#with a springy step and mischievous eyes; /ic

[turkcentric]

continued with @dutchiisms.

"Hey, I did try! I swear I did!"

Scratching the back of his head lightly, Sadik peered at the Dutchman from behind his sunglasses for a moment before turning to fish his cellphone out of his pocket. Wait, no--maybe it was the other pocket.

"I can show you! Hold on!"

Ah, damn. Shifting onto his other side, his right hand moved to slide into his right pocket of his pants, feeling a bit of relief as his fingertips pressed down against a familiar smoothness. Pulling the small slab out, he quickly undid the lock with a glance from behind his shades and pulled up what he thought was the Dutchman's number. Well--it was what he had saved as the Dutchman's number, anyway, before holding it out for the much taller man to take.

[kimjongdaely]

Blue Rose [Alluring]

Mafia!AU

Pairing: Sehun x Reader

Warning: Fire, kidnapping

Summary: That man is at every social event you attend—a man who always wears a lapel blue rose pin.

It’s him again.

Your eyes involuntarily follow him everywhere. You ever only see flashes of him, weaving in and out of the crowd.

He’s present in almost every social event you attend. You assume he must be very important then.

You’ve been forced to attend these things ever since you learned how to talk. It was a requirement of the daughter of a successful businessman who needed to keep up with appearances and connections. Your father always liked showing off his ‘happy family.’

And you, well, are his prized jewel. His pride. His joy. But secretly you know he wished you were a son so you could take over the business. You know he secretly couldn’t care less about you, though he buys you whatever you want to keep you happy and smiling. Can’t have you shredding his reputation, now could he?

The mysterious man is what keeps you at these events. You’ve grown extremely tired of them, but it’s not so bad when you have something to focus on. You’re always searching for traces of him.

That man who always wears a lapel blue rose pin.

“Hi.”

You roll your eyes as someone comes up to you, a man with a lopsided smile, holding a glass of champagne. You force yourself to smile back, and with years of practice, it comes out natural. “Hello.”

“You look lovely as ever.” He says, probably thinking he sounds smooth. “You always shine amongst the others.”

“Thank you.” You mentally cringe, searching for a way out of this conversation. Your parents are busy chatting with some other people, so you’re stuck. You try to think of an excuse to leave. “I—”

“May I have this dance?”

You whirl around to find—that man! That man with the label blue rose pin, the color an astonishing ice blue. His face is more handsome than you could have imagined, hair curling over his forehead and a lazy smile on his lips. He looks lax, holding his hand out for you. He raises a perfect brow, eyes darting towards the man you were talking to, as if asking if you would rather go with him.

Oh, of course you would.

You grab his hand, and he leads you out onto the dance floor, away from unwanted conversation.

You’ve never really danced before—not willingly, at least. His movements are precise, confident, elegant as he leads you, a mischievous smile on his lips all the while.

“Um, thanks.” You mumble, feeling your cheeks flare up. “For helping me.”

“You’re welcome.” He says pleasantly, eyes crinkling. “I’m Oh Sehun.”

“Oh Sehun?” You repeat, somehow feeling as if that name sounds familiar. But you can’t quite place your finger on it, especially when he’s looking at you like that, eyes dark and alluring.

He smiles again, and your heart stutters.

“Why do you always carry a blue rose?” You ask, fingering the delicate petals.

Sehun comes out of the shower, steam pouring out the open door. A towel is wrapped around his torso, giving you a clear view of his toned chest. His dark hair sticks to his forehead, water dripping down the side of his face. He shrugs, “I just like it.”

He comes over, plucking the rose from your hand and bringing it to his smirking lips. “Do you know the meanings of a blue rose?”

He leans down, towering over you. Droplets of water hit your face. His warm hand grabs your thigh. You gulp, mind blanking as his lips meet yours.

“In here?” Sehun asks, voice low in order not to wake your parents. You’ve been dating him for almost a month, yet you didn’t dare tell your parents. He was the one who insisted you don’t, worried they might not approve. You’re not sure why they wouldn’t though—if he’s at the events you attend, he must be from a reputable family. But he’s never really talked about himself.

You nod in response, feeling your heart pounding against your ribs in a bruising pace. Excitement mingled with fear bubbles in your stomach. Sneaking him in was the riskiest and most exhilarating thing you’ve ever done.

He flashes you a reassuring smile, fingers lacing with yours and giving you a comforting squeeze. “We’ll be quick.”

You nod again, leading him down to the wine cellar. Sehun had asked for you to show it to him countless times before, but you were always hesitant to bring him into your own home. It was much too risky, but this time you finally gave in.

He promised to just take a peek, so you guess it couldn’t hurt. It would be quick, just in and out.

You never liked going to the wine cellars. It’s mostly dark and stifling, and you hardly come down here at all.

Sehun walks around the cellar, hands in his pockets as he surveys the place. He seems to be searching for something, but just when you’re about to ask, he turns back to you with a charming smile, pulling you in for a quick kiss.

“Thanks, love.” He coos.

Your house is on fire.

You woke up hearing shouts and screams. Everything smells like smoke, and when you run to the hallway you find it covered in flames. One of your maids grabs your arm, urging you to quickly leave through the back. It seems the front entrance had completely collapsed.

Your sight is hazy from the smoke, and it’s getting harder and harder to breathe. You run out to find your parents safe and sound, and you sob in relief. Your father is yelling at the servants, trying to find ways to put out the fire.

“What happened?” You cry out, hearing the firetruck’s siren in the distance.

