#james and theodora

[esta-elavaris]

Flufftober Day 9: Massage - James Norrington/OC [1,149 words]

* this prompt comes from an alternative list I found, and isn't for one of the official Flufftober prompts.

My Flufftober '23 masterpost can be found here, and my behemoth of a main fic about these two is here 💜✨

When James returned home from his first day of work under the great and mighty Lord Cutler Beckett, he appeared angry. The second, exasperated. On the third, however, he just looked exhausted. Having anticipated his working days no longer being the source of satisfaction they had once been for him, Theo met him at the door with a glass of whiskey in hand, and a sympathetic face that, she hoped, hid her worry.

“I should like to think,” he said, sitting on the sofa and ridding himself of his hat and wig both, “that even without your input, I would have seen him for what he was.”

Theo considered his words, lips twisting at one side.

“It’s been a while since I was able to brush up on the source material, but from what I do remember, you were never particularly chummy. I think, at absolute most, you considered him a necessary evil…until Governor Swann…”

She regretted the words immediately, for they only seemed to add to the heaviness cast upon her husband. There was a weariness about his eyes that she knew he would not allow to be seen were anybody else in the room with them – and while it warmed her that he allowed her to see it, it still made her sad to witness, all the same. His jaw was set, his lips pursed, and he even gave it away from the neck down, too. His shoulders held tightly squared even as he sat, the hand not holding the crystal tumbler of whiskey clenched tightly into a fist, even his thighs tensed visibly, twitching every now and then beneath the tight confines of his breeches as though ready to spring up into action.

This wouldn’t stand.

“How do you feel about the prospect of dinner in our nightclothes?” she asked.

He blinked at her. “When people talk of changing for dinner, that’s not quite what they mean, my love.”

Theo snorted.

“Yes, thank you for the English lessons, I’m quite aware. But I have a plan for before dinner, but we’d have to shed a few layers and putting them back on might be uncomfortable after.”

“That’s where your mind strays to after talk of Beckett?” he raised one dark eyebrow at her.

“That is not what I was talking about, you absolute lecher,” she laughed. “Come. I’ll show you.”

His suspicions were hardly assuaged when she led him upstairs to the bedroom and ordered that he should strip down to naught but his breeches. As he did, she took up a jar from her vanity. Coconut oil – the only thing she would willingly use on her skin here, because she knew it wouldn’t contain arsenic, nor lead, nor bird shit, or whatever else it was the fine ladies of Port Royal were rubbing into their faces each night.

When he was done undressing, he helped her strip down to her shift – mostly so that she could move freely, and wasn’t at risk of crushing him beneath the weight of all of her damned skirts.

“Lie on your stomach – on the bed,” she said, gesturing towards it like he didn’t know where it was.

It was then that he caught on, and he smiled softly.

“Theodora, you needn’t-”

“I want to,” she interrupted, rising on the balls of her feet so she could peck him on the lips.

He offered no more argument then, settling down onto the bed with his arms tucked beneath a pillow, his head turned sideways atop it.

However tense she’d thought him earlier, she realised now that tense was an understatement. The man was like a steel beam. Settling the jar down beside him, she climbed up onto the bed and straddled him – swatting his backside as she did so. He breathed a low, surprised laugh.

“Now who’s the lecher?” he asked.

Theo smirked. “You’re right, this is just an excuse for me to get my hands on you.”

As she spoke, she dug out a chunk of the oil with her fingertips and began to warm it between her hands so it would melt.

“Mm. You need never look for an excuse to put your hands on me,” he said.

If that wasn’t a glowing privilege, she didn’t know what was.

She began by smoothing her hands up and down his back, taking note of a few scars here and there that she’d previously known by touch alone. Up and down her hands worked, over and over, increasing the pressure on each pass until she was using her body weight to press the heels of her palms into his back, ever on the look out for signs that it was too much. There were none, but still she worried – she was hardly a professional masseuse.

“If it hurts, tell me and I’ll stop,” she said quietly.

James made a noise akin to a purr and murmured.

 “If you stop, I’ll never forgive you.”

Theo laughed quietly, curling her hands into fists and using her knuckles next, thumbs pressing down at either side of his spine as she moved up, straightening her fingers to press beneath his shoulder blades when she reached them, working out the knots where the muscles had bunched up, then upwards still, around to the front of his strong, broad shoulders while her thumbs smoothed across the base of his neck.

She worked up quite a sweat as she progressed – thrilled she’d thought to strip down, her brow and chest developing a sheen despite the fact she was only in a shift. But she delighted in each new reaction she drew out of him, noting what worked best and going forward accordingly. Only when there was no portion of skin on display that she hadn’t thoroughly attended to, and then some, did she stop. By that point, it had grown entirely dark outside, his eyes had fluttered shut, and he was all but melted into the bed. It was difficult to say whether he was awake.

Erring on the side of caution, she leaned back and placed her hands onto the footboard of the bed behind her, doing her best to ease herself backwards without upsetting the mattress too much. Her toes scarcely brushed the floor before she was reminded that she was, indeed, married to a warrior – for in one moment he was lying as if boneless on the bed, and the next he was upright, a hand at her arm, pulling her towards him until her back was against his chest.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he murmured into her ear.

Theo laughed, allowing him to drag her back. “Someone’s feeling better.”

“Someone, evidently, is married to a witch,” he teased, lips brushing the side of her jaw. “But she uses her powers for good.”

Dinner ended up being a tray of fruit and cheese, on a tray in their bed – many hours later.

Links: AO3 -- FF.net -- flufftober masterpost -- dividers by cafekitsune

[gainaxvel3o]

I don't understand what they were thinking with Mila Kunis' Wicked Witch.

