcement after the honeymoon, something small” You explained and Bruce nodded.

“Sounds like you” Your brother said and you rolled your eyes, turning around and leaning your back against the rail.

“You should really patch things up with Dick” You said and Bruce sighed.

“When did we switch topics?” “Just now when I told you to stop being a child and work things out with your son” You scolded your brother and he looked down. “Are you happy with how everything turned out?” Bruce asked and this time you looked at him confused, waiting for him to elaborate.

“Every once in a while I think about what things would be like if that night in the alley didn’t happen. If we grew up normal. Mom and dad would still be here, no Batman or Robin, I think I’d still find Dick and Jason, you wouldn’t be nearly as stressed because mom would have helped you with the company and they’d be proud of me no matter what I’d decide to do” He confessed and you smiled sadly.

“They are proud of you Bruce.” You told your brother and you thought for a second the look in his eyes was that of the broken child he was after that night in the alley.

“Are you sure-” You cut Bruce off with a tight hug. “I’m sure copycat. Because I’m proud of you and dad always said I take after mom so I’d know” You told him.

-

A year after yours and Clark’s wedding you sat anxiously in your shared apartment in Metropolis and stared at your phone. Clark was currently at lunch with his best friend Louis Lane to ask the single biggest thing he’d ever asked her.

You and Clark knew you wanted children one day. You always wanted a family and so did Clark. Although you only really started discussing your options after the wedding. As two men there were really only two options for you.

That’s why you were staring at your phone waiting for it to ring, because your husband was asking his best friend if she’d be your surrogate.

When eventually your phone did light up and buzzed with an incoming call you jumped off the couch and picked up.

“How’d it go? What’d she say? Did she agree?” You bombarded Clark with questions the second you picked up and you heard a chuckle which you assumed was Louis overhearing you.

“She said yes!” Clark said, trying (and not particularly succeeding) at keeping his voice low. At his answer you literally jumped for joy. And 11 months later you sat in a hospital room gazing down at the little bundle in your arms. Bright blue eyes looked back up at you curiously. Clark’s bright blue eyes. The little bundle with wisps of black hair on his head cooed and began to cry. You smiled and adjusted your hold on your son as you rocked him back and forth to calm him down.

“It’s okay Jon, Dada’s here, you’re safe and sound.” You whispered as Clark walked in. He came up behind you and looked down at his son in your arms. “He’s perfect” He said and you nodded.

“He has your eyes” You told him, Jon had finally calmed down and was sucking on his thumb.

It took Jon thirty hours to come into the world, Louis was exhausted by the time his first cry filled the room and after meeting the young boy she fell asleep. You had taken Jon to another room so that she could rest.

“Bruce said he’s almost here, he had to pick Dick up on the way” Clark informed you and you smiled.

“How do you think he’ll react to the name?” You asked and Clark chuckled, caressing your baby’s cheek.

“Hopefully better than you think” He said and kissed your cheek.

“Speaking of I hear footsteps down the hall and I think this is the perfect time for me to hold our son for a bit” He joked and you carefully gave Jon to Clark as you walked out.

"You better not pass that sneakiness to our baby, Clark” You teased before shutting the door and meeting Bruce and Dick down the hall.

“I wanna see the baby!” Dick said excitedly, you’d forget he was 19 if he wasn’t so tall. “Before that, rules. I don’t think either of you have seen a newborn up close before and I am not taking chances” You said and laid down three simple rules. “1. No yelling. Louis -who actually birthed the baby- is sleeping in the next room over and the baby is somewhere between sleeping and awake.

2. No insults to anybody. Not to Clark, not to each other, not to anyone. If you don’t have something nice to say, don't say it. And finally,

3. You do exactly as I say. No ifs ands or buts.” When both men nod you lead them into the room where Clark is sitting by the window with Jon.

“Bruce, Dick, this is Jonathan Kent-Wayne” You tell the boys and both Bruce and Dick look down in awe at the little bundle in Clark’s arms.

“You hyphenated the names” Bruce points out and you nod.

“It’s simpler. He can choose who he wants to be when he’s older” Clark explains and Bruce looks to you and then to Clark.

“Can I hold him?” He asks and you both nod. Clark instructs Bruce on how to support the baby’s neck and you watch proudly as your baby brother holds his nephew in his arms. You wrap your arms around Clark and lean onto his shoulder as you watch Dick coo at the baby in his adopted father’s arms. “I don’t think he minds the name” You whisper to Clark and he lays his head on yours.

“Jonathan Kent-Wayne is going to be one special kid” Clark says and you smile. “Just like his dads” You say.

[nyxyooni]

[SAMPLE] Paradisio Sanguineus

this is a sample. but a mere taste of what the finishing product will be which im probably going to post on ao3 for my own convenience and also... yes... 

———

"And you must be Little Brucie Wayne?" Clark Kent had entered the room Bruce had been waiting in for about half an hour with a scowl on his face and a hand holding very tightly onto some folders and a laptop. The man looked tired and put off despite there being a grin on the man's handsome face it was much too sharp, "... I'm told that it's a fucking miracle that you're out of your Dracula mansion but I don't see why that is..." stormy eyes looked him over with something akin to boiling indifference.

Blinking up at the man Bruce simply sat there, what was he supposed to do now? Alfred had told him that this week was for him to show the world (to some degree) who he was, that he was a real person with feelings but here he was mouth glued shut and palms sweaty.

Clinking his tongue the man sat directly across from him, settling with a soft grunt. "Brucie... Wayne..." sighing Clark Kent opened his laptop, staring at the bright symbol on it Bruce tried desperately not to think about the way his name fell out of the man's lips.

Nodding he bit his bottom lip, discreetly wiping his hands off his thighs before crossing his legs and leaning back in the chair, hands cradled low on his stomach. Working his jaw he forced himself to relax, all he had to do was answer any questions he could and make sure to not give too many details. As if Bruce would ever allow himself to overshare.

"So, why is that a..." once again Kent's stormy eyes raked over him before he too settled back into his chair, "man such as yourself biting the bullet? Especially after not so much as showing his face in your spacious front yard?" Kent worked his jaw so hard it hurt Bruce to even look.

"Um..." licking his lips Bruce tried not to shift, "well, I've been back for a while and—"

"Yes, you've been back for a whole year, everyone and their fucking dead grandma knew about your return," sighing, eyes rolling up to the ceiling and lips quickly moving into what Bruce was pretty sure was a prayer before his eyes dropped back down to glare at him, "what I'm asking is why you're here, now, after all this time." It didn't take a genius to notice that Kent was not pleased, his voice was rough and although he had a hand spread on the knee he had crossed over his other leg there was a rigidness to his body that made him look as sharp as he sounded.

Clearing his throat he swallowed the saliva that had begun to pool in his mouth, "uh..." that was all that could leave his throat, Bruce feared that if he tried to speak actual words again he would melt in a puddle of a pathetic fool. Furrowing his eyebrows he realized that part of the problem was most likely the eye contact so he instead dropped his gaze away from Kent's dangerously angled handsome face to his chest instead. "I guess I just needed some time to readjust to living in my family home after being gone for so long..."

Focusing on Kent's chest seemed to not help at all, not in the absolute slightest. The button's navy blue dress shirt around Kent's chest was hanging on for dear life, almost immediately as he noticed that whatever he was going to say became lodged halfway out of his throat. Opening and closing his mouth Bruce felt his entire face flush.

Fuck.

Slamming his jaw closed too hard his eyes rattled in his head Bruce snapped his eyes up to look at Kent's face again, no longer were his hands resting low on his stomach instead they clutched tightly onto the lapels of his suit jacket and his dress shirt. If he weren't terrified about whether or not Kent realized that he was basically checking him out Bruce would be panicking about Alfred getting mad at him for creasing his suit.

"Would you look at that..." Kent had his thumb pressed to his lips, eyes trained on Bruce's face as he mumbled something he was sure wasn't meant to be heard.

"What?" It seemed that the comment fueled a part of Bruce's brain he wasn't aware existed, Bruce's tone had been clipped like it never had been before but whatever confidence he had was gone when Kent began moving out from his chair.

Clark Kent moved with certainty and a touch of authority that Bruce didn't envy but instead cowered under, it left a tingling sensation on his tongue and made him hot all over. No, it wasn't envy that he was feeling, this was a whole different beast. Halting right in front of him Kent stared down at him and suddenly Bruce was very thirsty, swallowing unconsciously Bruce tilted his head back to look up at the man properly and proceeded to follow his face as it lowered until they were face to face.

Bruce's face was so hot, his clothes felt as though they were sticking to places on his body where they really shouldn't, and then suddenly Kent was getting closer and closer and—Bruce couldn't breathe anymore, his head was hazy and stuffed with cotton.

"All pretty and shit," Kent spoke as though he didn't know he was actually speaking out loud, "pink lips, pink cheeks and..." crooning the man lifted one of his hands up to just barely cup Bruce's jaw, there was no skin to skin contact just phantom whispers of what could be. Of what Bruce found himself desperately wanting, "oh sweet doll, I bet you're pink on the inside too..."

Finally, that was what snapped Bruce out of whatever haze he was in, yanking the hand down and away from his face, working his jaw as he ignored the fact that his entire body was on fire he glared at Clark-bitch-ass-Kent, "I wasn't aware that you cozied up with your interviews, must be why you're the best-of-the-best," letting go of Kent's thick arms Bruce pushed himself off the chair, eternally to whatever divine entity made it so the man all up in space moved away and back from Bruce. "See you tomorrow, Mr. Kent."

Walking away Bruce's hand's trembled as he brought them up to rest on his stomach, his face was blood red, and Kent calling him a sweet doll kept ringing in his head as he practically stumbled down to the ground floor where a car was waiting for him.

... ... ... 

[aimless-imagines-for-fun]

Racing Heart

Pairing  ::  Clark Kent  x  short/petite fem!Reader

Warnings  ::  Smut, Size Kink

Word Count  ::  4,265

Summary  ::  You never knew why, but whenever you were around Clark, your heart always raced.

A/N  ::  Just an fyi, I used Henry Cavill’s Clark Kent, but I used the comic book height of Clark, which is 6′3′’, versus Henry’s 6′1′’

You never quite understood why, all you knew was that your heart always started racing when you were close to Clark. It wasn’t whenever you saw him, or when you were just in the same room as him. It was only when you were able to notice how small you were compared to the 6’3’’ man. 

There were many occasions when this happened. Whenever Clark hugged you, helped you grab something on a top shelf, or even when he was standing so close to you, you two almost touched, your heart began racing. It had gotten to the point where you went out of your way to avoid getting close to the man, making sure you were always on the opposite side of the room from him.

There were three specific times though that made your face heat up just thinking about them.

-

The first one was in the break room.

You had managed to open the cabinet doors right above the refrigerator, but were struggling to grab the box of plastic utensils. You always forgot to bring a fork or spoon from home for your lunch, though you never had to worry about it because The Daily Planet had some. Of course, in an office full of tired reporters, others were bound to forget their utensils as well, and thus the box that was placed on the counter was now empty.

You stood on your tippy-toes, fingers barely grazing the corner of the box. The heels your wore offered no help, only adding a mere inch and a half to your height. You open the cabinet with ease, and a huff of annoyance left you when you saw the box of forks was on the second shelf. You had grown so frustrated, you began hopping just to try and hit the box that you now believed was taunting you. However, your hopping was working, as you managed to hit the corner repeatedly to make the box slowly come out. You didn’t care if you were wearing a skirt. It ended right before your knees and you were wearing black tights so it was fine.

You just needed one more good hop and you knew you’d be able to grab the box. You bent your knees only slightly, and then-

“Do you need some help?” A deep kind voice asked, followed by a large hand reaching past you and grabbing the box.

You whipped your entire body around, now facing a tie and button-down plaid shirt. You tilted your head up, seeing the man from Kansas, Clark Kent. He was giving you one of his classic golden boy smiles, looking down at you.

You gave him a small smile in return, and you could feel your heartbeat begin to grow faster. Perhaps Clark sneaking up behind you startled you, and he seemed to notice.

“I didn’t mean to scare you, I just saw you were struggling for a bit,” He commented, holding the box out for you.

You grabbed it, thanking him quietly before a small idea popped into your head. “Were you watching me?”

You swore you saw a small tint on Clark’s cheeks as he let out a cough to clear his throat. “Um, no, I had walked by earlier and saw you struggling then, and, well, when I came back I saw you were still here so I decided to help.”

You let out a small giggle. “I’m teasing Clark.”

You saw him visibly ease up, letting out a small exhale. Little did you know he had been staring at you for a small while before he helped you. Watching you hop up and down had brought a small smile of amusement to his face. 

-

The second one was in the supply room.

Some people bought their supplies, and that was their stash. Others, such as yourself, helped themselves to the abundance of the supply room. What you had just ran out of only moments ago were sticky notes. You used them quite often, not only for notes but also for little drawings you did to pass the time. As a matter of fact, your entire desk was nearly covered with either small memos or doodles of random characters.

The sticky notes, unfortunately, were located on the top shelf. To add to your bad luck, there was also no stepping stool or ladder. Now, you could’ve been rational and go get someone taller to help. ‘Nah, I got this,’ you thought as you carefully began to climb up on the shelves. You believed in your climbing abilities, even in your heels. Admittedly, it was a bit awkward trying to grip onto the shelves, and the heels of your feet were hanging off, but you felt secure enough. 

You reached the top shelf with relative ease, only needing to step up two shelves. Then came the matter of the box of sticky notes that had yet to be open. There was no way you could open the box to grab the small number of notepads you needed, not without both hands though. You could throw the box down, but what were the chances of it breaking open and creating a mess? ‘I really should’ve thought this one through a little better,’ you regretted.

Busy thinking of how to get the sticky notes down(along with how often you found yourself in this sort of ‘you’ve made your bed now lay in it’ situations you’ve been in) you didn’t notice the door open and close once again. “(Y/N)?” 

“Wha- Ah!” You let out a squeal, losing your balance from being pulled from your train of thought. Your eyes widened and your heart froze, feeling your feet slip off along with your grip.

You squeezed your eyes shut, ready for the oncoming impact from the floor, along with the pain. Thankfully, the person who had caused your fall was quick enough to save you. Instead of feeling the hard tiled floor, you felt a pair of strong arms catch you. They held you close, almost squeezing you a bit too tight, but you felt safe in the embrace. You opened your eyes, blinking a few times to make sure you were indeed okay. You looked up to see who had caught you, your (e/c) eyes locking with blue ones behind a frame of glasses.

There was a clear worried look on Clark’s face. “You need to be careful (Y/N), you can’t just climb up shelves. If you need help, ask for it,” He continued to scold you, but you couldn’t focus on a thing he was saying.

Your heart was pounding, though you thought it was from the adrenaline of almost falling, and your mind was elsewhere. You couldn’t listen to him with him still holding you, it was all your mind was focused on. His grip on you was frim, and you were so close to him you could smell his cologne, citrus with a hint of musk. You always knew you were petite in build, but being held like this made you feel tiny. ‘His arms are so big. Am I really this small? He doesn’t look like he’s struggling at all. When does he have the time to work out? How-’

“(Y/N) are you even listening to a thing I’m saying?”

You blinked once, looking at him with big eyes. “Um… You’re still holding me…” You pointed out, a small blush coming to your cheeks. Unable to look at him any longer, your eyes darted down, missing his flustered face.

He put you down quickly, apologizing, and you told him not to just as quickly in response. After, you thanked him and rushed out without even taking a single sticky note with you. Later on in the day though, when you had walked away and returned to your desk, there were two sticky note pads on your desk.

-

The third one was at a charity event.

You and Clark were assigned to the event together as it was a rather large event. The money being raised was for meta-human teens and children, to help them better understand their abilities safely.

After hearing the guest list, you knew you had to wear the one forest green dress you wore to every fancy event. It was the nicest, and expensive, dress you owned. You paired it with three-inch black heels and a simple opal pendant. You never like dressing up too much. Clark wore a simple muted dark brown suit, with a navy blue button-up and blue tie to match it.

Now, it was rather tricky to keep your distance from Clark this time, and you really didn’t want to get flustered during work. Before it was at work, now it would be during work. There was a difference, granted a small difference, but still, a difference. At work, you just minded your business, and on occasion, goofing off when you weren’t writing an article. Here you were supposed to be interviewing and taking notes of everything happening. You couldn’t miss something important because Clark wanted to dance and you couldn’t keep your mind straight after. He didn’t ask you to dance, but, if he did you’d refuse.

“So, Mr. Wayne, Mr. Queen-”

“Please, call me Oliver,” The blond said.

Before you stood Bruce Wayne and Oliver Queen. You were intending to speak to Mr. Wayne alone, but just as you approached him, Mr. Queen also got to him. You were about to apologize and walk away, however, Mr. Queen, or rather, Oliver, insisted you interviewed them together. You had to admit, it was rather nice having Oliver around as Mr. Wayne, even though he was known as a playboy, gave you a rather intimidating aura. 

You began interviewing the two, asking them the same questions you had asked all the millionaires, but ended up talking with them and enjoying it. Mr. Wayne wasn’t as intimidating as he had seemed, and Oliver was rather humorous. It was clear to you the two were friends.

You were in the middle of laughing at a joke Oliver had told when you felt a gentle hand on your shoulder. You turned your head, seeing Clark, standing right beside you with a smile. 

“Well you most certainly are having a good time,” He commented before turning his attention to the men in front of you. “Mr. Wayne, Mr. Queen, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” He reached out with his free hand to shake theirs.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you as well…” Mr. Wayne’s voice trailed off as he looked down at Clark’s badge from the daily planet, “...Mr. Kent.”

“Call me Oliver,” He said as he shook your coworker’s hand. “I take it you two were sent together?”

“Yes,” You said in sync.

The conversation continued, and the entire time Clark kept his arm around your shoulders. You nodded along, even humming a few times in response to make it appear as if you were listening as your mind wandered. ‘Why is my heart racing? Why is he still holding me? Should I say something? What if I seem rude? I don’t want him to let go though.’ Even though you didn’t want to acknowledge it, you knew there was a small part of you that always liked how petite you were compared to Clark. 

Then, you felt his thumb begin to rub small circles onto your bare shoulder. Without thinking, you slowly leaned into his larger frame. Now, you couldn’t see it because you were still looking ahead at the two millionaires, but Clark glanced down at you, happy you had come closer.

-

You couldn’t avoid Clark forever though, despite your best efforts.

You walked down the sidewalk, holding four large reusable grocery bags each full to the brim. You lived alone, but you liked to shop in bulk so you wouldn’t have to go out often. You were struggling a fair amount though. Normally, you had a friend who’d come with you to help you out and then the two of you would hang out. Sadly, all your friends were busy for the next few days and you were beginning to run out of your favorite conditioner, not to mention you were low on food.

You didn’t drive to the grocery store either, adding to your struggle. It was only three blocks away, why waste gas? You wouldn’t be struggling much longer though.

“(Y/N)! (Y/N)!” A male voice called out.

You stopped, eyes darting everywhere to find the owner of the voice. It took you a moment until you eventually spotted Clark in front of you, a good distance away.

“Oh, hi Clark!” You placed two of the bags down to give him a large arm wave.

It took him a moment to get to you, and when he did he looked down at your groceries puzzled. “That seems like a lot for one person to carry.”

“Yeah, I tend to bite off more than I can chew.”

“I’ve noticed,” He said with a chuckle. “Do you want some help?”

You shook your head. “No. I couldn’t possibly drag you away from your day off to help me.”

“It wouldn’t be a hassle at all,” He reassured you. “Plus, it’d eat at me all day knowing I left you struggling.”

Knowing he wouldn’t take no for an answer, you let out a sigh, agreeing to his help. He took three of the bags, leaving you with the one bag filled with two bags of chips, three loaves of bread, and two dozen eggs. You tried to hold two bags, make the work even between the two of you, but he insisted. He tried to carry the bag you held as well, but you were adamant you held at least one.

Walking down to your apartment complex, the two of you mainly talked about work. At least you did, and Clark more so listened. This was the first time your heart didn’t start racing as you stood next to him, probably because you wouldn’t shut up about the deadline for your new article. You refused to look up at him, eyes fixed only on what was in front of you. It didn’t take long for the two of you to get to your apartment. You thanked him and told him he could go on with his day, but he insisted he helped you carry the bags up to your apartment.

You were quiet from then on, listening to Clark talk about the building. He lead you all away to your front door, standing patiently for you to unlock your door. Then, it hit you. You noticed his shadow over you as you faced your front door. Your heart quickened a bit, still, you ignored it as you opened your front door.

You speedily guided him to the kitchen to place the groceries down, and just as fast you tried to rush him out. His brows furrowed, confusion written all over his face.

“(Y/N), why are you in such a rush to show me out?”

‘Because I can’t think straight now with you around!’ You thought. Instead, you said to him, “Because I’m tired and I want you to enjoy your day off!”

He didn’t seem to believe you. He stood in front of you, a small frown on his lips. “Do you like me?”

Your eyes widened, mouth left ajar at his question.

“Because sometimes I get the feeling that you don’t like me.”

‘Oh-’ “What- No. I think you’re a great guy Clark.”

“Then why are you always avoiding me?” You didn’t think he had noticed. “Whenever I get close to you, you scurry off, and when you can’t you look uncomfortable.”

Like a child who had just gotten caught, you covered your face, too embarrassed to look at him. You didn’t want to tell him the real reason you were avoiding him, but, you also didn’t want him thinking you disliked him. It was the exact opposite.

“I’m not avoiding you because I don’t like you, Clark,” You said through your hands. You spread apart your fingers so you could look him in the eyes. “I… I avoid you because you’re… you’re so big.”

Now Clark was taken aback, a brow raised. “What?”

With a long exhale, you lowered your hands. “I said, I avoid you because you’re so… so big, and it makes me feel really small, and I can’t think straight.”

“You avoid me because I’m too big, and it makes you feel small, and you can’t think straight?” He repeated.

You nodded.

He was silent for a few seconds, tilting his head to the side. “In a good or bad way?”

“What?”

“In a good or bad way?”

You could feel your face heat up, and it wasn’t the only spot on you beginning to grow warm. Softly, you answered him. “In a good way, I guess.”

Clark took a step closer to you. “So you like the fact that I’m larger than you?”

“Yes, I just-”

“No.” His normally bright blue eyes seemed to darken, his eyes narrowed on you. “I want you to say it.”

You closed your legs closer together, feeling a heat rise in between your thighs. “I like that you’re so much bigger and stronger compared to me.”

