#and jason gave me those prints a whole year ago

[birf]

finally decorating/hanging all this stuff up in the office 🙏

[spooky-z]

Field Trip

Maribat is from @ozmav​

I want to make two things very clear:

Near the end there are homophobic and racist lines. So, please, be careful.

This is almost 9K.

That was D-Day. The day of the field trip at Wayne Enterprises.

Marinette knew she shouldn't be so excited, because please, she knew that place like her palm. But that didn't stop her from being excited to be able to introduce her friends to the employees there.

Every time she promised to take them to meet each other, but there was never a good enough opportunity for that to happen, since Adrien's father, Gabriel, was the biggest problem of the equation.

She was in the bathroom, finishing getting ready and had shared the hotel room with Alix, who from what she could hear, was jumping on the bed like crazy.

“Al, don't you get tired?” Marinette sighs as she leaves the bathroom.

The pink-haired girl - dressed in denim shorts, a black shirt with Batman logo, jacket tied at the waist and a black hat - stops jumping. Laughter ready to go out.

“It depends.” She replies. “Will you stop letting the rest of the class step on you because of that snake?”

"Al..." The warning tone clear in her voice.

Alix rolls her eyes and gets off the bed. She, like Kim, kept debating that Marinette should stop bowing her head to the class antics because of Lila. The girl had arrived in Dupont and destroyed the brunette's reputation just because of Adrien.

“Okay, I get it. I don't say anything else…” She says grumpy and Marinette smiles “For now.” And laughs at her best friend's frown.

“… I don't know why I still try. Really. You guys are a pain in the ass.” Marinette complains.

"It's love." Alix countered. "Let's go now. Those losers must be waiting in the lobby.”

Marinette picks up her bag from the bed, ready for the trip.

She was wearing black jeans, sneakers (they would walk a lot) and a big white long-sleeved sweater. Her hair was messed up on purpose.

Alix put on her old traditional all-star and opened the bedroom door for her friend.

When they were inside the elevator, Marinette turned to the girl. The high finger, like a mother lecturing her children.

“Remember: no trying to compete with Kim inside the building. If you don't behave, I will end you.” She warns. “And you know I can handle it.”

The pink-haired girl rolls her eyes but nods in agreement.

“I will behave myself. Promise."

"Great."

"Nice."

"Good."

"... You are unbearable." Alix says.

"I know." Marinette winks and they both burst out laughing.

They keep laughing until the elevator arrives in the lobby and bump into their friends, separated from the rest of the class, talking about something.

Alix pulls Marinette into the group, catching the attention of the rest of the class.

They ignore the scornful glances cast.

"Hey, losers." Alix nods when they get to them.

"Good morning, guys." Marinette smiles.

Adrien looked like he'd been kicked out of bed - his hair was messier than usual, a black sweatshirt with little cats, ripped jeans and the orange all-star he wouldn't let go of - his eyes barely opening to nod in acknowledgment, almost lying upright in Kim's arms.

Kim dressed similarly, except for the sweatshirt, which was several bats and the jeans were black, as were the sneakers. His hair was like Adrien's. Soft.

“Good morning!” He replies, holding Adrien with his right arm and waving his left hand.

"It's about time." Chloe complains. "I thought I would have to send Mr. Robot here to wake you up."

She was wearing light jeans, caramel UGG boots. The yellow jacket was open, giving a view of the white - which Marinette was sure was Alix's – shirt with Wonder Woman print underneath. Her blond hair was loose and her makeup minimal.

Max was wearing something Marinette never thought she'd see him wear before. A large hoodie - from Adrien, we should make clear - with Naruto print, black jeans and black vans too. He had the dreadlock — had grown since he was twelve — pinned to the top of his head.

"We took so long because Marinette was getting ready for her sweetheart." Alix teases.

Marinette feels her face burn.

"ALIX!"

Sabrina laughs. "Good morning, girls."

She wore a long green pleated skirt, white sneakers without a sock, a white shirt and an open button-down denim jacket. Her hair was tied in a braid on the side of her head and her makeup was minimal too.

Max looked like he was going to say something when Ms. Bustier appears, a man by her side.

“Class, let's go. The bus has arrived. This is the driver, Philip.” She points at him.

Marinette glanced quickly at the class and her eyes met Lila's. The smile the Italian sent her was freezing her blood.

“It looks like today is going to be interesting.” Adrien, who seemed much more awake, says.

The seven friends couldn't help but agree.

×××

The bus ride had been fun.

As they were many, someone would be left to sit with someone in the class and that was something that Alix did not allow to happen. Then she squeezed herself between Marinette and Sabrina, while Max sat next to Chloe and Adrien continued to use Kim as a pillow.

Marinette was wiping out her cell phone memory by taking pictures.

Proof, she says. Blackmail, replies Chloe, who was also taking pictures.

Alix and Sabrina were busy with the landscape, Max was studying about WE and Kim was playing something on his cell phone.

As the bus pulled up in front of the huge Wayne building cluster, Marinette felt anxiety bubbling in her stomach.

She had promised Dick she would not pretend to know anyone - Marinette didn't like to draw attention - so when she saw any of them, she would have to act like herself.

It had been a long and tiring conversation. The Wayne complaining that she never introduced them to her friends or that she always pretended not to know them.

Jason had even teased that she was ashamed of Damian and Damian retaliated by saying he was ashamed of his brothers. The two started fighting and it took Selina to intervene for them to stop.

Anyway. She had promised and Marinette Dupain-Cheng was not someone to break her promises.

She just wished her classmates were quiet and said nothing... graphic. Otherwise, she couldn't defend them from Wayne's fury.

Caline Bustier gets up from her seat and turns to the class, still sitting in their seats.

"We're here," she begins. “But before we get in, I want to make some things clear. IW has tough rules that should not be disregarded for anything.” Says “I know many should not have read the permission paper I gave their parents to sign, so I will warn them: they signed an NDA along with the permission. If you break this agreement, you can and will be sued. They don't care if you're seventeen.”

She looks each other in the eye, serious. Wanting them to understand the seriousness of the situation.

“Now I'll go over the rules.” She takes a piece of paper from her purse and starts reading it. “It's not allowed to take pictures, walk around the building without the guide or someone authorized, enter forbidden places and most importantly: do not disclose anything you saw inside. If a person breaks any of these rules, they will be banned from any Wayne buildings and prosecuted.” Caline lowers the paper. "Let's go now! We have a lot to learn.”

And get off the bus, followed by the excited class. The seven friends right behind, putting a certain distance.

"I'll finally meet the famous Timothy Drake." Max says, his face serious as if on a mission.

Marinette feels the warnings ring in her head. Max had built a rivalry since Tim figured out in a day how to solve a riddle that had left Max sleepless for months. That had been almost a year ago, but the flame of rivalry still burned in the boy's chest.

"Look, I don't know if the boys will be here." She says "I know Dick will be here, because he told me he would be the guide, but I don't know about the others."

Kim pouting, Adrien joins him and Alix too.

"But I thought I would meet Jason in person."

She shudders thinking about this meeting. No. Nope. That would not happen. Otherwise, she thinks Gotham wouldn't be whole.

"Neither Duke?" Sabrina question.

“I really think it's just Dick today, guys. I'm sorry."

The five sighs in dismay. Marinette sighs with relief.

"Let's go. They're leaving us behind.” Chloe says and points to the group ahead of them, already entering the building.”

"Shit."

And they run to catch up.

×××

As much as Marinette has spent much of the past two years walking these corridors, getting into the WI building was always breathtaking. The architecture was out of this world.

“… Thank you so much for getting this tour, Lila!” She hears Rose squeal excitedly.

Adrien snorts at her side, annoyed. He knew very well that the one who had made the trip had been Marinette. Lila was lying again and Ms. Bustier made no effort to dismiss the girl.

Marinette tightens the blonde's hand, trying to distract him from class.

“It was nothing!” Lila brags. “When I told Brucie that the class needed a trip as a graduation gift, he offered it to us. You know, he likes me a lot, since I'm his daughter-in-law.”

The class begins to praise her as a strange kind of cult and Marinette rolls her eyes at the familiar scene.

“What a nasty little girl we have here.” A voice purrs in Marinette's ear.

The girl jumps in surprise, a little scream escaping her lips. Everyone turns to look at her and she turns to find out who she was.

“SELINA!” She shouts excitedly.

The latin-looking woman smiles. Black hair in a pixie cut, plump lips and green eyes. She wore a black pencil skirt, a white blouse with lace at the shoulders and Louboutin high heels.

"Hello, kitten." Marinette hugs the woman.

They had not seen each other for a long time. Selina and Bruce were traveling a lot on their honeymoon, to make up for the times the marriage had been postponed.

“I missed you.” She pulls back, the firm smile on her face. “How was the honeymoon?”

“Wonderful.” Selina responds. “And how have you been?”

“Great.” She turns to her friends. “Guys, this is Selina Kyle.”

And then turns to Selina again.

“Selina, these are Adrien Agreste-” He smiles. “Chloe Bourgeois-” She waves. “Sabrina Raincomprix-” She says hello. “Max Kanté-” He waves. “And Lê Chiến Kim. My friends.” He winks charming.

The woman analyzes each one, nodding in approval in the end.

"They seem to be good people, kitten." She says. "I hope they can come to dinner with us tonight."

Marinette's smile gets impossibly bigger.

"Of-"

“Who is this, Marinette?” Lila's voice cuts the girl off. And the good mood of before changes to a sour one.

Selina looks away from the girl and looks at the rest of the class with Lila.

The girl had a despicable look on her face, a fake smile and sharp eyes. The class around her wasn't much better, since they didn't even pretend for politeness.

The woman observes the situation. At how once happy friends came together as if they were forming a barrier between Marinette and the other girl. How tempers became exalted.

Selina takes the lead, wanting to avoid a scene.

“Selina Kyle.” She replies. “And you? Who is it?” Question. The sharp tone leaves no gap for jokes.

Lila takes this as an opportunity to lie. Again.

“Lila Rossi. Damian Wayne's fiancée.” She extends her hand. “I’m the one who arranged the class trip.” Selina squeezes her hand.

"Damian's fiancée?" She hisses in displeasure. "Interesting."

Caline Bustier watches the commotion, unsure what to do.

She was sure the intrigue in the class would calm down over time, but it had only gotten worse. Worsened to the point that the Dupain-Cheng threatened to sue the school and report to the council, as no one seemed to see the toxic situation that became the classroom.

They were being dark days for Dupont. For Caline

All were under investigation. Mostly her, since she was the one that suffered the most accusations not only from Marinette's family, but also from Max, Kim and Sabrina as well. This trip had been an excuse for everyone - her - to get away from Paris and the rabbit hole they had gotten into.

A man dressed all in black - button-down shirt, slim-fit pants and oxfords - with styled hair appeared with the driver.

Caline guessed it was Richard Grayson, the guide they had informed her.

He smiled at her and held out his hand to greet.

"Good morning, I'm Richard Grayson." She squeezes the offered hand, feeling her cheeks heat up.

She could be a teacher, but she wasn't dead.

“Good morning, Richard. I'm Caline Bustier, the teacher.” She drops his hand, kind of disappointed to have to.

Ms. Bustier turns to the class and catches everyone's attention. She watches the Latina woman kiss Marinette's cheek and leave the building. The security guard waving respectfully at her.

“Guys, please.” And their attention turns to her.

Marinette's group still distracted by something the girl said.

"Good morning, Dupont." The man says. "My name is Richard and I will be your guide on this field trip."

The class cheers up again and Marinette turns her head so fast that Chloe is sure she heard the bone crack.

"DICK!"

The whole class chokes. Lila takes the opportunity to make a scene.

“Oh my god, Marinette! Have a little decency.” She whines shrilly. “Apologize to Richard right now or I will make arrangements.”

Dick raises an eyebrow at the Italian.

“Now there is no need-”

“There is a need, Mr. Grayson.” Lila cuts off the man. “She's being disrespectful to you and as I am the most influential person around, I must place order.

Alix and Sabrina snort, hands over their mouths trying to hide their laughter. Chloe doesn't care about hiding. Kim and Max were obviously filming. Adrien had such a big smile on his face that Dick knew it must be hurting.

Marinette was frozen. He knew that expression.

"... not necessary, Miss." He says again. Already losing patience with the girl. “Minette didn't disrespect me. She just called me by my nickname.”

Lila looks like she's just been slapped. Bewildered.

"The what?"

“Do you know Marinette?” Alya asks, her nose twitching with the scent of an exclusive.

Dick tilts his head, his arms crossed and a teasing smile on his mouth.

"Of course. She is my sister in law."

... What?

Adrien was right. That day would be interesting.

×××

"This is where Wayne Technologies starts." Dick says, pointing to the floor where the elevator stopped. “You'll see our specialists at work, so avoid distracting them.”

The class walked the floor marveling at the technology and the scientists at work.

Adrien was practically drooling next to Max.

"Dude, close your mouth." Alix jokes.

The boy's cheek burned in embarrassment and he closed his mouth in a loud snap. The hand rubbed his face just to make sure there was no drool.

Marinette laughed at her friend, but stopped abruptly as she watched the red tuft of hair in one of the tech rooms. That was when she remembered that she had promised Adrien to introduce him to one of the smartest people she had ever met. And a physics freak like him.

She takes the boy's wrist and drags him away from where Dick was leading them all.

“Come, Adrien. I want you to meet someone!”

“Wait-Don’t you need authorization-” He doesn't finish, as Marinette puts her palm on the hi-tech lock and the light flashes green before the door opens. "Oh."

The brunette pulls him into the room until she comes across a woman, not much older than 30, who was fiddling with a metal plate.

"Carmen." She calls and the woman looks at her, a lively smile appearing on her face.

“Mari! How long!” She gets up and gives the girl a quick hug.

“Yes, yes!” They laugh. “Remember I commented on a friend of mine who was a physics nerd?”

Adrien protests softly. He wasn't a nerd... just very passionate.

Carmen looks away at the boy and he nods shyly.

"I suppose this is the physics nerd?"

"Himself. Adrien Agreste.” Marinette replies. “Adrien, this is Carmen Leonhart, WI's head of technology research.”

As they begin to talk about numbers, statistics and many other things Marinette didn't care to know, she turns around, ready to leave the room.

Just to face the whole class, Ms. Bustier, her friends and Dick, standing in the doorway. Dick with the biggest fucking smile on his face.

"... what?" She asks. Confused with the audience.

Chloe gives a mocking smile.

"I didn't know you were allowed into these rooms, Dupain-Cheng."

Marinette realizes what she has just done and the embarrassment only gets worse.

She had been so excited to introduce Adrien and Carmen to each other that she had not thought about what she was doing in front of her classmates. Sure, she had promised not to hide her relationship with the Wayne family, but that didn't mean she liked to show off like this.

Lila doesn't seem to like the attention Marinette was getting at all. Her face in a sour frown and the fists clenched.

She sent Marinette a warning look before masking her dislike with a sweet expression.

“Oh, that's no big deal.” She says waving her hands in disdain. “I asked Brucie to authorize our class. He was generous enough to include Marinette on this list.” The scorn barely masked by the disinterested tone.

The class seems to take this as truth (as always) as Nino puts his hand on the girl's shoulder. A proud expression on his face.

“Thanks so much for all this, dude.” He says. “You didn't have to go that far for us.” And the class agrees. Raining compliments on the Italian.

Chloe doesn't disguise the grimace and Alix rolls her eyes so violently that for a moment, Max fears she was injured.

The class leaves the room, following Lila like sheep being herded, leaving the group of friends and Dick behind. Ms. Bustier didn't take long to leave either, which left them finally alone.

"Ok... Now where is my hug, Minette?" He turns to the girl and she runs to hug him. "Much better."

Marinette laughs, the hug lasting a few more seconds before they let go. Dick turns to the other five - Adrien and Carmen too distracted by whatever it was - and extended his hand in greeting one by one.

"It's a pleasure to finally meet you in person."

"The same." Sabrina smiles.

“Now we have to go. There are a few more things to see and a surprise.” He winks at Marinette and the girl feels the danger in that expression.

One thing Marinette was sure of: There was no anxiety to know what this surprise was about.

Anyway, getting Adrien out of the room had been difficult because the blonde didn't want to leave. Carmen had to promise that she would give him a free pass so he could visit her while the trip to Gotham lasted.

The friends had no doubt that the blonde would live in the building and never leave the scientist alone.

Going on.

The rest of the tour had been less dramatic around Lila and her minions. Of course, she continued to lie about everything. How Bruce Wayne and his wife Selena loved her; the fact that Ricardo Wayne - the eldest son - had died in an attack on Wayne Mansion by the feared villain, Clown; that Jackson - the middle child - was an award-winning scientist; Thomas was unfortunately an addict, but Bruce tried with all his might to rehabilitate; and finally, that Damian was an angel in love with her, very sweet and romantic.

Marinette never thought she would have trouble controlling herself, but it was hard not to laugh at the Dick’s expressions and her friends laughing openly.

But apart from The Tales of Lila, the class left them alone.

As they passed the corridors of WI, Mari was being recognized by the staff and she made a point of introducing her group of friends excitedly. That didn't include the rest of the class and Lila, of course, could make some excuse for them.

Honestly, Marinette was surprised that no one showed distrust in the Italian. It was obvious she was lying.

But that didn't last long. Someday the lies would have to be revealed, and apparently that was the day.

They took a break to eat in the cafeteria.

Dick had gone out with Ms. Bustier to talk somewhere which, in Marinette's opinion, would not be a very good conversation. Or happy.

Adrien, Sabrina and Mari with a classic burger and fries; Max settled for a fettuccine; Kim, Chloe and Alix got pizza (not very healthy, but one day just wouldn't hurt). They were seated at a table separate from the rest of the class, but close enough to hear a word or two.

Marinette was chewing on her burger lazily while her friends talked when Jason Todd and Timothy Drake showed up. Both with expressions that said everything but good intentions.

"Oh my god." She whispered; the eyes wide. The cheeks full of food.

They scanned the cafeteria, probably looking for Marinette, and when they turned toward her, Mari used Adrien's height as a shield. Trying to keep them from seeing her. Which didn't work, since Adrien was shaking (laughing) and the conversation at the neighboring table (her class) had been cut short.

“Why are you hiding, Maribug?” Jason asks, his voice malicious.

Marinette sighs before surrendering to her destiny.

She stepped out from behind Adrien, face was red.

The girl swallowed the food.

“Hi Jay. Tim.” A smile appears on her face despite the embarrassment.

Tim raises an eyebrow at her, clearly amused. Jason doesn't disguise the shitty smile growing on his face.

"She hid, but at least she didn't pretend not to know us." Tim points out.

Marinette rolls her eyes, the shame already forgotten.

"I don't break my promises." She says.

She pushes Adrien aside to make room and points them both.

"Sit down and introduce yourself to those you didn't know yet."

They waste no time quickly pulling two chairs off an unoccupied table and placing them in the open place. As they sit down, Jason throws his arm around Marinette's shoulders in a hug.

“We miss you, Nette.” He says. “Demon spawn has been unbearably unbearable.”

She elbows his ribs for talking about Damian and he groans in pain.

"Even though you're a pain in the ass, I missed you too, Jay." Marinette laughs at the offended face he made, before squirming so she can look at Timothy. "And you too, Timmy."

Tim winks at her before turning to the rest of the table. The family (but Selina, since she spent more time traveling than at home) already knew Adrien, Kim and Chloe from past visits, but this was the first time they had met the other three: Sabrina, Max and Alix.

"Nice to meet you. I'm Timothy Drake, Damian's brother.” He reaches out first for Sabrina to shake, then Alix and lastly Max, who narrowed his eyes defiantly and squeezed his hand a little harder than usual.

Tim knew that the boy had a certain rivalry against him over the puzzle. Which was good, since he enjoyed a good and healthy competition.

Jason throws his idle hand on the table, startling the others.

“I'm Jason Todd. The best boy.” He says excitedly. “Nette's favorite!”

Chloe seems to be offended by the man's words.

"I doubt it." Sneers. "Everyone knows I'm her favorite."

Adrien chokes around a fry.

"Now, we know I'm the favorite." He chews loudly.

It was kind of gross, being honest.

"Oh, shut up, Agreste!" Alix throws a potato at the boy. “It is common knowledge that I am everyone's favorite.”

The boy looks scandalized at her, but doesn't take long to throw the fry back at her in revenge. Alix dodges and the food ends up hitting Kim in the forehead.

He narrows the eyes irritably, Tim and Jason laughing, Marinette wanting nothing more than to go back to her hotel bed and sleep 12 hours straight.

Damian chose that moment to appear with Titus and Dick. And as much as Marinette was happy to see him, this was the worst moment ever.

She knew her friends. Knew well enough to know that the cafeteria had become a war zone and that they would be bombed at any moment.

As soon as he opened his mouth to greet her, Kim got up ready to pounce, but before he could, Titus ran and jumped on Marinette. Almost making the girl bang her head against the table by his strength and weight.

There was a general panic at their class table, probably afraid of the dog, but she ignored everything in favor of giving all the attention and love Titus deserved. Because he was the best boy, not Jason, thank you very much.

"Who's the handsome boy, huh?!" She pampers the dog excitedly, which licks her face. "I missed you too." His tail looked like a whip.

Tim and Jason turn to the brothers.

"Yo, Dick." Jason nods lazily.

"Demon spawn." Tim says.

Damian frowns in annoyance, but doesn't respond to Timothy's provocation. The attention fully turned to Marinette with Titus. Dick waves back.

"What are you guys doing here?" He asks.

"We came with father and Cass." Tim replies.

Marinette jumps at the conversation.

“Are your father and sister here?” She shouts.

God! She was not prepared to handle all Wayne and the class at the same time.

"Duke too." Jason adds.