“I don’t know.” Your mother answers solemnly, shaking her head. “Everything is gone…Oh, how terrible…”

You feel yourself trembling. You watch in horror at the scarlet flames, licking up the walls, crackling like laughter of the devil.

Your stomach churns, and you wonder if it might not have been an accident.

You haven’t seen or heard from Sehun since the incident. You couldn’t get a hold of him no matter how hard you tried.

You’re at another social event. The fire burned down a lot, but it didn’t destroy everything. Your father’ been working harder than ever to re-earn what was lost, but it’s been horrible ever since especially when everyone’s flashing you pitiful looks.

You roll your eyes, wanting to get away. Maybe a quick run to the “bathroom.”

You turn, but freeze.

Your eyes grow wide.

A flash of ice blue flies past your vision.

Sehun!

You break into a run, not caring about your high heels or your shallow reputation. You chase after his silhouette, out to the streets and watch as he gets into a car.

You groan in frustration, rushing to get into your own car.

“Oh!” The driver exclaims, turning towards you in surprise. “Is the party over so soon?”

“Drive!” You bark, ignoring his question. “Follow that blue car ahead!”

“B-But—” Your driver stutters and you growl at him.

“Drive.” You hiss menacingly and he nods, pressing on the gas and zooming off to follow Sehun’s car.

You follow him for a long time, until the city fades and you wonder where he’s going. Is he leaving the city?

His car comes to a stop at an extravagant mansion. It seems out of place here, in the middle of nowhere. You tell your driver to park off to the side, to stay hidden.

You get out, watching from behind the trees as Sehun enters the mansion. You bite your lower lip, wondering if you should follow.

Suddenly you hear your driver cry out, and you turn around to see what’s wrong but feel a stinging pain to your neck instead, and the world fades away.

Your arms and legs are tied. You blink, trying to clear your mind, and you find yourself in an unfamiliar room. It seems like a bar of some sort, a counter with a marble top in front of you, and a shelf of alcohol.

You hear the singing of a glass. Sehun is sitting at the counter with a glass of what seems like whiskey, looking bored.

“Sehun?” You croak out, confused.

Sehun’s smile is devilish. “Hey, love.”

“What—” You try to move, feeling the ropes around your limbs. “What is going on?”

He makes his way over, swirling his glass lazily. He sighs. “Why did you follow me? You know, I was going to let you live.”

“What?” You ask, more and more confused. “What are you talking about?”

He merely smiles again.

Something inside you clicks, and your eyes widen in horror as you whisper, “No.”

He traces a finger down the side of your face. “You should have just walked away. No one would’ve gotten hurt.”

You choke out a sob, feeling anger bubbling inside you. “Why? Why did you do that? Someone could’ve died!”

He shrugs. “I don’t really care. But we do have a great arsonist, and he only kills if he wants to.”

Your jaw falls open, and you’re speechless. “I—Who are you?”

He smirks. “Oh Sehun. I’m a member of EXO.”

EXO. Oh Sehun.

Now you know why his name was so familiar. You curse yourself, feeling yourself trembling. “No. You’re lying. No.”

He throws his head back and barks out a laugh. “Sorry, but I’m not. I have no reason to lie to you, love.”

“Don’t call me that.” You seethe. You used to love him calling you that. You thought it was so affectionate, so sweet. Now it feels so disgusting.

He scoffs. “Well, you loved it while we were—”

“Stop!” You scream out, shaking your head furiously, terrified of the words leaving his mouth. You don’t want to be reminded of what you had done. You breathe out heavily, hearing his amused chuckle. “Why did you do it?”

“Your father had something we wanted.” He answers simply, taking a seat again and swirling around almost like a child. But there’s nothing childish in the deadly glint in his eye. “Thanks for showing it to me, by the way.”

A chill runs down your spine. The wine cellar…

“You used me.” The words are bitter on your tongue.

He laughs, shaking his head at you. “Oh, you’re so cute.” He jumps down from the chair, taking a few springy, playful steps towards you. He squeezes your cheeks, forcing you to look at him. “Maybe I’ll keep you after all.”

You growl at him, thrashing in your binds, feeling them cut into your flesh painfully, drawing blood.

Seeing this only makes him laugh harder in amusement. He plucks the blue rose from his lapel, twirling it with his fingers for a moment, then brings it to his lips and gives it a kiss before pinning it delicately into your hair. He takes a step back, admiring it.

Your heart is pounding loudly in your ears. You’re body is cold, frozen in fear. This man has become so foreign to you, so unpredictable. If you tried hard enough you could still feel his skin, hear the steady beat of his heart, remember how his lips felt on yours. You hold your breath as you watch him. You feel limp and lifeless, as if your soul had been sucked out.

“It looks good on you.” He concludes, seeming satisfied. “Do you know what a blue rose means?”

You say nothing, just glaring at him the best you can. He smiles, shrugging. “I guess I’ll let you find out yourself.”

He snaps his fingers, and immediately two men enter the room, and much to your surprise, begins unbinding you. You look at Sehun with wide eyes, not expecting him to let you go—at least, you think he’s letting you go.

“Look,” he finally says with a deep sigh, “You were fun to be with. Take the rose and leave. I’ll ask for you not to come back. I promise I won’t be so nice next time.”

He flashes you a boyish grin, gesturing for his man to lead you out. They grab you by both your arms, practically dragging you out.

