#affiliation: the enterprise.

[devilsgatewayhq]

Name: Ella Cooper Age: 33 Time living in Tonopah: Native Occupation: Owner of The Scarlet Lounge Gang Affiliation: The Enterprise - Associate Neighborhood:  Downtown Face Claim: Emma D'Arcy

Biography (TW: drugs, death, grief):

For as long as Ella could remember, they had always wanted to belong. The middle of three children, they often found it hard to find their own footing, let alone their own personalities. Their parents had been the most genuine reflection of love and even when Ella didn’t quite know who they were it was still easy to feel taken care of, loved, and at home with their family. But after losing their parents right before their high school years, they set off on a path of self-destruction that they’re only now minorly recovering from. And even that is generous. For as long as Ella can remember they have wanted to be a part of Los Santos. Growing up in Tonopah Valley it felt like the thing to be. All of their friends growing up were either children of capos and sicarios or narcos and halcones themselves. They felt like they had spent so much of their life adjacent to the cartel that it would only be a matter of time before they were part of it. Ellla knew their parents would roll over in their graves at the idea of it all but they were gone and the more Ella got into drugs and alcohol the more logical it seemed that this could all be their world too. But perhaps almost as heartbreaking as losing their parents was losing their shot with Los Santos. They could barely make it through one round with a member, let alone two. They had spent all that time being observant, knowing the streets, and the science, but they hadn’t trained nearly enough to withstand what it took to really become a member. So…they failed. And in that failure, they found a self-loathing they still have not recovered from. For years after this loss, Ella found themselves floating. Going from job to job, ignoring calls from their sisters, sleeping their way through town and drowning themselves in whatever they could. They had passions and ambitions but none of them seemed to amount to much. Until one night, when they came upon a vacant building and got an idea. Something to pour their heart into. Something that could save them. But with all good things that felt too good to be true, it all came with a price. Now the proud owner of The Scarlet Lounge for the past five years, Ella seems like they’ve found their footing. They show up to work on time (mostly) and are well-liked by their staff and everyone who comes through their doors seems to have a good time. They throw themselves into helping out with cocktail concepts, prides themselves on knowing all the people brave enough to step up to do poetry, and is extremely dedicated to running a business that actually makes a profit. And none of it would have been possible without The Enterprise. It had all happened so quickly, the conversation, the agreement, The Enterprise taking advantage of Ella’s vulnerable state. It was almost as if they could see the future and their pitch had sounded too good to be true. Ella didn’t have enough to buy the building, and they didn’t have enough to do the construction or hire people. But The Enterprise did and in exchange, Ella was to let them use the Scarlet as a front for whatever they wanted. One week it could be laundering, the next it could be letting one of their own lay low in their back room for an extended period. On the worst days, it included getting their hands dirty, but they tried to avoid it as much as possible. Come off as someone who at least had minor boundaries. But there’s no denying how much they own Ella’s ass and how much they give in, figuring it’s their consolation prize for never making it with Los Santos. If drunk enough, they would admit that maybe, in all of this, it was spite that caused them to say yes to The Enterprise. Or maybe they just finally wanted a fucking break.

Headcanons: 

Ella’s two greatest loves are skateboarding and dogs. They usually prefer to skate around than drive but do own a shitty car that once belonged to their sister.

Avid devil’s lettuce smoker. Tbh has been trying to convince someone to let her turn The Scarlet into the part dispensary.

Really fucking smart but terrible with commitment. Graduated from college with their bachelors in English and could have easily gone onto a graduate program but said fuck it.

Was briefly engaged to a woman she loved deeply and dearly but she fucked it all up by self-sabotaging.

Is a hot mess but also a really loyal and loving individual (platonically at least). Super charming and loves to flirt. Can talk your ear off and then just ghost you.

A Libra Sun, Scorpio Rising, and Taurus Moon (YIKES)

[rainbowresurrection]

Main goal in life is to have the other three Star Trek Taco Bell cups

[inklingofadream]

periodic reminder that 4thewords is great :) never timed well bc it never occurs to me to say this in november when they offer a month of free subscription time, but! it is making the process of catching up on polychives more satisfying. finishing this chapter is like fighting a literal beast, rather than a metaphorical one, because for $4 a month (or slightly less, I buy the end of year bundle) 4thewords will provide Beasts

[epicearn]

Unveiling the Top 10 AI Software Solutions Revolutionizing Creativity and Productivity

In the ever-evolving landscape of artificial intelligence (AI), software solutions have emerged as powerful tools that revolutionize the way we create, enhance, and interact with various forms of media. This article unveils the top 10 AI software solutions, each designed to bring efficiency, innovation, and unprecedented capabilities to their respective domains. Facedrip Personal & Facedrip…

[didographic]

You can promote many products and services, along with useful tools and resources, whether you're a beginner or an experienced affiliate marketer. This blog post will look at some of SEO Rygar Enterprises' best affiliate marketing websites.

[charlietheepicwriter7]

Teen Villain Alliance

Chapter 1 - Damian

Despite his proficiency in the skill, Damian hated spying on the Teen Villain Alliance. 

Having appeared two years ago in alliance with Klarion Bleak, the Teen Villain Alliance, or TVA, quickly made themselves known as little more than pests, often rushing in to assist other young adult criminals or harass Justice League officials. Father wanted to investigate when they first appeared, but with Todd’s reveal and Damian himself coming to take his place as Robin, he’d been… busy. 

Which allowed the TVA to flourish into a respected criminal enterprise. No vault was safe, no hero strong enough. A group had even banded together to take down Superman! And while there was no lasting damage other than some bizarre markings on the Kryptoian’s face, it was enough to prove these teenagers as a threat. 

Damian, as much as it galled him, was not the first chosen to infiltrate. Martian Manhunter, shapeshifted into a meta fourteen-year-old girl, tried and was identified as a hero on sight. The Teen Titans and Young Justice got closer, actually able to talk to the villains about joining, but “it was like they could smell the hero on us,” Beast Boy had explained. “I don't know how else to explain it.”

Most likely, the TVA kept tabs on the Justice League and affiliated organizations. They needed someone fresh, someone who wasn’t a hero.

Damian had been more than willing to volunteer. 

Introducing himself as Damian Al Ghul, the recently escaped Heir to the Demon Head, he’d been accepted immediately despite having approached the group mid-heist. All he had to do was extrapolate about how Grandfather’s assassins were chasing him, and the Wolf—a designation given to the members of the TVA’s inner circle—allowed him to join, but he was forced to stay with the hacker of the group while the heist commenced with no interference from a hero.

Damian had been confident. He’d gotten so far in mere minutes when a member of the Justice League, and even Drake, couldn’t get past the first few questions. He’d have the Teen Villain Alliance dismantled within the week.

Then Manson, as the Wolf had introduced herself, took out a device that transported them all to another dimension. Which was where the main base of the Alliance was. And none of his communication devices or trackers worked there. 

Damian had only been able to update the Justice League a few times since his tenure as a spy began. Superman had reassured him it was fine, that there had been plenty of missions were communication was infrequent, but after a month of living in the TVA Base in the Infinite Realms, Damian hated not being able to contact his father easily. And in return, Father and Drake had taken to interrogating him for as long as possible the couple of times he was outside Headquarters. 

(Phantom’s Haunt is what the TVA members called it. It was Phantom Dark’s home that he opened up to them all. Damian didn’t know how to feel about that.)

Damian had only been able to contact Father three times in his four weeks undercover, each time on a supply run… which was essentially just a grocery trip for the Haunt. The first time Damian had slipped away to the bathroom and called, Father had been… furious. He’d thought Damian’s lack of updates was on purpose. It had been five minutes before Damian could correct him. 

He wished Grayson had answered during any of his updates, but he was on a mission in space and wouldn’t be back for another two weeks. 

In those four months, Damian was still the newest member, and had yet to be involved in the truly illegal aspects of the organization. All the information he’d gathered purely administrative, like how Duulaman, a reincarnated pharaoh turned hacker, stole money from various billionaires and government organizations to fund their plans. He’d yet to be involved with anything serious. 

He wasn’t allowed on serious missions either. He only had the supply runs to look forward to, and those only occurred once a month. 

His other objective, to undermine the Teen Villain Alliance and spur a mutiny, was also going poorly. The children he surrounded himself with were fanatically loyal to the Alliance, citing Phantom and his harem as the reason they were alive today. Even those who weren’t directly rescued were loyal. One such child, a boy named Kyd Wyckyd, had confessed to turning to a life of crime due to his terrifying meta abilities and their effects on his appearance. 

But the TVA took him in after the collapse of HIVE Academy. He hadn’t participated in a crime since, preferring to work with the Wolf named Jasmine who led individual and group therapy sessions for the villains. Jasmine had tried multiple times to convince her therapy sessions—more like brainwashing sessions—but Damian had stayed strong in the face of adversary. 

Unfortunately, there didn’t seem to be much more Damian could do. He tried to push, to get involved with the criminal aspect of the organization, but the Wolves blocked him at every turn, saying he was “too young.” That he needed “stability” and to “rely on them to keep him safe.”

Perhaps Damian oversold the danger of the League of Assassins. 

For now, Damian hid in his room in Phantom’s Haunt. His castle. Even the magnificence of the compound he grew up in couldn’t compare to the headquarters. There were an infinite number of rooms—”as many as we need,” Phantom had told him—that changed based on the user’s preferences. Right now, Damian’s room looked like a cave. The Batcave, to be precise, though he didn’t allow references to his Father and legacy. 

He was hiding because Manson had suggested he attend some of the classes held in the libraries—there were four libraries at the moment. Classes were taught by ghosts under Phantom’s control and weren’t mandatory, but “everyone’s worried about the lack of structure in your life.”

He tried to tell himself it was because he didn’t want to be brainwashed by Phantom’s lackeys, and that he already knew everything they were going to teach. But in truth… Damian was anxious. Attending school at the Haunt felt too permanent, too much like he was planning to stay. He hadn’t gotten the choice to attend school back in Gotham, with Father acting like he would compromise their identities around children. He wasn’t that petty. 

Someone knocked on his door. “Damian? Are you inside?” 

Sighing, Damian stood up and opened the door. “Dr. Fenton. Am I needed for anything?”

Dr. Daniel Fenton was another Wolf, another member of the harem Phantom had built around him, twenty years old and not an actual doctor but everyone called him that anyway. While Damian had yet to see Fenton and Phantom in the same place, Damian was keeping a detailed record of how the Wolves’ polyamourous relationship worked. Phantom and Fenton both dated Manson and Duualman, though they didn’t seem to be dating each other or Jasmine. Klarion often inserted himself into those relationships for hugs and hand-holding, but only seemed to kiss Jasmine. 

“Actually, yes.” Damian’s lips parted in surprise. “I wanted to talk to you about something down in my lab. Would you join me?”