Marinette moans in pain and buries her face in Titus's soft fur. She would not come back alive to the hotel or Paris.

Damian approaches the girl, ignoring the prying eyes of her class. From what he managed to find out (both from Marinette's friends and what he investigated) if he had to interact with any of them, the no-kill rule would probably have to be broken.

"Angel." He calls, crouching in front of her and placing his hands on hers in Titus.

Marinette looks up to look at him.

"Hey, Dami."

She stretches over the dog (who was calm, almost asleep in her arms) and kisses Damian's lips tenderly.

"I missed you. Too much.” She whispers against his lips before pulling away.

"Me too." Damian answers and pecks her lips. "And-"

"Marinette, aren't you going to introduce us to your boyfriend?"

Alya's voice scares Marinette, who jumps away from Damian and Titus. Which makes both Wayne and the dog growl in irritation.

He gets up and Marinette follows him. Her friends comfortable in their seats, Dick standing (without Ms. Bustier) and the class waiting for an answer.

She sighs and turns to face the class. Damian was firm by her side and she also knew her friends would be supporting her.

Alya had her arms crossed. The rest of the class was not much different and Lila's expression soured, since everyone's attention was solely on Marinette.

"This is D-"

"Mari!!!" A shriek interrupts the girl.

They all turn to the source of the voice, only to find Bruce Wayne, a black man and an Asian girl running toward them. More specifically towards Marinette.

The little girl's hair was black, combed into familiar pigtails. She was wearing a red, black polka dot dress, with a black bow around her waist. On the feet were ballet shoes.

She jumped into Marinette's arms, which squeezes her into a warm hug, grinning.

"Hey, young lady." The little girl squeaks as Marinette kisses her cheek.

They watch the brunette put the girl down and start a... peculiar conversation. Where the child signed and Marinette responded verbally.

"You're so cool, Cass!" Kim compliments excitedly, apparently understanding what the girl was talking about. She smiles proudly at the compliment.

They (Marinette and co) continue to talk to the little girl while most of the class remain stunned by Bruce Wayne's presence.

Alya jumps excitedly and looks at Lila.

"Girl!" She practically screams "Did you get Bruce Wayne to meet us?!"

The Italian loses at least half the blood on her face. Increasingly pale with the situation. Her lips were almost sickly and her eyes wide. She swallows hard before letting out a clumsy laugh.

“Y-yea… very kind of him!” The voice comes out weak even to her ears. “B-but let's not disturb his conversation. You know how important he is.” Mumbles.

Lila's hands were shaking. She needed to get out of there, needed a plan urgently.

Alya's excitement diminished, taking Lila's words into consideration, but she kept staring at the men, holding back not to scream.

“Guys, I'm not feeling-”

“Papa, Duke!” Cass shouts again, the dog barking along and Bruce Wayne, with the other man, looks at her. “Mari!” She points at Marinette, jumping and twirling her dress.

Both Bruce and Duke(?) smiled before approaching them and Lila panics. Everything could go wrong at any time!

She turned to the class, making the most innocent expression and trying her best not to let despair overtake her body.

“Guys, please, I'll pretend I don't know him so as not to attract unwanted attention from the staff.” She whispers. “It's something we always do when we're around strangers, so don't be scared.” No one noticed Timothy's disgusted look toward them.

"Stay calm. We get it.” Nino soothes her, the class nodding in agreement.

She sighs with relief, having managed to avert a catastrophe.

"Good afternoon, Dupont." Bruce greets, the serious stance of a businessman. "I'm Bruce Wayne and this-" He points to the other man. "It's my protégé, Duke Thomas."

Duke nods in acknowledgment, then soon mutters something in Richard's ear, laughing at the other's disgusted expression. He made no attempt to approach the class to introduce himself.

Nathaniel felt that what has been said to the guide, was not something minimally pleasant. He felt that the class was the subject of comment and did not like it at all.

Rose, being the most outgoing, reaches out to greet Bruce Wayne.

“It's a pleasure, Mr. Wayne. It's a dream to be here!” She says. “We were very lucky to get this trip.” And tilts her head to wink at Lila, who smiles secretly.

He shakes her hand and waves seriously, pretending not to see the exchange between them. When they release their hands, Bruce turns to Marinette, a soft look on his face.

"Hello, Maribeetle." His tone softened before smiling.

"Hi, Dad." The obvious laugh on her face.

There are choking sounds, but neither pay attention.

She doesn't wait for him to say anything more before she comes closer and hugs him. He returns the hug, making the girl disappear into his arms and kisses her forehead.

"I see you had a welcome committee." He raised an eyebrow, looking his sons.

Dick is the only one who looks minimally embarrassed, while the other three (Jason, Tim and Damian) pretended the issue wasn't with them, looking around.

The class (without Ms. Bustier, who was missing) frozen in shock. Lila was about to pass out. She could hardly believe what was happening.

"Hey, Mr. B." Adrien nods.

"Bruce, what's up!" Kim says.

"Hello, Mr. Wayne." Sabrina greets.

“Wow, B! You look soft.” Alix teases.

"By my calculations, Alix is right, Mr. B." Max straightens his glasses. "You've lost some muscle."

“Congratulations on the adoption. Cassandra is a sweetie.” Chloe says.

Bruce snorts and releases Marinette, who bends down to take Cass in her arms again.

The boys not even trying to hide their laughter. He could see the tears in Jason's eyes, Tim was bent over Dick while they both laughed, Damian had the hand over his mouth hiding a smile and Cassandra imitated the two older ones.

Duke bit his lip trying to contain himself.

"It's good to see you again." Bruce says, hands firmly on Marinette's shoulders. "I remember the last time, Adrien and Jason got into a fight with the police and were almost arrested."

Adrien feels his cheeks heat up and Jason stops laughing, feeling attacked.

"I really thought it was a fantasy." The blonde mutters.

The class begins to whisper, clear confusion on their faces.

Alya was choking on surprise; Nino looking at Adrien as if the boy had grown two heads; Rose had retreated to Juleka's side, not liking the situation and Juleka was the same; Nathaniel bit his thumb uncomfortably; Mylene and Ivan looking lost; and Lila... Lila could see her world crumbling slowly and with frightening rapidity.

The dog barks once more, waking Alya from her mental confusion.

She swallows hard, her throat aching from the action.

“What's going on?” She asks, her voice breaking through the dryness in her throat.

Everyone stares at her. The confused Wayne family, Marinette and friends with the neutral face and Duke... Duke was fiddling with his cell phone.

“Why do you know Bruce Wayne? Why did Marinette call him ‘dad’? What's up with everyone greeting her and who is this boy she kissed?” She looks straight at the girl, her eyes accusing.

Damian frowns at her, his fist clenched, ready to say something that Marinette or his father probably wouldn't approve of, but Bruce stops him.

"What don't you understand yet, Ms. Cesárie?" The question was blunt. "I think if Marinette was kissing Damian, that means the two are together."

Alya gets annoyed with the answer.

"And why did she call you ‘Dad’?"

Chloe sneers in the background. Alix rolls her eyes, Adrien tilts her head, Kim swears under his breath, Max stares in disbelief and Sabrina was busy talking to Timothy.

"They can't be so dumb, can they?"

Jason's attempt to whisper didn't work, as everyone listened to what he said.

Alya's cheeks burn with humiliation.

“That's a fair question!” Nino goes to his girlfriend's defense and Damian rolls the eyes sarcasticallyy.

"Answering your question, Ms. Cesárie, Marinette calls me that because she's engaged to my son." Bruce says. "My son Damian." He adds as he notices the confusion.

Lila sucks air between her teeth. Panic rushing through her body.

“But…” Mylene looks at Lila. “Damian Wayne isn't dating Lila?” She asks.

The Italian freezes when everyone looks at her.

“Lila? What Lila?” Damian asks venomously. "I don't know anyone by that name."

Alya grit her teeth. The anger clear in his expression.

“How not? She grew up with you in the mansion. Bruce Wayne practically adopted her!” She shouts. "Explain it to me!"

“Wow! This is kind of impossible, since demon spawn came to live with us only after he turned ten.” Timothy says.

Alya feels a dizziness start in her muscles.

"But Lila said that..." She mumbles. “She said Selena Kim, Bruce's wife, was her aunt. That you were a family!” Exclaims exalted.

“Look, I'm sorry you and your friends were fooled, but that's the truth: We don't know her. Selina Kyle has no nieces, Jason is not an award-winning scientist, Timothy is not an addict, Damian is anything but a sweetie. And the main thing is, I didn't die and the Joker never attacked Wayne Mansion.” Dick ends a little breathlessly.

The class is at varying levels of shock. No one daring to say anything, Lila wondering how to get out of that mess and beside her, Alya looked like she'd been slapped.

Marinette wanted to feel sorry for her classmates, but failed. She had tried, so had her friends, but no one would listen.

"So, you mean everything was a lie?" Nino asks. A dangerous edge in his tone.

Lila shudders, moving away from the class and almost falling in the process. She was afraid she wouldn't lie about that, but the class had a murderous expression in her direction.

“N-no! Of course not!” Babbles. "Can't you see this is Marinette's plan to make me look bad?!" She points to the girl, who was playing with Cassandra and Titus, no longer paying attention to the drama.

The class seems to believe at least a little, as they turn to the girl, probably to fight.

Adrien, Alix, Kim and Damian form a human barrier to stop them. The look on Adrien's face was no less deadly than Damian's.

"Don't even try." Adrien says. “I'm sick of you. Mostly from you, Alya.” He looks at her. “You can be worse than Lila and her lies. I thought you were smart enough to figure it all out, but it seems I was wrong.”

The girl's eyes was wet with tears, but she kept her posture steady, noting that her friends were no better off.

“You only say that because Lila didn't want you!” She screams. "You who can be worse than Marinette, Agreste!"

Sabrina and Chloe chokes before bursting out laughing. Max and Kim not far behind.

"Oh my god!" Sabrina moans "Is that what she said?" She sighs trying to control herself but failed and laughed again.

"That's the most hilarious thing I've ever heard!" Chloe says, wiping her eyes.

Nino is offended on behalf of Alya.

"What?" He asks.

Adrien feels his cheeks burn because he didn't want everyone to know, but if it was to help Mari, he would do that.

"Mm..." He begins. "I've been dating someone since the first year."

Lila looks shocked. More than their classmates.

“What?!” She shouts, forgetting the situation she was in.

The blonde scratches his head uncomfortably.

"Did you finally surrender to Chloe?" Ivan asks.

Both Adrien and Chloe made a face of disgust.

"Ew, no!" Chloe protested. "I'm fine and happy with Kagami."

“So, who is it?” Lila demands. "Who are you dating, Adrien?"

"Me!" Someone says.

And everyone turned to look.

Was a tall, well-built young man. Hair was black and messy; the eyes were incredibly blue. He was wearing torn jeans, a red vans, black Star Wars shirt and prescription glasses.

He was behind Bruce, probably coming in during the mess.

“God damn it, this became an event and I didn't know?” Duke whispers to Bruce, but the man doesn't respond.

"What the fuck are you doing here Ken-"

“Jon!” Adrien cuts off Damian and runs to Jonathan, who picks him up.

They kiss passionately and Marinette puts her hands in Cassandra's eyes, trying to protect the little girl's innocence. The group of friends moan in disgust. The Wayne family too.

"OK! I think everyone already understands.” Marinette says. “Now let go. Cass is here too!”

"That was horrible." Max mumbles.

Adrien releases the boy, his face red. Redder than Ladybug's uniform. And the other boy smiled, not at all embarrassed.

“Are you gay?!” Lila asks, the accusative tone clear in her voice.

"What-"

"I can't believe I did this all because of a fa*got!" She snarls, venom dripping from her words. “You owe me three years of my life, Agreste!”

There is a shocked silence from everyone. Even from Marinette and friends. They didn't think Lila could be so rotten and ugly inside.

Marinette puts Cassandra on Damian's arms and walks slowly to the Italian. She seemed to be marching to war.

"What the hell did you say?" The voice came out dangerous.

"What? That he's a fag—” A slap popped on the girl's cheek before she could finish.

The force of the blow caused her to become unbalanced and fall to the floor.

They all walked away giving them both space.

"I dare you to repeat that."

She approaches once more, but Damian stops her. Cassandra in Dick's arms.

"Don't do anything you'll regret later, angel." He whispers and she sighs, moving away from the Italian on the floor. “Drake, do something useful as a CEO and call security. I want this person out of here as soon as possible.”

“You'll pay for it, Marinette Dupain-Cheng!” Lila growls, the hand gripping her bruised cheek. "If you think you're going to get rid of it, you're very wrong!"

Bruce, who remained quiet, bent down to pull the girl by the arm. Fed up with all the drama.

"Enough!" He says. “Ms. Rossi you will do nothing. Otherwise, I will be required to report you.”

Lila snorts offended and tries to release her arm from his grasp.

“Do you really think that just because you have money, will you get away with it?” She attacks, the eyes wide and crazy. “I have diplomatic immunity! You just became complicit with this disgusting muso giallo*!”

Marinette notices Bruce's knuckles go white from the grip and decides to separate the two.

“Dad, please let her go.” She grabs his arm, stepping between Lila and Bruce. "If you keep going, it might be worse later." But he doesn't even blink. Lila begins to moan in pain.

Five security guards enter the cafeteria, all huge and serious.

“Father, the security mans are here. You can let her go.” Damian puts his hand on the man's shoulder and only then does he move again, releasing the Italian's arm.

She drops to the floor, crying while holding her arm.

"I'm sorry, I blacked out for a second there." Bruce sighs, patting his head.

Marinette hugs the man, comforting him. She knew he had some problems after years of fighting crime, especially fighting the Joker. Sometimes he was a little more blunt and rude, unaware of it. It was sad for her to see him in this state.

But unfortunately, it was a side effect of having to save the world every time.

"Mr. Wayne, we were asked." One of the security guards says. "Who would be the person to be escorted?"

Timothy points to Lila who was still on the floor, but this time Alya was by her side, helping her.

"She." Answer. "The sausage hair."

The security guards do not hesitate to pull Lila away from Alya, dragging the Italian out when she strained and stood still.

"HEY! Let me go!” She leaves screaming. WI employees don't even look twice at the scene, seeming used to it.

"You can't do this to her!" Alya complains. "Where is Ms. Bustier?!"

“We can and are doing it. It amazes me that you're defending her after finding out that besides being a liar and a racist, she's homophobic.” Jason says, no humor in his tone. "And your teacher is already on a plane to Paris."

The whole class chokes on surprise. The whole class.

“What?!” Adrien shouts and Titus cries at the loud noise. He quickly caresses the dog, apologizing. "Sorry buddy." Jon smiles, in love with the blonde.

“She had to go back to Paris for an audience with the minister of education.” Tim replies. “She and Dupont's principal have been charged with negligence and cover-up. If they are found guilty, both will face the law “

"And they'll be fired." Damian adds. The morbid pleasure shining in his eyes.

"But why? She did nothing!” Rose complains. Her face was red from crying.

“Exactly, Tinker Bell. She did nothing.” Duke says. “She saw bullying, witnessed it and never did anything to help or try to stop. She just threw all the responsibility on one person thinking she was making the choice of the year.”

"And what does the principal have to do with it?" Nino asks. He was the only one who seemed to have understood the gravity of the situation, but was slow to believe.

“Dupont's principal has been a coward for a long time. He left a lot behind the scenes because he didn't want problems with people bigger than him and that was his mistake.” Bruce replies.

Everyone in the class is silent for a while. Each in their own thoughts, digesting everything that had happened. Meanwhile, Marinette and her friends were talking animatedly to Jonathan, who had his arms around Adrien like a koala.

“So… did Lila really lie to us all this time?” Mylene asks, her voice barely coming out.

"Unfortunately, Ms. Haprèle." Bruce says. The solemn face.

Nathaniel puts the hands to his mouth, the eyes wide with dread and everyone looks at him.

“I-I didn't send my portfolio to the university I wanted to get into because Lila had promised me an interview with a famous comic book author!”

And there is a mass reaction of the same kind.

Apparently, Lila had promised to help them in their careers, with their supposed connections in high places. Which now, they saw how fake it had been, since Lila had promised to introduce Nino to Steven Spielberg since Dupont's sophomore year, but it was years and she always made an excuse for not having happened yet.

Alya fell to her knees, devastated.

"T-that's why they turned me down." She says tearfully. “They said they couldn't accept someone who published gossip and lies, but I never understood what they meant. Until now. "

Marinette felt bad for them. She didn't think Lila had clenched her claws so deeply that it would damage their future. She knew Alya would have complications to be taken seriously, but she didn't think it would be to the point of refusing her university entrance.

"I-" Alya mumbles and looks up at Marinette. "Mari."

Marinette shakes her head.

“No.” She says. “I'm so sorry for you guys. Really. I hope you can follow your dream, but I don't want your apologies.”

“But-” Juleka protests.

“I spent years being trampled and scorned by you because someone you barely knew accused me of bullying and being a jealous bitch. I will not accept your apologies. I'm glad you finally opened your eyes, but that's all.”

“Are you going to throw years of friendship in the trash just to punish us?” Nino attacks.

“What friendship?” Marinette says. “All I remember about this supposed friendship, is to do everything for you and you not repaying even 1% of it.”

"You forgave Chloe after all she did, so why not us?" Nathaniel points out.

“Because she was honest with me. Because she sought help. Because she got better and was genuine for it.”

"And we're not?" Rose whimpers.

"No. You're apologizing because you saw your golden ticket was false.” Growls and everyone shuts up.

They shut up because she was right. They were not genuinely sorry for what they did. They didn't feel guilty about it because it was Lila's fault! Only hers. She deceived them, she who lied. Not them. So why feel guilty about something they didn't do?

But they were guilty. Lila only gave the wick, but they came with the lighter, set it on fire and sat down to watch the candle melt. She didn't force them. They did it willingly and with unprecedented excitement.

"I think we're done for today." Bruce Wayne interrupts the moment. "They'd better be taken back to the hotel." He was talking to Duke, who quickly put the phone to his ear and spoke to someone.

"Come on, I'll take you back to the bus." Dick says, helping Alya to her feet.

The class begins to move, following him out of the cafeteria, but they notice the absence of the others.

"Mr. Grayson, aren't Marinette and the others coming too?” Ivan asks.

Dick glances over his shoulder before looking forward again.

"No. They will stay with the family for the rest of the trip.”

Because Bruce Wayne was so protective of those he loved and Dick doubted he would let Lila Rossi get close to Marinette again. Not when he had the power and influence to prevent it.

But then he would have to face Damian in the witch hunt. Dick was sure the young man already had at least two plans underway. One fatal and one less fatal.

Because that was how their family was.

And Lila Rossi was nothing more than a gum stuck in the sole of their shoe.

EXTRA 1:

"Okay, whose idea was it to bring everyone to WI?" Marinette questions idly.

"Dick." Damian replies without bothering to toss his brother under the bus.

“DAMIAN!” The eldest complains.

"What? I'd rather you angry than Marinette.”

"Okay, fair." Dick sighs. “But the idea was not mine. I just passed it on.”

Marinette raises her eyebrow, demanding.

"And who did?"

"Tikki."

"WHAT?! I'LL KILL TIKKI!” Marinette shouts and everyone runs away from her fury.

×××

In Paris, more precisely in the box of the Miraculous, the kwami of creation stops playing with others to sneeze.

"Wow, I think I'm getting sick."

"Or maybe someone is talking about you." Mullo answers.

“But who-” She widens her eyes in panic.

Plagg begins to laugh wildly.

“Looks like we'll have kwami barbecue soon.”

“PLAGG!”

×××

They didn't have kwami barbecue, but it was pretty close.

EXTRA 2:

"Do you think she would have gone crazy right there if I said you're not my only boyfriend?" Adrien asks.

"... It would have been awesome!" Jonathan responds dreamily.

"Can you pay attention to me? I'm feeling left out." Luka complains.

"Sorry sweetie!" Jonathan smiles.

Adrien thinks he wouldn't trade it for anything in this world. Not even if his lady showed up asking him in marriage.

... Which would not be a bad image. The four together.

×××

Probably Damian would kill him if he accepted.

×××

But still a good image.

[glossary]

Muso giallo – literally "yellow muzzle". It is an offensive term used to refer to Chinese people, sometimes to Asian in general, with intent to point out their yellowish complexion as an indication of racial inferiority. The use of the word "muzzle" is in order not to consider them humans, but animals.

I searched for racial slurs, but I was so pissed off at what I found that I needed to scream at the pillow.

[tag list]

@spicybelladonna​ @mystery-5-5​ @captainmac6​  @theatreandcomicfreak  @politelyvicious  @thepeacetea  @violatiger8  @vixen-uchiha  @officiallyathiana  @beautym3  @slytherin-heartthrob  @bluerosette23   @g-arya  @sassdowflame  @sunkenshipsanddreams @magicalfirebird @miraculous786  @emjrabbitwolf 

[hecallsmehischild]

Recent Media Consumed

Books

Half-Bad by Sally Green. Man, this is grim. It’s good fantasy, and the writers breaks certain writing conventions to convey the story better, which is fascinating. But it’s so grim. There’s two more books in the series and I want to get ahold of those before I say more.

Zoo City by Lauren Beukes. Did I say Half-Bad was grim? This is grim. Grimdark to the max. But also a fascinating premise, that the crime of murder and its accompanying guilt manifests an animal companion that marks you for the rest of your (shortened) life? If you can stomach some of the imagery and if you do well with being plunged into unknown terminology and figuring it out on the go from context, this is a good read.