Swiftly, Clark scooped you up, hands just beneath your bottom to raise you to his face. With how fast your heart was racing now you were sure he could hear it pounding in your chest. 

You looked into his eyes as you carefully took off his glasses and tossed them onto your couch. Then, you placed a hand on each side of his face and gave him a long soft kiss. He returned the kiss gently, though after a few minutes you could tell he wanted more, his kiss began to grow rough. 

You had wrapped your legs around him to be more comfortable, giving him a better grip on you. He squeezed your ass and in response you let out a soft moan. He lowered you a bit, only enough for you to feel his growing erection against your fully clothed core. He held your hips close, moving you against him for a bit of friction. You whimpered, lowering your head into his chest and gripping his dark grey shirt.

“Clark, please,” You whined.

“Where’s your bedroom?” He asked, voice deeper than usual.

You pulled your head away from his chest, nodding over in the direction of your bedroom. “Second door to the right,”

Almost hurried, he carried you straight to your bedroom. He stopped right at the edge of your bed, letting go and letting you fall back onto your mattresses. He crawled on top of you, placing a knee between your legs. Gently, he peeled away your clothes, tossing them to the side and leaving you in your underwear. He began peppering kisses around your neck, slowly moving down to your collarbone. As he did, his hand crept its way behind your back and undid the clasp on your bra. He pulled away from his kisses to watch your breasts bounce free, eyes fixed on your bare chest. 

Feeling embarrassed, you moved to cover your chest with your hands, but he pinned your hands above your head with one hand.

A low chuckle escaped him. “Aw, are you feeling shy?”

You were about to turn your head away when Clark dipped his head down, capturing your lips again. You could feel his free hand slowly trail up your side, humming as a shiver went down your spine. He cupped your breast firmly, beginning to knead it in his palm.

Small moans left your lips, arching your back, body begging for more. You already knew your panties were wet, and you needed him, but he was still fully clothed. All the while you could feel his denim-covered erection against your thigh.

“Clark,” You groaned against his lips, “It’s not fair.”

He pulled back, brows raised. You struggled to pull your hands free, to no avail.

“You’re still dressed,” You said with a pout.

He gave you an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry, how about you take care of that for me?”

He let go of your hands and you eagerly reached for the end of his shirt, pulling it off of him. You almost started drooling seeing him shirtless for the first time. Your hands began to wander around his chest, tracing the lines of his muscles. Your hands wandered down further, to the hem of his pants. Just as you were about to reach for his belt, his hand stopped you.

“You’re not ready yet sweetheart,” He warned you. 

“Clark-”

He pressed his mouth against you, silencing you before you could complain. Even though you weren’t allowed to undo his pants, he slid them off with ease and you felt his long hard member pressed against your thigh. You momentarily pulled away to glance down, gasping loudly when you saw his length.

Worried, you looked back up at him. “It’s not going to fit.”

He dipped his head back down to your neck, peppering kisses across your jaw. “That’s why we need to get you ready.”

His hand moved down to your soaked panties, pushing them down so you were completely bare now. Your breathing hitched, feeling him stick in a finger and begin to move it in and out of you slowly. He picked up the pace with his finger, eventually sticking in another and he could already feel your pussy tightening.

You were growing close and he was only fucking you with his fingers. Granted, his hands were larger than yours, so two of his fingers felt much larger than two of your own.

To add on, he lowered himself so his head would be right at your dripping cunt and began sucking on your clit. 

“Ah!” Your hands went straight to his hair and began to tug. You were a mess in his hands.

It didn’t take long for your body to shudder and your hips begin to spasm as you hit your high. Clark licked up your pouring juice, humming at your sweet taste. He looked up at you, two fingers remaining and now scissoring inside of you.

“You know, you really should ask for help if you can’t reach something,” He began. “It’s hard trying to hold back when you reach for things in those tight skirts of yours.”

“Well, now you don’t need to hold back,” You teased.

You propped yourself up on your elbows, grabbing his face with one hand and guiding him back to you. You could taste your juices in the kiss, humming in delight.

He pulled his fingers out, your core aching to be filled again. Luckily, you soon felt his already dripping tip at your entrance. Slowly, he pushed himself into you and you could feel your walls stretch around him. You nearly cried, your body in a mix of pain and pleasure. Your back arched, breasts pressing against Clark’s chest. Your hands gripped his arms as tight as you could, and you were sure you were digging your nails into him.

It was so much. You could feel your eyes water and tears prick at the corners of your eyes.

Clark kissed your forehead, muttered against it, “Just relax.”

He gave a small moment to adjust, noting how your breathing changed when you had gotten used to him. He pushed himself further in though, and you cursed under your breath, body growing tense again. 

Again, he gave you a moment to adjust, despite how painfully tight your walls clamped around him. He pulled out a small amount before pushing back in, bucking his a few times to get you used to him. Eventually, your quiet whimpers turned into small moans.

“M-more,” You breathed out, breath shaky.

Like a switch had been flipped in him, Clark pulled out almost all the way and speared you, no longer as gentle as he had been before. He did this again and again, going a little harder each time at a constant rhythm. Then, with one thrust you shouted his name loudly and your cunt squeezed around his cock.

“Ah! Clark again! Right there, please!” You begged him.

Knowing he had found your g-spot, he pulled out all the way this time and pounded that same spot, earning another cry of pleasure from you. He did this repeatedly now with a faster rhythm, leaving you gasping and clenching with each thrust. With each of your breaths growing ragged, it was clear you were both close to your release. 

You wrapped a leg around his hips to try and bring him closer, and he gripped your thigh harshly. He squeezed it so tightly, you were sure there’d be a faint bruise. 

With a few more thrusts, you shuddered, juices flowing out of you again and around Clark’s cock this time. You swore you heard Clark curse, feeling you squeeze around him and juices cover him. 

His rhythm was growing sloppy, and he pumped in and out of you until he let out a low groan of relief. You took a sharp breath, feeling his warm seed enter you. He continued to buck his hips, riding it out until he finally stopped, breath heavy.

He looked at you with now clear eyes and a smile on his face. “So… Do you need help putting your groceries away?” He asked cheekily.

You giggled. “Only if you don’t put anything important on the top shelf.”

“Why not? I’ll be around to help you now.”

[soulmate-game]

part 2 (of that new bio!dad fic)

Dick whipped his head over to Bruce, who could feel the heavy gazes of all his children as if they were physical. If they had had heat vision like Clark, he would have already been reduced to a puddle of mush. Bruce shifted, the only sign of his discomfort, but he recognized that the middle of a gala was no place for this discussion. There were too many busybodies trying to listen in for the latest gossip. So he plastered on a smile that he couldn’t quite feel, and held a hand out to Marinette. He was careful to keep a good distance though, and left the choice for contant purely up to her.

The young woman looked down at his hand, then back to his face. Damian had been shocked silent by what she had to say, and perhaps even more by the all too telling way that Bruce hadn’t so much as implied that she was lying, and the look he was giving her was making her a little uncomfortable. Yes, she hadn’t planned on interacting with her father more than just the years-overdue confrontation she had just done, at least not while at the gala… but her plans always left room for improvisation. She could make this work.

With a soft sigh, Marinette extended her own hand— half the size of Bruce’s, he noted almost immediately with a rush of illogical fondness— and grasped his lightly. She couldn’t help but notice the way his impossibly blue eyes brightened, no different than her own when she was particularly happy, or the way his mouth twitched with a barely suppressed beam. Instead, he controlled himself enough so that the only smile he gave would look professional and entirely in character to the nosy socialites still spying on them, and led them out onto the dance floor.

What everyone else saw was the unfairly charming Bruce Wayne giving his young guest of honor a simple dance. Just a basic swirl around the floor that every other social elite had learned when they were five. Clearly he was taking it easy on the self-made girl, who probably didn’t have experience with such dances. Humoring the accomplished young woman with his approval for a moment before he would slink back to his family or patrol the crowds and make the necessary greetings and meaningless chatter.

What his family saw was Bruce taking time to slow his steps, not for Marinette to keep up but rather to prolong the event. What they saw was the grace in Marinette’s steps as she never once faltered, and that Bruce was careful to take his cues from her instead of the other way around. He only led the dance in technicality, Marinette had all the real control.

What they saw was a father’s first dance with his daughter.

“Eighteen,” Dick whispered, eyebrows drawn low. “She said she’s almost eighteen.”

“Well, that lines up doesn’t it?” Jason asked gruffly, his own gaze never leaving the dancing duo. “We were planning on doubling up your big thirtieth birthday party as your eighteenth adoption anniversary,” he reminded his brother, who just made a slightly distressed noise in the back of his throat. Whether it was at the reinforcement of his adoption coming only months after Marinette being put up for adoption, or the fact that he was turning thirty, nobody could really tell.

“Hurt,” Cassandra spoke up from behind them, looking incredibly concerned as she watched the dance. “Uncertain.”

Stephany rolled her eyes, fidgeting from her quickly building energy. Anger was making her restless. “Of course she’s hurt. Bruce replaced her, with a boy he knew virtually nothing about, not even that long after she was born. How do you think that made her feel, when she found out?” Stephany let out a little growl, grabbing a flute of champagne from a passing server and downing it in one gulp. She ignored Dick protesting that she wasn’t of age yet, which made her wrinkle her nose. “Only one more year, Dickhead. Get over it, I need the buzz.”

“Well,” Barbara sighed and maneuvered her wheelchair around the group so that everyone could see her. “Nothing we can do right now but be supportive and watch Bruce like a hawk so he doesn’t make this worse,” she stated easily, not looking even the least bit ruffled by the news despite the disturbed glitter in her eyes.

“... Guys,” Tim spoke up, not looking at any of them. “Who wants to volunteer for Damian duty?” At first glance, it might seem like Tim was thinking about his own first disastrous meeting with the younger boy. Once everyone paid attention though, they could see that the truth was that Damian had snuck away and Tim was pointedly looking at a slightly hidden-away staircase to the second floor.

“Shit,” Dick muttered, but before he could say another word Jason shoved him back and started towards the stairs.

“No, not this time Dicky. I’ll talk to the brat.”

Back on the dancefloor, Bruce and Marinette broke away without any fanfare at the end of the song. If Bruce tried to hold her eyes for a moment too long, nobody noticed besides his observant children, and two of Marinette’s protective friends.

Then, just to make sure that nobody caught on with the help of hindsight, Bruce said something vaguely polite and praising, which Marinette accepted with flawless, distant poise. And they went back to their own groups, Bruce quickly noting that two of his sons were missing. He raised an eyebrow, about to ask why when a presence behind him caught his attention. Unlike Marinette and Chloe, this newcomer was not at all trying to hide their approach or be sneaky about it, even though Bruce couldn’t hear any footsteps that were close enough to belong to the mysterious entity. Closing his mouth, Bruce turned around only to be greeted by yet another vaguely familiar face. Bright green eyes bore into his, unreadable.

“Mister Wayne,” the newcomer greeted, voice warm but stiff. If the Waynes hadn’t all had years of recognizing when a person was only pretending to be cordial, they never would have suspected that the boy was anything but pure-heartedly happy to be there. But they did have that experience, and thus they instantly honed in on the very well-hidden fact that he had a bone to pick with them. Or, more probably, with Bruce.

He cut an impressive figure, for all that he was lithe muscle instead of bulk. Hair that was lighter than Chloe’s, less like cloth-of-gold and more like sunlight glinting off of wheatfields. It somehow hung in gravity-defying tufts, yet perfectly arranged to evoke a calming aesthetic. Like the fluff of a long-haired cat, almost, and it looked just as fluffy and hypnotizing. It contrasted with his emerald eyes, impossibly vibrant in their gleam. And the suit he wore was decidedly top-notch, much like the other two they had met from his class. He was daring, in a dark silver suit that slightly shifted in the light, green accents that matched his eyes standing out strikingly against the collars and trim, and coiling in tantalizing swirls at the cuffs. The lining of the suit jacket was done in a dark green that could almost pass for black in the right lighting, adding a layer of both drama and mystery as it peeked out at the back of his collar, the insides of his sleeves if he moved just the right way, at the bottom hem of the jacket when he turned or bent just so. And with his notoriety in the modeling world? He always knew exactly how to move or place himself to get the reactions he wanted. And he was clearly showing off the craftsmanship of his suit just then as he faked adjusting his cufflinks and lifted his head just the right amount to both look challenging and let the dark green on the back of his collar flash in the light in such a way that Bruce and those nearest him wouldn’t be able to miss the brief reveal of color.

“Adrien Agreste,” Bruce greeted back, eyebrows pulling down in slight confusion. Normally the topic of clothing was far from his genuine interest, but in this particular case it was an intriguing, and possibly even concerning, observation. So he said next; “That suit is not of your father’s usual style of design.”

Adrien scoffed, straightening out his suit’s jacket and making the obsidian buttons glint. “Of course not. I’ve started my rebellious phase— or, well, I finally started being blatant enough about it that my father noticed anyway,” the way his lips curled was decidedly not very attractive, but painted a vivid picture of a son who despised the way he was treated. Adrien quickly wiped the distasteful expression away and replaced it with a camera-ready smile. “I’m wearing one of Marinette’s designs, much to his chagrin. She insisted on making this for me as soon as she heard that my father was planning on sending me in a white suit.”

Bruce quickly caught on, and sighed. How long would the gala go on for, again? He didn’t remember what time it was anymore. “Your friend Chloe already got a pretty clear warning in. I suppose you know as well?”

Adrien’s grin darkened with mischief, and he nodded all too happily. “Of course! Marinette told me almost as soon as she found out, a few years ago. You see, we had to put down a very solid rule about secrets between the two of us. She has a bad habit of trying to shoulder the entire world’s problems and not tell anyone about it, if you don’t pay close enough attention,” his voice was deceptively light but his eyes were hard, warning. “And let’s just say, I have a lot of experience with bad father figures. I can recognize them a mile away by now. The signs of neglect, of apathy,” his eyes suddenly lightened when he saw how Bruce’s throat visibly caught, how the man didn’t seem to realize he had stopped breathing. Maybe he was being a little to mean, Adrien thought. So he let the dark slip out of his eyes, and his smile turned more genuine. “You don’t have those signs. You looked at Marinette like you were both the happiest and most miserable man in the world at the same time. But you can’t change what you did to her, Mister Wayne. If you want some advice from Marinette’s oldest friend?” Adrien held out a closed fist.

Bruce took a second to realize what was happening, too busy trying to recover from his situational whiplash and wave of relief. Once he caught back up to the present, however, he held out his open palm and let Adrien drop something into his hand.

To his shock, it was a pen, engraved with the name he recognized as Marinette’s biological mother. He also recognized it as a popular model of pen-knife. He raised his eyes to Adrien, who winked.

“Marinette doesn’t know I had this made. And she has a lot of tricks that might surprise you, but what she wants more than anything is stability. If you try to give her that, show that you care and you want her safe— and then prove that you’re gonna stay— then maybe you can repair the damage you’ve done. It won’t be easy though, Mari is the single most stubborn person I’ve ever met. And I grew up with Chloe.”

Bruce closed his hand around the pen, swallowing a lump in his throat. He couldn’t quite figure out why, but Adrien’s faith in him and his help… somehow felt significant. He nodded to the young model.

“Not to worry, I have experience with stubborn,” he glanced back at his other kids with a small smirk. None of them were the least bit repentant. “And I do want to stay. Thank you for the advice.”

Adrien shrugged. “Don’t thank me. If you hurt her again, you’ll never see my revenge coming. It can be rather… catastrophic,” with that ominous threat, Adrien bowed dramatically and turned to leave and do some rounds charming the elites. Bruce tucked the pen in one of his hidden pockets, but stayed silent after that. He had a lot to mull over.

—*—*—*—*—*

Damian leaned on the railing of the balcony, looking out over the gardens behind the gala’s venue. He was glaring at nothing, and his hands trembled from where they gripped the rail. It was five minutes, a little longer than he had expected but not that odd considering everyone’s distraction over Marinette, before he heard the glass doors behind him creak open.

“Yo,” Jason greeted, knowing it was better not to catch the boy off guard. None of them were good with surprises anymore, for good reason. It was always best to announce their presence before they made someone react violently on accident. Damian’s shoulders relaxed a little— not a lot, but enough for Jason to notice. The older man sighed, walking up and leaning on the rail next to his little brother. “What’s on your mind, kid?”

“That could have been me,” he almost instantly blurted. It was still hard talking about his feelings, but certain things were easier with Todd. This was, apparently, one of them. “If Mother hadn’t kept me a secret.”

“I don’t think so,” Jason disagreed, shrugging. “There are several big differences here. For one, Marinette was born three years before you were. By the time you were born, he already had Dick and he would have only been a year, max, away from taking me in. Which means he already had built up his problem with taking in kids, and nothing would have gotten him to give up a chance at raising you. With or without Batman getting in the way.”

“But then why—” Damian growled. “Why did he give her up?”

“Because he’s an idiot,” Jason remarked bluntly. “You know how he is. He didn’t have a kid at the time. Hell, Bruce would have only been twenty-two back then. He only adopted Dick on impulse because Dick reminded him of himself, but before all of that shit? He probably made a million excuses about not being able to raise a baby and be Batman at the same time. About his life being too dangerous for a kid. Which, yes it is, but that clearly didn’t stop him later.”

“She’s older,” Damian muttered, this time softer.

“Yup.”

“Her mother wasn’t an assassin, probably. She designs. I hate to admit it, and you are never to repeat it to anybody, but her work that we’ve seen so far is impressive. She can clearly charm even the most stuck-up of gotham’s upper crust.”

“Yeah,” Jason agreed neutrally, his eyes never leaving Damian.

“Father won’t need me. He already doesn’t have much patience—” Damian was cut off by a flick to the nose. “Hey!”

“Not my fault you’re being stupid,” Jason defended himself. “Look, B’s actually been real patient with you these past few years. I mean, when was the last time he yelled at you? Or told you that stupid ‘justice not vengeance’ line?”

Damian opened his mouth, then closed it. After another moment, he replied; “Almost two years.”

Jason nodded. “It might take him way too long, but he can still learn new tricks. Especially after that mess with Heretic, he’s been trying really hard to be better to you. He still screws up, because I think we all know by now that he’s a bigger mess than any of the rest of us and that’s an accomplishment, but he’s trying. He doesn’t keep you around because he needs you. He’s got plenty of us around if all he wanted was soldiers— though none of us would stick around if we thought that’s all he wanted.”

Damian flexed his jaw. He was still the most violent of the kids, besides Jason. He saw Bruce rubbing his forehead or pinching his nose far too often at some of his decisions or comments. He was stubborn, impatient, reckless.

But hadn’t Bruce himself told him on several occasions that he wasn’t trying to make him a perfect soldier? Hadn’t Bruce himself said that he just wanted Damian to grow into himself?

It was just really hard to swat away those stupid voices in Damian’s head. Voices of the past, mostly, old dialogue he had never actually forgotten. That he merely pretended had never affected him. The “you’re too violent”s, the “that’s not how we behave, Damian”s. All the old lectures, the old fights. They echoed like stupid little gremlins of doubt.

“...Marinette has his eyes.”

“Don’t beat yourself up over something like that,” Jason’s voice was soft, but gruff at the same time as he cuffed Damian over the head. “You didn’t choose to be born, idiot. And despite being a little demon, none of us would reverse it, You’ve saved all our skins at least once. And besides,” he nudged Damian a little with a grin. “You’re not half bad, nowadays.”

Damian chuckled. “That makes one of us.”

“Hey!”

@peterxwade24 @mizzy-pop @maskedpainter @ladybug-182 @khneltea @itsmeevie01 @fusser90 @woe-is-me0 @lolieg @moonlightstar64 @jayjayspixiepop

[marauderundercover]

Taking Chances Ch. 19: Lack of Communication (Wayne Gala)

AO3

Prev

The shrill ringing of her phone tugs Marinette from her sewing machine. Glancing at the caller ID, she grins widely.

“Hey Uncle Jagged.” She says, pushing her chair away from her desk. It’d been a couple weeks since she last heard from the man as his tour had really picked up at the end. It was practically back to back concerts, so that didn’t leave a lot of time for phone calls or face times.

“Little Rocker! Glad I caught you. I have an event next week and I was hoping I could drop by the bakery so you could fix a tear in one of my suits.” He says. Marinette winces. That’s what she was supposed to do. Tell Uncle Jagged about...well, everything.

“Yeah, about that…” She trails off, wishing she’d thought to tell him about the whole ‘adopted’ thing the last time she’d seen him in person. “I’m actually not in Paris right now. I’m in Gotham spending the summer with my birth father.” She says, deciding to just rip the bandaid off. There’s silence for a minute. Then two. She looks down at the phone, frowning. Did he hang up?

“You’re in Gotham?” He finally says.

“Yup.” She says, sighing. “I’m really sorry I won’t be able to fix your suit.”

“What, no, this is great! See the event is in Gotham! It’s just a bunch of rich people and- hold on. Penny!” He yells. She catches bits and pieces of their conversation, Penny agreeing wholeheartedly with whatever it is Jagged has suddenly decided. “I have a rocking idea.” He adds.

“Okay? I’m listening.” She says, glancing at the new dress she’d started that was pinned on her dress form. She was having trouble with the shape and was quickly getting frustrated with her struggles.

“You could come with! As MDC, of course. You could wear one of your designs and get known in Gotham. The event is supposed to be highly publicized. Penny thinks it’d be a good way to get known in the US. So, whatdya say?” Jagged asks, and Marinette can just tell that he’s grinning widely, can hear it in his voice. She thinks for a minute, glancing at the dress form with a new sense of determination.

“I’ll have to double check with my dad.” She says, trying to think if they had any plans for next week.

“Of course! Let me know soon, okay? Penny says she wants to start publicizing MDC’s appearance if you’re gonna come.” Jagged says. Marinette agrees before hanging up, thinking. Would her dad let her go alone? Or would he insist on coming with? She knew Gotham was dangerous, it’s why she hadn’t gone anywhere by herself despite being a hero herself. She didn’t want to risk her Miraculous falling into the wrong hands, even if the person didn’t realize what they had. Making up her mind, she sets off to find her dad and ask about the event. She still wasn’t quite sure what it was, just that there would be plenty of big names and plenty of journalists- the perfect opportunity to build up a clientele outside of France. Checking his study first, she’s unsurprised to see he’s not there. Knowing chances were good that he was in the cave, she pulls a domino mask out of her purse. Her dad had asked her a couple days ago to wear one in the cave just in case they had unexpected visitors. Kinda like how her and Chat Noir had shown up unexpectedly that one time. Complete accident. Changing the time on the clock, she presses the button that opens the entrance, sliding in and walking through the passage. Glancing into the cave, she grins when she sees her dad, in costume, sitting at the computer.