Fenton’s lab was off-limits to low level members of the TVA. He was the engineer, the creator of all their weapons of destruction. Fenton had no minions, while Manson had her thieves, Duualman had his hackers, Jasmine had her helpers, Klarion had his witches, and Phantom had his fighters. 

Fenton was alone. 

Isolated. 

Damian agreed. 

Fenton led him to the depths below the castle, past the never-used dungeon and through a secret door into a surprisingly bright and airy lab. He caught Damian looking through a window that displayed one of the Haunt’s many gardens, an impossible feat for being so far underground. “Magic castle, remember,” Fenton chided him. “Those work as portals that lead to the garden too, so it’s an easy one-way exit.”

Damian scoffed, abashed that he’d been caught so easily. From a glance, the lab was perfectly maintained, with every piece of equipment assigned to an outline meant to indicate where it belonged. As he walked further into the room, Fenton made slight adjustments to his tools, meticulously shifting them back into place. It looked more like a set than a laboratory. 

But then, Damian observed Fenton. The twenty-year-old relaxed as he put his space back into order, nudging the screwdrivers and beakers back into their designated outlines. As he worked, the sleeve of his lab coat road up, revealing a glimpse of lichtenberg scars before it was hidden again. 

Finally done, Fenton turned back to Damian. “My sister, Jazz, has told me that you’re not attending individual or group therapy sessions, is that correct?”

Well, that revealed a  lot of information. Ignoring the fact that Fenton and Jasmine were apparently siblings, Damian replied, “I do not see a reason to attend. If this meeting is an attempt to force me–”

Fenton held his hands up in surrender. “No, I would never. Therapy doesn’t work if the person receiving it doesn’t want it. But you haven’t been attending any of your classes either, and Phantom has mentioned that you don’t hang out with the other kids. Are you settling in alright? I know the others are a few years older than you, so it might be harder for you to connect with them.”

Damian chewed on the question. While part of him was furious that someone, especially a villain like Fenton, was concerned about him and discussed him with his fellows, the other part… wasn’t. It was true; he was having difficulty connecting with the villains. Damian didn’t particularly want to, but it would make his mission easier. 

He chose a neutral answer. “In the League of Assassins… I was the only child in the entire compound. Other children weren’t allowed inside, not unless their parents did something wrong. And those children…”

“Were used against their parents?” Fenton offered when he struggled to find the words. 

“Precisely. It’s not in my nature to associate with children.”

Fenton nodded in understanding, stroking his chin in thought. “That does present a conundrum alright. How unfortunate; the task I needed your help with requires you to interact with at least some of the others, but if you’re that uncomfortable with the idea, then I could find someone else.”

Damian stared at the man in suspicion. “What task?” he demanded to know. If this was a way to get more information for father, he needed to know. But if this was another trap to get him into therapy…

“You’ve probably noticed by now, but I’m the only Wolf without someone working under me. Sam has her Bats, Tucker has his Flies, Jazz has her Rats, Klarion has his Strays, and Phantom has the TVA as a whole. The others have been pressuring me to create my own group, but babysitting a group of teens in a lab where anything could explode is just asking for trouble.”

Damian stepped away from the nearest device. Fenton continued, “However, I think a group dedicated to investigation would work much better. Here in the Infinite Realms, we’re very isolated from the human world, so my research on competing inventors is always lacking. Tuck and Sam help, but Tucker has his own hacking projects, and Sam targets financially viable targets instead of labs.”

“You want me to be a member of your new… group?” Damian read in between the lines of what Fenton was saying. Surely Father would be proud of him for gaining information about Fenton’s inventions and targets—

“I want you to lead the group.”

His glare dropped right off his face in shock. “Lead?” he whispered. 

“That’s right,” Daniel agreed. “It’s not conventional and I barely got the others to agree, but Damian, you’re one of the best trained villains to ever join the TVA. Yeah, you’re really young, but you are serious and professional. To be honest, most of the kids we take in don’t take our work seriously. It’s not a bad thing, but I need a leader who is willing to keep their group in line. Infiltration and information gathering can be very dangerous, and I need someone who can keep the team safe.”

Daniel trusted him enough for that? Father didn’t trust him enough to be his partner; honestly, Father didn’t even trust him enough to introduce Damian to the world as his son! Perhaps he was aggressive towards the interlopers in his home, but he wasn’t going to stab a civilian!

And while Damian didn’t understand why Daniel was so cautious around what amounted to breaking and entering, he wanted Damian to lead. He trusted Damian for that. 

And Damian was going to take back whatever information Fenton revealed back to his father, like a hunting dog to its master. 

Daniel continued, “Of course, this is still a few months off from being necessary. But that should give you plenty of time to attend some classes to prepare you more! One on leadership skills, one on modern technology, one on basic magic and wards, maybe a refresher on hacking… Knowing you, you’ll test out of them in a few weeks, but the main point is to find other people to join our team. I’m looking for four other team members, and while I am looking for certain traits and skills, it's up to you to decide who you want on the team.” Daniel placed a hand on Damian’s shoulder. “So, what do you think?”

He’d betray Daniel by saying yes. He’d betray Father by saying no. 

He made his choice. 

Damian looked up at Daniel, determination set into his face. “I won’t let you down.”

Daniel smiled. “I know you won’t. You couldn’t if you tried.”

[jaythes1mp]

Hi can you please make a yandere batfam meeting a merfolk reader or what your headcanonns on how that would go especially if reader is willing to stay and maybe even help with the more aquatic stuff of vigilante work

Definitely! This is some general stuff, a link to the chapter once I’ve written it will be added at the end. If everyone could please cast votes for what you’d rather before I start writing it, would be great!

Anon, I know your initial ask wasn’t really a request, but I want to write this. Haha… hope you don’t mind.

Yandere Batfam x Merfolk Reader

In the early stages of your involvement with the BatFamily, when their obsessions with you are just beginning to form, they would seek out your assistance in their crime fighting endeavours. This is under the assumption that you’re already a well known vigilante of sorts. Their obsession growing after they encounter and become acquainted with you. Learning of your skills, and how your kind can help them if any villains were to take their fight to the water surrounding Gotham’s edges.

But once the Bat's obsession has matured into a deep, twisted fascination, they would never allow you near the battlefield. Their possessive nature would take over, and they would be unable to bear the thought of you being hurt or even fighting others. Even if you were incredibly powerful, their protective instincts would render it moot the moment they have their possessive grasp on you, effectively ending your crime fighting days.

However, if you were not affiliated with any vigilante work from the beginning, the BatFamily would never even entertain the idea. Their fixation would target you on a personal level, rather than the dynamic of needing crime fighting assistance.

They might encounter you under various circumstances, such as: (numbered 1,2,3,4.)

By chance along Gotham’s shores, accidentally stumbling upon you.

You were caught in a trap, leading to your capture and confinement at Wayne Enterprises research facility. <- my favourite

One of the Bat’s had suffered an injury that sent them plummeting deep into the waters of Gotham, but just as they’re about to loose consciousness you swim them up to the surface. Saving them.

Or you may take the initiative on your own accord, reeling in one of the batfamily for either help or sustenance. The rest of the family coming to the rescue only to learn that you’re non threatening, and that the chosen member is cuddling into your side.

They would grow unhealthily fixated on you. Attached. Every aspect of your appearance and your mysterious species would fascinate them. The thought alone that you could survive in the harsh dangerous waters of Gotham without Bruce’s high-tech equipment ever detecting your existence baffling them. This would spark a curiosity turned obsession that would drive them to uncover everything about you, no matter the cost. Their intrigue shifting into a deeper, twisted form of love.

Initially, they would design a high-tech enclosure for you at the Wayne Manor, meticulously crafted to provide everything you need to thrive and more. Which you willingly enter, unaware that you’re under their watchful eyes, who monitor your every move, their fascination growing.

Under the vigilante route, where you’ve allied yourself with the family, you would move to the manor to discuss and plan out operations aimed at capturing and stopping a villain who was terrorising the city. Your presence there would foster a bond between you, as they relied on your skills and knowledge to aid them.

Voluntarily travelling there to discuss plans and strategies to combat with the villain and future perpetrators who has target Gotham.

Versus the ‘found’ routes, where you’d go because you trust them.

1 & 4 -> You would go to the Wayne Manor intrigued and fascinated to explore an entirely new place. Having only known of Gotham’s currents before, the thought of learning about human culture piques your interest. Contrary to the ominous warnings from the Elder Mers, these humans have been nothing but kind. They haven’t tried to harm you in any way, neither confining you in cages nor cutting you up to consume you, nor taking your scales. The Elder Mers must have misled you! The BatFamily is proving to be nothing but sweet and welcoming. What’s the harm in staying with them for a little while? You’re sure your clan won’t even realise that you’re gone.

2 -> You would either have no choice in the matter, as you were considered the Wayne’s property under the public’s eyes, Or you would leave under a negotiation with one of them. Desperate to escape from the constant scrutiny of the scientists who eye you as nothing more than a piece of meat. Their tests leaving you feeling exposed and vulnerable, had become unbearable, with the small transparent tank doing nothing to offer you comfort or refuge. A public spectacle being observed daily by prying eyes. You’d do anything to never have to become an experiment for these humans ever again.

3 -> They would invest months, devoting themselves to understanding your life, gradually winning you over with their kindness. Persuading you to reciprocate their efforts by visiting the enclosure they had meticulously designed specifically for you. You were fascinated by their accomplishment, having built a structure that seamlessly connected to every room within their manor. Slowly you visited more often, their efforts touching you deeply. They had created this for you. Maybe humans weren’t all bad…

Whichever route you take, the end result is the same; they become deeply, unhealthily obsessed with you. Having them hold you captive, their obsession transforming into an intense, lasting fixation. They would have no intention of ever letting you go, keeping you confined in their carefully crafted webs, for the rest of your life, never permitting you to escape their grasp. Their desire for you becoming all-consuming, forever entrapping you within their influence.

Please vote for which of them you’d like to see most!

Romantic or platonic? Tell me in the comments or anon asks, please.

[hollandorks]

fright

battinson! bruce wayne x gn! reader

summary: in the midst of investigating a drug that kills people with their own fear, Bruce is drugged.

**not affiliated with middle of the night**

a/n: I'm back with something new, finally! I've been wanting to write this for a while, just for fun, because the battinson brain rot still hasn't gone away in over a year. Hopefully I'll be doing more oneshots from here on out! I tried to make this reader as gender neutral as possible but if I slipped up anywhere let me know so I can fix it!

word count: 7081

The abandoned subway station is cold and damp but comfortingly familiar. 

Alfred had simply waved you downstairs to get started on your work while Bruce was out on patrol. That was one thing about constantly being around a vigilante–it turned you into a night owl, the changes almost imperceptible until you can no longer fall asleep on your own before two in the morning, even in the comfort of your own apartment. Sometimes you aren’t sure if it was because you’re used to working late on your nights working with Bruce…

Or if you couldn’t fall asleep until you knew Gotham’s vigilante was home safe again after another night. 