Your car is outside, and so is your driver. He’s safe, but looks a bit shaken and you breathe out in relief. You don’t need to be told twice not to come back—you don’t want to see him ever again.

Your driver hurries to leave the place, and you are equally eager. As the scenery rushes by, you can finally let out the breath you were holding. But your chest feels tight and heavy.

You leave with a shattered heart and a wilting blue rose in your hair.

Previous Chapter│Next Chapter

Alluring Mini Masterlist

A/N: This one is pretty fast-paced. If you don’t know what a blue rose symbolizes, I recommend searching it up. Might make this fic a little more interesting—or maybe not. Happy New Year, guys!

Tags: @ninibears-erigom @lifewithsehun @shesdreaminginoverdose @fuzzy-melonlord @enchanting-exo @shxrl4747 @drealsweetrebel @crazy-gingerbread-lady @sehunnies-hunnie96 @solarsa @enchanting-exo @iwasonlytryingtohelp @bluepsycopanda @harryhooksgazebos267

Tell me if you want to be tagged!

©kimjongdaely

Talk to me!

[turkcentric]

Hmm... It's a good day to swim and to get something cold to eat, but what to do first? It's definitely warm enough for both, but what'll bring the most satisfaction?

[whatjeon]

He’s a Fuckboy (University Student!Jin)

Summary: Kim Seokjin is a fuckboy. He’s the worst of the worst. He’s the drop-dead gorgeous, devastatingly charming, highly-intelligent fuckboy girls could only ever meet in their dreams. And you have the (dis)pleasure of having him in your Econ class. (1.3k)

Type: Fluff + low-key smut ?????

Pairing: Jin x reader

The first thing Kim Seokjin ever said to you was “My name’s Seokjin, but you can call me anytime.”

The first thing you ever said to Kim Seokjin was “No thanks.”

And that's how you found yourself waking up in the 22-year-old’s bed on a Saturday morning.

(“I do quite fancy girls who don't quite fancy me,” he replied.)

You looked over at the brunet’s sleeping form, taking notice of the defined muscles on his broad back. With just the slightest bit of hesitation, you turned away and got off his springy mattress, collecting your strewn clothes off of his bedroom floor.

Your sudden movement must have woken the Business major, for he suddenly let out a loud yawn and stretched out his arms. His head turned over to your scantily clad body- thank God for undergarments- and he smiled.

“Where are you going?” he asked, puzzled. “It's a Saturday.”

FUCK.

“Home,” you replied, slipping on the slinky party dress you wore last night.

“Aww,” he whined, throwing his duvet to the side and getting out of his bed. “Leaving so soon?”

(“Poor you,” you retorted, stirring your margarita with a straw. “You must be the only college virgin I've ever met.” How ironic, you thought. You nearly laughed at your own ingenuity.)

Before you could respond, Seokjin leaned against his doorframe and rubbed the back of his neck in false-sheepishness. “‘Cause I’d love for you to stay.” He gazed at you with a stare that would’ve made any girl melt.

It depends… how good was he? You blinked, trying to remember last night’s events. Plump lips on hot skin. Rough fingers gripping inner thighs. Chocolate brown eyes staring into your own as he kissed down your stomach. Something stirred within you.

“No thanks,” you said flippantly, ignoring the voice in your head. You made an effort to move, but his teasing voice stopped you from taking another step.

“That's what you said last night as well,” he sang. A smirk grew on his face. “I think we both know that's not what you mean.”

But of course, despite his undeniable charm and well-sculpted body, you declined his offer with a sweet “I don't do fuckboys more than once” and promptly hailed a taxi back to your apartment that you shared with some friends.

(“I’ve slept with more girls than the current word count on your essay,” he said smoothly. You looked at him quizzically. “We have Econ together. I heard you wrote three pages too many on the last one. That's fine- I can show you something else that trickles down.”)

You weren't so drunk that night that you would've forgotten everything that had happened, but seeing Kim Seokjin’s aristocratic face in your 9 AM Economics class on a Monday morning still left you speechless. He was leaning on the back of the chair with his hands in his trouser pockets, maroon sweater and white button-up rolled up to the middle of his forearms, and loafer-clad feet tapping a rhythm underneath his desk. As he saw you walk in the classroom, he sat up straight.

“Y/N! I saved you a seat,” he called out. A playful look appeared in his eyes. When he saw that he had your attention, he gestured at his lap. “C’mon, hurry while it's still warm!” A group of girls who sat behind him giggled at his comment, and the flock of boys sitting beside him exchanged high-fives with him.

Undoubtedly, Kim Seokjin was one of the most popular boys on campus. His father was the CEO of a huge corporation and his mother was a retired model working as a host for some talent show. His pretty face got him further than most of his peers and where his good looks couldn’t take him, his name did. Shame that his face and name mostly took him to other girls’ bedrooms.

(“I don’t date fuckboys,” you stated, taking a sip of your drink. “And from what I’ve heard, you’re a Grade A fuckboy.”)

You didn’t really care for what the genetically-blessed male did during his free time, nor did you care about how he often he glanced over at you during Econ. You especially didn’t care about his cheesy pick-up lines or his boyish grin or the way he laughed at particularly bad dad jokes.

“No thanks,” you said again, cringing inwardly at your overuse of the phrase. You could already hear his response, a smug “that’s what you said the other night, but we still fucked.”

Yet none came. All he did was raise a playful eyebrow as if he was asking “are you sure?” and when you looked at him with curiosity, he simply shrugged and smiled, then turned to face the blackboard. You shook your head and sat down at a spot a few rows behind Seokjin.