Dropped titles: Pursuing God’s Will Together by Ruth Haley Barton and How Should We Then Live by Francis Shaeffer. One was a recommendation, one was semi-assigned reading because I’m a non-voting member of a ministry board. In both cases I got about halfway through. I have the gist of both books and I’m enjoying neither. At all. I started to avoid Audible altogether. The moment I gave myself permission to stop listening to them and pick up the next Thomas Sowell book on my list, I was right back on reading, because I’m actually interested in what Sowell has to say. Note to self: it’s ok to drop books that you find uninteresting. (this preceded a Sowell binge reading session)

Dismantling America (and other controversial essays) by Thomas Sowell. I was surprised at how much more of an edge Sowell has in this book, but the appearance of the edge here makes a certain amount of sense. This is the first collection of newspaper columns I’ve read by him, and he has way less time to make his point in a column than he has in a book. With that in mind, his points have much less groundwork than I’m used to reading from him when he spends a whole book on a topic (though I’d guess that each point he makes probably has a crapton of citations in the printed book, like the rest of his work. He’s quite thorough about his research). This is probably not the best title of his to pick as a first read, but it’s good and interesting. My main take-away point from this book is that politicians look out for politicians, and expecting them to do anything else is naive. And, in fact, many things attributed to a politician’s “stupidity” is far from stupid, in fact they are brilliant within their set of incentives and constraints. It just rarely aligns with the general public’s best interest. Thinking about it again, it MIGHT be a good first book. It sums up a lot of his views into bite-sized digests. It just doesn’t substantiate each and every claim as thoroughly as some of his other books do. That’s my grain of salt.

Compassion Versus Guilt by Thomas Sowell. More of the same, a collection of essays by Sowell. Different ones, on a different theme. A couple that sound like they could have been written by the authors of Politically Correct Bedtime Stories, his satire is on point.

Ethnic America by Thomas Sowell. This was a fascinating read for me. This book traces 8 groups of ethnic migrations to America. I descend from Scottish, Irish, and Russian Jewish immigrants, and seeing what the different groups had to content with over the years was very enlightening. A few things that stood out to me were; each immigrant group seems to have very different cultural strengths and foibles, inter-group violence is not new (but not always in the directions modern people would think), almost every group has its own upper class that disdains and reviles its lower class, and each ethnic group is far more variable and differentiated than the general category (“the Irish” or “the blacks” or “the Jews”) makes them out to be. More and more I’m coming to mistrust the general racial category as referenced by either political party because it seems to be a linguistic expediency that sacrifices the truth of a situation for a fast rallying point.

Civil Rights: Rhetoric or Reality? by Thomas Sowell. I’m not even sure what to say about this book. It’s short and punchy and gives me a lot to think about. Sowell definitely has zero sacred cows. Toward the end of this book he addresses some of his critics who piled onto Ethnic America, which was interesting. Also, while reading this, I have begun to realize how much of a disadvantage I am at in analyzing arguments because I’m unable to understand how people slice numbers into statistics to make their point. I’m at the mercy of the conclusion they draw at the end of the statistics because, until they summarize their findings, I really don’t understand what the raw numbers are saying. I’ve had this feeling for a while, but in this book, Sowell dissects some of the foundational studies and statistics that buttressed later civil rights cases, and I realized that if I just read the statistics and data from those cases and the statistical rebuttals that Sowell has side by side, I would not understand what was being argued at all. I can only rely on the end conclusions put into words at this point, but the written conclusion is not the proof, the numbers are. This gap in my understanding is disheartening, but I hope to continue sponging up knowledge in the hopes that I will be able to think more critically in future years.

Maverick, a Biography of Thomas Sowell by Jason L. Riley. My parents pre-ordered this for my birthday a few months ago and it arrived a few days ago. I have torn through it. I think I got a more cohesive overview of Sowell’s progression through his body of work and added several titles to my wishlist. The biography is fairly minimalist on Sowell’s personal life and focuses more on his ideological clashes with… well, everyone, left and right, people he disdained and people he admired. Maverick, alright. Also Riley takes a look at how each of Sowell’s books (or grouping of books) came about, for what reasons, and what was going on at the time.

People of the Book edited by Rachel Swirsky and Sean Wallace. This is a compilation of Jewish sci-fi and fantasy short stories and can probably be summed up best by this paragraph in the introduction: “These stories allow us to identify with, although briefly, so many different characters and places, they entertain us and they give us comfort. And yet, the tales in this anthology often have a melancholic tinge, similar in tone to the minor keys of our musical liturgy. We don’t want to be too comfortable, too happy. Because that might bring some bad luck onto us, might tempt the evil eye.” I also sensed a whole lot of anger in the undercurrent of these stories, and that saddened me.

On deck/currently reading: The Brothers Karamazov, The Rational Bible: Genesis, re-read of Basic Economics, and War Nerd.

Shows

Dropped series: Hilda. The first season was lovely on so many counts. The second season’s antagonist… bothers me. So does Hilda’s behavior. And given how much time I spent on Star and its accompanying disappointment, I’m not really interested in continuing Hilda any further. I’m shelving it at this point. There are other things I’d like to watch.

Infinity Train Season 4: Now retitled “The Wormhole Judgment Line” I believe, lol. It’s hard to top season 3, but it was a solid story. Good. Interesting. The resolution with the villains int he last episode felt kind of out of nowhere and I’m really not okay with Morgan’s behavior even if the plot wants me to feel sorry for her, but those things aside, it was enjoyable. I hope Infinity Train is picked up again, I’d love to see more.

On Deck: The Mandalorian or Wandavision

Movies

Jiang Ziya. Okay whatever this studio produces in this line of movies, I will be watching it. I definitely don’t understand all the significance of what I’m seeing but it’s creative along COMPLETELY DIFFERENT lines than US animation and it’s an absolute joy to behold.

Raya and the Last Dragon. Suffice it to say, it would take an intensive blog post (or a movie review of the style I used to do as one half of The Storytrollers) to cover all the things that bothered me about this movie. I will take the thing that bothered me the most and be brief: I find the moral to be terrible. I take major issue with the idea that repeated blind trust in the face of repeated betrayal will reshape the world, given that I extended blind trust to people who never changed for many years. I take issue with the worldbuilding, I take issue with some of the designs, and I take issue with the moral. I was exceedingly disappointed in this movie.

Profile. Now THIS was a good movie. I would not be averse to seeing more movies shot like this, using the computer desktop as both film set and character. In addition this was an interesting topic, though I was tense for the whole movie, afraid the main character was going to slip up. Very good, very tense movie to sit through.

Mighty Ira. So, this is a documentary about one of the great leaders of the ACLU. It was interesting to see this, especially since it shed more light on the whole Skokie situation than I’d heard of before. Good watch. Informative.

[wordsfromthesol]

Replacement (2/2)

Pairing: Tim Drake x Reader Warnings:  Language, uh...drama? But happy ending obviously. Word Count: 1.7k Requested: @beebosclique​ A/N: This ended up being way more intense than I planned...my bad.

Part One

You woke up in the Batcave infirmary. Your hands immediately shot up to your face. An audible sigh of relief escaped your lips once you felt the fabric of your mask against your hand. The next sound you heard…not so great.

“WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED?!” Jason’s voice boomed.

Your eyes moved towards the sound, watching Jason’s figure hastily move towards your side. Once it registered that he was not in costume, you realized your identity may have been compromised after all. Before Jason could berate you further, another voice echoed through the room.

“This isn’t on her. Hell, she called me.”

“Because you were still a better option that Dick…” Jason’s voice mumbled.

“What…what happened?” Your voice finally croaked out.

“Right. Well when I got there some idiot had just shot you in midair. I took him out and brought you here.” Red Robin explained.

“Ravenger?”

“What?” Red Robin looked at you, brows furrowed.

“It’s that gang we busted up today Tim.” It took a minute for your brain to process what you had just done, but before you could explain Jason chimed in.

“Yeah, replacement here already knows who you are.”

“Your mask was in case any of the others came down…” Tim explained further once he noted the confusion in your eyes. Almost like he was summoned, Dick rounded the corner.

“I heard we had a guest.” Nightwing chimed. His head quickly jerked towards Jason, who was not in costume.

“We already know the whole…” Jason gestured towards you and then back at him. “Heard of the Ravengers, Nightwing?”

“Can’t say I have. They did this?”

“I think.” You muttered, trying to say as little as possible.

“I’ll run the guys prints.” Tim rose from your side, “Are you going to be okay?”

A faint smile spread across your face as you nodded up at him. A reaction that didn’t go unnoticed. Dick followed Tim out of the room, clearly elbowing him in the side. Jason was much more upfront.

“Uhm, what did I miss? When I said you might like him, I did not mean like that.”

“Jay, I’m way too hopped up on pain meds to understand you.”

Jason’s eyes narrowed, “I saw that look. I’m watching you.”

You welcomed sleep yet again, trying to ignore your brother’s words. You woke again a few hours later in a panic.

“Jake!” The memory of your promise came rushing to the front of your mind. You attempted to get up, only you were met with a gentle hand on your shoulder.

“It’s taken care of.” You heard Tim’s voice echo around.

“Wh – what do you mean?”

“His daughter, right? The kidney transplant?” You nodded as he rattled off the information. “I paid the hospital a few hours ago. Then called Jake to inform him that his daughter would receive the next available match.”

“What about…” the raspy words trailed off before you could finish the thought.

“He’s also got a few interviews for Wayne Enterprises in the next week. I’m sure we’ll find a fit for him somewhere.” Your hand went up, in search for his. You clasped it in yours and drifted back to sleep with a smile on your lips.

**

You had been staying at Tim’s apartment for a few days, you had tried staying at Jason’s. You only lasted a few hours before you were begging to go somewhere else. You were laying in the couch watching mindless tv when Tim collapsed into the chair next to you.

“What did you tell them this time?”

“Oh you’re on vacation with Marisa, didn’t you know?”

“I don’t even know a Marisa…”

“Yeah. That’s the point.”

“Why haven’t you told them?”

“Some speech about choices this weird person dressed in spandex gave really got to me.”

“Ha ha.”

“Eh, I figure you have a good reason. Though I would like to hear it…I trust you.”

“Why…?” Your voice almost sounded disgusted at the thought. Tim just shrugged, ignoring the question altogether. That just irked you more, so you continued. “I’ve never done anything to make you trust me. In fact, I resented you for…well for someone else’s choice.”

“Yeah you did.”

“So?”

“I got to hear why and I figured that if you could see past Robin, well you wouldn’t hate me.”

“Yeah, guess that speech kinda gave me away…” You trailed off, remembering the words that had previously escaped your lips.

“Your shoulder gave you away more.”

Your eyes went wide, recollecting the night’s events. “Is that why you went left?” A smirk grazed his features. “Why didn’t you just out me then?” You swatted at his shoulder with your good arm.

“I wanted you to trust me enough to tell me yourself.”

“I kinda ruined that, didn’t I?”

“Or your subconscious made the decision for you.”

“Hmm mm sure.” The sarcasm dripped from the words.

“Well then why are you here and not at Jason’s?” Tim shot back.

“That’s so not fair! He was treating me like some wounded deer!”

“What did you say to me…Oh right. Jason only pretends he doesn’t care.”

“He doesn’t know I’m here right?” You panicked, while Tim only laughed.

“Jason knows you’re safe, healing, and not allowed back in the field yet.”

“Hopefully he won’t turn into Dick and he’ll let me back in the field.”

“Heh, I think Jason knows he couldn’t stop you. I just wonder why Dick thinks he can.”

“Because my dearest brother thinks of me as the same 3-year old girl watching in awe as our parents fell to the ground. He sees me as his last connection to a normal life. As something he must protect.”

“There’s a difference between protecting and hindering…” Tim mumbled.

“When Dick learns that lesson, let me know.”

**

Another week had passed and honestly you were shocked that Dick hadn’t found suspected anything. You were also astonished at how well you and Tim were getting along. You couldn’t believe this was the same person that took the robin mantle from you almost ten years ago. Then again, I guess it wasn’t. He had become so much more in those years, but you refused to see it.

You walked out of your new bedroom, picking at the bandage at your abdomen. “Hey Tim, can you look at –” Your words were cut off by the sound of the door opening, both of you jumped up in a defensive stance. When Dick came bounding through the door, you quickly shuffled behind the kitchen counter, hiding any evidence of the gunshot wound.

“Alright where is my sister?!” Dick screamed across the room before his eyes settled on you. “Oh Y/N/N…you’re here. Why are…?” Dick glanced back and forth at you and Tim.

“Dick, you’re here!” Tim quickly pulled him to the couch, while swatting his other hand towards you. You quickly scurried back to your room, throwing on the baggiest shirt you could find, in an attempt to hide the bandage.

As you exited the room yet again, your eyes shot to the door, which was opening yet again. Jason barreled through, “Tim, where’s Y/N? I think Dick is – oh, hey Dick.” Jason’s eyes met yours, “Wait, Y/N’s been here the whole time!”

Both you and Tim broke out in laughter, “Yeah you didn’t look very hard.” You reasoned as you joined them in the living room.

“I didn’t think it would be that obvious…” Jason mumbled as he sat down.

“Are you wearing Tim’s shirt?” Dick’s brows furrowed in confusion.

“What?” You pretended to ignore the question.

“Are you –” Dick began again.

“Huh?” You cut him off yet again.

“Anyways so as I was just telling Dick,” Tim cut off the sibling antics, “That you were just getting overwhelmed at the Manor.”

“Overwhelmed? With what? What happened?” Dick immediately went into older brother mode.

“Dick, geez. Overwhelmed with everything. I need to figure out who I am and what I want to do without someone constantly watching over my shoulder.”

“Why did I become Robin…instead of Y/N?” Tim’s own thoughts burst from his lips. Everyone looked at him in awe, you even elbowed him in the side.

“Y/N doesn’t be a vigilante. Don’t be ridiculous.” Dick waved off the theory entirely.

Jason awkwardly cleared his throat and got up to leave. You grabbed his wrist and motioned back at the seat. “How do you know that?” Tim questioned before you had the chance.

“What do you mean? It’s…well…she…”

“I mean, you did train her, right?”

“Well some basics, but no more –”

“I, uhm, I did.” Jason reluctantly offered up the secret. Dick shot him a fiery glare.

“And I asked,” you had finally found your voice. “When Jason was killed, when dad went off the rails. I asked to be out there with you. With you both.”

“You weren’t serious?” Dick was starting to doubt his own memory.

“Of course I was. I just lost my brother, the one that actually believed in me. I wanted to prove to you…to myself…that I was worthy of that.” You felt Tim’s hand squeeze your own in reassurance. Thankfully, your words caused Jason to miss that moment of affection. He never understood how much of an impact his actions had on your life.

“I…” Dick’s eyes searched your own, for what, neither of you seemed to know. “I guess I wanted you to be joking, so that’s what I told myself. I just didn’t want to lose you too.”

“You already did, in a way. I can’t be myself with you. The person you know, it’s a façade. They don’t exist.”

“Heh, you’re Eclipse…aren’t you?” Dick’s mind was finally putting the pieces together as he rose from the chair. “I hope you give me the chance to get to know her.” A solemn expression graced his features as he walked out the door. Jason quickly got up to follow him.

“I’m still watching you.” He warned before chasing after his older brother.

Closing your eyes, you fell back into Tim’s chest as relief cascaded over you. “Thank you.” You mumbled as you felt Tim’s arms wrap around you before he pressed quick kiss on top of your head.

[kumeko]

For @dickgraysonexchange2020, for courage_boss! I had a lot of fun with this one.

Prompt: Dick gets a coupon book for his bday and uses all but the last one.

…

…

…

…

If there was one good thing about Bruce Wayne’s string of adoptions, it was that events were never a quiet affair. No matter how much Jason or Damian might have wanted them to be. Dick, on the other hand, embraced the fullness of the manor. The place felt too empty and stuffy on a normal day, what with most of the family out and about.

 It was only for special days, like his birthday, that everyone gathered together again. Between his friends and family, every room felt full, the manor bursting with sound and life. A far cry from the dreary dinners when it had just been the three of them, with Bruce awkwardly figuring out parenting and Alfred kindly filling in the gaps.

 Walking around with a slice of cake, Dick spotted Alfred and grinned. He meandered over. “Alfred, one of these days, you’re going to realize just how much you’d make running a restaurant.”

 Alfred chuckled. “Perhaps, Master Richard, but the last time I left, the manor collapsed.” His expression was fond. “It’s too much work fixing it after.”

 “That…” Dick couldn’t even argue. Anytime Alfred left on vacation, sabbatical, whatever, nothing went right. The kitchen burned. Bruce forgot to eat or sleep. Mold and dust became new tenants. “It’s all a ploy to keep you here longer.”

 “Then it is certainly working.” His smile looked more amused than weary. “You certainly do keep me on my toes.”

“Dick!” Tim poked his head out of the study. Spotting him, he gestured for him to come. “Got a sec?”

 “It’s only a party,” Dick teased, nodding to Alfred before going. “Not like I have anything important to miss.”

 Tim rolled his eyes. “You could have been talking to someone.” Despite his cavalier words, his cheeks reddened from embarrassment.

 Dick didn’t press the matter, storing it away instead for later teasing. “What’s up?” he asked as he stepped into the study.

 There was no such thing as a small room in the Wayne manor. Yet, crowded with Damian, Cassandra, Tim, Bruce, and Jason, the study suddenly felt cozy. Dick grinned, unable to help himself. “The whole gang’s here!”

 Jason clicked his teeth. “Let’s get it over with.”

 “For once, I agree with the failure,” Damian added, crossing his arms.

 “Aww, don’t be like that.” Dick sidled up to them, planting himself in between. Before they could react, he loped an arm around their shoulders. “You both came, after all.”

 “I made sure of it,” Bruce said simply. Dick wasn’t sure what that entailed. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to.

 Damian squawked. “I didn’t—”

 “Don’t you—” Jason growled, tossing off Dick’s arm.

 “We got you a gift!” Tim interrupted, before a fight could erupt. He held out a small, neatly wrapped box. The wrapping paper and ribbon were a soft blue, matching his Nightwing costume. “Everyone chipped in.”

 “Chipped in?” Dick reluctantly let go of the two to accept. Ignoring how Damian and Jason immediately escaped to the other side of the room, he carefully pulled the ribbons and unwrapped. What could it possibly be, if everyone chipped in and it was so tiny? Tickets? A gadget? A thick wad of cash?

 Oddly enough, none of those. Instead there was a small book inside, roughly the size of a chequebook. Scrawled neatly on the top was Coupons.

 “A coupon book?” Confused, he looked up at Tim. “You guys chipped in for a coupon book?”

 “Look inside,” Tim encouraged, his smile so wide it nearly split his face in half.

 “Okay…” Still bemused, he quickly flipped through the pages. Defeat your enemies. Do a chore. Take the night off. Massage. The writing differed from page to page, from Damian’s neat, cramped writing to Cassandra’s messy flowing one. Most of them were made by Tim though, and they were of course all the normal ones.

 It was better than anything he’d imagined. Feeling utterly soft, he quickly hugged Tim. “Thanks.” Without missing a beat, he pounced on Damian and Jason. Despite their protests, they didn’t squirm out of his grip. Finally, he rounded on Cass and Bruce, both of which hugged him back awkwardly, as though they weren’t sure quite how.

 “I can’t believe you made this,” he said, finally untangling himself.

 “Well, considering everything we have, it’s hard to buy gifts.” Tim shrugged. “Steph had the idea, actually.”

 Well, that made sense. She always had the fun, interesting ideas.  Dick made note to thank her later. “I can’t believe you two agreed to this,” he said, looking at Damian and Jason.

 “A little strong arming from Cass,” Tim explained.

 “I did not get threa—” Damian protested, glaring at Tim. Hopefully this didn’t lead to the two of them stabbing each other in the batcave later. Then again, there was a clean the batcave ticket too, maybe he could have them clean up after their mess.

 “I did not have to…convince Damian,” Cassandra replied stiffly. Despite how much time had passed, words were still her second most fluent language. “He was…agreeing to this.”

 “Really?” Jason guffawed.

 “That’s because no one can strong arm me,” Damian growled, his lips curling into a sneer as he glared at Jason. “And that means she did strong arm you.”

 “Stop,” Bruce warned, rubbing his forehead. “We’re in the middle of a party.”

 “Oh, don’t worry, I have that covered.” Dick whistled as he flipped through the coupon book, stopping at one of them. Tearing it out, he grinned. “Now, one of you two has to compliment me…who should I pick?”

 -x-

 “You…want me to cook?” Cassandra’s brow furrowed as she stared at the little slip of paper in her hands.

 “More or less.” Dick grinned as he led the way to his kitchen. His apartment was a small thing compared to the manor, but it was home, and there was something energizing about having someone over. If there was one thing he loved about the coupon book above all else, it was that it gave him an excuse to invite his far-flung family over.

 She cocked her head, still looking troubled. “I am not…good at it.”

 “That’s fine!” Dick hummed as he pulled out two aprons from his cupboard, handing one over to her. “As long as it’s edible.”

 “You…have one too?” Cassandra awkwardly stared at the bird-print apron, then at him.

 Laughing, he slowly put it on, demonstrating how to tie it all together. He should have expected that; his family was more comfortable fighting than they were in the kitchen, and it showed. “Yeah, we’ll cook together. It’s more fun that way, right?”

 Cassandra smiled, a small thing, and nodded. “Yes.”

 -x-

 Standing next to the old grandfather clock, Bruce crossed his arms. Honestly, he didn’t need to wear a mask to intimidate; his scowl was more than enough to scare off any random two-bit goon. “This isn’t what they were intended for.”

 Despite his words, he still hadn’t opened the passage to the batcave, and Dick considered that victory. It at least meant that Bruce was willing to hear him out. Holding out the paper, he shook his head. “How? I’m using them.”

 Bruce’s frown grew deeper. “Dick, that is supposed to be a night off for you.”