Okay, so Theodora is a naive and sheltered girl. James Franco's Oz is a womanizing jerk. Theodora is taken with him, not being able to see that he's lying through his teeth about the music box or his flirtations. She is going to be betrayed by him in some way. Except, he doesn't actually do it himself. Instead, Evanora tricked Theodora into thinking Oz tried to hit on her with a music box when he didn't do so. Theodora sees Oz with Glinda, who he isn't trying to flirt with at that point in the movie, which immediately sends her into such a broken state she accepts a green apple that removes her emotions? I think? And that's how she becomes the Wicked Witch? I know Wicked's "political activist" angle only works for a parody take but I can't say I really liked what Oz: The Great and Powerful did with the Wicked Witch of the West. Not only is a broken heart a rather lame motivator for an iconic villain like her, but they also stripped Theodora of her agency by making any wickedness the product of a spell Evanora does to her rather than any malicious intent of her own. Even Mila Kunis' attempts to overact as the Witch feel awkward. I don't like this interpretation.

[sagestormhound]

I started this ages ago but i finally had the energy to finish it. Anyway here is my fave girl Theo from my fave fanfic!! @esta-elavaris

[thedailypalm]

winter wonderland has come and gone, and with that comes a whole new serving of fresh squeezed juice. click the link below to read all of the insider gossip as we give a rundown on palmview's messiest winter event !

palm readers here, your one and only source into the scandalous lives of florida's forgotten. our neighbors certainly got busy at this year's winter wonderland, and we're here to give you all of the inside juice. from blowouts to beaus, we're covering it all, so sit back, snuggle up and get ready because this juice is tart !

in light of the holidays we decided we'd start at a wholesome place. palmview's prom queen and helping hand have decided to take their romance to the next step, making it official under all the twinkling lights ( and in front of everyone in town ) when they hard launched by showing up and showing out at the event. a source close to the two says that their new romance has been budding for longer than we know, and that the pair are excited to start their new journey together. looks like santa visited early for these love birds !

it seems that santa may have visited another couple, as kyro and celeste were spotted getting extra close in the photobooth. i wonder if they know that there's a screen on the outside for everyone else to see ? a source says that the two insist they're ' just friends ' but the evidence we've seen says otherwise. besides, who carries a mistletoe in their purse when they're with a friend ? i've always said to each their own, but let me tell you, i've never done that with a friend !

rekindling seemed to be in the air last night, as winona and veronica were spotted hand in hand at the ice rink. veronica must not mind that winnie's been going on dates. either that, or she doesn't know, considering a source says that she was spotted being quite friendly with remy. let's only hope this doesn't put a damper in their newly repaired ... friendship ?

things weren't all jolly though, and despite the cheer in the air, not everyone managed to stay off of the naughty list. while they may have thought they'd gone under the radar, we have eyes and ears everywhere and your palm readers know all. cassius and vivienne were spotted having a heartfelt reunion, but a source says that things aren't as sweet as they seem. will the two be able to rekindle, or will the guilt of holiday's past be too much for them to endure ?

everything came to a head for julian when teddy caught him on what appeared to be a date with ex girlfriend hadley. never a good feeling when your new beau double books himself, even worse when you have an entire audience for it. not sure how julian will dig himself out of this grave after kenny shoveled in the last scoop of dirt, but perhaps santa's elves will be kind and give him a hand in the process of getting back on teddy's nice list. you didn't hear it from us, teddy, but we say run for the hills ! how can a man keep up with a woman if he can't keep up with his own calendar ?

benedict everly found himself permanently on the naughty list after losing track of devon's daughter. sources say the girl was wandering the grounds alone when vivienne found her. this led to the awkward reunion between benedict and vivienne, presumably the first since their engagement went up in flames. seems that the things you try to run from will always find their way back to you !

back from his disappearance, leon amos was spotted at the winter wonderland in far better spirits. seems the holiday cheer has gotten to him, and who knows where he's been, but we can only hope it's given him inspiration for the next album ! maybe a christmas rock song is on palmview's horizon.

our town matchmaker might be great at pairing others, but her choice in emma seems to be a sketchy one. sources say that emma and noa were seen parading around our wonderland in what seemed like a happy love bubble, but the second noa left, emma was seen flirting around with several different people. i wonder how noa will feel to find out that sydney and emma shared a kiss ? unfortunately it's definitely not cupid's season, and his bow was missed by a long shot.

the awkwardness doesn't stop there... caleb and clementine both arrived with different dates, only to leave with each other. not sure what the pair get from dragging the rest of us into their love story, but hopefully their dates were able to find a little comfort in each other. won't be long until we're sharing the news of their rekindled relationship ! as much as they'd like to say they hate each other, we all know there's a thin line between love and hate.

in a show of bravery, daniel decided to pick a fight with olivia after getting stuck with her on a ferris wheel ( another joke from santa himself ). the two didn't make any efforts to keep it lowkey, either, as the poor patrons stuck under them came to us with all the juice. rumor has it olivia wouldn't let daniel get a word in edge wise, and we can only wonder if that had a hand in their downfall. no one likes to be talked over all the time, and she seems to have made a habit of it. stay tuned to find out if their relationship is as stuck as the ferris wheel, or if they'll find a way to reconnect !

to top off all of the winter woes, knoxville oakley was spotted at the bar reeling from his soon to be fiancee's sudden departure. a source close to him says that he was practically incomprehensible, rambling on about the way she'd left without a word. we can only wonder what drove her to that point, but hopefully knox can find a little holiday cheer ! perhaps santa will leave a little self respect under the tree for him this year.

and that's a wrap on our holiday event ! always remember, we see and hear everything here at the daily palm. head on over to our comments and let us know all of your thoughts on this year's winter wonderland ! we wanna hear it all.