The teacher came hurrying in with her briefcase and coffee, slammed the door shut, and started writing the topic on the board. You neglected writing down the title and instead, stared at the back of Seokjin’s head, hoping he’d turn around. He didn’t once during the entirety of the class.

As soon as the class had ended, you chased down Seokjin by the kiosk in the Business building.

“Bet you’re wondering why I didn’t say anything about that night,” he said, focusing his gaze on the menu above your heads. “But I’ll have you know, Y/N, I prefer not to kiss and tell. It’s the most gentlemanly thing to do.”

“Oh please,” you retorted. “Park Chaewon? Choi Gyuri? Kim Mija?”

(“Who said anything about dating?” he whispered into your ear. “Maybe all I want is a good time.”)

Seokjin tore his eyes away from the menu and glared at you. “Have you ever heard me talk about who I’ve fucked before?” he asked sharply.

You couldn’t say that you have, one, because for the entire semester that you’ve taken Econ, you’ve never heard him talk about anything related to his conquests, and two, the ice in his voice took you by surprise.

(“And I know,” he breathed out, “you’d like one too.”)

The brunet took your silence as a “no” and turned back to the menu. “If they want to brag about spending the night with me, then let them. All that matters is that I know what did and didn’t happen,” he said with a nonchalant tone. “I’m disappointed, Y/N. I thought you would’ve been smart enough to know how the truth works.” He clicked his tongue, then ordered a large latte from the barista.

“And for the lady?” the barista asked, thinking the two of you had some sort of relationship over than being each other’s one-night stand.

You were about to explain how you weren’t actually in line when you felt a gentle tap on the back of your hand.

“What would you like?” Seokjin asked you, leaning against the counter. A soft smile graced his lips.

Your mind blanked. You’d never been to the kiosk in the Business building before, and you certainly didn’t know what was good here.

“She’ll have what I’m having,” he suddenly said, as if he knew the predicament he’d thrown you in.

Seokjin led you to a table near a large window and told you to wait as he brought back the two large lattes. As he set down your mug, you opened your mouth to speak.

“And now you’re going to apologise profusely for assuming that I was a manwhore, thank me for the latte, and also agree to go on a date with me this weekend,” he interrupted you with a mischievous look in his eyes.

You gaped at him whilst a rosy pink blush grew on your cheeks.

“Seok-”

“Just call me Jin.”

“Jin, how-”

“I minor in psychology.”

“But-”

“Wear something you’d feel comfortable sweating in. We’re going trampolining.”

“Jin-”

“Actually no, don’t call me Jin... since you can call me anytime.”

A/N: I know this isn’t Jin’s real personality (and some parts were quite unbelievable) but DAMN I’m so proud of myself for actually writing something for the first time in like 5 months!!

[turkcentric]

Well, can't blame fer that. Always keep what ya like close at hand.[Now, he certainly couldn't say anything about anyone else's choices when he, himself had certain goodies on hand at him that he simply HAD to have stocked--maybe a bit more than his fair share, honestly]

Oh--yeah, drinks! Yes. Whatever ya think'd go well with what we're gonna eat--feel free to pull out, make, whatever ya want. I'll be back soon enough!

[He patted himself down for the rental car keys, and upon realizing that he did, indeed, have them, began to head back to the front door]

Yeah, I like it. [this man eats like a college student]

Sounds good. There's a shop not that far from here. Did you need me to get anything ready while you're gone? Drinks?

[lackadaisical-pottymouth]

Batmans Apology

this is so late oh my gosh im ashamed i forgot about it

Fandom: Batman

-- is a change in perspective

xx is a change in snippet

There was a rumour in Gotham City.

Tuesday. The city lit by streetlights and apartments that hadn’t quite settled for the night. Empty roads hummed with drifters going this way or that.

Fingers, frigid. Ears, nose, frozen. Jim was losing the battle against frostbite.

Restless shivers sent his shoes bopping against asphalt. The pocketwarmer abandoned him by the time he’d lit the big black bat signal, but blessed be his luck, it was a clear night in Gotham City.

The --what did springy Robin call it? Bat-phone?-- the Batphone weighed comfortably in his pocket and pulled double hours as a heater. A small heater that touched barely four by two inches of skin. Only minutes prior had he sent out the signal.

“Commissioner.”

And there was the person of the hour. Imposing, dark, familiar. Maybe a little too familiar. It was easier now than it had ever been to imagine big blue eyes and his father’s jaw--but then again, he hadn’t been privy to that information before.

No, no, Jim. That hadn’t been confirmed yet.  

His soul promptly left his body at the greeting but he pulled it back with gum or staples or whatever the hell had kept it in place for all these years. Right. He straightened his spine and tried hard for the composure that’d been trained into him. Drivers-licence Robin watched from the shadows, the whites of his mask luminescent.

“Batman,” he greeted, refusing to question how he snuck up behind him when he was backed against a wall, “Robin.”

The child vigilante nodded in acknowledgement, stepping forward to join his mentor. He was young, very young despite the upp of his nose and the overconfidence in his posture. The Robin sent an unkind look that he probably deserved.

Batman grunted, “You said it was urgent.”

Right. He brought his hands to his lips and blew softly, all the while wishing for the gloves Barbara had bought him. Like ripping off a bandaid, Jim, he assured himself. “I’ll spare you the details. Word has it you’re Bruce Wayne.”

He imagined the silence that followed was a raised eyebrow, the sardonic sort that wouldn’t have been seen through the fabric--metal?--of the cowl.  