So since you’re a night owl these days, you’ve taken to doing your work in the darkest parts of the night, comfortable with commuting after dark. Though Alfred and Bruce both insisted on you keeping a guest room in Wayne Tower when you work late, as neither of them are comfortable with you walking Gotham alone at night. Sometimes the city’s resident vigilante watches over you, but for those other times–those other times you stay in the drafty room set aside for you, one floor below Bruce’s bedroom. 

You aren’t sure you’re supposed to know where Bruce’s bedroom is, exactly. But unbeknownst to the man himself, you’ve helped Alfred twice now haul his huge frame to bed when he’d passed out from either exhaustion or severe injuries. And as it was, it never came up in conversation that you had seen his bedroom, the space just as cluttered as the subway station belowground was. 

You wouldn’t admit, either, that may or may not have snooped. His bedroom was neat, but organized in a way only his mind seemed to understand, the same as where he kept everything Batman-related. The bedroom closet was full of dark colors and clothes that were at least a decade old, and a full row of the black work boots he preferred to wear with his armor, some scuffed and torn beyond recognition, a couple of pairs almost new. 

It isn’t a secret, exactly, but you knew Bruce well enough by now to know he probably wouldn’t like that you’d seen his bedroom without permission. 

It’s his bedroom you think of now as you sit down to work at your designated desk in the abandoned station. The space was less lived in that the basement around you. Did Bruce prefer the bats for company? Or was the tower above too full of ghosts for him to face? Either way, he spends more of his time downstairs than up. There’s even a ratty secondhand couch shoved to one side where he seems to do most of his sleeping. You’ve seen him crash there more times than you could count. 

You stretch already-cold fingers and boot up the multiple computer screens that have become yours even though you only own the laptop. 

You’ve been working with him for a few months now, the connection pure chance, as most things in your life were. Your move to Gotham, your skill with computers, your meeting with a kevlar-covered vigilante. It was all chance, a force you believe in almost as much as you believe in gravity. 

It had been a beautiful night that night, which really should have been your first clue that it was all going to hell. You were taking a simple walk to clear your head after a long day at work. You’d hated the corporate job you were working at, which was, ironically enough, at Wayne Enterprises. 

That night was the first time you were acquainted with Gotham’s dark, violent underbelly. It was also the first time you met the man you’d thought was simply an urban legend–the Batman, a shadow turned savior at the moment you thought it would all be over. 

He’d disappeared as your thanks rose to your lips, swallowed up by the night before you could utter the words. 

The second time you met Batman was by chance, too. You’d gotten some information on a crime and, well, you had done the not-so-smart thing and used your computer skills to follow the lead. 

Batman had followed the same lead through different methods. 

Showing up at the same place at first led him to suspect you, but once you’d pulled out your laptop and proven how you’d gotten the information by using Gotham’s surveillance cameras to track the assholes down, he was curious. He wanted you to show him exactly how you’d done it. He’d revealed his curious mind to you that night, and that was the first piece of him you developed a crush on. 

The sharp jawline didn’t hurt, either. 

You smile to yourself as your fingers work over the keyboard to the computer in front of you. These days, he has you scouring surveillance cameras, police scanners, and internet forums for leads on cases. You also have your not-so-legal hacking skills to accomplish those things. And that’s in between the research you do on current cases. Not to mention the extra work you do behind his back to keep Batman’s identity from ever getting out–not that he needs to know that, not yet. It’s mostly deleting everything you can get your hands on that discusses his possible identity, whether it’s really far off base or a little too close to home.

It’s a lot of work, but you love it. You’d barely given it a thought when Bruce–before you’d known his identity–had asked you to help him. You’d said yes before the question had been fully finished. 

Tonight, Bruce is staking out the seedier parts of Gotham trying to track down a new drug. At least, you think it’s a new drug. Several people have turned up dead, their features marred by their own hands, with something unknown in their bloodstreams. The medical examiner said it seemed as if they had all been…frightened to death, the levels of cortisol and adrenaline in their blood sky high. 

Right now you have your computers working in the background to monitor police chatter, any hints from the dark web, and anything else you can think of to track down the source of the drug. While the program works to search for keywords and phrases on one of your three monitors, the other two screens are split between all of the ME reports and the information on each victim and real-time video feeds from every camera in the city you can get your hands on. 

Bruce doesn’t know that you’re trying to watch his back while working the case. 

You worry about him, even though he’s probably the most capable person you’ve ever met. 

The third time you’d met him he’d shown up at your apartment bleeding everywhere. He hadn’t even known he was bleeding everywhere. He’d gotten into a fight while tracking you down to get you to use your skills on another case and simply ignored his injuries in favor of keeping his goal. 

Luckily, a few days earlier you’d sliced your finger open while cooking and had some of the weird liquid bandaid stuff you’d been using. There’d been a ghost of a smile on Bruce’s face when you’d run and gotten it for him. He’d thanked you softly, and then gone back to being all-business as you worked on the gash on his arm. As you’d bandaged the cut, he told you about the case he was working, and how your computer skills would really help him out. 

He started turning up more frequently after that, asking for help on cases. Until the day he’d asked if you wanted a permanent position helping him–paid and everything. 

And now here you were, in his innermost circle, allowed to know everything about him. At least, as much of everything as he let anyone know. 

Your computer pings right as Bruce grunts over the comms. It’s another thing he might not know about, your nightly tuning in to the comms as he goes out. Not that you aren’t allowed, but it’s something you won’t admit to unless directly questioned. 

You sit up straight so fast it sends your desk chair rolling backwards. Fumbling for the edge of your desk to pull yourself forward, you frantically click through tabs to figure out where the alert was coming from. 

A connection. 

Your breath leaves in a rush as you scan the information. 

Then you’re scrambling back for the comms, flipping the mic on, and trying to string a coherent sentence together.

“I found a lead,” you finally manage. It sounds like he’s in the middle of a fight. Oops. You push on, knowing he can hear you even if he can’t respond. “They were all patients at Arkham Asylum at some point. And they all were treated by the same doctor, Jonathan Crane.” 

Bruce starts cursing. There’s a strange hissing noise over the comms. You lightly shake the computer, trying to figure out the source of the static. 

“I know,” he finally says. The hissing has stopped, but now there’s a new noise. A familiar noise. The sound of his motorcycle revving to life. 

“Wh–how?” you say, unsure how he found out before you did. 

There’s more cursing and the sound of the bike speeding up. 

“I’m–shit.” He coughs. “I’m on my way back. Tell Alfred to–” His breath stutters for a moment. “I don’t–” 

“Please tell me you haven’t been stabbed to death,” you say with more bravado than you feel. With one hand, you text Alfred to come downstairs with the first aid kit. 

But the comms have gone silent. Bruce is breathing heavily, the only way you know he’s still there.

“Where were you hit?” you ask. “What street? How bad is it?” 

No answer. Bruce makes a noise that raises every hair on your body. 

It sounds like he’s…afraid.

You scramble to pull up every feed you have and find out where he’s been so you could see what happened. 

In all your months knowing him, you’ve never heard Bruce make such a noise. You’ve never heard him afraid like that. Something about it raises every hair on the back of your neck. 

You search camera after camera on the streets of Gotham, looking for any sign of Bruce at the moment he said he was on his way back. You curse quietly to yourself, the sound of Bruce’s motorcycle engine through the comms filling the echoing space around you. 

Then–there. Grainy as all get out and the only angle is available from a building across the street. But it’s him–there’s no denying the hulking shadow that is the Batman. He’s helping someone, a woman who appears to be screaming though the video has no audio attached. She thrashes and hits at Bruce, seemingly hysterical. 

Then she goes utterly still. You realize that it was about this time where you flipped the comms on to listen. 

Someone steps out of the shadows of the alley in front of them and there’s a sudden small cloud of fog. 

Bruce darts away, hopping on his motorcycle as the figure moves fully into the light. He–because you can see now that it’s a man–looks down at the woman dead on the sidewalk. Then his face tilts upward and you see why Bruce said, I know. 

It was the doctor himself, the one who’d been treating all of the dead patients. 

Jonathan Crane. 

Even with the shitty quality, his face is a clear match for the identification photo linked to Arkham. 

You immediately save images of the video for Gordon to see. Here’s the proof you need–this and the Batman’s testimony of an attack surely are enough to at least get Crane investigated properly. 

Hopefully. 

The small printer starts to spit out the pictures as the roar of a familiar engine abruptly cuts off in the tunnels outside of the station. 

You straighten. 

“Bruce?” you call out uncertainly. Normally he comes tearing in, hopping the motorcycle up on the ramp to be worked on and showing off a bit as he does it, or parking haphazardly near his work tables so he can get straight back to work. In the months you’d known him, he’d never stopped outside of the station for any reason. 

Your heart is somewhere near your feet as you tentatively step forward. 

“Bruce?” you say again, this time much quieter. 

You’re suddenly yanked backwards off your feet as a gloved hand presses against your mouth. You squirm, panicked, trying to get away. You lament all the times you refused Bruce’s self defense lessons.

“Shh, be quiet,” a familiar voice says. 

You relax all at once. 

It’s Bruce. 

Even through his armor, you can feel his heart pounding rapidly. His breath comes in sharp gasps that he struggles to keep quiet. 

He lets you turn in his arms. His eyes are wild, panicked. 

“Where are you hurt?” you murmur quietly. Your eyes track over every inch of him. There’s no blood that you can see, but he’s still in his all-black armor and you’re both tucked in the shadows near the hangar door that opens into the tunnels. You probably wouldn’t be able to see the blood if there was any. 

Bruce is still panting like he’s been running. “They’re coming,” he whispers. You frown. You already checked all the cameras from his route home and the security cameras in the tunnel. He came in alone. 

There’s a quiet noise somewhere in the distance, probably just a bat going to bed for the day, but Bruce yanks you close against his chest and whirls with one fist raised. 

Now you’re afraid, too. Has someone followed him all this way and you missed it somehow? Has someone found his inner sanctum? Are you both in danger? 

Another noise startles you both. 

The elevator descending. 

Bruce’s eyes are wild beneath his mask. 

“It’s Alfred,” you whisper, but Bruce seems not to hear you. 

“I’m not letting you out of my sight,” he murmurs into your ear, dragging you along with him into the recessed shadows by the elevator. You stumble along, still tucked against his side, the feeling of his breath on your ear lingering and making you shiver. Even though you’re afraid, you feel safe. “We’ll get you help, I promise.” You’re not sure what you need help with, but you remain quiet. 

Bruce has always protected you, whether he knows it or not. 

He physically protects you, sure, watching your back as the Batman, keeping you safe in a city as turbulent as Gotham. But Bruce also has always looked out for your mental health, too. 