[thursdaymurderbub]

Theodora goes wild and Irene Dunne wins an Oscar!

Excerpt from an interview with Melvyn Douglas in 1980 Toronto, taken from Conversations with Classic Film Stars: interviews from Hollywood's golden era (2016) by James Bawden and Ron Miller.

[esta-elavaris]

Ohhhhhh my god this is fucking unreal, you absolute spicy legend 😩🫠👏🏻👏🏻👏🏻

when men roll up their sleeves and show their slutty little forearms i wither away like a Victorian man seeing ankles for the first time

[wipbigbang]

The 2025 WIP Big Bang & WIP Reverse Bang Are Open For Sign-Ups!

Welcome to a new round! We're bringing back the OG WIP Big Bang, which is for finishing fic and getting art to go with it, and introducing the first full round of the WIP Reverse Bang, which is for finishing artwork and getting fic to go with it. All fandoms/ratings/ships are welcome, including original works!

Schedule

All times are by 11:59pm PST. Convert time zones.

Big Bang/Reverse Bang Sign-ups Begin- April 1st

Big Bang/Reverse Bang Sign-ups Close- May 21st

Big Bang/Reverse Bang Check In #1- May 22nd

Big Bang/Reverse Bang Check In #2- June 15th

Big Bang/Reverse Bang Snippets Due- July 1st

Big Bang Art Claims/Reverse Bang Fic Claims Begin- July 17th

Big Bang/Reverse Bang Check In #3- July 22nd

Big Bang/Reverse Bang Check In #4- August 6th

Big Bang/Reverse Bang Rough Drafts Due- August 15th

Big Bang/Reverse Bang Posting Claims Begin- August 23rd

Big Bang/Reverse Bang Posting Claims Ends- September 1st

Big Bang/Reverse Bang Final Drafts/Art & Fic Due- September 7th

Big Bang/Reverse Bang Posting Starts- September 8th

SIGN UP LINKS

WIP Big Bang | WIP Reverse Bang

FAQ

[dictatorshipflower]

This was art done, idk how many days ago...

[loulouflowerpower]

Theodora Earl-Harry Potter OC-Bookverse. A Harry James Potter/OC paring, slow burn.

Book One, Coming Soon.

[rwpohl]

teodora, imperatrice di bisanzio, riccardo freda 1954

[esta-elavaris]

Flufftober Day 7: Porch Swing ~ James Norrington/OC [2,017 words]

My Flufftober '23 masterpost can be found here, and my behemoth of a main fic about these two is here 💜✨

It started with a night of disrupted sleep. Not an unusual thing, James understood, for parents of a child under one – especially given Theodora’s resolute insistence that they take on the brunt of the work as much as was possible. I’m not having children just to hand them to someone else to raise the second they’re born, she’d said. He could not pretend he didn’t see her point. Whatever reservations he harboured on just how much she shirked the notion of a servant doing the heavy lifting was vanquished after lengthy discussions on the topic of modern understandings of bonding…and when he saw just how strongly she felt on the matter.

It was hardly as if he’d been dying to pass his daughter off to a wetnurse within an hour of her being born, either. Whatever prior expectations he had on that score had mostly lain in what was the done thing. And when had the ‘done thing’ ever been he and Theodora’s method?

He just wished his wife would be a little easier on herself when it came to the standard to which she held herself. But he believed the phrase ‘pot, meet kettle’ had been thrown around when he’d voiced that wish, and so he hardly boasted of a leg to stand on.

It began with footsteps downstairs – but that was hardly enough to truly stir him from his doze, chalking it up to Hope attending to some matters now that they were out of her hair for the night. Then, though, it was followed by the scuttling footsteps of the dogs.

“What are those beasts of yours up to now?” he mumbled.

No response came from Theodora’s side of the bed…and come to think of it, he didn’t hear her breathing, either. Groping blindly, mostly hoping he would find her there and save himself from leaving the bed, his hand was met instead with blankets that had long grown cool.

It took few detective skills for him to track down his wife, considering the front door had been left ajar in her wake.

Theodora paced up and down the porch, clad in a nightgown, a thick dressing gown, and those favoured black boots of hers. Antonia fussed in her arms, bundled heavily in blankets, and one of the dogs offered moral support in the form of trailing along behind her this way and that, tail lazily wagging and nose nudging at her legs every now and then. She looked exhausted, face pale and the long plait her hair was bound back into fraying wildly.

“Did we wake you?” she asked when she spotted him.

“I wish you had,” he replied.

“No use in us both being sleep deprived,” she shook her head.

“It’s too cold to be out here.”

“She won’t settle unless she’s outside, and unless I’m rocking her. I tried to put her down so I could at least bring a chair out, and she started screaming bloody murder the second I did,” she said tiredly. “Those damned teeth of hers. Why aren’t they just born with them all? This is torture on us all.”

“What can I do?”

“Learn to produce milk.”

“I’m afraid that might take more time than what we have,” he said.

The smile she offered in response was strained, but it was a smile all the same. “One of the chairs – from the sitting room. Whichever’ll be easiest to carry. I need to sit.”

Within moments, he saw her furnished with the rocking chair from the sitting room – a gift from an elderly neighbour when Antonia’s impending arrival was announced, which had proven to be nothing less than a godsend. In another trip, he brought blankets, and once she sat comfortably, he went to the kitchen, a plan of action now in mind.