“I get the feeling you won’t tell me who’s under that mask,” Robin bristled but the Bat raised an arm and the boy stayed put, “And I don’t want to know who. Just thought you should know.”

“I take it you’ve looked into it.” said as a statement, as always. But Jim quirked a self-hating smile nonetheless and presented the manilla folio.

“Lot of it is hearsay,” he said, recounting the he said she saids and ‘cousin sally’s he’d gone through to get even that,

He’d look back and they’d be gone, like always.

xx

The intercom rang with yet another arrival and Alfred clicked to connect between pressing shirts. Instantly the feed lit up with a face full of adolescent pimples and aged sweaters. Teenagers, he noted, temporarily setting the emergency protocol to ‘Civillian’.  

“Oh my gosh there’s a camera! Kim, look! We’re famous!”

Nervous skittering was followed by a harsh rebuke that put an end to the abrupt tizz of movement, “Shut up, Barlow. This is a bad idea. We should go home and--.”

A composed cough sent a shock through both teenagers. “I take it you don’t have an appointment,” Alfred said, more or less reciting lines by this point, “Name and purpose for the visit, please.”

“Barlow” paused in confused shock, “Is Bruce Wayne british?” they asked, peering up into the surveillance as though it’d deliver answers. “Never met the guy--Kim? Is he?”

“No!” “Kim” snapped, “He’s from Jersey!”

“You don’t say,” said with the lightest whistle of amusement while “Kim” seemed to seethe embarrassment.

A beat passed and he considered dropping the line, picking up whatever they’d brought later. But they spoke, pulling a thatched cap down over unruly curls, “Uhm, Kim Long. My Ma sent gifts for--,” a stutter as the voice dipped to the faintest of whispers, “For Bruce Wayne.”

Kim looked over a faux-fur shoulder and Alfred paused, his attention fully on the video stream, “He-uh-Batman, stopped a fire in my apartment building. And Wayne funded the whole rebuilding thing. So, thanks.” They looked around, then paused to be incredulous as Barlow gestured to a ziploc container, “we’ll just leave it here, then. Bye.”

He waited till they were gone before sending out the robot rover-- things were mucky enough without added speculations that Bruce Wayne housed Robot Butlers. The goods would be inspected thoroughly before being sent to the furnace. “Kim Long” would be added to the growing list of thank-you card recipients once the ordeal was over.

xx

It was always a toss-up going to work after times as these. Odds were that Wayne Ent would be attacked because he was there, or that Wayne Ent would be attacked in his absence. Rarely was there a third option, so he tended instead to make one.

This he stole from Tim’s book, which Tim claimed was stolen from one of his.

The tux was an authentic Pennyworth, lined with hidden pockets a-plenty and the most lightweight of bullet-resistant fabric. 

xx

Shocker of the year, Wayne Enterprises was under attack.

Mr. Wayne struggled to show his disappointment. Anaji’s presentation would need be postponed for another time, one with a few less looming threats. But the real travesty was that Anaji would have another sixty minute segment scheduled for some later date. Such things were better experienced once and in very small amounts.

Anaji’s apparent dislike translated to stabbing him in the back with her purse as they hurdled through the halls like business-dressed tuna.

The walls groaned and although he was no stranger to their echoing lengths, today they were cold and warped. The steel panels danced under flickering lights. Rivets stared judgmentally as board members stampeded to safety.

Some clutched to their suitcases and their bags, elbowing fiercely against that damn rib that he’d only just gotten clearance for. Those that didn’t sent him cautious corner-eye glances, their breath held as if expecting him to move, to miraculously solve everything. He’d the feeling it was more than just worry for his boisterous persona.

The group took a left, veering toward the shielded emergency steps that led to the back parking lot. With one arm, Wayne propped himself up. Someone and their damn elbow-knives had decided he was moving too slowly, apparently. The other ushered forward his companion of the day who was making good work of turning themselves into a human wrecking ball.

He winced as clumsy feet trampled over his left foot where the toes had yet to heal. He hissed painfully and the group froze. When he turned to them the intern withered instantly, paling several shades as their mouth gaped for air.   

“I’m sorry Bruceman! Mr. Batwayne! Boss Knight!” they stuttered. The hidden gazes turned harsh, scrutinizing. Wayne stepped back, slouching as the prattling continued, “This wasn’t meant to happen--I didn’t know. I swear.”

That again. Familiarity quirked the side of his lips into a smile. They were new then, probably under the mercy of older, more mischievous co-workers. The others though, the fearful ones that stole glances, even now? He didn’t have an answer for those.

“It’s alright, it’s alright!” He stomped three times despite the pain. A wave of suited shoulders relaxed and he’d the distinct feeling he’d passed some sort of test. The frown he felt was put aside and he focused back on the intern, “August, right?”

“Y-yes, sir.”

He huffed in the slightest of ways, looking the appropriate amount of petulant while surveying the reactions, “Well, Augie--can I call you Augie?”

They nodded and he continued.

“These things happen. Don’t worry about it.” and with that he laughed deeply, loudly, too loud for the alarms ringing and the eyes that trained on him like daggers, “no harm done.”

He intended to pat the interns arm. It would be a final, clinching action that would have sealed the facade--but the intern jumped away from the contact. The tension seeped back into their shoulders and drenched the air about them.

For a moment they were ice. As though this would be the straw that broke the camel’s back. The axe that felled the oak tree.