“Hey B!” She says, knowing not to call him Dad while he was in the cowl. Something about it making him seem less intimidating, or something.

“Ladybird.” He nods. She frowns, glancing at the computer screen and wincing when she sees Superman on screen.

“Sorry, I didn’t know you were busy.” She apologizes, waving awkwardly at the man on the screen. He quirks an eyebrow.

“Hello. Ladybird, was it?” He asks and she nods.

“Er, yeah. Ladybird. Nice to meet you.” She says, rocking back and forth on her heels, eyes darting around the cave. Maybe she should just leave and ask later.

“Is everything alright?” Her dad asks, obviously confused at her presence in the cave. Not that she wasn’t allowed, she just didn’t spend a lot of time there.

“I was just wondering if I could go to an event next week with my Uncle.” She says, trying to stay vague. He’s silent for a moment before nodding.

“We can discuss details later, but that should be fine.” He says. Marinette grins, bouncing up and down in excitement.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” She cheers, resisting the urge to hug him. “Bye Mr. Superman!” She adds, waving before running back through the passage to work on her dress some more. This was going to be amazing!

---

Penny had picked Marinette up early the morning of the Gala. She still wasn’t sure what it was for, but that didn’t bother her. She was just excited that she had finally finished her newest dress in time for the Gala. Penny had insisted on her coming over early so that she could help Marinette do her hair and makeup, which she was thankful for. Selina apparently had something to do tonight and couldn’t help her, and she would’ve definitely been her first choice. Smiling down at her dress, Marinette looks at Penny with a grin.

“Could you take a picture for me without my face covering so I can show my parents later?” She asks. Penny nods, smiling back.

“That dress is amazing, Marinette. Truly one of your best designs.” She says. Marinette blushes at the compliment before smiling at the camera. She thanks Penny and takes her phone back, sending the picture to her Maman and Papa as well as her dad and Selina. She was extremely proud of the dress and wanted them to see her in it before she added her ‘disguise’ to protect her identity.

“Hey, Aunt Penny?” Marinette says, looking up at the woman. Penny hums, putting on lipstick. “What is the event for? All Jagged said was that it’s a Gala.” She says, Penny huffs.

“Of course that man didn’t give you any other information. Honestly, sometimes- you agreed without knowing what the event was?” She says, eyebrows raised. Marinette shrugs.

“Uncle Jagged said that it’d be fun. I trust him.” She says. Penny sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“Remind me to read any contracts before you sign them, okay sweetie?” She says. Marinette nods and Penny smiles. “Good. Anyway, it’s a Wayne Gala. The family hosts several every year to help raise money for the Wayne foundation.” Penny says and Marinette freezes. Wayne Gala? As in, her father? Her family? Were they really having a Gala tonight without telling her? Or inviting her? Were they….were they embarrassed by her?

“Like, Bruce Wayne?” Marinette manages to ask, trying hard to ignore the way her heart breaks when Penny nods. That was why Selina couldn’t help her. She had to get ready for the Gala. And if she had to guess, the rest of her family was also going. What would they have done with her if she hadn’t had plans? Would they have told her then? Or would they have acted like nothing was happening. Where even was the Gala? Oh my god. It was at the Manor, wasn’t it. The thought strikes her and she winces, giving Penny a small, tense smile.

“Are you okay?” She asks, obviously concerned. Marinette nods sharply.

“Yes, one last question. Where is it?” She asks. Penny frowns, obviously not believing that Marinette was okay, but luckily not pushing it.

“Wayne Manor. The Galas are the only time the manor is opened to other celebrities. The family is usually very private.” Penny says. Marinette huffs out a puff of air, working hard to ignore the hurt in her chest. The feeling that she wasn’t enough. That they didn’t need her. Suddenly, she wasn’t excited anymore. She really wished she would have asked Jagged for more details last week, because now she was stuck going. And it was going to suck.

---

Feeling confident in her design and disguise, Marinette walks through the wall of journalists with Penny and Jagged at her sides. She was working hard to push down the intrusive thoughts that were threatening to take over. Instead, she tried to focus on the questions being called out by the journalists.

“Jagged! Jagged Stone, is this really MDC?” One of them asks. Jagged immediately stopping and shooting the reporter a wide smile.

“Of course it is! She designed all three of these outfits.” He says, gesturing between the trio. “Isn’t she rocking!”

“MDC, why did you pick the Wayne gala to make your first public appearance?” Another journalist asks. Marinette turns to Penny, trusting her to answer the question. They’d agreed before leaving the car that it was best if Marinette didn’t speak directly to any journalists. It would make it easier for them to place her age and where she’s from, given her accent.

“She was in the area and Mr. Stone insisted his favorite designer needed a chance to flaunt her skills in America.” Penny says, flashing the journalist a wide smile before gently pushing Marinette along down the line of journalists. Marinette nods to the man who’d asked the question before following Jagged and Penny closely, her stomach churning as they walk up the front steps of the manor. Of the place she’d been living since summer started. Where apparently they didn’t care to tell her about one of the biggest family events of the year. No big deal. She thought they were accepting her, that they were all getting closer. But maybe not. Her dad not telling her didn’t hurt nearly as much as her brothers not telling her. That felt like a knife in her chest. Trying hard to move gracefully instead of tensely, she follows Jagged into the manor and into the ballroom. Her jaw clenches as she spots her family across the room.

“Mr. Stone, I’m Clark Kent. Nice to meet you.” A man with a notebook and camera says, walking over and extending a hand. Marinette narrows her eyes. She thought the journalists were supposed to stay outside. And this man looked oddly familiar….

“Rocking meeting you man! You a journalist?” He asks, his calculating look hidden by a wide grin. Mr. Kent chuckles.

“Yes, sorry for being so forward. Mr. Wayne and I are friends, so he lets my wife and I have an exclusive pass to come inside the Galas.” He says, glancing at Marinette over his glasses. She watches as his eyes widen slightly before he schools his features back into a neutral expression.

“That’s pretty rock n roll of him!” Jagged says, clapping Mr. Kent on the shoulder.

“It is. Pardon me, but are you MDC?” He asks, turning to look at Marinette once again. She glances at Penny, shaking her head to let her know that she’ll speak for herself for this one. As upset as she was with her dad, he obviously trusted this man. So she would as well.

“I am. Pleasure to meet you, Monsieur Kent.” She says, extending her hand. He smiles, shaking her hand.

“And you, ma’am. I must say, I was not expecting to see you here. I was under the impression that in person events weren’t your forte.” He says, clearly fishing for something. She knew how journalists worked, she’d seen Alya at work enough times to understand that the man in front of her was looking for a story. One she wouldn’t be giving, no matter how much her father trusted the man.

“I like to occasionally surprise people.” She says, waving her hand in a noncommittal way. “Keep them on their toes.”

“I can respect that. Well, I’ll let you all get back to your evening. Nice to meet you all.” He says. She nods back at him, not missing the way he immediately darts off to her dad. She watches as the two start talking, a surprised look on her dad’s face before he turns and sees her. She knows he recognizes the dress. Knows that he knows as well who is underneath the veil. She turns, deciding to ignore him. He didn’t want her here, fine. She’d make sure she stayed out of his way.

---

Clark Kent was confused. He’d known that Bruce must have another kid, adopted in some way. He didn’t just work with random vigilantes, especially not in his city. So knowing that Gotham had a new vigilante named Ladybird, he put two and two together. Didn’t take the world’s greatest detective. But what was confusing was the fact that no new faces showed up with the Waynes as they walked into the ballroom for the Gala. Making a note to ask him about it later, Clark makes his way around the room, talking to familiar faces and names, writing things down that would help the story he was being forced to write on the Gala. These events were not his favorite to cover, hardly anything ever happened. Until he heard the commotion outside, other journalists calling out to MDC. He blinks in surprise. MDC had never made a public appearance before. This was an odd one to choose. Preparing himself to confront the designer, he’s surprised as she walks in behind Jagged Stone. He’s even more surprised when he realizes she had to be a teenager. He chats with the girl and Jagged, glancing down at her over the top of his glasses, shock immediately flooding him. The girl had injuries. Hundreds of them. Bones fused back together haphazardly. Quickly excusing himself, he rushes over to Bruce.

“Do you know who MDC is? Because that girl is definitely younger than Tim. And she has hundreds of injuries, Bruce. Hundreds.” He says quietly, watching as Bruce turns and glances at the girl, his eyes widening slightly.

“Shit.” He mutters.

“What?” Clark asks, trying to figure out if he should also be concerned. Bruce smiles, but it's tense.

“That is my daughter.” He says. Clark blinks.

“That’s the new one? Why didn’t she show up with the rest of the family?” He asks.

“I knew she had plans for tonight, so I didn’t tell her about the Gala. I was going to warn her about it, if she didn’t have plans. So she knew to stay in her room.” Bruce explains. Clark frowns.

“You were going to keep her locked up?” He asks incredulously. Not even the least social Wayne was kept locked away for the Galas.

“Of course not. It’s just- she hasn’t said she wants to be announced yet. She hasn’t even said anything about being MDC because she hates the spotlight. I couldn’t just throw her to the sharks. I’m just trying to do what’s best for her.” Bruce says, standing up straighter. Clark sighs.

“Did you actually talk to her about it? Or did you just assume?” He asks, Bruce huffs.

“I think I know my daughter a little more than you do, Kent.” He says.

“Really? Because from here it sounds like she’s about two breaths away from a panic attack. And Penny Rolling keeps reassuring her that they don’t have to stay long. Oh- and now she’s apologizing for not telling her it was a Wayne Gala until today, but she’s also clearly confused as to why it’s upsetting her. And now-”

“Okay, I get it.” Bruce snaps, cutting him off. Clark raises an eyebrow.

“I’m not sure what happened, but you should fix this.” He says with a pointed look before walking away. God knows the Bats all need a push in the right direction every now and again.

---

Jason frowns as he looks around the room for Marinette. He knew that she hadn’t come with the family, B hadn’t explained that one. But he had heard that MDC was there. And he wanted to talk to her, make sure she was doing okay. These things were annoying as hell and he knew he wouldn’t get through it if he didn’t have his brothers (even if they were little shits). He finally spots her near a wall, clearly trying to disappear. He grins widely, walking over and grinning at her.

“Well, MDC, fancy seeing you here.” He teases with a wink. He watches her for some kind of reaction, frowning when he doesn’t get one. “Pix?” He says, softer this time as he looks at his baby sister.

“Oh, that’s right, I wasn’t supposed to be here, was I? Well, sorry to disappoint.” She snaps bitterly. Jason flinches back, surprised at her tone.

“What’re you talking about?” He asks, eyebrows furrowed. Why did she sound so hurt? Why did she think they didn’t want her there?

“Clearly I’m not as much of the family as I thought I was.” She hisses under her breath. He starts to deny that, but she cuts him off with a humorless laugh. “Bruce didn’t even tell me that there was a Gala. None of you did either. A Wayne family Gala and I wasn’t told. I should’ve known better.” She says, turning to walk away. He grabs her wrist gently, stopping her.

“I promise you, we want you here. Dick, Damian, Tim, me- we all want you here. I can’t speak for B, I’ll definitely be having words with the son of a bitch later, but we want you here.” He says, frowning as he listens to her sniffle under her veil. “Pixie, we thought you knew. He told us you weren’t ready to come to this. I swear to you, we would have told you if we knew. I swear.” He adds. His heart breaks as he hears a hiccupped sob break free from her. He wants nothing more than to wrap his baby sister in a hug, but he knows he can’t. Media’d have a field day.

“Really?” She asks in a small voice. Jason nods.

“Hell yeah Pix. Tell ya what, I’m gonna go get the others and then we’re all gonna sneak out. Take one of the old man’s cars and get some garbage fast food. Who needs this lameass party anyway.” He says, hoping she’ll agree. He’ll let himself be mad at Bruce later. And boy was he gonna be mad. The old man had really fucked up this time. It was one thing to ask Mari to not go to the Gala, or to think she wasn’t ready for it. It was a completely other thing to not even give her the chance to decide, or tell her at all. Cause now she was hurt and thinking everyone hated her. Well, he wasn’t gonna let that happen. Not on his watch.

“Lemme just go tell Jagged and Penny real quick.” She agrees, scurrying off. The second she walks away Jason lets his smile drop into a scowl. That son of a bitch. Storming over to his brothers, he tugs them over to the wall. Better not to let B get word of where they’re going.

“What is the meaning of this?” Damian asks with a scowl.

“Pixie’s gonna tell her Aunt and Uncle that she’s leaving and then we’re stealing one of B’s cars to go to McDonalds.” He says simply. Tim frowns.

“And we’re doing this because?” He prompts.

“Because B apparently didn’t tell the kid about the Gala. And she assumed we knew, and that we all hate her.” Jason explains with a frown.

“Father said she didn’t want to attend.” Damian says, and Jason huffs.

“Yeah, well apparently he lied. She had no clue that the event she was going to as MDC was a Wayne Gala.” He says.

“I’ll go get the car and pull it up front.” Dick says, a determined look on his face. Sometimes his ‘we’re a family and we stick together’ shit annoyed the hell outta Jason, but he was thankful for it today.

“I’m gonna go grab Selina’s coat for her to put on. I saw her dress, and if any MDC fan sees her leaving with us it’s gonna start a media circus.” Tim says, walking away to the coat room. Jason sighs, watching Marinette from across the room. A cleared throat beside him tugs his attention back to his youngest brother.

“What?” He asks, pushing his frustration down. He’d go shoot something later, but right now he was determined to not take his frustration at Bruce out on his siblings.

“Why would Father intentionally keep her from the Gala? She is far more adept at social interaction than I am.” Damian says with a frown. Jason sighs, shrugging.

“No clue. But I’m not about to let her push herself away from the rest of us just because B fucked up.” He says, watching as she walks over to the wall, almost disappearing in the shadows. He nods towards her, making sure Damian follows. The second Tim has Selina’s coat, their small group is off, sneaking out one of the side doors and walking past the journalists, sprinting to Dick and the waiting car. They all jump in and she tears the veil off her face, making Jason wince slightly at her red, puffy eyes. Dick slams on the gas, eliciting a curse from Jason and a squeal of surprise from Marinette.

“So! We broke out of that stuffy party. Where are we headed?” Dick asks, glancing in the rearview mirror to make eye contact with Jason. Jason grins.

“We go get a shit ton of junk food from McDonalds and eat it in the car. Give it the old, fast food smell that B loves oh so much.” He says. Marinette snorts, and Jason grins at her. He’d give B hell later, but for now, he was going to enjoy spending time with his siblings.

---

Bruce frowns as he glances around the Gala, not seeing his daughter. Or any of his other children. He made a mental note to talk to them later. Perhaps keeping the Gala from Marinette wasn’t his best decision.

Next

Tag list: @maribat-bdbwm @vixen-uchiha @stainedglassm @liquid-luck-00 @jayjayspixiepop @jjmjjktth @mizzy-pop @trippingovermyfeet @queenz-z @thepaceperson @iloontjeboontje @waiting247 @laurcad123 @toodaloo-kangaroo @ritacrow-blog @deathssilentapproach-blog @kittenmywaythrulife @nerd-nowandforever @tazanna-blythe @jaybird-and-co @jumpingjoy82

[komfortkiri]

QUIRKLESS!KATSUKI BAKUGO x QUIRKLESS FEM!READER x QUIRKLESS!EIJIRO KIRISHIMA

WORD COUNT: 1,362

TW/CW: GUNS, GUN WOUND/BEING SHOT, MENTION OF DEATH, CURSING, DEPRESSION, PANIC ATTACK (If I missed anything, please let me know).

NOTES: I submitted this from my iPad so if anything looks funky, that’s why. I’ll fix it tomorrow. I just really wanted to get the second chapter of this series out.

It was Friday morning, 7 AM. Your hundreds of alarms already sounded starting from 6:30. You were supposed to already have been at work but dread took ahold of your emotions because you knew that you’d have to look at somebody new by your side for however long. Your boss had already texted you but he knows how hard the last several months have been so he takes it easy on you but you know that won’t last forever.

You rose from your bed, getting ready. You put on your usual button up, white, collared shirt that was long-sleeved then slid on a pair of black dress pants, tucking your shirt into it. After, you stepped into a pair of black heels that weren’t too high and then put on a black blazer. You looked into the mirror, sighing heavily. You looked like shit, you knew that. The dark circles were becoming more visible. It was so hard to sleep at night when all you saw when you closed your eyes was Bakugo.. lifeless on the floor. You couldn’t even begin to count how many nights you woke up screaming or hyperventilating. Even meetings with a therapist weren’t helping you and you didn’t know what to do anymore.

Without further thought, to prevent yourself from crying till your eyes were bloodshot, you threw your hair up into a ponytail and headed to work.

Once you arrived and walked through the doors, the front desk woman gave you a smile and a good morning. All you offered in return was a small smile that was clearly forced. Once passing the front desk, you walked to where your desk was but found that someone had made their self at home. Kirishima was sitting in your chair, working on some paperwork that was attached to a clipboard. “Are you lost, hot tamale?” You said as you approached him, standing directly in front of the wooden furniture, eyeing the red head with curiosity.

“I’m starting to think that you find me hot.” He responded while writing something down then sat back in the chair, his eyes meeting yours. You raised your brow, “Please don’t flatter yourself this early in the morning. I’m more likely to tell you to fuck off.” A smile formed amongst his lips and that confused you. Did he think that was funny? “Why are you smiling like that?” You crossed your arms over your chest, waiting for his humorous response.

Kirishima turned to the side, grabbing a Starbucks coffee cup from the small table next to the end of your desk. “I asked Clark if you liked coffee since he knew you so well and he told me your favorite place to get coffee and what you preferred.” He held it up toward you, flashing a bright white smile. “Hazelnut coffee, extra sweet.” You felt heat rush to your face almost instantly. Damn him. You were such an ass to him yesterday and just a second ago and he turns out to be.. a sweetheart? You cleared your throat, hoping that the shade of red on your cheeks would go away. “T-Thank you..” That was all you could say because you were so surprised that you really couldn’t say much else. With how you acted yesterday, you felt like you didn’t deserve an ounce of kindness from him. “Not a problem at all. I wanted to do it.” His response made your heart race but in order to calm it, your mind wanted back to you being unsure as to why he was sitting at your desk.

“So.. Were you just waiting for me or did you just coincidentally pick my desk to sit at?” You took a sip of your coffee, internally melting over the fact that it was the right amount of sweetness that you liked. Impressive. “Well, I wanted to personally give you your coffee so I guess you could say I was waiting for you. Clark gave me some paperwork to fill out but after I’m done with this, we are heading to the gun range.”

Your body froze. Gun. Shooting. You didn’t even realize but your body went into shock. Your face became pale and images of that day flashed through your head. From your gunshot wound to seeing your significant other dead on the floor… You forgot how to breathe.

Kirishima noticed and immediately jumped up, putting the clipboard down and circling around to grab you as softly as he could. You felt his touch and you snapped out of it, taking a huge gasp of air. “Y/N, are you okay?” Your eyes filled with tears but you looked up to keep them from falling, answering in a soft, shaky voice. “Y-Yes.. I’m okay.” It was clear that you definitely had something wrong mentally and it was becoming more obvious now.

You looked up into Kirishima’s eyes, noticing the panic in them. Was he really that worried for you? I mean, someone having a panic attack is scary but it seemed like something more. Maybe you were overthinking it. “Do you want to skip that part for today?” He knew now what had just happened so he avoided saying anything related to guns again, to prevent another attack. “I can’t skip it. If I do, it’ll prove I’m not ready to go back out onto the field and I’m ready.” You nodded, knowing this could be detrimental to your health in the long run but you felt there were some risks worth taking.

Although your new partner wasn’t entirely sure continuing was a good idea, he didn’t want to step on any toes so he nodded, hoping you were right.

You both walked to the gun range part of the building, both suiting up into the appropriate gear. You took long, deep breaths to calm yourself because the last thing you needed was to have a panic attack while firing a weapon. You felt a hand on your shoulder and you jumped some, looking over to see that it was Kirishima. “I’m sorry.. I didn’t mean to scare you. I just wanted to ask if you were ready?” His tone was soft, it was almost endearing. You nodded and you both started your training.

Surprisingly, you made it through without losing your cool but you were shaking pretty badly afterward. You took off the range gear, returning it to its designated spot then took a second to sit down. Being around guns again after so long, in your eyes, was a big step. So big that you literally had to take time to really process it. Kirishima approached you, sitting down in the chair next to yours. “For what it’s worth, I think you did great.”

His voice snapped you out of your train of thought and all you could offer him was a small grin. Your emotions were on overload so you didn’t say anything to prevent bursting into tears. He took a large breath before saying anything else, “I’d like to get to know you since we’ll be partners. That’s only if you’re okay with that. Maybe we can go out for lunch tomorrow since it’s Saturday and we both have the weekends off?” It was nice that he was trying and you’d feel like an awful person if you turned him down. “Yeah, sure. I normally spend the weekends hiding out in my apartment anyway.”

Your apartment may have been a constant reminder that you were now alone, but it honestly was a place you could just cry as much as you wanted without fear of judgement. “If your apartment is your comfort zone, I would hate to bring you out of it so.. why don’t we order pizza and chat?” Kirishima seemed like a good guy and when he offered that, you didn’t feel like he was trying to make any type of move on you so you nodded. “I don’t see why not. I guess it couldn’t hurt to have company over.”

You gave your new partner a soft smile, reassuring him that you were serious. Maybe having some type of socialization will help you start to heal.

[danny-chase]

Big Brother instinct, Dick and either Cass, Gar, Danny Chase, Steph, Kara, Rose, or anyone else u want

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Batman (Comics), Nightwing (Comics), Batgirl (Comics) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Dick Grayson & Cassandra Cain, Dick Grayson & Bruce Wayne Characters: Dick Grayson, Cassandra Cain, Bruce Wayne Additional Tags: Dick grayson centric, Fire, Burns, hair styling, Ice Cream, Hurt/Comfort, Late Nights, Fluff and Angst, Batfamily (DCU), Batfamily (DCU) Feels, Batfamily Dynamics (DCU), Missions Gone Wrong, Good Sibling Dick Grayson, Cassandra Cain is bad at feelings, Bruce Wayne is Bad at Feelings Series: Part 11 of Bad Things Happen Bingo Summary:

Dick talks with Cass after a mission doesn't go as planned.

