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pigeonp0st · 6 months

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heelloo!! uhm i was thinking could u write an agatha harkness x reader one with Agatha sees r with another person (just as closer friends but Agatha doesn’t know it). Then Agatha invites r to her house and Agatha has to bite down on their lip so hard whenever r talks about the other person, angst with happy ending please (and if your are comfortable, maybe you can add smut)?

Agatha Harkness x Reader

Summary:

Agatha gets jealous of your relationship with Wanda. Emotion ensues.

Warning:

Jealousy, angst (not really)

Notes:

Thanks for the request! I wrote this pretty fast and have not even read it over once…I’ll probably fix it up later…anyways! Hope you enjoy still <3 I always love an Agatha request

——

Agatha stopped Wanda for you. She brought down Westview, and forced Wanda into reality. In the process she ruined both of their fantasies; Wanda’s fantasy of a perfect life, and Agathas of all consuming power.

She did it for you. Because the prospect of power was nothing compared to the prospect of your devastation. Because you asked her to. You with your warm eyes, full of more emotion and humanity than both Agatha and Wanda have in power combined.

You asked her to, and there was no other option.

So no. She doesn’t regret it. Doesn’t regret trailing behind you and Wanda to help the Avengers, doesn’t regret following you. Can’t possibly. She doesn’t regret it, but Wanda smiles at you, leans in close, and Agatha feels a bit like she’s been betrayed. Betrayed because you smile back, and whisper something into Wanda’s ear that makes her flush a color that’s just perfect for the Scarlett Witch.

Agatha grits her teeth and returns to her book. She’s lived centuries and has never felt more childish.

It shouldn’t bother how close you and Wanda have gotten, she knows. She has no right to feel betrayed. She hasn’t done anything she’s done expecting anything more than your happiness. You aren’t hers.

You aren’t hers, and so Agatha just fumes silently in the corner of the room and imagines burning this whole damn tower down.

You don’t even know how Agatha cares, she knows. Every bit of vulnerability, love, and affection is hidden behind layers of humor and sarcasm.

You watch Agatha with distrust still because of it; wondering about alternative motives. Everyone in this god forsaken tower does, and Agatha has no idea why she’s here giving up centuries of planning for this game. These people are no different to those in Westview. Children playing dress up and pretend. All of them wearing costumes of heroes who aren’t afraid.

Cowards. All of them.

Your loud laugh draws Agatha’s attention from her page. Wanda is smiling at you with a gentleness Agatha can’t afford, and Agatha thinks, both with affection and a heavy heart; all of them but you.

She knows that despite her help she has given no one here good reason to trust her. She admits to herself that she enjoys letting them think she’s scheming—that she plays into it.

They’re just as uncaring for her as she is them. They push her away, but all you do is pull her in. To be brave and foolish is one in the same to Agatha, and she loves you for all the things she can’t afford to be.

—-

It’s only the next day that Agatha walks into the compound looking for you. She wants your help to test her potion.

She’s been visiting every day this week, and she’s beginning to feel a bit like the person she thought she wouldn’t ever be again. She’s beginning to settle into the thoughts instead of jerk away.

Then she sees you. You’re on top of Wanda, both you and her sleeping peacefully on the couch. Your head on her chest, her hand threaded in your hair, your legs intertwined.

The glass potion in Agatha’s hand shatters violently and loudly, startling only Wanda awake. She jerks and snaps her eyes towards Agatha, always on edge after being raised in war. Their eyes meet for only a second, and then both turn back to you, still sleeping peacefully.

Agatha turns on her heel. Wanda says, with a knowing that ruins her; “wait—”

Agatha, cowardly, no different than the people she despises, and never having claimed otherwise, teleports away.

—-

Agatha avoids the compound for just a week before she caves and invites you over.

She can’t bear to see Wanda, which is a new thing because usually she enjoys tormenting her. The image of her protective hand tangled in your hair, and your possessive leg thrown over her is still fresh in Agatha’s mind though.

Then there’s the text Wanda sent after Agatha left; filled with the same knowing Agatha sensed with her departure. You’re 5 years old.

(Then a bit later; whatever was in that potion melted through the compound. I hope you can magic up some money to fix your tantrum.)

Agatha, the picture of wisdom, sends Wanda two middle fingers and then blocks her.

So, naturally, she’s glad when you show up only an hour after Agatha’s text. No Wanda, for the first time in weeks.

At least—that’s what Agatha expected. It’s an hour later and all you’ve talked about is Wanda. Wanda this, Wanda that. Agatha has always had a challenge with patience, it’s always the biggest challenge of her schemes, and biting on her lip is barely constraining her from lashing out at this point.

It’s when Agatha tones your voice out though, that she notices the hunch to your shoulders, the heaviness in your eyes.

And the bruise around your neck. Why hadn’t she noticed sooner? “Who did this to you?”

Agatha drops her dishes immediately, rushing to where you’re seated at the kitchen island. She thinks; who, who, with a desperate frustration as she tilts your head up to inspect the injury. She’ll kill them. Kill them.

For now, she pulls her magic forward, setting to the task of healing the violence inflicted on you, but you pull away from Agatha just as suddenly as she calls on her magic; angry in a way Agatha is caught off guard by.

“All you are is hot and cold,” you mutter, looking away. “I’ve been trying to reach you for days and you haven’t responded, then I come as soon as you call and you ignore me for an hour. Now…now you suddenly care that I’m hurt?”

Agatha blinks, once, twice, and then you’re standing up and pacing her kitchen. Agatha stands, hand still hovering where it was touching your cheek, and watches.

“If you’re done—If you’ve already gotten what you needed from us, whatever it is, and are done, just tell me. Tell me and stop pretending to care,” you plead. Agatha notices the dark circles under your eyes. Notices all the parts of you that are dimmed now that she’s not stuck on Wanda, Wanda. “I can’t play pretend like you do, Ag. I don’t get what it serves you to act like you care about me. I have nothing to offer.”

You’re spiraling in the middle of Agatha’s kitchen, and Agatha is torn between all of the parts of herself. The one that wants to laugh and brush this all aside, the one that wants to comfort you, the one that wants to kiss you, and the one she settles on; the version of her that’s angry and feeling misunderstood by the person she knows she’s done everything to deceive.

She’s not often hit by regret, or not often this out of control over her own emotions. It makes her angrier. Angrier because it takes her back and makes her feel younger than she’s been in centuries. She’s not that child anymore, can’t be.

Don’t you get that you’re ruining her?

—-

“I care,” Agatha whispers urgently, silently fuming and with her face morphed into a frustrated scowl. “Of course I care,” she says, like it should have never been in question—because she’s made it so clear apparently, you think disbelievingly, unable to help the scoff that chokes out of you.

Yeah right.

With more disappointment than Agatha could ever understand, you shake your head. “The only thing you care about, Agatha, is power. You tell me yourself all the time. I just thought— ” you pause, untamed tears coming to your eyes. “I don’t know what I thought…”

The moment the words leave your lips, you and Agatha enter into a standoff. Agatha furious and raging, and you too wrapped in your own emotions to register it as it is.

Agatha angry for the first time—at this. At the doubting of her care. It should say all you need to know, but you’ve missed it completely now that you’ve stopped looking.

It’s another moment of glaring before Agatha scoffs and stalks forward, pushing you into the wall and trapping you. Anyone else would be scared, but you just continue to glare (even as you flush).

There’s a part of you somewhere, one you don’t notice, but that Agatha does. A part of you that knows Agatha would never hurt you.

“I’m too old for this, ” Agatha grits out, and then her hand is around your throat. You don’t even flinch. Aren’t even surprised when you feel the rush of healing magic. All you’re surprised about is just that— your lack of surprise.

Agatha’s eyes turn inspecting, she shifts your head to the side with her other hand, ignoring your protests. You’re beginning to feel like a child, beginning to see things as they are.

Of course Agatha cares, you know. Somehow it hurts just as much. How could she both care and be so unpredictable, so cold? Had she thought of how you’d feel at all when you ignored her for the week? The other Avengers grew suspicious, checking everywhere around the compound for something stolen. You thought something terrible happened to her.

Only Wanda seemed unbothered. “She’s just throwing a tantrum,” she said, and wouldn’t explain further.

“Who did this?” Agatha repeats, pulling you from your thoughts.

“It was a mission”, you explained, the fire leaving you with it. You can’t afford to be mad at Agatha. You need and miss her too much.

Agatha growls, not settled at all. “Isn’t Wanda supposed to be protecting you?” She asks venomously, her jaw tightening along with her hand. “What good is your little girlfriend if she can’t even do that?”

It’s so laced with bitterness, with wanting, you’re left to blink at her, utterly shocked. Does Agatha think—? Wanda’s voice comes to your head; “she saw us cuddling and looked like she was going to murder me with the shattered glass in her hand.”

Seriously?

“What?” Agatha asks, self conscious in a way she never is. Self conscious because she likes—possibly loves you back.

All of this week’s turmoil, and for what? Because the two of you love each other?

—

You’re grinning at Agatha now, and Agatha is completely suspicious and unnerved. She tries to step back but you capture her wrists, pull her even closer.

Agatha’s heart pounds at the look on your face. Like a Cheshire cat. She can’t escape the feeling that she’s been caught. She eyes you with uneasiness.

You look at her expectantly now. “So much wisdom and yet you’re still so stupid?”

“Stupid?” Agatha repeats with disgust, like the word isn’t even in the dictionary.

You nod. “Agatha,” you breathe, affectionately. Agatha feels her world shift. “You know I love you, don’t you? Wanda is only ever going to be my frie—”

Agatha doesn’t let you finish. Couldn’t bear too. She’s always standing on the precipice of something. Always hovering over lines, too impatient to stand back, and your I love you snaps Agatha forward, like she’s been waiting for it for centuries. She kisses you roughly, pushing you back against the wall, and tries to claim it.

I love you, to the person who has never felt loved. She turned her back on love the moment love turned her back on her. She was only a teenager then, realizing that there was not a strength she could have that would make her enough for her mother—for her clan. There was not a person she could be beside herself, and never a version that wasn’t lacking, just out of reach of affection.

Then you. You showed up in Westview, strong enough to break in unaffected, and suspicious of Agatha, suspicious and then knowing, but still caring through it, and Agatha felt herself enough in the moments her mother would have claimed were her weakest; her moments where she was vulnerable and honest.

She kisses you like you’re her testament of her strength, now. Like you’re a testament of just how enough she is. She’s always been wanting, and doesn’t know how to exist without it. Without the yearning of; more, more, more, but as her kisses slow down, turn loving instead of passionate, she thinks for the first time that to exist like this—for the first time at peace, is something she could get used to forever.

You’re breathing heavily when Agatha breaks away, completely flustered and shaken. Agatha feels her heart pick up again, and thinks, no—she’ll always be wanting, and moves in to kiss you again.

You laugh, so joyful and happy—because of her. Because of her—a hand over Agatha’s mouth to stop her. “Are we ever going to talk?” You wonder breathlessly. “About feelings? About where you got that idea about Wanda and me?

Agatha pulls your hand away, smiles devilishly and possessively. “After I’ve had you against every corner of this house, we’ll invite Wanda over and talk over everything you’d like.”

You groan in exasperation, but there’s no protesting when Agatha kisses you next, and from the way you practically fall into the way Agatha’s hand curls loosely around your neck, she doesn’t expect one anytime soon.

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rex101111 · 2 months

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Ratchet and Clank size matters got added to the PSN store and I got a a major nostalgia pang so I went "eh, why not" and quickly played through it. And I do mean quickly, I know it was a PSP title but dang, last time I finished a R&C game this quick i played Nexus. Anyway, the thing that struck me about this game is that Ratchet is...a bit of an asshole here. And that struck me as odd because for the last few entries...he isn't.

Like this is still early series Ratchet, still on the PS2/PSP, released just before the first PS3 title, which was in retrospect a bit of an incredibly soft reboot. In the newer games, Ratchet is a fairly straight forward protag, nice, willing to help, only a little bit sarcastic if he's really strapped for time or dealing with someone especially annoying. Early Ratchet? Early Ratchet was a jackass, a dick, a selfish, quick tempered loner that only went on this quest because there was a tangible, direct benefit to him specifically. Seriously, in the first game Ratchet couldn't go two sentences without insulting somebody, and that's when he's in a good mood. In act 2 he's even worse, gnashing his teeth at everyone he talks to and threatening to sell Clank for scrap. It takes hours of in game time and half a dozen levels before Ratchet finally chills out, and a few more levels before he actually resolves to act like any sort of hero, and even that only happens after something he personally cares about gets threatened. Ratchet could give a damn, he can be convinced to help people, but he's still a selfish person who needs the situation rubbed in his nose before he realizes how dire it is. Clank having faith in him, throughout the entire game, even when he's being a dick, even when Clank himself is furious with him, meant something. When in the penultimate level he says "that's the Ratchet I always knew was there" and Ratchet brushes him off, you buy it, that beneath this sharp outside there's someone with the capacity to be a hero, an actual hero, a hero who isn't selfless, but one capable of overcoming his selfishness when it matters most.