 “No, it just says night off.” Honestly, Bruce should have known better: Dick loved arguing semantics. Finding loopholes in Bruce’s rules was what he lived for. “So I’m giving you a night off.”

 “I—”

 “Babs and the Birds of Prey agreed to cover.” Dick pressed the coupon on Bruce’s chest confidently. “You’re not in the middle of a case. Perfect time for a night in.”

 “Dick…” Bruce ran a hand through his hair. Another push and he’d cave in. “Look, I appreciate it, but…”

 “Master Richard, Master Bruce.” Alfred stepped into the room and while Dick would never accuse him of something as underhanded as eavesdropping, the timing was suspect. “I have prepared the living room for your marathon. Master Timothy and Miss Cassandra are already there, though Master Damian has refused to join.”

 “Et tu, Alfred?” Bruce sighed, giving in. “Fine, but drag Damian down too, Dick. He’s not allowed to worm his way out.”

 “The if I go down, he goes down with me gambit.” Dick grinned. “I got it covered.”

 -x-

 Tim stared at the fruity mocktail he was holding, worrying his bottom lip. “I don’t think this is what Jason had in mind.”

 “I never go by what Jason has in mind,” Dick countered, drinking his own cocktail. Sipping from his ridiculously curly straw, he leaned back in his seat. “It’s always more fun that way.”

 “That’s…true,” Tim reluctantly agreed, surveying the rest of the batcave.

 Honestly, there couldn’t be anything better than relaxing by the computer, eating popcorn, and watching Damian and Jason handle all of the cleaning. Sure, they had automated robots and machines to handle this. This chore had been struck from the list years ago, after Bruce had upgraded the whole cave.

 Yet, sometimes Dick just wanted to see things done the old-fashioned way. Like Jason washing the batcar. Or Damian scrubbing the costumes. Both of them were quietly swearing as they worked, occasionally shooting him a dirty glare. He didn’t have to read their minds to know he’d have to watch his sleep for the next week; if they could murder him, they would.

 “Don’t forget the bat droppings,” he added cheerfully.

 If he was going to die young, might as well go out with a bang.

  -x-

 Dick sighed as he stared at the coupon book. In the span of a month, he’d managed to use almost all thirty of them, most of them in the most frivolous way possible. He didn’t regret it; it had been fun. No matter what ridiculous thing he came up with, his family had done it. Begrudgingly, at times, but they’d still done it.

 The whole thing had given them so many excuses to hang out, no matter what else was going on in their lives. And now it was all over. All he had left was a single Do whatever you say for a day ticket. One last one and the gift would be done.

 He sighed again. This gift was far too precious to use on a passing whim. Carefully, he folded up that last coupon, tucking it in securely into his wallet. Dick would save it for the best opportunity, for the final memory that couldn’t be replaced. A rainy day when he needed a pick-me-up.

 More importantly, it literally would force someone to do whatever he said for a day. Power like that had to be considered before he used it.

[princessmadafu]

I have the conch!!!

Good morning. Mad’s still snoozing, so I’m popping this up while it’s quiet. This is a Forbes article from March 2019 that I thought was important enough to save:

Meghan Markle: Does The British Tax Payer Know How Much 'Me-Gain' Royal Is Costing?

Roger Aitken Contributor

The Duchess of Sussex, aka Meghan Markle, is watching her popularity and acceptance sinking, possibly taking the British Royal Family with her. Apparently, the way to make the public in Britain like her is to spend tax-payers money on PR machines on both sides of the Atlantic, in addition to a generous allowance.

Being in the public eye puts a person under a degree of scrutiny – and especially when you are a Royal. Some voluntarily choose the public eye, and some are born into it.

It is also not easy to be famous in the age of social media, especially as an entertainer, sports star or actress. Royalty also endures scrutiny, as we can attest to with the lives of Queen Elizabeth II, Princess Anne, and even Prince Charles and Princess Diana.

Mixing the two, entertainer and royalty, results in a new breed of fame, which can sometimes work out. Or not.

Just last weekend (March 23) in The Express tabloid it was reported that royal expert, Anna Pasternak, ventured that Meghan Markle and Prince Harry’s marriage is “going to become increasingly difficult.”

The author of ‘Untitled: The Real Wallis Simpson, Duchess of Windsor’, Pasternak claimed that Duchess is heading into a “tricky situation” – akin or similar to that faced by Wallis Simpson and Princess Diana, where the “ultimate goal is survival.” Strong stuff. Like Simpson, Markle is a divorcee.

The most famous marriage of royalty to entertainment was in 1956 when Grace Kelly, the American film actress, became Princess of Monaco after marrying Prince Rainier III in April of that same year.

One of the most famous actresses in the world at the time, armed with a stable of films for which she received high acclaim, plus an Academy Award for Best Actress (1955) tucked under her arm, retired from acting at the age of 26 and began her duties as the Princess of Monaco.

According to reports, Princess Grace was loved and accepted by the public during her lifetime, and when she died at the age of 52, according to biographer Jeffrey Robinson, “…it was like the lights went out. Monaco just stopped.”

Move forward to 2018, where another actress has married into a royal family – this time, in the United Kingdom (U.K), which has for the last three years been torn apart by ongoing Brexit trials and tribulations. The tension in the country is palpable.

Meghan Markle, a relatively small-time actress say some, married Prince Harry of Wales on May 19, 2018, at St George’s Chapel, Windsor Castle.

Although not so well known prior to this – her second marriage – she was best known for a small role in a series named Suits. Prince Harry, the Duke of Sussex and sixth in line to thrown, on the other hand, was the younger son of one of the most famous Royals in history, Princess Diana of Wales, and known throughout the world due to his Royal status.  His Royal Highness spent ten years working in the Armed Forces, ending operational duties in 2015.

Meghan Markle, who grew up in a middle-class household, was looked after by her family throughout her life. When her father won the lottery when she was nine years old, he seemingly made sure that every cost was covered for Meghan, sending her to the best schools and training. Well, why not if you have it.

Of course, Prince Harry grew up as a Royal, and unlike his brother Prince William, seemed to like the partying side of life a little more. As his Royal Highness grew up he was in the papers often, normally for partying in Las Vegas or some other antics. But he knew the price of being in the public eye and putting a foot out of place. Yet he is 100% British and the public love him, still, regardless of these reports.

There was finally an announcement in November of 2017 that Meghan Markle and Prince Harry were engaged, which was soon followed by an interview, which was the start of Meghan’s descent.

During this interview, Meghan proclaimed that she did not know much about Prince Harry, and because she was American, did not really understand the importance of the Royal family – although she was snapped in a photo in front of Buckingham palace when she was 15 and apparently had many books on Diana and the royal family, according to reports.

All of this gave fuel to the British public, who started to leave negative remarks in the comments sections of online publications by the hundreds, if not thousands.

At Meghan and Prince Harry’s wedding, on May 19, 2018, there were no family present from her side, except for her mother, in sharp contrast to the marriage of Catherine Middleton and Prince William of Wales, the now Duke and Duchess of Cambridge.

Catherine was surrounded by friends and family, with her sister acting as Maid of Honor in pictures that went viral for ‘that dress’.

Meghan’s wedding received widespread attention for the lack of family and close friends. Prince Charles gave her away, although her own father is alive and living in Mexico, and she had her own shadow as a Maid of Honor. Again, the British public were left puzzled, as seen by the comments in the media.

Of course, with their exclusion from this great event, Meghan’s own family took great exception, with the most vocal being Samantha Markle – followed by her father, uncles and cousins – who could not understand why this happened. And, they never got an answer. But they had a clue when Prince Harry went on the radio and said that the Royal family would now be the “family Meghan never had.”

Meghan’s family shot back immediately that this was all a lie, protesting and offering proof of the opposite. Samantha even explained that the father financed all of Meghan’s education, while Meghan stated at a conference she paid for her own education. Yet Samantha has receipts from the father, apparently.

At the same time, reports of the cost of this wedding, mixed with the drama of the Markle family, hit fever pitch. According to the British tabloid, the Express, the Duke and Duchess of Sussex’s Royal wedding is said to have racked up a £32 million bill (c.$41.6 million at the current exchange rate), with the majority of that hefty sum (paid for by the British taxpayer) going towards security – a whopping £30 million (c.$39 million), to be exact.

One might argue that with all the zillions of tourists flocking to Britain with pull of Buckingham Palace, seeing the Royals and the nation’s deep and rich history, it was frankly a drop in the ocean.

Figures also show that £1.5 million (c.$1.95 million) was spent by the Department for Digital, Culture, Media and Sport (DCMS), a U.K. government department that has responsibility for the creative industries, tourism and leisure across the nation. Some will be more familiar with the DCMS in the pursuit of Facebook CEO Mark Zuckerberg in giving oral evidence before the committee in Parliament.

All this while wages and living standards for your average working Brit are depressed and have been so since the last financial crisis around a decade ago.

The public seems to have had enough now, with people writing on sites that they feel Meghan is embarrassing the Royal Family, and the public in turn, even “taking them for fools”, adding that “Harry is a young and naive and cannot see what is happening before him.” Prince Harry is 34 and Meghan in 37, which is very close in age.

People have seemingly too become incensed at all of the reports and apparent lies that Meghan has told, and started to turn against the Duchess of Sussex now in serious numbers, on blogs, forums and websites. Not Harry. Meghan. The Duchess of Sussex.

She has even apparently been given a nickname by royal staff at the royal household – “Me-Gain.” And, Harry quite clearly is said to be very unhappy with that.

Dicky Arbiter, a Royal insider and ex-Palace press, speaking to Nine News Australia on Harry’s reaction to these reports, was quoted as saying: “He would be angry that something like this is coming out. You have got to remember too…I mean, you were here for the wedding and you saw how the media were operating. They were putting Meghan and Harry right up on a pedestal. Since the end of summer in the autumn, they have been chipping away at those pedestals and really having a go.”

Cosmopolitan magazine stated in a report referring to “Me-Gain” comments apparently made by royal staff writing: “To be honest, there’s probably little to no truth to rumors that staff call Meghan by this nickname, but that doesn’t make the reports any less hurtful, obvs!” That said, gossip about the Royal family certainly sells newspapers.

Every day it seems, articles come online and in print about Meghan, reporting on everything from the dishes she serves guests (avocado on toast) to her wardrobe (with outfits costing  up to £100,000 (c.$130,000 each), her extravagant baby showers – two to be exact and more.

The public perception of her started to sink faster than a millstone in water. They made it clear that they would not suffer another Wallis Simpson.

The palace knew they were in trouble and started to hire PR, separating the Duke and Duchess of Sussex from the Cambridges, and giving them their own household.

According to reports, even Prince William and Catherine observed the negative publicity, fearing it will outshine the work and legacy of the Royal Family as a whole, and wanted to separate themselves from what has been labelled “the Markle Effect.”

Meghan Markle’s PR chief     moved positions and became the fifth aide she has lost since she married     Prince Harry. According to The Sun, Jason Knauf is now a “senior adviser” for the     Cambridges’ charities. In addition, the general consensus among royal reporters is that Meghan is     seen as difficult and high energy and is said to “snap” at palace     employees.

Following this move, and     the desire to separate the Sussexs’ from the Cambridges’, according to The     Daily Mail The Queen agreed to the creation of a Household for     The Duke and Duchess of Sussex and gave permission for it to be based at     Buckingham Palace.

As part of the new order,     Harry and Meghan have named Sara Latham, Hillary Clinton’s former Senior     Campaign Advisor, as their new dedicated head of communications. With     costs estimated and thought to be in the ball park of £500,000 to £1     million (c.$650,000 to $1.3 million), it will be paid for by the tax     payer. The ultimate irony. They are spending tax-payers money to make the     Duchess of Sussex likeable to the very people who are not warming to her,     by spending their money.

Viscount Yves de Contades, CEO of International Excellence Magazine and luxury expert remarking on these recent matters, said: “Relating to populist media through PR experts has become indispensable, because if you are not talking to them directly, they will simply take it from any source – however unreliable.”

He added: “Unfortunately sensational stories get read substantially more than the truth. Good PR is about maintaining certain values and connecting honestly with your audience. And, it would be wise to pay those bills yourself.”

Frank Marr, CEO and owner of A Marr + Associates and a reputation management/PR expert based in London, said: “Reputation management is imperative for the monarchy. In an era of discontent, erratic political situations along with the big gap between the rich and the poor, there has never been a more important need to explain why the royalty is needed for the nation.”

He added: “Their role as pillars to society and how they can play their part to support the nation [Britain] needs to be managed in order to maintain reasoning for this existence of influence.”

Is this really the right approach?

According to inside sources, who like Meghan’s friends cannot be named, Royal Communications have a very lucrative deal with People Magazine in America. The reason? Apparently, they feel if Americans fall in love with her, then the Brits will naturally follow.

This is made clear when American actors like George Clooney have recently criticized media treatment of Meghan saying she is being “pursued and vilified”, and likening her scrutiny to that was received by Princess Diana. Like all PR for Meghan, this statement, too, seems to be doing more harm than good, with thousands of people leaving vitriolic comments.

Others have expressed the thought that “Princess Diana-style PR will backfire on Meghan Markle and it’s not worth the gamble”, as reported in The Sun. And why is that? This one is quite simple. Because she is not Princess Diana, and many people are quick to point out that she is quite the opposite.

According to Lorraine Kelly’s viewpoint, the well-known Scottish journalist and broadcaster wrote: “Meghan Markle has mishandled her relationship with her dad Thomas ever since she began dating Prince Harry and she seems intent on making it worse.”

“By all accounts the Duchess of Sussex has taken it upon herself to brief several of her “close friends” to blab to a U.S. gossip magazine about how hurtful she has found the whole saga, and that – contrary to what everyone thinks – she has been in touch with her father Thomas.”

And, according to Samantha Markle, this could not be further from the truth. And again, she has the proof.

The British public expect the Royal Family to be wholesome. Perhaps not virginal, but wholesome, and a divorcee from America who has perhaps told a little fib or two, or ten, is just not sitting well.

And, the fact that the British public, again, are left paying the bill is a bridge too far for many of them as she as seen as the antithesis of what a Royal should be – loyal, demure, honest, caring, family oriented, frugal and modest.

Meghan is appearing, by her own fault, to be none of these. And to be honest, why would she want to be anything but herself? Why should she care what the people think about her? Well, again, it is simple. It is because she now represents a Royal Family, one which has outlasted most, and wants to live to see another day.

According to an article in Town and Country magazine, Meghan is worth $5 million compared to Prince Harry’s $40 million, a sum he has accumulated from funds left in trust to him by his mother, Princess Diana, an inheritance from the Queen Mother, and his former salary as a captain in the British Army.

Yet, the British public ARE paying for Meghan’s PR, and hopefully they will learn to love her, for Harry’s sake. Regardless of what opinions are about Harry’s girl, the bill for Meghan Markle, the Duchess of Sussex, is being paid for by the British tax payers, and hopefully they will get what they pay for. And, it’s certainly racking up in any currency.

Let them eat cake? You betcha!

Follow Roger, an ex-FT writer who has penned various investment stories, on Twitter @AitkenRL, LinkedIn, Forbes, Google+. He won a State Street Institutional Press award in 2015.  

Roger AitkenContributor

[batbirdies]

NaNoWriMo 2019 Batfam fic Part 7

I’m posting rough excerpts from my NaNo project this year which is a fanfic centered around Jason Todd eventually agreeing to dog sit Titus while Bruce and Damian are out of town. Involving some deep seated issues, unintended animal therapy, snarky text messages between robins and eventually, some reconciliation between father and son.

Takes place in a murky in between time sometime after Damian was resurrected.

A NOTE: These are very rough drafts, I’m copy and pasting from my google doc, I switch tense all over the place, so apologies. WARNINGS: content includes PTSD flashbacks of sorts, violence involving humans as well as animals, references to dog fighting, lots of swearing. 

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

“Mind telling me what the fuck this was all about?” The guy raised his eyebrows, seemed completely unphased by Jason’s poorly veiled threat a moment ago.

“Just an accident. Here, take my info.” He reached in his pocket and pulled out a business card that he held out, nothing printed on it but a phone number. Jason stared at it. “I’d be happy to cover your medical bills for that arm.” He nodded to Jason’s left forearm, still held tightly against his body. Jason plucked it out of his hand, eyeing it for a split second before tucking it into a pocket, he’d throw it away later.

“Real generous of you.” The guy smirked. Jason squinted at him, waiting for some kind of hint. “We met before?”

“Oh I doubt it.” He took a drag off the cigarette. “I’d remember your dog if we had.” He looked around Jason then, at where Titus was standing, tight up against the backs of his legs.

Jason took a step forward, fed up. “What the fuck do you want? You think I’m stupid? Your friend there sicked that dog on us, I saw it. You-“ Jason cut himself off, felt Titus nudging at the back of his leg, he gave a low bark, quiet but unhappy. He didn’t want to make any hints if the guy didn’t know anything.

Hell this was Gotham. Nut jobs did insane shit like sick their dogs on people all the time.

They however didn’t usually seem so casually unrepentant and unafraid of the police showing up.

Tall Guy raised his hands in mock surrender. “Hey now, if you hadn’t jumped in, I promise you he never would have bitten.”

“Oh, cause you’ve done this before? Is that it?”

“I don’t know what you mean, didn’t do anything, this was all just an accident. Crusher can get aggressive around other big dogs. And that is one big dog.”

“Is this seriously about Titus?” Jason was recalculating the idea that this idiot might know who he was. He chuckled.

“Titus, good name for him. He looks tough.” Jason stares at the guy, feeling a muted sort of astonishment at the idiocy in the world. Whatever this was, he wanted no part in it.

“You know what, you can get lost.” Jason started to turn away, he didn’t need to tug on the leash, Titus was happily leading the way.

The sound of rushed footsteps had him turning just in time to see the guy reaching towards Titus head, he saw the flash of a red tip of a cigarette tucked near the guys palm and lashed out before he could think better of it.

Leash still in his hand, he struck with his bad arm, snatched up the guys wrist, twisting it hard and fast until he couldn’t keep up the nonchalant act anymore.

“Ok, ok, shit man.” He sunk to his knees in an instant.

“Were you just gonna fucking burn my dog?” His arm was throbbing, the crushing grip he was keeping on the guys wrist making the pain flare like a bitch. Blood was dripping drown his arm in thick rivulets, down his hand, ruining his jacket and the assholes alike.

“Hey, hey, I just thought he looked tough-”

“So you thought you’d test your theory?” His grip was entirely too tight, he could feel the Lazarus bubbling up in him, everything in his vision taking on that vaguely green tinge.

“Hey, honestly man, I’m trying to do you a favor-”

“You fucking-”

“You like to bet? I can make you a fortune if he’s as mean as he looks.” He was on his knees, gasping out the words, gripping the wrist Jason held in his fist with his other hand desperately. Eyes wide in obvious fear. He choked, color crawling up his neck. “Please man-”

Jason didn’t make the decision to break the guys wrist, but it happened just then, his grip so tight that when he tensed at the statement - it was enough.

He gasped, “fuck man!”

“You’re lucky I don’t kill you.” Jason was shaking as he hissed out the words, skin hot, he felt the urge come up, the pulse rack through him.

Titus let out a high pitched whine, drawing back on his leash hard.

Jason let go. Took a hard step back, breath heaving, blinking away the green clouding his vision.

“What the hell man?” He was crying, clutching at his broken wrist with his good hand. Titus whined again, pulling on his leash enough to make Jason stumble a step after him.

He stood his ground for a second more, staring at this - this - “If I see you or your friend here again, you’ll leave with more than a broken wrist, you hear me?”

“Man why would you-”

“I said do you hear me?”

“Ok man, ok!”

Jason relented, letting Titus yank him around until they were walking at a brisk pace in the opposite direction. He was still fuming, filling his lungs with deep heaving breaths, trying to rid himself of the feeling of hornets buzzing around inside his chest.

It took him too long to realize that Titus was leading them the wrong direction, away from his apartment. When he finally blinked back into awareness they were two blocks away and his bloody arm was throbbing with every step he took.

Jason directed them all the way back around the block they were on instead of turning around. Feeling like he could use the exercise even while his arm hurt so bad he was hissing through his teeth. They were leaving a dripping trail of blood down the sidewalk as they went, every person they met crossed the street when they saw them coming but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He feels so tightly wound it’s a miracle he doesn’t snap like an old guitar string.

By the time they’ve traveled all the way back to Jason’s apartment Titus has gotten decidedly more exercise than required or planned and Jason feels no less angry than he had twenty minutes ago. He unlatches Titus’ leash and goes hunting for his first aid kit, stashed under his bathroom sink.

He’s pissed about his jacket, the sleeve is completely torn up and their blood all down it. It was a nice freaking jacket and an expensive one and when he tears it off in a huff and slings it over the edge of the bathtub he wonders briefly if Alfred could fix it….get the blood out, stitch up the torn pieces? Maybe that was asking too much but the man could be a miracle worker sometimes. Not to mention Jason was feeling almost a little like he owed him after the stunt with the gift, even if that was a little ridiculous and he’s never say it.

Getting a good look at his arm he’s definitely not happy. The skin is punctured to varying degrees of depth in large crescent shape, on his forearm as well as the tender skin on the inside of the arm. There’s enough blood that it takes a while for the warm water running in his sink to even rinse it away enough to tell. Following with antibacterial soap hurts like a bitch but dog bites are known for causing infections and Jason does not wanna mess with one.

He dabs it all dry with a clean dust rag he has stashed in the hallway closet, not wanting to ruin one of his actual towels with blood. It happened enough already when he came home after patrol with injuries, he was down to two good towels that didn’t have unfortunate stains.

Then he plasters a good layer of antibacterial ointment on the whole mess and covers it with two large bandages.