Fic under cut

“Argh!” Dick snaps back to attention as Bruce’s angry grunt rattles through the cave. The few bats still in for the night stir, their wings rustling in the distance. An avalanche of papers fly off of Bruce’s desk, and his grizzled form slumps forward, hands firmly planted on the table. His shoulders sag under some unknown strain; as if he’s carrying the weight of the sky.

“Hmm.” Dick blinks back another wave of exhaustion, he’s not working on a case – but Bruce is – and company always makes working more fun. Besides, Bruce is on a time limit and Alfred can’t stop him from escaping his room. So. Here he is. He took an oath - it’s his job to help.

Dick’s eleven and Bruce’s a pillar of reassurance – a precariously stacked pile of rocks constantly on the verge of crumbling. He has no idea how to pick up the pieces. No idea how to seal the cracks. “Bruce?” He mumbles, swinging his legs off his spinny chair. Bruce doesn’t look up, his mouth drawn in a tight line. The ghost of tears well in his eyes. Not good.

Dick scoots off the chair, lightheaded for a moment. He shakes the stars out of his eyes, nodding back and forth, up and down, like Bruce does when he’s sleepy. It’s late. He has school tomorrow. Not that it matters. Bruce will let him skip if he asks the right way. He jogs in place for a few seconds, readying himself, warming up his muscles.

There’s not much he can do to help, but he can at least put on a little show. He runs forward launching into a cartwheel, picking up the papers as he goes – Bruce likes his tricks, sometimes they even make him laugh, sometimes –

Bruce snags his ankle out of the air, his quick reflexes saving Dick from crashing into the edge of a counter. He finds himself hanging, the world stuck upside down as his hands dangle inches from the floor. “Thanks.” He looks up at Bruce’s weary face.

A yawn escapes his lips, and the corners of Bruce’s mouth twitch. “I’m going to have to child-proof the cave at this rate.” He tries for humor but it falls flat, his hearts not in it all.

He stares up, sticking his tongue out. Bruce’s frown doesn’t fade. “Are you okay?” He asks. Bruce’s hands fumble, and Dick swings dangerously low to the floor before he’s recovered. Not willing to take the chance again, he curls up, grabbing Bruce’s forearms and pulls himself up through his arms, settling himself on sturdy shoulders.

Bruce drops his feet. “I’m fine. Why would ask that?” He sounds almost hurt and Dick’s too tired to figure out why.

He slides down easily, Bruce gently deposits him on the floor. “You looked sad.” A yawn leaves his mouth without permission, he stumbles slightly, and a hand clamps down on his shoulder. He reaches back up, and Bruce throws him up against his shoulder, wrapping him in a hug.

Dick yawns contently, his eyelids fluttering without his permission, as Bruce starts walking towards the stairs. “I’m sorry…” The arm around his back pulls him a bit tighter. “I’m just not enough.” A shaking hand combs through his hair and Dick squeezes back because he doesn’t know what to say.

Bruce grunts as he takes a step up the stairs. “Sleep on it?” Dick suggests, resting his eyes for just a moment.

“Mmhmm. It’s bedtime.” Dick’s half asleep by the time they reach the top. He’s not sure he hears Bruce whisper, “You’re a great kid, chum.”

It took Dick years before he really understood the feeling. And even more years before he made the connection that that was how Bruce had felt on late nights spent scouring for clues that just didn’t seem to exist, having worked for days straight on three hours of sleep, and watching Gotham send all of it up in flames setting you back months on an investigation.

He’s learned there’s nights it’s impossible to save everyone – hell, he’s seen Clark get his ass kicked, and Clark’s damn near close to god. Dick would know – the Titans have fought their namesake. But the Titans have fought humans and lost despite half their members being godlike, and besides that most days now he’s alone. It doesn’t matter how hard he tries, how much he plans, how prepared he is; sometimes things just go to hell and a handbasket and there’s nothing he can physically do to prevent it.

Most of the time, he’s fine with that. It’s fine he has limits. Logically, he knows he can’t be expected to everything. Logically, he knows it’s a waste of time to worry about it. Logically, he knows it’s okay to take a night off, watch a nature documentary, invite a friend over, stay in and spend the night simply existing.

But it feels like he could be doing more – should be doing more. He feels that restlessness overtake him, and springs to his feet “Bruce I-”

Bruce gives him his patented bat-glare from where he’s sitting, looking up from a familiar pile of papers. Once it would have intimidated him into sitting back down. Now he just returns it with a patented one of his own. “-I think I’ll suit up and head out for the night, Tim could probably use some back up with-”

“Dick.” There’s this exasperated tone that Bruce can only ever seem to muster when saying his name. He pauses for a just a second, his eyes flickering down to Bruce’s clenched fists and tight shoulders. “Let me handle it.” It comes out as an order, but reading between the lines, it’s a plea.

Bruce would never admit it out loud, worry practically bleeds out of the man. Guilt gnaws on the inside of his chest, though, he’s not sure what it’s even from; the guilt of making Bruce worry or the guilt of being a useless sack of broken and bruised ribs while people need Nightwing’s help. Being benched sucks, but he knows enough to compromise. “Let me run the comms? Babs could use a night off.” She sleeps less than him and Bruce knows it.

The gray streaks in Bruce’s hair stand out all the more as he lets out a bone deep sigh. Dick rolls his eyes – he doesn’t get to do this right now. “You literally let me go out last night I don’t understand why-”

“Last night was an emergency. I didn’t have a choice.” His frown widens, his face etched in an eternal look of pain, mixed with disproval. “Two nights ago… you almost…” His mouth seals itself shut, unspoken words hanging in the air between them. It’s Bruce that breaks the gaze first. “Run the comms, don’t overexert yourself. It should be a quiet night…” He stands, hesitates before walking off “And get to bed early.”

Dick bites back a laugh, Bruce hasn’t talked to him like that since he was thirteen. “Alright.” He resists the urge to poke fun, and follows Bruce through the passage behind the grandfather clock.

“So Ives was talking about the Pirates of the Caribbean movie with me the other day, and we might go see it this weekend if I have the time. Gee- I can’t remember the last time I saw movie in theaters or even really hung out with him.” Tim’s endless chatter helps him stay awake in the dimly lit cave. His throbbing ribs help too, maybe he shouldn’t have tried doing push-ups. “Dad and Dana want to drop me off, but Ives has a car now, though dad’s still worried cuz of the time some wacko tried to stop us at a traffic light.”

Dick hums, a smile creeping its way up his face. “I can drop you off if it’s an issue.”

“Really?! That’d be awesome, you could stay for the movie if you wanted to, but I don’t know if you’d like it, I mean are pirates really your thing? I always figured you’d be more into Vikings or probably aliens actually, or something like-” A red light flashes on the screen, and Dick snaps to attention.

“Hold that thought.” Tim’s chatter ceases immediately as Dick furiously types on the terminal. He punches into the main line. “Batgirl how fast can you get to the corner of 16th and Murphy’s Ave, there’s a building on fire and you’re the only one anywhere near the Upper East Side.” A 911 operator calms down a hysterical woman in his left ear, Cass asking direction in the right.

He pulls up a map. “I-I can’t find a way out!” The woman shrieks. “I don’t know what happened, I was sleeping and-” she breaks off into raspy hacks.

“Go straight, turn right after three blocks down.” Dick winces, as the lady continues chocking on smoke. “C’mon Cass. Get there.” He mutters off the line. He eyes his cycle sitting idly in the bay – he’s twenty minutes out; Cass needs backup. He opens up another line. “Batman I need you to follow Batgirl, what’s your eta?”

Bruce grunts back, he hears thudding over the line. “Fifteen minutes.” The woman screams in his other ear, he yanks the earbud out as a massive bang nearly blows out his eardrum. Picking it back up, he can’t hear the woman anymore, only the roar of flames and falling debris.

“Shit.” He pulls up video from a street camera. “Shit.” The building’s collapsing in on itself. “Permission to call the league?” He clicks through to their line of communications, his finger hovering over the button.

“Here.” Cass scrambles into view, bursting through a window. Shit.

Bruce learned his limits long ago. Dick’s finally settling into his. Cass? They simply don’t register on her radar. The buildings coming down in mere minutes; she’s going to get killed.

“What’s the situation?” Bruce yells in his ear.

“Batgirl get out of there!” He screams at Cass. She’s going to die – the building’s not stable, and he’s the one that sent her there. “Make it five minutes – the building’s coming down.” He yells to Bruce. “Batgirl!” He watches a few windows blow out. A firetruck careens down the street.

“Permission granted.” Bruce huffs and Dick can’t click the button fast enough.

A couple more windows blow out, and the building seems to lean to the side. Finally he sees Cass climb back out a window, holding a couple kids in her arms as she leaps to the ground. “BATGIRL GET THEM CLEAR!” His heart pounds in his throat as she runs forwards, the building groaning behind her, crumbling to the side. Chaos erupts, chunks of flaming debris cascading from the top of the building, as the second floor merges with the first.

Dick blinks, his mouth dry. “There’s more people-” he can’t hear Cass over the ensuing cacophony as he watches the building topple to the ground. “NO!” He faintly hears her scream as the screen erupts in static.

Dick slams his fists on the desk. His chest constricts painfully. “Nightwing. Report.” Bruce’s steady voice reminds him to breathe. His chest spasms. Shit. “Nightwing!” Bruce demands as he tries to catch his breath.

“Building collapsed.” He manages to get out. “One sec.” He takes a few deep breaths, leaning back in the chair for support. “Batgirl report.” He’s greeted with silence. “Batgirl, please, if you’re there I need you to respond.”

“I…” Cass trials off. Dick sighs in relief. “I’m sorry.” The line cuts off. Well. Shit.

“Nightwing! I’m headed to the location.” Bruce squawks. Dick sighs.

“It’s going to be a long night. Search and rescue, I’ll call in backup.” Shit. So much for an early bedtime.

“Hey.” Someone shakes his shoulder. He makes a grab for their wrist and misses, his mind processing where the hell he is. He blinks a few times.

“Cass?” Her hair’s plastered to the side of her head and she’s covered in soot. Nicks, rips, and tears decorate her costume. Dick wipes his eyes as the ashy smell of smoke overwhelms his senses. Cass takes a few steps back, heading towards the locker room. “Wait.” He had something to say to her, his mind racing to catch up.

She hops up onto a counter. His mind shuffles through the events earlier in the night. “Bruce sent you back?” Cass nods glumly. The rescue efforts weren’t going well when he dozed off. The JLA sent in everyone they could spare; there’s nothing they can do anymore. Not that Bruce won’t try.

Cass’s lips are sealed. There’s a haunting expression in her eyes, her shoulders slump forward, her hands firmly plant themselves on the counter for support.

And his friends think he’s too much like Bruce.

“Hey.” He starts. She gives him a weary look, tears welling in her eyes. Well, maybe not exactly like Bruce. “Look, I’m sorry I put you in that position.” Cass shakes her head. “Sometimes things like this happen. I should have-”

“Stop.” Cass pulls her feet up on the counter, getting dust everywhere. “I should have been faster.” She swallows, refusing to let the tears spill over. “My fault.”

Dick watches as she glides off the counter, yanking off her gloves and dropping them on the floor. Burn marks dot her hands and the edges of her hair are singed. “You did everything you could.” She hesitates, before taking a step towards the showers.

“Not enough.” She mutters before storming off, leaving a trail of soot in her wake.

He stands up. “Cass.” The lock snaps shut with a click as she slips into the bathroom. Leaving Dick in an empty cave once more.

By the time he returns downstairs, Cass is already out of the shower, looking displeased. “You took my clothes.” She notes unhappily, a pale pink towel tucked tightly around her shoulders.

Dick watches water drip down from her hair, pattering on the floor. The trail leading back to the bathroom is now mixed with water and soot. Alfred’s going to be pissed. “I took your costume.” He clarifies. “And I brought you clothes.” He gestures towards the open door.

Cass scowls, planting her feet defiantly. “I’m going out.” She reaches out a hand. Dick shrugs – there’s no way she can find where he hid her filthy suit before they get a chance to wash it.

It’s all too familiar, reading the lines across her brow, watching her shoulders slump when she stills, and scanning red rimmed eyes. “What are you going to do like that?” He points out, Cass angrily storming towards him. “You’re tired, you’ll just end up being in the way.” He dodges left as a fist flies past his face. “You would have hit if I wasn’t right.” She’s faster than him on his best days.

She glares at him with pursed lips, staring before turning on her heel and storming off towards the bathroom. The door slams behind her, triggering the rustling of far away wings.

Dick sighs – he hopes he wasn’t this temperamental when he lived with Bruce. “Come up to the kitchen when you’re done, I need your help with something.” The lie rolls easily off his tongue, though he feels a twinge of guilt as Cass groans behind closed doors.

Cass’s eyes widen as she enters the room. Dick offers a smile as she edges closer to the table. He tosses a spoon, she snags it out of the air. “Dig in.” There’s a carton of chocolate ice cream – double chocolate chunk brownie sundae with hot fudge and chocolate sprinkles to be precise – and tons of candy. It’s not stuff Bruce keeps around, but Dick’s has a stash at Tim’s house reserved for movie nights. He’ll restock later.

Cass vigorously stabs the ice cream with her spoon, a smile dancing across her face as she takes a few bites. She pauses, sticking the spoon back in the cartoon, looking up with a confused expression. “Why?” She’s wearing fluffy pajama bottoms, fuzzy socks, and an old worn college sweatshirt that’s frayed at the hems. Dick can almost pretend he’s back, talking to Donna after she broke up with Roy their sophomore year of high school.

She’s watching Dick carefully. He hums casually. “You had a rough night.” This is what the Titans always did. She shrugs.

“Things happen.” She shovels a few more bites into her mouth. “I want to go out.” It’s hard for Dick to find her tough and grizzled when she’s guzzling gummi worms, kicking her feet back and forth on the stool.

“Consider this a reason to stay in.” She gives him a sideways glance. “You did as much as you can, that’s enough.” Cass looks pointedly at her ice cream, not hesitating before diving back into it.

“Spar with me?” She licks a skittle before sticking it in her mouth.

Dick snorts. “If I don’t have a heart attack, I think Bruce would.” She snaps up to attention, grabbing his wrist and quickly finding his pulse point. “I’m fine, Cass.” Her hands are freezing. He places one of his on top of hers. “If you weren’t there I wouldn’t have been.” He says quietly, catching her eye. “Thank you.” She pulls back as if burned, quickly busying herself with the candy. He waits a moment before adding, “I think those kids you saved are grateful too.”

Cass throws a bag of M&M’s at him, he’s a second too slow and it pelts him in the face. “Noted.” He grins. “Uh, also, I’m going to have to do something with your hair.”

“What.”

“Cass, hold still.” She immediately stops squirming under his hands. “Thanks.” She hums back, tucked under an old blanket that never seems to leave the back of the couch. Bruce still isn’t here, but Tim checked in after his stakeout, and headed home a half an hour ago. He snips away another lock of burnt hair, tossing it into a trash can next to him.

He rests his forearms on the back of the sofa, contemplating which section of her hair to start with next. “You find one you like yet?” He asks, peeking over her shoulder at the images of hairstyles.

“Uhh.” She scrolls a bit more. “I don’t care.” She tosses the phone up to the top of the couch.

“Mmm.” He didn’t expect much else. Donna texted him a picture earlier to copy – something easy to pull back but still stylish. He attacks the next section, carefully brushing out the tangles, starting bottom to the top. He’s oddly grateful for all those times he did Donna and Kory’s hair.

‘Practice for when Bruce finally adopts a girl.’ They used to tease. ‘You’ll have a real sister, and if his track record holds she’ll have black hair and blue eyes.’ He’s never lived the irony down. Though, Cass’s eyes are a beautiful warm brown, so Donna and Kory can take that.

“You know.” He keeps his tone light. “Most hairdressers and their clients talk.” Cass remains set in stony silence. “Though I guess most people go to a salon to get their hair cut.” He just visits Joey. “Some people say it’s like free therapy.”

“You talk a lot.” Cass notes. He pulls up doodle jump on his phone and passes it back to her. She plays a couple rounds before the phone’s placed back beside him.

“Do you want to talk about it?” He already knows the answer, but still asks all the same.

“No.” Bruce never wanted to either. Barbara used to talk to him… before he left for the Titans and took years to look back. Though he likes to dream otherwise, he knows there’ll come a day when Tim won’t want to talk to him anymore either.

It doesn’t get any easier being shut out. “That’s alright. If you change your mind I’m here.” He grabs the shears, snipping away another dead end.

“Thanks.”

“Dick.” A hiss awakes him, light following soon after. He squints, turning away to bury his face in a cushion. “Where’s Cassandra?”

He turns, eyes snapping open as he quickly scans the sofa. The blanket hangs off the edge, Cass nowhere to be seen. One of her custom batarangs sticks out of his armchair’s armrest, a few inches from his hand. “She must have found her costume.” He notes, glancing towards the pajamas crumpled in the doorway. His eyes meet Bruce’s as he lets out a tired sigh.

His hair’s dripping, fresh from a shower, and it’s singed at the edges. Dick nods towards the sheers on the coffee table. “Tomorrow.” Bruce decides, crossing the room, picking up the blanket as he goes. Dick pushes down the footrest, slowly rising to his feet. His ribs twinge at every move, in hindsight, falling asleep hanging off the side of an armchair wasn’t his best idea. Bruce hovers closer than normal, watching carefully, worry lines set in concern. “Bed.”

Dick’s too tired to argue. “Bed.” He agrees. And though Bruce doesn’t carry him, he accompanies him up the stairs.

[dustedmagazine]

Dust Volume 8, Number 4

OHYUNG

Is this normal? After two years of upheaval, the world seems to finding equilibrium again, at least if you squint to avoid looking too hard at what’s going on in Ukraine. So we’re going out again on the regular, wearing masks (and you should, too), but otherwise like always, and oh my, are a lot of bands out on the road these days. A lot of them are putting out records, too, and as usual, we make an attempt to catch up with Dust, our monthly collection of short reviews. Read here for our take on country covers and Italian punk, crusty black metal and cosmic metal, improvisatory collaborations and fresh interpretations of music from farflung cultures. Contributors this time included Tim Clarke, Justin Cober-Lake, Jonathan Shaw, Bryon Hayes, Bill Meyer, Jennifer Kelly and Chris Liberato.

Caleb Dailey — Warm Evenings, Pale Mornings: Beside You Then (Alien Transistor / Moone)

Warm Evenings, Pale Mornings: Beside You Then by Caleb Dailey

Moone Records boss Caleb Dailey worked on this collection of covers of old country songs with some notable musicians, including Deerhoof’s John Dieterich, Nicholas Krgovich, and Kyle Field (Little Wings). At eight tracks clocking in at just over half an hour, it’s a short and lovingly rendered collection that rambles charmingly, featuring songs originally written by a range of country-rock luminaries, including Gram Parsons, Gordon Lightfoot and Blaze Foley. Even if you’re not familiar with the originals, all the songs sound appropriately well-worn and comforting, giving the listener space and reassurance to nestle in their melancholy. Dailey keeps things at a woozy, syrup-thick tempo, his low voice sounding like a 45rpm record accidentally played at 33 1/3. Though the songs unfurl slowly and simply, there’s plenty of space to weave hypnotic details into the mix. Early standout “Brass Buttons” swirls with lap steel, banjo and harmonium behind Dailey’s lackadaisically strummed acoustic guitar. “Dreaming My Dreams With You” features sparkling vibraphone over thick beds of organ and bass, and “If You Could Read My Mind” pulses with distant cosmic synths. Then, on closer “If I Could Only Fly,” featuring plaintive lead vocals from The Notwist’s Markus Acher, the album achieves lift-off amid a storm cloud of distortion, followed by a restatement of the song’s theme on piano by Dailey’s mum. Lovely.

Tim Clarke

 Deaf Lingo — Lingonberry (Lövely)

Italy's Deaf Lingo returns for their second album with as much energy as ever. The punk rockers add some increased melodicism to Lingonberry compared to their initial releases, but they haven't slowed anything down. After a heavier intro, single “Push It” has drifts toward skate punk as vocalist Sandro Specchia rants in favor of laziness. The track's irony lies not just in its decidedly not-lazy tempo, but also in its resistance. While the cut might ostensibly be about doing nothing, it considers that inaction as a form of resistance. Much of the album follows in this line, pairing a few different punk and alt-rock styles with concerns about disaffection or alienation. The group sounds its best when it leans into its poppier influences, but it would benefit — especially on its brighter tunes — from more separation in its production. The sound gets just a little muddier than suits the songs. Even so, Deaf Lingo feels like a band on its way up, catching its songwriting groove and finding its way with growing assurance.

Justin Cober-Lake 

 Feral Light — Psychic Contortions (I, Voidhanger)

Psychic Contortions by FERAL LIGHT

At its best, Feral Light’s new LP Psychic Contortions recalls the tuneful, crusty black metal of that terrific demo from Loss of Self that circulated about a decade ago, or the most blackened and melodic moments in Nux Vomica’s epic crust anthems. All of which suggests — accurately so — that Feral Light isn’t writing or playing anything particularly ground-breaking on this record, but the Minneapolis-based duo does this sort of thing quite well. See “Wells of Blackness,” which may have a title that’s just a little bit on the nose; it also has a riff with just enough roil, and crusty production that coats the music with just enough grime. The band has been kicking around since 2015, and Psychic Contortions is by far the best record they’ve released. “Self Disavow” might be the band’s best song, yearning and crunching in equal measure, and given over to intemperate spells of blasting intensity. If you like some blackened ash in your crust, give this a spin.

Jonathan Shaw

 High Alpine Hut Network — 727/16 (Ansible Editions)

727 / 16 by High Alpine Hut Network

The Toronto-based Idée Fixe imprint has spun off a sister label. With a name originating in science fiction, Ansible Editions is true to its mission to explore the jazz cosmos and adjacent sonic galaxies. The imprint launched with an introductory batch of three editions, and this pair of tracks from High Alpine Hut Network is certainly the most cosmic of the lot. Comprising multi-instrumentalists Christopher Shannon, Benjamin Pullia and Jason Bhattacharya, this trio explores the intersection of Berlin school kosmische, deep house and jazz-infected hard funk. For this, their debut effort, HAHN enlisted the help of friends. The collaborative roster includes pianist Robin Hatch, Tobin Hopwood on guitar, percussionists Lauren Runions and Nathan Vanderwielen and the lush reeds of Joseph Shabason. “727” is a voyage that originates in the cosmos before strutting into electric Miles territory and eventually landing in the club. The snaky “16” is a bass-forward affair, bolstered by Hopwood’s limber guitar exorcisms and a propulsive percussive pulse. Overall HAHN keeps it exciting and extraterrestrial, a winning combination.