There have always been nights where things are just…bleak, whether or not for any particular reason. You withdraw into yourself during those times, much like Bruce himself does. Somehow he always, always knows how to draw you back out. Sometimes it’s a quiet joke, sometimes a request to help him with something, sometimes it’s only his quiet company as he sits and works next to you. 

So even now, as you fear every moving shadow, every noise, thinking someone might be coming after you…

Even now, you know you’ll be safe and protected with Bruce. 

It’s part of why you love him. 

Not that he’d ever know that. 

“Stay put,” Bruce says into your ear, making you shiver all over again. 

He pushes gently on your shoulders in a stay put motion and steps away on silent feet. Even now his grace surprises you, even after months of watching him, being around him. He is a wonder to behold, a massive shadow that becomes weightless in a single breath. It’s like he becomes incorporeal at will, turning into shadow and smoke before he strikes. 

The elevator gates rattle open and Bruce leaps. 

Alfred is on the ground, first aid kit scattering to all corners of the station with a clatter, in barely a blink.

“Bruce!” you half-shout, the instinct automatic. Your voice overlaps with Alfred’s, the echoes sending the bats into a frenzy overhead. 

Bruce goes utterly still, one fist raised like he’s going to hit Alfred. Alfred of all people. He flinches at the bats but his focus is on Alfred. 

Alfred is as calm as ever despite the figure looming threateningly over him. 

“Are you alright?” he asks. “Are you hurt?” 

“Alfred,” Bruce chokes out and the sound is agonized. He seems paralyzed. “I’m sorry, I was too slow–” 

The three of you don’t move. 

You approach slowly. “Bruce?” you say softly, like he’s a wild animal backed into a corner. Because that’s what he looks like–wild, feral, and most of all, scared. You think of the ME reports and have to bite your lip to distract yourself from the fear that brings. 

“You have to–you have to tie me up,” Bruce says, his arm trembling like he’s holding himself back. “He dosed me with–whatever it is.” His eyes dart around the space. 

You straighten as if shocked. “Dr. Crane did?” 

“Yes, he–” Bruce flinches and then refocuses on Alfred, still beneath him and as calm as ever as if it were an everyday experience. “Oh God. No, no, no. No. I’m sorry.” 

Then Bruce does something even more shocking. 

He sobs.

You startle as if a gunshot has gone off. 

You’ve never heard Bruce cry. You’ve never even really seen him sad. Angry, sure. And frustrated. Those seem to be his two main moods, other than generally quiet. The happiness is rare, but you’ve seen that too. 

But you’ve never, ever heard him cry. 

“Bruce?” you say again, uncertain. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he groans. “I couldn’t save you, I’m sorry.” He scrambles away from Alfred. His eyes are still wild, darting every which way, his expression frantic under the mask. 

Your brain works quickly through all the evidence you’ve been digging into. 

“It’s making him afraid,” you tell Alfred as the older man gets unsteadily to his feet. Bruce whirls and throws a punch, but there’s nothing there. “Whatever he was dosed with, it’s making him afraid.” 

What you don’t tell Alfred is that this drug most likely scared the other victims to death. 

Your heart pounds with enough fear that you wonder briefly if you’ve been dosed too. 

“If he’s like this, he won’t react well to being tied up,” Alfred says, but he starts moving efficiently, pulling zip ties from Bruce’s belt as he fights invisible foes. 

In one swift movement, Alfred grabs Bruce’s wrist, kicks him in the back of one knee, and grabs the other wrist. 

You gape as he tightens Bruce’s hands behind his back even as he thrashes. 

“No!” Bruce shouts. “Let me go! I have to get there before it’s too late! No!” 

“How did you–?” You stare at Alfred with your mouth open slightly. Alfred is a man of many hidden talents, apparently. 

“We need to get him more secure,” Alfred says, still calm as ever. And maybe, with as long as he’s been around Bruce, this sort of thing is normal. You’ve only been around a few months–Alfred’s been around since the beginning. You wonder just how many times Bruce has gotten himself into messes like this. 

Alfred grunts as Bruce tries to get away. Apparently, Alfred’s strong, even with an old leg injury. You hold the man in high esteem but it just gets higher as you watch him. 

“Tell me what to do,” you say as you straighten your spine. Bruce needs you, and that’s all that matters. You need him to make it through the night–that’s your focus right now. 

“See if you can calm him down long enough for us to get him upstairs. His bed should be sturdy enough for us to tie him to.” Alfred grunts and manages to shove Bruce back to his knees as he rises. 

You quickly kneel in front of Bruce and take his face in your hands. “Bruce? It’s me. It’s okay. Alfred and I are okay.” 

Bruce’s eyes roll around without focus. His breathing is even worse now, each breath rasping out of his chest, his whole body heaving with it. 

You try to push the memory of the crime scene photos out of your mind. Bodies twisted with fear. People who were dosed with whatever this was who died scared out of their minds. 

You’re terrified for Bruce, but you push it away. 

“Bruce, please,” you say, softer now, fingers pressed tightly against his cheeks. You can feel the slight scrape of stubble on your palms. 

Bruce’s brilliant blue eyes finally meet yours. “No,” he says and the desperate word is like a bullet to your heart. His whole body strains towards you. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Please don’t die.” 

“Bruce, I’m okay,” you say. Your hands fumble before gripping the mask and pulling it off. Bruce cringes away. “I’m okay, I’m not dying.” Your fingers card through his hair. Damp with sweat, it sticks up with the movement. Bruce leans into the touch, and his breathing seems to ease slightly. 

“Y/n,” he mumbles. His eyes close for a second. 

“Bruce, let’s get you upstairs,” Alfred says in a low voice. 

Somehow, the pair of you get him up, hands still tied behind his back, and into the elevator. Bruce keeps repeating his apologies, every sound from his lips pained and terrified. 

“Alfred we need to–to get the drug out of his system somehow, if we can. I don’t know what else to do.” You whisper the words because you’re worried about setting Bruce off even further. You hold tight to his armored elbow. 

“I can get an IV started once we get him settled, that might work.” Alfred furrows his brow. “Y/n…how bad is this drug? What have you found in your research?” 

You hesitate, staring up at Bruce for a moment. His arms jerk in their restraints, but there’s nowhere for him to go in the small space of the elevator. “I don’t know how many people were dosed with it and survived,” you finally admit. 

Alfred goes still and stares at you while absently wrangling Bruce back into the corner. “How many died?” 

“I don’t know. Five, I think. Three for sure. Bruce watched a woman die from it right before he got hit in the face with it.” You chew your lip. Your eyes fill with tears as you meet Bruce’s anguished blue eyes.

“Then we will do everything in our power to keep him alive,” Alfred swears. “After he’s secured, I’ll get the IV started first and then we’ll make sure to monitor his vitals. If it gets too bad…” 

“He won’t be happy if he has to go to the hospital,” you say, but part of you wants to insist that you take him anyway. 

“No!” Bruce shouts as the elevators open. 

You don’t know what he’s responding to, but suddenly he’s frantic again, whatever slight semblance of calm he had in the elevator abruptly gone. He aims a kick at the wall and somehow leverages his bound hands in front of him. 

Alfred curses and shoves Bruce against the same wall. He braces the younger man with his whole body but his bad leg trembles. 

“Go get the medical bag!” Alfred says. “We need to sedate him.” 

You pause. “But what if something reacts with the drug?” 

Alfred curses again. “There’s nothing else to do. We’ll give him as low a dose as we can and keep an eye on him. Go!” 

So you run. Your feet slip over dusty hardwood floors as you scramble as fast as you can for Alfred’s medical bag. The bag is full of everything Alfred might need in a Batman-related emergency in case Bruce couldn’t make it home or even upstairs. The first aid kit is for general injuries–this bag is for when things go to hell. 

It feels as if hours have passed in the short amount of time it took to grab the bag. When you reach the elevator again, Alfred and Bruce are gone. You can hear them in Bruce’s bedroom now and hurry towards them. 

“Get his other arm!” Alfred says as he handcuffs one of Bruce’s hands to his massive wood headboard. 

You scramble up on the bed and over Bruce to do as Alfred says. 

“Let me tie you up, Bruce,” you say gently even though you aren’t sure he can hear you. “Please,” you say as he fights your grip. He’s so much bigger and stronger than you, it’s nearly impossible to even get the handcuffs on his wrist, let alone connected to the other side of the headboard. 

“Alfred,” you say around a grunt. You’re fully straddling Bruce now but he doesn’t even seem to notice. He’s seeing things that aren’t there. It sounds like he’s having an asthma attack, he’s breathing so hard and wheezing so much. God, what if he stops breathing and passes out from his panic?

It takes several more minutes of you and Alfred both yanking on Bruce’s arm–because damn is he strong–before he’s finally, finally secured against the headboard. 

You immediately start taking off the armor on his arms as Alfred preps the IV. You sit on Bruce’s legs to stop his incessant kicking, murmuring soothing words to him the whole time. You and Alfred will both be covered in bruises tomorrow, but you don’t even notice any pain at the moment. 

Bruce freaks out when Alfred sticks the needle in his arm. He shouts wordlessly and thrashes so hard the bed moves away from the wall. You curse under your breath and get off of him. 

“Hold this arm as best you can,” Alfred says. 

“Who knew he could cause so much damage while handcuffed?” The joke comes out wobbly, though, your worry seeping through your words. Even leaning all of your body weight on Bruce, he still makes it nearly impossible for Alfred to get the IV in.

You both breathe a sigh of relief when it finally goes in. Alfred works quickly and efficiently, still the perfect picture of calm even though he must be freaking out as much as you are–if not more. 

After another minute, Bruce relaxes marginally. He stops trying to escape and settles back into the pillows, still awake and staring with wild eyes around the room. Every so often he jerks one of his restraints, as if testing them.

You blow out another breath. 

“I’m going to monitor his pulse and blood pressure,” Alfred says as he pulls the necessary things out of the giant medical bag. “We’ll have to keep an eye on him until the drug passes through his system.” 

You nod, staring down at Bruce, feeling utterly helpless. How are you supposed to fight someone’s own mind? There’s nothing you can do that isn’t being done already–and there’s still no guarantee Bruce will survive.

As quick as it comes, you shut the thought down. Bruce will make it through this, even if it kills you. 

You finish undoing his chest plates and set them to the side. You brush Bruce’s hair back from his face. 

“You’ll be okay,” you say solemnly. “You’re too stubborn to die, and Alfred and I are too stubborn to let you.” When you look up, Alfred is frowning at the blood pressure machine and the pulse oximeter on Bruce's finger. “What?” 

“Talk to him again,” is all he says. 

You raise an eyebrow but turn back to Bruce. “Who knew Alfred was so strong, huh?” you say, aiming for lightness, but the words seem to fall short. 

You reach out and smooth his wild, dark hair. 

Alfred’s eyes crinkled in a smile. “I think you calm him down, my dear.” 