In record time, he returned outside boasting a tray in one hand, and a stool for himself in the other. On the tray sat a chunk of ice, wrapped thickly in cheesecloth which he quickly set into Antonia’s grasping hands (and she did not hesitate in depositing between her lips, settling down quickly thereafter – albeit with a furrowed brow and flushed cheeks), as well as a hunk of bread baked with fruit within. One of Hope’s specialties.

It took a little shuffling for Theodora to situate their daughter so she had a hand free with which she might eat, but when she did she groaned her thanks before regarding him with weary affection.

“I love you.”

James smiled. “And I you. Wake me next time. Have we not learned thrice over by now that anything we face is not so insurmountable when we face it together?”

“Are you comparing our beautiful daughter to Davy Jones?”

“It appears she’ll have his temperament until all of her teeth come in.”

Antonia mumbled nonsense noises through her mouthful of cloth as if in agreement.  

With the crisis averted, he lowered himself down to sit on the stool beside the two leading ladies in his life, looking out over the lush green hilly land that they called home, backlit by the full moon and the stars. Though he never thought the would say it at the time, those first few perilous years of theirs had proved a blessing in a way, for it was now very difficult to take minor – natural – challenges too seriously at all, even in the midst of them. Whenever they struggled from overtiredness, or had to contend with an annoying neighbour dropping by uninvited, or one of the men in their employment needed a lesson in manners, they could always sit back and contemplate that at least Beckett and Jones were dead, and they were not.

With Beckett in particular, that reminder put things in a particularly rosy light.

Oftentimes, he had to pause now and look about them and wonder how any of this was real, half fearing that he would soon wake to find himself thrown back in time a number of years – that Theodora would be gone to Tortuga, and he readying himself to give chase, Jones and Beckett in need of vanquishing all over again.

He’d gladly do it, if doing so would get him here once more.

His daughter fussing drew him from his thoughts – a half-hearted sort of fussing, for she’d tired herself out – and when he turned his head he saw it was because Theodora no longer rocked her. Her head was tilted against the high backrest of the chair, her eyes shut, her lips parted in sleep. James smiled a little, and pressed one foot down onto the front of the curved rocker of the chair, rocking it gently back and forth. Theodora did not stir, and Antonia ‘hmf’d as if to say quite right.

It was then that he had an idea.

Theodora knew that her husband was up to something. Well, that was nothing to boast about because he’d all but told her, banning her from the work-shed at one side of the property. Although that new rule sprang up in the aftermath of his chopping and sawing a great deal of timber – something he saw fit to do in only breeches and boots, leaving his bare shoulders, chest, and back glistening from his exertions. Theo’s admiration of the sight had been plain as day, and no matter how cool he’d tried to play it, he’d never quite managed to disguise his smirk when he caught her.

“From hereon, you cannot spectate on what I do,” he’d said. “Or else the surprise will grow too obvious, and be ruined.”

Then, he’d added in a mutter. “And because Antonia will have a sibling before it is done, if we keep this up.”

The grumbling lost any edge it might’ve had thanks to the smugness that underlay it. And so Theo had relented. It wasn’t like there was ever a shortage of work to do elsewhere on their homestead, and he was too enthusiastic about this surprise for her to let her own curiosity spoil it.

Given all else that they did, it was weeks before it was finally unveiled to her.

“She’s got another tooth coming in,” she sighed one evening after Antonia had been put to bed – if not for the night, then at least for a few hours. “We’ll need to order more ice from town soon…she’s gnawing my fingers down to stumps, bless her.”

“I have something that will help.”

He rose quickly from the sofa, as though he’d been waiting for her to give him this ‘signal’ – whatever it may have been.

“A spare hand?”

“Two, in fact,” he smirked. “Which have made something I’m rather proud of. Wait here ‘til I fetch you…and do not cheat by looking out of the window.”

Punctuating his point, he drew the curtains and then smirked at her. Theo could only watch on in amusement; as well as feigning a great deal of patience that was not entirely genuine.

Finally, though, he returned inside and took her by the hand, pulling her up and leading her through the house, out of the back door, and onto the porch. Once they reached it – once she saw what was there – the smile slipped from her face as her mouth hung open and she stared in disbelief.

A porch swing now sat where they so often had to drag the rocking chair out to in order to soothe Antonia at night. It was long, enough to sit four at a squeeze but certainly two or three very comfortably, sanded smooth, and stained a deep warm glossy brown, hanging by chains on a frame that offered not only support but also a latticed little roof above.

“You built this?” she asked in disbelief.

“Artful and ornate it is not,” he replied bashfully, his hand still in hers. “I can build, but I cannot carve. The little shelter above was the most decoration I could offer, and even that set progress back a good while for it was a great deal more fiddly, to use your word, than I anticipated. But it is comfortable – and sturdy. With more than enough room so that we both might sit on it together when sleep must be pushed back. Or in summer, to enjoy the air and the scenery. In winter, even, for I know how you enjoy the col-”

As he spoke, Theo was reminded of her own nervousness – back when she’d bestowed upon him the rings that had sat on their fingers ever since. He’d teased her for her shyness then, and she’d enjoyed it, but she couldn’t bring herself to do the same now. This was a far cry from harassing a smith’s apprentice into knocking together a couple of rings. This had been weeks upon weeks of work, and physical labour – for her. So that they might sit together properly on the next sleepless night.

She wondered if she could still blame those pesky post-motherhood hormones for how she began to tear up.

James, luckily, was able to quickly discern that they were very much the good kind of tears, breathing a laugh and stepping closer still, wrapping an arm about her shoulders. “I had not intended to make you cry.”