Mr. Wayne coughed, then clapped twice.

“Sheesh,” and he peppered his voice with nervous laughter, wicking away the discomfort in buckets, “I thought this hallway was a lot shorter!”

It worked in the most ineffective of ways. The unease had already become an unwelcomed guest. It stayed there, suffocating, until the heavy steel doors were pried open and the people scrambled to safety.

In the chaos of relief, Bruce Wayne disappeared.  

--

Curiously, Alfred picked up as soon as he beeped in. There was something in his voice, something weighty and strained despite the intentions of the deadpan commentary, “I take it the meeting went well, sir?”

Batman grunted as he moved between vents.

An annoyed sigh echoed on the lips of the old butler, “Right. I suppose I’m talking to myself now. Very good.”

Clicks fired off in rapid succession before halting sharply to an inhaled breath. Batman dove down a side-vent of the building designed for times as these. The clicking resumed, more hesitant this time.

“They came in through the north and southern entrances. Twenty altogether.”

A breath shifted the accents to one that was deeper, gruff and indistinguishable. Alfred grunted before switching back to his normal tone.

“I know Master Batman,” he continued, “they are a ballsy lot. Shame they couldn’t come up with a decent dress code. I’ll send you a visual.”

Another grunt from the aged man and a notification beeped quietly.

Clear lenses tinged blue as the scene was projected. He recognized a few things instantly--the deep crimson of the welcome desk. The bright green of the plants. The huddled forms of the first-floor staff.

Intruders taking strides held themselves with hunched shoulders and trembling guns and seemed altogether better suited in a swiss cheese factory. A few of them rapped idly with their feet while one sang along to the warning tone. Hostiles numbered ten.

The second clip was of the southern entrance, though this group was significantly less decorated than the first.

“Red Robin will be there with haste. I’ve sent him the same information I’ve sent you, sir.”

The grunt that followed was facetious, not quite to the level of gruffness as the previous imitations had been. More a whine, really.

“And we will most certainly have time for cucumber sandwiches afterwards.”

Batman himself made no sounds as he changed to his hands, working at the screws of another vent, this one closer to the breach. “Have Red Robin take the south entrance. Tell him--”

“Already on it, B!”

He froze for the briefest moment before motion returned to his hands.  “Keep on your toes, watch for hostiles in hiding. They’re slow and untrained.”

Red huffed a sound, almost like a chirp, “That makes them easy targets.”

“That makes them unpredictable. Stay focused. Batman out.”

Alfred sighed, “I do so love these conversations,” he muttered dryly. And then the clicking returned, calculated and slow until the communicator was turned off.

Batman frowned as he dropped from the vent he’d crawled through. A fan whirred angrily in the distance and almost masked the soft squeak of dirty tennis shoes on polished tile. One man in particular strode with fake confidence, gesturing wildly with one gloved hand while the other clasped the gun like a lifeline.

“Activate sound,” Batman commanded, dwarfed by one of many purposefully-obscuring columns. He blended to the dark it provided. Instantly the feed was punctuated by the nasally tones.

“Come ooon out, Brucie!” the man drawled, gnarly with overconfidence and ire, “We just want a little chat, see.”

Three batarangs were unsheathed. For a moment, the intruder stopped. His back turned away. His feet shifted weight. His heartbeat skyrocketed. Then he continued in the same grainy pitch.

“Look, we’re even all dressed up to play!” he scoffed, and then he knocked the butt of his gun against the shoulder of an elderly woman. A guest, probably, from the scowl she wore. The man laughed and spat on her floral print cardigan, “Some of us anyway, but that’s alright. We can all have a honky-dory party. ‘S not fair when you’re the only one with a mask.”

Batman breathed and began to move. His strides were rapid, soundless.

“You colossal fu--.”

He flicked his wrist. The batarangs sliced through the air with deadly aim, embedding themselves into the black metal of the gun. The last nicked the mans gloved hand and he howled.

At once the gaggle of nervous accomplices exploded into tones and grunts. Good, he thought, ducking for cover. This misdirection was his disguise.

But the people--the people. He watched as their eyes like saucers roamed the place, their mouths slightly agape in hushed words. They clung to each other.  

Murmurs echoed through the office and stole the places where silence hid before. “It’s him,” they said, “It’s the Bat.” Yet the stillness permeated like a sickness, so much so that the ashen faces in petrified frost could’ve been mistaken for statues.

He moved between pillars, unseen aside from movements in the corners of eyes. Unheard for the cracking of the cape between lunges.

The intruders began to circle, their chests puffed out in an attempt at bravado that failed miserably. Their uncoordinated mishmash of bootleg kevlar and camo-print was almost laughable. Nervousness rattled the guns in their hands in time with the chattering of their teeth.

Batman lunged.

Person One went down with a thud after a crack against his skull. Two had barely crossed his path when a nerve-strike robbed his consciousness.

Three and Four were back to back, but pressed against a huddle of people nearest the welcome desk. They became quick acquaintances with the big blue welcome map and the spot that said “You are Here.” and again with the burgundy carpet.

Five, Eight and Nine turned at this, fumbled with their machinery between obscenities screamed and jumbled orders. A batarang sliced through the guns like heavy leaden butter before a net exploded from a capsule and caught them.

From the shadows Batman watched, taking note of the citizens in varying states of distress, of the men that clotted together between them. His eyes narrowed on the scatter of remainders. Men by the plaque that displayed the Wayne Ent. missions statement, where a group of employees were crouched in fear. The remainders ducked behind information podiums.