Bryon Hayes 

 Instruments Of Happiness — Slow, Quiet Music In Search Of Electric Happiness (Redshift)

Slow, Quiet Music in Search of Electric Happiness by Instruments of Happiness

Sometimes, the times catch up with you. Tim Brady of Montreal has been working with guitar ensembles of carrying sizes for nearly forty years, culminating in a production in 2014 entitled, Instruments of Happiness — 100 Guitares Électriques. Four years on, he had an economizing notion: why not put four guitarists in a large, reverberant space, and let the room do some of the work? Brady and three other guitarists — Jonathan Barriault, Simon Duchesne, and Francis Brunet-Tucotte — presented the first performance of this four-piece sequence of roughly quarter hour-long, commissioned pieces in a Montreal church in February, 2020. Obviously, follow-up performances were not an immediate option, but what better year than 2020 to record a small number of spread-out musicians? It’s kind of a shame that the music couldn’t be made immediately available, because folks enduring cabin fever might have found comfort in the quartet’s evocations of expansiveness. E-bow elongations and a seven-second digital delay, which duplicates the original space’s echo, impart a sonic experience that corresponds to the album cover image of the eventual meeting of ocean and cloud cover.

Bill Meyer

Interesting Hobbies Club — Spring Cleaning (Self-Released)

Spring Cleaning by Interesting Hobbies Club

It's not entirely clear what would qualify as an interesting hobby, but I’m guessing that day drinking, buying too many records on Bandcamp Friday and jogging the occasional 5K would not. Perhaps forming a florid, emotionally stirring indie rock band would make the cut, perhaps not, but these four LA musicians have been at it, regardless, for two albums now. And why not? Their second, Spring Cleaning (the first was recorded as Zero Degree), spins in indolent circles, a slow rock jangle lit up by the near-operatic tenor of front person Jules Caspole, who swoops and wails and roars in a volatile, vibrato-laced timbre. The songs this time are tinged with reminiscence, the best “One Year Ago Today,” a country-rocking lament for the girl that got away. Caspole sings ruefully of finding an old photograph of a live-in lover, prompting memories of domestic pleasures: cooking together, planting a garden, dancing in the backyard. The band twangs and rollicks in two-stepping time, and the whole thing puts a gloss on ordinary life that seems a little brighter, a little more meaningful than it usually is. “Middle of the 110” likewise throws a bolt of electricity into an indie rock shuffle, letting concentrated feeling lift it out of the ordinary.

Jennifer Kelly

 Kostnatení — Ohen Horí Tam, Kde Padl (Mystíkaos)

Oheň hoří tam, kde padl by Kostnatění

We are told that D. Lyons, sole member of Kostnatení, has created this record by adapting traditional Turkish folk songs for dissonant, lush and very effective black metal arrangements. Knowing nothing about Turkish folk music, this reviewer cannot comment on the veracity of the claim, nor can he opine on the nature of the tribute or obscenity these musical renditions have brought into the world. But taken on its face, this is a terrific record. The playing is supple and forceful, the tunes are weirding earworms, the sensibility and scale of things somehow mystical and grand. To be sure, there’s something interesting, if perverse, about using black metal to interpret the folk traditions of a nation that has experienced such volatile relations to religious faith — to say nothing of black metal’s more customary deployments by seriously pale dudes with even more serious investments in the lore of northern whiteness (Viking metal, anyone?). This, by marked contrast, is the black metal of the Global South, played by a guy last located by the internet in Tennessee. Say what? Beats me. Play the music.

Jonathan Shaw

 James Krivchenia — Blood Karaoke (Reading Group)

Blood Karaoke by James Krivchenia

Though you can hear clear links between the music of Big Thief and recent solo albums by frontwoman Adrianne Lenker and guitarist Buck Meek, drummer and producer James Krivchenia’s solo music is another matter altogether. Like having dozens of internet browser tabs open at once and switching randomly between them to sample whatever music might happen to be playing at the time, Blood Karaoke is a disorientating, bewildering and occasionally very funny listen. The easiest comparison is probably Oneohtrix Point Never, as the sounds of experimental electronica, vaporwave, and nu-metal collide, occasionally derailed by daft passages of yacht rock, smooth jazz or easy listening. It’s all very cleverly put together and can, at times, introduce moments of unexpected beauty and tenderness. However, as a front-to-back listening experience, it’s likely to leave you feeling a little frazzled and insane.

Tim Clarke

Nyles Lannon — Pressure (Badman)

PRESSURE by Nyles Lannon

Nyles Lannon played with Film School in the early aughts and has made several highly regarded solo albums, including Chemical Friends, named best folktronica album of 2004 by SF Weekly. Pressure was originally released in 2007; here Badman celebrates its 15th birthday with an expanded, remastered version with the tracks remixed to Lannon’s specifications (he never liked the original version). Not having heard Pressure the first time around, it’s hard to say how much the alterations helped, but this is a very good album of mostly acoustic indie folk-pop. Lannon’s voice is high and gentle, not too different from Elliott Smith, the mood bittersweet and the guitar/electronic accompaniments unassumingly pretty. “Better with Nothing” eddies and swirls around a melancholic melody, its pace quickened by scratchy, shaken percussion, its contours defined by bright, lucid guitar lines. A little bell rattles at the bridge as fuzz guitars spin off into psychedelic inquiry, the drama flares, then Lannon pulls it all back into the kind of tune you sing to yourself on rainy days just because.

Jennifer Kelly

 OHYUNG — imagine naked! (NNA Tapes)

imagine naked! by OHYUNG

Asian-American artist OHYUNG generously presents the receptive listener with nearly two hours of sparse, reflective ambient music on imagine naked! Mostly conceived and created across a single 72-hour period, the album is book-ended by 15-minute opener “my torn cuticles!” and 37-minute closer “releases like gloves!” Based on its duration alone, the album does feel like quite a commitment. However, step inside these welcoming musical environments and feel time slip away as the album’s unifying aesthetic becomes cumulatively transportive. Occasionally there are hints of Aphex Twin’s early records (“to fill the quiet!”), Satie’s minimal piano works (“yes my weeping frame!”), and Eno’s process-based experiments, such as Discreet Music. The album certainly fits Eno’s specification that ambient be “as ignorable as it is interesting” — play imagine naked! in the background, and let it gently color your mood, or don some headphones, listen closely, and become lulled by the music’s hypnotic repetition and deeply grained textures.

Tim Clarke

 Sote — Majestic Noise Made in Beautiful Rotten Iran (Sub Rosa)

Majestic Noise Made in Beautiful Rotten Iran by Sote

Iranian producer Ata Ebtekar composes in two different modalities. His electroacoustic constructions incorporate sounds from the traditional instruments of his homeland. Alternatively, he eschews acoustic instrumentation to focus on electronic synthesis itself. Majestic Noise Made in Beautiful Rotten Iran falls into the latter category, although the sheer physicality of the music belies its purely electronic origins. Mined from the same vein as 2020’s MOSCELS, this album is full of highly visceral, almost aggressive sounds modeled in clouds of electrons. Opener “Forced Absence” features the assault of machine gun percussion and collapsing clockwork mechanisms on unsuspecting string arpeggios that resemble harp strums. The urgent, almost video game-like rhythm of “I’m Trying But I Can’t Reach You Father” appears to originate from an orchestra of baroque instruments. That track’s successor, the gentle yet emotional “Life,” emulates a string quartet robbed of all its bows. Majestic Noise Made in Beautiful Rotten Iran is Ebtekar’s most personal collection of material thus far. He’s asking us to endure both the majesty and the noise that lie at its core. This is a challenge that’s worth accepting.

Bryon Hayes

The Web of Lies — Nude with Demon (Wrong Speed)

Nude With Demon by The Web of Lies

For better — and, in one instance, for worse — on Nude with Demon, Edwin Stevens and Neil Robinson pull moves that you don’t quite expect them to pull. The Scottish duo let their garage groove swing like a pendulum on “Receiver,” summoning the spirits of LAMPS and A-Frames, but they gussy the sound up with sly, folk-rock half-licks. Now we know what that sounds like, you’ll catch yourself thinking, and you’ll be damned: it works. As does “Yeah Yeah Yeah,” which chugs along like Spacemen 3 towards a tunnel through which it doesn’t quite fit. When someone finally yanks the emergency brake, it’s already much, much too late, and the track scratches, scrapes and squeals towards a comically slow halt lasting a full couple of minutes. It’s not the metaphorical train driver I want to go back in time and shake awake, then, given the chance; it’s whoever voted the throwaway “Best Friend” onto the album’s track list. Batting in the cleanup spot, the otherwise innocuous Silver Apples-style ditty stops the record’s momentum dead in its, ahem, tracks, as one bestie answers the other’s mumbled monotone call by repeating the title phrase, ad nauseam, in a cartoonish car horn voice that’s frankly exhausting. Luckily, the one tune is not enough to derail the album as a whole, which nonetheless has the potential to become a favorite of the year, for those who like to smile and nod along to the sounds of loud, off-kilter guitars and humans doing their thing.

Chris Liberato 

 Wet Tuna — Warping All by Yourself (Three-Lobed)

Warping All By Yourself by Wet Tuna

Matt Valentine’s space grooves take on more of an organic texture in Warping All by Yourself, at least compared to the wigged-out electronics of 2019’s Water Weird. “Raw Food” arises out of the sound of waves, then shuffles off in a twilight meadow hum, electric guitars sparking wild sprays of sonic color into a lulling haze. “Ain’t No Turning Back,” is funkier, faster and more playful, a bit of Zappa in its out there zings and blurts and pulses, a touch of Royal Trux in its nodding, dissolving choruses. “Sweet Chump Change,” bumps and rolls like a 1970s jazz-funk-fusion epic transported somehow to the fertile hollows of rural New England. Everything spirals in a dizzying, cosmic way, but nothing rushes. You could be here all week without moving. Valentine works mostly alone, bringing in acid folk compatriots like Samara Lubelski, Mick Flower, Doc Dunn and (his partner) Erika Elder for communal touches, but essentially following his own spirit through classic rock, soul, kosmiche music and funk. The whole experience seems like one of those changling folk tales, where if you eat the food, even a little bit, you’ll stay in the enchanted woods forever.

Jennifer Kelly

 Joe Williamson / Dennis Egberth — The Great Escape Plan (Tilting Converter)

Joe Williamson Dennis Egberth - The Great Escape Plan by Joe Williamson Dennis Egberth

When escape is the plan, it behooves the planner to avoid notice. This runs counter to the motivation for many musicians, which is to make sure that the audience’s neck and ears are craned in their direction. The tension between this intentions is the crux of encounter between two Stockholm-based musicians, percussionist Dennis Egberth and double bassist Joe Williamson. It is a studio recording, so the players’ needs for attention had to be met by each other. Their readiness to listen is evident though-out the album’s two vinyl-sized sections (titled, appropriately, “Plan A” and “Plan B”), and it contributes to the complementarity of these performances. Each muted cymbal tap, sizzling brush strike, thwack of the bass’ body or rustle of its bow is the punctuating gesture that completes what the other man plays. Hints of melody and rhythm arise discretely from constellations of mutating sound, like departing parties sticking their heads up to see if the coast is clear.

Bill Meyer

  Eri Yamamoto, Chad Fowler, William Parker, Steve Hirsh — Sparks (Mahakala)

Sparks by Eri Yamamoto, Chad Fowler, William Parker, Steve Hirsh

These four musicians had never played all together before, and they made no plans about where their collaboration would go or what it would sound like once they convened in a room, post-COVID, in New York City. Yamamoto, the classically trained pianist steeped in improvisatory jazz, had worked with bassist Willam Parker before. Chad Fowler, the reedist and proprietor of Mahakala records, has played in a variety of configurations with drummer Steve Hirsh. They call what they’re doing “improvised folk music,” but, really, it’s four skilled practitioners listening hard, finding synchonicity, then careening away from that accord into a wholly new set of considerations. It’s a wild ride, sometimes pensive and beautiful, with sweet, well-considered piano chords framed by bowed and plucked bass reverberations, sometimes turbulent and quick, drums kicking up furious eddies of swirling dust, saxello blowing wildly over the top. None of these principals are averse to finding the still, beautiful center, in long haunting sax tones or vibrating throbs of bass, but nor are they afraid to catch the exhilarating edge of chaos, hammering, squealing, thumping, pounding to stay on top of the wave. How beautiful is it then, when Yamamoto’s clear liquid runs of piano tumble over the rough tumult of Hirsh’s skittering, striated layers of percussion in “Taiko” or when Fowler’s saxophone swaggers across a punch-drunk melody in “Sparks,” peeling back a pristine tone to see what’s raw and ugly underneath. Sparks fly, indeed.

Jennifer Kelly

 Young Guv — Guv III (Run for Cover)

GUV III by Young Guv

Radiant power pop a la Teenage Fanclub, Guv III careens in trebly sweet tunefulness over spiked and raucous guitar work. Guv proprietor Ben Cook wrote this first of two COVID-era albums in the New Mexican desert, surrounded by stunning natural beauty. Yet the songs burst like Sour Patch candies with acid-sweetness. Guitars slash with New Wave swagger in “It’s Only Dancing” and pace with coiled Nick Lowe-ish tension in “Only Want to See U tonight,” as giddy pop vocals swirl and eddy around their contours. I’ve been listening to Matthew Sweet’s Girlfriend lately for no reason whatsoever, and this is in the same power pop family, soft and hard, yearning and joyful at the same time.

Jennifer Kelly

[screamting]

[superbat hs au - Court of Owls, First hints of ~superpowers~

Tommy was willing to fill the time a while until supper, when about ten minutes before six, the boy on the top bunk would finally sit himself up and slide down to the floor and tugging on shoes without much of a word. “Almost six. Get ready to go.”

--

“Uh-”

Clark had asked him if he had any family, and what he planned to go to college for, and other generic questions he could manage to think of while he unpacked his things and then shoved his empty luggage aside.

“Six?” He asked, like he hadn’t heard any of what Harvey said before.

--

“Dinner,” Bruce said as explanation, unbothered.

(“Unfortunately, my mom,” Tommy had said with a roll of his eyes. “And obviously, Bruce’s an orphan. I’m hoping for medical school, to be a surgeon. What about you?”

There was no moment to acknowledge the middle part of the sentence. Only an impossible-to-hear tightness in the boy in the bunk’s otherwise steady breathing. And then it was gone again.)

“They’ll want you to wear something nice for the opening dinner, and any dinner on Sundays. If you don’t have anything else, your school uniform will do,” Bruce said.

--

(“Wh- journalism.” Clark had replied, but didn’t dare ask about how Bruce was an orphan.)

“Oh, okay. Uh. Yeah. I’ll have to get changed then.” Clark said, and dug around for his uniform. He didn’t have anything nicer than that with him.

He walked out to head to the bathroom and change.

--

“Alright.”

They would wait for him to return.

When he did, it was clear Tommy had changed clothing too, though he hadn’t bothered to leave the room to do so. He sat with Bruce on their bottom bunk, dressed in a matching oxford and button down jacket. Dark pants, black shoes. They could’ve been siblings, probably, despite their personalities.

And once all three were there, off they went, Bruce dutifully leading the way to the cafeteria, and Tommy trailing a bit behind him, content to just follow along for the moment.

“Sundays and special dinners we gotta eat with our hall table,” Tommy said. “And listen to the headmaster give speeches. But other than that, school’s pretty great.”

--

Clark followed along behind them. The closer they got the louder things got, and he could tell this was going to be rough. Places that were loud even for regular people were killer on him. It was so hard to focus on what you were supposed to.

“You like school?” He asked, sounding a little in disbelief.

--

“Uh, yeah?” he said. “Get some time away from the family? Live with my best friend? School rocks.”

He slung an arm around Bruce, and it was accepted with a huff.

“Not everyone’s as good at school work as you,” Bruce said.

“You are, though,” Tommy said. “So you don’t get to point that out to me.”

He poked Bruce’s cheek. The quiet boy smiled a little.

--

Clark didn’t say much. He felt like a third wheel, and the black-haired kid really wasn’t much of a talker. Couldn’t blame him if he really was an orphan.

The dinner was… boring. But hey, free food. The headmaster talked about the upcoming year and how they were all going to grow into strapping young, disciplined men and yadda yadda. Clark didn’t really pay attention.

When dinner was over it was back to the room. Back to bed.

… He had a hard time sleeping. Gotham at night was still so damn loud compared to back home.

--

Gotham was loud.

…

So were the dorms.

(someone, somewhere in the building, was crying into their pillow. Trying to muffle it, but the dissonance--

Multiple people were. Quiet, muffled, hiding it--)

In His Room.

In his room, the first night, a heart started to rocket up in pace from where it had once been steady, panic--

Bruce on the top bunk jerked awake, with the sound of his teeth biting through his lip to keep quiet.

--

Sometimes Clark didn’t realize what was supposed to be loud to normal people and what wasn’t.

“... You okay?” He whispered out into the dark.

--

The boy flinched.

….rolled over to face Clark, breathing still shallow.

He flinched again at whatever he saw.

“...fine,” he said. Then, “Quiet.”

--

His eyes were still bright in the dark, but only when they caught the light.

“... Okay.” He said, and wouldn’t say anything else.

…

He wouldn’t get much sleep.

--

…

…

It was something Clark couldn’t hear, but Bruce’s mind wouldn’t quiet anymore than Gotham or the dormitory would.

“...what’s with your eyes?” he whispered.

--

Oh damn. Oh shit.

He quickly closed them and rolled over so he faced away from the other bunk.

“Nothing.”

--

There was a disbelieving huff from the other side of the room.

...unfortunately, Clark wasn’t the only light sleeper.

“...mmh?” Tommy mumbled, splayed out on the bottom bunk. “What’s goin ‘rong?”

--

“Nothin’.” Clark said again, and didn’t turn around.

They had sent him here to get away from everyone knowing what he could do. He couldn’t blow his cover on the first night because his STUPID EYES GLOWED IN THE DARK.

--

“His eyes were glowing,” Bruce said. Because of course he did. No wonder Tommy called him a snitch--

But Tommy started making noise into his pillow, too.

Laughing. Trying to muffle it.

“Were you dreaming about the Talon?” he hissed, sounding delighted.

--

Ignore it. Let this blow over.

…

“What’s that?” He mumbled, still looking away.

--

Above Clark, Harvey Dent let out a groan under his breath.

Apparently, everyone was awake tonight.

If Tommy’s eyes could’ve glinted in the dark, they would’ve. “Oh, that’s right…. You’re from Kansas. You don’t know about… the assassins….”

“Oh my god,” Harvey Dent whispered only to himself.

--

… Clark finally lifted his head and glanced back at the other bunk.

“What.”

--

“It’s a fairy tale in the area,” Harvey said finally, whispering loud enough for the other two in the room to know he was also a little snitch. “Tommy likes to scare new kids with it. Now shut up, we’re gonna get in trouble.”

Tommy flopped back onto his bed, huffing. “It’s fun to watch them freak out. It’s not like anything bad actually happens by just talking about it.”

“You got a quote for that?” Bruce mumbled, half audible in his pillow.

“Ugh. ‘Happiness depends on ourselves?’ Or in this case, in letting me tell a ghost story in the middle of the night, you babies.”

--

“Fairytale assassins?” Clark couldn’t help but snort and roll back over so no one could see his eyes.

“Guess you city kids gotta have some kinda boogiemen.”

--

…..

Tommy sat up in bed, eyes narrowing.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

--

“Well back home we got things like portals to hell and angry ghosts, not assassins.”

--

...somehow, that seemed to settle Tommy, a little.

“No room for that stuff here,” he said. “Just threatening nursery rhymes that date back definitely two hundred years and if you want it creepier, even longer.”

--

“... Assassins with nursery rhymes?”

Sounds pretty lame.

--

“Still spooks people enough,” Tommy said, shrugging. “Especially in this kinda place.”

“It’s nice to think some random murders might’ve had a point,” Bruce said.

Tommy did not respond to that.

--

“Dunno how anyone could get spooked in a place as loud as this.” Clark said, sighing.

No room to think enough to be scared.

--

….for a moment, the three regarded him in incomprehension.

“Oh,” Harvey said. “Oh, he’s not used to the city.”

There was a small sound of understanding from the other two.

“I was gonna say. It’s dead quiet, honestly,” said Tommy.

“Not if we get caught talking,” Bruce warned. “Shh.”

“Shhhhhh,” Tommy said.

--

Clark groaned his own ‘nnnngh’ and shoved the pillow over his head.

It didn’t help.

Somewhere out of normal hearing a car alarm went off.

“You gotta be kidding…” He whispered to himself.

--

…

At least, finally, the conversation, thin as it was, had died out.

(There wasn’t any explanation for why Tommy would think Bruce dreamed of Talons when it was just a silly boogey man.)

But the three boys settled down in their beds again.

Bruce started breathing deeper. More intentionally. Until it relaxed him enough to get back to sleep.

...his heartbeat deepened and steadied out. Much closer than the car alarm.

Tommy and Harvey’s followed.

[...]

He wrote to his parents.

Everything is going well. Making friends. They're all rich but not as full of themselves as I thought they would be. It's pretty cool. Really loud here though. Having a lot of trouble sleeping.

Love you.

Then it was just… back to normal. Like he hadn't found out the teachers beat their students.

--

(When his mother wrote back, she was so relieved he was making friends. That it wasn't as bad as she feared.

But he wouldn't get that letter for another two weeks.)

The next week rolled around, and Bruce grew a little quieter. Tommy didn't, but Harvey quietly told Clark to be extra careful this week. It was an anniversary, he said, assuming that by now Clark knew, Kansas or not. And sometimes Bruce got a little mean during the anniversary.

Not just standoffish, but.

A little aggressive? Sometimes.

...and so the 26th rolled over, and even though Tommy seemed to be pretending it was a normal day, the rest of their dorm room woke up with stale, held breath.

Bruce avoided people. Avoided radios and TVs playing the news.

But somehow, he didn't manage to avoid the newspaper, and did a double take when he saw the headlines.

Finally, something had overshadowed him a little.

On the front page was the picture of a grisly murder. Open-eyes, holes in his face--

“REAL ESTATE SUPERSTAR FOUND DEAD IN PENTHOUSE SUITE; DEATH OF A THOUSAND CUTS!”