Turning into his grasp, she rose up onto the balls of her feet and kissed him, arms wrapped around his neck to keep herself balanced. She kissed him then, long and slow, sighing her contentment as his arms wrapped around her to both steady and pull her close, the hand not firm at the small of her back snaking its way upwards so that his fingers could tangle themselves in her locks and ruin the updo she’d wound her hair up into. She didn’t mind a bit.

“I can’t believe you built this for me,” she breathed when they parted, turning her head to look at it again.

“I would do far, far more,” he chuckled softly, speaking lowly into her ear – most likely because he knew what it would do.

“Oh, I don’t doubt that,” she murmured.

And was rewarded with a brilliant grin.

Links: AO3 -- FF.net -- flufftober masterpost -- dividers by cafekitsune

[sagestormhound]

The reunion. I love these two 🥺😭

I should probably mention my Instagram i also post my art there!

As always thanks @esta-elavaris for giving us Catch the wind 💕

[deadsetobsessions]

Her name is Drake, Tim Drake.

Except, unlike Bond, James Bond, she’s not a badass who saves queens and get the girls at the end. Well, no, she did get the very amazing woman at the end, and she had the ring to prove it. But not right now. No, right now, she’s a tiny little girl in the middle of a mental breakdown as her parents cart her away from the bodies of the flying Graysons and their wailing son.

See, Tim Drake wasn’t supposed be a girl. Tim Drake wasn’t supposed to be Theodora Janet Drake, shortened to Timmy because her air headed jackass of a father forgot her name once.

Tim Drake wasn’t supposed to be a woman shoved into a body that wasn’t hers.

By the time Timmy got out her catatonic state of existential crisis, her parental units (faulty parental units) had already left to a dig site a world away. The nanny they’d hired for the three year old had left the slip of a girl in her room, content to just make edible toddler food and spend the day casually checking in on her. The nanny had no concept of stealth, so at least Timmy could hear her thundering footsteps long before she got to Timmy’s room.

She would have been sad, had she not had a full set of memories of a well adjusted adult. In fact, all she felt was relief.

As weird as being comic book character is, Timmy supposed that she should be glad she wasn’t like the original. The dysphoria was already significant, in this tiny body, so pale and white, unlike her calloused and tanned skin she’d come to love. If she was in Tim Drake’s male body…

No, Timmy knew when to count her blessings.

Not that being beholden to Gotham was much of a blessing. Timmy could tell already that whatever had brought her here was going to make sure she stayed. How did she know?

There’s a gamer’s interface hovering on the right of her vision, blaring [WELCOME TO GOTHAM, PLAYER 1!] in annoyingly large white letters.

Timmy sighed and gave in. She tapped the ‘start’ button and the world greyed to a stop.

[ACHIEVEMENT- SO I’M IN ANOTHER UNIVERSE- MET!]

Underneath it, to Timmy’s tired mind, laid the damning and probably helpful:

[TUTORIAL UNLOCKED!]

Timmy tapped the screen again.

[Welcome to Gotham!] The informational screen started. [By now, you’ve realized that you’ve been reincarnated into the lovely and not at all depressing world of Batman!]

Timmy muttered, “Just Batman? Not DC?” She blinked as the informational screen paused its typing before replying to her.

[Right now, you’ve only got the Gotham mode unlocked. Work hard and you can unlock the rest of the world! Maybe even the universe!]

Huh. An interactive interface. Timmy wonders why she’s so calm about this.

[That will all be explained shortly! Please allow for the tutorial to continue and make sure to save your questions for the end!]

Well, Timmy doesn’t want to be rude. She nodded. Interestingly, the interface picked up on both her thoughts and her movements.

[Welcome to Gotham!] It starts again, and Timmy felt a bit of guilt in making it start over. It’s like getting cold called and the caller is just a tired person trying to make their quota for minimum wage and instead of patiently listening to the spiel, Timmy had interrupted so now they had to restart the rehearsed speech. Oof.

[You’ve been reincarnated into the body of our very own Red Robin, Timothy Drake! How exciting! The powers that be, was, and will be has selected your lucky soul to be a beta tester for their relatively new reincarnation roulette!]

See, none of that sounds particularly… “good” for Timmy. Timmy hums as she settled back on the greyed out floor, eyes fixed onto the screen.

[As such, to be the first player deposited in this universe-]

And oh, doesn’t that have some interesting implications.

[The powers that be have decided to grant you a boon! The Gamer’s Exclusive Ultra Package!]

The interface exploded with holographic confetti.

Timmy thought her wife would have loved this… had she not died months before Timmy did.

[Included is the exclusive Gamer’s Mind and Body passive status! You won’t be as traumatized by traumatizing things! A boon, in the hellscape that is Gotham!]

Timmy’s calling it. Whoever wrote this was a total troll. And had a sense of humor she could appreciate. That explained why she’s so… not freaking out about this entire thing.

[It also includes ten lucky draw tickets, with guaranteed five star skills/abilities per ticket! Wow! It’s almost worth getting killed and isekai’ed!]

Timmy snorted and tapped accept.

[And two revival tickets! These can bring any Schmuck dumb enough to get killed, right back to life, with zero drawbacks! To be used on anyone you wish, post tutorial.]

Timmy tilted her head. Useful. She tapped accept.

[Now, you might wonder: ah, why would the de oh so awesome and all powerful gods make me reincarnate here instead of allowing me to enjoy my afterlife with my beautiful wife?]

Timmy stilled, heart in her throat. That’s right… why?

The screen turned red. Ominously, smoke starts to steam out from the side.