It’s your turn to frown. “What do you mean?”

“Whenever you talk or touch him, his pulse drops a little and his breathing gets easier.” Alfred gives you a knowing look. 

Alfred’s the only one who knows about your crush on Bruce. He’s told you, repeatedly, to admit your feelings, but you’re too scared. Bruce is so far out of your league it’s laughable. Just because he trusts you enough with his secret doesn’t mean he feels the same way you do. Bruce has so few friends–his only two are, in fact, you and Alfred–that you know he opened up simply because he could. Bruce needed a friend, a confidant, a partner. You were able to give him that. That’s all. 

You stare at Alfred then, resigned, climb up over Bruce to sit by his head. 

“How about a scalp massage?” you ask Bruce. “Because apparently it makes you feel calmer.” 

Alfred chuckles. “His mother used to do that. Rub his head to get him to sleep or to get him to calm down when he was upset.” The older man softens as he stares down at Bruce. 

Something inside you melts. You reach a slightly trembling hand out and run it over Bruce’s head. You feel for a moment like you’re taking advantage of him. You never get to touch him like this, to simply watch him, and you relish it. 

“Here,” Alfred says, handing out a small package. “For the black around his eyes.” 

You take a wipe with your free hand and gently rub at the makeup on Bruce’s face. Both of his arms jerk against the restraints at that first touch. He starts panting hard again. 

“The blood–” he says with a pained moan. “The blood–” 

“There’s no blood, Bruce,” you say. Each touch is careful, gentle. “Everyone’s alright.” 

But he keeps yanking at the restraints. His wrists underneath his long sleeve shirt are turning redder and redder with each movement. 

“I couldn’t save them,” Bruce says around a small sob. He stares at you but you don’t think he actually can see you. “It’s my fault. I couldn’t save them.” 

“Save who?” you ask with one final swipe of the wipe over his eyes. 

“My parents. Alfred.” A tear slips over his cheek. “You.” 

“Alfred and I are alive, Bruce,” you say as you sit back on your heels on the bed. You carefully reach over and tug each of his sleeves over his wrist underneath the handcuffs. 

But Bruce doesn’t hear. “Stop!” he shouts at an unseen foe. “Don’t hurt them!” 

His sleeves have ridden up again, exposing his wrists to the handcuffs. You can see a small bit of blood on the wrist closest to you. 

Alfred hands out a bandage. “This should help.” 

You each bandage a wrist even as Bruce continues struggling. His pleas fade to pained noises that rip your heart out each time. 

“We should give him more of the sedative,” Alfred says. He rubs a hand over his face tiredly. “Where are the autopsy records? Maybe I can find out what this drug contains and see if there’s anything we can safely give him.” 

“They’re all at my workstation downstairs.” 

“I’ll be right back,” Alfred says. He hurries off, his limp even more pronounced now. 

Bruce continues straining against the handcuffs. His face is red with effort, his chest still heaving, the veins on his neck sticking out. He brings his knees up and leverages himself so his back smashes against the headboard. It creaks and groans. 

Whatever Alfred gave him must not have been enough. He’s just as frantic as he was before. Except now he’s trying to break his wrists and the headboard at the same time. 

“Stop that,” you say calmly even as your heart pounds. You wouldn’t put it past Bruce to snap the entire thing trying to get free. You run your fingers through his hair again. He immediately settles somewhat, his tugs on the handcuffs slightly easier. 

You decide to use both hands and give him the promised scalp massage. The longer your fingers work through the tangles, the more he seems to relax. You glance at the small device on his finger. His heart rate is still too high, but it lowers slightly at your prolonged touch. It’ll have to be good enough, you decide. Anything to keep his heart from giving out. 

When you look back up, Bruce is staring into your eyes. 

“I thought–I couldn’t be afraid anymore,” he says quietly. He seems more lucid now. Maybe the dose wasn’t that strong. You silently pray to all the gods and entities that might listen that it’ll be over soon. “But seeing you die–” His breath catches in his chest. “I couldn’t save you.” 

“I’m here,” you say. You wish you could take his fear and pain away, but there’s nothing else you can do. “I didn’t die.” 

Bruce makes a noise in his throat that you can’t comprehend. “It’s my–worst nightmare.” His eyes close. He grimaces. 

You keep trying to sooth him with your fingers in his hair. “You’re hallucinating, Bruce,” you say. “I don’t know if you’re able to tell what’s real right now, but all the bad things? Those are hallucinations.” 

“You’re real,” he murmurs softly. His body is a lot more relaxed. 

“Yes,” you say. “I’m here. I’m real.” 

Alfred bursts back into the room, laptop tucked under his arms. “I think we can give him more.” 

“Are you sure it’s safe?” 

“No, but if this doesn’t work…He’ll need an ambulance.” 

“He seems a lot calmer,” you say. Bruce’s eyes are still closed but he hums. “I don’t think the dose was very strong. He probably took the guy by surprise.” 

Alfred injects something into the IV, and Bruce’s body goes slack after a few moments. Alfred checks his pulse and blood pressure for several quiet moments, watching each of them improve slightly minute by minute. 

“That should do it,” Alfred says. He brushes a hand over his salt and pepper beard. “You can go on to bed, my dear.” 

“No, I’ll–I’ll stay, keep an eye on him. You go.” You expect him to argue, but Alfred nods and leaves you alone with Bruce. 

Now that things are calm, all of your fear and adrenaline start to fade. Bruce isn’t completely out of the woods yet, but he’ll make it. You think.

You think back to the surveillance video you saw. Dr. Crane was likely experimenting on the woman who died when Bruce showed up–and used whatever drug he had leftover on him. So it was likely it hadn’t been a full dose, especially with the way he seemed to calm down some. 

It was lucky. Extremely lucky. You think about the way the force of chance, of luck, has worked in your life so far, and can’t discount this instance either. 

When Bruce wakes up, you’ll give him all of the evidence he needs to get Dr. Crane arrested. You’d call Gordon now, but it’s so late it’s early. It can all wait until you know for sure Bruce is going to be alright. 

Exhausted, you lean back against the pillows next to Bruce. You glance around and can’t help but laugh at the situation. Here you are, in the place you most want to be–in Bruce’s bed–in the least romantic way possible. You don’t even have permission to be here. Bruce will probably ask you to leave once he’s in his right mind again. 

You turn your head to watch Bruce sleep, your own eyes heavy. You want to undo the handcuffs, but you’re afraid he’ll wake up in a panic again. Better to leave them on just in case. 

Without meaning to, your breathing syncs with his. You watch his chest rise and fall and try to let the motion comfort you. You glance at the little device on his finger again and feel even better when you see that his heart rate has calmed significantly. It’s still a bit high, but it isn’t in dangerous territory anymore. 

You always knew being Batman was dangerous. You’ve seen him come back injured a thousand times. A couple of times he was half-dead. But something about this was worse. Maybe because it isn’t an actual injury–it’s his own mind fighting him. His worst nightmares come to life. Bruce is the strongest person you know and seeing him brought low is like…a physical blow. It was terrifying. Bruce had always seemed so…untouchable. Like a man who was never afraid. 

His fear is the most terrifying thing you’ve ever witnessed. 

Your eyes slip closed as you watch him breathe. His bed is startlingly comfortable. You half-expected Bruce with his martyr complex to sleep on a brick. But this bed…this bed is definitely the kind of bed a billionaire would own.

You wake with a jolt sometime later. 

Bruce is watching you. His breath catches and he lets out a long sigh. He closes his eyes and seems to gather himself. 

When his eyes open again a second later, they’re wet. 

“I thought you were dead.” His voice is rougher and lower than usual, like he’s been screaming. The sound of it scrapes over your skin like sandpaper. 

“I’m not,” you say, still struggling to shake off the cobwebs of sleep. The room is dim. You were pretty sure the lamps had both been on but now only one is lit–and you have a blanket over you now too. Alfred must have come in at some point. 

“I know, but–” He takes another deep breath. The handcuffs rattle as he shifts. “For a moment, I didn’t know if it was real.” 

“What did you see?” you ask slowly. You see the handcuff key sitting on the nightstand closest to you and grab it. 

Bruce shies away from you. “Don’t unlock me yet. I don’t–I don’t want to hurt you.” 

“Bruce,” you say. You soften towards him. He’s scared again, but it’s different. You don’t know if it’s a leftover effect of the drug or if it's his propensity for self-flagellation, but he’s afraid of hurting you. “You won’t hurt me. You didn’t even hurt me when you were drugged. You protected me. Granted, it was from nothing, but…” You flash him a smile. He doesn’t return it. “Have you been awake long?” 

He ignores the joke and the question, eyes staring into the middle distance. “I saw…every variation possible of the people I love dying,” he finally says as you unlock the wrist closest to you. He groans quietly as he stretches the arm out. He must be in a lot of pain from having his arms lifted for so long, but he says nothing. “I saw myself killing you. Or I saw someone else hurting you because of me, to get to me. You kept getting hurt and I was always too late to stop it.” He’s breathing hard again. 

You can feel his breath on your face as you lean over him to unlock the other handcuff. 

He catches your wrist and keeps you close, staring up at you. His lashes are long and dark, his blue eyes bright as stars. He’s so beautiful it takes your breath away, even in his disheveled state. You still aren’t used to the sight of him. 

“Y/n, do you hear what I’m saying?” he says, voice almost anguished. 

And your brain finally catches up. 

I saw…every variation possible of the people I love dying. I saw myself killing you. Or someone else hurting you because of me, to get to me. 

You suddenly can’t breathe. People I love. 

“Bruce–” All the other words get caught behind his name. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, and yet again you aren’t sure what he’s sorry for. “But seeing all of that–I couldn’t stand the thought of something happening to you without knowing…all of it. The way I feel about you. How badly I–” He shakes his head and presses his lips together. 

You want to pinch yourself. You’re still asleep, right? There’s no way in any universe that Bruce Wayne feels for you like you do for him. 

But he’s including you in the list of people he loves.

You’ve been silent for too long, still hovering over Bruce. His eyes shift away, a wall coming down behind them as he shuts himself off. 

“I just…wanted you to know. That’s all. I won’t mention it again.” There’s a slight pink tint to his cheeks. “It’s okay if you don’t…feel that way about me.” 

“Bruce,” you say again, softer this time. You sit back a little. “I–I’m sorry.” He deflates a little, rubbing one wrist absently. He still isn’t looking at you. “I’m not really good with words, but I want you to know I feel the same way about you.” His gaze snaps to yours. You can feel heat creeping up your neck to settle in your cheeks. “I was so scared last night. I thought–all the other victims we knew about had died and–I couldn’t handle it if you died, too. You are…so important to me.” Your voice catches slightly. 

He reaches for you, calloused hands soft as the touch of a butterfly wing against your cheek. 

“Please tell me this isn’t the drug,” he says after a long moment. 