Back when the first game came out, people complained about this, about their platformer mascot protag being a huge dick, and even the very next game addressed this by toning him down a smidge, but Ratchet in the PS2 trilogy is still very much not a perfect sunshine person. He's very sarcastic, pretty cynical, is very quick to call other people on their bullshit, and still has a very short temper. (Plasma city, anyone?) Ratchet had texture to him, he bounced off the much more straightforwardly nice Clank in a lot of ways, their friendship felt like it had weight and meant something because these two had so many differences between them that the fact they did get along so well and cared about each other so much showed that their friendship was genuine. I like the newer Ratchet and Clank games, played every one of them, but I've never been really happy with the direction they took with Ratchet. Each game made him nicer, friendlier, smoothing down his edges. And the reboot game had it the worst, they retold the first story, where Ratchet was at his worst and a major thread of the plot was him learning to get over his bullshit, but had the sanded down kitty cat of the later games instead of having confidence in their early work. Dickhead Ratchet worked, he had a place and it gave him a place to grow, while still maintaining his inherit sharpness. Ratchet should get to be an asshole again, just for a bit, let him get angry, properly. Sure, he's a hero who's saved two galaxies three times over and then some, but he did that while being a sarcastic little shit who made a joke about a plumber's ass crack showing and fired rockets at people while complaining about how high the prices are everywhere he went.

I dunno, maybe its a bit too late in the game to say this, but something got lost in the shuffle a while back, and getting a reminder of what was simply put it into perspective for me.

#ratchet and clank #random crap #just some loose thoughts #...i need to replay the trilogy again

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senqv · 7 months

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HOUSE OF KINGS.

blue lock ! royal / fantasy au series featuring : michael kaiser x fem! reader

warning(s): 1.1k , asshole ism , more traditional feminine roles , arranged marriage , lmk if there are more !!

a/n: how r we feeling

next.

ONE. CHILD OF PROPHECY

in the reign of the first emperors, or so said the tales, the child of god is born — in silver moonlight and touched with the whisper of divinity.

they said that in his birth, the muses came and told it to his half-nymph mother, a beloved daughter of the water gods. they landed kisses on her sweat-sheened temple and sang each unravelling prophecy with the golden strings of their lyres; chosen by god, they purred, the emperor of kings.

they did not stay for long, but they had no need to. word travels swiftly in the whirling halls of the palace.

michael, gift of god, whom the divine had gingerly formed in their image, golden and jewel-eyed. the one who will fell men like wheat beneath a scythe and have them all crouching at his heel.

a godly son means haste to find a wife to carry on the bloodline, hungry in hopes that the gods will shine their divine light again with each beautiful son to come. and thus, the one they chose is you, daughter of house adalheidis, rumoured to have had divine blood from a sea nymph mixed in aeons ago. a nymph is the least of the lesser gods, but still a god, nonetheless, and divine blood purified the muddy dust of the human race to mould saints and heroes.

the divine blood of your house has long been watered down, with no traces of any deific features that might make an appearance in fables or folklore. but still, it is enough.

nymph, in the olden languages, is the same word for bride.

so perhaps your fate had been preordained long ago.

and so, when you first meet god, you are just short of thirteen years old.

they twine your hair with ribbons and strings of pearls, silent tittering as they dusted a pearly powder over your cheeks, an incandescent glow illuminating against the bronze mirror. your head lolls to the rhythm of their chatter, following the direction your hair was gently tugged at, eyes slow and blinking, not quite shed of the silvery sleep.

when you arrive, the sun shines brightly in the transparent sky, casting a golden glow over the white plaster of the palace architecture. banners hang from the ceiling, a royal blue, fluttering in the wind; your gaze climbs upwards, following the inscriptions of ancient fables, the effigies of the gods carved into the ceiling. the sunlight dancing in the curve of their marble eyes was so fervid you tore your gaze away in fear they might come alive.

a servant you had not caught the name of led you through the halls. he looked your age, maybe slightly older; not quite grown out into his lanky frame, eyes downcast and shy.

the emperor was not present, he had told you with nervous hands, and so you were being brought directly to the son of god himself.

your steps halt at a side door in the northernmost part of the palace. from what you could see, it was not as grand as the throne room you had passed by earlier, but it was obvious how pampered this boy prince was; before you, arched pillars loomed over the doors of imported oakwood, engraved with gentle carvings of even more obscure fables of prophetical sons and warrior kings.

he is lying on his side on a wide, pillowed bench, thick furs strewn all over the velvety couch. his eyes were half closed, lashes fluttering against his cheeks each time he blinked.

at the purposeful scuffing of your sandals against the floor, he glanced up briefly, lolling his head to the side to look at you.

lazily, his hands stroked the majestic forest cat on his lap, golden fur streaked like a lion, mirroring its owner. but no — it would be wrong to compare it as such. his hair was entirely different, lit by the sun with a spring honey lustre, spun from threads of gold. if you looked closer, within it glints the golden circlet of a prince, nearly black against the brightness of his hair.

you felt your breaths slow, gaping at the cold shock of his beauty. he was not much older than you, but incomparable with the boys your age; of jewel blue eyes sharp as a beast, cheeks and mouth tinted a cherubic rose, painted by the careful muses themselves.

if you were not a child of noble birth, you're quite sure your jaw would have been hanging slack by now. instead, you pressed your lips together and tore your gaze to the floor.

you can feel his eyes on you, and hear a slight shuffle of him leaning more forward to regard you. "what is your name?" his voice is silken, tinged with the slight crackle of sleep and boredom. you keep your gaze screwed to the ground out of spite, a muscle in your jaw ticking. your family was one of the great pillars of the empire, flourishing in trade and commerce. you were his arranged bride, to be the empress of his nation. and yet he still did not know you.

now, he sits up completely, cat yowling faintly in his lap. he speaks again, louder, clear as the glacial waters of the north. "what is your name?" the first lapse of silence was excusable, perhaps you had not heard. now, the boy prince demands an answer.

and so, you level your gaze with his, staring with all the conviction and animosity of a noble girl who had never experienced such blatant disregard. you speak your name as if casting a spell, each syllable strong and resonant, muttered with intention — to engrave your name in his mind, to make sure he could not forget it even if he wanted.

"of house adalheidis," you added in finality.

he's focused on you now, silvery blue gaze as cutting as a knife. he tips his chin up, staring downwards. "my name is michael," he purrs, "kaiser." the side of his mouth quirked slightly at the intensity of your stare. from the corner of your eyes, you faintly notice the dimples appearing at the sides of his face.

you both held the other's gaze in silence. the amusement on his face was obvious, and your brows melded together in confusion for a split second.

then he blinked, mouth cracked open like a yawning cat, mirroring the feline on his lap.

kaiser's interest came as quickly as it left, as if everything was a divine comedy preened before him to garner his delight. he no longer was looking at you.

"welcome to the palace."

you were raised in court, and you knew dismissal when you heard it. you lowered your head with clenched fingers, bruising the crushed silk of your dress.

#— HOUSE OF KINGS.#slayed #bllk #bllk royal au #blue lock #michael kaiser #michael kaiser x reader #kaiser x reader

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bibibbon · 2 months

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Reddit is a funny thing because the main subreddit is still largely in denial about how terrible the ending is. But other subreddit groups are making fun of it like crazy, some are at risk of becoming a Jujutsufolk or Lobotomy kaisen lol. One particular thread that I wanted to bring up that makes me laugh is how many people turned on Ochako, calling her a gold-digger and other unpleasant things. I don't think I've seen a hetero pairing crash and burn like IzuOcha has. Even if they did hook up in the sequel, its still a bad look, can't believe Horikoshi chickened out and made blank. The reception has gotten so bad people have been shipping IzuMei again, so that feels like a win of sorts lol

I have done some research when it comes to the MHA Reddit and what people think (no it wasn't extensive research I couldn't be bothered tbh) but most subreddits deem the ending as rushed and bad. They even go into explaining how unrealistic it is into a deeper level.

From the little browsing I have done this seems to come from r/myheroacademia and r/characterrant. However, I also saw subreddits that said that izuku ending up quirkless is perfect for his hero journey and that the chapter being a fake out was also good.

I will take your word for it anon since I didn't actually dive deep enough into the depths of Reddit to find ochako bashing but said ochako bashing is incredibly unrealistic and shouldn't be there considering the whole pairing of izuocha never became canon and a huge part of ochakos development was to develop out of the crush she had for izuku and her aspirations to be exactly like izuku (I still don't like the whole crush fiasco but meh). Also, ochako's parents probably had a lot of work cut out for them after the war making them financially stable and ochako has become a popular hero all on her own so that would earn her a lot of money without izuku being involved. Heck I think People seem to forget that izuku isn't rich at all he seemingly just comes from an average income family.

Also, to me it was evidently clear that izuocha wouldn't become canon since act 2 and act 3 like I said were all about ochako getting over izuku and her aspirations of becoming exactly like him. I have seen people argue that they're canon but if they are then that's just a badly written ship.

Overall I ship izumei (even though I know it wasn't gonna be canon) but even though it's cool the ship is gaining some popularity, I do hate the fact that people are using it as a type of cope because of how badly butchered izuocha was to them.

We don't talk about the horrors of Jujutsufolk and lobotomy kaisen.

#mha #horikoshi critical #bnha #hori is a bad writer #bhna critical #asks #thanks for the ask!#thanks for the ask #thanks anon!#thanks anon #ochako #even though i dont like how ochakos arc was written #ochako deserves better #izumei #izuocha critical #anti izuocha #anti mha ending #anti mha fandom #mha fandom critical

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beevean · 3 months

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You wanna do an analysis on one of your faves?

Do one on Samus! It's the right time!

Of course :P

Well... Samus is hard to describe, because she has changed so much in three decades.

The general Power Suit is iconic for a reason. In the older games, it was bulky, not apt for speed but very much apt for exploring a hostile world. It made Samus look like an advanced, cold, deadly robot.

Nowadays that people are inherently born with the knowledge that she is a woman :P her Suit has become a tad more feminine, mostly in the hips department - not enough to look too booby, but enough to be more streamlined and agile. (the size of the Varia Suit's massive shoulders is to this day wildly inconsistent :P)

Not surprising, then, the direction took in Dread, where the suit is sleeker than ever: Samus doesnt' look unprotected, but she's elegantly stripped to the essence without losing her cool factor.

You can tell in which decades those suits were designed :P

But I find Samus herself more interesting.

I remember reading a thread on r/metroid of someone, who was probably eaten for dinner that day, who was glad that Samus looks very feminine under the Suit, because you wouldn't expect the big hero of the galaxy to look like a cute woman, especially coming out of such a cold robotic suit. I do see their point. In part, her design (blonde, blue eyed, slim, conventionally pretty) is a child of its time. I think nowadays she would have been designed to look more like Abby from TLOU2, and I mean it in the most neutral of ways: Samus, overall, feels like a male character who was genderswapped at the last minute. And yes I know that it's exactly the case because the big reveal in M1 was mostly a joke, but I mean writing wise too.

My favorite design for Samus will always be SM, because yes, I do like my Samus to be athletic:

She should look well trained, for the job she has, and I wouldn't even mind more scars on her body, especially of the Phazon kind. (also I'm biased because I like buffer women :P) This is also where I insist that the two-piece looks better on her than the Zero Suit: while admittedly the latter would protect her skin better under the Power Suit, aesthetically the two-piece draws your eyes on her toned limbs and stomach, so while it is more revealing, I feel it's a more "tasteful" kind of fanservice than the Zero Suit which clings onto her curves. (not to open a can of discourse, it's my personal preference)

But I find interesting that she keeps her hair long and she puts on make up. Think about it: why would she put on make up when her face is hidden to the rest of the galaxy? No matter where she learned it, whether it was from the Chozo as something culturally different from our make up, or from female companions when she trained in the GF, it's easy to guess that Samus likes her appearance and puts care in it for herself and herself only. I do think it fits what we know of her personality: she's not a showoff, but she's not humble either. Combine this with the previous talk about the two-piece: Samus is shown going around places like that. Overall, both in appearance and personality, she exudes masculine confidence in a feminine way, something that would be so easy to mess up, but with one exception it has been kept fairly consistent.

#metroid #samus aran #there :p #i was just thinking of her lol

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ggomos-maribat · 1 year

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Scars like a Red Thread

Marinette Dupain-Cheng hates Damian Wayne with a passion. Firstly because of their shared past, and secondly, because of the scars they had on their hands: a tiny pale line on the skin between their ring and pinky fingers. If one of them dies, the other's scar bleeds and burns as a symbol of their marriage bond. One day, Ladybug dies for the first time at the hands of an akuma.

Heart Eyes

Robin was told time and again that dating fellow heroes was a messy affair, especially if secret identities were still at stake. He didn't believe it until he ended his one-year relationship with Ladybug. After taking some time to heal, Damian becomes enamored with a new girl: a beautiful fashion designer named Marinette.

R for Revenge (DP X MLB)

An encounter with cultists turns Marinette into the first new halfa in decades. With permission from her new guardian, the Ghost King himself, she goes back to Paris to enact her vengeance.

Guardian's Occult

A joint investigation by Marinette and Constantine leads to the transformation of the young guardian into . . . a toddler guardian?! While he tries to find a way to reverse it, Constantine entrusts her to a serial adopter of black-haired blue-eyed children.

Marinette Dupain-Cheng is Dead

After a recent celebrity scandal, the Wayne family gets tangled up in a cold case from two years ago: the death of a girl from Paris

Anthanassa

The Justice League makes it their mission to intercept a new villainess who appeared in Paris.

Two Immortals (DP x DC x MLB)

See this post

Superbaby

One night fling leads to Marinette having a baby with Kryptonian blood.