It was Seven, with the dirty denim jacket and the greasy hair that still peeked out under his mask, that managed to fire a shot. It echoed loudly, startling Six out of their petrified stance.

“What the hell, dude?” Six demanded, their voice hoarse and their eyes trained on the heated barrel. Then they blinked at the people around them, who’d covered their ears in the flimsiest of shields, “We weren’t supposed to shoot! What if you hit someone?”

With a scoff, Seven repositioned his gun. With a sharp tap, Batman descended and Seven fell.

Six’s eyes were trained on his unmoving associate. Then they climbed the height of the looming figure beside him and rested on unnerving white of the irises. He muttered a single, “Christ.” before he, too, crumbled. The old lady nearest the two spat at the unmoving bodies and Batman allowed himself a smirk as she was pulled back into the protective huddle.  

And then there was that silence again as Batman surveyed the area. Eyes trained on him, some awed, some afraid, many confused, were all obscured the moment the thermo-scanners were activated.

Big bad Ten remained hidden.

“Of course you came,” he sneered from some place where wooden desks surrounded him. Rage and fear caused his voice to quiver, “What a good businessman you are, Mr. Wayne.”

Batman closed in, moving fluidly, quietly, even as the man continued to jeer.

“It’s funny to you, isn’t it? Just another pastime for the rich boy.”

He arched around the desk, the man sniveling in his sights.

“Fuck you,” he spat.

The Batman descended.

--

Gordon had little to say as they booked the perps and led them away. Apart from the recount for the report, he’d stuck mostly to redirecting the wandering attention of his subordinates. But the gazes had lingered despite his intentions. He’d caught the looks on the ruddy faces-- cautious, so cautious, under a layer of confusion. It was echoed in the eyes of people escorted away from the building.

Batman frowned, but stood silently and watched, replaying the taunts. He scowled, etching a personal message to the Cave to scour recent media outlets.

Behind him, though, he heard footsteps. Slightly heavy, but incredibly rapid--as if pushing against something that weighed down. “Red Robin,” he greeted, turning to face the young man.

His lips were a taut line. Batman braced himself for the worst.  

“B, you may wanna look at this.”

A button was pressed and a holoscreen propped up on the gauntlet.

Batman Unmasked, it said, Bruce Wayne is the Caped Crusader.

The scowl deepened.

[turkcentric]

"Well, I'm here now, so are ya gonna tell me what yer usually doin' around this time or not? I'm just lookin' for some fun while there's still a lotta daylight to burn. 'Sides, I really did try to call ahead!"

Sadik's tone was more playful than meanspirited as he looked out towards the expanse of sea spread out before them because he really did try to call ahead, but it wasn't as though he know his way around. He may as well be a tourist, honestly, and what's more, it was a miracle in itself that he had such a nice view in front of him now. / @sorte-de-vida.

[turkcentric]

"Not only muscle T's, shorts, and sandals, but maybe it's time to get some new swimwear, too...?" His current set of trunks and speedos had served him well for the past few years--were well kept, too--but it had been a while.

[turkcentric]

"Oh, that's good ta here then. Once we're inside, I guess we can figure out what's going on with ya and why ya feel like that." The Turk was unable to hold in a smile at that laugh, but he continued to hold onto the blonde, quite intent on personally showing him in. It wasn't long before they crossed the threshold of the house, stepping into a space to change out of outdoor shoes and into slippers.

"I hope it looks okay--I'm kinda nervous now that yer here and all."

Sadik was sure that he'd had Ludwig over at his Work Residence before--yes, without a doubt, he had--but this, his Personal Residence, was, well, much more personal. This land, the Canola Fields, always brought him joy when they were in bloom, and the house that he'd decided was a bit simpler yet even more warm, comforting than his work residence.

His personal touch shined here more than ever--on every picture frame he'd hung and every little knick-knack he'd picked up in his travels. If comfortable could be captured and built up as a home, it was, without a doubt, Sadik's house in Tekirdağ.

It was a house with two storeys in addition to it's ground floor which was surrounded by beautifully laid brick on its outside with the first and second floors having cement walls to make it even sturdier seeing as it was exposed to the elements easier being a single house in surrounded by a field.

Spacious rooms, comfortable seating, and warm lighting were some of the common points of the Turk's home in shades of red, browns, whites--even a dash of green here and there among other pops of color, but it was the living room that took center stage in Sadik's home, and while each room was pretty similar (with options to sit, recline, and even eat in each area), the size of each room varied as did his interests (which had their own rooms) and his needs.

"No, nothing yet," he admitted, laughing once. "It's not hurting too bad, unless I touch it, but I don't know what's happening. Everything is so different."

Going to Sadik's place for the first time? How interesting, he had always been curious about how the other man lived

[turkcentric]

"Should I keep these pants or ... no? It goes with the shirt, but do they work fer me?"

He's been palming at his hips and thighs for the past three minutes in the mirror.

[turkcentric]

This was a new start, and if Sadik were to be honest, it had been damn near impossible to do nearly that. He'd not only come from nothing--it had been hard enough raising a Werewolf child, but one that was different was even more of an anomaly. Homes changed often, and prejudice was plenty as he grew from a boy into a man.

To get this far, to end up in a completely different place from where he'd started had taken a portion of his adult like, and he'd fought like hell to make it happen. Staying put simply hadn't been worth it, but now that he was in a holy new place, how could he even hope to consider himself one of the lucky ones when all he had to his name was a shabby bag, slightly less shabby clothes, a hair tie that was doing its damnedest to keep his long, unruly hair in check, and a few coins hidden in the very bottom of his bag? From a decent place to crawling through hell to scraping for whatever scraps he could had taken its toll.