He still can’t calm down and he’s not totally sure why. At first he thinks it was just the confrontation, the audacity of two assholes to sick their dog on him and Titus but it’s not just that. It’s the dog fights.

Nothing should surprise him anymore.

Jason grew up on the streets. He started fighting crime before he was even a teenager. He’d died, he’d come to life, he’s been raised from a Lazarus pit, been through training like no other, done and seen things that could barely be believed.

But somehow the depravity of the human race could still shock him.

He remembers the fighting pits. The fear, the pain, the terror and violence. Remembers the twists, the random handicaps to teach him how to keep going when he was on his last leg. Remembered never really knowing what would happen if he lost, just the vague dread that it would be worse than this, worse than the constant fights and the surprise attacks and the complete lack of human connection.

Jason thinks about those dogs and he can’t fucking let it go.

He finds Titus in the living room, just standing in front of the couch like he’s been waiting for Jason to come out, his tail hanging low but wagging slowly, like he’s unsure. He huffs out a low sigh and throws his head back, stretching his neck and wondering, for a split second, if any of the shit he does, that any of them do, in costume ever makes a damned difference.

“Hey boy.” He says quietly as he shuffles back into the living room and sinks down onto the couch. “I’m not mad at you. You can relax.” He scratches at his ears when Titus follows him, and the dog lays his big ol’ head in Jason’s lap and makes a happy little snuffling noise and inspite of the morning Jason feels the edge of his mouth twitch up.

[awhitehead17]

Red Challenge: Day Six - Seeing Red

Summary: When no one has heard from Tim in several hours, Jason is sent to investigate his brother’s tracker location. 

A/N: Please take care when reading, this contains hints towards rape/non-con. Nothing actually/explicitly happens but I wanted to warn people just in case they don’t want to read it.

Enjoy! :)

“Red? You in here?” 

Jason peers around the warehouse he’s just busted in and looks for his little brother. The tracker he was following had lead him to the far side of Gotham’s docs, leading him into one of the abandoned warehouses scattered along the coast. 

There was no response to his call, while that doesn’t surprise him it does make him frown. 

“Anything Hood?” A voice spoke into his ear. 

Reaching up to activate his side of the comms, Jason speaks back, “I’ve just arrived at the place his tracker is but I haven’t located him just yet. I’m ‘bout to scope the place out. I’ll let you know what I find.” 

“Okay. Be careful.” 

Inside his helmet Jason grins, “Always am.” 

“Uh huh.” The voice disbelievingly says which makes him grin even more.

Jason turns his comm off and starts moving through the warehouse, silently looking for any signs of his brother. Tim had fallen off the radar about four hours ago. While at first no one was concerned because it wasn’t unusual for someone to drop off the grid for a short amount of time, they all quickly came to realise that this was a lot bigger than what it seemed to be. 

After an hour of getting no response from Tim the family started to get concerned, it wasn’t until the second hour of radio silence had passed by that they started to look for him. When the third hour struck, Tim’s tracker came alive and gave them a guide to he was (or at least where his tracker was, whether Tim was there with it or not remained another story). Jason, being the closet to it, had the task of finding out what he could and relaying his findings back to the rest of the Bats. 

After scooping out the whole floor level of the warehouse and finding absolutely nothing, Jason moves his search to the next floor up. Climbing the old crooked stairs he reaches the next floor of the warehouse and starts over. 

The lay out was different to what downstairs was. While downstairs was one big open room, upstairs had separate rooms, almost like a house would. From the stairs he steps into what looks like the living room, there were a few old couches and an old TV placed in the middle of the room. From the living room area there were four more doors attached to the room. 

Stepping into it he starts to investigate, however before he could fully invest into his inner detective he heard a shout. His head snaps in the direction of the sound and he starts to move towards it. A couple seconds go by before he could hear it again. Grabbing his gun from his holster Jason creeps towards one of the four doors. Going right up against it he listens in just to make sure it’s the right one. 

“Hey! Knock it off you little brat!” 

Oh yeah, that’s certainly the right door. Jason’s eyes narrow as he hears the shout. That doesn’t sound good. Stepping away from the door he straightens up and rolls his shoulders in preparation. Some assholes were about to get their asses handed to them. 

Smashing his foot against the door, it flies open and Jason storms into the room. His sudden appearance startles those already in the room and Jason takes a moment to study what he’s stumbled across. 

Four large, tattooed men were stood around in a circle, another two were kneeling on the floor. All of them surrounding something. Surrounding someone. Jason saw a lithe body pinned the two men kneeling on the floor, this body covered in a very familiar black and red pattern. Throughout his years on the streets, then as Robin, then as a crime lord and finally as an ally of Batman – Jason knows this scene too well and boy, he was not happy. 

Jason sees red. 

It’s like his mind just completely separates from his body. His body moves on it’s own, moving in a way it’s been trained to and he becomes an unstoppable machine. The six tattooed men don’t stand a chance against him, not after what he’s seen them trying to do. 

Jason loses track of time, (hell he loses track of himself) so he has no idea how long had passed since he attacked the men trying to get at his brother. It wasn’t until a familiar voice was speaking out to him that he finally snaps back to himself. 

“Hood stop it! It’s okay, they’re down you can stop! I’m fine, please! Jason!” 

Jason spins and looks at the owner of the voice. Tim stood opposite him looking rather ruffled, his hand was on Jason’s bicep and was squeezing pretty hard. Breathing heavily Jason takes in the scene around him, there were blood splatters over the walls and floors, his gloves and suit was covered in bits of blood and the six men were unconscious (maybe even dead) at his feet. 

Jason takes a step back and Tim releases his arm. That turns his attention to his brother. He looks just in time to see Tim straighten up his leggings, just in time to see the red hand prints on his hips. Jason feels his temper flare up again at the thought of those low lives getting their hands on his brother. 

Tim seems to sense this and he puts his arms up in a placating gesture, talking quickly he says, “Jason I’m okay. They didn’t touch me alright. You got here just before anything happened.” 

Jason stares at him, unsure on what to do or say. Tim seems to be okay, there’s no external injuries he could see but he knows that the kid is a fantastic actor. Looking okay and actually being okay are two entirely different things. 

With no words Jason flings his arm out and wraps it around Tim’s shoulders, he brings the kid in close and hugs him. Tim doesn’t say anything, while he tenses at the sudden touch he does quickly relax in his hold and even wraps his own arms around Jason in return. They stand like that for a few minutes or so and Jason appreciates it. Knowing that Tim was now safe and semi-okay was enough to get him to calm down. 

Resting his chin (despite the helmet) on top of Tim’s head he lets out a sigh and says, “We’ll be talking about this later just to let you know. There’s no escaping from explaining what the fuck happened alright.” 

Tim nods, “Yeah I figured. I’m okay though, seriously. You got here before they actually did anything.” 

Inside the helmet Jason sneers, “That’s not good enough. You shouldn’t be here at all and what if I hadn’t been here on time. What if I had been later, what if I didn’t come at all?” 

Tim doesn’t say anything for a while, eventually though he gives Jason one last squeeze before pulling away. “Seriously Jay, let’s not worry about the what if’s. You’re here, you saved me, lets move on.” 

Jason studies his brother for a moment. Knowing that the kid was right Jason snorts, “Alright kid, we’ll have it your way… for now. Once we reach the cave you’re talking whether you like it or not.” 

A grin spreads across Tim’s face, “Of course. Now how about a race? Last one there has to clean the others equipment for the next month.” 

Very well knowing that Tim is delaying the inevitable Jason allows it to happen. They’ll have their talk and everything once they’re back home. He isn’t letting this slide because he needs to make sure that Tim is in fact okay after everything that had just happened, as the older brother he figures it’s one of his duties to so. 

A grin of his own takes over his face, “Alright kid you’re on.”

[chronicbatfictioner]

Fast Car - Chapter 15

"I didn't want to be a bother, Mr Wayne, really."

Today, Jason was the one woken up to the sound of people talking. He did not, he'd swear, jump out of bed and/or stumble out of it to peek out of the bedroom door. He did, however, as to admit to having shrieked to find Dick's face just as he opened the bedroom door just a crack wider. Only because there was no way to deny it when both Bruce and Tim's head swiveled right toward him as he shrieked.

"Oh hi, good morning, sleepyhead!" Dick crowed. Sonofagun actually beamed at him. "We've been here a while! Guess you got that right when you said you sleep like a log."

"I did not sleep like a log." Jason growled. "You're here at buttcrack of dawn. Why."

"It's 9.40, and tomorrow is the Christmas Parade, and Bruce wanted to check on the limo, just in case. Also wanted to check on how you're doing, and Alfred's bringing you some English Breakfast; and then check on Tim because we found the lab locked and closed and dark." Dick explained, half-dragging Jason toward the kitchen. Thankfully, Dick has paid good sized attention when Jason was living at the Manor's ground, and shoved a good sized mug of coffee into his hands before Jason could maybe tear his cheerful head off.

A good gulp later, Jason felt human enough to turn around and face the big boss. And Tim, although he'd come to conclusion years ago that he doesn't have to look and/or act human and/or civilized to face Tim.

"Bruce..." he greeted. Bruce's face was a little smug, but the dip between his forehead signaling concern was visible even all the way from the kitchen area. "I'll work on it today, don't worry. You'll be warm and toasty for the parade."

"Oh, hi, Jason. Yeah, thanks for that. But that's not why I'm here, actually." Bruce said.

Belatedly Jason remembered that Bruce was Tim's actual boss, and they would have known each other for a while.

"Oh, the lab. Yeah, Conner and Bart said they're going home for the holiday weekend." Jason said, taking a seat next to Tim on the couch.

"So Tim has told me. He'd also told me you have convinced him to not work through the holidays." Bruce's smile was wistful. "I'm impressed you managed to do that. I've tried on Thanksgiving--"

"We've even invited him to the Manor, and he's just like, 'okay five more minutes', and just never showed." Dick added.

Jason winced inwardly. If Tim had come on Thanksgiving, he would have seen Jason there, at the Manor. Boy was he glad Tim hadn't come.

He instinctively reached over and squeezed Tim's nape. "Yeah, well..." he shrugged. Tim was a little tense. He probably didn't even realize that Dick was there a few days ago when he'd crashed from his caffeine OD.

"Anyway, I've... we've been talking about his affliction. I thought it might be prudent to inform you that Wayne Enterprises have the device that... was made for this issue, specifically." Bruce started. "Might even be interesting to know that Tim had created said device, and it is going through its clinical trial phase as we speak."

Alfred's English breakfast might or might not gone cold as Bruce explained, but Jason nibbled on the sausages as they were shoved to his face by Dick periodically.

Grieving, evidently, was a 'specialty' for Bruce Wayne. He had never stopped grieving his parents' death for over 20 years now. Having even broken through into and out of the clinical depression stage himself, he understood it well - the chemistry of it, if anything else.

WayneTech, not to Jason's surprise, has been supportive of Tim's latest invention, even if Tim himself didn't notice it. They have been developing a device that would be used much like an automatic insulin pump, only this device would be much smaller - as in patch-sized smaller, and more electronically connected.

The general theory was simple: all participants would do a daily hormone check - kind of like thumb-prick diabetes check, using the device Tim invented. It would measure their levels of stress hormones, which results are linked to their cellphones or their caretaker's. The gadget would then receive the command to release other hormones to balance the stress hormones through a patch on the patient's skin. The patch - also Tim's idea - would release a cocktail of other hormones to the bloodstream that would balance the whole hormonal spectrum.

Tim would get a spot in one of the clinical trials, under Jason's argument that ethically, Tim should know if it works or not for his own case. Dr Leslie Thompkins would gather the other clinical trial participants, and the progress would be recorded by her. Mr Wayne had stood for the project; ready to hide others' - i.e. Tim's and his team members' - names if it failed, or publicize them when it succeeded.

By the end of Bruce's explanation, Jason was fervently hoping and praying for the latter, for sure. Not just for Tim's sake, but also for others who had faced the same problem and conventional medicines just never made a difference. Jason couldn't figure out the finer details like how one type of patch would accommodate like, a hundred people. Or if Tim was receiving a placebo instead of the real thing.

All he knew was that after a short three months of development, thanks to Bruce Wayne's influence and - this one had come as a surprise for Jason - Jack Drake's, Tim's father, name; they are currently doing a double-blind clinical trial, which Tim explained as having one set of people who'd get the real thing, one set of people who'd get the placebo, and one set of people who'd get alternating real thing and placebo. It should take a year, at least, for the clinical trials to be calculated and whatnot.

A year, Jason thought, at least a whole year before he would have to deal again with what ails Tim. A year, hopefully, of respite for Tim.

"When do we start?" he asked excitedly.

Bruce waved a hand toward Tim. "Once he signed his agreement, by all means. Knowing Leslie, she would probably want it started the instant Tim appears in her office." he smirked.

Jason looked at Tim, tense under his hand. "And your objection would be...?" he baited.

Tim gulped. "Uh... being included-- me being included would be ethically wrong. As well as taking a spot from others who might need it more than I do." he reasoned.

From across the couch, Jason couldn't miss Dick's glare if he'd tried. "Okay," he said. He could go through the 'it's your right, Tim,' route; or 'you know that's an excuse, right?' to argue Tim out of his mindset. But he has known Tim for long enough to know that Tim would have lengthy arguments against those starters. Instead, he said, "you said you wanted me to be happy, right, Timmers?"

Tim cocked an eyebrow at him, not expecting the opening. "Wha-- what are you doing?"

"Please answer the question." Jason said calmly, Tim would not be able to see this one coming.

"Yes," he replied quietly.

"I would like to help you get help, so that you can keep making me happy." Jason stated, staring Tim right in the eyes. Tim fidgeted. "If you don't do this, if you don't take the spot, I know you would be hurt again, and that makes me unhappy, Tim.

"I know what you planned to do if I hadn't come back. Just to let you know, if you ever get to that state of mind again and do your plan, I'll--" Jason gritted his teeth hard enough that he felt it in his gums. "I'll burn the house down and leave its carcass right there. I won't even try to be happy anymore, because Timmers, I'm happy when you are. I'm happy when I'm with you.

"And that concludes the sappy part of my reason for wanting you to be in the clinical trial. Here's the logical part: you created the device, right? If you say it's ethically wrong, I'd say it's even more ethically wrong if you don't participate. Like, if you're a chef, how is it ethical if you create a food if you won't eat? How is it ethical if - say, when the Wright brothers created a plane and they made someone else fly it?

"How can you fix your invention if you don't know how it feels? How can you predict a reaction based on someone else's description?-- let alone someone who has less intellects than you do and don't understand the components of your invention?" Jason concluded.

Tim was staring at him, blinking slowly, digesting the thoughts. Jason initially thought that he would focus on the latter, the logical reasoning. The small tremble of his hands as he fidgeted, however, gave away something else.

"You're happy with me?" he asked quietly. "Jason, are you happy?"

Jason nodded solemnly. "I am. It's not like, a constant state of happy. But I'm hoping I'll be able to work on it with you, to make it a constant happiness for both of us." he replied.

"If there's anything I know well, Tim, is that one cannot be happy on one's own." Bruce added.

"I second that," Dick quipped from somewhere near the window. When did he move there, Jason couldn't even tell.

"Stop ganging up on my boy, you two. Let him think this through." Jason snarled, but without much heat because he realized that if he'd sounded angry, Tim would clam up.

Tim was quiet again for a long time, until he turned to Bruce. "You have the paperwork with you, don't you?"

"I might have prepared something when Jason told me of your... affliction." Bruce said.

Tim screwed his eyes shut, and suddenly careened to the side, burrowing his entire self between Jason's side and the couch's back. Jason enveloped his arms around Tim, signaling at Dick to stay quiet as the latter opened his mouth. Dick smirked, but nodded. Bruce quietly drew out some papers from his briefcase and gave it to Jason. It was a standard contract, Jason noticed. Even the small prints were standard - disclaimers and indemnifying points etc.

"Should he get a lawyer before signing this? If - that is." Jason promptly tacked the correction.

As sudden as his burrowing, Tim sat back up, scoffed at the paper. "I don't need a lawyer, I wrote that thing." he said. He opened his hand, and Bruce placed a pen on it. He signed in several places, and handed it to Jason. "You're the caretaker. It's required that the subjects have a form of caretaking - spouses, boyfriend or girlfriend, manager, actual nurse, whatever. But they're required. You're it for me." he told Jason.

"Okay," Jason obliged, keeping his voice level as he accepted the pen and signed where Tim showed him. Questions later, he thought. Right now, all that mattered is that Tim has conceded to accept a treatment. "Okay, Timmers, now you can't get rid of me if you'd tried." he grinned mischievously at Tim, trying to lighten up the situation.

Tim was still glaring at Jason wistfully. "I'm not gonna. Ever. I believed you, Jay." he said. "I believed you when you said you'll get me out, didn't I? I believed you, when you said you'll help me fix us. Fix me. I believe you." his lower lips started to tremble as he blinked owlishly.

Jason nodded sagely and wound his arms around Tim's shoulders. "I believe you," he whispered. "Together, yeah?"

Tim nodded, and Jason ignored the wet warmth that seeped through his shirt.

"Alright," Dick remarked, breaking the reverie. "Now that it's all settled and we've done the whole emotional nine yards, do we want pizza for lunch or Chinese?"

Jason scowled jokingly at him as Dick grinned unrepentantly. But even Jason has to admit that when it comes to thawing uncomfortable situations, Dick seemed to be an expert at it.

"Well," Bruce spoke up, collecting the signed papers. "I, for once, will work to earn my living by handing these to Lucius to record and put into effects immediately. You boys feel free to hang out or whatever it is you wish to do for the rest of the day. Dick, don't forget you've placed Damian in the garage, and he is not ever, not now, not until he's 18, drive any of my car." he got up and started to leave. "I'm proud of your decision, Tim." he added, squeezing Tim's shoulder. Then he turned to Jason, "I know I didn't make a mistake with you, Jason, but hey, it's always nice to see one's expectation surpassed."

"He meant he's proud of you, too, only in a more flowery sentence." Dick quipped. "Okay, shoo. Go away. This is a day for no-parent." he added, physically shooing Bruce out of the loft. "Now," he said, coming back to the living room. "Pizza or Chinese?"

"It's not even eleven, Dick." Jason reminded.

"I like to be prepared. Besides, it's almost the holidays. Like officially. We might have to hunt for pizza!"

"Damian is in the garage? Why?" Tim wanted to know, a little late in registering the information. With all of the emotional stimulation he's had in the past hour, Jason could understand.

"Oh, heh. I know you two are like cats and dogs, but somehow, Damian liked Jason." Dick told him, smirking.

"Jason is mine." Tim snapped, glaring at Dick with one eyebrow cocked. "And isn't Damian like, ten?"

"Twelve. But no, not like that. He seemed to think Jason has-- how did he say it, Jay?"

"I seemed to have 'quite a penchant for mechanical repairs without shedding too much liquid, Todd,'" Jason quoted. "Apparently, when Bruce and Dick taught him how to change a car's oil, they spilled like, half the oil on him."

Dick's faux-innocent face didn't fool Jason much when he declared, "it was an accident!"

"Even I know how to change oil without spilling them, Dick..." Tim scoffed. "Chinese."

"Ten minutes delay." Dick muttered under his breath. Jason snorted a laugh."What?"

"You get used to it." He said, tugging Tim back onto his side and gathered Tim up closer to him. "Just give him some quiet time to sort things out, he'll stop lagging."

Dick actually nodded seriously. "Actually, I know. I've seen it a lot." he said. "I'm gonna make me some chocolate. I hope you guys have some kind of thermos or something, because the garage is freezing."

"The second cupboard above the sink - to the right," Jason directed.

"We gonna go to the garage?" Tim asked, his voice small and muffled from where his face was pressed against Jason's chest.

"You don't want to?"

"No, I'm okay. Just asking." Tim said. "I'm not allowed to work today. How come you are?"

"Because, babe, mine is the kind that gets done in an hour." Jason said, tickling Tim's side lightly. "Come on, I'm scared Dick would destroy our kitchen!" he prodded when he could feel Tim's suppressed giggles. "Then we work and play a little, or maybe work and play a lot."

[audreycritter]

Summer Reading Program

A short fluff for @cerusee . Thanks to @preciousthingsareprecious for brainstorming!  ~2700 Words Robin!Jason, Bruce Wayne, Alfred Pennyworth Gen/Family Bonding Tooth-rotting fluff Summer Reading Program

The Manor library was quiet except for the ticking of a clock and Bruce Wayne was plowing through a stack of papers that needed signatures. He'd been working on it all day and had moved from the study an hour ago just for a change of scenery. If he finished enough of the thick ream of contracts and disclosures and other legal documents he'd previewed ahead of time, he wouldn't have to do as much when things got crazy at night.

It had been a slow week for patrol and Bruce wasn't sure how much longer it would last.

With a bang, the door flung open and Jason Todd shuffled into the room. His eyes were just visible above the tower of books and fliers balanced in his arms and he made a beeline for the desk Bruce was sitting behind. He eased the pile onto the edge of the desk and then set a flier right in front of Bruce, on top of a paper waiting for a signature.

It said SUMMER READING PROGRAM in large purple letters and had the Gotham County Public Library System seal printed in one corner. The illustration was a cartoonish crowd of fictional characters with various identifying costumes or trinkets.

“I need your help,” Jason said bluntly.

Bruce flipped the trifold open. Inside, on the line for a patron name and phone number, Jason had already filled in Bruce’s name in his childish but improving cursive scrawl.

“What is this?” Bruce asked.

Jason gave him a look that told him just how stupid he thought that question was.

“It's for your book list,” Jason said, tapping the numbered lines. “You gotta read ten. I already picked out mine.”

“Why do I have a summer reading list.” Bruce read over the poorly chosen italic font. It wasn't the easiest to read.