#ggomo's prompts #maribat fanfic #dc x mlb #mlb x dc #maribat #maribat fic #maribat marinette dupain cheng #dc x miraculous #dp x mlb #ggomo's polls #yes i included ideas from my previous poll #im so excited mwahahah

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nightswatchdisbandmentera · 2 years

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There was this thread on r/asoiaf the other day that was complaining about how ASOIAF stans seem to lose all creativity when it comes to theorizing about Dany’s endgame. The OP argued that people are so sure that Dany’s story can only end in death even though nothing is set in stone and the story would still be very good if she lived to the end.

Predictably, the comments in the thread proceeded to double down on why Dany is 100% “doomed” and marked for death, which is very funny because not only did they completely miss OP’s point, but they started citing statistics that I have personally never heard of. How can anyone except George R.R Martin know what is 100% Dany’s endgame? Are there some mathematic equations I need to be aware of? Can someone share with the class please…

See, I agree with that OP big time. It’s a bit annoying to go through fandom spaces and have to see the same old posts about how Dany is an instrument of death and so she needs to be put out at the end of the story. Others will try to argue that she will die a hero as a means of being a bit more charitable. It seems that everywhere I go, Dany’s endgame always ends in death. There really is an obvious lack of creativity when it comes to speculating about her endgame.

I have an issue with using death to define Dany’s story because she is so much more than that. People get so caught up in the “bride of fire” and “daughter of death” aspects that they forget about what Dany actually does. She goes around liberating people! Yes she brings death…to those who harm others and deserve it. She is not bringing death wholesale to innocent people but she is bringing death and destruction to corrupt institutions. That’s the whole point of her character. She is a liberator. She is a savior! She is a dragon and the dragon cleanses. To the slaves she is the Breaker of Chains. To those who have glimpsed of the coming Long Night, she is the Prince(ss) That Was Promised. To all, she represents hope for the future. Hope for life and liberation from death.

Dany gained so much power throughout her arc so far and she could have taken a ship straight to Westeros, but she used her new found abilities to free people from slavery; she chose to liberate them from death. Really, that’s how I view Dany’s campaign against slavery. Slaves aren’t treated as people; their humanity is discarded, they have no will, no future, no hope. It’s almost like a death of the person though they may not physically be dead. Then in comes Daenerys Targaryen, a young girl with nothing but her dragons and her compassion, who says to them “you may not matter to them but you matter to me and I will save you”. Where the slaves didn’t have free will before, Dany gives it to them. I’m remembering the unsullied who didn’t even have names but Dany gave them the ability to pick and choose their own; which seems like such a small act but means so much more because names are important in humanizing people. She represents new beginnings.

Dany’s crusade across Slaver’s Bay is a big deal. She didn’t have to do it but she did it anyway. There was no personal gain for her but she did it because she cares so deeply about people. And then she gets to Meereen and decides to stay there because her “children” need her. She cannot and will not abandon strangers to a fate of death. And the people know that.

I’m just thinking of this quote:

“I am no lady,” the widow replied, “just Vogarro’s whore. You want to be gone from here before the tigers come. Should you reach your queen, give her a message from the slaves of Old Volantis.” She touched the faded scar upon her wrinkled cheek, where her tears had been cut away. “Tell her we are waiting. Tell her to come soon.”

- Tyrion VII, ADWD

And this one too:

“I told you, I know our little queen […] this Mother of Dragons, this Breaker of Chains, is above all a rescuer. The girl who drowned the slaver cities in blood rather than leave strangers to their chains can scarcely abandon her own brother’s son in his hour of peril.”

- Tyrion VI, ADWD

These people have never even met Dany but to them, she is hope and freedom and life! She is salvation, and that’s the point. She has spent much of her arc fighting slavery which is in preparation for her ultimate destiny as a savior to defeat the Others. Because they not only bring death to the land but they also threaten to enslave humanity through death. However, they cannot triumph over the Breaker of Chains; the great savior that is Daenerys Targaryen! That’s what her story has been building up to. And it’s not that Dany is saving people and peacing out (e.g., dying in a sacrifice). The point is that she herself persevered. And because she persevered, her people will too. It’s that her constant survival ensures that of others.

Dany grew up penniless, homeless, hungry, and even started out as a 13 year old slave to Khal Drogo. She could have given up but she didn’t because through everything, she is resilient. She is determination and perseverance in the face of death. When she walked into that funeral pyre she could have died, but she lived and emerged as the Mother of Dragons - these dragons that have been instrumental in freeing slaves and will ultimately be important in the Other’s defeat. She “died” in that pyre and was “reborn”, and this rebirth is moving her closer to ensuring that the rest of her people overcome death as well.

That’s why it’s more thematically meaningful for Dany to survive the Long Night, in my opinion. She, more than anyone, represents what it means to constantly fight against the odds. She represents what it means to go through all the worst life can throw at you and then not only come out on top, but turn around and use her own survival to ensure that of others’. She has lived through so many trials and persevered; she is the very embodiment of what it means to survive. Because her survival means that where death could destroy, it didn’t. Instead, life prevailed.

If she survives the Long Night, she remains a constant symbol - a beacon if you will - of what’s to come which is better days. Those who are suffering can look to her and see how she went through hell and lived. This would go a long way in boosting morale especially in the aftermath of the Long Night. Because think about it, the people fought against the Others and overcame death, but now they have to survive what comes next. I think Dany is needed because she has already gone through this cycle and will not only be an important figurehead during the War for the Dawn, but she will also be important as the people try to find a will to live beyond death (winter and the Others).

The last book is called A Dream of Spring so I assume this means that it will still be winter - though the Long Night may be over. People will still be hungry, they will be homeless, and they will be tired. They will not know what comes next only that they have to move forward and survive through this new hardship. And you know who has personally experienced these things and knows what it’s like? Daenerys Targaryen! She has survived through it all. So imagine just how powerful it will be for those who survive the Long Night to look at young Daenerys and go, “you know what, I think we’ll get through this one too”. And it will be even more poignant for Dany to lead them to that rest and restoration. Because it’s not just the people who need rest after fighting for so long, Dany does too:

“It is such a long way,” she complained. “I was tired, Jorah. I was weary of war. I wanted to rest, to laugh, to plant trees and see them grow. I am only a young girl.”

- Dany X, ADWD

People take the “dragons plant no trees” part that comes after to assume that Dany will remain stagnant for the next two books and it really is a pity. Someone pointed out a while ago (and I cannot for the life of me remember who this was) that Dany tends to pivot at the end of each book. As she continues to grow and develop as a character, her plans and priorities change. So it’s a bit sad how people assume that she will constantly be in a state of warfare. Because at the moment, Dany’s didn’t isn’t over yet.

Her campaign in Essos must continue and she still has the Others to fight in Westeros. So for now, she cannot truly settle down to plant trees. But she has been learning! She tried to do that throughout ADWD and I don’t see why that learning arc will be discarded at the end of the story. Especially when we consider that few others have actually been learning to lead. The only other character who has is Jon Snow but funny enough, many in this fandom think that he too is doomed to die. I’m not sure why George R.R Martin would kill the two up-and-coming leaders in the story who best answer “what was Aragorn’s tax policy?”

Ultimately, when all is said and done and there are no more wars to fight, I think Dany will finally find her peace and will learn that dragons can plant trees and watch them grow. As all the other heroes in the story, she will probably come out of the Long Night battered and bruised, but everything will be okay because she will still be alive; just like that Bran scene at the end of ACOK, which to me is the very definition of bittersweet. A better ending for her in my opinion isn’t dying in the cold of winter, but rather living and healing and finding a way to build a house with a red door, even though she cannot return to the one she knew as a child. Not only that, she can also provide this house with a red door” for the homeless, beaten, and bruised who survive the Long Night. It’s certainly possible that Martin could write Dany’s death in a way that is poignant and beautiful, but my personal preference is that she lives because of what her survival means for the larger themes in the story.

This whole post has been so jumbled and I’ve rambled a bit but I hope it made sense in the end lol. But anyway….the point is, I’m 1000% Team Dany Must Live!

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bleach-your-panties · 8 months

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Intro:

Hello babies!!🖤🐦‍⬛

So, if you know a little bit about me, I am a big fan of horror stories and dark content. (Though I am a scaredy-cat in real life)

This collab idea came to me as I thought about the type of stories I like to read on Tumblr. I also enjoy reading creepy reddit threads like r/Backwoods Creepy and r/creepyencounters. Shoutout to Tallulah ( @antizenin ) for making me get back on Reddit, lol.

So! The theme of this collab is urban legends, myths, fairytales, weird irl encounters; and, fantastical stories (that may or may not be true). Think of Ripley's Believe It or Not and Beyond Belief: Fact or Fiction.

How to Join:

🖤Send me a message and tell me a bit about the story that inspires your submission, your chosen fandom(s), and character(s). Joining multiple times is allowed.

🖤Keep in mind that the entire theme of this collab is dark, unsettling, weird, creepy, and horrifying. So 18+ will be required to join.

🖤If you have a real-life experience that inspires you, feel free to use it!

🖤Inspiration may be drawn from existing urban legends and myths (Candyman, Bloody Mary, Creepypasta, etc.) but do not copy them directly! I want to see you make up your own!

🖤Any fandoms are welcome, not just anime.

🖤No submission deadline. Take your time, dearies~

🖤Please tag your posts with appropriate content labels/trigger warnings, and use the 'read more'. Tag me in completed posts and tag #🐦‍⬛fantastic once you're done!

🖤I look forward to reading what you've written!

📜✒️Posts:

🐦‍⬛Haikyuu!!

the abhorrent tale of the scandalous semen six

character(s): seijoh 4 + kuuro tetsurou and kozume kenma

cw: murder, semen in food, kidnapping

told by: bleach-your-panties

🐦‍⬛Jujutsu Kaisen

false prophets

character(s): geto suguru

cw: incubus, religious themes, manipulation, coercion, dub-con

told by: bleach-your-panties

🐦‍⬛Tokyo Revengers

title tbd

character(s): haruchiyo sanzu

cw: tbd

told by: @ranspuppy

never be a wedding plan for the heartless

character(s): kisaki tetta

cw: mental illness, torture, murder, more tbd

told by: @ksakiswh0re-xo

My Hero Academia 🐦‍⬛

hardest to love

character(s): todoroki touya "dabi"

cw: stalking, voyeurism, self-harm, pyromania, f! masturbation, dubcon, coercion, unprotected sex (wrap it up kids!), degradation

told by: @sincerelyzee

🐦‍⬛fantastical myths collab ©bleach-your-panties 2024.

#🐦‍⬛fantastic #writing collab #anime collab #anime x reader #fandom x reader #writing community #writing event #any fandom #dividers by firefly-graphics #banner made with piccollage #tw: dark content #tw: dark themes #byp🌹

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topguncortez · 2 years

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warnings: This challenge contains heavy material. Please Read with caution. 18+, MINORS DNI.

Day 1: A Little out of the Ordinary - B. Bradshaw ➢warnings: death, TOPGUN shit, whump, unhealthy coping mechanisms

Day 2: No Where to Run - N. Bradshaw ➢warnings: cheating, mentions of sexism, cannon character death, TOPGUN shit

Day 3: Hairs Breadth from Death - T. Kazansky ➢warnings: death, cancer, coughing up blood, dying, cannon character death

Day 4: Dead on Your Feet - P. Mitchell ➢warnings: MISCARRIAGE, bleeding, angst, hospitals

Day 5: Every Whumpee Needs - B. Bradshaw ➢warnings: TOPGUN shit, character death, blood loss, trauma, mentions of burns/severe injuries, Uranium Mission

Day 6: Proof of Life - J. Seresin ➢warnings: car accident, severe injuries, description of gruesome injuries, blood loss, trauma.

Day 7: The way you shake and shiver - B. Bradshaw ➢warnings: PTSD, mentions of nightmares, panic attack, mentions of the Uranium Mission, mentions of death

Day 8: Everything hurts and I'm dying - J. Seresin ➢warnings: mentions of the Uranium Mission, mentions of death, being kept hostage, mentions of torture, mentions of PTSD

Day 9: The very noisy night - B. Bradshaw ➢warnings: traumatic birth, mentions of hemorrhaging, mentions of cardiac arrest, lack of sleep, mentions of alcoholism, mentions of trauma

Day 10: Poor Unfortunate Souls - R. Abbott ➢warnings: stabbing, death, bleeding out

Day 11: "9-1-1, what's your emergency?" - B. Simpson ➣warnings: injuries, mentions of domestic violence, blood, bruises, motorcycle crash, self inflicted injuries

Day 12: "Mayday, Mayday!" - B. Floyd ➣warnings: drugging, attempted sexual assault, physical assault, blood, vomiting, happy-ish ending

Day 13: Can't Make an Omelet Without Breaking a Few Eggs - N. Trace ➣warnings: bird strike, PTSD, depression, anger, mentions of injuries, physical therapy

Day 14: To Die a Hero or Live Long Enough to Become A Villain - H. Ruth ➣warnings: death, TOPGUN shit, dog fighting, missiles, guns

Day 15: Emotional Damage - N. Bradshaw ➢warnings: mentions of the crash, scars, PTSD, description of injuries

Day 16: No Way Out - B. Bradshaw ➢warnings: torture, screams, blood, mentions of sexual assault, electrocution, stabbing, vomiting.

Day 17: Hanging On By a Thread - J. Seresin ➢warnings: post partum depression, the navy fucking sucks at paternity leave, mastitis, troubles breastfeeding, colic, crying.