--

Clark tried to keep it in mind. Unlike the other two he didn’t treat it like any other day because it wasn’t. They still all went through the motions of course, but he talked to Bruce a little softer. A little gentler. Not because he wanted to walk on eggshells, but because he knew for Bruce that this wasn’t just another normal day, and acting like it was felt like almost a slap in the face of what he had to go through.

Maybe it hadn’t occurred to him that Bruce would want to avoid the papers. It was hard for him to wrap around the fact one of his roommates was so rich that his parent’s death made it into the news every single year somehow, so maybe it was his fault that Bruce saw the headline. He read the paper almost every day if he could. He wanted to be a journalist, after all, and they didn’t have TV in their room. Sometimes the common room TV wasn’t even on.

But he saw the murder too and, at this point, didn’t think much of it. Read the article and moved on.

Gotham, he had learned very quickly, was just as bad as everyone said.

--

It made sense, why Gotham Academy reassured all their parents that they would keep the children safe.

And maybe that was Bruce’s fault, he thought. Because it wasn't as if he was expecting papers to talk all over again like the day it'd been, but--

He'd expected a talk piece. An opinion article.

One Year Later: Flowers Left At Wayne Memorial Event as Investigation Dies

Two Years Ago, As Martha and Thomas Wayne Laid to Rest, Crime Began to Rise

Three Years Since Gotham’s Kennedy’s Mown Down: Park Row Died with Them?

A Reflection on Gotham’s Economic Fall: Wayne Fortune Locked Up as Charities Run Dry

(Sole Survivor Wayne to Attend Gotham’s Most Prestigious Academy This Fall with Luther Heir)

Five Years Ago Today: How the Wayne Deaths Marked the End of a Safe and Glorious Gotham

…

He could imagine what the headline should've been. What it should've been.

Instead, Six Years of Sorrow: Wayne Murders Still Shadow Upper East Side and Wayne Murder Theater Announces Close on Anniversary of Deaths, citing ‘Unrecoverable Reputation’ of the Area had been pushed down the page to make room for the new murder.

...and Bruce took a look at it and snatched it up to stare at the grisly photo and start to read.

--

It was a good thing that Clark had a loose grip on it as it was yanked from his hands.

“O-kay. You coulda asked.” He said, but didn’t sound angry. Still being soft around Bruce due to the day it was.

He feared he might’ve done something wrong.

--

Bruce managed to give him a hum of some sort of acknowledgment, but didn't really give much of a response.

He went to his bag, grabbed a pen, and sat right down on the floor, tracing the bottom of the words in the paper to keep his place.

Tommy leaned out from his bunk to try and watch over Bruce's shoulder, but his eyes looked uninterested. “Saw somethin’ ya liked?”

(Bruce shot him a disgusted look, a “what?” but otherwise ignored him.)

--

Clark leaned over too in order to watch him. “Or somethin’ ya didn’t like.”

--

…

Bruce glanced up at him, too, but looked more self-conscious than anything at that.

…

“The way they're talking about the thing just reminds me of the claw marks they found at the Lansing murders…”

“Oh my god,” Tommy said in a familiar kind of disbelief for this specific topic. “It was a dog claw, Bruce.”

--

Clark, however, was interested.

“Lansing murders?”

--

Bruce shrank down under Tommy’s criticism, but… looked up again, and quietly answered Clark’s tone.

“...the Lansings were a business couple,” he said. “They were murdered in their home the summer before last by stabbing a, so not… like this.”

For a moment, he backed up again, and let Clark see the slashes of the man on the page.

“Something left a big claw mark on the door, and their dog--”

“Ran away from home and wasn't seen again,” Tommy said dully. “It obviously hit the front door. Broke the hinges. Ran off in fear. It was a hundred pound dog.”

“...” the look on Bruce’s face said he didn't believe it all the way.

But he didn't lift his head to argue this time. He just stared down at the paper.

“...Bruce, hey, I'm not trying to make fun of you, I'd never do that,” Tommy said, rolling a little closer to the edge of the bed. “But just because claw marks happened once or twice at a murder doesn't mean the Court is real. What, did your dad have a gash on his face when he died?”

…

And Bruce shook his head.

“See? It's not real.”

--

“Well that don't mean you can't look into it.” Clark offered, looking up at them. “What's the harm in connecting a few dots? And just because there ain't proof they do exist doesn't mean they don't.”

--

Tommy gave Clark the kind of flat look he never gave Bruce. Like he was saying the dumbest thing.

“You didn't even know the story when you showed up and now you're trying to do this? Really?”

...Bruce stared up at Clark, face unreadable.

And he started to pick up the newspaper and fold it again.

--

“Tryin’ to do what?” Clark frowned. “If there's a story here I'm interested! Y'know--” he gestured to himself, “journalism?”

--

“To drag him down again!” Tommy said, rolling off then bed and standing, defensive behind Bruce. Above him.

For the moment.

For the moment before Bruce stood, pencils and notebook in hand, and paper carefully folded under his arm.

He looked at Clark.

“Let's go.”

--

Clark glared at Tommy, but he said nothing.

He grabbed his own notebook and pencils to leave with Bruce.

--

“Bruce?” Tommy said, but Harvey was the only one still listening. “Bruce!”

Bruce closed the dorm door behind him.

“Library has old papers on record,” Bruce said softly. And he began to walk.

--

Whatever history was repeating here, Clark knew nothing of it.

“Okay,” he said, and started heading that way.

“... Tommy said I was ‘dragging you down again’. What’d he mean by that?”

He sounded annoyed. Offended. Like he would do that to someone intentionally.

--

Bruce pursed his lips, buying time for a response, but not sure what to say. Or, he knew what to say.

But he didn't like to say it.

“...I tried to find the man who killed my parents,” he said finally. “...I couldn't.”

--

…

“You think they’re all related to that Court?”

--

…

Bruce hung his head.

Stared at the ground.

Didn't… want to look Clark in the eye when he admitted his stupid, idiot theory.

“...they’re all building developers. Or owned lots of property. And were trying to change it…”

--

But Clark didn’t call it stupid.

“Okay, something to start with. And, hey--”

He reached out slowly to touch Bruce’s shoulder.

“Worst case scenario is we’re wrong and nothing changes.”

--

Bruce twitched a little at the contact, but…

Mostly, he just turned his head up a little, and stared at Clark’s face.

(He was sixteen and he'd stopped believing in a just world long ago.

But somehow, he was stupid, and still believed in fairy tales.)

…

“Okay,” he said, voice cracking.

And he led Clark to the library.

...the newspapers were all in the bottom floor, the basement. In the archives. The indexes were massive, but well organized and maintained.

And Bruce already knew where to start looking… to a point.

But the first place to start, was writing down a scrawled poem on a blank sheet of scrap paper. Hesitating.

“...we’re doing this backwards,” he mumbled. “Not supposed to go in with a theory…”

But he wrote it out, all the same.

Beware The Court of Owls, that watches all the time,

ruling Gotham from a shadow perch, behind granite and lime.

They watch you at your hearth, they watch you in your bed,

speak not a whispered word of them or they'll send The Talon for your head.

--

Clark followed him down.

“No?” He asked, setting his notebook on a desk close to the archives they would need to look through.

“How do you think we should go about it then?”

--

Bruce swallowed and stuffed the paper in his pocket.

“...supposed to go in and look for patterns and connections,” he said. “...if you already have a suspect, you… only look for things that point to them.”

--

“... Okay. How much can you tell me about this ‘Court of Owls’?”

He was sitting down and opening his notebook to a new page. He didn’t have the knowledge of them Bruce did. This wasn’t his home. These weren’t his urban legends.

--

Looking for them directly was exactly what Bruce said they shouldn't be doing, but…

It still thrummed inside him, on some silly, stupid level.

Maybe it hadn't just been a coincidence murder. Maybe it had a purpose. Anything other than random events. Anything.

“...” he handed Clark the paper. “...they have at least one assassin. They… Have an architecture motif. They're watching from the buildings.”

With the kind of architecture in Gotham Academy not being uncommon to the rest of Old Gotham, it maybe wasn't surprising the buildings themselves were the boogeymen’s hiding places sometimes.

But he didn't know if Clark would make that connection to a real estate building mongle--

--

“Ties in to your theory about them targeting building developers.” He said, writing something down before he got up so he could look into those Lansing murders Bruce had talked about earlier.

He needed to play catch-up. This wasn’t his turf. He didn’t know as much as Bruce did.

…

He planned to dig up the papers about the Wayne tragedy too, but… not now. Not with Bruce in the room.

Clark could do that later on his own time.

--

Tommy had seen the connection, and rolled his eyes, and Bruce half expected Clark to just-- not see it at all--

…

But he swallowed something down, and his stomach stopped roiling quite so much, and he nodded again.

“Yeah. Just. Anyone who changes the architecture.”

And he dove in behind Clark.

He looked for the more recent murders. The ones he hasn't read about or studied like this since he was twelve and finally gave up, run off from his last scraps of energy.

…

And finally, someone was beside him, willing, even for just a moment, to believe him.

--

While Bruce looked at the more recent murders, Clark went for the old. The ones Bruce already knew about. He asked him which ones he had connected before, if any, and he would take a look at those.

(“I’m a new perspective. I wanna go over things you already know about. We don’t think the same, so who knows. Maybe I’ll see something different.” Is what he would say.)

The Lansing murders. What they did before the murders. The other ones that Bruce had tied together when he was 12--

Before they knew it the library was closing. They would need to come back.

And they would.

--

(A new perspective. A new reading level, honestly-- from twelve to sixteen, the change in things he understood--)

They would come back.

Absolutely.

Bruce went to bed and slept the whole night, and woke with impatient fire in his eyes.

Tommy gave Clark a sour look as Clark headed out the door to change, and once again as Bruce flew out of his last class, tossing his bag into their dorm and making a beeline to the library.

“Bruce, but, homework--!” Tommy called.

“Don't bother,” Harvey sighed, sitting down with his own book bag to get started “It’s not like his grades will get him kicked out.”

….and on the weekend, Tommy barely had time to pull on a matching hoodie and jeans, before Bruce was out the door for early breakfast and back to work.

(“Nice to see him care about something,” Harvey said.

Tommy threw a pillow at his head.)

[wistfulcynic]

Love Blooms

Summary: Princess Emma and Lieutenant Killian Jones have been together for three years. They’re deeply in love and an engagement is imminent. There’s only one problem: His brother doesn’t know about them, and Killian isn’t sure how to tell him. So when Liam finds out by accident, all that’s left is for Emma and Killian to fill him in on the story of how they met. 

This is that story. 

(a prequel--and sequel--to Error 404: “Little” Brother Not Found)

-

HAPPY BIRTHDAY @mariakov81​​!!! My lovely, brilliantly talented Masha, you are a  pure delight. Your gif responses make me laugh and your art makes me cry. Your enthusiasm and love of fic is so inspiring and your encouragement is one of the reasons I’m still writing. I love you lots. 😘

You mentioned that you’d like to read a meet-cute, so I hope this one pleases you. Have a FANTASTIC day ❤️❤️❤️❤️

-

Rating: G  Words: 4.3k Tags: Lieutenant Duckling, Modern Lieutenant Duckling, Modern Royalty AU, Brothers Jones, College AU, Meet-Cute

On AO3

-

Love Blooms: 

It should have worked, really. As risky plans go, it was a pretty solid one. It should absolutely have worked. 

Princess Emma was easily recognisable, of course. As the only royal child and heir to the throne she’d been photographed extensively all her life, and those photos disseminated throughout the kingdom. But they were always taken in controlled situations, with her hair carefully styled and her clothing precisely engineered to invoke a very specific image. Her parents made absolutely certain of that. 

After the attempted coup by the queen’s stepmother on the day of the princess’s birth, the king and queen had taken decisive action to protect their only child and to ensure that no one but trusted personnel had access to her. On the rare occasions when she left the expansive palace grounds, no paparazzi followed her and none of Misthaven’s citizens so much as snuck a sneaky pic with a cell phone. Emma was to have protection and privacy until she came of age and officially took on her royal duties. That was the deal her parents made with the press and the people, and they enforced it rigidly. 

It should have worked. Emma’s most recognisable feature—her long, bright gold hair—was dyed a temporary dirty blonde (her mother nearly cried) and her green eyes shielded by large glasses. Most days she pulled her hair back in a ponytail and wore no makeup. She dressed in jeans and t-shirts, like any other college kid. It was a good plan. It should have worked. 

She hadn’t reckoned on Killian Jones. 

She’d known him for a few years, sort of. For several months of the summer she was sixteen while his brother served as a member of her personal guard, Killian had hovered around the edges of her world, thin and gawky and usually with his nose in a book. The one time they were introduced he’d gulped visibly and made an awkward bow, then got away as soon as he could. But not before he’d made an impression. 

She wasn’t sure what it was about him that caught her eye—possibly the way he seemed to be trying so hard not to catch it, or the size and variety of the books she saw him reading, or the way he would smirk and roll his eyes whenever he heard something he thought inane (which happened fairly frequently; polite conversation at court was not exactly scintillating). Possibly it was just those eyes, the bright, clear blue of them and the intelligence and humour she was sure she detected in their depths. Whatever it was it made butterflies dance in her belly whenever she saw him, and though they exchanged no more than a dozen words in the months he was at court she couldn’t seem to get him out of her head. 

“What does your brother do?” she’d asked Commander Jones one afternoon, as casually as she could. 

“He’s starting at the university in the autumn,” the commander replied, pride audible in his voice. “Going to study physics and engineering.” 

“Wow.” Emma wished she didn’t find that so impressive. 

“He’s a smart lad,” said Commander Jones with a grin. “He’ll change the world, mark my words.”  

Emma marked them, though she asked no further questions. It wouldn’t do to appear too interested. 

That was August. By October Killian Jones was gone from her life and so was his brother, the elder Jones off to serve on Misthaven’s flagship and the younger of course, to the university. And that really should have been the end of it. 

Her desire to go to university herself had nothing to do with Killian, it truly didn’t. She hadn’t forgotten he was there, exactly, but her determination to attend had far more to do with her status as heir to the throne and wishing to be as prepared as she possibly could be when she became queen. 

“But your tutors have given you the best education you could have,” her mother pointed out. “You’ve studied the history and political structure of Misthaven and all its allies and enemies. You’ve read all our country’s great books and know the history of our art. You speak six languages. That’s far more  knowledge than I had when I became queen. What else are you looking for?” 

“I want a chance to get to know the people I’m going to be ruling,” said Emma. “That’s one thing you had that I don’t. I’ve spent my whole life in the palace, and I know you kept me here for my own safety but I’m nineteen now and I want to meet people. Real ones. Ones who don’t know I’m the princess.” 

“Emma—” 

“Just give me a year,” she pleaded. “Just a year to go to college and live like a normal student. I’ll wear a disguise and go by a different name, you can even plant guards around me if you must but please, please just let me do this.” 

In the end her parents relented. Her mother, despite her tears at the new hair colour, had been unconvinced that the small changes Emma made to her appearance would be enough of a disguise, but Emma insisted they were plenty and her father backed her up. 

“Do you know why no one figured out Clark Kent was Superman?” Emma asked, as King David nodded approvingly behind her. “It wasn’t because putting on glasses was such an intricate disguise. It’s because the idea of Superman working at a newspaper was so completely absurd. No one saw a superhero in an ordinary reporter and no one’s going to see the princess of the realm in an ordinary literature major. People see what they expect to see.” 

And they had. All of them. All except Killian Jones. 

She really hadn’t reckoned on him. 

She settled in well to college life, though it was not the easiest transition going from her own suite of rooms in the palace to a tiny dorm shared with another student, a bright, chatty girl called Ruby. Ruby was easygoing and outgoing and always going. She loved to party and whenever she went out tried to coax Emma along as well, and though Emma really had gone to college with the intent to study, she reasoned that her main aim in being there was to get to know her people, and what better way to do that than at a party? 

Which is how she found herself two weeks into her first semester standing in the living room of a run-down student house, sipping valiantly at some locally-brewed ale and trying to remember the names of all the people Ruby introduced her to, and trying to remember that when they said ‘Anna,’ they were talking to her. 

She was chatting with a boy called Walsh who had a supercilious smile and, she soon realised, a very high opinion of himself, when her flagging attention was caught by shrieks of laughter coming from the other side of the room. She glanced over in search of their source then immediately looked again, blinking rapidly to keep her eyes from bugging out of her head. 

There across the room, surrounded by a largish group of people—one of whom, Emma noted, was Ruby—stood Killian Jones. It was him, she was sure of it, sure that she would recognise him anywhere, but oh, the changes time had wrought on the boy she’d known. She wasn’t sure if he really was any taller but he looked it, standing straight with his shoulders squared. There was stubble on his jaw and hair on his chest, clearly displayed by the undone buttons of his henley, and his eyes—so much brighter when not hidden behind thick glasses—twinkled as he delivered a quip that had everyone around him exploding in fresh peals of mirth. 

She couldn’t tear her eyes away from him, staring so hard she could see the exact moment he sensed her gaze and turned, his own eyes widening immediately in recognition. Of course he recognised her, Emma thought, he would; however older and cooler and hotter he might be now he was still the smartest boy she’d ever met and Superman’s disguise could not fool him. 

He stared at her for the longest moment of her life and then he winked—the worst excuse for a wink she’d ever seen—and turned his attention back to his crowd. Emma breathed a sigh of relief. He wasn’t going to blow her cover. 

She realised with a start that Walsh had kept on talking this whole time and she hadn’t heard a word he said. He seemed to realise that too, finally, and scowled at her. 

“Hey,” he said. “Earth to Anna.” 

“Sorry.” She offered a polite smile. “My mind wandered.” 

“Well, wander it back over here,” he said. “I was telling you all about my Reddit subgroup I started, and you weren’t even listening.” 

“Sorry,” she repeated. “Though actually, would you excuse me, I—” 

“Are you kidding me?” he snapped, his scowl darkening. “I bring you a drink, come all the way over here to talk to you. All I ask in return is a little bit of attention and you can’t even give me that.”

“I—”

“I’m a nice guy, you know,” he continued, moving closer. “I’d treat you right. Don’t think I didn’t see who you were looking at just now. If you think those guys would treat you better than I—” 

“Look, Welsh—” Emma interrupted, bristling at his presumption and his tone. 

“It’s Walsh.” 

“Yes, sorry, Walsh. Um, I don’t know what you think this is, but we only just met. We’ve been talking for ten minutes and it’s basically been you monologuing about Reddit the whole time. If you’re really looking to connect with people it might be better to ask them something about themselves instead of dominating the conversation.” 

“Oh, right, because it’s all about you, isn’t it?” 

“That’s not what I—” 

“You’re not even that pretty, you know,” he sneered. “Glasses are really unattractive on a woman.” 

Emma began to sputter with indignation. No one had ever spoken to her in such a way before and she was outraged to learn that there were men in her realm who felt that it was acceptable to insult women as long as they weren’t royalty, apparently. Walsh smirked as she struggled to find words vile enough to express her opinion of him, and then a deep voice spoke from just over her shoulder. 

“Perhaps you’re the one who needs glasses, mate, if that’s what you really think.” 

Emma didn’t even need the butterflies leaping up in her belly to know that the voice was Killian’s. Her heart began to pound in time to the butterflies’ dance as she turned to find him standing just behind her, glowering darkly at Walsh. “I’m certain the lady told you she’s not interested, so why don’t you bugger off back to whatever rock you crawled out from under?” he snarled. 

“You can’t tell me what to do,” blustered Walsh.

“And yet I just did.” 

“Who the hell do you think you are—” 

“He’s my boyfriend.” Emma jumped in before the scene could escalate, blurting the first thing that popped into her head. Walsh gaped at her, so astounded that he failed to notice Killian’s own slack jaw and bugging eyes. Killian recovered quickly, however, and casually looped an arm around Emma’s shoulders. 

“Aye,” he said. “I am.” 

Emma slipped her own arm around his waist, leaning her head against his shoulder and doing her best not to faint. He was surprisingly sturdy and he smelled so good. She wanted to bury her nose in his neck and just breathe. 

“So stop trying it on with my girlfriend and piss off,” he said, tightening his arm to tuck her more securely against his side while also managing to loom over Walsh through the sheer force of his personality, despite them being more or less of a height.  

Walsh glared at Killian and then at Emma and then back to Killian again, and when neither of them budged he reached out and snatched the cup of ale from Emma’s hand. 

“I’ll be taking that back, then,” he huffed, and marched away. 

“Thank goodness,” said Emma. “It was not pleasant.” 

“Dwarf ale,” remarked Killian. “Not for the faint of stomach.” 

Emma chuckled and looked up at him, into those bright blue eyes that had never faded from her memory. He grinned back at her, a grin with an edge it hadn’t had three years ago, and she caught her breath. 

“Killian—” she began, then his eyes went wide with horror and his ears flushed bright pink. He pulled his arm away so quickly she stumbled and stepped back, rubbing the back of his neck. “Bloody hell,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry, Em—er, Your High—” 

“Shhhh,” hissed Emma, grabbing his arm and pulling him into a quiet corner. “Careful or you’ll blow my cover. My name’s Anna now. Anna Swan.” 

His tense expression relaxed and he raised an eyebrow. “Swan, hmm? Interesting choice.” 

“Yeah, it’s a—well, it’s a story. Kind of a long one.” 

He smiled, the eager, interested smile she remembered so well. “I have time. If you’d care to tell it?” 

He got her a drink, a sweet, fizzy one this time laced with just a few drops from his cup of Glowerhaven rum. They stood close together in the darkened corner and he listened intently as she told him about her childhood fondness for the palace swans, their elegant beauty and terrible manners, and how she’d loved reading the tales of the Swan Princess and the fable of the Ugly Duckling, and how her father had taken to calling her his little duckling after she’d demanded he read her that story at bedtime for three months straight. 

“So it just seemed appropriate,” she said with a shrug. “Meaningful, but also it doesn’t give anyone a clue as to who I am.” 

“And it suits you,” said Killian. “Swan. Beautiful and fearsome, just like you.” 

“I’m not fearsome!” she protested, scowling to cover the blush that heated her cheeks when he called her beautiful. 

“Aren’t you?” he asked earnestly. “You terrify me.” 

“I do? I don’t wish to.” 

“I’m sure it’s unintentional,” he said softly. “And more to do with me being timid.” 

“You’re not timid,” she scoffed. 

“Much less so than I used to be. And yet—” he took her hand and held it to his chest, just above his pounding heart. “You see?”