[You’ve got blood on your hands, Timmy. That’s hard to wash away.]

The screen blinked back to its neutral blueish-white color.

[That, and it’s because the Powers that be made an oopsie and messed up this world so bad, we needed a soul from a different universe to replace Tim Drake’s. He kept dying! Which meant Batman kept dying! Which meant the entire universe went to shit! But we can’t just cut it off, it’s a main Universe! But nooo, does anyone listen to the admins? Noooo. Of course not! What does the literal administrator know in the face of an all powerful god-!]

Timmy blinked, sympathy welling for this person. This administrator. That sounded rough.

[Ahem. My apologies.] The admin apologized, somehow conveying sheepishness through a screen. Timmy got a notification.

[ACHIEVEMENT- COMMISERATING WITH A CO-WORKER- MET!]

[1,000 Shop Points Granted. Message: You’ve worked under tyrannical bosses too! Kindred Soul!]

“Yeah, it be like that. I’m sorry you had to clean up their messes.” Timmy said.

[I, too, am sorry you were dragged from your afterlife for it.]

The two overworked employees shared a solemn moment.

[Well, then! This brings us to your goal! Keep Batman from killing himself, and fulfill Timothy Drake’s Destiny!]

“And what is his destiny, exactly?”

[To keep Batman from dying, becoming a crime-fighter, get beat up by Jason Todd, and destroy Ra’s al Ghul’s work with explosions!]

“That’s… really specific. I just have to fulfill those?”

[Yes! Not in any particular order, of course. And in any way you see fit!]

That last part was italicized, like the admin knew what was brewing in Timmy’s brain. They probably did.

[And now, please direct your attention to the screen to the right. ]

Four boxes popped up.

SHOP

LUCKY DRAW

QUESTS

PROFILE

[Underneath “Quest” is all of your current objectives! For now, the Tutorial is selected and can not be put on hold!]

Timmy obligingly tapped “QUEST.”

Main Quest: Get Your Shit Together, Batman!

Main Quest: Jason Todd and His “E is rated for Everyone” Hands!

Main Quest: No Crime Under My Watch!

Main Quest: Play Bomberman With A Bunch Of Ninja Assassins Led By A Borderline Immortal Cult Leader!

Main Quest: Tutorial!

Side Quest: Level Up!

Side Quest: Learn a Skill!

Side Quest: Nanny Bye-Bye!

And so on, and so on.

“Woah. Nanny Nye-Bye?” Timmy tapped, clicking away at the reminder that Tutorial could not be paused.

[Side Quest: Nanny Bye-Bye.]

[Your nanny has been embezzling the allowance your parents gave her to feed you! Since your bourgeoisie parents have no sense of how much things should actually cost to eat, you’re stuck eating boxed food and unhealthy things while your nanny goes out for hotpot every other week! The injustice! Get her fired before the month ends!]

[Rewards: 1000 EXP. An approving nod from the scary Draconic Janet Drake. $800 per month.]

[Failure: -2 (permanent) to Health. Your status will be [Malnourished] until 17 years old. A disproving glance from the scary Draconic Janet Drake.]

…

“What the ****?”

[Language filters are unlocked at level five.]

Timmy grumbled.

“What if I need to curse to complete my missions?” She asked.

[Then Player One needs to buy herself a sense of creativity.]

Timmy scowled but moved on. She perused the shop, window shopping as one might say, while asking the Admin some more questions.

“Does the Keep Batman Alive quest have a time limit?”

[Until Damian Wayne has had at least four years of being Robin.]

Timmy nodded, brain whirring with plans.

“Hey, admin?”

[Yes, Player One?]

“If I’m player one, does that mean there will be other players?”

[Yes, Player One. There will be more! But unlike you, their abilities will be based on your feedback of the reincarnation system. Not to mention, they will not be reborn as a predetermined Main Character like yourself. This is because your existence was a result of a cosmic oopsie that had better never happen again or I’m going to rip their star-riddled hides from their cosmic bodies. Does that answer your question, Player One?]

Timmy leaned away from the screen. Intimidating.

“Yep. Thanks.”

[Anytime. Would you like to play the Lucky Draw?]

“Yes, please.”

The Luck Draw Menu was pulled up again. Timmy looked at the amount of tickets she had and shrugged. She tapped the “DRAW ONE” option.

The gacha machine spun and spun until:

[DING! DING! DING! Congratulations! You got a five star skill! Eloquence Beyond Measure!]

Timmy checked it out.

Eloquence Beyond Measure!

[As expected of a true Bristol elite (and not one of those snotty snobs of children running afoot with their parent’s money), you’ve gained the ability to spit fire and ice out of your mouth! What you want to say will always come out of your in a way that benefits you most! Diplomats kneel to your eloquence! Socialites dare not provoke you in fear of your barbed words! You’ll never sound like you don’t know what you’re doing ever again!]

Huh. Timmy grinned.

“Thanks, Administrator. Is the tutorial done? I just had an idea about that Nanny Side-Quest.”

[The last task is to check your profile, Player One.]

“Thanks. You can call me Timmy, you know? We’re in this together now.” Timmy grimaced. She just wanted to rest. Chances are, so did Admin.

[Timmy, then.]

Timmy tapped PROFILE.

Theodora “Timmy” Janet Drake

Level 1 (EXP to Next Level: 500)

Status: Healthy. Alive. Uninjured.

SKILLS: Eloquence Beyond Measure

[STATS]

Timmy sighed and exited out of the window to finish the tutorial. She could peruse the stats later. She’s kind of hungry.