Day 18: Let's Break the Ice - P. Mitchell ➣warnings: cannon character death, sadness, passing out, description of injuries

Day 19: Enough is Enough - J. Seresin ➢warnings: morning sickness, vomiting, passing out, PTSD, hospitals, pregnancy

Day 20: It's Been a Long Day - T. Kazansky ➢warning: cannon character death, mentions of injuries, PTSD, mentions of nudity

Day 21: Famous Last Words - B. Floyd ➢warnings: mentions of cheating, mentions of heart failure, mentions of child death, hospitals, character death, organ donation

Day 22: Pick Your Poison - B. Simpson ➢warnings: Uranium Mission, mentions of a will, mentions of death, passing out.

Day 23: At The End of Their Rope - R. Abbott ➢warnings: violence, mentions of domestic violence, mentions of cheating, drinking, blood, fighting.

Day 24: Fight or Flight - B. Bradshaw ➢warnings: Catatonia, PTSD, violence, mentions of choking (non-sexual), dehydration, mentions of torture, mentions of the Uranium Mission, therapy, arguing, denial. Based on the episode of Grey's Anatomy where Teddy goes catatonic.

Day 25: Silence is Golden - B. Simpson ➢warnings: TOPGUN shit, plane crash, mentions of "burning in", ejection, cursing, violence.

Day 26: No One Left Behind - B. Floyd ➢warnings: hazing, underaged drinking, toxic parents, near drowning, fear of water

Day 27: Pushed to the Limit - B. Bradshaw ➢warnings: mentions of torture, PTSD, nightmares, mentions of suicide, unhealthy coping mechanisms

Day 28: It's Just the Tip Of the Iceberg - R. Abbott warnings: physical violence, Perry's a fucking dumbass, fighting, bull riding injuries, dislocated bones, mentions of domestic abuse, mentions of depression (not eating, not sleeping).

Day 29: What Doesn't Kill Me. . . - J. Seresin ➣warnings: mentions of scars, mentions of near death, mentions of out of body experiences, heart surgery, Jake has PTSD

Day 30: Note to Self; Don't get kidnapped - B. Bradshaw ➣warnings: post-partum depression, surrogacy, slash pairing (floydsin), breast milk pumping.

Day 31: coming soon

#top gun #top gun fan fic #top gun fan fiction #top gun imagine #top gun maverick #top gun maverick fan fic #top gun maverick fan fiction #top gun maverick imagine #g's whumptober:)

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dawn-moths · 1 year

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Can i ask for 21 and 18 for Dabi/Touya? Daddy pls/j🥺

haha ok i got u 💕

prompt: brushing through the other's hair while talking & developing own terms for everything

character: dabi/touya (boku no hero academia)

words: 1100+

content warning: no warnings apply! just some cute, innocent fluff.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

“Wow…” you remark, fingers loosely threaded through Dabi’s inky spikes. “I’m actually surprised, y’know. I thought you’d have a lot more knots and tangles.”

From where his head is resting in your lap, Dabi tilts his face slightly more your way, half-lidded cobalt gaze meeting yours. He looks serene like this, all relaxed and pliable as he rests between your gently folded legs, but as the ghost of a smirk tugs up at one corner of his scarred lips, a spark of mischief wiggles its way in.

“Why?” he asks. Simple. Like he’s testing you.

Your soothing, stroking motions cease for a moment, staring down at him with a flicker of guilt. “I dunno,” you shrug, breaking eye contact for a second as you sarcastically roll your eyes. “Maybe because I’ve never seen you do anything to your hair besides embrace perpetual bedhead?”

At this, he puffs out a small breath of a laugh, lazily amused at your little quip.

“Yeah, and why would I…?” Reaching a big, slender fingered hand up to cup the smooth skin of your cheek, he concludes with, “When I have someone who’ll comb their fingers through it whenever I ask?”

The sincerity of the comment flusters you for a moment, but then you’re wearing that soft, sweet smile reserved only for him and melting further into his rough palm, eyes fluttering shut as you sigh against his familiar touch.

“I let you get away with too much,” you joke, continuing your rhythmic combing through his course dark hair, the first flurries of his natural snow white color just beginning to show at the roots. “Next thing I know, you’ll be asking me to dye it for you too.”

Dabi gives that some thought, then he says, voice dropping to a low, sated lull, “Y’know, that’s actually not a bad idea,” which earns him a teasing pull on his hair as you curl a loose fist through the strands and gently tug. “What?” He chuckles, beginning to reach further back to twine his fingers through your own hair, mimicking your tender ministrations the best he can from his current position. “Don’t like the idea of having your hands stained blue for weeks on end?”

If it was for you, you want to say, I wouldn’t mind at all. But what comes out instead is, “Better watch out or you might end up with neon blue in the end, if I feel like messing with you that day.”

“Oh, if you feel like messing with me, huh?” Dabi playfully mocks, winning another one of those melodic giggles from you, the kind he lives for. The kind that makes him forget, even if just for one fleeting moment in time, all the hardship he’s had to endure up until now. Will likely have to endure in the future to come. “You’d be in for one hell of a payback for that.”

You and him mutter some harmless banter back and forth for a little while longer until eventually a silence falls over you again. It’s the kind that almost had Dabi dozing off before you’d made the comment about his hair, the kind that keeps you mesmerized enough that you could absentmindedly comb through his spikes all afternoon.

“I wish things could stay like this forever…” you murmur under your breath, so quiet you’re not even sure Dabi heard you, the way his eyes are once again closed and his breathing is slow and shallow, no doubt on the precipice of unconsciousness.

But then he sighs out, without opening his eyes, “Me too…”

A couple seconds pass and then his head is reluctantly lifting from your lap, shifting his position to sit upright. You let out a small whine of protest but he’s quick to beckon you back into his arms, your back resting against his chest and feeling safe and comforted as his body heat seeps through the fabric of your clothes, cradling you in warmth.

“You know we gotta make that supply run today…” he reminds you, pulling you both back to the reality that is being a bunch of wanted criminals hiding out with not much to their names, having to sneak around the city and steal cheap food from convenience stores just to survive week to week, sometimes even day to day.

“Yeah, I know…” you mutter, not trying to hide your blatant not wanting to make that supply run today. You nuzzle your head closer into the crook of his neck and say, “Sphynx will have a meltdown if we’re not back before sundown…”

Dabi smirked to himself, then said, “Well we can ask Ragdoll to come along. She’s been complaining about being cooped up in here for too long…”

Now it was your turn to smile. Because it had been your idea to code name the other members of the League as different cat breeds. At first, Dabi scoffed at your little game, asked you why, so you’d just shrugged and answered, “Because it’s fun,” and then, after a moment’s hesitation and a devious expression forming on your face, you added, “And this way we can talk about people without them knowing, if they decide to listen in.”

And so the joke had stuck.

Tomura was, obviously, “Sphynx”, Toga was “Ragdoll”, after she’d caught wind of your guys’ inside joke and wanted to choose her own breed to be referred by. As for the others, Jin was “Persian”, Spinner was “Devon Rex”, Atsuhiro was “Russian Blue”, and Kurogiri was “Bombay”.

Just for fun, you’d assigned one to Dabi— “Calico”— and for you, you’d chosen “Siamese”.

There had even been a few times when Tomura had been nearby while you two had been talking about him, butting in to ask, “Who the hell’s Sphynx?” only for you and Dabi to exchange smug glances and then reply, “No one. Don’t worry about it,” and then try to contain your laughter until he walked away lest you blow your entire cover.

It was just some silly, harmless fun, but it helped make the dingy, mundane, day to day of slumping around the bar that was currently serving as the main HQ a little more bearable, so Dabi didn’t mind playing along.

“Guess we should get ready to head out…” Dabi looked down at you, now settled in his lap, and quirked up one dark brow, “Don’cha think?”

You hummed out a twinkling giggle, Dabi’s heart stuttering a beat at such a genuine, jovial sound. You said, “If we have to. But this time you’re gonna be on lookout while I grab the goods. Deal, Calico?”

He flashed a grin that was half challenging, half proud. “Deal, Siamese.”

He’d taught you almost everything you knew, since you’d been taken in by the League. He felt pride in knowing, for as sweet as you were with him when you two were alone, he’d also been the one to corrupt you, in one way or another.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

send me a number from this prompt list + one of the characters i write for and i’ll write a short lil something for you 💕

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littlesweetchurro · 4 days

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Malfunctioned

Chapter Two

Bakugou

Bakugou's fist slammed into the wall. The receptionist squeaked, her eyes wide.

"What the fuck do you mean, 'standard solutions'?" He snarled, looming over the desk. "Did you not hear a goddamn word I said?"

The woman—Bakugou hadn't bothered to learn her name—stammered something unintelligible. Her gaze darted around the room, looking anywhere but at the fuming hero in front of her.

Bakugou's teeth ground together. This was the third fucking support company he'd visited today, and his patience was hanging by a thread.

The first had been a joke. A bunch of starry-eyed idiots more interested in getting his autograph than actually fixing his gear. He'd stormed out after ten minutes, leaving behind a room full of singed eyebrows and bruised egos.

The second... Christ, the second had been even worse. He'd tried to play nice, really he had. But then they'd started talking about "upgrades" and "premium packages." As if he needed their overpriced bullshit. He'd made his opinion on that quite clear. Last he'd seen, they were still trying to put out the fire in their demo room.

And now this place. He'd had high hopes for this one. They came highly recommended, supposedly the best in the business. But so far, all he'd gotten was the same cookie-cutter crap as everywhere else.

"Listen here," Bakugou growled, leaning in close. The receptionist flinched back, the scent of his nitroglycerin sweat filling the air. "I need someone who can fix my gear. Not slap a band-aid on it, not sell me some fancy new toy. Fix. It. Is there anyone in this goddamn building capable of doing that?"

The woman's mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water. Bakugou's lip curled in disgust. Pathetic.

"I-I'll get the manager," she finally squeaked out.

Bakugou straightened, crossing his arms over his chest. "About fucking time."

As the receptionist scurried away, Bakugou paced the lobby like a caged animal. His eyes scanned the room, taking in the sleek furniture and modern art. All style, no substance. Just like everything else in this place.

He caught sight of his reflection in a polished chrome sculpture. His hair was a mess, more wild than usual. Dark circles shadowed his eyes. And there, just visible above his collar, was a thin scar from where a villain had gotten too close during his last patrol.

Bakugou's jaw clenched. He needed his gauntlets.

The sound of approaching footsteps pulled him from his thoughts. A man in an expensive suit strode towards him, plastering on a fake smile that made Bakugou's skin crawl.

"Dynamight, sir! It's an honor to have you here. I'm Tanaka, the head of our R&D department. I understand you're having some issues with your support gear?"

Bakugou's eyes narrowed. This fucker better not be another waste of his time.

"Yeah, you could say that," he growled. "My gauntlets aren't firing right. Misfires, weak blasts, the whole nine yards. I need it fixed, and I need it fixed yesterday."

Tanaka nodded, his smile never wavering. "Of course, of course. We'd be happy to take a look. Perhaps you'd like to come back to our lab? We have some exciting new prototypes that might interest you—"

"Did I fucking stutter?" Bakugou cut him off, his voice dangerously low. "I don't want your new shit. I want my gear fixed."

Tanaka's smile faltered for a moment before snapping back into place. "Ah, yes, of course. Well, why don't you show me the problem, and we'll see what we can do?"

Bakugou grunted, reaching into the duffel bag slung over his shoulder. He pulled out his gauntlets, slamming them onto a nearby coffee table hard enough to make the magazines scatter.

"There," he said, gesturing to the scorched and dented equipment. "Firing mechanism's fucked. Calibration's off. And the blast radius is all over the place."

Tanaka leaned in, examining the gauntlets with a furrowed brow. "Hmm, I see. These are quite... unique. Custom-made, I assume?"

Bakugou's eye twitched. "No shit. You think I'd wear some off-the-rack crap?"

"Of course not," Tanaka said smoothly. "It's just, well, our technicians might have some difficulty with such a specialized piece of equipment. Perhaps it would be easier if we started from scratch? We have some excellent new designs that—"

"For the last fucking time," Bakugou roared, his patience finally snapping, "I don't want your shitty new designs! I want these fixed!"

Fucks sake!

Was he fucking speaking German?

Tanaka took a step back, his practiced smile finally cracking.

"Now, now, there's no need for that kind of language," he said, holding up his hands placatingly. "I'm sure we can come to some sort of arrangement. Why don't we discuss this in my office?"

Bakugou's hands sparked, small explosions popping in his palms. "The only thing we're going to discuss is how quickly you can get someone competent to look at my gear."

Tanaka's eyes darted nervously to Bakugou's hands, then to the exit. "I... I'm not sure we have anyone available at the moment who could handle such a complex—"

"Bullshit," Bakugou snarled. He took a step forward, relishing the way Tanaka flinched. "You're supposed to be the best in the business. Are you telling me that was all talk?"

Sweat beaded on Tanaka's forehead. "N-no, of course not. It's just, well, custom work like this requires a certain level of expertise, and—"

"And what?" Bakugou's voice was quiet now, deadly calm. "You don't have that expertise? Is that what you're saying?"

Tanaka's mouth opened and closed, no sound coming out. Bakugou could practically see the wheels turning in his head, trying to find a way out of this situation without admitting defeat.

Bakugou's lip curled in disgust. He'd seen enough.