Emma gulped and her mouth went dry. His chest was firm and the hair on it rough beneath the fabric of his shirt, his hand covering hers so warm. 

“Mine’s the same, though,” she whispered, taking his other hand. With hers still on his chest she could feel his sharp inhale and his heart racing even faster when she laid his palm flat over her own frantic heartbeat. 

His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. Their eyes locked, his looking dazed and very dark, the colour high on his cheeks and his breaths audibly harsh. 

She licked her lips and his eyes followed the movement, his fingers tightening around hers, his hand on her chest sliding up to curl around her neck. He leaned his head down and she tipped her chin up and their lips were barely a breath apart when a crash and a shriek sounded from the kitchen and they both jumped. Killian squeezed his eyes shut, swearing viciously under his breath as he released her hand and neck and stepped away. 

“It sounds like things are winding down here,” he said gruffly. “When glassware starts to shatter, that’s your cue to leave. Bit of advice.” 

Disappointment tasted bitter, Emma realised. Bitter and crushing and achy and she hated it. She never wished to feel it again. She nodded in response, unable to speak.  

They stood silently for a minute, then Killian sighed. “So, um, may I see you home?” he asked, rubbing at his neck again. 

She smiled despite herself. “We’re not at court, Killian.” 

“Perhaps not, but I’d still like to walk you back.” 

“Yeah.” Her smile came more easily with the next attempt. “I’d like that too.” 

He kept his hands in his pockets as they walked the short distance to her dorm, but she was acutely aware of him and how near he was and the faint heat she could still feel from his body. When they reached her building he turned to her and smiled. 

“Well, Swan, I hope it won’t be another three years until I see you again,” he said.  

“It’s a small campus and I’m here until next summer, so I’d guess probably not.” Not if she had anything to say about it, she thought. 

“You’re only staying for a year?” he asked. 

“It’s all my parents would permit.” 

“Ah. I’ve only this year remaining as well, actually, until I graduate.” 

“Graduate? But—in three years?” 

He shrugged. “I’ve worked hard.” 

It was more than that, Emma knew. He was clever and ambitious and determined to make something of himself. To change the world, just as his brother had predicted. She didn’t know the precise circumstances of the Joneses’ life before they found refuge in Misthaven, but from the few hints Commander—now Captain—Jones had dropped they hadn’t had the easiest of beginnings. That they had already made such a success of themselves was deeply impressive, and Emma suspected they were only just getting started. 

“Do you—have far to walk to get home?” she asked, a bit wistfully. It was late and she was tired but she didn’t want Killian to go. She wasn’t ready for their time together to end. 

“Just to the other side of campus,” he replied. “I’m here on a military training scholarship so I live with the other cadets. When I graduate I’ll join the navy as a lieutenant.” 

“Like your brother.” 

“Aye,” he agreed. “Possibly even on his ship.” 

“That would be amazing.” 

“We think so.” 

They were standing close again, in a shadowy recess just to the side of the door, and Emma’s heart was pounding, not again but more like still; it had barely rested since she’d laid eyes on Killian. He was looking at her with a gaze so intense she could swear she felt it caress her lips and gods she wanted him to kiss her. If only she had paid more attention to the gossip among the ladies at court, or even to Ruby’s chatter the past two weeks, then she might have at least some idea of how to make that happen. How exactly did one go about letting a man know one wished to be kissed without actually saying ‘please kiss me’? Maybe she should just say it? Or, as the princess, did she need to kiss him first? What was the protocol here? She was royalty damn it, she couldn’t do anything until she knew the protocol. 

Instead she just stared at him, feeling hot and itchy and increasingly desperate until he swallowed hard and drew a deep breath, then stepped back. Again. 

“Well. I imagine I’ll see you around, then, Swan.” 

Don’t go, Emma’s body screamed, even as her mouth said “I hope so.” 

He smiled and gave her a small nod, then headed off down the path away from her building, and from her. She watched him go, simmering with frustration. She should have just grabbed him, she thought, and protocol be damned. Grabbed him and kissed him, because damn it she was not going to be able to sleep tonight for wondering what that would feel like, and wishing she didn’t need to wonder. 

With an irritated huff she went to the door, taking her keys from her pocket and sorting through them in search of the correct one. She’d just managed to locate it when a warm hand took her by the elbow and tugged her back into the privacy of the shadows. 

“What the—” she exclaimed, and then Killian’s lips were on hers. The keys slipped from her fingers and fell unheeded to the ground as her knees went weak and she grasped at his shoulders for support. He walked her back until she was pressed against the wall, his arm firm around her waist and his fingers tangling in her hair as he kissed her, soft and slow and deep and gods.  

Emma whimpered, clinging to him, yearning for things she couldn’t articulate. His hand flexed against her jaw at the sound and just for a moment he pulled her flush against him, insistent yet so gentle, like he wanted to consume her and also never let her go. Then, ever so softly, he broke the kiss. 

“Go out with me,” he murmured, leaning his forehead against hers and stroking his thumb across her chin. 

“Hmmmm?” Emma struggled to think through the spinning in her head and the frantic thrum of her blood. “Go where?”

He chuckled. “Let me take you out to dinner. Tomorrow.” 

“Like—a date?” 

“Aye, Swan, very much like a date. An actual date, in fact.” 

She blushed at the gentle teasing but the butterflies in her belly were performing an elaborate pas-de-deux and she felt like she could fly along with them. “I’d like that,” she said. 

“Really?” 

“Yeah.” 

“All right. Um.” He cleared his throat and stood straight, though his hand remained on her cheek. “I’ll come by here to pick you up. About seven?” 

She nodded. “I’m in room 3017. You can call me on the intercom from down here.” 

“3017,” he repeated. He stepped back with a swagger in his hips this time, and bit his bottom lip in a way that made her want to drag him up to her room now, no date required. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow, love,” he said, his voice dripping with promise, and she smiled. 

“Tomorrow.” 

~

“And that’s how it happened.” Emma concludes. “More wine, Captain Jones?” She smiles at Liam who’s gaping at her, slack-jawed. Slowly he inclines his head and pushes his wine glass slightly forward on the table. The three of them are sitting in the small dining area of Emma and Killian’s apartments at the palace, sharing dinner as they fill Liam in on the story of their relationship. As Emma refills his wine glass, Liam turns to Killian and punches him squarely in the shoulder. 

“Oi!” Killian cries. “What was that for?” 

“I can’t believe you just kissed her like that!” Liam exclaims. “What were you thinking?” 

Killian shrugs. “I was thinking I wanted to kiss her.” 

“You can’t just up and kiss the princess!” Liam sputters. 

“That’s what I was trying to tell myself,” says Killian. “I walked away cursing who she was and reminding myself I had to treat her appropriately, and then I thought but why? If she’d been the normal girl she was pretending to be, I’d have kissed her at the party. So I turned back and, well, you heard the rest.”

“I’m glad he did, too,” says Emma. “It saved me the trouble of hunting him down and kissing him myself. Didn’t help me sleep that night though.” She shoots Killian a saucy look which he returns in kind. 

“All right all right, bloody hell,” Liam grumbles. “Could you stop doing that, please?” 

“Doing what?” asks Emma innocently. 

“I’ve no idea what you mean, brother,” says Killian. 

Liam groans and lets his head fall into his hands. “Where’s that wine?” he says. 

~

When dinner is over Liam takes his leave, and Emma offers to walk with him as far as the door to the inner courtyard. They stroll slowly through the wide corridors and Liam waits, knowing she must have something she wishes to say. 

“I’m glad you finally know about us.” Emma glances up at him with a rather apologetic smile. “Killian’s been wanting to tell you for ages. He couldn’t say anything at first of course, because no one outside my family and our closest advisers knew I was at the university, but since we began living together he’s felt awful keeping it from you.” 

“I understand why he did, though,” Liam replies. “And I’m truly sorry he ever felt that he couldn’t confide in me.” They walk in silence for a few minutes. “Do, er—” he clears his throat. “Do your parents know?” 

“They do.” 

“And… how do they feel about it?” 

“They’re delighted,” says Emma gently, and Liam feels the tension in his shoulders recede. 

“Truly?” 

“Truly. It was a bit tricky at first, but they adore Killian and they’re happy I’ve chosen someone who will be a true partner to me when I take the throne. They know how essential that is.” 

They are approaching the doors to the courtyard, but Emma stops just inside them and turns to face him. “Liam,” she says. “May I call you that?” 

“Of course.” 

“Liam, I just want you to know that Killian—” Her voice breaks and she blinks rapidly, looking faintly embarrassed. “I—I just—I love him so much,” she chokes out as tears begin to trickle down her cheeks. “Oh, gods I’m so sorry.” 

“Don’t apologise, lass.” Liam withdraws a crisp handkerchief from his uniform pocket and offers it to her. 

“Thank you.” She takes the handkerchief and dabs at her eyes. “I’ve never found it easy to talk about my feelings,” she says once she’s calmer, “and the stronger they are the harder it is. But I need you to know that Killian’s heart is safe with me. As I know mine is with him.” 

Liam nods, his chest too tight for the words he wishes he could say. He contents himself with a simple “Thank you.” 

Emma smiles and gives him his handkerchief back, squeezing his hand as he takes it. “You’re welcome,” she says. “Brother.” 

—

@ohmightydevviepuu​ @thisonesatellite​ @kmomof4​ @stahlop​ @darkcolinodonorgasm​ @katie-dub​ @teamhook​ @donteattheappleshook​ @xhookswenchx​ @snidgetsafan​

[aphrodites-law]

The Clarke Show

(A take on The Truman Show)

Nia Reign is as imposing as Lexa imagined. Her suit is a dark green with silver cuffs, nothing that Lexa could ever hope to afford. 

"Why Clarke?"

She isn’t the only live show, but she's certainly the most popular in the nation. Arkadia's darling. Arkadia's golden child. Lexa has never had the time or luxury for escapism, but everyone knows that even the nation's prince, Lincoln, trails Clarke in views by millions.

"Because Clarke is getting restless. It's a phase I'm sure you're familiar with––the yearning for the world you've never been a part of. She wants spontaneity. Adventure. We've scripted something that’ll show her the grass isn’t always greener. It'll make for a thrilling story arc."

Lexa looks at the hundreds of screens, each one a frame of the town built for Clarke and the twelve other Selected. The grocery store she shops at; the movie theater she goes to; the streets she walks on; the beach; the offices; the coffee shops; the parks; the neighborhood––every single place ready to spring to life should the Selected decide to take the trams there. It's an exceptionally well-oiled machine.

"What role would I play?"

"You'll be the dark horse. The wild card Clarke never thought she'd hold. You'll take her places she's never been­––new sets we've built. You'll win over her heart and then you'll break it, right in time for us to introduce Finn."

"Finn?" Lexa asks, still gazing at a screen where a bird briefly flits in front of the camera. She wonders if its species is native to the area or if it's even real at all.

"Clarke's future husband if all goes according to plan. Finn is a perfect match for her in every way. Your opposite."

Lexa turns to the control room below the glass panels. There are hundreds of employees in headsets pressing hundreds of buttons, rushing from right to left, biting into sandwiches and yawning while they craft the details of Arkapolis. There are workers in shirts designing objects on large screens; workers in lab coats testing liquids in vials; workers with grease smears tweaking the settings of androids. There is so much energy and talent being poured into a fake world. Lexa wonders why these people couldn't better their real world instead. Lexa’s neighborhood in Arkadia is crumbling apart, the infrastructure rusting and rotting, and yet here she is watching engineers design sets with swimming pools and amusement parks.

"No offense meant," Nia says behind her.

Lexa shakes her head. "I'm no princess."

"But you can be charming.”

Lexa turns to her. "I'm not a good actress."

Nia sits in her leather chair, utterly in control of the room and the conversation.  "I've seen the women you seduce. They don't hold a candle to our Clarke. Surely it won’t be difficult for you to muster some passion."

What Nia means is that prostituting herself for entertainment should come easily. Lexa knows that's exactly why she was picked for the role.

"Clarke made a whole nation fall in love with her the moment she opened those blue eyes onscreen for the first time," Nia reminds her. "Right now there are millions of souls watching her and yearning to spend time with her. Time you'll be afforded. You don't need to be a good actress, Ms. Woods, you need to be exactly who you are: a lowlife drifter who seduces lonely women to get something out of them. In this instance, more money than you've seen in your entire life."

Anger boils inside Lexa, but the words aren't all lies. "You think you know everything about me based on police records?"

Nia chuckles at Lexa's naïveté. "I don't care to know everything about you. I know what's necessary. You need the money and you’ll do anything for it. Am I wrong?”

Lexa thinks of her sister Anya and the medical bills sticking out of drawers; the leaks in her apartment; the skittering of roaches on their floor. She thinks of her nephew and niece––Aden's gaunt face and Marla playing with dolls made out of cans and wires. She thinks of the floor she sleeps on in the corner of Anya’s room, cold and damp.

"When do I start?"

Nia smiles victoriously. "You’ll go through scrubbing and fitting first. An implant will be placed in your ear canal; it’ll be used sparsely but I will be communicating with you when needed. It’ll also track your location. Training will take three weeks––you’ll need to know Arkapolis like the back of your hand, not to mention your new profession. You’ll spend time with your new best friends, Raven and Costia, for familiarity purposes. We’ll have Clarke meet Lexa in a month’s time.”

Lexa’s eyes flash at her own name being used so strangely, as if she isn’t the one being referred to. As if she will exist separately from the character they have made up for Clarke, the Lexa who’ll take pleasure in seducing and using and discarding the nation’s sweetheart. She wonders how hated she will be coming out of it. 

"I want the money, a weekly stipend, sent to my sister," Lexa tells Nia, looking at her with a set jaw. "You control so much of the media––I want a guarantee my family will be kept out of it. No one bothers them. No one even mentions them.”

"We can do that." Nia looks up and smiles, the once cruel curve of her lips turning tender. "Look."

Lexa glances back at the screens, watching as Clarke walks out of her small house with her dog. She waves at her neighbor and grins. Her life is so simple that Lexa feels some anger toward her. Why couldn't Anya have been one of the Selected? Why did Aden and Marla know more about suffering than Clarke did? All she will know of pain is an orchestrated heartbreak before true love swoops in.

Lexa doesn't pity her. If it keeps her family safe and fed, she'll lift Clarke Griffin to unimaginable heights before dropping her. She'll be the villain her story needs; take her heart and crush it with a smile.

"Do you stream everything live?" She asks Nia.

Nia seems bored now, the formality of convincing Lexa over and done with. "Clarke's channel is family friendly, with a slight delay in the feed. We expect you to alert us at the beginning and the end of explicit footage. The public knows Clarke is only broadcast live for eighteen hours a day. It'll make our lives easier if you'd ensure physical intimacy happened within the closed window, but if not the delay gives us time to cut to our planned programming. Obviously you won’t start conversations that further the storyline within those six hours either. There is nothing more frustrating to the public than missing out on milestones.”

Lexa rolls her eyes as she watches the ants hard at work in the control room. "How romantic," she drawls. "Bet those guys enjoy the show when it goes offline."

Nia hardly contains her disdain at Lexa's crassness. "We have a number of protocols in place for private scenes."

Lexa vaguely recalls that bathrooms have no cameras, but ‘private’ has an entirely different meaning for the Selected. Surely it was private when Clarke’s father passed away onscreen, followed by a close up of Clarke’s sobs. Surely it was private when she kissed a girl for the first time and embarrassed herself with a sneeze, not knowing the entire nation was laughing at her clumsiness. 

But if it bothers Lexa that Nia talks about someone's reality as footage and scenes, she reasons she should get used to it fast. Soon she'll be a part of the show too, and her life will be nothing more than snapshots stitched together for the purpose of entertainment. Nia suddenly stands by her, surveying the control room like a Queen would survey her land from her castle's highest tower.  

"Believe me, the novelty of working behind-the-scenes wears off quickly. These people aren’t different from you. All they want is to get the job done so that they may go home to their families. Surely you understand that."

Lexa looks at Clarke again, her body in a medium shot as she walks her pet with no worry in the world. In a month things will change for her. For both of them. Lexa takes a deep breath and nods, knowing exactly what she would sacrifice for her family’s sake.

[overlordofawesomeness]

A Man for Himself (Norton xEli)

Genre: Romance, Thriller, Horror, Fantasy

Rating: R-18

Pairing: Norton x Eli | Prospector X Seer

Chapter Trigger Warning/s: N/A

Chapter 3

Darkness. Norton opened his eyes only to witness himself surrounded by darkness. The candle on his helmet barely provided light. It didn't do much of a help. However, upon examining his surroundings, he's able to identify his current location. He's inside a tunnel. And it wasn't an ordinary tunnel. This was the site where the tragedy had taken place.

His chest tightened. Suddenly, Norton felt claustrophobic. He's aware that this was merely a dream, but everything seemed real to him. He could feel the rough floor underneath his boots, the way it ground against his sole as he walked. The air felt damp and smelled like mud, like he was inside an unstable man-made cave that could collapse any second due to heavy rain. They were all too familiar sensations to him.

The tunnel seemed to go on endlessly whichever way he went. He tried to keep himself calm despite having a hard time breathing. Panicking would only burn whatever remaining oxygen he had around him. But then again, this was supposedly a dream. Dreams couldn't hurt him.

After a while of walking, the miner began to pick up his pace until he found himself running at full speed as if something sinister was after him. He dared not look back, afraid to confirm his imagination and be devoured by his fear. Running felt like an eternity to him until he tripped over a rock and fell. Or at least that's what he thought it was. He was out of breath, so he could only manage a soundless gasp when he realized that he'd fallen on a pile of decomposing bodies, their foul smell making it harder for him to breathe. Those were the corpses of the miners.

Norton picked himself up, but he slipped and fell as soon as he got up. He staggered back in panic, a scream he never imagined he'd ever make escaping his throat and echoing throughout the lonely tunnel. As he was trying to process everything, the burn scars on his face and body began to hurt as though they were fresh.

"You belong with us, Norton," said a voice in his head, sounding like it came from the abyss. "You should've died with us."

The miner began shaking, his hands gripping his head as if the action would get rid of the voice all the while kicking at the undead corpses that were starting to crawl towards him.

"No! Leave me alone!" he yelled at the top of his lungs, trying to push the bodies off of him. "It was an accident!"

Yes, it's all an accident.

A corpse that had gaping sockets for its eyes managed to get on top of him and sit on his chest, squeezing the remaining air out of his lungs. In its bony hands was a large chunk of stone. It raised the stone in the air and was about to smash it onto his head when he managed to pull himself back to reality and wake up with a strangled scream.

Norton was drenched in sweat, his hair disheveled and his eyes wide in shock. The dream was over, yet his heart still beat so fast that it almost wanted to escape his ribs. Taking a few deep breaths, he ran his hands over his face and looked to the window. The light shone through its heavy white curtains, illuminating the entirety of the room. Somehow it gave him a sense of safety and security. It's good even though it's false.

"Had an eventful night, eh?"

Norton searched for the source of the voice and spotted the same gray-haired male from last night sitting in his bed across from his. He wouldn't have noticed his roommate's presence if he hadn't said anything.

"Who are you again?" the prospector inquired, blinking away his sleepiness.

"Your resident embalmer," the other responded as he secured his gloves. He seemed to be getting ready to leave. "Your teammates for today came over. They said they wanted to eat breakfast with you before the match," he continued. "I'm Aesop, by the way. I prefer working in peace, so I hope you won't be making noises in your sleep again." He stood up and picked up a case from his bedside table. "Norton, right? Stop living in the past. You're attracting Death. Don't make the same mistakes again."

He never left any room for Norton to respond. He walked out as soon as he finished his quick introduction. Norton figured his roommate wasn't a fan of social interaction. Not like it mattered.

Still groggy from his nightmare, the miner didn't want to waste time overanalyzing Aesop's ominous words. He stood up and took a towel from his drawer. A shower would help on clearing his head.

* * *

"Good morning, Mr. Campbell!"

Norton wasn't expecting himself to be invited to a morning tea party when he was told to meet his teammates. There was a stone pavement outside the manor house that led to a large pavilion. A few tables were set up and one of them was occupied by three women wearing fancy clothing. He felt a little underdressed with his dark green button-down and trousers.

The one who greeted him was a brunette wearing a blue hat, a frilly white blouse and a billowy skirt that was just as frilly. Her green eyes shone bright with her cheery smile. Her spirit seemed too high for someone who would be participating in a deadly game.

"Take a seat, please," she invited, standing up from her seat and pulling an empty chair for him, which he found surprising.

So polite. He gladly took the seat and smiled at the expecting faces.

"I'm Emma." She offered her hand and sat down. "And these are Helena and Martha. We'll be your teammates for today."

Norton shook the brunette's hand and scanned the faces of the two other women. One of them was a redhead, wearing a pink hat that resembled a cake with wafer sticks on top of it. Her dress was of the same shade with a mix of pastel green and had frills and ribbons. Overall, Norton had to admit that she's adorable and eye-catching especially when she tried pouring tea into empty air next to a cup in front of her. Hot water was about to spill from the pot when the woman next to her guided her hand in the right direction.

Helena giggled softly. "Oops. Sorry."

Norton didn't notice it earlier; but upon closer look, the girl appeared to have glassy eyes behind her round glasses. She's blind, and the stick that resembled a long lollipop resting against her chair was her cane.

How could a blind person join this game? How could she even decode those machines?

As if sensing his doubt, Emma scooted over and whispered, "Don't worry. Her blindness does not stop her from being an outstanding decoder. She's fast. But, of course, we need to protect her. And that's why we have Martha."

The miner turned his attention to Martha, a well-built woman with a curly side ponytail. Her hair seemed to have been dyed blue to match her clothes. She's wearing a white blouse with frills and a long white pencil skirt with blue stripes. Unlike the two girls, Martha had an air to her that made her different. Perhaps it's the pistol that sat next to her teacup. She seemed to radiate an aura of power and authority. A leader.

Still, Norton wondered why they were all dressed up for a party and why he wasn't given any notice.

"I'll do my best to keep everyone alive." Martha smiled in Helena's way, but the ginger wasn't aware of it. "Especially Helena. We can't lose her, so I'm counting on you to protect her." She faced Norton. "And you. I've heard that you've done a great job on your first match. Don't let us down."

Norton nodded and took a bagel from a woven basket at the center of the table. "I'm not promising anything, but I'll do my best."

He would never promise anything.

Eventually, he started to relax in his seat, enjoying the taste of pastry and sweetened tea. He might as well take his sweet time since he might not be able to get the chance to do it anymore after this.