“Because I'm asking you to help me,” Jason said. “If you turn it in, they put your name in a drawing. The grand prize is a Kindle and $25 in Amazon credit.”

“This has my name,” Bruce said, switching his gaze to the stack of books. It was a mix of middle school fantasy, Hardy Boys, and something that looked like a survival series about mountain climbing. “These are books for you.”

Jason gave an exasperated sigh and put both hands over his face and then dragged his fingers downward, pulling at the tender skin beneath his eyes. Bruce reached out and moved one hand away, worried for his exposed sclera, and Jason yanked away with an irritated huff.

“You have to pick your own books,” Jason said. “This is for my list. I need you to hurry. I just found out today and it ends in eleven days. Three chances are better than one.”

“Alfred is helping,” Bruce surmised.

“Yes,” Jason said. “All hands on deck.”

“For a kindle.”

“Do you need coffee? Are you asleep?” Jason waved his hand in front of Bruce’s face and this time Bruce leaned his head away. “I just said that. Pay attention, B. It's urgent.”

“Why do you need to win a kindle.” Bruce felt like he was missing some crucial piece of information and he scanned the flier again. Was there some kind of school credit involved? It didn't look like it.

Jason took a deep breath and launched into a rapid-fire bullet list that sounded rehearsed and bordered on pleading.

“I know I'm supposed to have limited screen time but is it really a screen if it's e-ink? It's not the one with games or movies and it has parental controls and it would help with school and I could borrow books from the library website and save money and it'll be easier to pack for trips and when I come spend the day at the office and heavy backpacks are a source of bad shoulder strain and it's not good for me and I can get books in Spanish to practice my—”

Bruce had said Jason’s name three times with no break and he finally gave up and pinched Jason’s lips together. Jason kept trying to talk, mumbling through his pressed lips.

“Jason.”

The boy stopped.

“I didn't ask why you needed one. Why do you need to win one? If you want one that badly, we can talk about buying one for you.”

Jason looked affronted and immediately after Bruce let go of his face, Jason’s fingers were pinching Bruce’s lips shut in return.

“Are you conspiring to interfere with an educational pursuit?” Jason asked just as seriously. Bruce looked into his frowning blue eyes and considered for a moment the enthusiasm with which Jason had entered the room, the way he'd dragged his feet about school the previous fall and then drastically changed his tune after just a few weeks.

He considered the stack of books and gently took Jason’s wrist and moved his hand away from Bruce’s lips. He thought Jason pinched much harder than he had, but he wasn't sure it was intentional.

“You think you can make it through all those?” Bruce asked, thinking about a balance between realistic goals and pushing one’s boundaries. He admired challenge but didn't want Jason to be overwhelmed; he was a steady reader and becoming a better one all the time, but was still slow for all his heart. They'd spent a lot of time the past year playing academic catch-up in almost every subject.

Jason scowled at him with a bright flash of anger and Bruce internally scolded himself for being an idiot.

“Why? You don't think I can?”

It sounded like defensive daring, but Bruce had spent enough time with Jason to know he wasn't Dick. Whatever bubbled to the surface was often a mask for some fear or anxiety and he'd become aware (sometimes with Alfred’s pointed help) that Jason deeply needed their simple belief in him.

“Of course you can,” Bruce said quickly, hoping it wasn't too quickly. “And I'll help. I think I can spare you from patrol for a night or two if you need it.”

“You'll do it, too?” Jason asked, brightening instantly. He was thumbing through the stack of books and looking over covers.

Bruce looked at the papers spread across the desk. He thought of the ones he'd left in his study. He glanced over at the shelves lining the walls of the room he often sat in but rarely used recently.

“Eleven days?” he asked.

“Mhmm,” Jason nodded, already with his nose in a book. It looked like something about animals with swords. “Ten books.”

“If I win, I'll let you borrow the kindle sometime,” Bruce teased, standing and pushing the papers to the side. Jason kicked at his shins when Bruce walked by, and missed, but didn't look up from the book.

Bruce plucked a book off the shelf and snagged Jason’s t-shirt collar with a finger and tugged. The kid was leaning, half-sitting, on the edge of the desk. “C’mon, Jay. Couch. Keep me company.”

The boy trailed after him without lifting his eyes and his lips moved when he was sounding out longer words. He sank into a corner of the couch with his feet stretched out and pressed against Bruce’s leg.

Neither of them moved except to turn pages until Alfred rapped his knuckles on the door frame to call them to dinner. Jason looked up and blinked owlishly, then his eyes widened even more and he was on his knees peering over Bruce’s shoulder in a second.

“What are you doing?” he demanded breathlessly. He flopped back on the couch and threw his arm over his face. “Bruce! That's like a million pages. How are you gonna finish ten books if you start with that one?”

Bruce held a finger to mark his place in The Count of Monte Cristo and held out a hand to cushion Jason’s head when he rolled off the couch toward the floor.

“I’ll finish, Jay,” he promised. Jason shoved his hand away.

“Can we read while we eat?” Jason asked. His face was buried in the plush rug but he fumbled around for his book, abandoned on the couch. “I��m at a good part.”

“I don't—” Bruce started.

“—see any issue with a temporary allowance?” Alfred prompted from the doorway. He was holding a slender volume of essays. “I wholeheartedly agree.”

Bruce thought it was pointless to argue this on the grounds that he had long been strongly discouraged from bringing work of any kind to the table in the dining room.

They ate while reading, all three of them. The only conversation was when Jason asked for a definition of a word and Bruce was halfway through an etymology of Latin roots when he saw Alfred’s raised eyebrow and Jason’s impatient lip-chewing.

“...but we can talk about that part later,” Bruce finished a bit lamely.

“I want to,” Jason said, and he sounded like he meant it. “Twelve days from now.”

The next nine days brought four patrols without Jason and a boy who was reading so constantly that one night, he missed both reading and patrol when Alfred forced him to bed early with a headache from eye strain. Jason sulked more than he slept and Alfred tried to make it up to him by reading a chapter from his current book aloud, and Bruce read another before going out for the night.

He was less than impressed with the child-protagonist’s climbing skills and problem solving abilities but kept his opinion to himself.

Despite Jason’s worry, Bruce himself made blazing progress through a whole slew of novels he'd wanted to revisit or read. He hadn't had such a good excuse to set aside work and other tasks and read for a long time and wished he'd done it sooner.

Alfred didn't seem to mind the excuse either, and Bruce frequently found him cooking or cleaning with a book in hand and unapologetic about the distraction.

Eight days in, Bruce took the whole day off of work and spent it shut up in the Manor library again with Jason and a steady stream of snacks from the kitchen. In the afternoon, Alfred joined them for a while.

Alfred was the first to finish his list, two days in advance. He clipped it to the fridge with a magnet and read another book anyway.

Bruce was two away and slightly regretting his choice of Le Morte d’Arthur when Jason kept checking his page number progress and humming worriedly at the calendar.

When he got back from patrol early, early that morning, Jason was sitting in the cave with his own final book in his hands and Bruce’s next to him.

“Read,” Jason ordered, pointing. “You have over a hundred pages left and tomorrow is the last day.”

“Jay,” Bruce said, worn out to the middle of his bones. It had not been an easy night.

“B,” Jason said, verging on pleading. “We’re almost there.”

With a sigh, Bruce pushed back the cowl and dropped into the computer chair and propped his booted feet on the desk. If he got any more comfortable he wasn't going to make it.

He wished Jason could just ask for things. Dick hadn't come from much money, and had been a frugal kid, but had few qualms asking for needs or mentioning wants. He didn't take money for granted, exactly, but also seemed more like a normal kid in his acceptance of provided material goods.

Jason swung wildly between actively resisting money being spent on him and gleefully allowing himself to be spoiled, only to collapse into guilt or self-punishing behaviors later in an attempt to retroactively earn whatever they'd given him. He'd balked at tickets to a Knights game, gone happily on the day of the event and come home with a jersey and stuffed full of junk food, and then disappeared for a day a week later.

They'd found him with a bucket of soapy water, worn out after washing every car in the garage.

But when Bruce tiredly looked up from the text to Jason, sitting on the computer desk with his face reacting to every development in his book, occasionally sounding out words under his breath, his eyes rimmed red and a happy, secure slackness in his posture, none of the comparisons or worry mattered. Bruce reached out and ruffled his hair. Jason didn't pull away but instead flipped back a page and said, “B, just listen to this part.”

Bruce didn't mind anymore.

Fifteen hours (and some sleep) later, Jason watched him like a hawk while he filled out the final line of the flier. After dinner, Bruce double-checked the spelling and legibility of Jason’s own list minutes after Jason triumphantly slapped the last book down on the dining room table.

They went to the public library together, all three of them, per the library’s policy of turning in one’s own reading list. Bruce had to fill out a form to replace an expired library card under Jason’s accusing glare.

The glare faded when Jason watched the librarian drop all three names into a decorated glass jar.

Jason talked non-stop, almost without breathing, the walk to the car and ride home. Bruce and Alfred listened to every recalled detail of the ten books Jason had read, and his opinions (with occasional profanity) on those details. It seemed like he'd been saving it all up in his rush to move on to the next book and it was all spilling out of him now.

He didn't stop through the trip up the stairs into the house or until nearly dinner, when he sighed happily and announced gravely that they had to start earlier the next summer.

The weekend passed without incident at the Manor or on patrol or otherwise. Jason roamed the house with nervous energy when he was awake and kept borrowing Bruce’s laptop to double-check the library prize drawing date.

Monday rolled around with a morning forecast of summer storms and Bruce got ready for work and offered to take Jason with him for the day. Jason usually liked going to hide in Bruce's office for the day but today, he refused from his spot by the kitchen phone.

“Should I keep him busy with something else?” Bruce asked Alfred in the foyer, slipping his arms into his raincoat while casting an eye back toward where they'd left Jason.

“I doubt it would be very effective,” Alfred said with an equally worried frown.

Around three in the afternoon, right around the time Bruce had been planning to head home early, his cell phone rang.

“I won!” Jason yelled in his ear as soon as he answered. “B! I never win anything but they drew my name! I won!”

“That's great, Jay!” Bruce said, thanking whatever gods were listening. It wasn't even the idea of not having to console a disappointed kid. He would have read twenty, thirty books in the same time frame to hear Jason so excited again.

“I gotta go, Al’s driving me over right now. The library closes at five. Bye!”

The line went dead and Bruce decided to call it a day. He drove himself home in the rain, under ominous flashes of lightning and cracks of thunder. He made it home before Alfred and Jason by not much more than twenty minutes and the rain had let up by the time they pulled into the drive.

He helped Jason set up the device in the kitchen while Alfred cooked and the wide grin didn't leave Jason’s face for hours.

They were on a stakeout later that week, hunched down in the Batmobile, when a faint glow lit the interior of the car and Batman looked sidelong. Robin was curled up in the seat reading.

“We’ve gotta couple hours,” Robin said. “You told me yourself. Is it too bright?”

Batman studied the alley and streetscape outside the windshield of the hidden car and almost said yes. Then he changed his mind, shifted his cape, and threw it over Robin’s head.

“No,” Batman said.

“Okay,” Robin said happily from under the cape. The glow didn’t make it through the dark fabric and the interior was pitch black again. “Thanks, B.”

[jacktaylorfansite]

My writing background is not Joyce or Yeats but the Americans - Award winning novelist Ken Bruen

BY CHARLIE MCBRIDE Galway Advertiser, Thu, Nov 16, 2017 Photo by: Mike Shaughnessy

The Ghosts Of Galway, Ken Bruen’s 13th Jack Taylor novel, has just been published and to mark its arrival Bruen met me in the Hotel Meyrick last Monday to range widely over his eventful life and acclaimed work.Bruen has published 37 novels, a number of which have been filmed, including nine of the Jack Taylor series, yet he grew up in a ‘bookophobic’ household. “I was born just there, in No 9 Eyre Square” he says, pointing out the hotel window toward the building in question. “I lived there 'til I was 10 years old when we moved up to Newcastle. I remember my father putting me up on his shoulders outside O’Connell’s pub to see JFK as he passed by on his visit here in 1963. There were no books in our family aside from the Bible. When I told my father that I wanted to be a writer he asked ‘Why don’t you get a job that is respectable’.” Bruen’s passion for books and crime fiction was triggered by a fateful gift. “A wonderful man called Tom Kennedy gave me a library card when I was 10 and it opened a treasure trove for me," he says. "One day I noticed in one corner of the library, were all these American paperbacks someone had donated by the likes of Jim Thompson, Raymond Chandler, and James M Cain. I asked the librarian could I borrow them and she said ‘Take the whole box, nobody wants them.' Those books formed me as a writer; that’s where my writing background is – not Joyce or Yeats but the Americans. When I started writing The Guards I wanted to write an Irish crime novel with an American style.” By a strange coincidence Tom Kennedy was also the father of Ken’s future partner Phyl. The couple have now been together for 36 years and have a daughter, Grace. Though they grew up near each other, Ken reveals they never met until adulthood. “Phyl lived all over the world and so did I," says Ken. "We first met in the GBC restaurant when we were both home for a visit. I heard this woman giving out yards to somebody and I looked over and she asked me ‘What are you looking at?’ I said ‘God help that person who’s listening to you,’ and I turned away. She came up and tapped me on the shoulder and said ‘Do you want to go to the pictures on Saturday night?’ I told her ‘You’re the most formidable woman I’ve ever met.' In all my books the women are the strongest characters.” After getting a PhD in metaphysics from Trinity, Bruen spent more than 20 years working all over the world teaching English. In 1979 he was in Rio de Janeiro when he was arrested following a fracas in a bar and suffered six brutalised months in prison. I ask why his books scarcely draw on his globetrotting experiences? “Every publisher I ever had would ask ‘Why won’t you write a travel book?’" says Ken. "When I was travelling I even kept a diary and when I went to Rio I had 30 leather-bound travel diaries. But after coming out of prison I was so destroyed I burned every single one of them. The only one in all my books where there is travel is the series about Inspector Brant; he goes to Australia and the reason I did that was I was just after coming back from there and I liked it so much I wanted to put it in a book. I do use America as a setting for three novels and I was in America when I wrote them. There are three cities I love to write about; Galway, London, and New York and there is more than enough there.” After the trauma of Rio, Bruen settled in London where he began to write in earnest, partly as a catharsis. “I thought I was absolutely finished as a human being; I couldn’t get past what had happened in Brazil,” he states. “Friends suggested I go back teaching but I told them I couldn’t. They said ‘We have some really screwed up kids and no-one can relate to them, why not just come and talk to them’. So I went in and something clicked; they saw how messed up I was and I saw the same in them. "I started teaching them about books; they hated literature but they loved anything to do with crime so I decided to write a book set in Brixton and sneak in literature by having a guy obsessed with the poet Rilke. Lo and behold the book, Rilke On Black, took off. The kids loved it and it got nominated for best crime novel of the year. With both the book and the teaching I started to heal; while the nightmares never fully went away they became less intense. My books are dark because that was my experience – I wouldn’t be able to write a light book. But even with something terrible you turn the page and there’ll be something darkly humorous.” After 15 years in London, Ken and Phyl returned to Galway when their daughter Grace was born. “We moved back just before the boom happened,” he recalls. “Suddenly there was all this money, and there was dope and all kinds of problems that prosperity brings. I’d been thinking about the librarian and books and Galway as it was changing. My brother Noel had recently died as a homeless alcoholic in Australia, and they all came together in my head and I said to Phyl one day ‘It’s time I wrote an Irish crime novel set in Galway’. That was The Guards, the first Jack Taylor book. It was only ever meant to be this small Irish novel but then it took off in America. My publishers had wanted me to change the Irish style of the vocabulary because they didn’t think Americans would understand it, but I refused and the Irish argot was the very thing that made it sell because all the Irish there loved it.” With 13 Taylor books now in print, all of which feature familiar Galway landmarks I suggest it can only be a matter of time before someone starts doing a Jack Taylor city walking tour. “I’ve heard there is one already!” Bruen replies, “I’d love to go on it myself just to see where he goes. Some Japanese tourists came to my door a couple of years ago and they wanted me to give them a Taylor tour so I took them into Garavans at 11 in the morning and they started drinking whiskey. They wanted me to join them but I said it was a little early for me so I sipped coffee until four o’clock when I poured them into a taxi when they were all legless. Garavans were delighted because they went through six or seven bottles of Jameson in five hours.” In the Taylor books, Jack is constantly running up against priests, most of whom are deeply flawed individuals. “I was in Gormanston boarding school for five years,” he declares. “They were the five worst years of my life. I didn’t suffer sexual abuse but there was corporal punishment and the priests continuously told me that I’d never amount to anything. I knew if I ever wrote my priests wouldn’t be like the one in The Quiet Man, they’d be like the ones I had experienced and I’ve never had to exaggerate once; that’s what the priests were like in Gormanston; they drank like fish and smoked, yet presented this pious facade to the world. “The other thing I wanted to go against, and it caused me even more trouble than the priests, was that Jack says in every book ‘my mother was a walking bitch’. In Irish literature the mother is this lovely mother mo croí type. Even though my own mother was nothing like Jack Taylor’s, I wanted everything to be the opposite of what it usually is. I got tremendous grief from mothers about that, telling me ‘You can’t say that about an Irish mother’ and I’d reply ‘I didn’t say it. Jack Taylor did’.” Bruen’s novels and the Jack Taylor series in particular have been garlanded with praise and awards, while the film versions have boasted blue-chip stars like Iain Glen, Kiera Knightley, Aidan Gillen, Colin Farrell, Jason Statham, and Paddy Considine. For all the accolades, Bruen has been weirdly neglected by Galway’s cultural establishment, having never been invited to read at Cúirt or the Galway International Arts Festival ,or received any other official recognition. “It’s just one of those things,” he says, philosophically. “I’ve given up caring about it but I don’t know why I never get asked.” One hopes that injustice will be remedied soon. In the meantime readers can relish The Ghosts of Galway.

[ellalynnmonroe]