Without another word, he snatched up his gauntlets and shoved them back into his bag. He turned on his heel, stalking towards the exit.

"Wait!" Tanaka called after him. "Perhaps we could—"

The door slammed shut behind Bakugou, cutting off whatever pathetic offer Tanaka had been about to make.

Outside, Bakugou took a deep breath of the cool evening air. His hands were still smoking, small pops and crackles echoing in the quiet street.

Three companies. Three fucking failures.

You

Monday morning arrived with a vengeance, bringing with it a pounding headache and the harsh reality of your job at Tech Nexus Solutions. You dragged yourself to work, praying for an easy day to nurse your hangover. The universe, however, had other plans.

"Hey!" your coworker Hana called out as soon as you entered the office. "Mr. Morita is on the warpath. He's demanding changes to his support gear... again."

You groaned, rubbing your temples. Mr. Morita, aka Rubber Man was proving to be a notoriously difficult client, a minor pro-hero with an inflated ego and a penchant for nitpicking every detail of his gear. "What is it this time?" you asked, dreading the answer.

"He says the material isn't breathable enough and the color is off by two shades," Hana replied, wincing sympathetically.

"Of course it is," you answered.

Taking a deep breath, you steeled yourself for the impending confrontation.

The vane of your existence was calling people, you hated making phone calls. Why couldn't you just send an email? But no, you had to put on your big girl pants and be professional.

You grunted.

You dialed Rubber Man's number, putting on your most professional voice. "Good morning, Mr. Morita. I understand you have some concerns about your gear?"

What followed was a twenty-minute tirade about the supposedly subpar quality of his suit. You listened patiently, jotting down notes and occasionally interjecting with clarifying questions. When he finally paused for breath, you seized your opportunity.

"Mr. Morita," you began, in your most professional voice, "I appreciate your attention to detail. However, I must remind you that the material we used was specifically chosen for its durability and flexibility, which are crucial for your quirk. As for the color, I have the approved shade right here in front of me, and I can assure you it's exactly as specified."

"But it doesn't feel right!" he spluttered, making you wonder who, what single individual had been responsible for his fucking huge ego. His mom probably.

You smirked, thankful he couldn't see your expression over the phone. "Feeling right and being right are two different things, Mr. Morita. Perhaps what you're experiencing is the natural breaking-in period for new gear. I suggest giving it a week of regular use. If you're still unsatisfied, we can schedule a fitting to address any specific areas of discomfort."

There was a pause on the other end of the line. You held your breath, hoping your blend of logic and compromise would appease him.

"Fine. One week. But if I'm not satisfied, I expect immediate action."

"Of course, Mr. Morita. Your satisfaction is our top priority," you replied smoothly, hoping your customer service voice was on point today. "Is there anything else I can help you with today?"

After assuring him once more that his concerns were being taken seriously, you ended the call, exhaling loudly.

"Nicely handled," Hana said, impressed. "I thought he was going to demand a complete redesign."

You grinned, feeling a sense of accomplishment. "Sometimes you just need to speak their language. A little flattery, a dash of logic, and a sprinkle of standing your ground." You stood up and stretched trying to relieve the kink your neck. "You know all standards when dealing with heroes."

As the morning wore on, you found yourself in need of a caffeine boost. You made your way to the break room, hoping a strong cup of coffee would chase away the last vestiges of your hangover.

"Did you hear? Dynamight is looking for a new support company!"

Your ears perked up at the mention of the explosive hero. Dynamight, also known as Katsuki Bakugou, was one of the top heroes in Japan. Working with him would be a massive opportunity for any support company.

"Are you serious?" another voice chimed in. "That would be huge for us if we could land that contract!"

"Yeah, but can you imagine dealing with his temper? I heard he made his last support tech cry."

You freeze, coffee forgotten as you strain to hear more. You really didn't like gossip, not really, well maybe you did like it a bit when it wasn't about you.

"I heard he actually set fire to the last company's prototype room," someone says in a hushed tone.

You rolled your eyes. Typical hero gossip, probably exaggerated. Probably. Though you really couldn't be sure when it came to the explosive hero. Dynamight's temper was legendary, but so is his prowess as a hero. Working with him would be the opportunity of a lifetime.

"Can you imagine trying to work with that? He'd probably blast you across the room if you suggested an improvement."

You snorted quietly.

"His gauntlets are a work of art, though," someone mused. "The way they store his sweat and amplify his explosions is genius."

"True, but they're also incredibly complex. One wrong move and they could malfunction catastrophically."

You found yourself nodding in agreement. Dynamight's gauntlets were indeed impressive, a perfect example of how support gear could enhance a hero's natural abilities. The thought of working on such advanced equipment sent a thrill of excitement through you.

"Who do you think they'll assign to his account if we get it?" one of your coworkers asked.

"It'll have to be someone who can handle the pressure. And his attitude," another replied with a chuckle.

You took that as your cue to enter the break room, pretending and failing like you hadn't heard a thing. "Morning, everyone," you said casually, making a beeline for the coffee machine.

Your colleagues greeted you, their conversation shifting to more mundane topics. As you prepared your coffee, your mind raced with possibilities. Working with Dynamight would be challenging, no doubt, but it could also be the opportunity of a lifetime.

You returned to your desk, sipping your coffee thoughtfully. The idea of designing support gear for one of the top heroes in the country was exhilarating. Sure, Dynamight had a reputation for being difficult, but you'd just proven your ability to handle demanding clients.

You could do, you knew you could.

A small, ambitious, prideful part of you wondered knew you'd be perfect for the challenge. After all, if you could talk down Mr. Morita, how much worse could the explosive hero be?

Little did you know, you were about to find out exactly how much worse it could be.

#fanfic #mha x reader #mha fanfiction #bakugou katsuki #pro hero bakugou #pro heroes #fem reader #reader insert #boku no hero academia

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chaifootsteps · 10 months

Note

https://www.reddit.com/r/Vivziepopmemes/s/zjfTnKxeYk

This entire thread over a meme pointing out that Stella is one dimensional is making me feel like I’m taking crazy pills. Like the fucking takes in this are shallower than the kiddie pool with the grace of frozen iceberg lettuce.

“She’s a demon and she’s in Hell so she just likes tormenting because demons are bad.”

Except for when we’re shown in universe that demon ≠ being automatically bad. Like Charlie caring about sinners dying, baby Blitz having qualms about stealing, M&M having a healthy and loving relationship, Ozzie and Bee being overall nice people dispite being deadly sins.

“People are 1 Dimensional in real life, some people are just assholes.”

Ok sure but that’s not really that interesting to write or to watch. Other villains at least have an iota of depth to their motivations like Striker’s hatred for royals and Verosika’s past with Blitz, so Stella stands out for being evil because lol fuck it. Especially with how important she is to the Stolas plot she’s so flat and uninteresting.

“Why do people care this much about silly demon show? Just don’t care lol”

What if? I drive my show off of a cliff?

So yea, Helluvaverse Twitter is a garbage fire but Reddit ain’t much better Jesus Christ.

"People are 1 Dimensional in real life"

All of this is clown world tier nonsense but I think this is the one that annoys me the most, because it shows just how limited these peoples' grasp on the real world actually is.

No one does anything for no reason, not in real life and arguably not in fiction either. It's not always a good reason or a reason that makes sense from the outside looking in, but everyone is the hero of their own story. Everyone has some kind of driving factor behind the choices they make.

Readings like this are moronic.

#vivid-bluez #vivziepop fandom #helluva boss critical #actual blog post

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lingerasthesmokeoncedid · 2 years

Text

pairing: pattinson!batman x reader

summary: When her thread on r/GothamUnsolved (claiming that Bruce Wayne is the Batman) goes viral, an amateur sleuth finds herself at odds with both the man - and the Dark Knight.

wc: 10k+

genre: a romantic comedy between two deeply strange weirdos

warnings: canon-typical violence, bruce wayne is bad at google

“After the events of the Gotham Flood, the Batman has become something of a folk hero around the streets of our “fair” city. But what if I told you that the Batman isn’t all he seems? What if I told you that the caped crusader, the man who solved the Riddler and the masked menace of Gotham’s evil-doers isn’t just some guy? What if I told you…he’s Bruce Wayne?” -Excerpt from “Bruce Wayne is The Batman (NOT CLICKBAIT),” a forty-six part reddit thread by TheRealGothamGirl

Three years ago, after devouring a True Crime podcast about the Wayne murders, a nobody barista found her way to the r/GothamUnsolved subreddit.

It wasn't much of a hobby, just a forum dedicated to amateur sleuths attempting to piece together the perpetrators of crimes the Gotham PD was unable – or unwilling – to solve themselves. Ever since, in the hours between the dead-end job she worked to one day (hopefully) put herself through law school, she poured over the subreddit and its various threads, picking apart evidence and seeking it out herself.

Six of her own investigations had led to arrests, she was proud to say. Not that anyone knew who she was. The forum was entirely anonymous, and she wanted to keep it that way. The last thing she needed was some of Gotham’s criminal element coming after her for exposing their identities or that of their accomplices – if they did, she figured they’d definitely kill her, and considering that the Gotham PD solved fewer homicides than her favorite subreddit, her killer would likely never be found.

But every amateur sleuth like her had a white whale – that one unsolved mystery that would haunt them for the rest of her days. In her case, however, the while whale was more of a dark knight. A Kevlar bat.

She wasn’t the first to drive themselves basically crazy over the identity of The Batman. Many on the forum had tried, only to run into dead ends or talk themselves in circles or point the finger at plainly ridiculous candidates. ( Harvey Dent? Really? ) However, she was - she believed, anyway - the first person to get it right.

So, after months of meticulous research, a few illegal dumpster dives outside of Wayne Enterprises, a few less-than-accidental run-ins with muggers so she could lure the Batman for closer inspection, and some incredible luck, she published her findings: a forty-six part reddit thread detailing most of her evidence, enough evidence that a jury of Bruce Wayne’s peers would have no choice to convict him, enough evidence to prove that the crown prince of Gotham was really its caped crusader, enough evidence to prove to anyone with half a brain that Bruce Wayne was unbelievably, irrevocably, incontrovertibly –

“Not the Batman. No. Definitely not.”

All day, behind the counter of the shitty print shop where she scanned other people’s theses and endlessly shuffled corporate reports into bracketed binders, she’d had to listen and smile and push highlights while customer after customer snickered at the ridiculous theory that had gone viral last night – the “insane” “conspiracy theory” that Bruce Wayne was The Batman. Each of them totally unaware that they were talking to the woman who’d spent months of her life crafting it.

All of that, she could have taken. But when the crackling television on the wall played a newscast with brooding Bruce Wayne snickering at the idea – staring into the camera as he said it, as if he were taunting her, specifically…that was the last straw.

“I don’t know, Mr. Wayne, this online poster seems to have really gotten people talking. Are you sure you’re not The Batman?”

“Miss Vale, how crazy would I have to be to run around Gotham City dressed as a bat?”

Vicki Vale, GCN's resident Bruce Wayne stalker, accepted this with a giggle, allowing Bruce Wayne to disappear into his city offices so she might sum up her ambush interview for the folks at home. But the woman behind the desk at the print shop bit the inside of her cheek.

What Bruce Wayne had just said? It wasn’t a denial. And she did think he was crazy enough to run around the city as a bat.

In fact, she knew he was.

Pinned Comment from Mod_GothamUnsolved: “Hey, Front Page! Due to an increase in inflammatory comments and threats against OP for this post, we are locking down our comments - approved users only for now. Sorry! Don’t be dicks next time! Keep an eye on our subreddit for more Bats-related content, though. OP claims to have more information forthcoming.”

That night when her shift was over, she tucked her keys between her knuckles, carried her umbrella in her free hand, and returned by the better-lit streets – basic operating procedure for anyone who wanted to live to see another day in Gotham – to the crappy loft in the crappier side of town where she lived. Every step was agitated agony. She knew it wasn’t literally true, but it felt as if everyone who laughed, everyone who smiled, everyone who glanced down at their phone, was making fun of her theory.

But it wasn’t a theory. Bruce Wayne was Batman. He was. She just had to prove it–

When she slammed the door of apartment 1319B open, her blood ran cold.

Oh, she was going to prove it alright.

Because there, rifling through one of her cabinets as if it were his own home, was the short, gruff, stocky, suited man she’d seen in more than a dozen photographs of Bruce Wayne and his associates.

“Oh. Mr. Pennyworth. Fancy seeing you here…” She closed the door behind her, rolling her eyes around the room to highlight just how supremely fucked up it was for him to be here. “...in my apartment.”

For his part, Mr. Pennyworth did not seem fazed by the strangeness of his presence there.

“Hello there,” he hummed, perfectly pleasant as he finally closed a cupboard and crossed to face her in the corner of the room that served as what could generously be called kitchenette. “I’m afraid we haven’t been formally introduced.”

“No,” she said, “but I bet you already know who I am. Don’t you?”

No denial. Instead, he slid a file across the grotty, coffee-stained countertop that served as her cook surface, her mail table, her desk, and her dining room. With one hesitant hand, she flicked it open to find exactly what she’d expected: pages and pages of print outs. Not just of her online post history, but of everything else. She couldn’t help but smile. No, beam . This was confirmation. She had found The Batman. And The Batman had sent his little minion to take her off of their trail. Only a truly threatened man would uncover the identity behind her online handle, break into her home, and present her with what looked like a blackmail folder. It basically screamed, “I’m guilty. I'm the Batman.”