You grin. “It isn’t. It makes you scared, remember? Are you scared now?” 

He smiles back. The sight of it steals your breath. “I’m terrified.” But his smile only grows wider.

You lean down, very slightly, going slowly so he has time to change his mind. Because it still doesn’t feel real, doesn’t feel possible.

But Bruce stretches his neck up and closes the gap between you. His lips brush yours and you feel a relief so complete you want to melt into the bed. His other hand comes up to join the first and he cradles your face like you’re something valuable, something breakable, something to be cherished. 

As his lips move against yours, your entire body seems to say, Ah, I’ve been waiting for this. 

His mouth parts slightly, an invitation that you quickly take. His hands are still careful against your face, but one of yours fists around his shirt. 

When you pull away, you smile at each other. 

“As much as I want to stay here like this,” you murmur with another kiss pressed quickly to his mouth, “I think we should get Gordon to arrest Dr. Crane as soon as possible.” 

Bruce sighs but nods. “You’re right.” 

“I usually am.” 

He laughs. “And maybe after that’s done with…we can talk more.” 

You can’t help but kiss him again. “Of course. We can talk and kiss.” 

Needless to say, it takes a long time for you and Bruce to get up to contact Gordon. 

[ship-o-rama]

Name: Narada (alternate) Affiliation: Romulans, None Years: 2387, 2233-2258 Captain: Nero, James T. Kirk, Nyota Uhura

Background: Paths diverged from the original Narada when it the space-time tunnel took it to the mirror universe linked with the universe created by the original Narada time travel. It also arrived in 2233 and also engaged and destroyed the (I.S.S.) Kelvin. The ship and crew became prisoners of the Klingons and spent the next 20+ years at Rura Penthe. The Klingons learned nothing.

In 2258, Commander James T. Kirk, Commander Scott and Dr. McCoy left the Enterprise at the tail end of the Klingon surrender in a pair of shuttlecraft with assault teams and took control of the Narada.

Kirk had already pried the ship's secrets out of the remaining Narada crew and executed Nero himself for the death of his father. Kirk took command of the ship, with Leonard McCoy and Scotty in tow, and intercepted the I.S.S. Enterprise, which had been busy mopping up the war with the Klingons at Qo'noS. There, he reveal the full extent of his betrayal to Spock when Chekov, Sulu and Uhura all beamed to the Narada. As he was boasting to Spock about his Ultimate Plans, Uhura secretly beamed Spock aboard before Narada destroyed the Enterprise.

Kirk contacted Senator Pike and let him know he planned to destroy Vulcan in the name of the Imperium, which was now himself.

Thru the ships databanks Kirk knew that Nero awaited the reopening of the space-time tunnel that brought him there. The Narada made the rendezvous and the anomaly spit out the Jellyfish and another version of Spock Prime.

Scotty cracked the code surrounding Red Matter and it was immediately used on Vulcan. Kirk beamed down to the Katric Ark to gloat to those working there. Then the attack stopped, Uhura having taken control of Narada, killing Scotty. Spock and Spock Prime beamed down to Vulcan to give Kirk a chance to surrender and when he didn't, Spock killed him. Spock was intent on preserving the Terran-Vulcan alliance while Uhura took the ship to Earth to show them a new future.

Appeared in Star Trek: Ongoing Vol. 4, IDW Comics

[dystopicjumpsuit]

OC Sunday: Mic Dhorhil, the grumpiest bartender on Coruscant

A jaded Devaronian bartender with a complicated relationship to the Pyke syndicate. He absolutely judges your drink order. Don’t be fooled by his sardonic and guarded exterior: he might keep a slugthrower behind the bar (just in case), but he feeds the stray tooka who lives in the alley behind 79’s every night after he closes.

The face of a man who just had to clean up the used condoms from the floor of the refreshers at 79's. He is begging people, for the love of the Force, to use the trash compactor. Art by me 🩵

More info below the cut! Content warning for non-descriptive violence.

Overview

Name: Mic Dhorhil (pronounced Mick like Jagger, not like two turntables and a microphone) Birth year/age: 51 BBY (32 at end of the Clone Wars) Species: Devaronian Pronouns: he/him Orientation: bi/pan Home planet: Oba Diah Current location: Coruscant Occupation: grumpiest bartender on Coruscant; babysitter of one (1) pain in the ass Zabrak who is definitely old enough to know better Affiliation: 79’s bar Alignment: chaotic neutral Family: Branna Dhorhil (mother), Mhorig Durand (father, estranged), Oisin and Draig (family of the heart)

Physical characteristics

Height: 6’4”/193cm without the horns Eyes: amber Hair: bald Skin: green Tattoos/piercings/identifying marks: facial and ear piercings (and one more—can you guess?); tattoos on arms, back, and chest; significant scarring on face and body

Personal history: 

Mic was born and raised on Oba Diah, the son of single mom Branna Dhorhil. He never met his father, and Branna never talked about him. When Mic started secondary school, he met Draig, the young Zabrak who would become his lifelong best friend. Draig was small for his age, and he had lost his mother very suddenly only a few months before. Because of this, an older bully made the mistake of thinking he would be an easy target. Unfortunately for the bully, Mic was not small for his age. He stepped in and kicked the bully’s ass, with the result that both Mic and Draig were suspended.

Draig was distraught at the prospect of having to tell his father, Oisin, what had happened, when Oisin was already dealing with so much following the death of his wife. Branna was working the night shift at the time, so she was home. She recognized Draig immediately, as she worked with Oisin at the Oba Diah spaceport. She patched up the boys and got them a snack, then commed Oisin to explain what had happened. Oisin came to collect Draig, and they both stayed for dinner.

From that point on, the boys were inseparable, and the Dhorhil house was basically Draig’s second home. They formed a short-lived punk band, The Horny Devils, which played shows in Oisin’s garage once a week for their legions of adoring fan (it was Branna. Branna was their legions of adoring fan).

When Mic and Draig were in their second year of secondary school, Oisin collapsed at work. He was diagnosed with an aggressive illness, and the treatment was prohibitively expensive due to the Pyke syndicate’s monopoly on all medical goods and supplies on Oba Diah. The boys, being enterprising teens with endless self-confidence and very little impulse control, hatched a plan to break into the Pyke compound and steal the medication.

It did not go well.

They made it out, barely. They managed to get the medication and take it to Oisin, but unfortunately, they also got caught on security holovids. The Pykes, being the Pykes, didn’t take too kindly to being robbed by a couple of punk kids, and they put a bounty on both boys. The first hunter that found them cornered them in the Dhorhils’ home. Draig lost an eye to the hunter’s vibroblade before Branna managed to disarm and kill the bounty hunter with his own knife. 

They fled Oba Diah that night. Branna smuggled Oisin and the boys into the Oba Diah spaceport and stole a shuttle, then took them all to Coruscant to disappear and start over in the lower levels. Branna never told Oisin or the boys what she did to smooth things over with the Pykes, but eventually, the bounty was lifted. Nevertheless, Mic and Draig continued to give the Pykes a wide berth.

Mic started working as a busboy to help Branna while they struggled financially. Eventually, he worked his way up to become a bartender, crafting cocktails in some of the hottest bars in the upper levels. He dreamed of starting his own traditional Devaronian pub, and to help save money for that goal, he started working the closing shift at 79’s every night after he finished up at his regular job. Eventually, he scraped together the funds to start his own place in the Entertainment District, but he continued to work the closing shift at 79’s to make ends meet. 

Personality:

In the dictionary, next to the definition of “done,” you will find the above holo of Mic. That being said, he has a spectacularly long fuse. He doesn’t tolerate harassment or bullies, and the fastest way to find out what he looks like when he’s annoyed is to fuck with his customers, coworkers, or family (and he includes Oisin and Draig in that category). He’s reserved and quiet, but he has a wicked sense of humor, if you’re lucky enough to be able to overhear his commentary. 

He has Opinions™ about certain drinks, and he might not say them out loud, but you can feel the judgment if you come in and order a Green Zygerrian (like he just keeps green cream on hand, what the kriff do you think this is, a dairy?).

Aside from his family, Mic tends to hold people at a distance. It takes a long time to gain his trust, and even longer for him to feel truly comfortable around someone. Having witnessed how his father’s absence impacted Branna, Mic is very, very guarded about romance. He needs to get to know someone very well and form a strong connection with them before he’ll consider getting physical. But once he’s in? He’s all in. No games, no messing around: he knows what he wants, and he’ll be very upfront about it. He just needs to be sure his prospective partner is on the same page before he lets himself get involved.

Due to his personal history with the crime syndicates (not to mention his family’s nebulous respect for the law), Mic has an innate distrust of authority in general and the police in particular. He keeps a low profile, but when the Corrie Guard comes to 79’s, he’s on full alert. Oddly enough, Commander Fox is one of his favorite customers. Maybe he feels a deep spiritual connection to the Marshal Commander’s exhausted ori’vod energy.

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@totallyunidentified @eclec-tech @euphoriacafe @hipwell @yve-barr

@dangraccoon @transactivecybermemory @etod

[amidst-wonderland]

ELIZABETH LANCE-WAYNE

REAL NAME : elizabeth lance-wayne FACE-CLAIM : olivia cooke MAIN ALIAS : siren OTHER ALIASES : starling ⭑ batgirl ⭑ black canary ⭑ crow ⭑ molly malone KEY RELATIVES : bruce wayne (father) ⭑ dinah lance (mother) ⭑ damian wayne, (half-brother) ⭑ olive west-wayne (daughter) ⭑ ronan west-wayne (son) AFFILIATION : batman family ⭑ justice league ⭑ birds of prey ⭑ teen titans ⭑ suicide squad ⭑ flash family ⭑ team arrow ⭑ wayne enterprises BASE OF OPERATIONS : gotham city ⭑ keystone ⭑ star city ⭑ new york city

ORIGIN & LIVING STATUS

ALIGNMENT : hero LIVING STATUS : alive, formerly deceased PLACE OF BIRTH : gotham city UNIVERSE : prime earth IDENTITY : secret CITIZENSHIP : american MARITAL STATUS : separated, it's complicated. OCCUPATION : wedding planner ⭑ socialite (former) ORIGIN : hereditary metagene obtained from mother, black canary. took on protégé role of starling as a child. CAUSE OF DEATH(S) one | killed by the joker after being stabbed with an electric rod during an arkham aslyum surveillance mission with robin and kid flash in an attempt to blow the island sky-high. two | shot by royal flush gang's queen during 'task force x' operation three | impaled by zoom in an act of revenge against flash iii four | beaten to death by 'death metal' alternative, screech in attempt to protect her children

SKILLS & ABILITIES

expert detective master martial artist and hand-to-hand combatant ultra-sonic scream (canary cry) enhanced strength and speed expert strategist, tactician and field commander trained gymnast espionage utilises high-tech equipment and weapons, such as her element adaptive mono-wire proficient archer sound immunity