[Now that you’ve finished the basics, the powers that be encourages you to try your best to live out this life and fulfill your destiny! The Prize at the completion of Tim Drake’s destiny will be a reunion! With your beloved wife! Work hard, and she’ll be placed on this earth once more!]

Timmy sat up, throat burning. She could see her wife again? To tell her how she missed her and how much she loved her?

Timmy’s heart burned once more since the death of her wife.

Determination filled her now small body. She’ll wrangle the Bats to therapy kicking and screaming if that’s what it took to meet her beloved wife again.

[CONGRATULATIONS! YOU’VE FINISHED THE TUTORIAL! LEVEL UP! (1000 EXP TO LEVEL THREE)]

[REWARD: A PHONE! 100 SHOP POINTS!]

Timmy dialed the first contact she saw in the phone.

“Hello, this is Theodora Drake. Might I speak to my mother?” Her three year old voice smoothed out, suddenly eloquent and powerful in a way it simply wasn’t before. Eloquence Beyond Measure was proving useful already.

“Yes, of- of course, Miss Drake. Please hold.”

She waited.

“Theodora. What is it, daughter? You know better than to interrupt our digs.”

“Mother, it has come to my attention that my nanny is embezzling money from you. I have been eating boxed mac n’ cheese and only that for the past three days. They cost four dollars each. I would hate for my growth to be stunted.”

Two days later, Janet Drake and Jack Drake stormed into the mansion and threw out the nanny. Janet gives her an approving nod at her sudden eloquence (wow, these people had no idea what children were supposed to be like) and gave her a credit card to use freely.

Rich people. Honestly.

Timmy’s sly gaze was highlighted by the invisible glow of the congratulations banner.

[harmony867]

It’s no secret that the canonical names of Harry Potter’s children are quite disliked by the fandom. He named his children like a potter head would name their pets. (And it seemed like Ginny had absolutely zero output and thoughts about that her children would be named. )

Alternatives to what Harry and Hermione (yes, I’m a Harmione shipper) children’s names would be.

I’m deciding this based on what I think they’d pick. Greek origins (since Hermione is a Greek name, derived from Hermes) but still honouring Harry’s lost loved ones (like his parents, Sirius etc, etc.) and of course some originality.

1. Helios Sirius Potter

Helios- Greek sun god, symbolizing hope and light which would be needed after spending their childhood as solider, a hope that they could raise the next generation with safety. And Sirius to obviously honor him. It seems fitting to call their first son their sun and stars.

2. Theadora "Thea" Lily Potter

Theodora, Greek, meaning "gift of God", and Thea as a nickname, I think it’s a beautiful name.

3. Leander James Potter

 Leander (Greek, meaning "lion-man") fitting for two Gryffindors.

Runner ups are: Hyacinth- Greek flower, linked to the tragic myth of Hyacinthus just because I feel like is many female characters tears are named after flowers. Sebastian- Sebastian is a name of Greek origin derived from the Greek word sebastos, meaning “venerable” or “revered”.

[rileyslibrary]

Be gentle, man!

Synopsis: You and the team go undercover to a dinner where high-profile guests are invited. You need to acquire vital information while acting posh at the same time. Good lord, help you all.

Relationship: Simon "Ghost" Riley x F!Reader, Task Force 141 x F!Reader

Word Count: 1,519 (approx. 6-7 min reading time)

Notes:

This is the second (and final) part of the story but you can read it as a oneshot. Here’s Part 1 if you’re interested.

No warnings; casual read with platonic relationships.

———————————————————————

The Athenian Palace: You’ve heard of the place a few times, mainly through the news, but never had the chance to visit. And why would you? Are you the president of a country? A diplomat? A wealthy businessperson with significant influence over government decision-makers? No, you are just a soldier among the many considered expendables. Your duty is to protect your country with your life—the same country that many attending the event have a vested financial interest in.

But today, everything is different. Today, you’re supposed to act like someone who comes from money.

For the past month, you and the rest of the team have undergone extensive training in formal dining, conversation, walking, and dancing. Everyone has adapted to their undercover personas somehow, except for Price, who couldn’t accompany you since he’s been undercover in a similar instance some years ago and poses a threat to the mission if he gets recognised.

Gaz required the least training among the four of you. You haven’t yet determined if he was naturally suited for this role or if his assigned persona was more straightforward than the rest. Nevertheless, he seemed comfortable conversing about the tech industry and acting like James Sinclair, the alleged tech entrepreneur.

On the other hand, Soap was the complete opposite of Gaz. Your etiquette instructor, Lady Theodora, struggled to mould him, but he always found a way to break free. Eventually, she found the tipping point to channel Soap’s extravagance to benefit the mission.

“What would you do if you were a trust fund child?” She asked, to which Soap replied that he would be “poised and all” but at the same time act “like Paris Hilton in the 2000s.” And that’s how Maxwell Vanderbilt—or “you can call me Max,” according to Soap—was born: with a mohawk, a loose-fitting suit, and an unchallenged attitude. You hated to admit it, but he was the most authentic and convincing among the four of you.

As for you and your Lieutenant, you were still adjusting to your role as a couple, particularly with the required intimacy. Yet, with Lady Theodora’s help, you managed to get closer, even if that involved a few unorthodox ways of doing things. One day, for example, she duck-taped your hands together and ordered you to spend the entire day together. She taught you how to dance, touch each other in public, and show, without telling, how you and Ghost— or Sir Ethan K. Wood—would infiltrate the facility and gather vital information as a couple.

He hated the name. “Why should I pretend to be fucking Ethan?” He asked, but Lady Theodora explained that it was a name forged by Laswell and she could do nothing about it. And when you told him you were named “Constance”, he spitted out his drink and immediately became grateful to Sir Ethan K. Wood.