VanCon 2017, my second convention is under my belt. Now that I’ve finished my finals for school, I can fully recap the events of the weekend and appreciate them completely. If there are any typos, I apologize now. My brain hurts from taking said finals. Hah.. oh, and uh. I haven’t entered in those fancy ass cues to seperate paragraphs since I was on Live Journal… like 15 years ago. So.. sorry for the continuous paragraph. 😂 The weekend began with this sweet gal (@winchestersnco) arriving at my door step. This woman was my right hand woman and savior this weekend. She was so incredibly helpful, patient, and loving when it came to my two month old daughter.. who’s name happens to be Amara. **Long backstory short.. my bf and I loved the name and the uniqueness. The fact it’s a character from our favorite only had a small part it.. as is the fact she was created at VanCon 2016…. #porncouver 😂** The drive to Vancouver started out great. Amara slept for the first third of the drive. And then hated us the rest of the drive. Though it was rather exhausting, me feeding her in her carseat is a memory neither Erin or I will forget, I’m sure. Needless to say, Amara had worn herself out so much, she only woke to eat and slept nine hours that night. Friday! The show started later than I remember it starting last year. The energy was also different. Maybe I got spoiled with Kim and Brianna. Rich is a neat dude and all, but those girls really set the bar high. Lol. The panels were fun. The first and only time Amara made a sound during a panel was during Samantha Smith’s. Of course I get called out and stand up to show her I actually have a baby. Jason Manns was added to the guest list at the last minute and I was so thrilled! Amara slept so soundly through his panel; she loves her music! Our autographs for the day included Sam Smith, Emily Swallow, and Brianna Buckmaster. Sam was apparently upset I didn’t actually walk Amara up to her during her panel. Lol, oops. She was in awe by the eye contact my tiny can make. She said “You are not new”. She said Amara is “an old soul”. A mother generally thinks their kid is the best, but hearing how alert and aware your two month old actually is, kinda makes your heart swell. 😍 Emily… ah, how do I put this nicely?.. I’m not a fan. She’s a bit… snatchy. Guess I can’t put that nicely. For those who don’t know, Emily plays the character, Amara on SPN. Coming into this auto, I thought even if this lady thinks I’m a total dweeb and I named my daughter after a SPN character because I’m incredibly obsessed, she would pretend to be amused. Nope. She was so blandly like, “Oh… cooool”. And then proceeded to take this stuffed doll someone made her and wave it in front of her face. I was hardly impressed. Brianna is probably one of my favorite human beings. I walk up and immediately she says “I kinda wanna hold that baby”. I told her she could, but she insisted on keeping the baby comfy. She was pretty entertained by the origin of her name; she said the last reason was the best reason. I just want to be her bff. She’s pretty damn rad. Karaoke…. well. We showed up late so all the guests were already tossed. ESPECIALLY my favorite person if the day. You guessed it. Emily Swallow. One of my roomies of the weekend stayed with me for a bit; Amara slept the whole time. It was the freakin’ Emily Swallow show. She sang over EVERYONE that sang a song. And by sang, I mean yelled with a vibrato. Not. Impressed. Saturday!! I really wanted to watch the first panel, but sleep took over and I slept too late. I love sleep, so I wasn’t to hard on myself. Hah. Mark Sheppard’s panel was entertaining, as usual. He’s so sassy. I attempted to ask him what activities he likes to do with his kids, now that he has some free time. Before I even asked my question, he looked at Amara and said, “That’s not my baby”. Hahaha. After me asking my question and him not answering, I tried to repeat my question and he called me bossy and continued to avoid my question. 😂 there’s a video or two of the ordeal running around out there that I need to acquire. I was pretty bummed he didn’t walked around the audience like he usually does. Idk who did what to him to make him pissed off, but they should be slapped. Misha Collins’ panel was absurd. I laughed so much, I can’t remember too many specifics. The moment I’ll never forget; however, is him asking how to sign “take a dump” in American Sign Language. I died. Matt Cohen, Rob Benedict, and Richard Speight Jr had the last panel. Amara had started to get a little wiggly, so I was in and out for that one. Rachel Miner’s panel… I am too hormonal for that shit. The guys carried her out to the stage and the audience gave her a standing ovation. I wept. She is one inspiration gal. We had a photo op with Brianna and autos with Matt and Mark that day. Our photo with Briana was all thanks to Erin.. Seriously. This girl is the effing best. I can’t brag enough about her. Anyway, back to Briana. When we walked up, I said to her, “You can hold this baby now!”. She did not argue one bit. Chris about died when he say her homemade ‘Wayward AF’ bandana-turned-bandaeu. Mark signed a book my friend gave to Amara, “If I Were a Moose”. Mark’s response? “If I were a moose, I’d kill myself”. Lol. Jesus Christ, Mark. 😂 Matt was cute and sweet as always. Nothing particularly memorable was said. But I do want you all to know that man is getting some of those silver highlights in his hair… Hey. Girl. Hey. Rachel was just as sweet as she was in her panel. She’s is a fighter. I could only hope to be the bad ass this woman is! I had the chance to chat with Jason Manns for a minute. He picked out which album of his Amara would like best. He was so sweet, and I’m so glad he was there. Louden Swain performed a couple acoustic songs in the lobby before signing autos for those that bought some merch. They had they’re SNS album available, so obvioisly I purchased it. Lol they too, were so nice. The talent these men posses is unreal. SATURDAY NIGHT SPECIAL. What’s there to say, that hasn’t already been said. The SNS never disappoints. Louden Swain is PHENOMENAL. Emily was annoying and Brianna nailed it. Oh yeah. And Jensen made an appearance and knocked everyone’s socks off.. or should I say panties? 😉 Fucking SUNDAY, BITCHES. J2 day. This is the day that everyone is anxiously awaiting. The panel was obviously hilarious and fun. These boys NEVER disappoint. There were too many funny moments to explain, but my fav? The endless butt jokes. YouTube the panel if you wanna get in on the jokes. Amara and I had a photo with Jensen and then I have one by myself with Jensen. As soon as I walk up to him and he sees Amara, his mouth drops. I asked, “Would you mind holding her for a photo?” He obviously did not object. Who can resist a tiny baby in a shirt that says ‘World’s cutest Supernatural fan" and a little black tutu with a SPN themed bow on the front of it?? Chris died, once again, after coming on close to check out her outfit. Bless that man! He took three quick shots and printed each of them for me to ensure we got a good one. And then I hand the tiny off and tell Jensen I have one with just myself and he proceeds to give me the best hug, Chris takes the pic, and Jensen gives me a tight squeeze. I tell him thank you, and he says something along the lines of “Congrats, mom”….. and I died. Hahaha. When I go to grab Amara, the head dudes in charge are fawning over her. I’d say her outfit was a success. Coming down the escalator, Gil McKinney came over to take to Amara. This man had been eyeballin’ her all weekend. It was pretty cute and sweet how he approached us. Jason also came over to see her Sunday outfit. I’m telling you, these guys are rad AF. Our autos were at the end of the day, and Amara was getting tired. Thankfully she stayed awake long enough for the two boys to see her. We get up to Jensen and he’s still all about her. He asks her name, and I tell him and the story to go with it. You can tell he’s kinda listening. For comedic value, I decided to say to him, “she’s out souvenir from last year” and the look on his face was priceless. It took a split second for him to register it, but once he did, he chuckled a bit. I thought Jerad was going to steal her. As soon as I walked up, he said “Look at the knees! And those thighs!” He was amazed by how strong she is and couldn’t believe she was only two months old. Now.. this is suppose to be the time I say, “That was that and we went home”……. But no. It. Gets. Better. So Erin and I had stood in line with our weekend roomies. They were toward the end, with maybe a dozen people behind them. Once they went behind the curtain, and Amara was sound asleep in her shoulder, she began walking back to our seats. I told her to slow her roll. I’m thinking, maybe if we linger long enough and stealth enough, some magic will happen…. AND DID IT EVER. Jensen comes out and waves to everyone, waves at Erin and I.. but does a double take when he sees this sleeping ball of chunk on Erin’s shoulder… he then RUNS OVER TO AMARA, PINCHES AT HER SWEET CHUBBY CHEEKS.. AND THEN.. GIVES HER A KISS ON HER CHEEK. JENSEN KISSED MY BABY. I vowed to never wash her again; however she had gotten herself so worked up on the ride home, she projectile vomited ALL OVER ME. It was a wonderful weekend, not too hectic, filled with such wonderful memories that I can’t wait to share with Amara when she’s older. 99% (lol) of the guests were so sweet and supportive of me bringing my tiny. The fans all loved her. I only had a few people harass me about ear protection, of which I brought, one lady get salty about being next to a baby before she had a chance to show her what an angel of a baby she is, and one person suggest I breastfeed in the bathroom after I asked where would he a good spot to sit and feed her. Other than that, everyone was great, I had a great time, and I miss all my ladies!

[brimbrimbrimbrim]

Lucas would 100% fight cuddles, but secretly love it. Yes. Give me attention. Give me love. But not in public, also I WILL shove your clingy ass to the floor if someone comes in. Gotta reputation to uphold. But ahhh later, k?

I am so down for this headcanon, Anon. In fact, I got a bit inspired and wrote a little one-shot for this. Hopefully, someone gets a kick out of reading it as much as I did writing it.

Zoe didn’t spy on Lucas all that much, not after that one summer in ‘09 when she found out that her older brother liked to masturbate to German, humiliation porn…the results of which hadn’t been her proudest moment. Probably shouldn’t have thrown a stack of VHS’s at his pale, shamed face until he’d caught an edge of one naked tape in the temple and started bleeding. The way she’d handled that night may have ended up giving him a complexion he probably didn’t deserve, but alas, she’d kept her nose out of his business after that. At least she’d apologized for it the next day, much to both of their embarrassment.

This time was different, though. Lucas, at the ripe age of twenty-seven, had his first girl over…he’d snuck her in when the house had gone quiet after dinner and the only way Zoe knew about it was because she’d forgotten to water the ferns outside the trailer and had gotten a quick look behind the crack of her door as Lucas was inputting the codes on his ‘Fortress of Solitude’, with the chick and her tight ass beside him; hands in her pockets.

Drop the fucking mic! - a real live, not-blown-up-with-plastic-skin girl?!

Zoe couldn’t believe it. What sorta bet had this chick lost?

No one in their right minds would have wanted to spend a second alone with that creep and yet Zoe had sat in her trailer all night waiting for the door of the barn to swing open, signaling that the girl was leaving…or that Lucas was disposing of a corpse. It sounded funny at the time, but after several hours Zoe got worried; a curious, concerning type of worry for her brother and the poor girl he’d brought home under the cover of darkness

She threw on a jacket, zipped it up to her chin and dragged the rusted crowbar from under her bed before bracing the cold, ready to crack open the second-floor vent and bypass that stupid lockdown he had on the front door. All the cacophony of bugs and swamp frogs had died down last week thanks to the cold air, but fat bats were fluttering overhead as Zoe stepped carefully across the backyard. A light upstairs on the main house was still on - her parent’s room. Her nose wrinkled, knowing what a light on after midnight meant. It was mighty dandy that her Mama and Daddy still liked each other like that, but hell…was everyone getting laid but her in this damn place?

Don’t even go there; she told herself, ignoring the pervasive image of her family members fornicating. Gross. A stray moan from somewhere on the property made her stop and grimace. Double-gross.

It must have been over a year since she’d last snuck into Lucas’ hidey-hole, and the last time had been to steal her VHS player back. She hadn’t run into him then, but now, as she swung the vent open on it’s screaming hinges, she wondered what the fuck she was going to do if she saw somethin’ illegal going on. Call the cops? - on her own brother? No, she didn’t think he was actually capable of anything serious like rape or murder…even if he was probably the kinda guy that got off on that shit. Trying not to think too much about what she was stepping into, Zoe shoved her legs through the opening and slid down the metal wall with nary a sound. Living a life with the kinda family she had at least made her good at sneaking around like this.

Rarely did she get caught.

There was a vibrating pulse under her feet and the distant sound of…what - was that her ‘Black Keys’ CD?

That fuck-face…she’d been wondering where that had run off too. Lucas and his sticky fingers. It wasn’t something he’d have ever listened too. It didn’t have enough gutter bass to it for his liking, so it must have been something for the girl which only peaked her curiosity all the more. If she liked the ‘Keys,’ she couldn’t have been that bad…right?

His door was cracked, casting a thin, widening triangle of light over the dusty concrete floors. Zoe could hear a couple of grunts; male grunts…not overtly sexual but it still made her pause and frown, wondering if this was worth the possibility of seeing her gross brother in a compromising situation again.

‘Knock it off will ya?!’

That snarl was her brother alright; Lucas with a stick up his ass, but the short, female giggle that followed it only proposed more questions. What the hell was going on behind that door that would leave Lucas as the one complaining?

Zoe always had thought he was one of those self-hating gay guys, trying to cover up their own hangups with body language that suggested he had coal turning to diamonds up his ass. Ugh, bad thoughts again. She needed to stop that before her dinner of pork chops and collard greens came back up.

Through the cheap door and a sweet drum solo, Zoe heard Lucas emit a long, defeated growl. Her brows pinched, and against her better judgment, she took a few soft steps towards the door.

Thankfully Lucas hadn’t changed the layout of his shithole since the last time she’d ‘visited.’ Everything was where it’d been when she’d busted the door down and ripped her VHS outta his system a year ago…except he’d apparently bought a new player since then. The TV on the floor flickered that skeleton army scene from ‘Jason and the Argonauts’ on mute…highlighting the baffling sight of Lucas with a red, frozen face and that cute girl wrapped around him; arms and all. The chick was practically glued to him with her face buried in his neck and rubbing her nose into folds of his hood as he grumbled.

It was…kinda cute, actually.

Zoe watched her brother deflated under the forced affection; saw his mouth twitch at the corners, smiling just before the girl lifted her face up and gave his hard jawline a wet raspberry. Lucas jumped, arms trapped at his sides and cursed over the music, throwing himself back into the sofa cushions. The girl fell with him, laying over his body in a pair of tight jean shorts and a tank top with some band’s logo printed in white on the back - it looked like a goat man with a huge cock…but Zoe couldn’t tell for sure.

“Why ya gotta be such ah’ clingy bitch all tha’ damn time…” Lucas hollered, wiggling around her embrace until she laughed, making him go red again; brows up. Zoe watched with a tight mouth as the girl leaned in and gave her brother’s nose a quick kiss, only to shove her head up under his chin and squeeze him all the tighter.

“Don’t play coy, Lucas,” she said into his chest - somehow Zoe could make out the words over the din of music, “I know you like this.” - and as if to prove her point Zoe had the skinny view through the door crack of this crazy chick as she rolled her hips down into her brother’s crotch. Zoe could appreciate the female form, hell…she’d been with a couple of ‘em before, and she had to admit the girl had a nice ass as it clenched while her hips canted downwards.

“…shit…c-can ya’ do that again?” Lucas asked, sounding so small and pathetic and oh-shit, Zoe had always thought he was, but now she knew for sure that her older brother was still a green- virgin! Unable to choke it down, Zoe laughed without a filter - loud and unrelenting and not giving a shit that she’d blown her position. Another part of her was just relieved the whole thing she’d been worried about was all around as innocent as it could be - too innocent for a guy on the ass end of his twenties.

“Shit!” Zoe heard Lucas shout as her eyes squeezed shut under a greater heave of laughter.

It was funny! - how could she not swing the door open and watch, with even greater relish, as Lucas sat up and toss his girlfriend on the floor? The girl fell off almost gracefully, gasping hard before settling back on her elbows; almost as if she’d been kicked off a dozen times already and knew how to drop and roll like a pro by now. That also, in of itself was hilarious.

Zoe clutched her stomach and choked on another fit of laughter while Lucas raised his knees up, trying to hide the obvious boner in his pants.

That high-tension look was back in place, like a lock latching back. Zoe would feel guilty for fucking up a rare moment for him later that night, but right then she was enjoying the look of embarrassed hatred on his face while his ‘girlfriend’ stared over at her with wide, green eyes and a flushed face. Hell…if and when she was done with her stupid brother Zoe might try and hit that, but anyone weird enough to go for someone like Lucas probably had bigger problems than he did.

There, on the floor, clearing away the shocked expression, the girl sat up on her knees and smiled, “Y-you must be Zoe…bad circumstances but it’s ah’ pleasure to meet ya, I’m-”

“She’s ‘Jus’ Leaving,‘” Lucas butted in, folding his arms over his lap; head on his shoulders with a cast-down expression under the hood. He looked like someone had stolen his ice cream cone or something, which cut through Zoe’s mean pleasure enough to remind her off the ol’ days when they were just kids, shitty and inseparable.

Yeah, Zoe felt guilty about it, but to ‘Jus’ Leaving’s’ credit, she didn’t take it personally. There was something real fucked up about a girl that could lean in and kiss a guy’s cheek who’d just thrown them off onto the floor, who then proceeded to be a dick about it…

Zoe wasn’t allowed to walk the girl out, but Lucas shoved her shoulder once they were outside and dug his fingers into his ‘girlfriend's’ arm, pulling them across the yard without a single word. The chick gave a short wave Zoe’s way, which she returned with a baffled look no doubt. The whole thing was like somethin’ out of ‘The Twilight Zone’…parallel dimensions…or Stockholm syndrome, maybe. Lucas couldn’t have gotten someone that understanding and hot otherwise.

[katwinvasion]

Hello there, beautiful! ❤ Finally blogging about some details on our wedding that happened two years ago on April 28, 2017.If you want to read more posts on this series, click here.

Just a quick history, even when I was still single back then (with no boyfriend to plan with) I already took the pleasure (ahem! Initiative!) in planning my future wedding. I didn’t put it into writing but the obvious names in the wedding industry were on my mental list (e.g. Jason Magbanua, Mayad Studios, Rosa Clara, etc.).

In reality, God has already planned out the best suppliers for the wedding and even for your wedding. During our engagement, my fiancé and I prayed and believed that God will lead us to the right people that He long planned way before us. And He was faithful to do it.

1. Pray for God’s leading and have faith in your chosen supplier.

There are A TON of great suppliers out there– the issue lies whether they’re available on your wedding day or not AND if you can afford them. By the time you’ve chosen, have faith in your choice and be realistic with your budget. We can’t afford Mayad Studios that time but God gifted us our prenup shoot (with a Mayad photographer no less! Click here for our DIY prenup post) and gave us really good photographers and videographers on our wedding day! My dream wedding gown and veil, and also my bridal bouquet were all gifted. I kept saying this on our wedding day and I’ll say it again, you guys are an answered prayer!!

2. Ask for their portfolio or better yet, do your research before you book.

When choosing a coordinator, wedding stylist, florist, etc. it’s important that you run a background check first. Before we booked our wedding stylist, I’ve stalked their FB page and Instagram already and loved how they styled events. It also came with a reasonable price tag considering they’ll be styling a big wedding as ours. You’ll be paying for their services so double check if you love their work or not. A bridechilla on the day of the wedding is firstly a strategic planner (do your research!) and secondly a doer (in choosing, booking).

Side note, I also challenged their creativity when I didn’t book for a florist and that also stretched our faith. I didn’t mind to book a florist because my beautiful bridal bouquet was gifted (I’ll have a separate post on that) and I only want baby’s-breath for every flower in my wedding. It also wasn’t a big deal for me as a bride to use artificial flowers as decor as long as they’re white. God is faithful. He gave us a beautiful white garden wedding.

3. For wedding invitations, tokens, and/or giveaways, it’s best to buy directly to the supplier or DIY.

Unless you have the budget for it. Pretty giveaways and invites also come with a price. You get what you pay for– if you wanna go extra, get ready to pay extra too. We had our beautiful customized invitations done by a professional and printed it on our own for the principal sponsors only. The rest of our guests had FB event invites with the whole wedding invitation uploaded there. All in all, we had our wedding invitations for less than Php 2,000.

I had a friend who DIYed their giveaways and they were as pretty as the ones you can custom order but with ₱₱₱ difference. In our case, I ordered directly to the supplier. I really wanted a practical thing to give away that will be of use to our guests beyond our wedding. Who would’ve thought that a sandalwood fan costs so much for a piece?! I ordered ours through Alibaba and contacted a sandalwood fan supplier from China. It was a test of faith to trust a stranger from a thousand miles but they delivered. Once again, God proves to be faithful.

Even our principal sponsor tokens (which I didn’t even thought of that time) were gifted to us by my aunt! What an answered prayer! Your wedding day is a testimony of God’s faithfulness in your life. It’s one of those celebrations where you can taste and see God’s goodness and faithfulness if you let Him take charge, just like in our own personal lives.

Here’s our wedding supplier list and would personally recommend each one, especially if you’re in the Northern Mindanao area:

Ceremony and Reception Venue (CDO)– Cove Garden Resort Banquets and Events (blogging soon), FB

Wedding Coordinator (CDO)– GH Events Coordination (blogging soon), FB 

Events Styling (CDO)– Details and Events, FB, IG

Wedding Videographer (ILIGAN)– BOX Films, FB

Wedding Photographer (CDO)– Florence S. Velasco, FB

Wedding Cake (ILIGAN)– Rachel K. De Veyra, FB

Wedding Caterer (ILIGAN)– Dennis S. Barazon Food Connection, FB

Photobooth (CDO)– One Happy Photobooth, FB

Entourage Makeup (CDO)– Donnah Jadap, FB

———————————–

Prenup Photographer (US)– Naomi B. Orejana, FB

Hair & Makeup (CDO)– Jay Angela O. Mabulay, FB

Hairstyling (CDO)– Thea Patricia O. Lim, FB

———————————–

Wedding Invitation/Calligraphy (ILIGAN)– DIY Bride Tribe, FB

Bridal Robe (ONLINE)– La Rosa Bridal, FB, IG

Bridal Shoes (ONLINE)– ZALORA

Acrylic Ring Box (ONLINE)– Hangstyle Manila, FB, IG

Wooden Hearts (served as guestbook) & Coin Box (ILIGAN)– Memory Keepers PH

Wedding Favors (sandalwood fans)– Sunny Xu-Huang, (email provided upon request)

How To Choose A Wedding Supplier? | Engaged Series Hello there, beautiful! ❤ Finally blogging about some details on our wedding that happened two years ago on April 28, 2017.

[letthesleepingdoglie]

The Long Road - 01

Title: Culmination

Part: 01 of 12

Rated: T for suggestive themes

Description: In the aftermath of Wally's death, Dick chooses to take a step back from his life as a hero.His friends. His family. He leaves it all behind, not because he wants to, but because he knows he needs to.No one will understand what Dick knows in his heart: the only way he can honor his best friend's memory, the only way back for him from Wally's death, is to answer his best friend's unspoken question. Without the mask, who is Dick Grayson?

Santa Prisca

June 19th, 2016

00:16 ECT

“Kaldur, this has been a good night.” Dick said reassuringly, placing his escrima sticks back into his leg holster as he walked over to where Kaldur stood. “Maybe the best we’ve had since the three of us took off for Cadmus five plus years ago.”

He lifted his hand and placed it reassuringly on Kaldur’s shoulder, but his Atlantean friend still looked troubled.

Wally stepped forward as well, leaning on Kaldur’s other shoulder. “C’mon, enjoy the moment my friend. You’ve earned it.”

Kaldur finally nodded, but turned his head to glance back at Black Manta, still sprawled out and unconscious in the pool of water behind them. Dick frowned as he noted his comrade’s discomfort, but Wally gave him a quick smile.

It was a good smile, a genuine smile. It was one that said, “I know. But we can deal with it.”

Dick immediately felt relieved. Although the two of them hadn’t had a “falling out” in the strictest sense of the term, things had been undeniably tense between the two of them ever since Dick had asked Artemis to go undercover in order to help Kaldur infiltrate the Light.

On more than one occasion since, when Dick had delivered status updates to Wally, things had gotten heated. Wally, worried out of his mind for Artemis’ safety, lashed out at the only person he could. Most of the time, Dick bore his friend’s rage in silence. Sometimes, he yelled back. In the back of his mind, Dick feared that even if he had managed to bring Artemis back safely, Wally would still never forgive him for sending her into danger in the first place.

It wasn’t just regret about the state his relationship with his best friend that had taken its toll though. With Batman gone, he’d been forced to cover for his off-world mentor, while also handling the analytical and strategic work his mentor usually handled for the entire Justice League, and his duties as the Team’s leader.

It was overwhelming to fulfill all of those responsibilities alone, with no one on the Team he could turn to for help.

Once, when he had been younger and more naive, he would have gladly taken the job as leader of the team. Batman had always made it seem so effortless, so glorious.

And then he had experienced first hand the weight of the responsibility that leadership brought. His friends went from being partners to being his subordinates: their lives were in his hands. He was forced to balance the necessity of sending them into danger with the desire to keep them safe. Bitter experience with Jason had driven the point home that one wrong move and death was the most likely result.

There were so many times he wanted to drop the ruse, reveal his and Aqualad’s plan to the rest of their friends, or to Batman or one of the other senior leaguers. But the more people who knew the more likely their plan would have failed; anyone who knew the truth might have inadvertently cast suspicion on Kaldur by holding back in a fight, or had the truth unwillingly ripped from their mind by a psychic individual like Psimon.

And so, as Nightwing, he had been forced to mostly sequester himself and bear his burden in silence.  A year and a half of keeping secrets, telling lies and weaving elaborate webs of deception had taken their toll  on him mentally and physically.

Now that things were over though, Dick felt like he could finally breathe. His plan had worked.