“You’ve caused a bit of trouble for my boss,” Mr. Pennyworth informed her.

“And he’s caused a lot of trouble for the city.”

The man sniffed. “Unless you call causing a shortage of black clothing and Radiohead records trouble , we’ll have to agree to disagree on that point, Miss.”

Her lip twitched. The butler had jokes. That delighted her in a way she hadn’t expected. Still, she played dumb. “I can’t imagine what Bruce Wayne’s personal fixer would want with little old me.”

“This is all very embarrassing for Mr. Wayne, as I’m sure you can understand. Being associated with some kook–”

“Isn’t it more embarrassing to actually be that kook?” She mused. “Maybe if he didn’t want to be associated, he would, you know, stop being Batman?”

The slightest flash of annoyance crossed Mr. Pennyworth’s face. “–But he understands that you have a keen investigative mind and admires your tenacity. Even if it’s turned up the wrong result. He thinks he can help with that.”

And here it was. The only logical conclusion of Bruce Wayne discovering her identity. He was going to bribe her. Well, he could have her killed, but that would be so sloppy. These rich guys. Always the same. “Oh, yeah?”

“The Wayne Foundation would like to make a donation to your education,” Mr. Pennyworth said, passing another envelope across the desk, this time, sealed and check-sized. “A fully funded scholarship to Gotham University’s law program. You could train your mind. Put that tenacity to good use. Make the world a better place.”

“And stop pursuing this Bruce Wayne as Batman thing all together, I guess?”

“Well, I imagine you won’t have time,” he said, the implication clear. Her silence in exchange for this money, for her future. “What with all of that coursework you’ll be doing.”

She picked up the check, toying with its weight in her hand. How strange that something so small could have such power to change her life. A deep breath, then: “I appreciate this. I hope you tell Mr. Wayne that.”

“I will–”

With three easy gestures, she ripped the check into pieces and resigned them to the nearby trash can. “And you can also tell him that the next time he wants to intimidate me, he should put on his little costume and do it himself.”

UPDATED TO ADD: Today, I had a visit from Alfred Pennyworth, Mr. Bruce Wayne’s personal fixer (mentioned in sections 1, 2, 4, 7-45 of my investigation). He very politely invited me to cease my investigation into Bruce Wayne. And told me that if I did, the Wayne Foundation would happily pay for me to finally go to law school, something I’ve wanted to do but never have been able to afford. For anyone who still doubts my theory, I think Mr. Pennyworth pretty much proved it. Why would Bruce Wayne need to buy me off if what I said wasn’t true? Don’t believe me? See the security camera stills below - taken inside of my apartment. That’s Alfred Pennyworth, going through my cabinets. Thanks for stopping by, Mr. Pennyworth, but I’m here for the truth. Bruce Wayne’s money may be able to buy a lot of things in this town, but it’s not going to buy my silence."- Excerpt from “Bruce Wayne is The Batman (NOT CLICKBAIT),” a forty-seven part reddit thread by TheRealGothamGirl

Every Tuesday, on her only day off, she had a little ritual. First, she went to the Gotham Public Library to sort through the public records and pick up a new smutty romance book to read before bedtime over the next week. Then, she went to the courthouse and police station to pull any reports she might have needed for her research. And finally, she would go to the deli behind the police station, order the cheapest sandwich on the menu (usually given at a discount, as she requested day-old bread instead of fresh), and sit on her favorite park bench to enjoy her paperwork, her sandwich, and - on rare days like these - the sunshine.

However, on her walk to the bench today, a long, black coat wearing a tall, imposing man knocked her off of her path when their bodies accidentally collided. As she stumbled back from the force of him, her papers flying everywhere and her sandwich bag tumbling into the nearby grass, a brittle, soft voice reached her ears:

“Excuse me, miss–”

Familiar. She’d heard that voice before.

Crouched down to grab her papers, she looked up to see that the voice belonged to just the man she’d suspected – or feared.

It was Bruce Wayne. In the flesh. Without his armor or his mask. And when their eyes met, he smiled at her. Not a big smile, not anything he might have flashed in the papers, but something softer. Almost genuine. Almost good enough to awaken a whole sea of butterflies in the pit of her stomach.

“Oh,” he said, wincing his greeting. A little shy. A little awkward. “Hello. I'm sorry about that. Here. Can I...?”

He crouched down to help her. For a moment, she lost her breath and every word she’d ever learned. There was nothing but him. She’d been close to him before – once. But other than that fleeting exchange, one she was sure he didn’t remember, she only knew him from photographs and archival footage. In those videos, he’d always seemed…

Well, not to be rude, but a little bit like if the sickly orphan boy in a Charles Dickens novel had been cast in a 90’s grunge band’s music video.

In person, though, so close, he was something completely different. Sure, the basics of him were still the same, but there was an intoxicating indirectness about him – as though he didn’t understand the basics of human interaction…but something about her made him want to try.

She shook off the feeling almost as soon as it occurred to her.

There wasn’t anything special about her. This wasn’t a chance meeting in the park. It was another attempt to con her into dropping her Batman posts.

“That’s cute,” she muttered, attempting to pile her papers back into some semblance of order.

Bruce Wayne offered up stray pages as though he weren’t a billionaire crouched down in the middle of a public park. “What is?”

“This isn’t some chance meeting, Bruce Wayne . You’re pretending to run into me just a few days after your bruiser broke into my apartment.”

She glanced up to check out his reaction. A muscle in his jaw tightened and he looked anywhere but her.

“I didn’t ask him to do that. And–”

He stopped himself short, as though he’d caught himself almost saying something he shouldn’t have. When he handed her the last of her papers, she prodded:

“And?”

“And he didn’t break in,” Bruce mumbled. “He said the door wasn’t locked.”

“I notice you’re not denying the fake run-in.”

“This isn’t fake," he protested, at last. "I don’t even know you–”

Lie. How was a man with a whole-ass double life so bad at lying?

Maybe that was why he barely made it out of Wayne Manor or his offices. Maybe he was such a bad liar that if he showed his face in public too much, the whole world would see through him. She fought to fit her folders back into her bag, her sandwich quite forgotten nearby.

“Bruce. I discovered your super-secret identity. You’re not fooling me with this whole innocent guy act.”

Dropping the pretense of this meeting being an accident – thank God, she was glad he didn’t see fit to insult her intelligence any longer – he leaned forward, lowering his voice as though they were sharing a confidence. “I don’t have a secret identity.”

He’d gotten closer to her than he’d probably meant, but she could tell he wasn’t going to back down until he had his answer. So, for a moment, they shared the same air, huffing out cold puffs of powdered breath onto the frigid afternoon wind. His lips – so easily identifiable by anyone with eyes as the Batman’s lips – were pink from the cold. She dragged her gaze from them, then met his.

“Okay, then,” she said, squaring up to him. “Prove it.”

“Prove what, that I’m not Batman?”

“Yes. And you can do that by taking me to dinner.”

404. Batman error.

The man blinked, apparently not expecting her to ask him that question – or, more bafflingly to her, shocked that any woman would want to go on a date with him.

“I…” A muscle twitched between his eyes. Confusion. “I’m sorry?”

She practically sang her answer, quite pleased with herself. How wonderful to play with him this way, to tease him with a challenge she knew he would never meet…to taunt herself with a date she knew she would never get. But it was fun to pretend, just for a second. “The Batman goes out every night between eleven forty-seven and and eleven fifty-two. He doesn’t disappear until sunrise. Take me to dinner. If he’s out tonight and you’re with me, that will prove that you’re not The Batman.”

It would have been so easy for Bruce Wayne to turn on his heel and abandon her. To call a full-court press assault on her character, to degrade her as a crazy conspiracy theorist and resign her silly little theory to the pages of one of those tabloids that had gotten rich off of smearing his dead parents with horrible theories of their own.

But he didn’t. And she wondered…

She wondered if maybe he wanted to have dinner with her.

“Eleven forty-seven is a late dinner, don’t you think?” He asked, a cooly conspiratorial glint in his eye.

“We’ll go to a diner.” She shrugged. “I like waffles.”

“Dinner,” he repeated, confirming. His lips tipping up again in that nearly-smile of his. “I’ll pick you up at 11:45.”

Going for her forgotten sandwich, she rolled her eyes. It was a fun game while it lasted. But she wouldn’t be falling prey to his promises. She wasn’t a fool. “Sure you will, Batman.”

“I’m not–”

But before he could finish that protest, she disappeared around a nearby tree, biting her bottom lip to keep from laughing.

COMMENT FROM @ BALLCHUGGER 69: Batman is the greatest hero. I don’t care who he is. Leave him alone, whore.

That night, she didn’t even bother to get dressed for a date. Didn’t even pretend it was a possibility. No, if anyone had come to pick her up from her shitbox apartment on the wrong side of the city, they would have found her sprawled on her couch in a pair of sweats and a sports bra, stealing internet from her next door neighbor so she could scroll reddit’s latest Bruce Wayne as Batman megathread and listen closely to a livestream of the Gotham PD scanner.

Sure enough, about ten minutes after Bruce was supposed to meet her for dinner, crackle-voice cops informed their comrades that the Bat had just strung up three low-level mob figures up by the ankles from a lamppost.

Ten minutes after that, a knock on the door drew her to it. But when she opened, there was only a small, weighty eggshell envelope waiting for her, taped just beneath the peep hole. When she opened it, a handwritten letter under Wayne Enterprises letterhead informed her that Bruce regretted his absence, but had been called away on an urgent matter.

She smirked as she tossed the letter carelessly into the trash. She’d always known he wasn’t going to show up. The Batman was never going to ignore the city when it was in danger – even if it meant protecting his identity.

She had to admit: she admired him for that.

REPLY TO @ BALLCHUGGER69: I never said he wasn’t a hero. I think he is. In fact, I know he is. So we agree there. But as to the whore comment…if Batman is so heroic, I don’t think he would like you talking to ladies like that.

Sometime around midnight, she decided - for no particular reason - to go for a little walk down to Bowery. The Batman’s main territory. She’d seen him here more than once - and she wanted to see for herself that Bruce Wayne wasn’t at some high society dinner or in his Wayne Enterprises high-rise, but out there, on the streets. Doing what he did best - hunting.

She stuck to the shadows, one hand on the pepper spray in her pocket and the other on the heavy handle of the umbrella she always carried for protection. But soon enough, she found him. Guiding a frightened woman to the safety of a police car, while her three assailants scrambled away.

When Batman turned, his glazed eyes caught hers in the shadow. She smirked. He could run after the bad guys, or he could confront her.

Again, he chose the noble thing. He ran after the criminals.

Admirable. And fortuitous, as the mud from last night's rain left perfect copies of his boot prints behind. Boot prints that she meticulously photographed for later examination.

@ CKent_DailyPlanetNews: After independently verifying recent revelations regarding Wayne Enterprise Employee Alfred Pennyworth and the reddit user who asserts that Bruce Wayne is Batman, I have agreed to cover this story for The Daily Planet. More developments to follow.

For the next few days, after Clark Kent reached out to her anonymous account on Reddit and they set up a time to discuss her Batman finds, she went about her normal routine and tried not to think about Bruce Wayne or his dark knight counterpart. She did her job, raced home, and dove into the other outstanding amateur sleuthing cases that had been piling up during the whole Batman thing.

But she should have known that once the Clark Kent news broke and the internet exploded over it, Bruce Wayne would not be far behind.

One afternoon, in the print shop, she was five paragraphs into a really good sex scene in her book when a hand appeared on the desk in front of her, opening and closing into a loose fist - uncomfortable, not threatening. She glanced up to find Bruce Wayne standing there. As unbearably awkward in real life as he was confident and dangerous as Batman.

She waited for him to speak first. When he finally did, it just came out:

“...Hi.”

“Hi,” she said in her best customer service voice. Trying to ignore how his unbroken stare made her want to melt into his stupid, sexy arms and act out one of those romance novel scenes she’d just been reading. The only thing that stopped her from doing so was the knowledge that she’d gotten him right where she wanted him. He was panicked. And panicked men always made mistakes. Mistakes that could lead to him outright confirming his real identity. “Can I help you?”

“Could I…” He swallowed, trying to strengthen his weak voice. “Can we talk?”

“As opposed to what we’re doing right now?”

“Alone, I mean.”

With a flourish, she rose from behind the printing desk and breezed past him to straighten the already-straightened display of staplers and graphic calculators.

“If you’re here to ask me out, I’m sorry, but my schedule is all full. I don’t go on second dates with guys who stand me up, Mr. Batman.”

“ Don’t call me that .”

It was a growl, the closest she’d yet seen to The Batman flashing past his Bruce Wayne exterior. A thrill shot up and down her spine. Keep him talking . She didn’t want to let him go. She loved this dance that they were doing, this go away closer they played. “You saw Clark Kent’s tweet, didn’t you?”

“I don’t know why you’re doing this–”

“Of course you don’t,” she mumbled. “You never even asked.”

“--But please. Stop. The city needs Batman–”

Clearly, he thought speaking faster and clearer and something approaching a big businessman voice was going to spook her. But she would not be deterred. She’d thought this through a million times. “And they need Bruce Wayne, too. I agree. I just wonder why they can’t have both at the same time.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Nothing.” He still hadn’t asked her why she was doing this. And every time their eyes met, she waited for some flash of recognition that she now knew would never come. Even if she told him now what she meant by that little comment, he wouldn’t listen. Why waste her breath? “Nothing you’d be interested in hearing, anyway.”