Arriving in a Maserati Levante, you were greeted by a team of three people, two opening your doors and one guiding your hand as you stepped out of the car.

You wrap your arm around Ghost and approach the entrance.

As you walk through the imposing double doors, the room reveals itself in all its glory—a high ceiling decorated with murals stretch towards the heavens. The ballroom’s walls are draped in exquisite fabrics of gold and burgundy while crystal chandeliers cast a soft glow, illuminating the space and creating an inviting and elegant atmosphere.

The ballroom’s focal point is a large dance floor. It invites guests to dance while a live orchestra, hidden in a corner, fills the room with melodies. Surrounding the dance floor, elegant tables decorated with crisp linens showcase elaborate floral centrepieces, while towering candelabras provide additional illumination.

You look at the guests; men wear tailored tuxedos, and women glide in flowing gowns and sparkling jewellery. Your gaze shifts to Ghost, who looks dashing in a three-piece navy suit, a matching tie, and a white handkerchief in his chest pocket.

“Are you ready, my dear?” You ask with fake confidence.

“Ah, my love,” Ghost replies, “in for a penny...”

“... in for a fucking pound.”

“Language, Constance.” He corrects you sternly.

“Apologies, darling.”

You enter the crowd, mingling with the elite. Ghost introduces you as his wife, guiding you with a firm yet gentle touch on your back. Engaging in conversation, you discuss the land you supposedly own, the inflation—that most people in the room are the direct cause of—and collectively sorrow over the economy’s current state. All this while sipping champagne from crystal glassware that’s worth more than your annual salary.

Among the guests, you spot Soap conversing with a group of Wall Street figures. He appears relaxed, holding a glass of whiskey with an orange peel garnish.

“Ah, what can you do?” You hear his Scottish accent echoing in the room. “It’s a self-regulating market, after all.”

Lots of things baffle you in this world. Soap, talking about self-regulating markets with a bunch of Golden Boys who nod and agree with him just added another paradox to your list.

“Darling,” Ghost says, with his hand finding yours and interlacing your fingers, “dinner will be served shortly; let us find our table.”

You approach your seats, and Ghost pulls out a chair for you. As you settle in, you look around at the surrounding tables, searching for familiar faces. Gaz, sporting a suit with no tie and fake glasses, is seated at the table next to yours and talks with the people around him.

The evening unfolds with a symphony of courses served with artistic precision. Each dish arrives like a work of art—a culinary masterpiece. You apply Lady Theodora’s training and indulge in the exquisite feast while engaging polite conversations. You observe and listen closely to the guests’ discussions, hoping to obtain any valuable information that might aid your mission.

With dinner concluded, everyone moved to the ballroom for the entertainment segment. Ghost discreetly signals for you to follow him. Excusing yourselves, you navigate the corridors of the Athenian Palace, with the music and chatter fading as you reach the server room.

“This is it,” Ghost whispers as he approaches the servers. “The information we need should be here. You need to get to work.”

You nod and navigate the complex digital landscape, leveraging your technical expertise to penetrate the encrypted files. Meanwhile, Ghost maintains a vigilant watch and stands guard, ensuring no unexpected disruptions throw a wrench into your plans. Each creak or distant voice makes him reach for the gun in his inner jacket pocket.

Minutes pass like hours. Suddenly, your face lights up.

“Got it!” you shout, and Ghost brings a finger to his lips, urging you to keep quiet.

“Got it!” You repeat, this time in a whisper.

“Good girl,” he replies softly, “now let’s go find the others and get the fuck out of here.”

You begin your return to the ballroom, but things feel strange this time. The calm conversations surrounding the place have turned to screams, and the music sounds somewhat different than when you left the hall.

Ghost puts a hand in front of you and stops you.

“What’s going on, Constance?” he asks, concerned.

“Let’s find out, my love,” you reply, loading the pistol strapped to your thigh.

You run through the corridors, but there’s no one there—it sounds like everyone has gathered in the main hall.

Just before entering the ballroom, you compose yourself, adopting the poised stance Lady Theodora taught you. You enter the hall to uncover the reason behind the change in atmosphere.

Soap stands on a table in the centre of the ballroom, flipping his mohawk from left to right in sync with the rhythm of “Macarena”, played by the orchestra. Ties are now worn as headbands, and champagne glasses have become shots.

Dumbfounded by the spectacle unfolding right before your eyes, you approach Gaz.

“Ga-James, what’s the deal with all this?” You ask while looking at Soap dancing on the table.

Gaz chuckles, adjusts his fake glasses, and points towards Soap. “This fucking genius had a brilliant plan to create a diversion while you two were working your magic behind the scenes.”

Ghost raises an eyebrow. “So, this whole… thing is Soap’s way of keeping the spotlight off us?”

Gaz nods. “Exactly, mate. Soap figured throwing a wild party would divert the security’s focus from their employer’s safety.”

You look at Soap, who has now started a conga line. “If their employer is too drunk and occupied, they won’t care about outside threats,” you utter.

“Indeed,” Gaz says, “they have a whole other worry; their employer not getting any more shitfaced.”

“That audacious, brilliant motherfucker,” Ghost shakes his head in awe, “he just created the perfect cover for our mission.”

Soap notices you looking at him and raises his hands triumphantly. He looks so proud of his achievement. He brings his thumbs to his chest and mouths something.

“What is he saying?” You ask, confused.

Ghost’s lips curve up, and he leans towards you.

“He says,” he whispers in your ear, “like Paris Hilton in the 2000s.”

————��——————————————————