The sense of relief was overwhelming. He looked forward to being able to re-connect with his best friend, and going back to the easy days of stopping small-time criminals and doomsday cults, rather than multi-galactic conspiracies.

There would undoubtedly be some tough conversations to come with the people he’d kept in the dark. He found himself looking forward to it though; he could finally stop lying to his friends. He could move out from the shadow of Jason’s passing, and work things out with Barbara. He could fix the mess that his life had become in the last few months.

Dick returned Wally’s smile before he looked up at the open night sky above him. He knew that there were still things to be done: informing the UN so that the Reach could be kicked off-world, exonerating the Justice League with the evidence they had gathered tonight, to name a few.

“Not to break up the mood here boys,” Artemis said, walking to stand beside Wally in their loose circle. “but one of us should probably tell the League that I’m actually still alive, and I really don’t want it to be me.”

“Not it!” Wally called out. Before Dick or Kaldur could react, Wally had plucked the enchanted jewel containing their newly gathered evidence from Artemis’ hand and deposited it in Dick’s, picked up his girlfriend in a bridal carry, and sped off.

Dick grinned openly at his friend’s display.

“She’s right though.” he said, holding up the crystal to the light so he could examine it. “We should get this back to the Watchtower ASAP. The sooner we can get Batman, Superman, and the rest of them back from Rimbor, the better.”

“After that, all that’s left is to kick the Reach off of Earth, and that’s it. We win.”

June 20th

North Magnetic Pole

14:10 UTC

Just over a day. That’s how long his newfound hope had lasted.

In a way, it was painfully ironic. When Dick’s parents had died, the whole thing had been a blur to his 8 year old self, with only bits and pieces of that fateful night still left in his memory.

In contrast, Dick could recall each and every one of the hours that had passed since their raid on Santa Prisca with perfect clarity.

The first hours had gone quickly, with a variety of things taking place in quick succession. The Team had flown to the nearest Zeta Tube from Santa Prisca in the Bio Ship and S-Cycle, racing to get their evidence back to the Watchtower as quickly as possible.

Despite the initial shock and confusion the Team’s arrival en masse had caused, Captain Atom had moved quickly, calling the UN together so that he could present the proof the Team had gathered to the international community. Before he’d taken the Zeta tube down to the planet’s surface, Captain Atom had left Aqualad and Nightwing behind to formulate a plan of attack on the Reach mothership.

From their position on the watchtower,  Kaldur and Dick monitored the situation in shifts, ready to act in case the Reach did not choose to leave peacefully.

Surprisingly, now that Artemis was finally safe, there hadn’t been mass outrage from the Team or the League, as he’d originally expected. In truth, most of the anger that was directed at him for sending Kaldur and Artemis into danger in the first place had been forgiven by successfully bringing them out of it.

Owing to his role as Batman’s former protege, most of the League took the news that Nightwing had deceived them about Artemis and Kaldur in stride. Similarly, many of the younger and newer members of the Team, like Jaime or Cassie, trusted both him and his judgement completely. The fact that his precautions had stopped the Reach from discovering his plan when Blue Beetle had been unwittingly turned, and the fact that things had gone well during the raid had only cemented their belief that Nightwing had made the correct decision in sending one of their own undercover.

In the end, only three people chose to confront him while they waited. The first two were Zatanna and Rocket, the only two members of the old Team left who hadn’t originally known the truth, or had it revealed to them in the preceding weeks like Connor and M’gann.

Zatanna, eyes full of both tears, had slapped him so hard that he’d worn a palm print for the rest of the day. As the force of the slap sent him reeling, she followed up with a hug so strong that it drove most of the air from his lungs.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered to her as she cried. He stroked her hair and rubbed her back soothingly. “I’m sorry.”

The worst of the anger had come from Barbara. As soon as he’d formulated an assault plan with Kaldur, Barbara had taken him aside and calmly, but firmly, asked him not why he’d lied, but why he’d come up with the plan in the first place. Dick knew it was a lost cause, but he’d tried to explain.

Like with Zatanna, Dick wanted to say that he was just doing what had to be done. That he was sorry. That he would do anything to make it up. But he never got the chance.

“I want to know what the hell made you think this was your job to do.” Barbara had said, glaring at him with barely contained fury. “Who turned you into Batman’s clone?”

Her words killed any intent he had at defending his actions, because he knew she was right. He accepted it, knowing that her anger was part of the price he’d paid in order to make sure his plan succeeded, and that his friends were safe.

As it became clear that the Reach would not respect the 24 hour deadline to leave that the UN had set for them, Aqualad called the Team into action. While Watchtower systems had detected the abnormal weather patterns, the imminent assault on the Reach ship meant that the weather hadn’t been at the forefront of anyone’s mind.

Everything changed with the information Blue Beetle had managed to scour from Black Beetle’s mind. The League scrambled, and everyone had been called to stop the MFD threat. Nightwing had gone into battle against Reach drones in Hong Kong, alongside B'arzz O’oomm.

Defeating the drones and using Luthor’s virus to stop the MFD’s had been so quick, so easy, that Dick’s hope had surged in those last fateful hours. Even once he’d returned to the Watchtower and discovered the hidden 21st MFD alongside his teammates, he’d remained hopeful.  

He knew that the Team could still stop this. They could still save the Earth and win.

It was those last moments he remembered the most clearly; watching the holographic map as the blips representing Wally and Impulse approached the arctic, turning around in time to catch a glimpse of Wally sprinting through the Zeta Tube once Luthor had theorized how to stop the energy chrysalis.

His position on the Watchtower allowed him to reach the arctic with Artemis, M’gann and the others in time to witness the end; they’d dropped directly from orbit in the bio-ship, allowing gravity to speed their descent.

As he emerged from the ship once it touched down, the swirling mass of energy that threatened to tear the Earth apart slowly diminished right before his eyes as a direct result of the three speedster’s collective efforts.

Despite everything, he never saw his friend die. All he’d seen was a flash of lightning that emanated from the energy vortex lash out and appear to bounce off the ice. Then another. And another.

At the time, he thought that the energy discharge had been a good thing.

Once the vortex had dissipated completely, those of them who’d come in the bio-ship had moved forward together.

He saw it first; there were only two speedsters left standing on the arctic ice, not three. Where M’gann and Kaldur had leapt forward to congratulate their Teammates, Dick had kept his silence; the first cracks in his resolve appeared. He stood back, hoping that his fears would be proven wrong.

They weren’t. The expressions that Flash and Impulse wore told him everything that he needed to know. Seeing Artemis collapse in her grief shattered what remained of his hope.

This was no victory. All of his effort, all of his sacrifices. All for nothing.

Wally was dead.

[gajdmahiamz]

[The capitalist, or industrial oligarch, Roger Vanderwater, mentioned in the narrative, has been identified as the ninth in the line of the Vanderwaters that controlled for hundreds of years the cotton factories of the South. This Roger Vanderwater flourished in the last decades of the twentysixth century after Christ, which was the fifth century of the terrible industrial oligarchy that was reared upon the ruins of the early Republic.

From internal evidences we are convinced that the narrative which follows was not reduced to writing till the twenty-ninth century. Not only was it unlawful to write or print such matter during that period, but the working-class was so illiterate that only in rare instances were its members able to read and write. This was the dark reign of the overman, in whose speech the great mass of the people were characterized as the "herd animals." AII literacy was frowned upon and stamped out. From the statute books of the times may be instanced that black law that made it a capital offence for any man, no matter of what class, to teach even the alphabet to a member of the working-class. Such stringent limitation of education to the ruling class was necessary if that class was to continue to rule.

One result of the foregoing was the development of the professional story-tellers. These story-tellers were paid by the oligarchy, and the tales they told were legendary, mythical, romantic, and harmless. But the spirit of freedom never quite died out, and agitators, under the guise of storytellers, preached revolt to the slave class. That the following tale was banned by the oligarchs we have proof from the records of the criminal police court of Ashbury, wherein, on January 27, 2734, one John Tourney, found guilty of telling the tale in a boozing-ken of laborers, was sentenced to five years' penal servitude in the borax mines of the Arizona Desert. — EDITOR'S NOTE.]

LISTEN, my brothers, and I will tell you a tale of an arm. It was the arm of Tom Dixon, and Tom Dixon was a weaver of the first class in a factory of that hell-hound and master, Roger Vanderwater. This factory was called "Hell's Bottom" . . . by the slaves who toiled in it, and I guess they ought to know; and it was situated in Kingsbury, at the other end of the town from Vanderwater's summer palace. You do not know where Kingsbury is? There are many things, my brothers, that you do not know, and it is sad. It is because you do not know that you are slaves. When I have told you this tale, I should like to form a class among you for the learning of written and printed speech. Our masters read and write and possess many books, and it is because of that that they are our masters, and live in palaces, and do not work. When the toilers learn to read and write,--all of them,--they will grow strong; then they will use their strength to break their bonds, and there will be no more masters and no more slaves.

Kingsbury, my brothers, is in the old State of Alabama. For three hundred years the Vanderwaters have owned Kingsbury and its slave pens and factories, and slave pens and factories in many other places and States. You have heard of the Vanderwaters,--who has not?--but let me tell you things you do not know about them. The first Vanderwater was a slave, even as you and I. Have you got that? He was a slave, and that was over three hundred years ago. His father was a machinist in the slave pen of Alexander Burrell, and his mother was a washerwoman in the same slave pen. There is no doubt about this. I am telling you truth. It is history. It is printed, every word of it, in the history books of our masters, which you cannot read because your masters will not permit you to learn to read. You can understand why they will not permit you to learn to read, when there are such things in the books. They know, and they are very wise. If you did read such things, you might be wanting in respect to your masters, which would be a dangerous thing . . . to your masters. But I know, for I can read, and I am telling you what I have read with my own eyes in the history books of our masters.

The first Vanderwater's name was not Vanderwater; it was Vange--Bill Vange, the son of Yergis Vange, the machinist, and Laura Carnly, the washerwoman. Young Bill Vange was strong. He might have remained with the slaves and led them to freedom; instead, however, he served the masters and was well rewarded. He began his service, when yet a small child, as a spy in his home slave pen. He is known to have informed on his own father for seditious utterance. This is fact. I have read it with my own eyes in the records. He was too good a slave for the slave pen. Alexander Burrell took him out, while yet a child, and he was taught to read and write. He was taught many things, and he was entered in the secret service of the government. Of course, he no longer wore the slave dress, except for disguise at such times when he sought to penetrate the secrets and plots of the slaves. It was he, when but eighteen years of age, who brought that great hero and comrade, Ralph Jacobus, to trial and execution in the electric chair. Of course, you have all heard the sacred name of Ralph Jacobus, but it is news to you that he was brought to his death by the first Vanderwater, whose name was Vange. I know. I have read it in the books. There are many interesting things like that in the books.

And after Ralph Jacobus died his shameful death, Bill Vange's name began the many changes it was to undergo. He was known as "Sly Vange" far and wide. He rose high in the secret service, and he was rewarded in grand ways, but still he was not a member of the master class. The men were willing that he should become so; it was the women of the master class who refused to have Sly Vange one of them. Sly Vange gave good service to the masters. He had been a slave himself, and he knew the ways of the slaves. There was no fooling him. In those days the slaves were braver than now, and they were always trying for their freedom. And Sly Vange was everywhere, in all their schemes and plans, bringing their schemes and plans to naught and their leaders to the electric chair. It was in 2255 that his name was next changed for him. It was in that year that the Great Mutiny took place. In that region west of the Rocky Mountains, seventeen millions of slaves strove bravely to overthrow their masters. Who knows, if Sly Vange had not lived, but that they would have succeeded? But Sly Vange was very much alive. The masters gave him supreme command of the situation. In eight months of fighting, one million and three hundred and fifty thousand slaves were killed. Vange, Bill Vange, Sly Vange, killed them, and he broke the Great Mutiny. And he was greatly rewarded, and so red were his hands with the blood of the slaves that thereafter he was called "Bloody Vange." You see, my brothers, what interesting things are to be found in the books when one can read them. And, take my word for it, there are many other things, even more interesting, in the books. And if you will but study with me, in a year's time you can read those books for yourselves--ay, in six months some of you will be able to read those books for yourselves.

Bloody Vange lived to a ripe old age, and always, to the last, was he received in the councils of the masters; but never was he made a master himself. He had first opened his eyes, you see, in a slave pen. But oh, he was well rewarded! He had a dozen palaces in which to live. He, who was no master, owned thousands of slaves. He had a great pleasure yacht upon the sea that was a floating palace, and he owned a whole island in the sea where toiled ten thousand slaves on his coffee plantations. But in his old age he was lonely, for he lived apart, hated by his brothers, the slaves, and looked down upon by those he had served and who refused to be his brothers. The masters looked down upon him because he had been born a slave. Enormously wealthy he died; but he died horribly, tormented by his conscience, regretting all he had done and the red stain on his name.

But with his children it was different. They had not been born in the slave pen, and by the special ruling of the Chief Oligarch of that time, John Morrison, they were elevated to the master class. And it was then that the name of Vange disappears from the page of history. It becomes Vanderwater, and Jason Vange, the son of Bloody Vange, becomes Jason Vanderwater, the founder of the Vanderwater line. But that was three hundred years ago, and the Vanderwaters of to-day forget their beginnings and imagine that somehow the clay of their bodies is different stuff from the clay in your body and mine and in the bodies of all slaves. And I ask you, Why should a slave become the master of another slave? And why should the son of a slave become the master of many slaves? I leave these questions for you to answer for yourselves, but do not forget that in the beginning the Vanderwaters were slaves.

And now, my brothers, I come back to the beginning of my tale to tell you of Tom Dixon's arm. Roger Vanderwater's factory in Kingsbury was rightly named "Hell's Bottom," but the men who toiled in it were men, as you shall see. Women toiled there, too, and children, little children. All that toiled there had the regular slave rights under the law, but only under the law, for they were deprived of many of their rights by the two overseers of Hell's Bottom, Joseph Clancy and Adolph Munster.

It is a long story, but I shall not tell all of it to you. I shall tell only about the arm. It happened that, according to the law, a portion of the starvation wage of the slaves was held back each month and put into a fund. This fund was for the purpose of helping such unfortunate fellow- workmen as happened to be injured by accidents or to be overtaken by sickness. As you know with yourselves, these funds are controlled by the overseers. It is the law, and so it was that the fund at Hell's Bottom was controlled by the two overseers of accursed memory.

Now, Clancy and Munster took this fund for their own use. When accidents happened to the workmen, their fellows, as was the custom, made grants from the fund; but the overseers refused to pay over the grants. What could the slaves do ? They had their rights under the law, but they had no access to the law. Those that complained to the overseers were punished. You know yourselves what form such punishment takes--the fines for faulty work that is not faulty; the overcharging of accounts in the Company's store; the vile treatment of one's women and children; and the allotment to bad machines whereon, work as one will, he starves.

Once, the slaves of Hell's Bottom protested to Vanderwater. It was the time of the year when he spent several months in Kingsbury. One of the slaves could write; it chanced that his mother could write, and she had secretly taught him as her mother had secretly taught her. So this slave wrote a round robin, wherein was contained their grievances, and all the slaves signed by mark. And, with proper stamps upon the envelope, the round robin was mailed to Roger Vanderwater. And Roger Vanderwater did nothing, save to turn the round robin over to the two overseers. Clancy and Munster were angered. They turned the guards loose at night on the slave pen. The guards were armed with pick handles. It is said that next day only half of the slaves were able to work in Hell's Bottom. They were well beaten. The slave who could write was so badly beaten that he lived only three months. But before he died, he wrote once more, to what purpose you shall hear.

Four or five weeks afterward, Tom Dixon, a slave, had his arm torn off by a belt in Hell's Bottom. His fellow-workmen, as usual, made a grant to him from the fund, and Clancy and Munster, as usual, refused to pay it over from the fund. The slave who could write, and who even then was dying, wrote anew a recital of their grievances. And this docu- ment was thrust into the hand of the arm that had been torn from Tom Dixon's body.

Now it chanced that Roger Vanderwater was Iying ill in his palace at the other end of Kingsbury--not the dire illness that strikes down you and me, brothers; just a bit of biliousness, mayhap, or no more than a bad headache because he had eaten too heartily or drunk too deeply. But it was enough for him, being tender and soft from careful rearing. Such men, packed in cotton wool all their lives, are exceeding tender and soft. Believe me, brothers, Roger Vanderwater felt as badly with his aching head, or thought he felt as badly, as Tom Dixon really felt with his arm torn out by the roots.

It happened that Roger Vanderwater was fond of scientific farming, and that on his farm, three miles outside of Kingsbury, he had managed to grow a new kind of strawberry. He was very proud of that new strawberry of his, and he would have been out to see and pick the first ripe ones, had it not been for his illness. Because of his illness he had ordered the old farm slave to bring in personally the first box of the berries. All this was learned from the gossip of a palace scullion, who slept each night in the slave pen. The overseer of the plantation should have brought in the berries, but he was on his back with a broken leg from trying to break a colt. The scullion brought the word in the night, and it was known that next day the berries would come in. And the men in the slave pen of Hell's Bottom, being men and not cowards, held a council.

The slave who could write, and who was sick and dying from the pick-handle beating, said he would carry Tom Dixon's arm; also, he said he must die anyway, and that it mattered nothing if he died a little sooner. So five slaves stole from the slave pen that night after the guards had made their last rounds. One of the slaves was the man who could write. They lay in the brush by the roadside until late in the morning, when the old farm slave came driving to town with the precious fruit for the master. What of the farm slave being old and rheumatic, and of the slave who could write being stiff and injured from his beating, they moved their bodies about when they walked, very much in the same fashion. The slave who could write put on the other's clothes, pulled the broad-brimmed hat over his eyes, climbed upon the seat of the wagon, and drove on to town. The old farm slave was kept tied all day in the bushes until evening, when the others loosed him and went back to the slave pen to take their punishment for having broken bounds

In the meantime, Roger Vanderwater lay waiting for the berries in his wonderful bedroom--such wonders and such comforts were there that they would have blinded the eyes of you and me who have never seen such things. The slave who could write said afterward that it was like a glimpse of Paradise. And why not? The labor and the lives of ten thousand slaves had gone to the making of that bedchamber, while they themselves slept in vile lairs like wild beasts. The slave who could l write brought in the berries on a silver tray or platter--you see, Roger Vanderwater wanted to speak with him in person about the berries. The slave who could write tottered his dying body across the wonderful room and knelt by the couch of Vanderwater, holding out before him the tray. Large, green leaves covered the top of the tray, and these the body-servant alongside whisked away so that Vanderwater could see. And Roger Vanderwater, propped upon his elbow, saw. He saw the fresh, wonderful fruit Iying there like precious jewels, and in the midst of it the arm of Tom Dixon as it had been torn from his body, wellwashed, of course, my brothers, and very white against the blood-red fruit. And also he saw, clutched in the stiff, dead fingers, the petition of his slaves who toiled in Hell's Bottom.

"Take and read," said the slave who could write. And even as the master took the petition, the body-servant, who till then had been motionless with surprise, struck with his fist the kneeling slave upon the mouth. The slave was dying anyway, and was very weak, and did not mind. He made no sound, and, having fallen over on his side, he lay there quietly, bleeding from the blow on the mouth. The physician, who had run for the palace guards, came back with them, and the slave was dragged upright upon his feet. But as they dragged him up, his hand clutched Tom Dixon's arm from where it had fallen on the floor.

"He shall be flung alive to the hounds!" the body-servant was crying in great wrath. "He shall be flung alive to the hounds!"

But Roger Vanderwater, forgetting his headache, still leaning on his elbow, commanded silence, and went on reading the petition. And while he read, there was silence, all standing upright, the wrathful body- servant, the physician, the palace guards, and in their midst the slave, bleeding at the mouth and still holding Tom Dixon's arm. And when Roger Vanderwater had done, he turned upon the slave, saying:--

"If in this paper there be one lie, you shall be sorry that you were ever born."

And the slave said, "I have been sorry all my life that I was born."

Roger Vanderwater looked at him closely, and the slave said:--

"You have done your worst to me. I am dying now. In a week I shall

"What do you with that?" the master asked, pointing to the arm; and the slave made answer:--

"I take it back to the pen to give it burial. Tom Dixon was my friend. We worked beside each other at our looms."

There is little more to my tale, brothers. The slave and the arm were sent back in a cart to the pen. Nor were any of the slaves punished for what they had done. Instead, Roger Vanderwater made investigation and punished the two overseers, Joseph Clancy and Adolph Munster. Their freeholds were taken from them. They were branded, each upon the forehead, their right hands were cut off, and they were turned loose upon the highway to wander and beg until they died. And the fund was managed rightfully thereafter for a time--for a time, only, my brothers; for after Roger Vanderwater came his son, Albert, who was a cruel master and half mad.

Brothers, that slave who carried the arm into the presence of the master was my father. He was a brave man. And even as his mother secretly taught him to read, so did he teach me. Because he died shortly after from the pick-handle beating, Roger Vanderwater took me out of the slave pen and tried to make various better things out of me. I might have become an overseer in Hell's Bottom, but I chose to become a story-teller, wandering over the land and getting close to my brothers, the slaves, everywhere. And I tell you stories like this, secretly, know- ing that you will not betray me; for if you did, you know as well as I that my tongue will be torn out and that I shall tell stories no more. And my message is, brothers, that there is a good time coming, when all will be well in the world and there will be neither masters nor slaves. But first you must prepare for that good time by learning to read. There is power in the printed word. And here am I to teach you to read, and as well there are others to see that you get the books when I am gone along upon my way--the history books wherein you will learn about your masters, and learn to become strong even as they.

[EDITOR'S NOTE.—From "Historical Fragments and Sketches," first published in fifty volumes in 4427, and now, after two hundred years, because of its accuracy and value, edited and republished by the National Committee on Historical Research.