He'd been walking for a while, too, and even as he glanced over at the gentleman not too far from where he stood for the umpteenth time, he wasn't sure if he should actually bother the older man. It could start trouble--was very possible with how keenly he was dressed...

It took another moment of worry, of indecisiveness, but Sadik eventually steeled himself, tightened his grip on the pitiful leather strap attached to his lone possession, and walked towards brunet carefully.

"Excuse me," the Werewolf spoke up, trying to keep his hesitance from showing plainly upon his face or within his voice. "A question--just one, if that's okay...?" / @sudriics.

[turkcentric]

For the time being, the "Helper's House" was closed seeing as this was one of two off days it went through due to the sheer volume of people that walked through its doors on a daily. It could be an inconvenience for some, but it was necessary for the Mage's own mental health too. Due to that, the Mage tended to live quite a ways away from the city, preferring a much quieter life in a huge treehouse he'd created that was nearer to the natural countryside than anything else.

With so little people around, if any at all, it was quite the surprise to get a knock at the door when he'd been in the middle of relaxing in the living room with a cup of tea.

Could someone truly have stumbled on his wooden abode and taken to the steps to get to the front door? How interesting... With this thought in mind, the Mage fetched a well-loved shawl and draped it across his shoulders before moving to answer the door.

"Yes--?" / @crew-from-capulet !

[turkcentric]

If there was one thing to be said about Sadik, it was that he loved animals, with a preference for cats first, dogs second, and then everything else. Dragons, however, held a special place in the brunet's heart, and in his own weird way, he likened them to cats--big, fire-breathing cats.

It was this train of thought--dragons on the brain--that lead Sadik out of the library where he'd been browsing and down the hall (several halls, in fact) before he reached his destination: the Draconian Nursery. If he was going to enjoy some dragons, this was his very best bet, and even better was the fact that they were TINY dragons! It didn't get any better than that, and while dragon rearing wasn't the easiest thing in existence per se, it was heartwarming to watch them grow. But why did he know about this place, you ask?

It stemmed back to his love of dragons, and through that, he'd been visiting the Nursery quite regularly at various noise levels til he'd learned to be a bit quieter. It was just hard to contain his excitement though!!

So, without any further, upon approaching the heavy oak door, he took his time pushing it open before calling out to the auburn haired individual he knew to be inside. This was her thing after all.

"Mirèlha?" he questioned, undecided on whether to simply poke his head in for a moment before simply pushing the door open wider before stepping into the nursery itself. She should be here, really.

The familiar voice--playful--that spoke up in turn, confirmed that she was, in fact, around, and so, Sadik grinned, glad for it, but before he could reply, several soft chirps sounded. Oh, had he woken them up?

"Oh, I--I guess they're awake now, huh? Heheh. Lemme know how I can help."

Turning, he closed the heavy door behind himself, a bit embarrassed.

Alternative Universe: Fantasy Open Starter to mutuals! :-)

Mirèlha's gaze traced the swirl of emerald scales, barely bigger than her hand. The tiny dragon, a runt abandoned by its parents, chirped softly within its makeshift. Thankfully, her nursery was equipped to handle the smallest of the litter. Years of pleading to the headmaster and tireless fundraising was well worth it if it ensure that hatchlings, like this one, was able to have a second chance at life. Dragons were marvelous, but when it came to weakness within their own kind, they were ruthless.

Mirèlha adjusted the heat crystal, its orange glow casting long shadows on the rows of cradles lining the nursery walls. Runts needed a specific warmth for their small bodies. Her team even manage to create an artificial musk of a mother dragon to soothe them.

Suddenly, the heavy oak door of the nursery creaked open, shattering the fragile peace. A gust of air ruffled Mirèlha's auburn braid as a voice filled the room. She raised an eyebrow in surprise. Guest at this hour was very rare. But relief washed over her as she recognized the voice and its owner.

"Don't you know what time it is?" She playful said, but before a reply was in order a sudden chorus of soft chirps erupted from the cribs, the hatchlings joining in a serenade for their guest. "Oh, fantastic..."

[turkcentric]

Honeyed eyes narrowed just a bit as the small curl of his smile took on a more wicked note even as the tips of his ears reddened from the affection. "I don't think that's a bad thing. Oh, I'm sure you can think of a way to stop that bigheaded problem of mine."

However, when Ludwig took a seat next to him, the Turk couldn't help the warmth that was rising up within him, and so, he took another swallow to calm himself.

"Oh, yeah, definitely. I paint now--don't just sketch in various mediums anymore, and pottery is messy and fun. I'm glad to hear you've been well though. Otherwise, I would've been worried." / @paperworkanddogs

[turkcentric]

[SMS] I am! I'm in the middle of making the best hot chocolate, please come over and try it!!!!!!

[SMS] it's very good // @apres-moi-ledeluge !

[SMS] The best hot chocolate, huh?

[SMS] Hmm... ◦°˚\(*❛‿❛)/˚°◦

[SMS] Coming over ... just for hot chocolate?

[SMS] I definitely wanna try it though. （＊〇□〇）……！

[turkcentric]

"The weather's been nice, but it don't look like that's gonna last much longer with the heat just around the corner... Maybe it's time to switch to a full-on summer wardrobe...?"