RELATIONSHIPS / ASSOCIATIONS

marriage | wally west long-term | roy harper fling | adian cobblepot ⭑ joseph wilson

heroes | bruce wayne ⭑ dinah lance ⭑ wally west ⭑ zatanna zatara ⭑ barbara gordon ⭑ dick grayson ⭑ roy harper ⭑ donna troy ⭑ jason todd ⭑ tim drake ⭑ stephanie brown ⭑ cassandra cain ⭑ renee montoya villains | harley quinn ⭑ magpie ⭑ cupid ⭑ rainbow raider ⭑ royal flush gang ⭑ screech ⭑ mad hatter ⭑ catwoman ⭑ hazard ⭑ poison ivy ⭑ killer frost ⭑ joker ⭑ punchline ⭑ court of owls

MISC.

elizabeth was the batgirl to jason's robin and is arguably the closest with him, post resurrection.

after being stripped of her cowl again by bruce, elizabeth winds up babysitting 'task force x' with long-time friend, roy harper and dawning a new short-term alias, crow. the two find comfort in each-other within the band of belligerent criminals as ex-titans, roy after his split with jade and elizabeth longing for a love she doesn't even know she's forgotten.

she’s viewed as an almost modern day ‘daisy buchanan’ type figure in gotham for better or worse

elizabeth's wayne!persona feeds into the catty high-school popular girl, a little ditzy but applying where it counts. she's no valedictorian but fronting the cheer squad and the debate team whilst earning herself prom queen is no small feat but unfortunately for her date and half the school's male populous, she's head-over-heels for nobody but keystone's cocky redhead with a heart of gold. post-gotham academy, she becomes a hilton-type party girl which doesn't go down well with wally.

even after their separation (in name only, these two would literally die for each-other) wally is still persistent that she keeps her flash button-pin on her person at all times, just in case. even after a fight, yet another break or just a storm-out he'll always be there when she needs him and he knows she's stubborn enough to only press it when she really needs him.

liz was a pretty taken aback by wally's reappearance. learning of a life she once had, the children she'd forgotten and unlike everyone else that accepted wally back almost immediately, liz was a little slower, much to wally's impatience.

she covers for her mother as black canary during league outings whilst dinah is on maternity leave, even keeping with the mantle when teaming up with wally when he returns to the flash role.

dinah and bruce were only briefly together, bruce hadn't even begun his career as batman and dinah was working part-time as a florist and club singer.

liz and dick are the same age.

all three of her costumes incorporate led lining, more-so her time as batgirl with the cowl, her batgirl colour-coding was black and sheer white, whilst starling had an ombre rainbow lining - similar to the bird and siren taking on both aspects with the black and white costume and rainbow led lights.

KEY ARCS / MOMENTS / STORYLINE

MATCHES (UNDER THE RED HOOD PREQUEL)

central characters | elizabeth lance-wayne (molly malone) ⭑ jason todd ⭑ tim drake ⭑ cassandra cain ⭑ selina kyle ⭑ adian cobblepot ⭑ oswald cobblepot ⭑ edward nygma ⭑ carmine falcone ⭑ dick grayson ⭑ barbara gordon

whilst batman is off-world with the justice league, the rest of his team have been tasked to protect gotham so newly returned elizabeth gets a whiff of a developing human trafficking ring, she swiftly adopts the 'molly malone' persona in order to infiltrate their operations and put a stop to it. however, she's met with some resistance from the city's newest mob-boss, the red hood.

notable beats

one | this is elizabeth's first solo operation in gotham since the batgirl mantle was taken from her and since she married childhood sweetheart wally west, who is currently off-world with bruce. two | selina helping elizabeth get into the spoilt mafia brat image with hair as big as her tits, heels as fake as her lips and leopard print dress peaking above her ass. during this, cass watches on at the pseduo-mother / daughter moment, longing back to her own childhood. three | seducing oswald cobblepot's absolute meathead unit of a son, adian as malone's guard-dog boyfriend after 'spontaneously' meeting in gotham's 'my alibi' strip club with the promise of opening a brothel (refuge for victims), playing on his sycophantic eagerness to get impress / out-do his own father, mirroring elizabeth's own ambition. four | red hood interrupting her first meeting with the gotham rogues, removing their attention from her, to him. jason identifies liz immediately, being aware of the 'malone' schtick from bruce but decides to toy with her game-plan just to tick her off. five | jason overhears an argument between tim and liz ordering him and cass to back-off the op, he decides to stir the pot by ambushing the boy-wonder. six | elizabeth returns to her and wally's shared penthouse only to be confronted with the red hood confirming her identity as a wayne and poking at her marriage, "does west know you're hanging off penguin jr?" taunting her to press the alarm, knowing bruce and the scarlet-speeder would return seeing the mess she's made of the op, jason offers her a hand.

ROYAL ROULETTE (THE SUICIDE SQUAD) - breakdown to be added

below is just some fun i had after seeing the suicide squad, enjoy!

SNIPPET

“Joining you, Dubois will be two classified and undercover operatives with decades of field experience between them, though you may find their methods in comparison to your active teammates are rather passive.” Amanda Waller drags out as she walks the marksman through the bleak halls of the prison. “Both parties are, like you doing this with a certain level of willingness, but again like you, they have their own rather elusive baggage.”    Dubois continued to follow the woman into her office before being shown some very familiar inmates, one blond and the other ginger, who’d been a real pain in his-    “Arsenal. Speedy and Red Arrow all known aliases of former Green Arrow protégé, Roy Harper. I know you’re aware of Mr. Harper’s craft, but you may relax. He is your covert second-wave operative on this mission.”    “Does he know that?”    “He’s been warned, whether or not he wishes to push my buttons is entirely up to him.”    “Blondie here, is your problem.”    “That’s not Quinn, is it?”    “Far from, this is Siren. Meta-human.”    “Christ.”    “That’s a moot point a third of your team are meta-humans, but this one, used to be Batgirl.”    “Fuck off.”    “Watch that tongue.”    “I thought the Bats were good guys.”    “Yeah, well some of them have tendencies, including this one.”    “What’s she do?”    “Classified.”    “How’d you get her to agree?”    “Classified.”    “Does the Batman know?”    “He knows his daughter is doing covert work for me.”    “Ooh, lying to the cape-crusader is-“ Dubois furrowed his brows, “Did you say daughter?”    “That I did. Siren is a meta-human with enhanced strength, equipped with a Canary Cry that can shatter just about any form of glass within a two-mile radius. Her mother is Black Canary, her Step-father? Green Arrow and her husband is the fastest man alive,” Waller tensed, “Dubois, no matter what the circumstances may be, I do suggest that you and your team do not cross this woman, specifically Quinn.”    “What do the Gothamites have history?” he joked, although Waller did not reciprocate.    “You don’t spend five years as Batgirl without a run in with the Clown. Joker killed her brother, paralysed her teammate, and critically injured herself to the brink of death that she spent seven months in the ICU, all to enact a grand idea that involved blowing Arkham Island to bits.”    “What happened?”    “Two metal rods, and fifty-thousand volts. Folks said the scream could be heard from Metropolis.”    “How’s she not dead?”    “Rumour is Kid Flash was able to restart her heart.”    “So Quinn’s a sore-spot?”    “I don’t want them left alone, Siren won’t kill but Quinn would in retaliation, and I don’t want the job of explaining to Flash why his wife’s body was left in some South American jungle because of a psychotic jester who nearly killed her as a teenager.”    “The bomb threat?”    “As far as she's concerned, there isn't one.”    “Why?”    “Guess.” “What about Quinn?” “Quinn’s quick and unpredictable, Siren could be dead before I hit the button. They’ve known each other for a decade - know how to make each other tick therefore it is your job to make sure they don’t."    “You want me to babysit two grown fucking women? If she’s this much of a hassle then what use is she to us?”    “Siren has trained with nothing but the best, she is a skilled, heavy hitting fighter, acrobat, tech genius, can speak four languages fluently – one of which you will need – and can be an excellent diversion when the moment calls for it. Her skill set is vital to the completion of this mission.”    “And yet Quinn?”    “Cannon fodder. She’s got more balls than any other man on your team.”

[devilsgatewayhq]

Name: Giovanni Santino Ricci Age: 65 Time living in Tonopah: New in town, but has lived in Vegas for most of his life Occupation: CEO of The Enterprise Casino Conglomerate Gang Affiliation: The Enterprise Neighborhood: Glenn Estates Face Claim: Giancarlo Esposito

Biography: (TW: war, racism)

Giovanni was born into a post-war Italy at a time when the country was finally finding its footing after its economic and political collapse. His father, an African-American soldier in the 370th Regimental Combat Team, stayed in Italy for many years following the US victory, at first in an attempt to help stabilize the area during its transition of power, and then because of Annalisa Ricci. The woman had captured his attention the first night he’d seen her sing in one of the few clubs that was still up and running in town, her voice a siren song calling to something deep within him. After all, he knew he’d only return home to a country who was ungrateful of the sacrifices he and his fellow infantrymen had faced, spewing vitriol at him all because of the color of his skin, so why be in a rush back home?

The two fell in love, then fell into bed with one another, producing a child – which was a problem for his father, seeing as he never wanted to have any. He returned to the US under the guise of following orders, and Annalisa vowed she would go with him, which threw a wrench in his escape plan. He agreed, telling her he would go ahead of her to get their life setup, and she could follow when it was safe for her to travel. Annalisa’s rose-colored glasses blocked the glaring red flags as she watched him leave. Months passed and their son was born, but there was no word. Annalisa fretted, but eventually she found a lead in one of the letters they’d exchanged while courting, prompting her to make the move across the Atlantic with her baby boy in tow.

The Land of Promise wasn’t kind to them, though, because of the color of the boy’s skin and the knowledge that his existence meant his mother had been with one of them. The hostilities prevented Annalisa from plenty of opportunities, but if anything, it only solidified her love for her son more. Giovanni was a quiet child as a result, rarely needy if only because he knew his mother struggled to give him what she already did. He was always observant, preferring to listen rather than speak, but he also had a brilliant mind, able to retain information and tie the pieces together at a rate that surprised most people, including his own mother. She was delighted, though, and fostered his education as best she could in a land where children who looked like him had few rights to speak of and even fewer opportunities. The Civil Rights Acts of 1964 and 1968 changed all of that, and the world became his oyster.

He excelled in his academics, getting into Stanford University where he studied business. One of his life goals was to be like the self-made men he read about who came from nothing and become billionaires. It was during his time in graduate school that he met his first wife. The two married only a year after they started dating in a shotgun wedding in Vegas, deciding to settle down in the area shortly thereafter to be closer to her family. Though she desired to start a family soon after they were wed, Giovanni was more focused on bringing in as much money as he could, not only to help them survive but to provide a surplus the way he never had growing up so they would want for nothing. He started out selling cars following graduation, sending home money to his mother and saving up everything else he could, and it was through this job he met Jacque Riley.