Rounding one of the shelves she stocked, he came face-to-face with her. The rack was the only barrier between them.

“I am asking you to stop this,” he pleaded, low and gentle.

“Or what? You’ll make me stop?”

“What do you want? What can I give you?”

Her lips tugged. Smug. “I told you, Mister Wayne. I want to go to dinner.”

“That’s not possible.”

“Well, then. I think we’re done here. As it happens, I have a meeting with Clark Kent later this week to talk about my findings.”

“You’ll be making a mistake.”

“Why?”

“Because one day, if you do this, maybe you’ll need Batman, and I won’t be there.”

That felt like a threat. It felt like a slap. He instantly recoiled, as if ashamed that he’d said it. But when he opened his mouth to no doubt apologize, she beat him to it.

She’d caught him. The harder he tried to deny the truth, the more he kept showing his hand. “... You won’t be there? Sounds like an admission to me.”

Bruce adjusted his coat, drawing the collar up around his neck. He ignored her question and took to convincing her – which sounded more and more like he was convincing himself. “This conversation is over. I’m not your Batman. Your ridiculous post is only going to get people hurt. No one will believe you. And you don’t have any proof, just conjecture and speculation and probably some very flimsy ‘evidence.’ Nothing can link me to The Batman. Nothing .”

She could have laughed. She almost did. But she managed to stop it. Laughing would have given away her whole play. Adopting a fake serious tone, she nodded solemnly. “Of course. Yeah. Silly of me. You . Batman. It’s ridiculous. I’ll just go ahead and cancel my meeting with Clark Kent.”

Something flashed in his expression. Relief? Gratitude? A tint of regret? “I…Thank you.”

With that, he went for the door, but only made it two steps before she called him back.

No proof, he’d said. Please. As if she would accuse the most powerful man in Gotham of being The Batman without any actual evidence.

“Just one more thing, Bruce.”

“Yes?”

When he turned back around, he found himself face-to-face with her phone screen, which flashed a perfect picture of Batman’s boot print, which she’d snapped during their last encounter.

The blood rushed from Bruce’s face. She smirked.

“What size shoe do you wear?”

COMMENT BY DENT4PREZ: Yo, GothamGirl, any more Batman updates?

REPLY BY TheRealGothamGirl: I’m working on another case right now. The world does not revolve around Batman!

She wasn’t sure what made her hold back the boot print picture. Considering Bruce Wayne’s shoe size was a matter of public record thanks to some particularly freaky BW TikTok stans, it would have been a significant piece of evidence to add to the pile currently being combed over by dozens of amateur sleuths like herself.

Maybe it was the slight panic she’d caught in his expression when she showed it to him. Perhaps it was the fact that if he did fully prove him without a shadow of a doubt…he’d have no reason to find her again, ending their brief flirtations.

Maybe she didn’t want to lose him, something she knew would happen if she pushed the truth any further.

It was selfish, she knew. To want to keep him. He belonged to the people, and so did the truth.

But another day or two couldn’t hurt. Especially now that he seemed to hate her.

One day, maybe you’ll need Batman and he won’t be there .

It was those words ringing in her ears when her latest cold case investigation took her to The Narrows, one of Gotham’s worst neighborhoods. The evidence had led her here, to an abandoned warehouse where she believed someone had stashed the trophies of the murders they’d committed, so a bit of light breaking and entering was on the menu tonight. But she wasn’t worried. She’d done this a dozen times. Narrows or no, it was an abandoned warehouse. What were the odds that anyone would –

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing in there?”

She was halfway out of the window when a man staring up at her from the street caught her. Damn. She was nearly homefree.

Adrenaline kicking into action, she threw herself out of the window, careful not to jostle the bag slung across her body – the one containing the killer’s treasures. The man was on her in a second, lunging with everything he had. All of her self-defense training flooded back to her. She dodged him at first, then knocked him back with her umbrella. The next time he approached, though, he caught her on the back foot, and before she knew it, he had her pinned against the wall.

Something sharp pierced her side.

She screamed.

The edges of her world went fuzzy.

Fuck . Had he stabbed her?

The blood loss was swift. His rancid breath on her cheek turned her stomach. But with one last flurry of energy, she emptied her pepper spray into his eyes, and he scrambled out into the darkness. Probably convinced that she wasn’t a threat to him anymore anyway. After all, he’d stabbed her .

When he abandoned their little drama, she crumbled down the wall, pinning her hands to her wound. She had to get out of there. Had to fix herself up. But she was…so tired. Down to her bones. The kind of exhaustion that made sleeping on the ground of a dark alleyway in The Narrows with a bag full of a serial killer’s treasures seem appealing.

Shock, she realized vaguely. This was shock. She was in shock. That’s why the wound didn’t hurt. That’s why she wanted to sleep. That’s why she didn’t notice – not at first – when a cloaked figure stalked into her line of sight.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” she groaned, lolling onto her side at the sight of him.

The Batman. Of all the dark alleyways in all the world, he had to walk into hers.

“Were you following me?” He growled, eyes darting up to the warehouse, where he instantly spotted the window she’d broken to force entry not twenty minutes ago.

“No,” she spit, tasting blood on her teeth now.

“Then why were you–”

“I was on another case.” She followed his line of sight as it traveled from the window down to her bag, which had sprawled open during the scuffle. With those weird shades in his mask, his expression proved unreadable, but she spotted the slightest tensing of his jaw. Ah, so she hadn’t followed him and he hadn’t followed her. They’d just both been hunting the same criminal and gotten here at the same time. “It just happened to be yours, I guess.”

It was only then that he looked at her – really looked at her, not in panic, not in rage – and noticed the red blooming behind the hands clenched at her stomach. His jaw parted this time, but he made no move to approach.

“Leave me alone. I can–I can–You already said what you would do if you found me in trouble. And I assume you’re a man with, like, a code or whatever. It’s what I deserve. Besides,” she wheezed, indicating the police sirens that had just gone off somewhere in the vicinity. “You have bad guys to catch.”

God , she was going to die here. She was going to die here and Batman was going to leave her to do it because he had more heroic things to do and also because she’d been threatening to expose him and also he was angry with her and–

Suddenly, he was all she could see. Kneeling at her side, arms at the ready to collect her.

“Can I touch you?”

“I bet you say that to all the criminals,” she snarked, the blood loss finally getting to her head.

He remained still. Stoic. He would not be touching her unless she gave her consent. Slowly, very slowly, she nodded. “Yeah. Fine. Go ahead.”

No sooner were the words out than he scooped her into his arms, cradling her against his chest, and walking her out of the alley.

She tried not to think about the firm warmth of his chest or how right it felt to curl up in his arms. Tried not to think about the easy way he picked her up – as if she was nothing, rather than the generously curved woman she’d always been.

When he lodged her in the back seat of what appeared to be what she’d pejoratively termed in her reddit post, “the Batmobile,” they were silent. He worked quickly, positioning her so he could withdraw a first aid kit and set to stitching up the wound gushing onto his smooth leather seats. She watched him with hazy vision – cataloging the precision with which he sank a needle into her ribcage and filled her with morphine, the way he cooed quietly when she hissed as he began stitching her up, the delicate care he took with picking the fabric of her clothes out of the gash in her side.

“I could blow up your life tomorrow,” she muttered. Though whether she was speaking to the bat or the man behind the mask, she didn’t know.

“Yeah,” he agreed. “You could.”

“But you’re still doing this. Why?”

“You have your reasons for doing what you’re doing.” His hands were gentle. So gentle for a vigilante. She was struck by the urge to rip those gloves off and see if those hands were as gentle as Bruce Wayne’s had been when he’d first touched her. “I have mine.”

“I hope I get to hear them someday,” she mumbled, teasing. “Maybe at dinner.”

“Batman doesn’t do dinner,” he said, apparently still trying to engage in his little game of pretend. As if he hadn’t just as good as admitted who he was. As if this night didn’t change anything.

The last thing she remembered, before she passed out from the drugs he’d given her, was the chuckle he rewarded her with when she replied, “Maybe not. But Bruce Wayne might.”

SIGNAL MESSAGE FROM CLARK KENT: Are we still on for our meeting tomorrow? I’m flying down tomorrow morning.

SIGNAL MESSAGE FROM ANONYMOUS: Flying? It’s like an hour drive. Aren’t you supposed to be some kind of environmentalist fighting Lex Luthor, Mr. Daily Planet?

SIGNAL MESSAGE FROM CLARK KENT: Typo. Damn autocorrect. Are we on?

SIGNAL MESSAGE FROM ANONYMOUS: Yeah.

SIGNAL MESSAGE FROM CLARK KENT: Make sure to bring the documents you mentioned in your posts.

The next morning, she woke up in her apartment. The wounds were the only proof that the night before had even happened. The Batman had saved her life. And according to the police blotter, he hadn’t stopped there. He’d taken her evidence and caught that killer – and on his way out of The Narrows after that, he’d apparently had enough time to stop two muggings.

As someone without health insurance who lived in the most dangerous city in the country, she was pretty used to attending Youtube medical school. Because of that, she had no trouble cleaning out Batman’s tidy stitches and keeping the bandages clean and dry. What she did have trouble with? Not thinking about him every time she moved. When the pain made her twitch, when the scabs begged to be scratched, with every bandage change, she couldn’t help but think about those warm, gentle hands against her skin. The easy, uncomplicated way he’d saved her. Those quiet words they’d shared in the dark.

It made her interview with Clark Kent, conducted in a small coffee shop off the beaten path, one where neither of them would be recognized, a little awkward. Every time she breathed too deeply, she was reminded of Batman – and the potential consequences of being here with a powerful journalist, her arms full of proof that would link him to Bruce Wayne.

“Miss–”

She shook her head as Clark fumbled with the recording app on his phone. “I think it’s better if I don’t use my name. You know it. You’ve confirmed my identity. That should be enough. Anonymous sources are still a thing, aren’t they?”

He flashed a grin. Friendly. Wholesome. Thoroughly un-Bruce-like. “Certainly. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Anonymous.”

The Muzak in the coffee shop stretched between them as he flipped through his pages of notes. For her part, she stared blankly into the distance past the nearby window. Her hand drifted to her ribcage, pressing past her coat and her shirt and the bandage straight to her slow-healing wound.

“What do you think will happen?” She asked, vaguely.

Clark adjusted his glasses. “What’s that?”

“When the people know, for sure, I mean, not just my speculation or whatever, that Bruce Wayne is Batman? What do you think will happen?”

“I can't see the future or anything, but I guess he'll be arrested. He’ll have to be, if there’s ever going to be any faith in Gotham’s institutions again. If my article has anything to say about it, that’s where he’ll end up. Isn’t that what you want? For the Batman to stop terrorizing the streets?”

No. No, it wasn’t what she’d wanted at all. She’d never wanted that. Clark Kent seemed like a decent enough guy, but… no .

Leaping to her feet, she grabbed at the briefcase of Wayne-related documents.

“You know – I forgot – I have a work thing.”

Nearly choking, Clark gawked at her. “But I came all the way from Metropolis.”

“I’m sorry, I just –”

“Leave the documents, at least.”

He bolted up from his chair, grabbing for her.

Too fast. Inhumanly fast.

She tried to wrench out of his grasp. “No–”

“Wait–”

With a twist, she stumbled back. Clark remained unmovable, but his head tipped suddenly, knocking his glasses clean off of his face. Giving her a perfect look at him.

It was just a split second, but a split second was all it took for an idea to plant in the mossy soil of her mind and take immovable root. Then, when his eyes focused on her bag, it already began to sprout.

“Sorry. You’re right,” he said, straightening, as if he’d already gotten everything he needed from her in that single look.

Which, she suspected, he had.

@ CKent_DailyPlanetNews: Confidential sources have withdrawn from the Bruce Wayne story. However, with the help of newly uncovered documents, I will diligently follow the truth wherever it takes me.

After Clark tweeted about her withdrawing from the story, she went home and deleted all of her threads on the Gotham Unsolved subreddit. She’d kept the evidence in a sealed locker in her house, and the digital footprint would surely live on forever, but at least she’d done something . Once she’d closed the book on Batman, she turned her attention to other matters, other cases that needed solving, other unsolved mysteries she hoped she wouldn’t screw up as royally as she had this one.

The Batman case was the first time she’d ever regretted solving one. She needed another win, anything to remind her that she was on the good side of this city, that she was contributing to its salvation rather than its decline.

Which is how, on a particularly snowy Tuesday afternoon, she found herself hunched over a cup of coffee (bought in place of her usual sandwich, because it was too cold to sit out here without coffee and she couldn’t afford both) and her records on her park bench when a shadow passed over her.

Not just any shadow. Bruce Wayne’s shadow.

“Oh. Mr. Wayne. I didn’t - I didn’t think I would -” the stammering continued a minute more before she finally slammed the folder in her lap closed and tried again: “How are you?”

“This is your spot, isn’t it?” He asked, not answering her question.

No wonder. He looked like shit. The bags under his eyes had gotten darker and more bruised. His coat engulfed him. She tried to tease some life back into him – anything to stop staring at the snowflakes currently settling on his eyelashes and melting into his lips.

“Spying on me again?”

He shrugged, but it worked. He smiled – just barely. Like most of his smiles. “My office is just up there." He pointed to the Wayne Enterprises building towering over the northern stretch of the park. "I see you down here sometimes. Just like I saw that the Batman threads have all been taken down. And that Clark Kent lost his source. And that someone solved the Kyminsky murder.”