"Good morning, Mr. Clark! Good morning, Mr. Subedar!" Emma stood up from her seat and waved her hands wildly in the air.

Norton's eyes followed the direction where the cheery girl was looking and found Eli and his grumpy buddy walking their way to the pavilion. Like the girls, they seemed to have received the notice to dress in eye-catching clothing.

Eli was wearing a gold-trimmed robe in a lighter shade of blue. It had patterns that resembled constellations. As if to complement him, Subedar was wearing formal clothes of the same shade. A suit with a hood and ruffles. On top of that, his hair seemed to have been dyed blue as well to match them.

"Aren't they just perfect?" Emma sighed dreamily, her eyes glued to the two men. "I had a chance to be on the same team with them before. They're amazing."

Eli waved back and smiled in their direction momentarily before turning his attention back to Naib. They were headed to a vacant table. Naib didn't seem to like when Norton looked at them as he shot daggers his way and moved to block the view of his partner.

"Hey, Emma." Norton took a sip from his cup. "Who's that guy with Eli?"

He'd already heard about Naib from Eli, but he didn't really know much about him except for the fact that he obviously didn't like Norton.

"That's Mr. Subedar," Emma answered. "He used to be a mercenary from what I've heard. He doesn't really interact with anyone that much except with Mr. Clark. They're always together; so if you want to know more about Mr. Subedar, you may need to ask Mr. Clark himself."

"I see." Norton nodded slowly.

Is he seeing me as a threat to their bond? Now that makes things more interesting.

Two more people joined the two men: William and a woman sitting on his shoulders. She was wearing a headdress that resembled the horns of a goat.

"Is that Fiona?" Norton asked, remembering the name from a conversation he'd heard from the previous night.

Emma nodded. "Ah, yes. Ms. Fiona Gilman."

"She's pretty," the miner commented, studying the woman's features.

Fiona had her red hair tied in a single side braid. She's wearing a purple hood over a black dress that had slits on either side that were too high Norton wondered if she was wearing any underwear. William had to be a saint to be able to endure that.

"Yes, she is," Emma agreed. "Makes us wonder why Mr. Clark still hasn't asked her out yet. We've been rooting for them since both of them get along really well when it comes to mysticism. You should see them when they talk about their gods. It's like we don't exist to them. But it seems like they're not interested in each other. After all, Mr. Subedar is always keeping Mr. Clark to himself."

"I think I understand why," Norton muttered under his breath. "It's not easy to find someone like Eli."

Eli was a gem. And Norton hated that fact.

* * *

Two cipher machines left. The last time Norton encountered someone from his team was when he saw Emma dismantling a rocket chair near a carousel. After that, he never saw any one of them again.

They were at an abandoned theme park. It's a large walled area that was divided in half by a river. Communication was impossible. He only knew that there were only two machines left since he heard multiple popping sounds. As to who the hunter was or where it was, he had no idea.

Inside a large tent, which he assumed to be previously called Circus Hullabaloo because of the sign outside, he was halfway on finishing a machine when tapping sounds caught his attention. He looked up to see that it was Helena limping towards him. Her pastel pink stockings were soaked with blood. There was a clean cut on one of her legs that seemed to have been made by a sharp blade.

"Help," she gasped, catching her breath.

Behind her was a large creature that resembled a large mechanical spider. Its large body was covered with a filthy rag. There were movements from underneath the cloth which made Norton's hair stand on end. Its legs were a combination of ball-jointed doll hands and large metal blades. What made it more hideous was the head that had a face of a marionette doll. It was terrifying.

Norton stepped out of the way when Helena reached her arms out to him. For a moment, he didn't say anything as if he's trying to conceal his presence from the blind girl. He was determined to abandon her; but in the end, he decided to grab her and lift her in his arms. He could've easily left her there, but it would be too cruel to leave a helpless blind girl in danger. He wasn't that remorseless.

One cipher machine popped. One more left. He had a bleeding girl in his arms, and they were both running for their lives.

>

[ofendlesswonder]

Cat’s glued to her phone as she makes her regular morning stop off at the coffee shop that sits one block from the Daily Planet, frantically jotting down some thoughts about her latest article before they flee her mind.

It’s early, so there’s no queue, and she doesn’t look up as she stands behind the counter, the correct change already in hand.

“Latte, please,” she says, before the barista has the chance to ask for her order, and maybe it’s impolite but Cat, as always, is in a hurry, “make it hot.”

“Yes, ma’am.” The term makes Cat narrow her eyes, but she’s in the middle of an important sentence so she doesn’t berate them, just hands over her money and moves down to the other end of the counter to wait for her drink to be handed over.

“I’ve got a piping hot latte for the woman who never looks up from her phone?”

That makes Cat glance up, ready to snap something uncomplimentary, but the words die in her throat when she locks eyes with the grinning blonde behind the counter. She’s gorgeous, her blue eyes sparkling with mirth, and it isn’t often that Cat is rendered speechless but pretty women have always been her weakness.

“Ah, so you can separate yourself from your screen.” She hands over Cat’s drink, and Cat would swear that she felt sparks when their fingers brushed if the idea wasn’t ridiculous.

“I have important work to do.”

“Every single morning?” The woman asks, raising a disbelieving eyebrow. “I find that hard to believe.” She’s relaxed, her hands resting on the counter, and it’s really not fair, how cute she looks in that hideous uniform.

“You don’t know what I do,” Cat replies, her voice haughty, but it’s hard to inflect her usual iciness when she’s faced with such a disarming smile. “And do you know I’m like this every morning?”

“Because I’ve worked this shift for the past five weeks,” comes the reply, the woman smirking now, “and I’ve served you that latte every single day.”

“That’s not true,” Cat blinks, because there’s no way she’s been in the vicinity of this goddess and not noticed her.

“Uh-huh. You come in, I take your order, I hand you your drink, you leave without looking at me. It’s very bad for my self-esteem.” She’s pouting, just a little, and god damn it, that shouldn’t be so adorable.

“I wish I had noticed you sooner,” Cat murmurs, letting her eyes run down the slope of the baristas neck and over defined collarbones – it’s not subtle, but Cat has never been. “Believe me.”

“Oh yeah?” She’s smirking, now, and Cat wants to wipe it off her face, to gain the upper hand.

“Do you flirt with all of your customers?”

“Just the cute blonde ones.”

Cat opens her mouth, ready with a retort, but the bell above the door dings as another customer walks in. The pout returns to the baristas face, and Cat knows that their conversation is going to be cut short – and besides, she should really be sat at her desk already if she wants to continue to one-up Lois Lane.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, lady who never looks up from her phone,” the barista says, smiling as she starts to turn away.

“You can call me Cat – it’s much easier to say.”

“Alright, Cat.” Cat likes the way she says her name, like it’s a precious gift that’s been bestowed. “See you around.”

Cat is halfway to the door before she realises that she never found out the baristas name.

She half-turns, smirks when she sees the barista watching her leave, and just about manages to read the name on the tag on her apron.

Kara.

It suits her.

//

There’s a spring in Kara’s step when she opens up the coffee shop the next morning.

She’d been admiring Cat from afar since the first day she’d walked in (how could she not? The woman was beautiful, walked with a confidence that Kara would never possess, and the tiny frown she got between her eyebrows when she was really concentrating on what she was typing was beyond adorable), waiting for the opportunity to talk to her, but it never came.

Yesterday she’d been possessed with the need to try and get the other woman’s attention, and it had paid off even better than Kara could have dreamed, and she’s already looking forward to their next interaction.

Except it never comes.

Cat always walks in at precisely 7:25 (never a minute early, never a minute later, and Kara has often wonder how she does it), but the clock hits eight and there’s still no sign of Cat, and Kara’s mood turns a little sour.

“What’s up with you?” Her co-worker, Winn, asks when he arrives for the start of his shift. “You’re usually so… peppy.”

“Nothing,” Kara lies, because it would be ridiculous to admit aloud – her crush has been growing for weeks, but she’s only spoken to the woman once, after all – tries to distract herself by chatting away to the rest of the customers she has, but none of them give her the same exhilaration as talking to Cat had.

She’s in the back room on her break when Winn sticks his head through the door. “Hey, sorry to disturb you, but there’s a woman out here asking for you – apparently I don’t look like I can make a latte that’s up to her standards.”

“I’ll be out in a sec,” Kara says, chuckling, because she’s pretty sure she knows who’s going to be standing on the other side of the counter.

Sure enough, she comes face to face with Cat (who, for the first time in five weeks, hasn’t got a phone in her hand), her hands on her hips and her lips twitching into a smile when her eyes meet Kara’s.

“I thought when you didn’t show up this morning that I might’ve scared you off yesterday,” Kara murmurs when she hands over Cat’s drink, keeping her voice low to avoid Winn – who out of the corner of her eye, she can see shooting them curious glances – overhearing.

“Not at all.” Cat’s eyes are apologetic as she leans a hip against the counter, and Kara is glad that it’s quiet, that she can focus her attention on Cat, and she’s wearing a blouse with an extra button un-done and the expanse of creamy skin it reveals is distracting. “My boss sent me across town this morning for an interview.”

“Ah, yes, that important work you keep mentioning.”

“I’m a reporter.”

“You work for the Daily Planet?” Kara walks past the building every morning on her way to the coffee shop. “My cousin’s an intern there. Clark?”

“He’s very nice, but his taste in women is appalling.” Cat’s nose wrinkles in distaste. “Luckily, that doesn’t seem to run in the family.” There’s that confidence again, a lazy smile on Cat’s mouth, and Kara wonders what it would feel like to lean over the counter and kiss it away.

“I have exceptional taste in women,” Kara replies, and behind her, she hears Winn drop something, turns to find him hastily looking away.

Kara isn’t usually this bold, doesn’t know where it’s come from, but Cat makes her want to be, brings it out of her, and she’s glad that she’s able to pull it off without making a complete fool out of herself.

Or so she hopes, anyway.

The shop is getting a little busier, and it’s with some sense of regret that Kara realises she should probably give Winn a hand instead of flirting with Cat.

“I should probably,” she gestures behind her with her thumb, “get back to it. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Barring any emergencies, yes.”

“Bye, Cat.” Kara gives her a little wave, watches her go with a dopey smile on her face that quickly slides off when she turns and finds Winn waggling his eyebrows at her. “What?”

“What was that?”

“What do you mean?” Kara grabs a receipt and starts to make a cappuccino as Winn takes the next customer’s order.

“You know what I mean.”

“We were just talking.”

“Yeah,” Winn scoffs, “and having sex with her with your eyes.”

“I was not!”

“Oh, you were. And hey, I don’t blame you,” Winn says with a shrug. “She’s hot. If a little mean. She didn’t like my cardigan.” He tugs at the sleeve of it, and Kara doesn’t know how he wears it beneath his apron when it gets so warm behind the counter.

“They’re not for everyone,” Kara admits, because some of them are a little loud, but they suits Winn’s personality just fine.

“So, are you gonna ask her out?”

“I don’t know,” Kara shrugs, because harmless flirting is one thing but asking Cat out on her date is something else entirely. “What if she doesn’t say yes?”

“Kara, I saw the way she was looking at you,” Winn says, his gaze unusually serious. “There is no way in hell she’d turn you down.”

//

When Cat steps into the coffee shop the following Wednesday morning, she’s greeted with the melodic sound of Kara’s laughter, feels a twinge of irrational jealousy when she sees the easy smile on the barista’s face as she talks to a woman leaning her arms casually on the counter.

“Hey, Cat.” It’s been over a week since they first started talking, and Cat has enjoyed spending a few minutes talking to Kara each morning, and as she walks through the door, Kara turns to Cat with her usual radiant smile. “The usual?”

“With an extra shot of espresso, please.” The other woman doesn’t move, takes a sip from the cup in her hand and Cat eyes her warily as she stands beside her – she’s pretty, her brunette hair cut short and framing her face, and Cat wonders if she’s been an idiot, for thinking that she was the only customer that Kara flirted with.

Maybe she just wanted to get a bigger tip.

“Oh, crap.” The other woman glances down at her phone. “I’d better get going, or I’m gonna be late – you coming over for dinner tonight?”

“Of course.” Kara hands Cat her latte before letting the other woman pull her into a tight hug, and the kiss that she presses to the brunette’s cheek makes Cat’s stomach twist. “See you then.”

“Love you, have a good day!” Cat blinks after the other woman with something like betrayal sitting in her chest, and tries not to feel outraged when she turns back to Kara and sees an amused smile on her mouth.

“There’s really no reason to be jealous of my sister, you know,” she says, thinly-veiled glee in her voice, and Cat narrows her eyes into a glare.

“I was not jealous.”

“Oh, you totally were.” Kara’s eyes are sparkling. “It was cute.”

“How was I supposed to know she was your sister?”

“You could’ve asked,” Kara points out. “Isn’t that what you do, as a reporter? Ask questions?” She’s teasing, and Cat usually hates that but somehow, from Kara, she likes it. “Not jump to conclusions?”

“There was no jumping.”

“Please. If you had heat vision, I think Alex’s head would have exploded.”

“Would not,” Cat mutters, feeling a little embarrassed, and Kara’s laughter is music to her ears.

“It so would have.” Kara’s glee is infectious, and Cat’s never felt like this before, so drawn to a woman she barely knows, and she can’t believe that it’s only been a few days since they first spoke, because she feels like they’ve known one another for an eternity. “You got a busy day today? From my experience, an extra shot of espresso first thing in the morning usually has a reasoning behind it.”

“I had a late night,” Cat admits. “And a tight deadline.” She knows she works ridiculous hours, but she loves her job and she knows that one day, when she’s at the top of her media empire, it will pay off. “And I should probably be getting to the office to make sure my editor has no issue with it going to print,” she adds, when she glances at her watch – she’s usually at her desk by 7:30, but the temptation to linger and talk to Kara is overwhelming, and she’s been getting in later and later each morning.

Maybe she should start coming in earlier.

“And I should probably start getting ready for the morning rush.” Kara’s eyes are soft as she waves goodbye. “Have a good day, Cat. Enjoy your coffee.”

It seems like an odd comment to make, but Cat thinks nothing of it – until she sets her cup down and sits at her desk, and notices the words scrawled across the cup.

It’s a phone number, along with Kara’s name, and the sweet message ‘call me, if you want?’ with the letters seeming like they were written by a shaking hand.

Her smile is wide and stays on her face for most of the morning, prompting Lois Lane to ask her three times if she’s feeling okay.

//

Kara grins when she receives a message from an unknown number later that day.

I bet this is how you give your number to all of the girls.

She’s just finished her shift and is walking back to her apartment, and not even the light drizzle of rain can wipe the smile off of her face as she reads Cat’s words.

She’d been nervous about giving Cat her number, has tried to ask for it several times over the past week, has tried to ask her out several times, but she’s never quite had the courage, had thought that writing on the cup was probably a little cliché, but also her best bet of actually going through with it.

Only the ones I really like, she replies, and it’s easier to be bold when Cat isn’t standing right in front of her, even if waiting for the response is more than a little nerve-wracking.

I only flirt with baristas I really like, too. Kara reads the message as she’s going up the stairs of her apartment block, nearly trips and drops her phone, feeling like a teenager with their first crush as euphoria spreads through her body.

Want to hang out sometime? Somewhere that’s not at my work?

I’d let you come to mine but I think people would talk, and I have a reputation to uphold.

Oh yeah? And what kind of reputation is that?

Ice queen. Kara would find that hard to believe from her interactions with Cat, had it not been so long since the woman had actually noticed her.

She knows that it would be easy to interpret it as rude, but Kara thinks that Cat was just genuinely that involved in her work – she can see her passion for it, the drive to succeed, and she admires it, thinks it’s the same way she feels about art.

(She just wishes that it paid enough to be a full-time job, so she didn’t also have to be a barista, but then she supposes if that were the case, she never would have met Cat).

And I’d compromise that?

I don’t act like an ice queen when I’m around you. As much as they’ve flirted with one another, they’ve never directly alluded to having feelings, and Kara loves how candid Cat is being, that she’s so direct.

So, we’ve established that neither mine nor your workplace is suitable for a date – how about I take you out to dinner?

Who said it was a date? For a moment, Kara freezes, wonders if she’s misunderstood, or if Cat’s just teasing her.

Do you not want it to be a date? She taps her hands against the side of her phone as she waits anxiously for a reply.

I was kidding! Dinner sounds good. Friday night? It seems agonisingly far away, but Kara could probably do with a couple of days cushion to figure out where the hell she’d actually take Cat.

Sounds perfect.

[anonfanfic]

I'll shock that anon: my AU is superhero, my SHIP is Clexa and my MOOD is fluff. Ah-ah! Not Small Town Au. (But still, I'll read everything about it, that anon was right, it is really really good) Anyway, thanks in advance if you'll decide to take it, and if not, thanks as well! Your stories are so good that I'll be happy to read everything, no matter what. :D Have a good evening you precious writer.

Clarke flew low over the city. She watched as the sunset, leaving a golden stain hanging over the city. It almost looked beautiful. Clarke knew better, she had seen the sin and dirt that lay right beneath the surface of this place. She had seen what humanity had to offer first hand and it had not given her much hope for the future. 

That was the excuse she used every night as she flew to her destination. It had started as a way to let off steam from the endless battles she had to fight to keep the city afloat, now it was like a drug that she needed her fix of every night. 

Clarke tried to block out the thoughts of morality and purpose as she flew down toward the warehouse district. The sun was nearly down and the golden hue had been replaced with an inky gray that fit the character of the city much better.

Clarke saw the open window and knew that she was expected. Her heart gave a little leap as she directed herself toward the opening and watched as the room came into better view.

Lexa was standing next to the large window watching her fly closer and smiling. Clarke knew that this somehow appeared to be a victory for her, like she had beaten Clarke into submission. The real truth was that both had let go, thinking they only needed a one-time thing and now were so tangled together it was impossible to separate without breaking.

Clarke flew in through the open window and landed gracefully in the middle of the large room.

“You’re late.” Lexa took a sip from the glass she was holding and cocked an eyebrow as she took in Clarke’s appearance. “Off saving kittens from trees?” Lexa leaned against one of the exposed beams that held the loft up.

“Well, it couldn’t be anything too bad considering you’re here waiting for me to arrive.” Clarke countered, easily removing her cape with one hand and draping it over Lexa’s long black couch. 

Lexa’s face turned an impressive shade of pink as she finished the whiskey in her glass and walked over to Clarke.

“I’d offer you a drink, but I know you can’t ever have any fun when you’re on duty. Which is…always, right?” Lexa teased, pouring herself another drink from the bar behind the living room.

“Fuck you,” Clarke bit back, watching Lexa walk over to stand in front of her. 

She took another slow drink and licked her lips as she swallowed. She held up her long pointer finger to Clarke and smirked.

“Oh, no no that comes later.” Lexa leaned down to the glass table next to them and put her drink down. 

Lexa stood up and both women stared at each other, the energy between them could have crackled with the amount of electricity it held.

Clarke moved first, tearing off Lexa’s blazer and ripping the buttons off her white dress shirt.

“Fuck, Clarke that was expensive.” Lexa muttered, her mouth nipping at Clarke’s neck as she moved to unzip Clarke’s suit.

“Bill me,” Clarke grunted, unbuttoning Lexa’s dress pants and letting them fall to the ground. 

Clarke dropped to her knees, her suit half off her body and shoved Lexa’s panties to the side. She felt Lexa’s nails dig into her scalp as her tongue started her work. 

It was easy to make Lexa moan. Clarke twisted her tongue inside Lexa and felt a sharp tug and heard the brunette let out a low moan. Clarke looked up and locked eyes with Lexa as she slid a finger inside of her. 

Clarke started moving slowly, her eyes not leaving Lexa as she added a second finger and started to speed up. Her mouth moved to suck on Lexa’s clit as she curled both fingers upward.

“Shit, fuck. Clarke I’m fucking close.” Lexa pushed Clarke’s head closer, needing more to get her over the edge. Clarke increased her speed, her free hand snaking up to pinch Lexa’s nipple as she sent her screaming into oblivion. 

Lexa said her name so many times that Clarke didn’t recognize it anymore. Lexa’s body shuddered and quaked as Clarke held her upright.

After a few minutes Lexa opened her eyes and bent down to lift Clarke up. She immediately captured her lips, moaning against her mouth as she tasted herself. 

Clarke felt her suit fall to the floor followed by Lexa’s fingers entering her. Clarke gasped as Lexa slowly slid in two fingers, her thumb brushing against Clarke’s clit as she began thrusting hard. 

“Yes, please. I need more, Lexa.” Clarke’s eyes rolled back as Lexa’s mouth latched onto her neck once again. Clarke’s fingers dug into Lexa’s hips as she started moving to meet Lexa’s fingers. This was the ecstasy she had been chasing since the last time they were together. Nothing made her feel as good as Lexa. 

Clarke felt the friction building in her stomach and begin to stretch toward her limbs. Lexa added a third finger and Clarke knew she wasn’t going to last much longer. 

“Fuck, Lexa. FUCK.” Clarke’s body felt like it was shutting down. Her vision tunneled and she knew she was about to pass out from all the sensations running through her body. Clarke felt strong arms wrap around her waist and move her down to the couch. Her muscles jerked with electricity as she started to come down from her high. 

“That was fucking amazing. As always.” Lexa’s voice sounded so far away as Clarke watched the colors flash under her eyelids. 

As Clarke came back from her orgasm the reality of everything washed over her as it always did. 

“I should go.” Clarke got up on shaking legs and started to put her suit back on.

“You always do this. You pretend like you’ve gained some enlightened perspective. But I fucking bet I’m going to look out my window tomorrow night and see you flying in.” Lexa got up and started to dress slowly.

“It’s not going to happen, Lexa.” Clarke shrugged her cape back on and turned around to see a half dressed Lexa standing inches from her face.

“You tell me that fucking me isn’t the best part of your exsistence. You tell me that saving these ungrateful civilans somehow brings you the pleasure I just gave you in the middle of my fucking living room. You tell me that and I’ll believe you.”

Clarke blinked and took a step back, giving her space form Lexa’s imposing presence. She would never admit how much it meant every single time they were together. Lexa would eat her alive if she ever told her that she thought about little else when they were apart. 

“Fuck you, Lexa.” Clarke walked over to the window, ready to leave and not look back.

“Right,” Lexa laughed. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Clarke.” 

Clarke didn’t say another word. She kicked off and flew as fast as she could away from that building. Every night was the same thing. She wanted to curl up next to Lexa and fall asleep, but that would never happen. She would go home and sleep alone, until she was needed again.