The pair hit it off almost instantly, commiserating over shared experiences as black men in the business sector, and their friendship quickly solidified into a business partnership. Thus came The Enterprise, a luxury casino and resort experience right there in Las Vegas, just off the Strip. The men hoped to attract higher end clientele, appealing far less to the average Sin City tourist looking for a get rich quick day of gambling. It took a while to get them to take the bait, but once they did, the millionaires and socialites were reeled in in droves. Running a casino wasn’t exactly easy work, but it helped to be observant in the way that Giovanni was; it meant he was able to pinpoint a gambler’s weaknesses and exploit it for his own gain. He became a keeper of secrets, promising an escape from hardship to those who revealed all and taking advantage of their desperation whenever he saw fit. It was only fair he got his due after the harm he suffered as a child, right? What is the American Dream if not this?

The Enterprise became a roaring success, and before they knew it, they were opening up branches in other major cities across the country. While his business life was thriving, his home life suffered. His wife felt neglected, even after Giovanni had given her two children to keep her preoccupied. The two separated and Giovanni moved on shortly afterward to his second wife, Genevieve, 21 years his junior.

Headcanons: 

He speaks multiple languages, including Italian, English, French, Spanish, Arabic, Mandarin, Japanese, and Korean. Italian is his native tongue and English his second.

He keeps a coded ledger of everyone he’s blackmailing and their secrets in an unassuming portfolio in his office. It’s organized by surname and each page contains a contingency plan for the person’s downfall in case they don’t fulfill their end of a bargain or come too close to outing The Enterprise’s operations.

Despite his absence as a father, he does love his children in his own way. Now that they’re older, he hopes to guide at least one of them up in taking over the family business.

[crechi]

Hello, I am Nader, I am from Gaza-Palestine and I am a 26-year-old dedicated to working alongside my father in our family-owned enterprise specializing in importing stationery, school supplies, and printing services.On October 7, 2023, the war began in Gaza, and on the morning of October 20, 2023, the area where our company was targeted with several missiles, led to the destruction of a large part of the company.Then, On January 8, 2024, the area was targeted for the second time, leading to the burning of the entire company, stores, and affiliated printing press for the company's store.Recently our home was bombed on the 20th of March 2024 and now we are without shelter and homeless and there’s no place to go back to or to be.Help us to leave Gaza to the safe zone before it’s too late, every 1 dollar can save a person’s life, and every donation will directly contribute to my needs—shelter, food, and medical assistance please share so we can start a new happy life.Thank you in advance for your kindness, and for bringing a glimmer of light to my family in such a dark time.

no, but i'd love to brand your neck with a red hot fucking bike chain some time <3

so, this? you see this everybody? don't fall for scams like this.

I'm so fucking upset someone even tried this.

the wording of the message is so obviously someone trying to guilt trip, not someone looking for help. they even tried using specific dates so that if you were to look them up, you'd see what happened those days and believe them, while no one in this situation would remember the exact dates their homes and businesses were bombed.

their account links to a PAYPAL for fucks sake. not go fund me, not a campaign, PayPal.

a google search of the name on their paypal reveals exactly what kind of wretched fucking person they are, they're name appears on lists of popular scammers.

don't let people use their situation in exploitation. don't fall for these scams.

please refer to this post for resources on how to identify these scams, a list of common names and information stolen by scammers, and how to report them.

I hope the next time you go to the dentist, they use a fucking weed whacker.

don't come into my ask box trying this bullshit again.

[vampirae]

Pluto and Money

How to gain money with Pluto transits

Pluto in 1st: This transit has the potential to bring up deep self-transformation and personal empowerment. Focus on gaining self-confidence, polishing your own abilities and talents, and creating a strong and determined image in your professional pursuits if you want to make money.

Pluto in 2nd: Pluto's passage here has the potential to alter your values and financial stability. To increase your income, you should examine your financial habits, make an effective budget, invest carefully, and have a healthy relationship with money based on self-worth and resourcefulness.

Pluto in 3rd: This transit has an impact on communication, education, and networking. Focus on improving your communication skills, gaining knowledge in subjects with high earning potential, and developing a strong professional network to improve your financial opportunities.

Pluto in 4th: Pluto's transit through this house can have an effect on family, home, and emotional foundations. Consider real estate investments, family business opportunities, and understanding the relationship between emotional well-being and financial success to improve your financial status.

Pluto in 5th: This transit has an impact on your creativity, self-expression, and personal fulfillment. Focus on exploiting your creative abilities, exploring entrepreneurial initiatives, and taking careful risks in investing opportunities to make money.

Pluto in 6th: This transit has an impact on employment, health, and everyday routines. To improve your financial prospects, focus on strengthening your work ethic, obtaining in-demand talents, and maintaining good physical and mental health to optimize productivity.

Pluto in 7th: This transit has an impact on partnerships and relationships. During this transit, collaborative efforts, cooperative enterprises, and common financial goals can lead to enhanced financial advantages.

Pluto in 8th: Pluto's transit through this house can have a significant impact on pooled resources, investments, and inheritances. To make money, look into investment options, engage in financial planning, and learn about topics such as estate plannHigher education, travel, and philosophical opinions are all affected by this transit. Consider extending your knowledge and abilities through additional education, researching worldwide business prospects, and adopting an abundance and growth attitude to boost your financial wealth.ing and tax techniques.

Pluto in 9th: Higher education, travel, and philosophical opinions are all affected by this transit. Consider extending your knowledge and abilities through additional education, researching worldwide business prospects, and adopting an abundance and growth attitude to boost your financial wealth.

Pluto in 10th: This transit has an impact on one's job, public image, and professional goals. Focus on long-term professional objectives, build leadership abilities, and use your influence and reputation to create financial possibilities if you want to make money.

Pluto in 11th: This transit has an impact on friendships, social networks, and group affiliations. Focus on networking, making important relationships, and investigating entrepreneurial opportunities within social or professional circles to improve your financial chances.

Pluto in 12th: This transit has the potential to bring about profound psychological and spiritual development. To make money, look into hidden abilities or spiritual practices that can be commercialized, as well as work on releasing any self-limiting beliefs or subconscious habits that are impeding financial wealth.

[dontmeantobepoliticalbut]

You are, I’m sure, familiar with Occam’s razor. It’s the old philosophical theorem that holds that the simplest explanation for an event, the one requiring the fewest assumptions, is probably the best explanation. If you wake up in the morning and there’s snow on the lawn, there are any number of possible explanations. Maybe some friends played a practical joke on you and dumped snow in your yard. Maybe space aliens visited during your slumber and dusted your lawn with the white stuff. Or—maybe it snowed last night.

Republicans keep asking, completely dishonestly, why so much criminal suspicion surrounds Donald Trump. They say it’s all being orchestrated by Joe Biden and Merrick Garland. They insist it’s an effort to interfere with his election campaign. They say a lot of things, but if ever there was a case where Occam’s razor applied, it’s this one. Trump is surrounded by criminal suspicion because he’s a criminal.

He’s been doing criminal things for decades. He just finally got cornered and caught on something. I’ve been writing recently that Democrats have to make sure every voter in the country remembers by Election Day, having heard it said thousands of times, that Donald Trump is a convicted felon. That’s true, and so far, Democrats and affiliated groups aren’t doing a terrible job of this. It’s a little sad that the best expression I’ve seen of this so far comes from a Republican—fiercely anti-Trump Republican Sarah Longwell’s group, Republican Voters Against Trump, has put up some blunt billboards around the country featuring photos of voters, with their names, under the statement: “I won’t vote for a convicted felon.”

But Democrats need to do more. Trump’s criminality, both past and future, should be central to the campaign. There’s a story to tell here, and it’s all true. No matter what the pollsters and the messaging gurus say, it’s impossible that all of this, taken together, doesn’t matter to swing voters.

To tell the story, you go through Trump’s record:

• convicted on 34 felony counts • determined by a court to have raped a woman and ordered to pay her $83 million • found by a court to have overvalued his assets and ordered to pay $364 million • ordered to pay a $2 million settlement after admitting that he misused his charity, which the state of New York shut down • found by the Justice Department to have refused to rent apartments to Black applicants; settled out of court • sued by the Justice Department for violating proper procedures in the purchase of stock; paid $750,000 in civil fines • charged by the New York State Lobbying Commission with violating state lobbying laws while purchasing a casino; paid $250,000 to settle fines • found by the courts to have grossly defrauded students at the so-called Trump University and ordered to pay them $25 million in restitution

This list isn’t even the tip of the iceberg. It’s the tip of the tip. Trump has spent four decades being sued for something or other, typically not paying his bills, like those famous cases where he stiffed the poor vendors for his casinos, filing his own ridiculous countersuits and libel suits, and paying fines to make things go away. If indeed he actually paid the fines. I wonder if anyone has ever really gotten to the bottom of that. And I haven’t even mentioned the current charges around January 6 and the stolen classified documents because, so far, they’re just charges. But whatever the courts end up saying on those two matters, we’ve all seen with our own eyes the insurrection that he obviously incited (as of this January, 718 rioters had pleaded guilty to various federal charges, and 139 had been found guilty in court) and the photos of the boxes of documents at Mar-a-Lago that he refused for months to turn over to the FBI.

Another important point: The criminality around Trump isn’t limited to Trump. Eight Trump associates were sentenced to prison time: Steve Bannon, Michael Cohen (joined the good side but still served time), Rick Gates, Paul Manafort, Peter Navarro, George Papadopoulos, Roger Stone, and Allen Weisselberg. Others copped pleas: Michael Flynn, Sidney Powell, Kenneth Cheseboro, and Scott Hall, another Georgia defendant.

This is not a coincidence. As GOP strategist Rick Wilson said, “Everything Trump touches dies”; he corrupts everything and everyone around him. And does anyone seriously think that if he gets back to the Oval Office, the same thing isn’t going to happen again? It’s going to be worse.

It’s going to be far worse. First, he’s going to start, on that dictatorial day one, by pardoning himself. Joe Biden and the Democrats need to try to get voters focused on this. If it happens, people will be completely outraged. Yes, the 38% or so who are MAGA world will be fine with it, but majorities will be flabbergasted at such an act. Is it possible to get voters pre-outraged about something that hasn’t happened? The polls will say no. But as I’ve written over and over lately, polls can either be accepted—or they can be changed.

Right now, what’s most terrifying to me about the polls is that they tell us emphatically that people forget. They forget all the horrible things Trump did. That includes presidential actions, like his lies to the American people about the pandemic, but it also includes his history of criminality and the way that history guarantees he’ll keep behaving that way.

In sum: Trump’s criminal record hardly begins and ends with Stormy Daniels. Somebody needs to make sure that, by November 5, voters know the entire, sordid history.

[time-traveling-bees]

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