This time, it was her turn to shrug.

“I just figured it out. Batman brought the guy in. I don’t deserve any credit.”

“Maybe not,” he said. “But you might deserve dinner.”

Against her better judgment, her heart fluttered. A traitorous hummingbird trying to get free and fly straight for him. “Really?”

“Really. But at eight. Not eleven-fifty. I have a lot to show you and I can’t do it in an all-night diner.”

Intriguing. She probably should have said no. It was undoubtedly better to keep her distance from Bruce Wayne, especially after all that had transpired between them. But he had to know she couldn’t resist a good mystery. “Where, then?”

“Wayne Manor.”

APARTMENT 1319B RECENT SEARCH HISTORY:

What to do if you have weird feelings for a vigilante?

What to do if a billionaire invites you to his house?

What to wear if a billionaire invites you to his house?

Do billionaires brick their enemies up in amontillado cellars anymore?

How to escape bricked-over amontillado cellar

What do rich people serve at dinner?

How to eat lobster without looking like a poor person

Wayne Manor was everything she’d expected. A gothic mansion set out past the edges of the city, it filled in the picture of what she believed about Bruce Wayne. It was sort of a reflection of him. Locked up, crumbling, defiantly enduring, and impossibly beautiful.

The place was so grand that the second she stepped up on the grand marble steps, she felt underdressed. A feeling that only intensified when Mr. Pennyworth opened the door and snarked at her.

“Welcome to Wayne Manor, Miss. I see you’ve dressed for the occasion.”

Behind Alfred’s tuxedo-ed back, she could hear the tinkling of fine music and the pop of a champagne bottle. They’d been originally supposed to go to a diner . How was she supposed to know that Bruce wanted her to dress formally ? She flushed. “He didn’t tell me what to wear, and wouldn't you know it? All of my gowns are at the cleaner’s.”

Alfred scoffed. “You’re–”

But the arrival of his master cut him off. Bruce Wayne stepped into view, looking like an evening star wrapped up in a ten-thousand dollar suit. He still hadn’t gotten the hang of styling his hair like a normal human being, she noticed, and there were several bruises beginning to surface just beneath his collar and at the skin near his shirt cuffs, but even so –

He was so handsome. Especially when he assessed her like he did now.

“You’re perfect,” he said simply, finishing Alfred's sentence.

Having handed her coat to Alfred when he waved for it, she gestured down to her jeans and flannel combination. He was in a goddamn tux and she was in jeans . “I don’t feel very perfect.”

“You are exactly who I’ve been looking for.”

That sounds like something a murderer or Batman or a guy in love would say – dear God, please be the second one.

“I hope you’re hungry,” Alfred said. “Master Wayne doesn’t eat much, but–”

The tops of Bruce’s cheeks flushed. “– Alfred –”

“But he insisted on only the best. I’ll just be in the kitchen, preparing.”

Without another word, the man was gone. She’d done so much research into Alfred and Bruce, but none of her documents ever could have taught her this: they cared about each other. Almost like father and son. It was cute, the way Bruce ducked his head, embarrassed, and apologized for Alfred. Domestic in a way she hadn’t expected.

There was a lot she hadn’t expected, it turned out. The living room of Wayne Manor was well-appointed, but clearly weathered from lack of use. The floorboards creaked beneath her feet and despite the obvious attempts to spruce the place up, she couldn’t help but notice that the entire room, while it glittered from golden candle light and smelled like the fresh, home-cooking wafting from the nearby kitchen, carried with it the oppressive weight of grief.

Suddenly, so much of Bruce made sense. He was not some playboy who masqueraded as Batman to make meaning out of his useless life. He was not doing it for the attention. He was not a man with a death wish.

He was just…so, so sad. And so very lonely. And trying to right a wrong for the universe that had never been righted for him. Saving other people so they’d never have to know what he’d been through.

As she leaned against a nearby window and watched him pour champagne for them both, she blinked away tears at that revelation. She’d always been on Bruce’s side. But now? Now she actually understood him. And that broke her heart a little.

“I really am sorry about my clothes,” she said, trying to keep the emotion out of her voice. “I thought this would be, like, a casual thing, not a–”

“A date?”

A date. Even after the tuxedos and champagne, it hadn’t even occurred to her that this was a date.

She’d thought….

Well…

She’d thought…it was, like, a detente. A cessation of hostilities. A friendly armistice.

But a date…?

Once more, she swept the room. Champagne. Music. Lights. A home-cooked meal. Bruce doing that almost-smile thing he did whenever she was around. Color and life back in his face, something that had been sorely missing the last time she’d seen him.

Yeah. A date. That checked out. Heat flooded her cheeks. She stared down at her shoes.

“Yeah.”

“I understand,” he said, handing her a champagne flute.

“You do?”

“Yeah.” He clinked their glasses together. Sardonic and self-deprecating. “I wouldn’t want to go out with the Batman either.”

Her eyes widened. This was not a mistake. This was not a slip-up. It was purposeful. He’d invited her on a date, invited her to dinner, and was telling her the one secret he’d been trying so hard to keep. Retiring her glass to a nearby table, she repeated the word, “...Batman.”

He nodded once. At last, a confirmation. “ Batman .”

Before she could think better of it, she charged towards him, to ask him more questions, to probe him for answers – only for the aggressive action to tug at her stitches, causing her to painfully twist and stumble…

“ Shit –”

“Careful there–”

…right into his arms.

Suddenly, the pain in her side was the furthest thing from her mind.

Even if he hadn’t just confessed the truth to her, she would have known it was him just from this embrace. It was the same one she’d experienced in the alley that night – the one where he saved her life. It was an awkward hold. Soft in some places and stiff in others. Close but not close enough for her liking. Unpracticed. As if he hadn’t known the non-violent touch of someone in too, too long.

It washed her in peace from the flushed crown of her head all the way down to her untied shoelaces.

For a breathless moment, neither of them moved. But the music from the old stereo played something soft and lovely…and before they knew that they were even doing it, as if twisted in some magical spell cast by the speakers, they were swaying.

“Do you like to dance?” Bruce asked, his breath tickling her neck.

“No.”

“Me either,” he agreed.

And yet…there they were. Dancing. Each of them equally unwilling to let the other one go.

She didn’t know what that meant. Only that it felt right, being there in his touch.

What a miracle – that her life would bring her to this place, this time, this man. All because she nearly died one night six months ago - not that he knew about that yet.

“Why did you do it?” He asked, melting into her touch.

“Do what?”

“Try to expose me. And then stop.”

She tilted her head until their eyes met, giving him full, silent permission to survey her. When nothing sparked in him, she asked: “You really don’t remember me, do you?”

No answer. She tucked herself back into the crook of her body, enjoying his touch while she still could.

“I had my suspicions about you before the flood. But it seemed so impossible. Bruce Wayne, the Batman? Of course not. But then…I was in that stadium. And those things you put in your eyes when you wear that mask, the things that keep people from seeing your eyes? They shorted in the water. After all that research I’d done about you…when you pulled me out of that water, I recognized them. You have very distinctive eyes, Mr. Wayne.”

Did he notice that he’d tightened his grip around her waist? As though he were now the one drowning and she was the only thing holding him above the swells?

“I know you think I wanted this city to destroy you. But I don’t. I think you’re a hero.” She was digging her fingers into the soft fabric of his suit jacket now. Hopefully, he thought she was just holding onto him for support because of her injury – not for the reason that being this close to him made her knees weak and her heartbeat at a rate she considered medically unsafe. “And for awhile, I believed that if the world knew that Bruce Wayne and Batman were the same guy…you could be even more of an inspiration. Someone with everything trying to do something for those who have nothing . The man everyone knows, fighting for the forgotten. The Crown Prince of Gotham saving us peasants down below.”

She teased him with that last bit. But he was as serious as he had been the moment before.

“And now?” He prompted, pulling away so she could no longer hide in the crook of his neck. Under his stare, she knew she couldn’t falter.

“Now, I just want you to keep fighting - even if you have to do it in the shadows.”

Their breath intermingled. It felt like the start of something. His attention flickered down to her lips –

“Master Wayne.”

The sound of Alfred’s voice made her twitch. She moved to step away, but Bruce held her fast, even as Alfred raised a judgmental eyebrow at their romantic clinch.

“Dinner is served,” he said, lingering in the doorway.

Through it all, she realized that Bruce had never looked away from her. And he didn’t when he spoke again.

“I’m sorry, Alfred. I think we have something else to do first.”

BRUCE WAYNE RECENT SEARCH HISTORY, SCRUBBED at 7:58 PM:

Ethics of hiring woman you’re attracted to

Can you kiss someone at a first date/job interview?

How to confirm a secret identity?

How to hide bruises from a fistfight you got into the night before a date?

Romantic Covers of Nirvana Songs

How to reveal secret location without seeming like a kid showing a girl your treehouse?

There wasn’t much Bruce Wayne cared to examine in himself. He knew, in vague strokes, that he was obsessive and driven by pain, and desperate for justice in any form it could take. He knew he didn’t want to be the monster that stalked the shadows anymore, but a hero who actually helped people.

And he knew that from the moment he met this strange woman in the park, something within him shifted. She was a threat to him, an existential one he should have done everything in his power to destroy. He was a billionaire, after all. It should have been easy to tie her up in legal battles for the rest of her life, to pay for bots to drown out her posts, to keep upping the ante of Alfred’s bribery until she had no choice but to accept.

Still. He didn’t. She was brilliant and infuriating and matched him turn-for-turn. Every time he thought he had her figured out, she dodged in the exact opposite direction. Whether she was relentlessly taunting him about his secret identity or flirting or asking him to dinner or sneaking pictures of his boot prints or crumbling under his hands as he healed her or giving up the story with Clark Kent or doing that scrunching thing with her nose she did when she was thinking too hard or fiddling with the handle of her umbrella she uselessly kept nearby for protection or flashing those intelligent, sharp eyes of hers…

He was fascinated. He couldn’t remember the last time something other than the underworld of Gotham had fascinated him. Maybe it was this new change in him, the one that had been brewing ever since The Flood. Maybe, as he returned slowly from Vengeance back to his humanity, maybe his heart was slowly awakening, too. Maybe all of those feelings he’d chained away for so long were resurfacing.

In any case…something shot straight through his heart when she stepped down the stairs into The Cave and her lips parted in a wondrous smile. Only, for the first time in his life, a sudden bolt to his chest didn’t hurt. It blossomed into something warm and unfamiliar.

“What is this?” She breathed, eyes wide and uncertain. “Why have you brought me here?”

“It’s my headquarters,” he said, leading her down the rickety steps until he reached the floor of the spotlight-illuminated tunnel. He suddenly found it impossible to look at her. As if he were afraid she would suddenly pass judgment and he would be found wanting. He steeled himself for what was to come. From the start, she’d known the truth. He knew she knew the truth. And she knew that he knew the truth. But this was a final confirmation. An admission of guilt, undeniable, that could not be retracted once made. “And I’m showing you because… Because I’m Batman.”

Miracle of miracles, she didn’t run out of the door. She didn’t scream and throw things at him. She didn’t even feign surprise. Instead, she chuckled. Bruce felt his own lips twitch. When was the last time anyone had laughed in this house? “Yeah, no shit. I already knew that. I mean why are you showing this to me?”

That was the question Alfred had asked about a half-dozen times since Bruce had decided to bring her here – a decision he’d made the moment he found out she’d scuttled Clark Kent’s Batman story. And the answer he’d given Alfred was the same answer he’d give her now.

But it wasn’t the whole answer, not really. The whole truth would have been you’re a damn good detective and I want an excuse to get close to you – to stay close to you . Instead, he edited the truth, tailoring it for this moment:

“Because you’re a damn good detective. And I don’t think I can do this alone anymore.” He paused. “Or maybe I don’t want to.”

Her skepticism was immediate and apparent. “You want me to help you?”

A wash of insecurity snuck up on him all at once. “It would be a good job. I’d pay for law school. You’d have a generous salary. Benefits. The hours aren’t great, but–”

She spun around, and suddenly they were very close. He had her pinned between his desk and his body, but she didn’t seem to notice–not in the way he did, anyway. Her eyes shone. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“I’ll take the job.”

“You will?”

“But first –” A hint of exasperation and delight mingled in her tone. “I need you to tell me why the hell you thought it was a good idea to put your paramilitary headquarters under your own damn house , Bruce.”

Oh, she was so smug. She’d finally won, hadn’t she? She’d confirmed that Bruce Wayne was, indeed, Batman, and now she got to lord it over his head.

Bruce didn’t mind. Not if she kept smiling like that.

“I see. So, you’re not going to stop bullying me now that we’re working together?”

“Stop? Oh, no. It’s going to get worse. So much worse.”

He liked the sound of that.

“Are you ready to start, then?”

“I am,” she said, as confident and sure as she had been from the moment he met her. Despite the blistering lights he set up all around the cave, the work lights that broke through the oppressive darkness here, she outshone them all. “And I know exactly where I want to start.”

“And where is that?” he asked.

She smirked mischievously, and he knew in that moment that this was the beginning of something new. Something exciting. Something like a sunrise over his long, lonely, dark night.

“...I think I know Superman’s secret identity.”

#battinson imagine #bruce wayne #bruce wayne fanfiction #bruce x reader #battinson/reader #bruce wayne/reader #batman/reader #batman x reader #battinson fic #bruce wayne x oc #not y/n but blank for projection self-insert purposes!

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